#but also twice the length of the others so.

[voxslays]

NSFW ALPHABET — THE SALESMAN

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

✧ Very doting. Is calm, but not in the psychotic way he usually is when recruiting. Will go run a bath while you lay on your shared bed trying to catch your breath. After that, he will just hold you in his arms as you fall asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

✧ For Gong Yoo, it’s his hands. He loves the way they wrap around your neck during steamy time. On you, Gong Yoo can’t choose. He just loves all of you too much to pick. However—although he will never admit it—it’s probably your eyes.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

✧ Pretty average amount wise…and he prefers to not pull out. He just likes seeing his seed spill inside you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

✧ He so desperately wants to see you pregnant and carrying his legacy (possibly the next salesman). He’s been hinting at it for months, but you just haven’t gotten it yet.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

✧ This man is VERY experienced. I just get that vibe from him. He’s attractive and he knows it, and he knows how to make his partner feel good.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

✧ Doggy or any other position that lets him bend you over a surface that isn’t a bed. When he’s feeling Vannilla though, probably the breeding press or missionary.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

✧ Like in his every day life, the recruiter is pretty calm and focused, although every once in a while he will make a corny dad joke—which he will straight up deny once the morning comes.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

✧ Perfectly groomed. What more must I say?

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

✧ I don’t think he’d put your needs before his, per se, but he will definitely make you feel good. Will kiss you and hold your hands above your head as he pounds his length into you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

✧ This man doesn’t jerk off. He has you, so why bother? Even before he met you—he is attractive enough to basically have anyone he wants.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

✧ Breeding and bondage kink. He really wants to have a child (which he will train to be the next recruiter from a very young age) and he just loves seeing you all overstimulated and tied to the bed posts.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

✧ The bed or over his desk.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

✧ I don’t think he minds either way, but he is pretty skilled with his tongue (and long fingers).

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

✧ 99% of the time, Gong Yoo is fast and rough, mercilessly pounding into you, but the other 1% (usually during weekend mornings) he isn’t opposed to going slow to wake you up.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

✧ Absolutely not.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

✧ Oh boy…he can go for literal hours. Maybe 6-7 rounds if he’s extra energized.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

✧ The salesman is such a damn tease, it’s quite unfair. He will edge you for hours, not letting you come—before he finally does anything.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

✧ Not loud, but not quiet either. He will make little grunts as he plows into you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

✧ Bro could go every night if he wanted to, but usually once or twice a week.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

✧ He does not sleep. This man is a light sleeper and you cannot convince me otherwise.

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

His apartment building (pre-chemo) would definitely be known as a safe haven. The only truly good cop in town, and he's also willing to go to extreme lengths to improve people's lives no matter the effect on his own life. Case in point, that one panel where the reporter is trying to get a look into his life to get dirt on him. But he's just such a good neighbor and upstanding citizen that everyone only has something good to say and nothing bad

Wait, what if Blud gets mad at Gotham for claiming that Dick Grayson is one of theirs? Because . . . from the people of Bludhavens POV Dick left Gotham, his family, his wealth, his easy life, his celebrity life, to come over and become a cop in the worst crime capital in America. Which canonically it is worse than Gotham when it comes to crime, they just don't have rogues (that are flashy). Over there I'd say that if a cop doesn't accept bribes their life expectancy is probably measured by counting the weeks on their hand and still having fingers left over

Like, he wouldn't be Kardashian level celebrity over there, but he'd definitely be well known throughout the entire city. If someone saw Officer Grayson helped saw him get hurt by someone who gets away because his corrupt fellows let that person get away to teach him a lesson in being morally good? Word would spread. That someone would be found, and mysteriously show up in the ICU several times a month. Those officers? Sudden bad luck hits them. Their homes are broken into and vandalized, their squad cars trashed, they're held up while in civvies

Eventually it becomes known that if something happens near Officer Grayson, Nightwing is seen later that day looking into it. They don't connect the dots (because come on. Whose insane enough to work 12 hour shifts and then turn around and pull another 8? Especially everyday?) but they do connect those two to each other

So now his apartment now has an anonymous tip off box sitting in the entrance of the building. Dick doesn't think anything of it, gladly accepts the tip off box even if he wished it was somewhere else because it disturbs his neighbors when someone comes running in shouting at 5 am asking him for help, but him accepting it. And the tip offs working sparks more debate

What's their relationship? They look kind of similar so maybe they're related (not having a criminal who doesn't sit still enough for photos doesn't help in knowing what he looks like besides the black and blue)? Or maybe it's just that they happen to look similar enough. Or even that they're just work buddies, only knowing each other to improve Bludhaven. Or are they more intimate?

I just think that it'd be hilarious if Bludhaven started another feud with Gotham over one man, twice.

Headcanon that bludhaven hates heroes with a flaming passion bc theyre just cops in tights but love Nightwing and therefore vehemently deny his hero status to anyone and everyone.

Like there is no official Nightwing merch bc he’s a criminal he’s committing a crime okay vigilante justice is in fact not legal and he’s not TECHNICALLY on the justice league and he’s NOT TECHNICALLY the leader of the titans anymore. But there are about 400 different Etsy stores that make hoodies, crop tops, joggers, sweats, sunglasses, bracelets, t shirts with nightwings logo or some art of him on them.

Like they love this guy and will get into beef with any Gotham national who tries to claim Nightwing is THEIR hero.

1) hes not a hero he’s a criminal fuck you

2) you have a hero and just bc he’s shit at his job and needs our guy (who is NOT a hero) to help him sometimes doesn’t MEAN SHIT

people are walking around with tiny v shaped blue tattoos or embroidered on clothing but again NOT A HERO BLUDHAVEN DOESNT DO HEROS

There are coffee shops with bad nightwing pun names nightbird, beanwing, nightwinging it and so on

Every third piece of graffiti is this man’s logo

Every sandwich place or fast food chain has a ‘secret menu item’ that’s not actually secret bc everyone orders it and it’s just one of their normal items dyed blue (sodas, desserts, burger buns, condiments so on) some places will sell wings fried in blue panko bread crumbs and call them them ‘nightwings’ ofc these are ALL off the menu you can’t see these items and if you try to order them out of the city you get weird looks.

Superman goes on tv and says Nightwing is one of his favorite hero’s and bludhaven riots. wtf nightwing is your favorite hero you fuckin poser

1) nightwing isn’t a hero he’s a criminal so back off

2) he’s ours you and your frou frou fancy city that hasn’t been nuked by a sentient pile of radiation can fuck RIGHT off

Naturally the only person in bludhaven who is unaware of this is Dick Grayson bc tbh this man is too busy to give a fuck about what his city thinks of him. They trust him to get shit done. Good that’s all he needs okay he has 22 reports he needs to log he’s busy.

Tim Drake professional nightwing fanboy however is fucking furious about this because.

A) dick was a GOTHAM hero FIRST and bludhaven can suck it

B) fuck you nightwing isn’t just a a hero he’s THE HERO and the BEST hero and don’t be rude bc you have a complex

C) all of the cool nightwing merch only ships around bludhaven so has to get it ordered there and it’s just a hassle and he’d pay double he swears just let him get it delivered to where he is please Everytime he stops by bludhaven he leaves with 10 new pieces of nightwing merch and bc he has so much. Damian doesn’t think he notices when some of his doubles mysteriously go missing. He does.

D) since they are anti hero they are firmly unhelpful whenever he or Steph show up bc a case has lead them to the city

The one plus side was watching Jason Todd having a mental breakdown bc apparently in bludhaven redhood counts as a hero and is therefore hated.

“Yous worked with the bat yous a hero thems the rules”

“I KILL PEOPLE”

“Yeah so do cops and people always call them heroes”

“Okay but I kill people to protect the general public I put down scum”

“Cops say they do that too”

“I- okay you know what I’m a hero fine okay. Why isn’t nightwing a hero”

“Vigilante justice is a crime”

“I’m documentably worse than a vigilante”

“But you have worked with the bat”

“For money yeah”

“See you even get paid, face it you’re a hero which means you suck”

“You realize Nightwing has worked with the bat right like way more than I have”

“Listen that ain’t his fault okay, the bats incompetent and so are the rest to you idiots. He’s a nice guy and a good neighbor don’t mean he’s a hero”

“I- what the fuck is in this cities water”

“I don’t fuckin know but it’s prolly better than whatever gothams got in its harbor”

“I- yeah you’re probably right”

[megpricephotography]

For those who're following Flynn's health problems… update is below the cut. Not a great one, sadly.

We went back to the vets on Fri 31st Jan. Flynn had been on his new medicine - telmisartan - for 2 weeks. He's taking it in an effort to reduce the "leakiness" of his remaining kidney. I'd collected a sample for urinalysis a couple of days prior & we got blood taken on the day. Vet spoke to me Sat morning.

I'll start with the positives. Flynn's weight is still good. Actually, at any other time, I'd say he was actively too chubby but I've been intentionally stuffing his face with as much kidney-safe food as he'll eat & it's good he's heavy & good he's managed to gain a bit. As for blood work - Flynn's blood count is good, he isn't anaemic (a worry), electrolytes are normal.

However.

Urinalysis… unfortunately, Flynn's protein loss in his pee is sky high & still maxing out their machine. I wasn't shocked by this result, as telmisartan can take a bit of time to fully work & have an effect… & Flynn's only on a 1/2 dose for his weight. Still, I was obviously hoping for better news. I wish we could at least tell if we're heading in the right direction or not.

Blood work. Urgh. Sadly Flynn's now in Stage 2 of Chronic Kidney Disease. Technically, Stage 2 CKD is considered relatively "mild" & often manageable for a considerable length of time. The worry though, is that Flynn's kidney function seems to be deteriorating pretty fast. From what I've read, this isn't uncommon in dogs who've had high protein levels in their urine, plus, again: Flynn is down 1 kidney… Also, we're already doing what we can to support his kidney, & currently it doesn't seem to be helping much, if at all. Vet's previously said he fears Flynn's kidney has just sort of... reached the limit of what it can cope with.

For now, we're keeping Flynn on a 1/2 dose of telmisartan. Yes, we could increase it but telmisartan can cause side-effects (we're seeing some), including even kidney damage (tbh, I am worried it may be harming not helping… but then again, Flynn has seemed better able to keep weight on since taking meds so, who knows). Vet & I are concerned a full dose could be too much for Flynn to tolerate. We'll monitor, may increase the dose… may take him off it entirely. We are going to add a phosphate binder to his food, which can help maintain kidney function. Flynn's been on a renal diet for 18+ months. Some dogs with his symptoms are put on immunosuppressants, but my vet hasn't brought it up as an option & tbh, I'd be concerned about potential side-effects, although I may look into it more.

As for Flynn… eh, he's OK, for now… mostly, I think? He's sweet & wanting gentle pats, so I don't think he's hugely sore, or distressed. He's feeling sick at times (picky about food) but not sure if it's telmisartan or kidney disease. He's definitely tired & quiet & wanting to be home, warm. That's fine. We get out once or twice a day for a short walk, & he still seems interested in things. I've pulled old Barney's buggy out & started encouraging Flynn to hop in, for if/when he's at a point of wanting to go out but not walk far at all. Obviously, I am still very much trying to hold onto hope we can get him stabilised & keep him happy for some time to come but gosh it's hard & I am struggling to be overly optimistic. I guess all we can do is take each day as it comes.

Sorry for the long read, partly this is for me... I find it helps writing stuff down. Hug your dogs, guys & please think good thoughts for Flynnie.

[kerhsfa]

slow down [Reza/Megat Fic]

• summary: beja broke his bed. it wasn't megat's fault.

• disclaimer: sorry if they're ooc this was just a fun drabble and i haven't written a fic in years.....,. so don't expect anything but pls enjoy :-))

• tw: rated m

_

Holding his lunch in one hand, Megat walked through the canteen warily with his gang following behind loyally despite everyone’s eyes glued to him. The whispers and stares targeted towards him were wrapped with nothing but judgment and disrespect. He settled on a table at the corner, quietly as he avoided his gaze from anyone else, different from his usual antics.

“Weh, kau dengar tak cite... Megat attack Beja macam tu je kat dalam bilik dia. Takde manifesto, takde apa.” Megat darted his eyes to the student, eyes bore into the boy menacingly with a grimace on his face. The student jolted, realizing that he spoke loud enough for the devil spoken about to hear it. “M-megat. Sorry...” was uttered as the boy scrambled away with his friend. Megat let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his forehead as his frustration grew bigger.

How did it become like this? The universe was really throwing the biggest middle finger to him right now to let something as bad as this to happen. What’s worse was that he couldn’t even tell anyone what truly happened. Well, at least if he still wanted to preserve his dignity as a Kapla that is. 

“Megat.” Great. Another guest came to him, though rather expectedly. Li.

“Dengar sini, sebelum kau nak tambah migraine aku, kau kena tahu yang semua ni salah Beja. Kalau kau nak tahu sangat apa jadi, kau pergi cari bestie kau tu. Tengok dia berani ke tak nak terus terang dengan kau.” Megat groaned and rambled to the expressionless prefect standing in front of him before he could say anything, clearly done with whatever had occurred.

“Aku tak kisahlah apa yang jadi pun, tapi kau DENGAN Beja, korang dua-dua kena repair katil aku.”

__________

Megat has absolutely no idea how he ended here. One minute he was humming alone as he walked to the toilet. Mind you, out of all the time he was in the dorm, this was one of those occurrences where he literally has zero intention of causing any ruckus. He was on his way to take a shower, that was it. Somehow, the world did not let that happen. At least Abdul Reza did not let that happen. Megat cursed to himself trying to make sense of why he was suddenly in the head prefect’s room, face planted on his bed. 

Beja had suddenly dragged Megat forcefully with no words being uttered. “Woi! Ja! Apa masalah kau!” 

But that was then.

Now, Beja was vigorously pistoning his length into Megat, movement almost robotic, a showcase of his pure strength and surprising earnestness. Well, not really surprising. They hadn’t stopped doing whatever this was, even after Beja had betrayed Megat on the night of Kudeta. Sure, they could never be the same anymore. But they still could not get their hands off each other, no matter what, and this was one of those days. “J-ja… Sabar… S-slow down, gila…”

Hearing the voice of Megat, slowly losing his well-known, sly demeanor, Beja’s movement became faster, opposing what was pleaded by the other. Megat could not do anything but take it. His hands were tightly secured by Beja’s right hand as his unoccupied one pulled the body of who was once his closer and closer by his waist. Megat knew better than to challenge Abdul Reza when he was fully determined to get something he wanted. He hated to admit that he could never win over Beja when it comes to strength. Although they were about the same height, the boy is almost twice as muscular as oppose to his lanky figure is. Ultimately, he also hated to admit that he found the size difference quite hot. 

“Shah.” A rush of shivers went through Megat’s back, hearing that nickname. One that never fails to flood Megat’s mind with all of the sweet promises and dreams. The bed creaked loudly, following their movement resulting from Beja’s sheer force. With little sanity Megat has left from the pleasure clouding his mind, he tried to make sense of what had gotten Beja to act in such a way. He was wilder than usual, the control he treasured so much almost slipping fully away from him.

“A-ah fuck… Ja! Ja, Aku na-” CRACK.

They both stilled from the sound, their heavy breaths were the only audible sound in the room. “Tch. Kau memang sial, Ja.” Megat broke the deafening silence, as he collected himself from the haze of getting cockblocked and finally realized what had happened. He turned his back, an unimpressed look on his face, as his eyes met with a worried expression planted on Beja’s face as he too became aware of what caused the sound. Beja’s bed was broken. The metal at the base of the bed had bent, all due to Beja’s strength.”Padan muka kau. Aku dah cakap slow sikit.”

Abruptly standing up, Beja eyed the bed, failing miserably in trying to hide the panic in his mind. Megat smirked seeing the other losing his usually collected self as the thought of still having this effect towards him brought some sort of satisfaction and victory in himself. “Megat. Ini bukan masa untuk senyum.” Beja glared at him. “Aik. Ni salah aku ke salah kau? Kau yang tak boleh tahan sangat, kan?” 

Beja ignored him. Megat’s smirk faltered when he saw Beja’s eyes lit up with intention, going back and forth between his broken bed and Li’s bed. “Ja… Apa yang kau-” That was all that Megat could mutter before he was shown how insane Abu Yamin’s second child is. Beja went on to break Li’s bed too. Megat yelped, clearly shocked with the action. “Apa benda kau buat ni, bodoh!”

Suddenly, the door to their dorm creaked open. There stood none other than the unworthy boy who is glued to Bechik, Hakeem Rizal.

Hakeem was taken aback at the scene that stood before him. “Alamak- Abang Ja... Megat… A-aku just dengar bunyi bising masa lalu tadi, risau ada monyet masuk ke apa ke…” They saw the timid boy eyeing them, with two broken beds surrounding the kp and kapla who were sweating from their heads to their toes. They quickly dismiss Hakeem, saying it was nothing and there were no animals or whatsoever as he had expected. Just the usual kp and kapla’s relationship issue. “Fuh… Nasib baik.” Hakeem let out a sigh of relief as he managed to escape from the two people who hated him the most.

__________

Megat thought he was safe, until today that is. Suddenly, a rumour of him barging into Beja’s room to fight him outside of a manifesto was spread across the school. The truth was, Hakeem told the story to Kahar as soon as he left the two boys to themselves. Unfortunately, he spoke too enthusiastically and animatedly that people around them could hear as well. That was how the rumour started. Classic Hakeem move, not knowing what he had just done.

Megat cursed under his breath as he remembered what Beja did. So, the KP broke the other bed just to make the room logically appear as if they were fighting. To Beja’s logic, only one bed being broken would be too fishy and scandalous. Thus, he resorted to breaking Li’s bed for effect. 

Walking through the school corridor, Megat finally saw the culprit to his damaging image. He stopped Beja on his track, “Kau sebenarnya memang nak kenakan aku kan? Kerja kau memang malukan aku je.” Megat said, anger boiling inside him as he finally realized the weight and aftermath of the situation. Unaffected by the words, Beja just stared at him.

“Shah,” Beja sighed. “Kau lagi rela orang tahu aku fuck kau sampai katil patah ke kau nak orang assume yang kau cabar aku luar manifesto?”

Now that - that made Megat’s face turn red, his anger now replaced with embarrassment. He clenched his fists, accepting the logic behind what was said by the other. “Kau memang sial.” Megat muttered in defeat as he continued walking past Beja, having nothing else to say or offer, the realization washing over him that this was at least for the best. “Tapi kau tak boleh tipu yang kau suka, kan?” Beja uttered but the kapla continued his steps, walking further and further away from him. Beja knew that this won't stop them from doing it again.

[fourleafclovxr]

3: tapestry

The youngest son of the Sader family is the Seer, and he is also, unfortunately, insane.

There can be no other explanation for it, really. For the way they keep him locked up, his older brothers January and July and his poor bastard sister Evelyn. For the way they watch him with wary eyes whenever he shows himself— or, as people whisper, whenever he is allowed to show himself. At his mother’s death anniversary, or his brother’s wedding, or his father’s funeral. They watch. They are always watching.

And August Sader is always watching the sky, head tilted up towards the sun, unflinching. He is so small, so thin, that he might break if you looked at him the wrong way. That you might wonder how he’s still standing, given the amount of carefully hidden vitriol his family directs at him.

He can’t see, of course. There are many in the Woods who would infantilise him on that basis alone— of course he doesn’t know to be hurt. He can’t tell. They don't tell him.

And then there are others, those who take a different view. It’s not that he can’t tell, they say. It’s that he doesn’t care. Look at him. He’s insane. He’s insane and that’s why they keep him locked up, that’s why he hasn’t seen the light of day since he was twelve, that’s why, that’s why.

August Sader ignores them all. He reaches for the stars. He reaches for the truth that lies beyond this world. He is not insane; he is a visionary.

At least, this is what the School Master says.

He’s been courting Callis for nearly a year and she still hasn’t found out his name.

He seems fond of her, for what it’s worth; as fond as a being hundreds of years old can get. Oh, yes, Callis knows exactly what she’s getting into, and she doesn’t particularly like it. But weighed against the chance to escape Evil— to be able to love—

She’s willing to try. And he’s been kind.

So she follows him, one day, when the School Master extends his hand and asks her to come with him. His fingers are cold; corpse-like. Callis, stubborn to a fault, holds on tightly. She has never been afraid of dead things.

The School Master smiles behind his mask, and spirits her away. Callis closes her eyes. The world burns bright around her.

When she opens them again they’re in the Sader home, and Evelyn Sader is staring them down. She was Clarissa’s classmate, Callis vaguely recalls. Evil’s Class Captain. She’d been a force to reckon with; more so because of the family name she so righteously bears.

But she will never be her brother. The School Master sweeps past her without giving her a second glance. There is only one thing he wants from this home.

Callis follows, and ignores the way Evelyn Sader’s eyes blaze as they pass her: a warning and a vicious sort of delight, all in one.

The door they pause in front of is locked, barred, shut away. The School Master spells it open with a single twitch of his glowing finger.

His fingerglow is green. Callis hadn’t ever seen it, before.

And August Sader lifts his head from the middle of the room.

Admittedly, he’s not the first thing Callis sees. He sits behind a loom, obscured by a completed tapestry; spools of silk thread lie scattered on various stools and tables in some sort of organised chaos, each bundled together with a card covered in a distinct pattern of raised dots. There’s nothing else to speak of in the room, nothing else that stands out, not even the Seer himself.

In fact, she only notices Sader when he stands and circles towards them, hands resting gently on the loom, like he can’t quite bear to let go.

“The School Master, I presume,” he says softly. His voice is raspy, unpracticed, but bitingly sweet. “At least, that’s what my dear sister deigned to tell me. Would you prefer Rafal? Or Rhian? Whatever you call yourself, these days?”

“Rafal will do,” the School Master— Rafal— says thinly. He doesn't argue, despite the unhappy twist to his mouth.

“And your companion?” Sader inquires.

“Callis,” the School Master— Rafal— says smoothly, “of Netherwood.” He slips his arm through hers, and Callis can’t suppress the shiver that shoots through her. “I admit I’m surprised you could tell.”

“Contrary to popular belief,” Sader drawls, irreverent, “I have some semblance of vision left. I will not offer my apologies, if that disappoints you. I am not blind for your benefit. And I can hear the both of you move. You are not special.”

Rafal, audibly, exhales through clenched teeth. Callis doesn't think she’s ever seen him so openly frustrated. He finds most inconveniences amusing; it’s not often that he faces anything he truly believes to be on his level. Not even Callis.

She supposes it’s not a good idea to anger a Seer.

“My apologies,” Rafal says, finally. “To business, if you will. I presume you received my letter.”

“I did,” Sader acquiesces, finally serious. “I will tell you that nothing you offered is of use to me. I don’t particularly care for my sister or my family; nor do I care for a place at the School, given that I shut myself up here before I could ever attend.”

“Shut yourself up?” Callis wonders aloud. Rafal turns his head sharply towards her, clearly displeased; in a mocking mirror of him, Sader turns to her too, a smile gracing his face.

“Indeed, Miss Callis,” he says. “You’re clever, I’m sure, you must have noticed the loom. I can’t bear to leave it, you know.” He brushes his knuckles past the tapestry, an expression that could almost be called loving settling on his face. “When I was much younger my family gave me a choice. Be done with this, they said, or be done with them and the life they had planned for me.”

“And this is what you choose,” Rafal observes, voice brimming with disdain. “Forfeiting your birthright as their Seer. For your art. No wonder your family thinks you insane.”

Sader laughs. “They don’t understand,” he says. “I wonder if you will. Without my art, there is no Seer.”

He waves his hand, almost lazily, and the loom set up in the middle of the room— its centrepiece— rotates to face them, sparking with a familiar shade of green. Callis takes an unconscious step back as the tapestry is revealed—

A village; a lake; and by the lakeside sit two girls. One with spun-gold locks and emerald eyes, one with a dark mess of hair and a sadness to her mouth. And there, in the shadows of the woven sky; a silver-haired, blue-eyed boy, smiling down at them both.

Only the golden girl reaches back out to him. Her hand outstretched. Her face so lifelike, so awed. Her companion’s sadness makes more sense, then.

The future, Callis realises. This is the future, and the silver-haired boy is Rafal, and—

—she’s not there.

“Is this what you seek?” Sader asks lightly, and Rafal inhales. Caught hook, line and sinker. Callis wonders if he knows how easy it would be to manipulate him, through this hunger for knowing what comes next, that he might shape it to his own ends.

She wonders if Sader knows, too.

But after a second Sader dips his head in a clear, if mocking, obedience. “This is the deal I will offer you, School Master,” he says. “This tapestry is yours. For a favour, of course.”

“Anything,” Rafal promises immediately. Does he know how rash he’s being? Does he know what Sader could ask? Callis was never particularly Evil, but even she can think of a dozen ways this could go wrong.

But Sader doesn’t ask for any of that. “I believe art should be displayed,” he says. “All I ask is that you keep this tapestry in your Gallery for Good. You need not tell anyone what it is, or indeed that I was the one who wove it. But I should like people to see. It is my life’s work, after all.” A pause. “And, if you would— my sister.”

“I thought you didn’t care for her,” Rafal says, low and amused.

“I lied,” Sader says unrepentantly. “How else would you accept my offer?” He extends a hand, expectant.

Rafal takes it. The deal is done.

Callis visits him only once, after that; the night before she plans to escape into the Woods. By then she knows that Rafal is Evil, and she is so very afraid— and August Sader is the only person she knows who isn’t scared of him.

He’s expecting her. Of course he is.

All the doors in the house are unlocked; when she finds her way to the tapestry room he’s there, waiting for her, still weaving. Head bent, eyes half-closed, he is a picture of serenity.

“It has been quite a few years, hasn’t it, Miss Callis?” he asks. “Yes, I will help you. But before you go, I would like you to do me a favour, if you will.”

“Anything,” Callis says, uncomfortably aware of how she must be making the same mistake Rafal did, all those years ago.

Sader inclines his head. “I will have completed my current work by tomorrow morning,” he says. “Inform Rafal of that, if you will; that will be my favour. When he comes, you are free to go from the School. I will mark your way into the Woods for you, that he will not find you ever again.”

“Thank you,” Callis breathes. Sader smiles at her, small and secret, and gestures for her to make her way around his loom.

The nearly-finished tapestry is one of fire and smoke and destruction, and the village it depicts is familiar. Sader is methodically weaving wisps of grey and red through the sky. He seems utterly unbothered.

“I am an artist, at heart,” he says, finally. “I hope you understand, Miss Callis. Only I weave with more than thread— I weave with the threads of fate. I would not, if I could help it. But my art calls. It always has.”

His fingers don’t stop moving; they haven’t stopped moving, all this while. Callis thinks of the old tales: the three old women handling the threads of life. The spinner, the alotter, the inevitable. Reducing life to art. Reducing fate to art.

“It’s all one big story, after all, Miss Callis,” Sader says gently. “All of it is art, eventually. It’s just that you don’t want to see.”

[howling-medic]

I read this yesterday (2 days ago? Time is confusing and a construct), and I had to step away and pick my jaw up off the floor. I queued the post and intended to return before it actually posted and add commentary. I have lost my original queued post that has long since been posted now, so I'm starting over with a fresh post. I would apologize for the essay length commentary and general praise I'm about to write... but I do not beg your forgiveness. It's not often that I read something that impacts me this much, so I will simply do this and continue on my merry way:

I have now had sufficient time to process and go back and reread this masterpiece. Zara, my friend, you have reduced me to tears twice with this piece, and I now have a very concerned 70 pound dog curled on my lap who refuses to accept that I'm okay.

My gods, woman. This is impeccable. It was soul crushing and healing all in one. The imagery and connections drawn across multiple mediums and genres? Brilliant.

I know you were worried about using too much jargon or leaning too far towards essay style writing vs scholarly writing, and I think you found the middle ground perfectly. Of note: I'm also a nerd who reads journal articles for fun, so I would happily read either end of that spectrum; however, this balance suits your message and the interplay of prose and analysis incredibly well.

You wove in your own narrative thread to the analysis brilliantly. Each section exponentiated the impact of the others, and it flowed perfectly.

I have to take a second, and probably multiple hundred words, to pull some quotes and try to dissect this piece of perfection, or at least highlight some of its most impactful ones. Maybe draw on some personal reasons they stuck out. Who knows. It's 0451 at the time I am writing this, and I'm uncaffeinated. We're operating on vibes alone.

I am not only Elrond's wife, I tell her. And I am not only the taking.

This was the first place I cried. There are a lot of reasons I had to stop and walk away from my computer when I read this line. "I am not only Elrond's wife," hits home in a way that I will talk about more in a piece I'm writing, but I have lived perpetually as Medic, daughter of [redacted] and Medic, sister of [redacted] (daughter and sister being their own issues to comment on another day). Oh so rarely am I my own person. To see that refutation set down in black and white so simply, to see someone say it so definitively, brought me to a screeching halt. Suddenly, I was Celebrían while also being back in that motel room where I first found her footnote - running for my life.

"And I am not only the taking." I knew what I might remember when I read this series. I knew what I would likely feel. The soul crushing feeling of helplessness this dragged up in me made me nauseous. The rawness of that line evokes is incomparable. The sheer defiance in it. The refusal to be reduced down to one moment. It set up everything to come perfectly. At the time I didn't necessarily know that was where we were headed because your narrative wandered and allowed a gradual build, but once the destination became clear, I had to return to that line as a whole and read it several times over.

In these timeless interruptions, despair is not dark and silent but “dazzling green”, dancing across the screen.

[In a time and place where I wonder when it will be illegal to be myself, I will strive to remember to keep despair "dazzling green" and keep "dancing across the screen.] However, outside the personal, and in the context of the essay, the tie back to the Elessar and the way this sentence began to pull everything into focus for me. The parallels between Celebrían and queerness was unexpected and worked seamlessly. I still don't have adequate words to describe the moment I first read that paragraph as a whole, actually.

[I could probably pull out something from every paragraph because this entire piece was a hyper-concentrated emotional and intellectual gut punch of the best kind, so I'm going to force myself to choose like one or two more lines I want to talk about for the sake of brevity. lol. Ain't that cute of me to say now? Brevity came and went a few hundred words ago.]

Put simply, the cinematic courtesan frames death, failure and grief as an aesthetic performance, one full of joy and decadence. Her dances and laments, aesthetically pleasing events within a self-professed arena of death, performed by dying women, are a re-capacitation of destroyed bodies: sexually and societally persecuted, yet capable of creating beauty.  A society that allows a group of people to live in a state of perpetual dying is a failed society; hence the courtesan’s embrace of death and embodying of corpses evidences the difficulty of queer survival in a heteronormative world. In this domain, immortality is nothing but a death scene drawn out for eternity.

I - ma'am - I couldn't even choose one part of this to pull out. I tried, and I couldn't. Remember when I said this was deeply healing? This. This. This was the first time I felt a piece of myself put back in place. I could analyze this, sure. I could, but I don't feel like it needs anything else said.

The texture of it is familiar, yes, but the shape remains strange. The bees have formed their comb around an irregular thing, one which turns the whole hive into a glowing, radiant, discoloured thing. The octagons of the comb wrap around over and over the object, another second skin I am meant to peel off, and it is harder than I thought it might be, as if the strange object belonged in the comb.

The perfect echo back to the chrysalis, the perfect echo back to the first mention of the beehive while sitting with Elrond, which seemed like such an odd and lovely little note at the time. I am in awe. The comb being harder to pull off than she expects? How indescribably perfect, and so true. So incredibly true. It was the perfect payoff from small moments scattered throughout. That moment of realization for Cel, for the reader....for one's soul.

Gods, I've waxed poetic for long enough. I can't thin it out, though, and I could write something about nearly every line.

TLDR: This was a triumph, and I am bookmarking it to turn back to on dark days.

Fun stuff from Dr. Balls — an essay collection published on the Silmarillion Writers Guild across the upcoming year that intertwines fanfiction and nonfiction in the pursuit of Celebrían + most women in the legendarium turn up at some point ✨

Head over here or click ‘Read More’ below for a brief introduction to and overview of the essays in the collection, which can all be read independently. Fans of Crablor and Mr. Balls, you will enjoy Chapter 5 & 6, which should be out in the summer.

—————

“But there is also something deeply strategic in the act of spectacle. To make a ‘lost woman’ like Celebrían into a vast, operatic, hyper-visible character is to place her where she cannot be ignored… no longer dependent on the fragile benevolence of the archive. She becomes impossible to overlook. Across this collection, Celebrían will be written, rewritten, and repeated, until her absence is not only rectified but reversed — until she looms larger than the moment of violence that defines her. To put it bluntly, she takes her story back, and does whatever the hell she wants with it.”

The introductory essay, ‘Dazzling Despair: Life, Death and a Spectacularly Lost Woman’ considers the radical potential of performing one’s own ‘death’. On the fictional front: Celebrían’s search for the Elessar transforms loss into an act of deliberately poetic spectacle.

Read ‘Dazzling Despair’ here.

Would honestly love to hear what you think of this so far — feel free to comment here or DM me as well. I really want to make sure my tone isn’t too jargon-y and that it flows well: combining fanfiction and nonfiction is something I haven’t done before.

Introduction and Overview

An Elopement with Life is a 9-part essay collection that intertwines literary fanfiction with the nonfiction essay form, exploring the idea of a Celebrían who stays in Middle Earth.

The fictional narrative follows a year in the life of Celebrían who, across conversations with various 'lost women' of the legendarium, makes the deliberate choice to not-sail to Valinor. The essays use Celebrían and “courtesan laments” as a general framework but traverse a wider thematic landscape, engaging with historiography, investigative environmental journalism, and critical queer/disability theory to unpack how mythic and literary narratives shape our understanding of loss, resilience, and reclamation.

The introductory essay Dazzling Despair considers the radical potential of performing one’s own ‘death’, as Celebrían’s search for the Elessar transforms loss into an act of deliberately poetic spectacle. The Art of Dying Twice deconstructs Lúthien’s legendary defiance, revealing how even the most celebrated figures of resistance may be vexing in their contradictions. Sea-cure is an intertextual meditation on the sea’s ambivalence—both vessel of liberation and instrument of dispossession—as Elrond attempts to communicate with the Valar across an unfathomable divide. The Poster Child examines the distortions of historical memory, positioning Celebrían as an uneasy object of mythmaking who must navigate her own commodification into a cautionary tale, paralleling a “poster child” in narratives of disability.

The collection then shifts toward a mode of speculative investigative journalism with The Crab-Eaters and The Crab-Saviours, in which Celebrían, Arwen, and the elusive Fëanorian wives cross paths with an eccentric cryptid who runs a farm of extinct-yet-not-extinct shellfish, mirroring the author and their partner’s real-world pursuit of brutalised waterfowl in the United Kingdom. Does Your Mother Know? takes on the ethics of retribution, as Celebrían and Elrond are at odds after she demands to see her sons' orc hunt, raising fraught questions about complicity, cycles of violence, and the power of bearing witness.

The collection concludes with the two-part essay The Bravest Girl in Arda, where Celebrían, alongside her father Celeborn, constructs a living reconstruction of Taur-im-Duinath, a sunken forest in Beleriand. This final couplet articulates restoration as a quiet, persistent act: the renewal of the self through reconnection with the nonhuman world, the submerged histories that whisper beneath dominant narratives, and the “little revolutions” that exist under the weight of the great ones — resonating with Tolkien’s own attentiveness to the dignity of small acts and overlooked labours. Across the collection, An Elopement with Life engages with resilience as both concept and praxis, unfolding through a dialectic of rupture and repair, disappearance and re-emergence, myth and materiality, and the histories we choose—or refuse—to inherit.

Zara is an essayist and novelist who works broadly across queer world literatures and ecocriticism. She holds degrees from SOAS, St. Andrews and Oxford.

The work will update every 6-8 weeks, hosted exclusively on the SWG, and each essay in the collection can be read standalone.

Go to Collection.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At your side [End of Season 2]

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[theborzoiarebackintown]

We started agility class today!! She seemed to have a good time and was a very good baby dog for me in a new and weird setting.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Very generic “”gothy” character in a children’s cartoon” type look just out of curiosity, seeing if I had enough stuff to put together a full outfit from a box of old clothes lol. I didn’t have an actual main shirt though, so it’s just a plain tank top with cat shape cut out of paper and safety pinned onto the front 

[altruistic-meme]

2300 words!! yay!! now THATS more like it. i haven’t even quite reached the end of the opening scene, but i need to go do laundry so i’m going to have to set it down for now :( hopefully i can write more later ;;;;

[red-winters]

My new darling in Wild Hearts, [REDACTED].

Bonus:

[iamthescalesofjustice]

it will never stop delighting me that ive somehow and without intent or action on my part gone from my high school days of carrying both a real permit and fake license not for the usual fake id purposes (was not driving, going to clubs, buying alcohol, going to R movies, etc) but for the purpose of provoking questions about and contemplation of the nature of identity, the role and impact of government and official documentation on the concept of identity, and for the lolz (wouldnt it be funny if i died and they harvested my organs bc the fake id said i was an organ doner but the real one doesnt? yeah it doesnt really work that way but the very concept amused my friend group), to having a singular fake/not fake license which was officially issued to me from the actual dmv by mistake and contains a legal name, sex marker, and picture which bear no resemblance to anything ive been known by in over a decade (and even then were not accurate hence the interrogation of identity as a concept), which i did not pass or even attempt any driving test (practical or otherwise) to obtain. is this a fake id? does this count as real? real in what sense? is this more real or more fake than either my permit or my high school fake id?

[miihho]

Can you please write the salesman next for the kind of guy?🙏🏻🙏🏻

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) nsfw

The Salesman

— HES THE KIND OF GUY who never expected to fall in love—his life was far too consumed by duties and endless responsibilities. Love wasn’t even a consideration, not until you appeared like a sudden burst of color in his monochrome world. At first, it was your skill that caught his attention, the way you effortlessly bested him in ddakji, round after round, slap after slap. Frustrated but undeniably impressed, he handed you a card, feigning indifference. But as you walked away, something unfamiliar stirred within him—a quiet ache, a sense of loss he couldn’t quite place.

He tried to push it aside, burying himself in his work, recruiting others, and maintaining the facade of control. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. Then, one day, he saw you again, sitting at your usual spot. You hadn’t joined the game, and strangely, he felt a wave of relief he couldn’t explain. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you, asking for just one more match. The words came out almost on their own, a fragile excuse to see you again, to hear your voice, or maybe just to keep you close for a little longer.

— He’s the kind of guy who’s spent years trapped in a monotonous cycle—lonely, unfulfilled, and carrying the weight of a life that feels directionless. Every day bleeds into the next, nothing to look forward to, nothing to hold onto. But then, somehow, he acquires you. You, with your rare kindness, your quiet care, and the sweetness that seems to radiate from your every action.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done to him, how you’ve unknowingly become the one bright spot in his otherwise dull world. He starts catching himself stealing glances at you, his gaze softening without his permission. It’s the way you move, the way you speak, the way you bring life into spaces that once felt empty.

And then there are those moments—when you laugh, or when you smile at something simple—that makes his chest tighten in ways he didn’t think were possible anymore. He smiles back without realizing it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that feels foreign but good. You don’t just make his days better; you make him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something worth living for. (He's in love)

—He’s the kind of guy who would boldly approach you, his intentions clear but unspoken. He’d ask to get to know you better, his flirting subtle at first—smiles that linger a little too long, looks that make your heart race without explanation. At first, you might be taken aback, unsure of his advances, but when he offers you something you can’t refuse, like money, your resistance crumbles. You agreed, but something in the way he looks at you makes you forget about the deal. Slowly, you start enjoying your time together more than you care to admit.

—He’s also the kind of guy who wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, not for a second. If anyone dared to claim you as theirs, especially some trash asking you out, he’d make sure they paid. He’d go to any lengths to protect what’s his, with no hesitation, no mercy. If it came to it, he wouldn’t think twice about making them disappear, just so they’d know—he was the first one, and that meant something.

But it’s not just about possessiveness. He watches over you, guards you in ways you’ll never fully see, keeping a close eye without you ever knowing. He’s always there, even when you don’t realize it—protecting you from this world that’s full of danger, keeping the darkness at bay as best as he can. It’s his silent promise to you, even if you never ask for it. He doesn’t want to see you hurt, not ever.

— He's the kind of guy who would soil his hands with blood, not hesitating for a second, if it meant protecting you from anything that threatens your peace.

— He’s the kind of guy who will make you fall for him as deeply as he’s fallen for you. He adores your smaller build against his, the way your petite hands fit perfectly when cuffed by his larger ones—it drives him wild. The contrast, the way you seem so delicate in his grasp, makes him want to claim you entirely, to make you his in every way.

But he’s not the kind of man to stop at mere affection. No, he’s the type who thrives on control. He’ll manipulate you carefully, subtly, until the thought of leaving him feels impossible—terrifying even. He wants you to need him, crave him, think of him endlessly. He’s meticulous in the way he weaves himself into your thoughts, ensuring you wake up and fall asleep with only him in mind.

And when he flirts with you, watching as your cheeks turn that irresistible shade of red, your voice faltering under his gaze—it’s everything to him. You turn into a hot, blushing mess, and he loves it. It fuels his obsession, makes him fall even harder for you, because to him, you’re the epitome of perfection. Cute, vulnerable, and entirely his.

—He’s the kind of guy who takes his time with you, the tension between you building like a carefully orchestrated symphony. When the moment feels just right—your faces close, the air thick with anticipation—he starts leaning in, his eyes locked on yours, ready to steal a kiss.

But then it hits you, the realization of what’s happening, and your face flushes a deep red. You turn away in a rush, looking anywhere but at him, your heart racing like crazy. He pauses, letting the moment linger, before chuckling softly. That low, amused laugh of his sends a shiver down your spine, and when you finally sneak a glance at him, he’s grinning.

“Cute,” he murmurs, his tone playful but laced with something deeper. Yeah, he loves teasing you—loves watching you squirm and stutter, loves the way your reactions only make you more endearing to him. And he’ll do it all over again, just to see that flustered look on your face that he can’t get enough of.

—He’s also the kind of guy who knows exactly how to manipulate you, slow and calculated, planting seeds of dependence and trust without you fully realizing it. He knows your vulnerabilities, your habits, and where to find you when you’re at your lowest.

So, when he spots you crying at your usual secluded spot, alone and trembling, he makes his move. Sitting beside you, his presence feels warm, comforting—like he’s the only safe harbor in a storm. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, his voice soft and soothing as he whispers, “There, there, it’ll be alright. I’m here.”

As you cry into his chest, he murmurs gentle reassurances, “It’s alright, baby. Cry it all out.” His hand strokes your back, his touch deliberate and grounding, and he smiles. Not the kind of smile you can see—this one is hidden, smug, satisfied. His plan is working perfectly, and you’re falling deeper into his web. And oh, how he loves it—watching you lean into him, needing him, trusting him like he’s your savior. That’s exactly where he wants you.

— He’s the kind of guy who thrives on control, especially in moments of intimacy. The kind who, with practiced ease, unclips your bra with just one hand, never breaking the intensity of your kiss. And when he pulls back, his lips hovering just above yours, he’ll smirk and whisper in that low, teasing voice, “I’m not done with you yet.”

When you bury your face into his neck, trying to stifle your moans out of shyness, he doesn’t miss a beat. The scent of his cologne and aftershave lingers, intoxicating you further, as he lets out a deep chuckle, amused at your attempt to hide.

And when he’s got you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy, he makes sure you’re not holding back. He loves to hear you scream, loves the way his name falls from your lips like a prayer. Even when a phone call interrupts, he doesn’t stop. Oh no, he sees it as a challenge, a chance to tease you further. He’ll move slower, deeper, just to hear your breath hitch as you struggle to keep your composure.

If you try to stay professional, biting your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape, he’ll smirk, his pace relentless. “Go on,” he’ll purr, his voice dripping with mischief. “Try to keep quiet, baby. Let’s see how long you last.” And with that, he’ll have you unraveling, barely able to focus, completely at his mercy.

— He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just tease you with words—he lets his actions speak louder. Even in public, fully clothed, he’ll find a way to make you lose your composure. He steps in close, his large hands resting on your waist, pulling you just enough that his hips press against yours.

That’s when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, pressing firmly into you. His voice drops, low and dripping with desire, as he leans into your ear and whispers, “Feel that, baby? That’s what you do to me. You’ve got me all worked up, and I don't think I can wait any much longer."

The heat of his breath against your ear sends a shiver through you, and his bulge pressing into you makes it impossible to think straight. His grip tightens slightly, and the smirk playing on his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of your reaction. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he loves driving you wild, even when you’re supposed to be keeping things composed.

— He's the kind of guy who leaves his mark on you, a silent declaration that you're his and his alone

— He's the kind of guy who would pin you against the wall, bite your lip, and pull your hair—taking control in a way that leaves you breathles.

—He’s the kind of guy who’ll leave you completely undone, your body trembling as you take every inch of his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks while you beg for mercy. But he doesn’t stop—he thrives on the way you break beneath him, his voice dripping with a wicked mix of praise and degradation.

“You're being such an obedient little cum slut,” his hand tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Taking me so well like a fucking whore, like you were made for my cock. My perfect little bitch.” he said, his tone low and velvety, sending shivers down your spine as he continued to fuck his cock in and out of you. Your walls clenching hard around his massive cock as he fills you up with his fat load, still pounding into your hole not letting even a single drop of his release go to waste. (He has a breeding kink)

And if that's not enough. His thick, veiny cock would plunge relentlessly into your dripping folds, the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh filling the air. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he ravages your insides with unbridled lust while you're in a mating press. He is determined to make you the mother of his child, so he will pound your fertile womb over and over again until it's full of his cum. If his cum is seeping out of your pussy, he would pump it back with his fingers inside while he also plays with your swollen clit making you overstimulated as you beg him to stop. (he just fucking loves you crying and begging for him and only him. )

— Hes the kind of guy who craves more than just conception; he yearns to enslave your senses, to make your body crave the feeling of being utterly filled by him. He wants ypu to beg for his cock, to plead for the intense pleasure-pain of being stuffed to overflowing, regardless of your reproductive cycle.

The very thought of you, round and ripe with his seed, brings him unparalleled satisfaction. He delights in the idea of your addiction to his cum, to the exquisite bliss of having your cunt packed to capacity with his thick, hot essence. For him, there is no greater joy than knowing you're forever changed, forever his, your body and soul irreversibly marked by his possession.

[screampied]

Hii baby veygusssss<33 hoping you a nice day / night🩷🩷, so um hear me out Choso x shy reader re-creating one of p-hub most liked nor watched vid? Just a silly thought of mine hehehei feel free to ignore this. Muaaaaa😚💗

- 🧃 ( new anon, I hope it's not taken yet😞 )

꒰১ cw. fem reader, doggystyle, hair pulling, choso tries dirty talk, premature ejaculatıon, mdni.

“baby, i— i wanna do this,” choso mumbles, showing you the video that displayed across the screen. oftentimes he’d show you some positions he’d wanna try, the only ones you’ve ever done with him so far was missionary or cowgirl. his ultimate favorite out of the two—just you straddling him, staring into his eyes always makes him shudder. “can we try it?”

peering at the screen, it was a woman and a guy performing a well known prominent position. with a shy expression, you speak in a soft tone. “doggystyle? you wanna try that?”

“yeah,” he pouts, closing out of the web page before turning back towards you. the both of you were on the bed, tangled limbs keeping each other warm before he pants. “i think you would look pretty like that,” and he gulps. “i mean, you’re always pretty— but like . . on your hands ‘n knees for me, you know?”

you giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “i know what you mean, baby, and okay. we can do doggy if you’d like.”

choso’s face lights up and he only grows more flustered once he sees you sit up. “okay, okay,” he tries to compose of himself, gawking openly as you lie flat on your stomach. then, you sit upright, placing the palms of your hands on the bed with your knees in place. his lips quiver, taking a three second glance at your ass. “a-and i’m gonna get behind like this, i think,” he cutely tries to remember the video. choso’s already starting to pant, shallow breaths of clouded puffs depart from his lips before he springs out his dick. he lets off a whine, staring at your pussy and how it was a bit moist from the outer entrance. “oh, it’s so wet from up close.”

“choso,” you tease, feeling yourself grow hot yourself. “any day now, baby.”

“s-sorry, sorry,” he snaps out of his erotic trance, reaching near the nightstand drawer to take out the lube bottle. he tried not to take too long, he wanted to be inside just as much as you wanted him inside also. quickly, he applies the lube in the right areas of you before focusing his attention back towards his throbbing cock. “give it a f-few pumps before going inside,” he speaks to himself underneath his breath, stroking his length once or twice. you wriggle your ass in anticipation and he only grows more abashed. you were shy just as him, although you were a bit more of an impish tease. “tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

“okay, ‘cho.” you comply.

after a bit, he inches the head of his tip near your slit that’s starting to open. he’s mesmerized, his mouth slowly pries open at the sight before he’s gradually starting to sink his way in. as choso grows quiet, you let off a soft moan that makes him pause.

“baby? does it hurt? what ha—”

“choso, ‘m moanin’ because it feels good, ‘m okay i promise,” you simper in a shaky breath, leaning against your folded arms. not even facing him yet you could tell he was so big—standing tall proudly with inches underneath his metaphoric belt. “keep going.”

he gulps, nodding with a sweet, “okay,” before resuming where he left off. such thickness has your lips spreading apart,

he falls in love with the warmth that your gummy walls provides—sending him into straight nirvana.

it feels almost blissful, you squeeze against him before relaxing, he’s barely even halfway in and you already feel the elastic stretch. it’s too good, the moans that constantly let out from your mouth only makes his dick twitch more. once you let off a whine, he whines. “just a few m-more inches, princess,” he swallows—choso’s throat becomes suddenly dry and you bite your lip. so big, the way he’s so gentle to not break you was oh so cute nonetheless. “so warm.”

choso speaks in a low gruff voice, yet it’s still so whiny. your goopy walls forever cling onto him before within seconds later, you’re rightfully stuffed. he gasps, a sudden sweltering sensation waves over him once he realizes he’s buried balls deep. a few languid seconds inside your pussy and he was already losing it — the poor thing, you had him whipped.

“ugh,” he whimpers, preparing for an impactful thrust. choso’s a bit awkward, trying to remember what his eyes saw from the video as he holds your hips firmly. “gonna f-fuck you now, baby,” he mewls, and gives you a single thrust. he’s hesitant, wanting to make sure you’re okay before you’re babbling for him to not stop. a single thrust like that was purely addicting—you throb and he feels it, the way your walls constantly tease him by constricting around it.

so evil,

your ass is held up high against the bed before he starts to fuck you at a sloppy pace. sweaty thumbs of his brush against your hips as he’s holding you firmly in place, trying to maintain a decent enough rhythm. “ngh, so hot inside, feels so good,” he hiccups, feeling the very bottom of your hips tilt back. skin against skin — it feels like you’re melting against choso, it’s heavily intoxicating.

with the way your ass sticks up against him like glue, he goes crazy, feral. choso makes you spread a bit further before he’s really driving his cock into you. he makes sure his pace isn’t too fast before he lets off a melodically lewd moan. with his sculpted abs flexing, he lets off a soft whimper. “baby can- can i pull on your hair a little too?”

you giggle, nodding as you’re continuing to adapt to the feeling of being jostled against the silky bedsheets. “yes, choso. go ‘head.”

choso’s wheezy pants grow heavier and heavier, he leans up close to where he’s shoved right up close against you. with your knees widening, he grabs a good amount of your hair before giving it a soft kitten tug. “is that good?”

“baby, harder. ‘s okay, you can be a l-little rough.”

he pouts, giving you a more harder tug and you moan— leaning forward with your head lying back down between your arms. “just like that, doin’ so good baby, keep—keep going, fuuuck.”

your torso’s upright, he moans at how good you feel from the inside. choso can’t help but feel himself starting to drool a bit. your pussy was addicting in every way. you fuck back against him, rotating your hips a bit and he squeezes your right ass cheek. choso’s never really stared at your ass much, but now, that it was constantly bumping back against him—he just couldn’t look away. “m-my goddd, ‘s warm,” he pleads out, desperate for more of this feeling. you clamp down on him tightly, nerves all over his body send him shivers inside and out. choso can already feel himself start to sweat, his dick continuously reaches every orifice inside of your stuffed pussy. for a moment, he closes his eyes shut, getting hard at the rough recoil your ass smacks against his torso. it’s sexy, something within him was telling him to spank you but he wanted to ask first. “f-fuck, um . . princess? one more thing?”

“yes baby?”

“can—” he breathes through jagged breaths, slowing his pace down just a bit to rub a thumb against your hips. “can i spank you o-one time?”

“yes, ‘s okay, spank me, choso.” you moan, feeling his tip reach deeper throughout your tightening cunt.

he’s so sweet, he caresses the left cheek of your ass before giving it a spank. it jolts you forward and you let off a sweet gasp, though once he realizes you like it, he starts to spank you over, and over, and over, until you’re being more vocal than him. choso’s so in love with your voice that he could listen to it all day,

it was something about the smoothness in it. the way you whine for more in such a honeyed tone makes the tips of his ears burn. he still couldn’t fathom that he, choso kamo—was making you feel this good. but the more he starts to rut into you, the more he starts to feel something creep up. it’s sneaky—steadily arising before he feels a pool of warmth reside near his lower abdomen.

“i- i think ‘m gonna cum,” he whimpers, and he says it quickly, you feel the vein that runs down his shaft pulsate through you and your legs squeeze together for a moment. he pokes his bottom lip out, about to spank you against but he hesitates. he doesn’t wanna be too mean, so he caresses your bare cheek instead, brushing a thumb against your ass like a brush paints its canvas. “should i p-pull out?”

“i-inside, choso. inside.” you whine, and darkened brows of his raise. his mind’s racing and he’s taken aback, you want him to finish inside?

choso grips your hips with both hands, trying to remember the video before he cutely spews out a specific dialogue. “g-gonna flood your pretty vagina with my sticky cum, whore.”

and you giggle—you giggle and choso gasps.

“w-what’s funny?” he frowns, pausing his hips. “did you not like my dirty talk?”

he’s still buried deep into you from the hilt and you bite on your arm before replying. “heh, no it’s just .. nevermind,” and you have a soft smile, still not facing him. “but we gotta work on your dirty talk, baby. no one really says vagina or sticky cum.”

“…oh,” he says with his brows curling into a furrow. so cute, yet after a while, he finishes anyway.

his orgasm hits him like a truck — it’s so good that he whimpers, rocking his hips against you before feeling the drenched sloshes of oozing cum pouring into you. it’s thick, ropes and ropes of his velvety seed trickles into your sopping folds. he came a lot too, despite it being a bit early. whines welt from his mouth before he pulls out slowly, staring in revere at the way your pussy’s plugged all in. momentarily, his cum starts to dribble out and he runs a thumb down it to touch it. it’s warmth, he shudders before averting his attention back towards you, towering over you. he pants, “s-sorry, you didn’t get to finish.”

“we’re not done, silly,” you kiss the bridge of his nose where his scar lays. “and don’t be sorry. you did amazing with doggy, you’re a natural.”

choso pouts, yet grows flustered once your lips hit against the bump of his nose. “eh. but i could do better. i wanna learn how to talk dirty for you.”

“we have all the time to practice, baby,” you softly whisper, pulling him into a hug—wrapping your shaky legs around his slim waist. choso inhales, staring at you with rough pants leaving his lips every millisecond. “we’ll get better.”

he lets off a relieved sigh at how understanding you were, he lays his head against your chest, bristle hairs of his ponytails tickle against your skin before he speaks in a shy tone. “o-okay, okay but um .. can we maybe try another position i saw?”

“what is it baby?” you hum, stroking the edge of his temple in such a hypnotic way—the benign rhythm of your fingers was so soothing he found himself almost drifting off to sleep.

he had a cute smug grin. “f-full nelson.”

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Sensitivity✨

I am an absolute SLUT for Luci’s wings so I wanted to write something with them :), huge thank you to @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis for the help 💖

Also I’m legit on a cruise ship rn, but @amberlouise473 knows I gotta feed y’all like I’m tossing corn to my chickens 🤣

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: You’re super curious about Lucifer’s wings, but neither of you knew how sensitive they were. You didn’t know how sensitive you could be either…

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, ruined clothes, pet names, oral (f receiving), face riding, over stimulation, multiple orgasms

It was time for bed and Lucifer was still working. You knew he worked late sometimes but this seemed a little later than usual. You decided to take a look to see if he was still in his office. Sure enough, you saw him sitting down at his desk when you entered the room. But when you looked closer, you saw that he’d fallen asleep at his desk, his head resting in his arms. He looked so peaceful lying there, you almost didn’t want to disturb him. But you knew he’d feel a lot better if he actually slept in your bed instead of hunched over his desk. Quietly, you walked towards him trying not to make any loud noises that might startle him. You placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking it lightly.

“Luci?,” you whispered, “Luci, it’s time for bed, wake up sleepy head.” He moaned quietly, but your shaking didn’t seem to have done the trick. You shook his shoulder a little hard. “Luci, c’mon hon.” Nothing. You took your other hand and placed it on his other shoulder, shaking him even more. “Lucifer!,” you nearly screamed!

With that, Lucifer’s eyes shot open, pushing himself off the desk. “AAHHH!!! WHAT?!?! What’s going on?!,” he yelled. You never saw him so frazzled before, it was kind of cute. But what you really didn’t expect was to see Lucifer’s wings spring out from his back. It must have been an involuntary reaction from the shock of being woken up so suddenly. His eyes found yours and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, it’s you, darling,” he breathed. “You really scared me there! I guess I must have fallen asleep, forgive me.” You were only half listening to him at this moment, your gaze was still fixed on his angelic wings. You’d only seen them once or twice before, but never for long. It was then that Lucifer turned his head and noticed what had caught your attention. “Oh! Sorry about that, it’s a defense mechanism, as silly as that sounds. I’ll put them away-”

“No, wait!”, you shouted louder than you meant to. Lucifer cocked an eyebrow at you, not understanding why you had stopped him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just…I never get to see your wings. They’re really beautiful.”

A light blush dashed across his face, he gave you a shy smile. “O-oh, thank you! I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“That’s a shame,” you pouted, “I think they’re incredible.” You walked closer to him to get a better look at them. Their white and red coloring were breathtaking. Their length took up almost the entirety of the room you were in, and his office was not small in the least. A tiny part of you wondered if he always had red feathers, or if they had changed after he…

Perhaps that was a question for another time.

“Are they heavy?,” you inquired.

“Oh! Umm, I don’t think so,” Lucifer pondered. “I don’t really notice if they are. I might have gotten used to them over the last 10,000 or so years.”

“Can I…touch them?,” you asked shyly, averting Lucifer’s gaze.

He smiled. “Of course, love. Let’s go back to our room, shall we?”

Lucifer’s wings disappeared for now as he gently grabbed your hand and led you out of his office. Once you reached your bedroom, he unfastened his shirt and threw it off to the side. It made you blush, even though his bare chest was not a new sight to you. Lucifer noticed your reddened face and smirked.

“It’s a little easier this way, don’t you think?,” he chuckled. He walked over to the bed and sat down, crossing his legs in the process. He tapped his thigh, offering you a seat in his lap. You smiled and wrapped your legs around his torso, straddling him. “You ready?,” he asked with a little smile. You nodded your head eagerly. In an instant, his three sets wings appeared again. You noticed something was a little different though.

“I could have sworn they were bigger,” you puzzled.

“No, you’re right, they were,” Lucifer laughed. “I can control how large or small they need to be. They might have broken something in here if they were any bigger!”

You chuckled lightly. They were even more breathtaking up close, his scarlet feathers glistened even in the dim lighting of the room. You stuck out your hands and touched the top of his first set of wings. Unexpectedly, Lucifer inhaled sharply from your touch, screwing his eyes shut. You pulled away instantly.

“Oh no!,” you gasped. “Did I hurt you? I swear I barely touched them! I’m sorry!”

Lucifer exhaled slowly and opened his eyes again. “No, no, it’s alright, love,” he cooed, “it wasn’t painful. I just didn’t expect the sensation. Let’s just say they’re…more sensitive than I originally thought.” It was only then you felt a bump forming between your legs.

Oh…OH!

You quickly caught on to what he was referring to. And having you straddle his lap probably wasn’t helping. A small smirk crept across your face. You couldn’t resist the urge to make him squirm from your touch; the thought excited you.

“Well, in that case…” you smiled slyly, reaching out for his wings once more. This time, you gave them a slightly firmer grip than before. Lucifer nearly yelped from your touch and buried his face into the crook of your neck. You ran your hands up and down the tops of his wings, almost massaging them in a way. Lucifer was unable to hold back his moans.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he panted.

You loved the sight of him bending so easily to your simple touches. You wondered if you could break him. You began to shift your hips in his lap, grinding on the now very apparent bulge in his pants. Lucifer nearly sobbed as you ground your hips against him. You moved your hands down to his second set of wings to give them some attention. You could tell he was unraveling quickly.

“D-Dear,” he choked out, “i-if you don’t stop, I’m g-gonna…f-fuck…”

His plea only made you grind against him at a faster pace while continuing to stroke his sensitive wings. At this point he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, only broken moans and gutural sounds left his lips. You moved your hands down to his smallest set of his wings, pinching them between your fingers.

“FuckfuckfuckFUCK,” Lucifer cried out as your movements finally pushed him over the edge. He bit down on your shoulder as he came, completely ruining in pants. Once he came down from his high, he looked into your eyes, almost distraught.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “I-I didn’t think that…I didn’t mean to…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. His wings disappeared from sight as he buried his head into you chest

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” you told him as you lifted his head up to plant a tender kiss to his lips. The small tears that had formed in his eyes fell down the side of his face, but you wiped them away with your thumbs. “Luci, please don’t apologize,” you soothed. “You never have to feel sorry for that! Did you feel good?”

Lucifer steadied his breathing, trying his best to calm down. “Yes, love, it was amazing. You’re amazing.” He lifted you off his lap and placed you on the mattress while he stood up, discarding the rest of his now filthy clothes. “But I absolutely refuse to be the only one being pleasured tonight.”

Without warning, Lucifer leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, filing your mouth with his tongue. You moaned against his lips, feeling as though you might be devoured by him. Lucifer tugged at the hem of your pajama pants, asking permission to remove them. “Mhmm,” was all you could mumble. In one swift motion, your pants had vanished and all you felt was the cool air on your legs. Lucifer brought down his fingers to your folds, loving the feeling of how wet you were for him. He captured your moan on his lips, but suddenly pulled his fingers away, leaving you to whine in protest.

Lucifer broke your kiss and brought his soaked finger to his lips, tasting your sweet nectar. “Mmm, you always taste so delectable, darling,” he marveled. You couldn’t help but blush at his words, he knew just what buttons to press when it came to you. He crawled back up on the bed and laid flat on his back, his head propped up by the pillows. “Come have a seat, sweetheart,” he teased as he pointed to his coy smiling face.

Your face became extreme hot as you crawled towards the demon king. You made your way on top of him and came to a halt when your dripping cunt hovered right above Lucifer’s eager smile.

“A meal fit for a king, truly,” he laughed as he dug his face into your aching pussy. You nearly screamed as his forked tongue worked his magic along your slit. He devoured you, making sure every inch of you was consumed. His lips found your clit and started to kiss and suck at it. He’d only just started and you were ready to snap.

“O-Oh my God, Lucifer, shhhiiittt, I’m so close…s-s-so close…,” you whined.

“God can’t hear you down here, angel,” he teased you before continuing to lap at your folds. He made quick work of you, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“Fuuuuccckkkk, imcummingIMCUMMIMG,” you screamed as you finally felt your walls clench and spasm around nothing. Lucifer happily swallowed your juices as your orgasm started to recede. You tried to lift yourself up off Lucifer’s face, but he kept a firm grip on your legs.

“I’m not done with you, love,” he chuckled. With a snap of his fingers, golden shackles formed around your ankles, the chain hooked underneath Lucifer’s back. A twisted look of fear and passion flashed across your face. You were trapped.

“L-Luci…what are you-” you tried to asked but were cut off by another long lick up your sensitive cunt. A gutural moan escaped your mouth, you still hadn’t fully recovered from your orgasm.

“I thought it would only be fair to ruin you, since you ruined my clothes,” he chastised playfully. “But if at any time it becomes too much for you, tell me and I’ll let you go immediately, okay?”

“Al-Alright,” you stuttered, trembling from the anticipation.

Lucifer hummed against your lower lips. “I’ll make this a little easier for you, sweetheart.” You saw Lucifer’s form start to change beneath you. His horns had erupted from his head while his eyes shifted to a deep red and gold color with onyx irises. “Something for you to hold onto,” he murmured sensually.

Tentatively, you took hold of his horns and braced yourself for his next move. You didn’t have to wait long before you felt his tongue attacking your cunt once more. The grip you had on his horns could have torn your skin clean off with how tight you were holding them while he nipped and sucked your overstimulated clit. Before you knew it, your second orgasm hit you even harder than the first. Then your third, your fourth, your cunt was getting absolutely abused by Lucifer who hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down since he started. After your fifth orgasm washed over you, your legs had given out from under you, completely collapsing on top of Lucifer.

“No more…,” you begged. “No more, please…”

Lucifer snapped his fingers and the shackles around your ankles disappeared in an instant. You conjured up the remainder of your strength to push yourself off him and roll over onto your side, an absolutely breathless mess. You could hardly keep your eyes open. You could feel yourself losing consciousness until Lucifer pulled you flush to his chest.

“You did so well, my dear,” he murmured against your ear. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“Sleep…” was all you could muster. Lucifer chuckled lightly, kissing your cheek ever so softly.

“Goodnight, love,” you heard him whisper as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. It was the best sleep you ever had.

~~~~

“I just think they’re neat!” - Me w/ Lucifer’s wings also Lucifer inventend pussy eating, this is fact, ALSO also something something handlebar horns

[dark-fics-4-you]

Lie There and Look Pretty

Dark!Rafe Cameron x stepsis!Reader

Warnings: noncon, somnophilia, incest relationship (step siblings), loss of virginity

A/N: this is a drabble separate from my Number One Fan series, which will have more chapters eventually

The only light in the room was the thin slits peeking between the blinds covering Rafe’s window.

He pressed closer to your sleeping figure, slowly rocking his hard on against your ass. Fingers danced across your hips before digging into your soft flesh and pulling you closer to him.

His hand left your waist, snaking between your legs and lightly brushing over the soft fabric of your panties. You let out a soft whimper in your sleep, hips starting to slowly rock with his touch.

You were so cute and sweet, all curled up in your older stepbrother’s bed, peacefully dozing without a care in the world. Rafe could feel himself getting harder just looking at you. He needed to get closer though, needed to feel you wrapped around him, gazing up at him with those dazed, sleepy doe eyes as he pushed himself inside of you, claiming you as his own in a way no other man could.

After all, wasn’t it his job to take care of you? To protect you? To make sure his little sister wasn’t hurt by a world full of cruel men? They all wanted to hurt you, but not him. Rafe would make sure you were always safe, always taken care of. You deserved someone who cared about you, who knew you better than anyone else in the world.

Carefully, he sat up, climbing over you and shifting you onto your back, before he parted your legs. His eyes were fixed on your now slightly damp panties, and he pulled them out of the way to get a glimpse at your perfect pussy. You were already so wet, and he had barely even touched you.

Surely you had to know what was happening, right? There must have been some part of you that could feel what he was doing to you, even in your sleeping state?

Rafe sucked in a breath when he slowly tried to push a finger inside of you, surprised by the resistance he felt, you were squeezing around his digit so tight, and so deliciously wet.

When he curled his finger inside, you let out another whine, face scrunching up in your sleep at the feeling. With his free hand, Rafe pulled his cock out of his boxers, stroking himself at the sight of you laid out in front of him. You looked so vulnerable, completely unaware of your older bother, whose dick was now throbbing in his hands as he leered above your unconscious body.

Before he could think twice, Rafe lined his cock up to your slit, gently rubbing the tip against your slick folds. You felt so good and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

He slowly tilted his hips forward, allowing just the tip to slide in. His breath caught in his throat at the feel, and he knew that it was too late to back out now. He wouldn’t be able to live after just a small taste, not allowing himself to have all of you would drive him crazy.

Gently, Rafe began moving back and forth, never going deeper than the tip, but enough to generate a friction that had him biting back curses. Rafe didn’t want to wake you up, but at the same time he desperately wanted you to be awake, reacting to his every touch and looking into his eyes as he took what was rightfully his.

He must have gotten caught up in his thoughts because when he looked down at where his cock was disappearing inside you, he realized he had been pushing in deeper than he thought, now half of his length was filling you up, and he could feel you squeezing down on every inch. Rafe’s eyes flitted back up to yours and he was shocked to see they were opening.

You felt confused, head swimming in a state between asleep and awake. There was a huge pressure between your legs, but also a twinge of pleasure, each rock of the bed brought you closer to being pulled from sleep, and when you opened your eyes you were surprised that blue eyes were staring back into your own.

You tensed up immediately and Rafe groaned at the feeling, his hand wrapping around your throat before you could react, stealing your breath away from you. His face came to your neck, hot breath fanning over your tender skin as he grunted softly.

“You gotta be quiet Y/N, mm k?” Rafe’s voice was barely a whisper, the only sounds in the room were your bed shifting as he fucked you and the lewd sounds of his cock plunging into your wet cunt. “Don’t wanna wake up mom and dad, yeah? Just lie there and look pretty, ‘m gonna make you feel good.”

You were in shock, unable to fully grasp the situation you had just woken up to. The feeling of him sliding against your snug walls was both heavenly and so so sinful. The conflicting feelings inside you stirred a horrible mix of desire and disgust, but you were mostly just caught between disbelief and horror.

Rafe was fucking you deeper, burying his cock into you a little faster and harder with every thrust. When you reached your hands up to try to push him off of you, he easily overpowered you, one hand tightly gripping your wrists and pinning you to the bed so hard you knew they would be bruised in the morning.

His hips were snapping against yours frantically now, bare chest pressing to yours as he caged you in between his arms. The blond’s lips covered your own, smothering you with unwanted kisses, before he pulled away to bite and nip at your neck.

“Relax,” he growled through gritted teeth. “And let your big brother take care of you, princess.”