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communistkenobi · 1 year

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I’ve been thinking a lot about fandom recently, both as someone who has engaged with it regularly for over a decade on various platforms and also as someone who has increasingly become disenchanted with those spaces. Not only because of pervasive issues of (especially anti-Black) racism, misogyny, transphobia/homophobia, and the like, but the particular way those things take shape within fandom.

At the most basic level I think fandom has a fundamental methodological problem with the way it approaches texts, be they shows, books, movies, etc. What I mean is that people almost invariably approach fandom at the level of character, often at the level of ship - your primary way of viewing a text is filtered through favourite characters and favourite relationships, as opposed to, say, favourite scenes, favourite themes, favourite conflicts.

This is reinforced through the architecture of dominant platforms that host fan content, particularly AO3 - there are separate categories for fandom, character and ship, and everything else is lumped together in “Additional Tags.” You cannot, for example, filter for fics on AO3 by the category of “critical perspective” or “thematic exploration”. There is no dedicated space for fan authors to declare their analytical perspective on the text they are writing about. If an author declares these things, they do so individually, they must go out of their way to do so, because there are no dedicated or universally agreed-upon tags to indicate those things, and if your fanfiction has a lot of tags, that announcement of criticality gets mushed together in a sea of other tags, sharing the same space with tags like “fluff and angst” or “porn without plot.” Perhaps one of the few tags closest to approaching this is the tag “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,” which doesn’t indicate perspective or theme but rather that there is, broadly, some kind of “problematic content” contained therein - often of a sexual nature, frequently as a warning about “bad” ships.

Now this is not an inherent problem, as in, it is not inherently incorrect to approach a text and primarily derive pleasure from it by focusing on a given character or relationship. And I think a lot of mainstream media encourages (even requires) audiences to engage with their stories at these character- and ship-levels. The political economy of the production of art (one which is capitalistic, one that seeks to generate comfort, titillation, controversy, nostalgia, or shock for the purposes of drawing in viewership, one that increasingly pursues social media metrics of “engagement” and “impressions”, one that allows for the Netflix model of making two-season shows before cancelling them, as well as a whole host of other things) enforces a particular narrative orthodoxy, one that heavily focuses on the individual interiority of specific characters, one that is deeply concerned with the maintenance of white bourgeois middle class values of property ownership, the nuclear family, normative heterosexual sexuality and gender, settler-colonial ideas about community and environment, etc. If you do not care about the familial drama surrounding Shauna cheating on her husband in Yellowjackets, for example, because you think the institution of monogamous marriage and the nuclear family is stupid and violent and heternormative, then you will have a difficult time engaging with the show in general. We exist within a deeply normative (and frequently reactionary) media environment that encourages us to approach art in a particular way, one that privileges the individual over other narrative components (settings, themes, conflicts, ideas, political and moral perspectives, structure, tone, etc).

All of which culminates in priming fans to engage with art at these levels and these levels alone, even when that scope is deeply inappropriate. A standout example I recently encountered was browsing the fandom tags on tumblr for the movie Prey - a movie that recontextualises the original Predator film by setting it in colonial America to make the argument that the horrific violence of white colonists and imperial soldiers is identical to the violence we see the Predator do to human beings. It is a movie that makes the argument that, despite this alien monster running around killing people, the villains of the franchise are these occupying soldiers and settlers, an alien force who themselves have just as little regard for (indigenous) human life.

And when browsing the tags on tumblr, what I found was dozens upon dozens of horny posts about how hot the predator monster was. Certainly there were discussion of the film’s narrative, and these posts got a good amount of notes, but the tags were heavily dominated with a focus on the Predator itself. People were engaging with this film not as a solid action movie with interesting and compelling anti-colonial themes, but as a way to be horny about a creature that is, ironically, a stand-in for white settler indifference to (and perpetuation of) indigenous suffering. And if this is your takeaway from an extremely straightforward film with a very clear message, this is not merely a failure to comprehend the content of a text, this is something beyond it - a problem that I think is due in part to the methodological problem of approaching all texts as vessels for bourgeois interiority, individual but ultimately interchangeable expressions of sexuality, perhaps best-expressed by the term “roving slash fandom,” a phenomenon wherein fans will move from one fandom to the next in search of two (usually white, usually skinny) guys to draw and write porn of, uncaring of any of the surrounding context of the stories they are embedded in, and consequently dominating a large sector of fandom discussion.

This even gets expressed in the primary ideological battleground of fandom itself, the ridiculous partitioning of all fan conflict into “pro-“ and “anti-“ shipping compartments. Your stance on engagement with fandom itself historically was (and still is) always first filtered through one of these two labels, describing your fundamental perspective on all texts you engage with. And both of these two labels are only concerned with shipping, as if all disagreements about art can only be interpreted through the lens of what characters you think are acceptable to draw or write having sex. Nowhere in this binary is space to describe any other perspective you might take, what approaches you think are valuable when interacting with art, what themes or stories you think are worth exploring. It’s not just that the pro/anti divide is juvenile and overly-simplistic, it is a declaration that all fan conflict must be read through the lens of shipping and shipping only - the implication being that any objections raised, and criticisms offered, is ultimately just bitching about ships you don’t like.

Which, again, I think is a fundamental error of methodology. It leaves no space for people to discuss the political and moral content of a work, the themes of a piece of art, the thorny issues of representation not just as expressed through individual characters but entire worlds, narratives, settings, and themes. You are always hopelessly stuck in the quagmire of “shipping discourse,” and even rejecting that framework will inevitably get you labelled as either pro- or anti-ship anyway - and you will almost invariably be labelled an “anti” if you express any kind of distaste for the bigoted behaviour of fans or the content of the text itself, again reinforcing the idea that this is all just pointless whining online about icky ships you personally hate.

And this issue is best perhaps epitomised by reader insert fanfiction, circumventing any need for you to project onto a character by literally inserting yourself into fiction, primarily in order to write/read about a character you want to fuck. This then intersects in particularly disgusting ways with real world politics, such as reader insert fics about Pedro Pascal going with you to BLM protests. Even if this is (incredibly over-generously) interpreted as a very poor attempt at being “progressive,” it still demonstrates that many (white) fans are often incapable of thinking about anything outside of a character-centric perspective, quite literally centring themselves in the process, and consequently they think it’s totally appropriate to do things like that. The fact that this is also frequently a racist lens is not coincidental, because again, a chronic focus on (fictional) individuality prohibits any structural perspective from entering the discussion, which necessarily excludes a coherent or useful perspective on systemic issues, where people come to the conclusion that the topic of police brutality is little more than a fun stage to enact whatever romantic shenanigans you want to get up to with a hot guy.

I will stress, again, that it is not a moral sin to have a favourite character, nor is it bad to enjoy reading about two guys having sex in fanfiction. I enjoy and do those things, I engage with fandom often through a character-centric lens (see my url) - because it’s fun! But I think that this being the dominant mode of engagement inherently excludes and marginalises all other approaches, and creates a fandom space where the most valuable way to talk about media is to discuss which two characters you most enjoy imagining fucking each other

#media #effortpost #fandom discussion

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writingwithcolor · 5 months

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How can non-Jewish writers include Jewish characters in supernatural stories without erasing their religion in the process?

Anonymous asked:

I have a short story planned revolving around the supernatural with a Jewish character named Danielle (who uses they/them pronouns). Danielle will be one of a trio who will be solving the mystery of two brides' deaths on the day of their wedding. My concern with this is the possibility of accidentally invalidating Danielle's religion by focusing on a secular view of the afterlife. At the same time, I don't want to assume that Jewish people can't exist in paranormal stories, nor do I want to use cultural elements that don't belong to me. So, how do I make sure that Danielle is included in the plot without erasing their Jewishness?

Okay so to start with I think we need to ask a question about the premise: what is a secular afterlife? I’m not asking this to nitpick or be petty, but to offer you expanded ways of thinking through this issue and maybe others as well.

A Secular Afterlife

What is a secular afterlife? To begin with, I get what you mean. The idea of an afterlife we see in pop culture entities like ghost media owes more to a mixture of 19th-century spiritualist tropes drawn from titillating gothic novels than to anything preached from the pulpit of an organized house of worship. Yet those tropes--the ominous knocking noises from beyond, the spectral presences on daguerrotype prints, the sudden chill and the eerie glow, all of those rely on the idea of there being something beyond this life, some continuation of the spirit when the body has ceased to breathe. For that, you need to discount the ideas that the consciousness has moved on to another physical body and is currently living elsewhere, and that it was never separate from the body and has now ceased to exist. Can we say that this is secular?

More so: Gothic literature, as the name suggests, draws heavily on Catholic imagery, even when it avoids explicit references to Catholicism. Aside from the architectural imagery, Catholic religious symbols permeate the genre, as well as the larger horror and supernatural media genres that grew from it: Dracula flinches from a crucifix, priests expel demons from human bodies, Marley’s Ghost haunts Ebenezer Scrooge in chains. The concepts of heaven and hell, and nonhuman beings who dwell in those places, are critical to making the narratives work.

The basis also draws from a biblical story, that of the Witch of Endor. The main tropes of Victorian spiritualism are present: Saul never sees the ghost of Samuel, only the Witch of Endor is able to see “A divine being rising” from wherever he rises from, and her vague description, “I see an old man rising, wearing a robe,” evokes the cold readings of charlatan mediums into the present (Indeed, some rabbinic sources commenting on this assert that this is exactly what was going on).

While neither of these views of its origin define the genre as the sole property of Catholicism--or of Judaism for that matter--it would be hard exactly to categorize them as secular.

A Jewish Perspective on ghosts

However, it’s not the case that ghost media is incompatible with Jewishness, assuming that it doesn’t commit to a view of heaven and hell duality that specifically embraces a Christian spiritual framework.

Jewish theology is noncommittal on the subject of the afterlife. The idea of a division between body and soul in the first place is found in ancient Egypt, for instance, earlier than the earliest Jewish texts. In Jewish text it’s present in narratives like the creation story, in which God crafts a human body out of earth and then breathes life into it once it’s complete. It also appears in our liturgy: the blessings prescribed to be recited at the beginning of the day juxtapose Elohai Neshama, a blessing for the soul, with Asher Yatzar, expressing gratitude for the body, recited by many after successfully using the bathroom.

Yet it’s not clear that this life-force is something separate than the body that lives beyond it, until the apparition of the Witch of Endor. The words we use to describe it, whatever it is, evoke the process of breathing rather than that of eternal life: either ruach (spirit, or wind) or neshama (soul, or breath): neither is a commitment to the idea that it does--or that it doesn’t--go somewhere else when the body returns to the earth.

Jewish folklore, however, leans into the idea of ghosts and other spiritual beings inhabiting the earthly plane (and others). Perhaps most famous is the 1937 movie The Dybbuk, in which a young scholar engaging in kabbalistic practices calls upon dark forces to unite him and his fated love, only to find himself possessing her body as a dybbuk. It appears that he is about to be successfully exorcized, but ultimately when his soul leaves her body, hers does as well.

More relevantly to your story, a Jewish folktale inspired the movie The Corpse Bride. In the folktale version, a newly-engaged man jokingly recites the legal formula he will soon recite at his wedding, and places his ring on the finger of a nearby corpse--a reference to a time when antisemitic violence is said to have gotten worse not only at Jewish and Christian holidays as it does still to this day, but around Jewish weddings as well. The murdered bride stands up, a corpse reanimated complete with consciousness, and demands that the bridegroom honor his legal obligation.

In the movie, the bride gives up her demand willingly: her claim on him is emotional rather than legal, and she finally accepts that he has an emotional connection with another person, that he doesn’t love her. In the folk tale, the dead woman takes him to court to decide whether their marriage is legal, since he spoke the legal words to her in front of witnesses as is required, and the court rules that the dead do not have the right to make legal demands on the living. In this version, the moral of the story is that a legal formula is an obligation; that when he jokingly bound himself to the corpse, he not only disrespected the dead but also the legal framework that structures society, and by so doing risked being obligated to keep his side of a contract he never intended to enact.

This speaks to the ways that a Jewish outlook can differ from a Christian-influenced “secular” one. Christian-influenced cultural ideas can often focus around feeling the right thing, while Jewish stories will often center on doing the right thing. Does the Corpse Bride leave because she realizes she is not the one he loves? Because she--or he--learned a valuable lesson? Or because she loses her court case? It’s not that the boy’s emotions are irrelevant to the story--the tension, the suspense, the horror of the story takes place primarily within the boy’s emotional landscape--but emotions on their own are not a solution. The question “should he marry her” can be answered emotionally, but “has he married her” can only be answered by a legal expert, and once it has been the deceased bride may not have changed her emotional attachment to him, but she no longer has legal standing to pursue her claim.

Centering legal rectitude over emotional catharsis isn’t a requirement for having Jewish characters in your story, but it’s worth thinking about what is and isn’t universal, what is and isn’t actually all that secular.

Meanwhile, back at the topic:

Where does any of this place Danielle?

Well, unless you’re positing a universe in which Christian or other deities or cosmologies are confirmed to exist (See Jewish characters in a universe with author-created fictional pantheons for more on that topic), there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be perfectly fine interacting with whatever the setting you’re building throws at them.

My wishlist for this character and setting runs more to the general things to consider when writing fantasy settings with Jewish characters:

Don’t confirm or imply that Jesus is a divine being. That means no supernatural items like splinters of the cross, grails, nails, veils, etc. There’s nothing particularly powerful or empowering about this one guy who lived and died like so many others.

Don’t show God’s body and especially not God’s face, or confirm that any other gods or deities exist, whether that’s Jesus, Aphrodite, or Anubis, or someone you made up for the context.

Don’t put Danielle in a position where they’re going to play into an antisemitic trope like child murder, blood drinking, world domination, or financial greed. If you have to, name it and let Danielle express discomfort with or distaste for those actions both because Jewish values explicitly oppose all of those things but also because Danielle as a Jewish character would be painfully aware of these stereotypes as present and historical excuses for antisemitic violence.

Do consider what Danielle’s personal practice might look like. What does Danielle do on Shabbat? What do they eat or refrain from eating? What are their memories of Jewish holidays and how is their current holiday observance different than their childhood? I know I say “Jewishness is diverse” on every ask, but it is, and these questions--which also underscore how very much Judaism is rooted in one’s actions during this life--will help you develop how Judaism actually functions to inform Danielle’s character, even if you don’t spell out the answers to each of these questions in text.

Do let Danielle find joy, comfort, and identity in their Jewishness not just in contrast with Christianity but simply because it’s part of the wholeness of their character. I know the primary representation of Jewishness is a snappy one-liner in a Christmas episode followed by the Jewish character joining in the Christmas spirit, blue edition, but make room for Jewishness to inform how Danielle approaches the events of your story, or why they decide to get or stay involved.

-Meir

Hi it’s Shira with some Jewish ghost story recs written from inside–

When The Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb (deliriously good queer YA Jewish paranormal, mainstream enough that it’s got a good chance of being at your local library and won all kinds of awards)

The Dyke and the Dybbuk by Ellen Galford (sorry for the slur, warning for a paragraph of biphobia in the book but it’s an older book. I read this right before my divorce so my memories are super fuzzy but it’s about this modern day lesbian who gets possessed by the ghost of a different lesbian from hundreds of years earlier in Jewish history.) Nine of Swords Reversed by Xan West z’L of blessed memory - another queer Jewish paranormal.

The general plot is that two partners are struggling with how to be honest with each other about the effect disability is having on them. It’s got a very warm and fuzzy cozy vibe but kink culture is central to the worldbuilding so if that isn’t your vibe I didn’t want you to go in unaware.

The Dybbuk in Love by Sonya Taaffe. I don’t remember the details but I remember loving it, it’s m/f and romance between possessor and possessed.

I wrote a really short one called A Man of Taste where a gentile vampire woman and a Jewish ghost/dybbuk get together.

#Jewish #Judaism #supernatural #supernatural beings #settings #fantasy #ghosts #asks

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grimeclown · 2 months

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My hot take is that I think it's doing a disservice to the story to reimagine chilchuck (as he is in the story) as having body hair and chin stubble so you can feel better about being horny about him. It feels like a refusal to engage with the themes. He doesn't look like that just for comic relief or to titilate for fanservice he looks like that because him being infantilized by the people around him is a major aspect of the racialized prejudice he faces on a daily basis and the source material BEGS you to consider what that feels like. To look like a child to most of the people you meet, even with as much life experience as you've had, even as a parent yourself. To have that experience disregarded because someone else arbitrarily decided you weren't really an adult until you hit a specific benchmark that they would finally respect you at. I think that if you look at chilchuck and want to be horny about him but are uncomfortable about it by default that is. A valuable thing to think about before just deciding he really does look like a supet short but fully grown human man if you look really close

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gacha-incels · 4 months

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“Arknights/Limbus Company/etc is obviously very political, why are these incels playing it?” Here’s a longer answer if you’re interested.

If you haven’t been watching gacha communities for the past decade this might be confusing to you, but these guys see the games as just apolitical stories with a majority or all-female cast being there to titillate the male viewer. They are for his consumption. It’s why in both eastern and western “gacha game” communities you can see them talking about how these games are better for having “beautiful” anime women versus the hideous hags of western media. I’ve seen so many people asking “how are incels playing a game with so many strong female characters?” They see them not as “strong female” characters but rather “eyecandy made for me”. tbh when it comes down to it I wouldn’t call any of the designs in these games absolutely groundbreaking for the anime genre they’re aiming for. Arknights even follows the standard “fully animal faced-guy” and the female equivalent “small featured anime animal girl with some fur”. This doesn’t mean the designs are bad or you’re foolish for enjoying them of course, there are a lot of fun ones. Anyway, you can see the same sentiment in the majority of anime communities as well. Like do you think that stereotype of an anime nerd who “loves 2D women but hates 3D women” means he’s a feminist because the 2D girl is still female?

To be frank, after some of the actions taken by these companies (ex. the firing of women for posting anything vaguely feminist) can you honestly say an “apolitical game with anime babes” is not the way the games are often enjoyed? The company Yostar who publishes Arknights in Korea literally wrote a statement saying the game is apolitical and calling feminism a dividing force. If the publisher can say something so flippantly like this just to appease their incel fanbase, how can the game be making any meaningful, hardline progressive political statements? I am of course not saying this renders any positive message you get from these games moot nor am I saying it’s impossible for the writers to be passionate about their work, I’m just relaying the thoughts of the incels/“gacha gamers” playing them because there seems to be confusion. What I’m writing here doesn’t mean the worst interpretation of these games are their defining interpretations. I’m trying to explain how the games that many people see as being antithetical to incel beliefs can have these same men as high-spending fans.

Gacha games are unique in the world of consumer media in their extremely close and constant relationship with the consumer. You have to not only love each character’s design (and sometimes story) but also be willing to drop serious gambling money to “buy” them every single month. It’s like merchandizing on steroids. I think the term “whale” has been watered down since younger kids have started playing, but these people spend thousands per patch. Over the years I’ve heard about multiple games like this being sustained by just a couple of high spenders. In 2018 there was even a western news article about a man who had spent $70k+ on FGO. The publisher can’t rock the boat too much to displease the consumer too many times without risking EoS. Every character design and story of a gacha game is affected by this FIRST while any artistic intent comes second.

A Korean woman who had lost her job due to similar “feminist hunting” tactics wrote an article describing the way these incel men think. I posted it here and part of it summarized: the men that play these games see themselves as buying and “owning” the female characters in gacha games, who are often dressed and presented to them in a highly sexualized manner and will obey their commands. In the same way they “own” these 2D women, they also want to own the thoughts of the real live female illustrators who work on the games. Therefore, if these women have expressed ideas that the male gamers find upsetting, they will be angry she doesn’t conform to what they want like the servile 2D girl and do everything to get her fired (this is where she mentions Limbus Company as the most recent example of this happening).

You can argue for some of these games, maybe the girls aren’t dressed super provocatively and give (you) shit instead of being a simpering doll, but in the end it’s not like they can physically walk away or stop speaking to you. For the “waifu” hunter guy it’s just a different type of anime girl to collect.

The stories in these games are generally not what gets targeted as much by incels. In gacha “gamer” communities, especially the Korean incel ones, their main concerns are: how revealing are the summer swimsuits? How many women work for the company designing characters? and related, Are the male characters designed for women or for men and do they “look gay”? If you search through this blog, you can see them directly speaking about these things in regards to their hatred of Genshin Impact and Star Rail. All of these have also been encapsulated in the original Limbus Company incel attack: they hated that the summer female character looked more “clothed” (wearing a skintight suit instead of a bikini) than the male summer character. They thought the collar necklace and open shirt on the male summer character meant he was “a slave” for the female viewers, so obviously it was designed by a woman. When they learned a man designed and illustrated those characters, they searched to find a female illustrator who worked in the game and went after her instead. These guys WERE FANS that played the game beforehand and didn’t think anything in the story was upsetting enough to attack the company about. They were familiar enough with the works of Project Moon to name their little group after an antagonizing force in one of PM’s previous (non-gacha) videogames. And Project Moon saw them as such a significant part of their gacha fanbase that they wrote an immediate apology and fired the artist. How do these actions in reality inform their fiction and the interpretation of it? Getting this out of the way, they were NOT in any danger, the “fans” were not clamoring to get in their offices or camping outside, they were let in and calmly had a meeting with some employees at the office. You can still find photos of them goofing around, the ridiculous write up they brought with them and a transcript of the conversation. This was not a “guy shows up at Mihoyo’s offices with a knife” situation. In the end it was a financial and moral loss for the studio with many new and longtime fans completely dropping the games and Limbus Company taking one of the biggest financial and D/MAU drops for a gacha I’ve ever seen. You can read more regarding the ramifications of this here, this post is already pretty long for this website anyway.

Again I’m not writing this to shame anyone who plays these games, loves their characters or enjoys their stories. I don’t really care either way, and I obviously find the genre interesting or else I wouldn’t have been monitoring it and the fans for a decade. I just want to shine a light on the thoughts of the more “incel” gamers that play some of these games since I have seen a lot of genuine confusion as to why they would play them. In the future my aim is to write a more in-depth post about these issues, their history and the way antifeminists think.

#Arknights #yostar #hypergryph #project moon #limbus company #Genshin impact #long post #korean incel #incel ideology #gacha #fate grand order #fgo

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rickybaby · 12 days

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We keep talking about media literacy, but it's actually something very difficult to put into practice in this very overcrowded F1 media ecosystem, especially for new fans. I thought it would be a good idea to put together a list of reliable sources to hopefully make this year's silly season easier to navigate.

Publications

Auto Motor und Sport (more commonly known as AMuS) - the German publication is arguably considered as the most reliable source for F1 news. Most other publications will very often quote AMuS as source.

Speedcafe.com - Australia's foremost motorsport website. Mat Coch, their F1 editor, has access to Daniel's management and was one of the first people to seek clarification from Daniel's team when the rumour that he would be replaced by Miami first cropped up.

Other reliable publications: Autosport, Motorsport, PlanetF1 (caution to be advised with PlanetF1 because very often, it just quotes sources like AMuS or tends to have a lot of clickbait articles), BBC F1.

Journalists

Chris Medland - Chris is a freelance journalist with permanent FIA accreditation. He usually writes for RACER.COM. In my opinion, he is the most reliable from the whole cohort of journalists on twitter. He may not always be the one to break a story, but if he tweets out about a rumour or story, this is pretty much confirmation that the rumour or story is true.

Nate Saunders - Nate writes for ESPN F1 and is generally considered to be the Ricciardo camp mouthpiece. However, this does not necessarily mean he is, at all times, privy to insider information from Daniel's camp. Look out for him quoting 'sources close to ...'

Thomas Maher - Thomas writes for PlanetF1 and while PlanetF1 is not the most reliable of publications, I think Thomas is a good source to follow on twitter as he is pretty good at reaching out to his sources in the paddock when it comes to seeking clarification on a rumour.

Erik Van Haren - the Dutch journalist writes for the Telegraaf. He has the reputation of being close to the Max & Jos Verstappen camp and was the first one to break the Christian Horner SH story. Therefore, anything he writes about Max or Red Bull can be more or less be relied upon.

Albert Fabrega - he is a longstanding reporter with great technical expertise and is considered as the go-to source for the Spanish/ Spanish-speaking drivers, especially Alonso. Though, caution to be exercised after the whole 'I cannot believe what I have just been told' thing he pulled last year.

Lawrence Barretto - Lawrence is a presenter for F1. He is one of my favourites in the paddock and from time to time, he will have some insider information when it comes to Daniel. He was the first one to report on Daniel's best lap at the Silverstone being good enough for the front row.

F1 Pundits

There is a whole host of characters who act as commentators or guests across a variety of international broadcasts over a race weekend (or some of them just hang around the paddock). Think Martin Brundle, Crofty, Karun Chandhok, Damon Hill, Jacques Villeneuve, David Coulthard, Eddie Jordan, Ralf Schumacher ...

Their opinions are invariably given a lot of weight by virtue of most of them being former drivers or World Champions, but fact remains that many of them have no insight into what's actually happening within a team. However, that being said, a few of them still have close relationships with some of the teams, for e.g., David Coulthard with Red Bull or Mika Hakkinen with McLaren and whatever they say about these teams could potentially be relied upon.

Caution ⚠️

Joe Saward - Joe is rather notoriously known for his Green Notebook column on his blog. The column is supposedly meant to provide titillating insider information about F1, but it more often ends up being a regurgitation of the rumours that have been floating around that week. He has more misses than hits when it comes to rumours and anything he says needs to be taken with a generous dose of skepticism.

Will Buxton - if you see Will tweet something out, please lock your phone and walk away. This is not to say Will doesn't know what's happening in the sport - after all, he was the first one to give any indication of the Lewis to Ferrari story, but he is too committed to playing the game of shit-stirrer for engagement. The unfortunate thing is, we're all too human and we all invariably for his game and we end up going into a downward spiral of 'what does he mean???' when he tweets something out...

#i should also point out how certain of these so-called commentators are highly biased #re danica and villeneuve #there is also the whole italian media side who usually reports on ferrari related news which im not aware about #please feel free to correct anything in the post or add any other useful information #i'd say happy silly season but ricnation has perpetually been in silly season since 2022 #daniel ricciardo #information

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c0rpseductor · 6 months

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it’s so frustrating like i don’t mind depiction of incest i genuinely think more work out there needs to exist about incest bc it is such a deeply isolating experience and bc so many people feel alone and afraid to speak and cannot imagine having lives going forward and are crushed by all of it. there is so so so so much value in having fictional stories about processing it and real accounts and memoirs and open discussion and all that stuff. it is genuinely beyond important that incestuous abuse no longer be relegated to the darkness of secrecy simply because it makes people uncomfortable bc people living with the hell that is incest trauma deserve better than to be forced into isolation and silence. i will always ALWAYS advocate for these topics being discussed frankly. people go decades thinking it is their fault and that they are alone. it’s horrifying the way people who have lived through this become an afterthought and that needs to end.

so like i said like. it frustrates me, then, that the current discussion (where there is one) feels so weighted toward an exploitative and voyeuristic view and where cultural output about incestuous abuse is often like really offensive and clearly framed as being titillating and/or shock value. people joke freely about it in ways that are incredibly denigrating to survivors, there is still a culture of victim blaming and this idea of mutual deviance or dirtiness that makes it extremely difficult to come forward for fear of being not only blamed but fucking castigated for your own sexual abuse, you risk setting off a nuclear bomb in your already fucked up family, people don’t understand you. all the while there’s this air of fucking flippancy, and if you criticize that you’re a prude or a puritan or whatever the fuck else.

like, i get it. i can’t tell people what to do, what to like, how to process their own trauma. but treating it like a joke is not acceptable under any circumstances and that shit is fucking vile. be fucking respectful, be conscientious, you actually do owe it to the people around you and one day you will undoubtedly face social consequences if you continue to be cruel and thoughtless. it’s not even the writing at this point that makes me angry so much as the culture surrounding it where it’s so deeply fictionalized that incest itself gets turned into some sort of little game for people. i just saw people tagging an excerpt from the incest diary, a real human being’s memoir of abuse, with their ships. frankly if hell is real that’s where that kind of ghoulish behavior ought to send you. it disgusts me that i have to rant and rave and beg on my knees for scraps of human decency for myself and my fellow survivors who cannot or will not open themselves to this kind of Sisyphean debasement.

#and by the way if you do not like that i am angry: fuck you.

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xiaq · 4 months

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Hi, I have a bit of a personal question, so if you don’t want to answer this, I completely understand!! no hard feelings at all! long story short, I’m demisexual, and I just entered my first real relationship. My girlfriend lights me up inside in a way I’ve never experienced before, but being demi I have no sexual or romantic experience and I’m a little stressed about First Times. Do you have any tips on how to relax? Or at least how to be comfortable with that unfamiliar territory? Your little tidbits about your relationship with B really opened my eyes to my own situation, so I thought I’d maybe see if you had any tips for me. Thanks in advance!!

First: Congratulations! That's super exciting!

Second:

Talk 👏 to 👏 her👏 (!!!)

My partner and I talked A LOT before even the slightest hanky-ing of panky-ing occurred. (In fact, our first conversation about it consisted of me telling him I likely would not enjoy sex and wasn't willing to submit myself to things I did not enjoy anymore and him being like, "ok, no sex, then." Which gave me the time and inclination to feel things out further.) So, when I got to a place where I was like, "ok, conceptually, I do actually like the idea of physical intimacy with you, I'm just not sure I'll enjoy it in practice," we kept talking! I told him things I thought he should know about the past experiences I'd had that might color things we did. I told him about how anxious I was because this mattered in a way that was new and scary (because I was in real actual love and, as you might imagine, not handling it well). I let him ask questions and we made a plan to try things slowly in a low-stress, no-expectations kind of way. It was super valuable A. in making me feel like we were approaching an unfamiliar territory together rather than me entering it by myself and B. it apparently eased a lot of my partner's concern that he'd do something to hurt or scare me when he knew what was off-limits, what was ok, and what we'd need to figure out.

I'll be real with you. Our "first time" sucked. I was a nervous wreck. He called things only shortly after they'd started and was like, nope, time to cuddle and watch a movie instead. And the fact that we'd talked about this probably happening, and him confirming the initial promises he'd made that he wouldn't push me, and he wouldn't get mad if nothing sexual actually happened--that made me a lot less nervous during the next attempt. And each time was an improvement until things were, you know, better than I ever could have imagined. Fireworks. Rainbows. The whole 9 yards. It just took a lot of talking to get there.

Also, people seem to think that talking about sex-- test results, dislikes, preferences––is somehow not sexy. But I found it to be the opposite. 1. I love planning things. So knowing what "the plan" is ahead of time is very nice. 2. Talking about an action before trying it out can be... titillating. Let's say.

Anyway. Communicate! If she's as awesome as she sounds, she'll be honored and pleased to tackle the situation with you rather than being a part of the thing that's giving you anxiety.

#answered asks #cw sex #love #demisexual #mylife

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sugar-grigri · 9 months

Text

Crazy theory, but since I don't really read them, I don't know if it's ever been mentioned before.

I've already talked about this urge to discover the demon of death. So much so that fans see them in every new character introduced.

We know that Pochita punctuates both the birth and death of demons with his chainsaws.

I've always been surprised by the way Pochita calmly took hold of Makima, allowing Denji to knowingly save her by recommending that he give her love

Just as I'm surprised by Fami's interest in separating Chainsaw Man just as Yoru is stubbornly intent on revenge

How can these three horsemen of the apocalypse have so much interest and connection with a single demon?

We already know that Fujimoto has opted for the metaphorical, choosing the instrument designed for childbirth: the chainsaw, as the keystone of his story.

Chainsaw Man is intrinsically linked to birth and death

Denji's rebirth alone is linked to death having been cut up as well as Pochita?

Demons are born out of fear of one thing, so I know it might be strange that Pochita, representing chainsaws, represents death and isn't the chainsaw demon.

But two things: firstly, the impostor is actually the real chainsaw demon.

Fujimoto likes to undo our first impressions, so I find it absolutely INCREDIBLE that Denji should be the impostor from the start, the false Chainsaw Man in a part 2 that focuses on identity.

Secondly, how can simple chainsaws have so much power? I mean, sure, they're scary, but how can they have so much power as to be able to wipe out demons? Why should it be the chainsaw demon who's capable of this, and death remains crouched in the shadows?

This would also explain his promiscuity with the other Knights of the Apocalypse.

The demon of control wanted to play with Pochita - death was the only thing she couldn't totally control, the only thing she aspired to be on an equal footing with.

If Pochita understood her so well, it was as the fourth knight of the apocalypse. If Makima considered him her equal, it was because she couldn't control a demon she knew to be of her own rank. The logic follows with Nayuta.

The demon of war doesn't accept death, it accepts to spread it through conflicts and weapons of mass murder, but a general doesn't accept that death can touch him too. To spread death represents victory, to be touched by it a defeat that demands vengeance.

Famine works hand in hand with death, and is feared because suffering and death are the end result of not being able to eat. She's the one with the clearest goal at the moment: to save humanity. She doesn't hesitate to recruit her fellow Apocalypse members, whether it's proposing it to Nayuta, trying to recruit Asa and Yoru, or splitting Chainsaw Man in two to work with the pure state of the death demon.

The public hunters' aim is also to protect mankind from Nostradamus' prophecy, but by paralyzing death's actions as much as possible. They exploit Denji's flaws and desire to be normal to the full, threatening those around him. While the church, represented by Fami, titillates Denji's heroic side, his abnormalities, they want death to act.

It would also explain why everyone close to Denji is disappearing.

All the signs are pointing to Asa's imminent atrocity.

Wouldn't it be incredible to think that it's because death is in Denji's belly ?

Everything would then make sense: it's normal for Denji's development to stagnate, and for him to go through so many existential crises.

He doesn't know his own identity

What's more, it doesn't contradict my most meta theories: Fujimoto places himself in the work through Denji (cf. chapter 133), just as he responds directly to his fans (chapters 136 and 137).

We're all hating him, seeing all our favorite characters meet unfortunate deaths

It would all make sense if the manga we were holding in our hands, "Chainsaw Man", actually referred directly to death right from the start.

It would all make sense if we saw Part 1 as Denji's introduction to the ranks of hunters governed by an early death.

It would make sense for Aki's love for him to be a metaphor for accepting death, in the continuity of mourning.

It would make sense for Power to be reassured by Death when traumatized by the demon of darkness: she died twice for love, and the total disappearance of body and spirit allows us to escape the darkness.

I don't know if this theory holds, but let's agree...

It's poetic

#csm #asa chainsaw man #chainsaw man #csm part 2 #denji #asa #nayuta #fami #makima #yoru #barem #death devil #pochita #theory

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daisynik7 · 6 months

Text

Sweet Like Honey

Chapter 2: After I Love You

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.0k

cw: established relationship, fluff, smut – PIV sex (missionary, cowgirl), nipple play, cunnilingus, fingering, slight bondage, cream pie, sex without a condom, pet names (sweetheart, baby), daddy kink (very brief)

Summary: You and Nanami say I love you for the first time in your childhood bedroom, where you almost get carried away. That night, the two of you continue what you started.

Author’s Notes: Here is the second spicy side story for A Bento for Kento! This is the smutty aftermath of The Apple of His Eye Chapter 1, in case anyone wants to read that first if you haven’t already! Anyways, this is a repost (I originally posted this last year), but it’s been edited and rewritten to match my current style. I hope you enjoy! Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

Previous Chapter | Sweet Like Honey Masterlist | Next Chapter

Kento, I love you.

I really love you, Kento.

Waves of euphoria ripple throughout Nanami when he hears her say it. For a second, he stays still, unable to move. He can only stare at her with wide eyes, speechless. Then, without thinking, he kisses her full on the lips, his composure crumbling from the weight of those words.

She loves him. And he loves her. They love each other.

Before he knows it, he’s on top of her, dress all the way up to her neck, lips wet from kissing, his cheeks hot and tinted pink as he explores her almost bare body. It isn’t until he hears stomping when he realizes he’s about to make love to his girlfriend in her childhood bedroom during a family party. A party where he just met her parents, who are right below them.

They break apart promptly, Ren swinging the door open to invite them to a game of charades. Good, clean, innocent fun. Unlike what they were about to partake in if they weren’t so conveniently interrupted. It’s for the best, Nanami thinks, as he stands with his back towards the door, hiding the growing bulge in his pants from his former student/future brother-in-law. If they continued down that dangerous road, there’s no way they would have kept quiet. Not with the emotions that they have for each other now.

Show me how much you love me. Tonight. Let’s finish what we started.

That’s what she suggests. Nanami doesn’t expect them to actually have sex tonight, since they are riding back to her home with Ren. So, he dismisses it as a naughty comment made in a moment of passion.

They spend a few more hours at the party, playing charades, mingling with her family, and eating more delicious food. He takes every chance he can to touch her, from holding her hand to stroking her back. He doesn’t take his eyes off her. How can he? This sweet angel loves him.

Near the end of the night, Ren informs them that he’ll be staying the weekend with his parents; his sister has the house all to herself. This intrigues Nanami, excites him. He’s spent the night at her place plenty of times, but with her protective younger brother sleeping in the next room, they’ve had to set boundaries with each other when it comes to intimacy. This means no sex whatsoever when Ren is there, which they’ve miraculously managed to abide by so far.

The thought of making love to her in her house, the one forbidden sanctuary, is titillating. Too many times has he almost given into temptation as they shared her bed, bodies snuggled together, his hands always drifting to the most sensual parts of her. They’ve held back each time they kissed goodnight, the desire to go further heavy against their lips, as her brother snores on the opposite side of the wall. And now tonight, after a perfect day spent with the woman he loves, he has no intentions of holding back, not when this rare opportunity has been presented to them. He plans to take full advantage of it.

Show me how much you love me. Let’s finish what we started.

That’s what she suggests. So that’s what they’ll do.

~~~

As you ride the train back home, Nanami’s hand entwined with yours, a familiar sensation pools in your stomach. The news that your brother is staying at your parent’s house changes everything. The thought of being alone in your home with Nanami sparks a flame that ignites your entire being. Will you be able to control yourself once you step through that door? Your house is quite small, but even the bedroom seems too far away. You’re tempted to let him have you on the couch, maybe the kitchen counter. Whatever is closer, really.

Lost in your dirty thoughts, you jolt at the sudden sound of his voice in your ear. “Do you still want to finish what we started?”

You turn to look at him, grinning. “What do you want to do?”

There’s a heavy pause before he whispers, “I want to christen that bed of yours. Will you let me?”

You squeeze your thighs together, throbbing between your legs. “I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.”

His nostrils flare slightly as he stares at you. The primal look in his gaze makes you think he’ll take you here on the train, in front of these other passengers. He turns his head away and takes a few deep breaths, tightening his grip on you. You can tell he’s trying to compose himself. Once the train reaches your stop, he immediately gets up and leads you past the crowds of people, speed walking all the way to your house in record time.

You fumble through your purse to look for your keys, trembling with anticipation. He stands behind you, pawing at your waist and mouth hot on the back of your neck as you unlock the door. Once you’re inside, he pushes you gently against the wall and kisses you, tongue grazing your lips. He sheds his tan blazer as you both kick off your shoes. “Kento,” you breathe out, as he moves to your neck. Your skin is on fire under his touch.

He says your name in return, licking a stripe behind your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeat, tugging at his spotted tie. He takes it off and wraps it tightly around his fingers, caressing your cheek, the fabric velvety on your skin. His thumb drags your bottom lip as he drifts down to your chest.

“Your heart is beating so fast. Are you nervous?” He rests his forehead on yours, lids shut as he breathes deeply through his nose.

You giggle. “Not nervous. Just really, really horny.”

He smirks. “Naughty girl. I’ll take care of you.” He slides underneath your dress, rubbing you through your panties. “Always so wet for me. My good girl.” It’s dangerous the way he says it. All logical thinking is erased from your mind and the only thing you desire is to feel him inside you.

“Baby, please,” you whine, clutching his collar in your fists.

Chuckling, he teases, “No patience for foreplay?”

“You told me you want to christen my bed, so what are you waiting for?” you challenge him, pouting.

“We have all night. I want to take my time with you.” As he says it, his fingers slip past the fabric of your underwear, gathering the slick to rub wet circles on your clit. You let out a stifled moan as you grind on him, yearning for more. “But how can I deny you when you’re like this? So desperate and needy for my cock. Makes me so fucking hard.” He pulls out from under your dress to lead you by the wrist into your bedroom.

You lie on the bed, dress pulled up to your stomach, sliding your panties off. Spreading your legs wide, you start playing with your clit as he watches from the end of the bed. “Do you touch yourself like this when I’m not around?” He unbuckles his belt slowly, enjoying the show you’re putting on for him. As he slides out of his pants, one leg at a time, you nod and slip a finger inside your slit. Your cheeks rush with heat, embarrassed at the lewd squelch it makes.

“Put another one in.” He kneels in front of you now, wearing only his briefs and dress shirt, slightly unbuttoned from the top.

Obeying his command, you insert your ring finger along with your middle. It’s nowhere near how he does it, but him watching you like this turns you on beyond belief. The hunger in his eyes, the way he bites his lower lip, the way he clutches the tie around his palm. “Play with your clit again. Show me how you like it.” He rubs the bulge in his briefs, focused on your glistening cunt. With wet fingers, you massage your clit, drawing out quiet moans from your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re incredible. You drive me crazy, you know that?” He shoves his underwear down to reveal his hard cock. No matter how many times you’ve seen him like this, the sight still amazes you. And seeing him erect with his dress shirt on is a kink you didn’t know you had until right now. He unravels the tie from his grip. A small whimper leaves your lips, anticipating his next move.

“Can I bind your wrists? Are you okay with that?” He crawls up the bed to kneel beside you, cupping your cheek tenderly as he asks for permission.

You kiss his palm, smiling. “Yes. Let me take my clothes off first.” Your skin prickles with excitement as you pull the dress off and unhook your bra. He places your hands above you wrapping his spotted tie around your wrists, one over the other.

His lips curl into a wicked grin, his gaze ravenous as he looks you up and down. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.” He positions himself between your legs, leaning his face towards your arousal. “Can I taste you?”

Holy fuck. This is something you’ve fantasized about many times. You were uncomfortable asking him to do it, unsure if he was into it or not. Your ex never really offered; he tried it once, but it was barely memorable. So, you thought maybe it was too intimate of an action to ask your boyfriend of two months to do to you.

But it’s different now. You love each other. There’s no holding back.

In a trembling voice, you respond, “Yes. Please.”

He spreads you open and without hesitation, he starts with soft kisses to your puffy clit. You moan, stomach tight with pleasure as you rut against his face, his kisses getting sloppier and deeper with each passing second. He pushes himself even closer, latching around your sensitive bud, stimulating it with his plush tongue. It’s fucking amazing. You let yourself enjoy it until the rush of ecstasy sweeps through you, pulsing into his hot, slippery mouth. “Kento, I’m coming,” you gasp.

He hums into your skin as he sucks on your clit, unrelenting until you’re slack on the sheets, spent from your orgasm. His tongue licks along your plump folds, lapping up the slick from your high, drinking you up like he’s dehydrated. “You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, as he fucks you with his mouth. You twitch at his touch, sensitive and yet, still so unbelievably horny for the man that you love.

“Fuck me, Kento. Please. Need you inside me,” you beg.

After one more flick of his tongue, he sits up on his knees. You see a pearl of precum leaking from the tip of his dick. He lets out a huff as he guides his cock to your slit, rubbing up and down your arousal. “You’re such good girl, fuck. I’m so lucky.” He continues to tease you, circling his cockhead around your clit as you squirm beneath him, bound wrists wriggling above your head. “I don’t have any lube, but we don’t need it. You came so much from just my tongue. This pretty pussy is so wet for me.” He strokes his dick as he stares wildly at your dripping cunt.

You’re already close to your second orgasm when he slides his cock inside you, your walls surrounding his girth. Once his entire length is in, he places one hand on your inner thigh, the other at your side, clutching onto the bedsheets. You can tell you’re in for a ride.

He starts slowly, pressing down on you gently to keep you open for him. Once you’re comfortably adjusted to his size, he speeds up. His lips tickle your ear as he whispers, “I’ve wanted this for so long. Been wanting to ruin this bed ever since I first slept in it.”

You try to move your hips to match his rhythm, wrists still pinned above your head. All you can manage to choke out between your moans is, “Me too.” You wrap your free leg around his waist, wanting as much of your skin to be touching his. Being bound, you thought you’d be vulnerable, exposed. But with Nanami, you feel safe. You like being this open for him. He’d never do anything to hurt you. That’s one of the many reasons you love him.

Overwhelmed with emotion and pleasure, tears well up in your eyes as he continues to make love to you. You face him, kissing him softly on the lips. He keeps still inside you, turning your body with his as he relaxes on the bed. The hand that was holding down your thigh comes up to caress your cheek as you continue to kiss. You stay like this for a while, basking in each other’s warmth. At some point, he reaches up to untie you from your bondage. At your release, you glide down his chest, cherishing his steady heartbeat.

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses. “I love you so much.”

Your voice catches in your throat. “I love you, too.”

He brushes your tears away, nuzzling his nose to yours. “Do you want to stop?”

You smile. “Not at all. These are happy tears. I’m happy.” He pulls you in closer, kissing you passionately, his cock still stiff inside you. Running your fingers through his hair, you say, “I told you earlier that I’ll let you do whatever you want with me. What do you want? Tell me, baby.”

He thinks for a few seconds, gazing at you, full of love and lust.

“I want you to ride me.”

~~~

Nanami lies down on the bed, watching the love of his life mount him, knees to both sides of him. They’ve never tried this before. While the sex has been nothing short of amazing these past two months, they’ve been hesitant to try new position, afraid of crossing any lines too soon. But there’s no denying that he’s been wanting this. And tonight is different. They love each other. They don’t have to hold back anymore.

She leans down, breast in front of his face, so tempting and marvelous. He reaches for her tits, kneading at them, fondling her nipples with his thumbs. “Put them in my mouth,” he demands. She lets out a small whine as he raises his neck up to take her into his mouth, latching onto her nipple, sucking gently.

“God, I love these tits,” he growls as he moves to the other one. He squeezes her breasts as he engulfs her sensitive teats. “All mine.”

“Fuck. Feels so good when you suck them like this.” When he starts sucking harder, she slowly pulls out, his lips making a popping sound at the release. She grinds her pussy on his lap, moaning. “I like it like this.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, sticking out his tongue to receive her once more. “Feed it to me. Show me again how you like it.” He takes her again, his hands now on her waist, as she holds her breast for him. He sucks hard as she pulls out with another loud pop, nipple taut and plump when he releases her, shiny with his spit. His dick twitches beneath her; the need to be inside her is undeniable, unbearable if he waits any longer.

“Ride me,” he spits out, planting his feet on the bed.

She pushes her ass back, feeling for his cock, rubbing her folds over the tip until it’s at her entrance, sinking onto him easily. Once he bottoms out, she starts thrusting back and forth. She leans over him, gripping the sheets on either side of his head, tits bouncing with every shake of her ass. He grabs her hips, reveling how expertly she rides him. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful. You’re incredible like this, fucking yourself on my cock.”

“Kento. So good, oh my god,” she cries out, picking up the pace.

He tightens his hold on her hips and starts moving with her, timing his thrusts with hers. She buries her face into his neck, whimpering as she takes it. “Can you come one more time for me, baby?” he purrs. “Let me do it. Let daddy take care of you.”

As if those are the magic words, she lets out a luscious moan, trembling around him. “Fuck, daddy. Fuck me. Make me come.”

He squeezes her ass as he dives into her, deeper than he’s ever been before, her incoherent babbling a sign that he’s hitting her sweet spot. His body buzzes with delight and pleasure, knowing he’s making her unravel on his cock. He continues to pump into her relentlessly, his muscles spasming with each deep thrust he gives her. She continues to bounce her ass on his cock in perfect sync with him until she tightens around him. She’s close, and so is he. He slips his hand between them, thumb grazing her swollen clit.

“Kento, I’m coming!” she whines into his neck. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He’s dizzy with ecstasy as she clenches around him, fucking her until he comes too, filling her up with his load, the excess leaking out of her fluttering hole and onto his lap. He only just remembers that he’s still in his dress shirt; he never bothered taking it off. Looking between them to inspect the damage, he finds a few spots where their cum bleeds into the hem of his shirt.

She relaxes on top of him, breath shallow against his chest. He massages her back, cradling her in his arms. They stay like this for a moment, both exhausted from their intense love making. She rolls off him to lay at his side, eyes closed, smiling. “I love you, Kento.”

He leans in to kiss her forehead. “I love you, too.”

He’ll never get tired of hearing it. He’ll never get tired of saying it.

They love each other. All is right with the world.

Tag List: @chiyoso @bloombb @liliorsstuff-blog

#nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x you #kento nanami fluff #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #a bento for kento #sweet like honey

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morallyinept · 6 months

Text

Sleazy Santa - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Have you been naughty or nice? Sleazy Santa Dieter will find out... Come sit on his knee, baby, and tell Santa what you really want for Christmas. If you've been good, he might just give it to you. T'is the season to be sleazy...

Pairing: Sleazy!Dieter Bravo x MenaceF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.) Reader is referred to as 'Cookie' on occasion. You'll see why when you read... and has hair long enough to pull.

Word Count: 5.3k of Christmas sleaze

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/drug use/anal play/lots of smutty dirty talk/verbal degradation - Dieter calls you a whore & slut and you love it/(im)proper use of a candy cane/Dieter being absolutely lewd and trashy whilst being a mall Santa. Reader is up for this and wants it all. Dieter is not an actor in this story. Just a dirtbag.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: (I intended to get this out on the 1st Dec, but this week has completely run away from me, so better late than never! 🫠) I just know Dieter would be the trashiest Santa. So here he is. Ho(e). Ho(e). Ho(e). 🎅🫦

☝🏻This is not a direct follow on from Back Alley Bang, but is the same Sleazy!Dieter.

Read Back Alley Bang!

I wrote this a little while back in prep for my Christmas stories to release throughout December. Since then, the lovely @cerridwen007 dropped a Frankie fic called Candy Cane, which you should totally read because it's bloody amazing! And hot! 🔥 Seeing as both our stories mention some lewdness with Candy Canes, I want to shout about hers, because it's epic. And so is she. 🥰🖤

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

🎄MASTERLIST🎄

Enjoy! 🖤

“Come sit on Santa’s knee, baby.” He smirks at you under the grizzle of greying, scruffy facial hair, sprawled across his jawline like a patch of overgrown weeds in a neglected alley.

Each bristle of his moustache seems like a picket in a fence, guarding the secrets of his expressions, a formidable barrier to anyone attempting to decipher the stoic visage he wears, despite the adept grin crook shanking it's way out from underneath it at you now.

You joust a sharp glance at him, sitting back lazily on the throne, manspreading and reaching down to adjust the swell of his cock inside his red velour pants, brazenly.

In a worn-out wife beater, that's seen one too many spin wash cycles, tinged grey with sweat around the hem and underarms, braces dangle loosely over Santa’s broad shoulders, contributing to a somewhat dis-reputational vibe.

Boots, covered in dirt and scuffs, complete the unkempt look, and a lingering rolled cigarette, possibly a joint by the herbal stench emanating from it and how tightly it’s tobacco stuffing is packed into the thin papers, add a touch of nonchalance to the unconventional ensemble.

The once jolly twinkle in his tired and bloodshot eyes he had for the children and parents queuing up all day to meet him excitedly, now carries a mischievous, darkening glint polluting the soft browns into a deep onyx as he regards you.

You can feel the heat, running moist and sticky across your body in all those fleshy crevices, as his eyes traverse all the curves and shapes of you gluttonously and leaving you stained.

It feels as if he devours you with his gaze, eyes chomping through your bones; each hungry look a bite into the forbidden fruit of your supple skin, leaving you with a sense of exposure that’s both invasive and titillating.

You feel it pulse on the end of your clit and bite back a wayward groan as you squeeze your thighs together.

You pull off your elf's hat, ruffling your hair out of your tight pony that’s been threatening to scalp you all day, and smirk at him suggestively.

He leers back, through full lips chapped pink, under that greasy moustache hidden behind a fake silvery beard all day. A sly grin twists those pert smackers up as he looks you up and down in your cute fuzzy elf ensemble, complete with annoying bells that jingle when you walk.

A crude name tag is pinned to your lapel, flecked with glitter that says Cookie. And you can't help but wonder at how he'll make you crumble.

The Grotto’s decor transports visitors to a whimsical realm where the spirit of Christmas thrives in a rammed-down-your-throat abundance. Faux snow covered branches, adorned with twinkling lights that frame the entrance, complete with fibreglass reindeer with beady eyes, creates an archway that beckons families into the enchanting space within the hustle and bustle of the shopping mall.

Inside the main cabin, the walls are adorned with festive murals depicting scenes of Santa's workshop; his cheerful elves, and his sleigh chock full of presents for all the good boys and girls.

Glittering ornaments in hues of red, green and gold hang from the ceiling, casting a warm and festive glow as they twirl and sway. Garlands of pine branches intertwine with fairy lights, adorned and wrapped around every available surface, filling the air with the invigorating scent of Christmas pine to the point you want to choke.

Eager youngsters, with their big awe-struck eyes, gravitate around your knees all day and hearing Let It Snow play on repeat is starting to grate on your last nerve by lunch time.

A two bit job in a shopping mall Grotto for the season to help pay the rent on your shitty apartment, isn’t exactly the high point of your mundane life, but being assigned as Santa’s personal elf in the Grotto this year seems to have an unexpected appeal.

Especially when under the hat and beard Santa is a fucking grimy feast for the eyes, in all of his sordid, dirty appeal.

“Oh, he’s kinda hot.” You whisper to the other elves, Sugarplum and Cinnamon, when you overhear them talking about him. “In a scummy sorta way.”

You watch as he chortles and pushes crudely taped gifts with lopsided bows into tiny, waiting hands.

“I saw him out of the suit having a smoke round back. He looks like he spends all day injecting.” Cinnamon the elf remarks, wrinkling her nose.

Sugarplum snorts distastefully in agreement as she pushes another child through to meet the magic man himself. And you can’t help but grin.

Who is this guy?

He stands out like a sore thumb in the mall full of Christmas card perfect families, with two point four bratty children, not the type to be cast in the role of Santa. He looks like he shouldn’t be anywhere near the vicinity of children at all.

He’s an obvious stain on the holly-jolly, a blot; a malignant smear with his dark appearance and equally dark aura that radiates and flashes in neon green above his head like a Sims character, that he’s a bad, rotten egg.

And yet, there’s something about him that piques you and your pussy’s interest as you can’t look away.

You wonder where they hired him, possibly off the street by the way he looks; hair a fluffy mess as he runs a giant paw through it when he takes off the Santa hat for a reprieve. Slick with sweat around the neck and ears after being swamped in the furry suit all day.

But amidst the cheerful chatter and the jingling of bells, you and Santa start to engage in risqué repartee through exchanging heated glances, hidden within the joyful chaos that swarms around you both.

He watches as you bend to greet the children, deliberately pointing your ass, clad in tight, striped hosiery, in his line of sight, and throwing him a steely glance over your shoulder as you smile innocently around your glittery lipstick.

You suck on candy canes to rile him up as he waits for the next toddler to enter the Grotto, and tease him with how far you can get it down your throat.

You can see the effect it has on him all day as he has to adjust to himself constantly and refuse that any more kids sit on his lap, opting to just talk to them on their level instead.

Your eyes often fall onto that heavy bulge between his legs as you lick up the red striped cane suggestively.

You, the teasing little elf, pretend to inspect a list of wishes, shooting Santa a sultry look. "I must say, Santa, you're on everyone's 'Nice' list, but I can't help but wonder what it would take to get you on the 'Naughty' list for a change…"

And he takes that as a direct challenge.

After the Grotto is closed to the public for the day, you see him head into it and follow, lured like he’s dropping gingerbread crumbs for you to snort up.

Lights are out in the Winter Wonderland area; a few amblers doing their late night Christmas shopping still linger around the mall, but no-one would obviously know you're heading in as your toes jingle with your quick steps in the shadows.

And it’s where you find him now, sitting back in Santa’s grand throne, legs akimbo and waiting for you as he tokes; running his thick mitts around the chintzy scruff of his real beard.

His eyes crinkle with mirth as you shut the Grotto door behind you. You reach into the basket of candy canes and he watches as you unwrap one, sucking on the stripey end of it as you step up towards him, when he pats his thick thigh again at you.

Perching on him, dwelling inside the mist of hazy smoke that lingers above your heads and makes you feel lighter as you breathe it down into your lungs, you flutter your eyelashes as you take him in.

Thick arms, speckled with tattoos of triads that look coloured in with a Sharpie, speak of a past etched with both labour and skirmishes. His hands, large and calloused, possess a certain coarseness, evidence of a wayward journey through life's grittier back alleys with short, chewed on nails. With shoulders that may slump a touch, he carries an weight of shady roughness on them; his belly and thighs telling stories of indulgence, and perhaps a few late night brawls.

Thick fingers are stacked with silver rings that are covered with Santa’s cotton gloves throughout the day. His hawkish nose adds a touch of defiance, completing the image of a man with a scuffed exterior, rough around the edges, yet somewhat intriguing in his lived-in authenticity. An unpolished diamond in some scummy rough.

But who needs a diamond, when a zirconia is just as good, right?

In the twinkly lights, the grazed hair on his face appears not as distinguished silver, but rather a mishmash of unkempt greys woven in, like shadows playing on a weathered canvas or someone forgetting to water their garden in patches.

His cocoa bean eyes, though sharp, carry a glimmer of adept slyness, a snake waiting to strike and latch it's fangs to your calf, as if they've witnessed more than their fair share of venomous dealings.

The pierced ear, with its slightly tarnished hoop you're longing to suck into your mouth, feels less like a statement and more like a relic of some practised rebellion; a declaration of nonconformity, a middle finger raised to polished appearances.

And it's here where your eyes settle, on his fingers as he brings the joint up to his lips to inhale again, and you marvel at their thickness, their startling turgidity, clenching internally.

He inhales on the end of the blunt, smoke billowing around his face in misty, gossamer trails that beckon you further into him, and his eyes, dark and beguiling with blown pupils, are still on yours.

“Have you been a good girl this year?” There’s a coarse texture to his speech, a visceral quality that mirrors the scuffed exterior of a life lived on the fringes.

He’s watching your lips around the candy cane as though hypnotised by the talent of it. You pull it out of your mouth, sticky - the red bleeding into the white - and smile sweetly.

“I’m always a good girl,” you remark with a minty grin.

Santa shakes his head. “I hear differently. I hear you’re a very naughty girl.”

You mock pout as he leans forward and sucks the end of the candy cane you’re holding into his own mouth. He smacks his lips around one another after tasting it and hums out. “Filthy,” he adds.

“Dirty.” You confirm with a singular nod.

“I like ‘em dirty.” He agrees, looking up at you, chin jutted out in a provocative challenge.

You stroke under it, scritching your nails in the softly coarse hairs there.

He flicks your name tag and smirks. “Cute.”

“What’s your name?” You ask curiously.

“Dieter,” he exhales again, and you can taste the smoke settling on your tongue. “But you can call me Santa, baby.”

You nod willingly.

“Santa wants to touch you, Cookie. You gonna let him?” He queries.

You nod again, smiling.

“Say it, baby. Say you want Santa to touch you.”

“Touch me, Santa.” You simmer. Your body tenses waiting for his hands - those giant, fucking hands - to get acquainted with you.

He finishes the joint, before squeezing the end to extinguish it, and plops it on the floor. “You gonna let Santa fuck you too?”

“Yeah," you nod again like you can't stop. "I want Santa to fuck me with his big, hard cock.” You reach down and give it a squeeze over the velour Santa pants, and he hisses. “Mmm, so big.” You say, sucking on the cane again, hooking your finger around the curved end of it.

“Fuck, baby. You want it bad don’t you? Slutty little elf…” He states.

Dieter runs his hand up your thigh, your stomach and stops at your breast giving it a good squeeze over your outfit; a grunt of approval rippling low in the back trench of his throat and he massages and gropes.

Clawing his fingers of his other hand over your thigh and grabbing at the pliable skin of your ass cheek, he squeezes a generous handful of it, pulling and smirking at you.

“Lemme get a look at these tits, fuck.” Dieter says, immediately running his tongue over them as you pull off your elf top. He yanks down your bralette, tearing at the flimsy material making you gasp around the candy cane.

Mouthing and licking around your nipples, flicking them with his hot, wet tongue, you moan and trail your fingers through his greased up hair. And Santa can’t help himself but to motorboat them, making you giggle as you squirm in his lap.

“Fuck, look at these,” He says groping them in his giant hands. He brings them together moaning and groaning as he licks and sucks them some more. Running his scruffy jaw over them, greedily like all his Christmases have come at once. He bites down on one and you hiss, feeling it fizz between your legs.

“How ‘bout a little kiss for Santa, hmm?” He croons at you, craning his face into yours. "Mmm, my lil' sugar cookie..."

You lean in, slipping your cool, sweetly sticky tongue inside his mouth as he kisses you. He strokes over your breasts, squeezing more and groaning as you suck on his tongue.

He tastes of weed, and something else strong and tart laced around his teeth. But you devour him, feeling that long tongue search around your mouth tasting you, and filling you with his muffled grunts.

“You know, Santa can fill your stocking with whatever you want, right?” Dieter smirks at you as he runs his fingers up down the striped nylons.

You grin, as you pop the candy cane back in your mouth.

With both hands, he tears open your pantyhose from your apex, and smirks at the damp patch there between your legs. You can feel it, all wet and sticky between your thighs.

You’ve made a mess of yourself all day watching and lusting after him, and now he can see it and knows exactly what he does to you. Knows how you've been craving that filthy dirtbag - who looks like he rolled out of the gutter - they hired to play dress up for the kids.

God, you wanna ride him so fucking hard.

“You been this wet for me all day?”

You nod. “Drenched.” You tease.

“Fuck…” he husks approvingly.

“You make me so wet, Santa.” You say, still innocently sucking on that darned candy cane.

His fingers swipe over the front of your panties, feeling it and pushing the damply soiled material against the folds of your swollen pussy lips.

He groans as he feels that warm slick seep through onto his fingertips. He brings them up to his nose and sniffs before putting them in his mouth and sucks them, looking at you the whole time as you flare.

Then, he runs them all over your seam again, pressing in and applying pressure to the protruding, swollen bump of your clit. Those grubby, filthy hands pawing greedily all over you, just as you wanted.

“Mmm,” you whine as he strokes and circles over your clit that’s buzzing and pulling tight. A tinge of an ache that makes your thighs tense in the most delicious of ways as he strokes over it, lewdly.

“Santa’s little slut, aren’t you?”

You nod, smirking.

He takes the candy cane from you, and slots it in his own mouth, sucking on it as he inspects between your legs like a letch. You hear it clack against his teeth as it rolls from side to side across his mouth.

Sucking on it, the stripy tip turned fully white now, he runs it in your folds, and you gasp at the coolness of the mint.

He dips it in, sliding the candy cane into your hole and pulls it out, sucking it back into his mouth, tasting you around the peppermint treat.

"Mmm, you taste so good." He praises.

He does it again, fucking you slowly with the candy cane and watching as you bite your lip as he slides it in as deep as it’ll go, before holding the sticky treat out for you to taste.

You eye him as you suck it clean of your slick, your tongue lapping down the length of it, and he groans.

“So fucking nasty,” he says with a glint in his eye.

You crunch on the end of it, breaking off a chunk into your mouth as you chew and he discards the rest onto the floor, breaking into pieces that scatter upon impact.

“Let me get another look at that pussy.” He wrenches your panties aside again, and spits on his fingers, rubbing them over your dripping cunt.

“That feel good?” He slides up and down your folds, teasing your clit with slimy circles of your slick and tapping it.

“Yeah. I want those dirty fingers in me.” You whine.

“All the way in?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s get those panties off. Santa wants you spread open on his lap, baby.”

You lift your ass up as he tugs them down and you watch as he stuffs them into his pocket with a cockamamie smirk. You can only imagine all the sordid things he'll do with them later.

“Oh my God…” You gasp as he slides in two thick fingers, thumb running over your clit.

“You like being a dirty little slut for Santa, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod.

“Look at you, spread wide with my fingers in your cunt.” He looks down at the wet patch on his pants where you cream for him.

“I love it.” You nod. "I love being your slut, Santa."

“Yeah you do. Kiss me again, baby. Gimme that tongue.”

He sucks on your tongue before he pushes in a third finger, and you moan at how full you feel. He pumps them in and out of you, garnering a tempo that leaves flames licking down your spine as you writhe against them.

“Such a tight little cunt,” he whispers, pulling on your bottom lip and sucking it.

“Mmm, yeah… that feels so good.” You mewl.

You can hear your slick squelching around his fingers and leaving them shiny as he pulls them out. You watch as he separates them, leaving strings to break before he sucks them in his mouth.

“Santa’s got a gift for you in his sack, baby.” He reaches down into a bag, just as dirty and grimy as he is, and pulls out a battery powered wand with a bulbous head.

You’re stunned as you giggle, and he raises his eyebrows.

“You carry that around with you all the time?” You say, bewildered.

A filthy grin lances across his face, the type that could impregnate women. And looking at him, he probably has. A harem of single mothers waiting on alimony cheques that’ll never come.

He clicks the wand on and pushes it to your cunt.

“Oh fuck!” You drool as you feel it pulsing deliciously against your clit immediately. He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, whining at the taste of your skin.

The vibrations, like soft, tingly ripples, spread from the device and explore every facet of your nerve endings. Tiny electrical pinpricks; a bubbling conduit of glittery bursts that intensify the more pressure he applies against you.

"That feel good?" You hear him graze at you.

“Mmm, I feel like I could come right now.” You sigh, gripping onto his broad, tan shoulder and enjoying being so close falling off the ledge already.

“This little toy gonna make you come, baby? Make you come for Santa?” You watch as he tongues your nipple, flicking it back and forth fast.

“Yeah. I’m almost there.” You shudder. "Mmm, fuck." You grab a hold of his hand, pushing the wand tighter against you. You can feel it pulsing in the centre, a deep winding sensation behind your abdomen; bunching and tightening.

He clicks it up a notch, the vibrating head faster and louder against your clit.

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes, yes!” Nails digging into the back of his hand as you grind against the wand head.

“Yeah. Come for me, baby. I wanna see Cookie come for Santa like a good slut.”

“Feels so nice like that… fuck!” You say your eyes rolling back, jaw tight and teeth clenching as you shudder and burst. Eyebrows furrowing and biting down on your lip as you come around the wand’s head. “So good, Santa… fuck, so, so good,” you pant.

His eyes flash with wild encouragement, yet they contain a sense of addictive danger as he kisses across your breasts that taste salty with sweat and glittery fragments that stick to you as you shake.

“Such a good little elf, coming for Santa aren’t you, baby?”

He glances at you as he suckles and kisses your nipple, and pulls your face towards his for a swamping kiss that tastes acidic and makes you dizzy with it all.

You reach down and squeeze his cock as he tosses the wand onto his bag. Stroking him over the red velour pants. He has an oily smirk; slick and fast, matching the tempo of how quickly he gets his cock out for you. Thick, veiny and pink, with a nice fat head, oozing just for you.

“Is this all for me, Santa?” You marvel at the lack of boxers or briefs under the pants.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got such a big cock. Mmm, that’s gonna feel so good in my tight pussy.”

“Gonna stretch you out, baby.” He takes your hand and wraps it around him, pumping.

“Fill me up.”

“Yeah, Gonna fill this slutty pussy up till you're dripping me down your thighs.”

Your eyes are drawn to the ominous swell of his cock in your hand, astounding in its size and girth with a puff of grizzly dark hairs at the base of it. You’re trying to understand the science of how the fuck he’ll fit inside of you.

“I feel so fucking good, Cookie. So hard.” He whispers with a beguiling whip around his gritty cadence.

“Mmm,” you say, mesmerised by jerking him off. Watching as he drips for you and smearing it around his head with your thumb.

“You wanna feel it? Feel it in your pussy, baby?”

Biting your lip you nod and grin. “Yeah.”

In a flash, he sits you on the throne, your legs hanging over the arm rests and spread wide for him.

"Fuck, look at you," he sighs at how spread and soaked you are for him.

Dieter jerks his cock as he runs his tongue up and down your slit, sucking on your clit hungrily. He swirls his tongue round and round, speedily as it flicks across your clit and makes your thighs twitch.

“God, you taste so fucking good.” He groans.

“Like candy canes.” You giggle.

“Yeah. So sweet.”

You yank his head forward, clutching at the roots of his greying curls. His nose snuffles against the top of your mound as you feel him penetrate your hole with his tongue.

“Fuck!” You drone as he fucks you with it.

He licks down and then runs back up again, this time gliding his nose in your folds too. Slick gathers on the end of it, shiny as it passes over your clit.

“God, I wanna fuck this tight, little pussy.” He growls, wiping your juice from his nose and licking it away from his palm.

Dieter pulls off the pants fully, then stands, crouching with legs spread; thick thighs supporting him as he lines himself up with your slit.

You can see the swell of his belly where the wife beater rides up and you reach forward to stroke it, feeling the galaxy of soft hairs that lead in a trail down to his cock.

You wince as he pushes in, fisting onto the hem of the vest.

“What, huh? Too big? You can take this big cock. Come on, baby.” He looks down to see he’s halfway in; your cunt sucking him in as he traverses the fleshy, wet walls crushing around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Mmm, God!” You groan, reaching for him as he pushes in all the way, deep into the hilt of you and there he stays for a moment, unmoving, just feeling you pulse and contract around him.

He wiggles his hips and watches you breathlessly gasp.

“Fuck me,” you plead.

He pulls out and then slides deep again, over and over until he works up a tempo that has you panting; clawing at his arms and soaking around him.

You sit up on the edge of the throne, legs wrapped around his lower calves as he slows into a more laboured pace. Sliding his cock in as deep as he can get it into you. He nips at your neck, running his tongue over the skin and sucking it between his teeth, marking you with purple welts.

It’s a deep, somewhat brutal fucking, as he flexes his hips and pounds into you with determination. Taking your breath away as the jolts of your body stop you sucking more oxygen in.

You hold onto the arm rests to steady yourself as he fucks into you. His own breath getting lodged in the back of his throat.

You look up at him, jaw slack and eyes glazed over in ecstasy as his thighs slap relentlessly against your ass cheeks. His face his taught, veins bulging around his neck and eyes focused on you. Lined forehead coated with a sheen of sweat and you want to taste on your tongue.

“You like this don’t you, getting fucked by Santa?” He queries with a dark smirk.

“Aah fuck! Yeah, give it to me!” You wail.

You can feel the weight of his balls pendulum against your ass as he thrusts relentlessly.

"Santa fucking his little whore." He puffs.

"Fuck yeah!" You cry.

“Get up baby,” he instructs, wincing as he stands upright and clutching his lower back.

He sits on the throne and pulls you onto him, but facing away. You hoist yourself up, feet flat on the seat either side of his thighs and lower yourself, squatting onto his cock standing tall and thick beneath you.

“Oh, that’s it. Sit on Santa’s fucking lap, baby!” He gushes, pulling you all the way down until your cunt is flush with the base of him.

“Oh shit, Dieter!” You cry as you feel him plunge deeper than he's already been. It forces the breath out of your lungs as you sharply inhale. "Shit, shit!"

"Call me Santa, baby." He teases.

His hands hold onto your waist; thick fingers curling around towards your belly button as you move up and down, using the arm rests to push yourself upwards.

“Fuck, you’re so deep.” You groan as you work faster with the aid of him pushing your hips.

“Yeah, fuck my cock, baby.” He grunts from behind you.

You reach forward and stroke his swollen balls, groping and squeezing gently as he groans in delight. You run your hand across the both of you; feeling him plunge into your pussy, moving up to your clit as he fills you.

“Yeah, yeah, baby. Oh fuck yeah!” He’s groaning behind you, hissing and puffing. The throne creaks and rocks under you both.

The burning in your thighs stops you momentarily, and you step down off the throne and ride him harder, leaning forward on his thighs.

He’s watching, hands on your ass cheeks, splaying you apart so he can see his cock delve deeper into your pussy, shiny and drenched with your slick.

He sucks his thumb and notches it against your tight, puckered hole. You squeal in delight as he breaks through and hooks it into your ass.

“So fucking dirty baby.” He praises as you tighten around his cock. “Wish we had that candy cane now so I can put it in your ass.”

“Oh my God…” You sigh deliciously at the seedy thought.

“You gonna come? Come with my thumb in your ass like the dirty slut you are?”

“Mmm, yeah!” You coo.

“Fuck yeah!” He hollers as you start to shudder and ripple around him.

Your voice wanes, becoming nothing but a husked whisper scraping against the back crevices of your throat. But the most fascinating thing of all to him, is the way your body shakes uncontrollably on the end of his cock as he strokes the inside of your ass.

The dreamy, heady feeling crawls over you like smoke in the dimly lit corridors of the back of the mall, choking you up. The colours of Christmas in the Grotto take on a seedy glamour, as if you're witnessing the world through the tinted lens of a noir film.

It's a sensory whirlwind, where every touch, taste, and sound carries a palpable sharpened edge, laced with a hint of danger that adds to the thrill of the fuck between you both.

His cock bottoms out in you constantly, filling you full of him and you can’t get enough. Panting and whining for more.

The knotting and binding cinches tighter and you start to fall, not into a soft cloud; it's a smokescreen of desire and kinky vice. It's the kind of state where the boundary between illusion and reality blurs, and you find yourself entangled in the gritty allure of forbidden pleasures.

Fucking Santa in a children's Grotto, and you giggle at the absurd, yet vividly decadent rapture, as your orgasm takes you and turns you out.

“Yeah come all over my cock,” Dieter cajoles as you whine and screech, riding yourself through it until you buck and shake, unable to keep yourself up right on legs that feel like mush.

Dieter bends you over the throne this time, kneeling on the plush seat as you cling to the back of it whilst he stands behind you, pummelling into you and seeking his own finish.

“You like taking Santa’s big cock like this?” His voice pelts the back of your neck; hair bunched and knotted around his fist.

“Yeah!” You cry out, literally clawing at the gold paint finishing. You’ll find it under your nails later. “Harder.” You whine.

“Oh, you want it so hard, you greedy cock slut.” Wheezing like he’ll need an oxygen machine for the rest of his life, Dieter speeds up.

Obscene slapping of sweaty skin-on-skin fills the Grotto. If security were to trundle on by, there’s no mistaking you'd both be caught and the thought makes you flare.

“Spank me, Santa!” You urge over your shoulder.

“You want me to spank you?”

“I’ve been a very bad elf…” You pout coyly.

“So fucking bad, baby.” He slaps across your ass, the sting making you moan out as it traverses your body.

“Mmm, yeah! More!”

“More?” He does it again, harder and it leaves a mark where you can feel the burn.

Another slap has you screaming as you push back on his cock, meeting his every thrust.

The sweat sheen on your back shines at him and he leans over you running his tongue up your spine to taste it. The action pushes him deeper and you both cry out in unison.

He works his hips, shunting back and forth in small, quick bursts as he fucks that tight, pretty hole and makes you mewl and gasp.

A savage rhapsody of his unrelenting stamina that pummels you continually; all you can do is take it, whining and groaning and seeing the phosphenes glitter around your vision as he builds you up again.

It’s soaking between your legs, immensely sticky and you can feel it dripping between your thighs. You reach under yourself and stroke your clit that feels like it might explode with the simplest nudge.

It feels so good, too good, and you’re coming again, legs shaking and your back feeling like it might break in half, as he twists and pistons into you with all that he’s got.

“Where’d you want Santa to finish, baby?” He grunts desperately.

“In my mouth.”

“Oh fuck!”

“Watch me swallow it all down, Santa.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

He pulls out and jerks his cock a few times before coating your waiting tongue with warm, thick spurts of him.

“Take Santa’s load,” he groans. “Yeah, lick the tip clean, suck it. Oh yeah, that’s it… fuck. Clean me up with that slutty mouth, baby.”

He reaches down, smearing his thumb over your lips that are sticky with his pearly come. Cock in hand still, he strokes the side of your face as you look up at him and run your tongue over his length.

“Next time, you can fill my ass.” You wink.

“Fuck,” Dieter chuckles. He has a large dimple on the left side of his face when he smiles; an almost perfect crescent, like the moon in its waxing phase. You decide instantly that it's kinda beautiful.

Standing, your hands on his chest - the wife beater drenched with sweat - you kiss him, slipping your salty tongue into his mouth and he whines, groping your ass and crushing his softening cock between you both.

You feel him pick you up, wincing around his teeth a little, as he strains, hands splayed under your ass cheeks as he plonks you down on the counter where all the treats are kept, namely the basket of candy canes.

You groan contently into the seedy warmth of his mouth once more as he latches onto your lips, tongue exploring the wet crevices of your mouth. You cup the back of his head, yielding to the undercurrent of surrender, willingly.

Dieter takes one of the candy canes, unwraps it and slides it into your mouth. You feel his fingers stroking through your wet swollen folds, gathering it and swirling it around the rim of your ass as he puts one of your ankles on his shoulder.

It's a feeling that goes beyond the physical, a warmth that stirs the echoes of desires you might not want to admit, but have willingly embraced nonetheless.

You want more of him, want more of this grimy bastard filling you up, and judging by how grunts, licking around your teeth and gums hungrily, Santa’s not done yet with you either.

“Get it nice and wet, baby. That’s it.” He encourages you as you slurp and suck around the candy cane.

He takes it from you, and you bite down on your lip as you feel it pushing against your rim.

“Santa’s gonna make it disappear, baby.” Dieter, the Sleazy Santa chuckles at you, with a sly, twisted grin as you crush his rancid lips to yours once more.

Thanks so much for reading more of Sleazy!Dieter. I hope you enjoyed him! Stay tuned for more of him in the future.🖤

MASTERLIST

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