#this was a beautiful question but so hard to answer

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 18. Holiday knot

Yeti x fem!reader || semi-public sex, oral sex, knotting

You had a great idea for your anniversary. Since you married your yeti husband, you’d been trying to get him to chase you through the woods, but seeing as it was mid December and the temperatures would probably kill you if you ran naked… You decided to make it special in other ways.

You wore a nice coat, the longest one you had, with extra padding on the inside so you’d be warm no matter what. And under it you wore… almost nothing. You bought the naughty lingerie so long ago you almost forgot you had it, but at the last second you put it on and walked to his office as a normal day. You had dinner with him once a week, always on Wednesdays, and he was always waiting for you.

But this time around you had a bit of a surprise.

You opened the door to his office and closed behind you, making sure the blindfolds were down and the secretary left for her lunch. He was on a call you weren’t too interested in, you could only focus on the feel of the coat against your naked skin and the way your heart was trying to escape from your chest.

Even from afar he was magnificent, giant and furry and so incredibly beautiful in his monster features that you were dripping wet even before he even breathed in your direction. You’d never felt so strongly about any human, but as soon as you met him… you were done for good. Forget human tiny dicks, who wanted that when you could have giant ridged dicks that knotted you until you were dripping cum for hours after?

You were a bit nervous, you knew he’d love your surprise, but you were way past your honeymoon phase and maybe office sex wasn’t on his kink-list… Maybe.

“Well, hello there, wife,” he greeted you in his most cheerful rough voice, making you shiver.

It was now or never.

You slipped the upper part of your coat down your shoulders, exposing the red lingerie framing your tits in the most amazing way. He choked on a breath, and that encouraged you. You let the coat fall to the floor, pooling at your feet as you blinked slowly at him. And you realized the exact moment when he saw the mistletoe adorning your panties.

In a flash, literally the time it took for you to blink, he had jumped over the table and was crowding you, his giant sized body pulling you up and against the door. You shivered in anticipation, his rough breathing matching your accelerated heartbeat.

He bit down on your neck playfully. “You smell like cookies, wife…” He rumbled against your ear. That meant you were excited, that you were aroused, he loved the smell of cookies as much as he loved the smell of your horniness. “You came here wanting to be ravished by a monster?” He teased, his voice amused but his dick very hard under your barely covered ass.

Your nerves got the best of you when you answered: “Really? If you… If you want to...”

He pulled back a fraction, his big white inhuman eyes looking straight into yours, almost shocked when he deadpanned: “Do I want to fuck my wife in my desk? Yes. What kind of question is that?”

“I- I didn’t know if you’d be up for it,” you confessed, feeling shy all of sudden.

“Wife, I’ve wanted to fuck you over that desk since the first time you came to have lunch with me. And you are making my fantasies come true right now, you are the bestest of wives,” he said between soft kisses around your face, making you giggle with his sudden affection.

But it wasn’t all that soft, his dick was pressing insistently against your ass and you wriggled your bottom until he was whimpering, his strong arms holding you up as he walked to the desk and sat you there. He kissed you softly on the lips, and then sat down on his chair, legs open and erection very clear in his slacks. Fuck, he looked good enough to eat with his fur peaking through the buttons of his shirt, sleeves rolled up…

But he was only staring at you, not doing anything. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?” You asked, a bit confused at the situation.

“Oh, yes… I’m definitely going to. But first: lunch.” That was all he said before his face was buried in your pussy as he pushed the panties to the side, not even taking them off.

He devoured your center with desperation, with a hunger so primal and deep that you didn’t know if you would survive. It was the best oral sex ever, and he had just started. He kept grunting and moaning against your sex, his furry face getting messy with your juices as he enjoyed himself. You could only hold onto his hair and pull every time he tried to get a breath in between licks. You didn’t care if he breathed or not, you only needed him against your pussy, his fingers playing dexterously with your clit.

“I’m- I’m gonna…!” You tried to warn, but you were too slow.

The orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave as your body convulsed over the desk, his hands holding you down as you knocked a few things off the table. He only chuckled against your pussy, probably not caring you were destroying some important documents.

He pulled back, whipping your juices away from his chin and licking his fingers clean. That movement was so hot that you whimpered as he smirked at you. He knew what he was doing.

“Now the main course,” he said, ripping the panties off and pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. You groaned whorishly and he smirked again, his fangs so big you couldn’t suppress a shiver.

You thought he would push inside in one go, but he chose a tortuous pace, his dick breaching you so slowly and thoroughly that you could feel him everywhere at once. His hands were on your boobs, on your ass, on your clit… And his dick kept going deeper and deeper. Your brain was barely functioning at that point, not caring about the noise of the possibility of someone finding you. You could only focus on the way he felt against you.

But once he bottomed out, there was no place for soft sex anymore. He started a rough pace, fucking in and out of you with the desperation of a husband in his anniversary. With the desperation of a yeti who found his mate in the middle of a big city. With the hunger of a monster in need of his bride. And you ate it up, matching his noises and groans, moving against his body until you were both sweaty and your lingerie was probably beyond repair.

But you didn’t fucking care.

It felt so good. It felt too good.

“I’m going to knot you,” he warned.

“But we- Someone could...” you tried to argue without much strength. You wanted it. You wanted it more than anything. You needed it like you needed breathing.

“Let them,” he grunted. The rough tone and the way his dick hit your G-spot just right at the same time his thumb rubbed your clit was enough to send you over the edge once again. “Fuck, so tight, so good…”

He kept chanting how good your pussy was when you felt the erratic thrusts and the beginning of his knot at your entrance. He pushed one last time before it fully developed inside of you, locking you two together as he came over and over inside your welcoming heat.

His body was holding you down as you breathed calmly, his dick still twitching inside of you as he kept coming and coming. You knew this would take a while, and you were more than content to just wait it out. It felt great to have him inside, almost like cockwarming but… bigger. Maybe you should try cockwarming next.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he complained against your neck, landing a few soft kisses and scratching you with his fangs, making you shiver.

By the time his knot went down, you felt almost coherent again, but when you got up and felt the first gush of cum out of you, you were already thinking if he could fuck you again soon. You were about to tease him to get a rise out of him when he beat you to it.

“Are you going to walk back home with my cum leaking down your tights?” He asked as you put your coat back on, hiding your body from him. There was an edge to his voice that you couldn’t quite place.

“I’m going to the car and then I’ll drive home,” you explained, a smirk on your lips when you realized what he wanted. “Do you want me to plug myself and wait until you get home?” You asked back, a blush covering your cheeks as his eyes turned big, his dick filling inside his slacks once more.

“Fuck. Yes,” he groaned. “I’d be there as soon as possible, I just have one meeting.”

“Don’t be late or I’ll start without you, I bought a new toy…” You commented before closing the door, laughing when you heard the curse behind you.

You didn’t get to the elevator before his big body was hoisting you up between giggles and walking to the stairs with you over his shoulder. “Forget the meeting, forget the elevator, I need you in our bed ASAP,” he roared as you laughed.

[voxslays]

GOODNIGHT, MY LOVE

Featuring >>> Lucifer x Reader; In which, an attempt to kill baby Charlie goes south. Resulting in a soporific curse placed upon the reader, who struggles to deal with the aftermath of its affects.

Part Four Part Six

A/N: I wanna explain something really quick- i wrote how Lucifer lost his wings when he fell, which isn’t confirmed to be canon or not, however, I saw a theory about it (which I agreed with) and that’s why it’s in this chapter.

Lucifer wasn’t okay. It had been seven long, agonizing years since that fateful day—the one where you were lost to a sleeping curse cast by (Lucifer’s own brother, and also) heaven’s angels, the supposed divine beings. Lucifer had become a shell of his former self, consumed by grief and regret. He barely ate or slept, spending his days locked away in his workshop, tinkering with various rubber duckies to pass the time. He had never told Charlie what had happened to you—it was much too painful…and it was better this way. Charlie was too young to understand at the time, and even now it would still hit her hard, like a tornado. So Lucifer carried the weight of your untimely demise to himself, never outright confirming nor denying your fate. But Lucifer knew it was time to visit you—he just had to.

Inside was a beautiful atrium, surrounded by all of your favorite flowers. There were large apple trees that grew golden apples (that never rot, (thanks to the backflipping rubber duck 3000!)) and invasive rose bushes. Lucifer had never planted the roses, but it seemed wherever you went, roses followed. His steps echo softly across the marble floor as he walks through the atrium, marveling at the golden apples glistening in the moonlight filtering through the stained-glass roof.

The sweet scent of roses fills his nostrils, bringing back vivid memories he's fought so hard to suppress. "My love…" In the middle of the atrium is a glass coffin-like case. What was inside? You. You looked as peaceful as ever, as though you were only taking a small slumber. Lucifer approaches the glass coffin cautiously, his reflection shimmering on the polished surface. Inside lies your sleeping form, frozen in time. Your hair fanned out beneath your head, your skin almost luminescent under the ethereal light as your chest slowly rises and falls.

In your hand lies a simple yet elegant bouquet of white roses, which continue slowly rise up and down as you softly breathe. You're not dead—at least, not really. You're trapped in an eternal slumber, frozen in time. You don’t move in your sleep at all, the only sign of life is your shallow breathing—yet Lucifer refuses to let you go. How could he? The two of you have been together for thousands of years. That’s not something you can easily erase.

Lucifer reaches out, placing his gloved hand against the glass, gently looking at the white roses in your grasp. He slowly raises up his other hand, looking at his golden wedding band—before his eyes flick down to the golden wedding band on your own finger, mirroring his own. He remembers the day he slipped it on, all the joy, the happiness—now replaced by endless sorrow and loneliness. He straightens up, his mind racing with questions and unspoken words.

He ungloves his hand, pressing his bare white palm against the cool glass, as if trying to reach through to hold your hand. He stares at the rings, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Still married, aren't we?” His voice cracks slightly, emotion barely contained as he stares at your sleeping face through the glass. "You always wanted white roses, remember? I used to tease you about it…" His voice trails off, lost in memory "You always looked so beautiful next to them.”

His other hand reaches up, tracing the glass over your cheek softly. Tears threaten to fall as he continues speaking, voice thick with emotion "Do you dream of me? Or are you trapped… lost in some eternal, peaceful oblivion?" He asks, as if expecting an answer he’ll never get. Lucifer’s thumb gently strokes the outer surface of the glass over your sleeping form, creating tiny rainbows from the moonlight reflecting through the stained glass above. "When we fell… I thought losing my wings would be my greatest punishment. But now…” He pauses, trying (and failing) to keep his composure. “Now I know there's nothing worse than existing without you."

His voice breaks slightly as he looks at your peaceful face, a single tear finally falling down his cheek. “I miss you…” He stands there for a long moment, tears streaming down his face as he looks at you, lost in his grief. Finally, he turns away, walking back through the atrium, leaving the glass coffin behind, the sound of his quiet sobs echoing through the castle halls. "Goodnight, my love…"

[yuurei20]

Im hoping if we get a third lost in the book event it’s Winnie the Pooh, just a wholesome little event with a bunch of Winnie the Pooh characters. I’ll also settle for The mouse detective or Toy Story. What lost in the book event would you like?

Hello hello! ^^ Thank you for this question!

Those are wonderful ideas for future Lost in the Book events!! I agree that Winnie the Pooh would also be lovely! Vil's VA Aiba Hiroki has an interview in the fanbook mentioning that he loves Winnie the Pooh and I am sure that Vil maybe being in a Pooh-event would make him happy ^^

During the Halloween livestream Jamil's VA Futaba, when asked what Disney World he would like to be transported to, answered Winnie the Pooh!

(He did not add "-san" to Pooh's name when speaking and the rest of the show was the other VAs teasing him by calling him "Pooh" it was so funny ww)

As for other maybe-ideas, Yana describes her four favorite Disney movies in the first volume of the Magical Archives Game Guide:

Lilo and Stitch. The story of a bratty alien who meets a girl and discovers what a real family is. It's a science fiction-like story with lots of different aliens, but they are all very human and try their best every day, which makes me want to hug them all. And Stitch is too cute. My favorite character is Stitch. I watch the Nightmare Before Christmas on Halloween or Christmas every year. Tim Burton's films have influenced me a lot. I always fall in love with his stylization and ability to portray sinister motifs in a charming way! The main character, Jack—his energy is infectious. My favorite character is Dr. Finkelstein. Treasure Planet was the catalyst that started me watching a lot of Disney films: I saw it casually in the theater when I was 18, and immediately afterwards started drawing and submitting manga to publishers. The main character, Jim, was a very realistic teenager, and I felt really empowered by how hard he worked. The characters are all quirky and selfish. But that's what makes them so appealing. The main character and the villain are not entirely good, but they are not all bad, either. That is one of the films that had a particularly strong influence on me when I was working on Twisted Wonderland. My favorite character is Jim. Beauty and the Beast is the film that had the greatest influence on me when I was young and still trying to find myself. The ruined castle, the inhuman prince and his servants, the wise and strong heroine, the undaunted villain...I love all the different elements, too much. My favorite characters are Mrs. Potts and Chip. -Toboso Yana (Magical Archives Game Guide (2020))

We cannot be sure how much of the game's content is being decided by Yana on her own vs. how much is being requested of her by Disney (on an episode of Twisted Radio Station a producer said that they had wanted to do a Stitch event from before the game even launched), but it is interesting that the only two Lost in the Book series events we've seen were both from her top four list 👀

And both events sound very fun! ^^ A Twst Beauty and the Beast that is maybe also a hometown event for Vargas? Silver and Lilia in an event about a struggling teenager and the ship's cook who is both his secretive father figure and not what he seems? So interesting~♪

[klldyousoz]

S.R x alt!reader

In which the team catches Spencer staring at the “alternative chick” across the bar.

Warnings/genre: Fluff, reader is referred to as a woman and girlfriend, slightly feminine reader (description of makeup,skirt etc), not so secret relationship, brief cm content in the beginning.

Second/third person (idk), Enjoy!

The team had been in California for a week to investigate a string of kidnappings in the downtown area. The case contained its usual horrific scenes and events but luckily the skilled team of agents were able to find the unsub and arrest him without any extra gore. Leading to where they are now. At a bar for drinks somewhere in Virginia.

Spencer’s eyes are focused on your every movement, zoning in on every feature of yours from your precisely styled hair and makeup down to your intricate flowy skirt, paired with the equally as intricate shoes he insisted on buying for you. He longs to hear your laughing and feel your touch but is unfortunately aware of his own rule to keep you two private from the world, not wanting any harm to come to you because of his line of work. Right now however, Spencer has decided he hates that rule.

The team were on their second round of drinks when people noticed Spencer’s sudden lack of attention in the conversation, but instead focused on a group at the other side of the packed bar. The smirk on his face was hard to miss and inevitably caught the attention of Derek and Penelope, having finished being in their own little bubble.

“Hey pretty boy,” Derek teases, “pretty boyyy?”

“Hm” Spencer responds, forcing his eyes away from across the bar to focus on Derek.

“Who over there has got you so caught up?” Penelope questions, the whole team now paying attention to their conversation.

“Nobody. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spencer quickly defends, causing a giggle from the girls at his nervousness.

“Sure you don’t,” Derek replies sarcastically, “So you don’t mind if I just, go over there?” Derek teases again.

But before Spencer can answer in protest or stop the, Derek and Penelope are already out of their seats and making their way over to you and your group of friends.

Although Spencer can’t hear much of your conversation over the bustle of the bar, he can imagine you recognise his two colleagues from the many pictures in his apartment as he notices your eyes widening at the realisation and your gorgeous smile making an always welcome appearance on your face. He thinks you’re an angel.

Soon enough, you begin to head over towards the table him and the remainder of the team occupy, excluding Derek and Penelope who are a few steps behind you with cheesy grins plastered on their faces.

Your smile hasn’t faltered and is still adorning your face as you near the table.

“Hello everyone, you must be the rest of Spencer’s team!” You beam while meeting the individual gazes of everyone including Spencer’s gazes.

Most of them stare cluelessly except for Spencer who is blushes in your unprompted presence. After a few seconds of silence, Derek thankfully cuts the tension and explains,

“This beautiful woman here seems to know Spencer pretty well. Do you care to explain that to us all pretty boy?” He says with a wink.

Spencer blushes even more at the sudden turn of heads in his direction, feeling your piercing gaze along with his colleagues inquisitive looks.

“Well uhm everyone, this is y/n. My girlfriend.” He stammers saying the last part in a hurry whilst gesturing towards you.

The table erupts into a flurry of “hello, nice to meet you”, compliments directed towards you and your style with the occasional “I didn’t know Spencer had a girlfriend” to which you responded,

“He’s been keeping you guys from me for 6 months. Can you believe?” You joke with a fake pout on your lips.

“Well we need to make up for lost time then.” Jj claims.

“Reid, the next rounds on you. We have some questions to ask!” Emily demands in agreement. The rest of team then seconding her idea.

Spencer sighs, already feeling sorry for his bank account about to feel the consequences of his team’s expensive taste but all distain is gone as soon as you slip into the spot next to him. And as soon as you kiss him sweetly in greeting and then again for fun, he knows he’s going to have a good night even if he’s the target of all teasing tomorrow. He’s glad you’ve finally met his makeshift family and knows he’ll not regret this unplanned introduction.

A/n: Hi all, this is literally my first ever actual oneshot not just hcs! Any tips are appreciated and of course any interactions! Thank you guys for reading!

[lvndrdaaze]

any virgin ororon x virgin f!reader thoughts? if you write nsfw of course 🫣

bestie... I had so many thoughts on this, and I hope you enjoy 💜

wc: 2.5k

Ororon's thoughts on sex were confused - in nature, it was a simple biological act of reproduction, of continuing a species, and he knew he wasn't prepared for children yet. However, in his time with the Fatui, some of the more vulgar agents drunkenly described the pleasure and thrill of it in ways that made his naive cheeks turn pink - he couldn't help but feel curious. Did it really feel that good?

In a similar fashion, the people of his tribe described it as a spiritual experience of two souls reaching out and touching each other in a way that brought the purest form of ecstasy known to humanity. This opinion had always led him to believe that sex simply wouldn't be for him - what pleasure could a broken soul provide, or even experience?

But a short while into your relationship, something started to happen to him. A simple touch from you had always set his heart racing, but somewhere along the way that rushing blood began flooding down to his cock, making him stir and twitch in his jeans. He found that he couldn't take his eyes off you when that happened, that the plush of your thighs suddenly seemed so inviting and the mere thought of your cleavage made him throb. 

Ororon touched himself to the thought of you, sprawled out across the bed in his messy bedroom as images of you flashed through his mind. His leaking cock twitched, precum lubricating his rapidly pumping fist as obscene moans echoed around the room like a reverberation of the pleasure he was experiencing at his own hand. He came the first time with a surprised shout of your name, his back arching off the mattress as he spurted thick, hot fluid onto his own stomach and chest. He didn't know all that much about sex, but he knew it was firmly on his mind now.

So, he was the first to mention it out of the two of you. "Have you ever had sex?" He asked bluntly one afternoon, and he was surprised to see the pink tinge to your cheeks and hint of shock in your eyes. Hadn't you been thinking of it too? He had assumed that you were, but now he wasn't so sure... But then, you answered his query with a faint shake of your head.

"W-why do you ask?"

Ororon may be naive, but he was no fool. He could recognise interest when he saw the glimmer of it in your beautiful eyes, heard it in the tremble of your voice. The seemingly innocent question was an opportunity, a door you were holding open for him. 

"I haven't either, but I've been thinking about it lately." He answered in that same nonchalant tone he always used. "With you, specifically. Have you ever wondered what it would be like?"

You blushed even more, taking your soft lower lip in between your teeth, and that was all it took for things to begin.

Ororon was gentle and a little clumsy as he figured out how to touch you for the first time. His kisses were chaste and experimental until his fingers traced over a spot on your inner thigh that made you gasp, and he was welcomed to the wet heat of your mouth. Oh, the taste of your mouth, the slickness of your tongue against his... his cock was throbbing, painfully hard in his pants, and he wanted nothing more than to see if your pussy was just as warm, just as inviting.

He wanted this to be good for you, though. So, he restrained himself for just long enough to tug your panties down your legs and familiarise himself with your slick heat. With your legs spread apart and his face level with her, he stared at the wetness gathered in your folds, hardly even noticing the way you trembled in anticipation. He hadn't even touched you yet, but the sight of you already soaked had him fascinated, and he darted his tongue out to taste the tempting, glistening flesh.

The sharp moan you let out at the contact was more than he could have ever dreamed of hearing. Within moments of registering the sweet tang of you on his tongue, he was bucking his hips against the mattress as the lapping motions of his tongue grew more persistent, and he moaned openly against your cunt with every dull pulse of pleasure that built in his gut. His eyes were closed in a pornographic image of contentment as he feasted, his fangs grazing over your twitching pussy and his hands gripping your thighs tighter than he intended as he held them open.

Ororon was equally concerned with your pleasure and his own. He explored every fold of your sweet pussy with his tongue, grinding the wet muscle around the clenching hole whilst trying to memorise the feeling and taste of it all, all whilst he humped the mattress with a growing desperation. The sounds you were making were fascinating to him - did this really feel that good to you? It felt incredible to him, so incredible that he knew he would probably cum in his pants like this if he kept going for much longer, but how good could it really feel to have someone's mouth on such a private part of your body?

At least, that was what he thought until you pushed his head away with a shaking hand and decided it was his turn. The moment your lips, wet and pink like petals in the morning dew, wrapped around his hot, needy tip, he was gone. Gasping and whining like a tragic little puppy, his fingers found their way into your hair with a surprising strength and anchored themselves there, grounding himself as you ran your tongue around the sensitive tip of his cock experimentally.

It wasn't a particularly talented blowjob, yet Ororon sobbed when you worked him only halfway into your mouth, sucking lightly and hardly bobbing your head due to the fingers gripping tight to your hair - and then he was barrelling towards the edge. The feeling of approaching an orgasm in your mouth was so intense, so much more powerful than with just his hand, that he didn't even think to warn you, and only realised his mistake when you let out a muffled yelp around him.

"Oh... sorry." He mumbled, flushed and expecting an earful from you about how inconsiderate it had been - but then he saw the glimmer in your eye.

"It's okay." You whispered, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your messy lips, and you ran a hand up his thigh in a way that could only be described as sinfully alluring. "Do you want to keep going?"

"Yes." He answered immediately with a sweet little nod and wide eyes that stared at you. "Can we, please?"

You nodded, and Ororon had never been quite so excited in his life. Helping you out of your clothes felt like peeling open his first ever Bulle fruit, shipped all the way from Fontaine... it was new, and exciting, and he couldn't wait to delve in and taste everything that the sweet flesh had to offer. 

You helped him undress similarly, and he grew even harder just from watching you tugging at his tight jeans with a groan of frustration. Maybe you were feeling just as desperate as he was right now. He helped you to get them off, shucking them onto the pile of clothing on the floor with a heavy thunk, and suddenly you were both naked and nervous.

Ororon's hands found your cheeks as he knelt between your parted thighs, holding your gaze unwaveringly. No matter how difficult you looked to resist all spread out like this, it was your comfort that was his priority.

"Please... tell me what feels good. I really have no idea what I'm doing." He murmured earnestly. 

His hips slotted easily between yours, and he quickly figured out the best way to hold his weight without crushing you with it. With one arm reaching to wrap a fist around his already throbbing length and the other anchored to the bed beside your head, he angled it towards you, dragging the thick head through your soaked folds, but a whimper from you caused his actions to pause.

"Sorry, did I hurt you? Am I going too fast? We can stop, if you want to." Ororon asked, panicked and anxious. 

"N-No, it was just... new. It felt good." You assured him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and he relaxed a little.

"C-can you..." he mumbled as he tried to find where to aim his tip a little clumsily.

Your hand joined his around his cock, and guided him towards your entrance. He felt it catch, felt the very tip slip into your warm, wet heat, and his teeth sank into his own lip. If this was what just the tip felt like, how was he going to last once he was inside you?

The process of working his way in was slow and overwhelming. Ororon had never even considered whether his dick may be bigger than average, but slipping it into your tight pussy inch by inch seemed to take forever. His hands clenched on the sheets as he watched it disappear inside your fluttering hole, and he tried his best to bite back every whimper he wanted to let free just so that he could hear your breathless moans. 

Finally, his slow rock into you was stopped as his pubic bone met yours, his aching cock fully enveloped in the warmth of your most sensitive area, and the feeling took his breath away. He could feel all of you, every ridge and bump, every twitch and clench, all accompanied by the sound of your heavy breathing mixed with his... and he understood the appeal of all of this now. He had never been so truly connected to anyone before, both literally and metaphorically. Even his broken soul was far from the forefront of his mind as he leaned down, one arm still caging you in beside your head and the other intertwining his fingers with yours, giving a reassuring squeeze.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his soft voice coming out far hoarser than he had intended.

You nodded, blinking up at him with those perfect eyes, glassy and hooded with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched around him.

"Yeah, Ororon, please..." you whispered, hooking your knees on either side of his hips and pulling him somehow deeper, as though this was natural to you. "Y-you can move..."

He released a shaky breath, and gave a slow, experimental roll of his hips. His cock dragged along your inner walls sinfully, pulling out only a couple of inches before pressing back into the addictive wetness, and he moaned, loud and obscene. 

Everything he had heard about this act seemed to make sense all at once. It was instinctual, the need to bury himself deep and never leave, just like the animals in the wilderness. It was joyous, something he wanted to gush about to anyone who would listen, just like those Fatui had. But most of all... it was spiritual. He was inside you, and it felt incredible. His tribe were right.

He kept his pace slow and deep, never withdrawing all the way out of you before canting his hips forward until his pubic bone pressed against your twitching pussy, drawing out the sweetest sounds from your lips. It took a little while to truly find a rhythm, simply because of how distracted he was by all of the different stimuli going on, all the new sights and sounds and scents - Archons, no one had warned him about the smell that clung to the air, heady and sweet.

Eventually though, he found a pace that worked for you both. One of his hands found its place on your waist, pulling you in gently against his thrusts. The sounds you were both making were loud and uninhibited, and it only made him more desperate, more in love with the experience.

"Hah... I'm, ah, I can't stop," Ororon whispered, staring down at your expression; your parted lips heaving pants and moans into the air, your eyes glazed and heavily lidded - you were a picture of obscenity, and he imagined he looked similar.

"D-don't stop, Ororon, please," you whimpered, and he felt himself throbbing inside your gummy walls, the end he had become so familiar with in recent months coming ever closer, and it was far more intense than it had ever been with just his own hand.

He picked up the pace, grunting and moaning hoarsely with every plunge of his cock into your cunt. The sound of every collision, that heavy wet squelch, was driving him wild. 

"I... oh, I'm c-close," he whined, ducking his head down to kiss at the curve of your shoulder, the perfect column of your throat. "A-are you going to..?"

"Yes," You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut and nodding frantically, "yeah, oh Archons, I-I'm close..."

He moaned, and without thinking, bit down on your shoulder, sinking his fangs into the soft, smooth skin. It felt primal, he couldn't explain it, but it seemed like it was the right thing to do, because suddenly you were clenching around him, crying out in bliss and gushing around his cock as you came.

Ororon kept going, kept thrusting his hard length wildly into the sopping hole until he could feel his release approaching, it was right there... then at the very last second, he pulled out of the warmth of your pussy, barely having time to wrap his fingers around himself before he was cumming, gasping and spurting thick lines of cum over your stomach. His body twitched and bucked, his eyes closed under the weight of it all for a few moments.

Then, he collapsed back down, hardly even bothered by the sticky sensation between your bodies as he laid atop you like a blanket.

"Wow... I had no idea it would feel so... powerful." He mused quietly, his voice a breathy whisper against your collar. He pulled back slowly, looking down at you with unrestrained affection. 

"Me neither." You whispered back, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Archons, you were so pretty.

"W-was it good for you, too?" He asked softly, his gaze falling to the marks left my his teeth on your shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry... did I hurt you? I really didn't mean to, I just, I don't know what came over me..."

But you shook your head, looping your arms around his neck to pull him down closer, until all he could focus on were the tiny details of your face. The soft flutter of your lashes, every tiny freckles on your face, the flyaway strands of hair that tickled his cheeks as he leaned in.

"It didn't hurt at all." You whispered, brushing your lips against his. "It was amazing, Ororon. You were amazing."

His heart could have exploded in his chest right then; he knew in that moment that he would never be able to get enough of this, of this feeling of warmth and connection and love.

[rainychaoloveshack]

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝.

you and sonic cuddle up in a flower field.

A SIDE • B SIDE

☂︎ wc. 750

☂︎ a/n. sorry for the all lowercase, i didnt care too much to capitalize while writing (wont happen again, i promise!) im a little rusty when it comes to writing for sonic, sorry if they’re ooc

“oh, hey! hey!” your head switches itself out of its meditative state at the sudden calling of your name. an extremely enthusiastic voice chirps out from above you, and you feel their shadow enveloping your body, hiding you away from the moonlight. “‘didn’t expect to see you here!” instinct tells you to rip open your vision to see your new visitor, but you brush off that instinct with a small smile. “what’re you doing out so late, huh?” you could say the same thing for him, but a twinge of giddiness hits your heart at the thought of him taking the time to go look for you. your mouth stays shut despite your fluttering thoughts.

the flower petals you lay on brush past your cheeks, ripped off by the light breeze as they flow right past you. it’s not hard at all to guess who's speaking to you, so you keep your eyes closed, but greet him anyway.

ever so cheerful, he is. you never get sick of it, for even a moment.

“i was wondering where you were. what, you don’t feel like coming home yet?” his gloved hand pokes into your cheek, snickering as your brows furrow at the interruption of your daydream. unbeknownst to you, he’s admiring you. every little feature. from your eyes, to your nose, your lips, and back up again to go over things he might’ve missed. but he’ll never tell you that.

“are you feelin’ lonely?” it must be him coming up with excuses to spend time with you, definitely. “want some company?” and he knows deep down that's not the exact question he wants to ask. his hearts telling him to ask something else, something more intimate.

“can i stay with you, just like this?” yes, that sounds right; what he really wants to tell you. but his lips stay sealed as he waits for your answer, foot tapping impatiently on the flower-filled ground, yet his pace slows once he realizes that he could be trampling more flowers than he’d like.

your lips part to utter words of agreement to his question, but before you can even vocalize it, his weights already pushed up against you, laughing without a care in the world at your unpleasant reaction to his sudden showcase of affection. your eyes flicker open to cast your gaze on him, and he meets it rather quickly, looking into your eyes with a smile that spreads from cheek to cheek. after a few seconds of silence, his expression softens itself, and you bring your hand to press on his lower back, bringing him closer to the point of his chest pressing against your side. he seems to settle into your touch well.

“hey, come on.” sonic’s demeanor softens as he snuggles against you, “i came over to bring you home. you know that, right?” his tails wagging, unable to hide the pure joy he feels in your presence. “but if you wanna stay outside so bad…” he lets in a huff of air, sighing softly against your neck. his warm breath sends shivers up your spine, forcing an involuntary flinch out of you. he grins cheekily at the sight, enjoying your flustered smile.

sonic rises to his knees, his hand reaching over to press on your waist as he gazes down at the sight of you enveloped in flowers. “hey-” he starts, but stops himself once he realizes how beautiful you really do look, not that he had any doubt. but the mere sight makes him feel dizzy. he clears his throat before trying again.

“hey, remember the first time i brought you here?” he says. “pretty romantic, huh?” his eyes seem to twinkle even in the dead of night, his spirit still set alight even if everything else is shrouded in darkness.

that’s the sonic you fell in love with.

his smile slowly drops as the silence permeates between you two, confused at your wordless gaze into his features. his ear flicks as he waits for a response, but all you do is nod to keep the silence. through mutual adoration, you both stay like that for a while. there's practically love in the air.

“are you challenging me to a staring contest?” he chirps, and the romance between you two dies out instantly with the sounds of your shared laughter, a melody perfectly crafted by the both of you, mixing with one another's perfectly. even the smallest of moments with him feel so huge, a shared scrapbook of sweet affection and love stuck in both of your heads.

something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

[schlattslonghairytoes]

omg wait i just sent in the baby it’s cold outside request and im now realizing that YOU PLANTEF THE SEED IN MY BRAIN WITH YOUR HCS WHEN I CATCH YOU!!

but if you don’t mind could you please go more into depth with that idea pls pls pls

the christmas spirit

you were sat on your sofa watching you boyfriends newest podcast episode, you were sorting through your own footage when you hear him talk about making a christmas album

now you knew he could sing, but an album worried you, he was no sinatra. so you decided to call him up and see what he was thinking

you clicked on his contact and began calling "jayjay😏" after 5 rings you really considered giving up, but you finally saw the word connecting

you again considered hanging up when he answered the phone looking like this.

"what." he groaned it a low pitched voice, you giggled before realizing what time it was by him

"jay why were you sleeping at five P.M" you squinted your eyes at him

"im tired." he deadpanned. you sighed before laughing again at his mad face, before you could speak he began to stretch and the angle where he dropped his phone gave you a full view of his beautiful body.

"do you know hot you are?" you ask admiring your boyfriend.

"ill hang up on you, slut." he never did like compliments.

"brat, anyways." you rolled your eyes "i just finished watching chuckle, you looked very cute, but what was this about a christmas album?"

his face lit up "i forgot to tell you! okay so remember my way, well i know you remember it but you get it, i wanted a new project to focus on so im going to make a christmas album!"

schlatt found it very hard to focus on one thing for a prolonged period of time, but he always loved singing so you believed this would be good for him.

"babe and how are you gonna do that?" you questioned, he began to pout as he walked to his bathroom and set down his phone on the counter

"what you dont beweve in me?" he asked in a weird baby voice, while alos having a mouth full of toothpaste

"gross. no of course i do, but i mean your gonna need a producer, a person to re-write the music so you can own it, a vocal coach, how much is this gonna cost you?" you voiced your concerns

"not as much as ill make from it" he laughed

"ugh i hate you" a sigh escaped you but he persisted

"and one more thing.. i want you to be in it."

-if there is one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you were not about to be one of those youtubers who started making shitty music

-so when i tell you it took a long time to get schlatt to convince you to be on the album, it took months

-but when you eventually came around schlatt was ecstatic

-and honestly you were kinda excited too, you would get to see your boyfriend after not seeing him for over a month

-and with this album drop, you both agreed it would basically be your own version of a hard launch

-you wanted to pick songs that would compliment both of your voices, but also make it pretty clear you were more then just friends

-you chose santa baby and baby its cold outside, but schlatt added another, your favorite song, something stupid by frank and nancy sinatra

-you were so excited to see him that the thought of having to sing that well didnt even cross your mind

-but you boarded your flight to LA without second thought, excited to see your favorite boy when you landed

schlatt fucking hates Los Angeles, its hot, the people suck ass, theres always traffic, and right now, the fact that your not with him is driving him insane.

your flight should be landing any minute, and hes sitting in an airport trying to hide and make sure no one recognizes him.

the reason that becoming increasingly difficult is because fucking jack manifold, tom simons, and harry tornado (average harry), waltz off the plane, into the airport, in los angeles.

where everyone is always looking for someone to recognize.

schlatt is hiding twenty feet away from them, but hes already gotten noticed four times, the man cant catch a break.

he just wants to see his girlfriend, not interact with his fuckass fans

that fact that your relationship was private didnt help, he would one hundred percent makeout with you in the middle of the airport, but now that you have planned your hardlaunch he has to contain himself.

harry and jack were taking a picture with a fan, and tom was pissing as usual when schlatt finally saw you

he launched himself up and flailed his arms around like a clown to you, when you saw him you bolted across the floor and threw your bags at harry, who fell over from the force.

like flat on his ass.

you ran and jumped your man “i missed you so much baby” you laughed

“there is a group of teenage girls to your left that have their phones out, i love you so fucking much but save it for the bnb.” he smiled down at you

you giggled and looked over at the six girls, who were activley ignoring harry and tom who were awkwardly standing by them

"holy fucking shit im your biggest fan, please please please can i get a picture with you ive been watching you since i was fucking ten." one girl yelled

"kezia shut the hell up your gonna scare her away." another slapped her

"alanna you dont understand." she wailed

"you look alot like our art teacher" another added

"renn arent you a patron of her podcast?" holy fuck there were so many of them

they all began yelling over eachother and fan girling over you, "do you guys want a picture, or we can make a tiktok or something, up to you guys." you said politely

"can i be in it?" harry asked quietly

"um, sorry, who are you?" tom and jack started hysterically laughing and slapping harry

you guys ended up making a funny tiktok in the middle of LAX and they told you they were all friends because of an art class they have together.

after you all said our goodbyes you all loaded into ted's truck that schlatt was borrowing to haul you all around

you got in the passenger seat as schlatt went over the plan for the week

"okay, we have an airbnb for all of us, but two of you have to share a room, theres three in total. so jack tom and harry two of you will have to be sharing a bed, no homo in my airbnb do ya' hear me?"

they all burst out laughing and agree to schlatts terms

"okay, today once all of you are back at the bnb, im gonna head to the studio to record my solo songs, tommora' im recording with tom and jack, harry you can tag along or whatever, wednesday me and you are together"

he rested his hand on your thigh as he looked at you, his eyes full of stars, looking at you as if you had hung them

"then Thursday, me ludwig, quackity and theo are gonna be down there, the rest of the week is scheduled incase we need to re-record anything or just have fun, everyone undertand?"

he squeezed your thigh as he drove, eyes locked on you

"eyes on the road buddy" you pushed his head foward and sat back in your seat admiring you boyfriend as your friends wrestled in the back.

"harry cut it out, tom stop touching his bum or whatever you britsh fucks call it. youre being gay man, what did i say about that." schlatt jokes, he told you privately that he was bisexual so you knew his jokes were simply just jokes

you watched him as he yelled at the monkeys in the back seat and all you could think is how good of a dad hes going to be, you've spoke about kids before, and your both on the same page which is a huge relief.

you thought about what features your kids would get from him, and god you hoped it was his nose, you loved his nose.

"can ya' stop thinking so hard i swear i can hear your thought." he laughed as he stopped at a red light, looking over to you again

"i just love you so much." you laughed

"ew mom and dad are gonna fuck!" tom gagged

"get a room you perverts" harry lent over the middle console and made smooching noises, schlatt grabbed his face and pushed him back into his seat.

"this is gonna be a long fucking week, im gonna kill myself i swear." schlatt scoffed

"take me with you then" you sighed and slouched into your seat.

day one. (six days remaining)

you woke up with schlatts arms wrapped around your waist, good start.

you both woke up early so you could get breakfast for you and your kids, as you walked up the streets of LA all you could think about is how you want to spend the rest of your life with this man.

"penny for your thoughts?" he laughed, but was one of his calm laughs that was so genuine and unforced

"just love you, love us y'know? i wanna have a big house, a cat, maybe a dog, some little you's running around, i just cant wait to move in with you next month"

"if you say anything like that again ill fuck you right here. dont test me, im gonna have to walk around witha' boner now you whore"

your laugh escaped you and you had to bend over and stop walking as you look up at your now tomoato colored boyfriend.

"c'mon keep it moving." he gunted, a small smiled appearing on his stone cold face.

you ate breakfast together then made your way back to the bnb to deliver food to your "kiddos", soon after they all left for the studio so you decided to start a little project of your own, a suprise one

since schlatt was going to hard launch your realationship through something he loved, you decided you'd do the same

a little video about the love of your life

day two (five days remaining)

you and schlatt repeated the same routine in the morning, you went and got breakfast, went back the bnb, got changed and finally left for the studio

on your walk there schlatt warned you about the homeless person right infront of the studio

"no im so serious, he actually tried to stab me two days ago, and when i finaly got away from him he started yelling how he could take me, and not in a fight. let me tell you, he was not my type."

you both walked into the studio to be met by a italian man named David, but it was pronounced daviday.

he directed you both to a booth were you were instructed to drink tea and blow bubbles into a cup

"babe im starting to get nervous, if i fuck up, or have a voice crack, and you laugh at me. so help me god im breaking up with you" you told him

"lemme tell you what happened yesterday" he sat down and began drinking his tea. "i let harry sing one line on jingle bells and his voice went up and octave and cracked. it was so funny holy shit, i have to get that recording."

you both contiuned talking about the recording process so far, until david told you he was ready to begin, starting with baby its cold outside and you were gonna do a full run through no matter the mistakes.

the music counted in and you started off the song "i really cant stay" you sang. then your boyfriend came in with "but baby, its cold outside" and your eyes widened at how good he sounded

you went through the full thing and after the last line you laughed until you heard davids voice, "both of you, that was shit, do it again."

schlatt didnt even seem fazed by this. holy fuck you were in for a long day.

once david was semi happy with that song you moved onto something stupid, and that one went by much faster.

but the song you were dreading most was next, mostly cause you had to carry the whole song

schlatt started off the ong with the iconic bu-bum, bu-bum' when your voice came in "santa, baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me, been an awful good girl."

as you sang your eyes looked up at him an winked before you focused on singing again.

schlatt continued through the song, but the moment you were done, he scurred off to the bathroom while you did certain lines and verses over and over

when he came back, his face was significantly redder, but you just laughed and moved on, too focused on perfecting your song

you had been recording for over 12 hours now, both of you exhausted.

when you were finally done it was two am.

you called an uber and headed back to the bnb

as you fell asleep on schlatts chest, all you could think about was how you couldnt wait to upload the album, and finally live with the love of your life.

[velvetvexations]

Not gonna lie the whole "trans women are women because they experience misogyny or [xyz tangible reason like dysphoria or whatever]" thing confuses me so much because every single time I have seen a trans person or group take on the big "why are trans people the gender they say they are" question it quickly becomes clear the only real answer that exists and will ever exist is "because they say they are".

We've tried hinging it on dysphoria or brain gender or hormones or presentation or societal oppression(or lack thereof) and every single time we end up excluding people who are trans, and the only answer that includes the full, beautiful, diverse trans experience is "because we say we are".

I just don't understand the drive to make sense of it, it doesn't have to make sense, it doesn't have to hinge on anything, let alone societal oppression, and we don't have to have a perfect answer for the bigots because our word should be all that matters! Why am I transmasc? Because I say I am. Because it makes me happy. Is it a choice? I don't really know anymore, but if it is a choice I would choose it over and over again, every single time, and that doesn't make me any less trans. We make ourselves out of a mess of chemicals and electricity and salt and water every day. We make sense out of light and air and rocks and everything and nothing, that's all reality is! So what if it's a choice, or if it isn't? So what if gender doesn't really matter! Nothing matters!! And that means you have the freedom to decide what has meaning. What matters.

You're a woman because you say you are, because you choose to be, just like I'm a butch genderwhatever because I say I am, I choose to be, and that really should be all the justification we need. And for fucks sake we do NOT need to suffer to prove we're real. I do not oppressed therefore I am and I'm genuinely concerned that anyone would try to base their rationalization for their existence on SUFFERING!! You're not here to suffer, you're here to go spinny in a skirt and eat delicious food and piss off your family by shaving your head and play dumb computer games with your friends. Isn't that enough?

And like, there will never be a perfect argument that convinces people who are determined to misunderstand you that you are what you say you are, no scars spelling out the word misogyny or patriarchy you can show them to get them to go "oh yes sorry I was mistaken you are indeed woman pls go on your merry way", and even if there was they'd just move the goalposts. So ffs stop fucking waiting for the approval of people who hate you. You're a woman because you say you are, if that's not good enough for some people frankly they can go fuck themselves.

Anyway sorry for getting philosophical in your inbox I just have a lot of feelings about this. I had a really bad existential crisis in high school and came out fully believing that if nothing matters then everything matters and it seems so silly to me to keep trying to like, rationalize the existence of trans people with cold hard facts because like. We exist. We are what we say we are because we say we are. I don't have to have a man soul or whatever, I just know putting on guy's jeans and calling myself a dyke makes me happy, and I try to make a habit of not being shaken to my core every time some asshole tells me that's not good enough.

Very powerfully worded anon, thank you.

[riewritten]

QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS ˚ · . READ ON AO3

『JOHAN LIEBERT x GENDER-NEUTRAL!READER』

˚ · .─ SYNOPSIS: Set a decade after the monster's last havoc in Runenheim; he managed to settle someplace nobody knew him, resolute to wander alone until his questions were answered. Needless to say, a companion who'd be willing to stay amid his solitude was the last thing he expected on this journey.

˚ · .─ TAGS: post-canon, developing friendships, romance, fluff, soft johan (whew), pining, domestic bliss, acts of service, johan acting like a male wife when he's just a friend lol, johan is soft but his unremorseful tendencies still show itself if you squint hard enough. ˚ · .─ WORDS: 5.8k

⭒ ⊹ ⭒ hapee holiday season, everyone! here's a christmas gift for my johan lovers:)

You come by Johan's crib after a long day of work. The door's open and there’s a faint albeit very comforting scent of smoke oozing out of the kitchen—your favorite soup. You knock softly (as if Johan didn't already sense your arrival with the clanks of your feet from the hallway; he had come to memorize your footsteps at this point). You find him by the stove, stirring something, movements deliberately slow.

“Smells good,” you say, voice light but sincere.

He doesn’t turn immediately, focus maintained on the pot. "It's just a simple dish. I thought you might be hungry."

He says it as if it's nothing. As if he just coincidentally thought of cooking your favorite dish. You smile, walking over to the table where a fresh and warm buttered loaf of bread awaits.

“You always know exactly what I need.”

Johan almost lets out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle, still not looking at you. "I'm learning."

The first time you met Johan, it was in the bookstore you both frequented, the perfect place to disappear for hours in the quiet maze of shelves. You got to know him by the murmurs first then speaking to him second. It was the constant whispers of the librarians and regulars about a blonde man who seemed to have nothing in his closet but turtlenecks and trousers, yet the awe in their voices spoke volumes—albeit in hushed tones—as it tipped from intimidation to admiration. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” one of them had said once, “like straight out of a painting.” “I know,” replied the companion, her voice barely above a whisper. “But doesn’t he feel… untouchable? I wouldn’t dare.” You’d followed their gazes and caught the sight of him for the very first time. Seated by the large window in the philosophy section, he was a picture of quiet solitude. His blonde hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, but it was his stillness that struck you most. Calm and composed—indeed he must be carved from stone. Since then, you’d noticed the way others seemed to orbit around him, drawn in by his presence but never daring to get too close. “I hope someone gets the gall to talk to him,” you overheard one of the librarians mutter once. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time when he spends most of his days here. I get he might prefer it that way, but still…” The words had stuck with you, stirring a strange kind of curiosity. Who was he, this man who seemed to command so much attention yet cold enough to remain distant? Oh, if only you knew what the future holds for you two, you wouldn't be so nervous about it.

“Why are you laughing?”

When you snap out of it, the stove’s already closed and Johan’s attention is full at you. Needless to say, you’re flushed, but you at least manage to smile and say, “Nothing. Just remembered something funny.”

“Great,” he blankly muses as he carries the food to the dining area. “At least we’ve got something to talk about over dinner.”

The first time you gathered the needed gall to approach him yourself was when you were wandering the aisles. He was in his usual spot with a small stack of books aside. His posture was relaxed, one hand cradling a book while the other resting on the arm of his chair. The whispers you had heard didn’t do him justice. He was striking, indeed, but there was something else, something intangible—a quiet volume in his presence hiding beneath the tranquility. It was the same volume that made you hesitate, and so you lingered by the shelves first.  It wasn't until the librarian’s words echoed in your mind. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time…” Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and blurted out (casually, or so you hoped), “What are you reading?” When his gaze met yours, you felt the air shift. His eyes were the clearest shade of blue you had ever seen, perhaps akin to a lake hiding depths you’ll never reach. Looking back at it, you might’ve been right during that moment, for there are still so many things you don’t know about Johan even now. Going back, Johan took his own time, as if weighing your question, and for a fleeting second, you think he might ignore you entirely. Fortunately, he tilted the book slightly so you could see the cover. “Being and Time,” he said, voice as quiet as the space around you. You’d expect his voice to be deep and manly, but his soft-spoken tone didn’t disappoint you either. In fact, you might’ve liked it more than you imagined. “Heidegger,” you say, mostly to fill the space. “That’s… a lot to unpack.” A faint smile touched his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is.” Then he closed the book in a manner so poised that it felt almost reverent. “Have you read it?” You shook your head. “Not yet. Philosophy’s always been a little intimidating. Too many questions, not enough answers. Not my thing.” For a brief moment, however, you thought it'd be nice to pretend you liked it just so you could talk to him longer. His smile lingered, softer this time. “That’s the point, isn’t it? The questions.” “And you like that?” you took a small step closer. “Questions without answers?” He leaned back slightly, considering you with a quiet curiosity that mirrored your own. “I think it’s better than answers without questions.” “Not really.” He raised his brows, and it didn’t take him too long to signal his hand on the spare chair in front of him, inviting you to his table so you could expound on your answer. You realized then that talking to Johan means having to deal with his words hanging often in the air, and even now you still find yourself caught between wanting to unravel his meaning and simply basking in the way he says it. Amid his tranquil is a tension, that invisible string pulled taut just before it breaks.

And, with that said…

“You don’t talk much about your past,” you start, voice almost shy. “I respect that. But I think I need to understand. Not for me, but for you. We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Johan doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers are wrapped around his cup, staring at the dark liquid inside as though it could offer him the answers. You’re right, all you know about him is that he’s named Johan. He’s past his thirties. He seems to like your company over dinner or while reading his daily dose of books. He likes spending the rest of his day in the library where you two first met after he’s done with his informal job of tutoring children around the neighborhood for a small price—because to quote one parent, “Mr. Johan is good at children! They love him,”—which almost made him chuckle sardonically at one point, only if he wasn’t with you at the time it was said.

He has always been careful with his words, but this time, he seems to hesitate a little longer than usual. Finally, he speaks, albeit his voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“I’m not the person you think I am, you see…” he starts, and with that simple remark, he's able to deduce that he's not ready to talk about it at all. "...but the past is a weight deplorable people like me are not willing to carry. 

Not that he ever would be ready to talk about it, with you no less. Johan had spent so much time hiding his true self for the past decade not any more thrilled to see the reactions of others who’d come to know who he really was, even more not willing to see your reaction once you learn all of it, too.

But needless to say what he just said is progress. This is the first time in a decade that he has admitted out loud that he is a deplorable being. And that couldn’t be truer for him because even now as you talk, Johan still has no plan to carry the burden of his sins the way his victims would want to. 

He is, in fact, stuck in here, wandering aimlessly, still struggling to understand the need for it, still wanting to see the world the way those people had seen it. The vision doesn’t appear to him no matter how many books he reads, how many buoyant children he tutors, or how many happy parents he comes across. 

Then why does he allow you to see him little by little if he fails to understand it all?

“What only matters for me right now is what’s here,” He gestures around, eyes briefly meeting yours. “This. You.”

You don’t know what to say, but the fire starts feeling a bit warmer after that remark.

On Johan’s end, he seems to have formed some kind of enlightenment with his remark, too. 

Here, in his little crib, with you by his side, he’s slowly but finally allowing himself to be seen (in ways he can and knows how) for the monster that he is, and it's all thanks to your presence. His growing fondness for you has the potential of freeing him from his aimless wandering. And if this fondness, perchance, starts developing for other people as well (to your neighbors, to the kids he tutors, to the parents trusting him, to the librarians doing favors for his books), he believes he could finally start seeing the world the way those people have seen it.

“But I don’t need to know what you’ve done or whatever it is that makes you ‘deplorable’," you quote in the air. "I just want to know you."

And his questions will be answered. And, in time, Johan can finally face the weight of his sins with full understanding.

He looks at you then, his gaze steady and calm. “You already do.”

On the second, third, fourth, and perhaps even fifth time you two came across each other at the library, you had always pretended to see him coincidentally (feigning shock with a high-pitched “Oh hi there, Johan! Didn’t know you were there! It’s been a while! How are you?” that you prayed he didn’t find annoying) because, little did Johan know, your intrigue had been keeping you up at night. You frequented the library—with all sorts of books and topics diverse—to quench your curiosity about lots of things. But with this blonde man, how could your curiosity about him be quenched if not through this? At times, you thought he’d seen through your friendship scheme, but your inner demons brushed off the thought. After all, how could he tell that these moments were, in fact, not coincidental when you two were known by the librarians for frequently requesting library cards because the old ones had been too full to fill up? You glanced at the stack of books beside him and realized that they have a rather eclectic mix—existentialism, psychology, classic literature. “You have a theme going,” you say, nodding toward them. He followed your gaze. “These authors had… interesting ways of seeing the world. I like to understand how people think.” The faintest edge to his voice, however, made you wonder if he was speaking about others—or himself. “Do you ever agree with them?” “Not always, but understanding isn’t about agreement. It’s about perspective.” You nodded then, rendered into silence, unsure how to respond. There was a weight to his words that felt out of proportion to the simplicity of the conversation. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it makes you want to keep talking to him.  “I’m sorry—” you said suddenly, realizing you had been standing there for far too long. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just couldn’t help but notice. I’ll be off then! Have a great time.” When his gaze met yours again, there was a flicker of something softer. “It’s not an interruption,” and for the first time, his voice held a hint of warmth. “Sometimes, a conversation can say more than a book.” You smiled at that, feeling a strange, inexplicable comfort in his words. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to about… questions without answers, I’m around!” He didn’t respond immediately, but his expression shifted, the faintest trace of curiosity mingling with something you can’t quite name. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last, and though his words are polite, there’s a quiet sincerity to them that makes you believe him.

After dinner, the quiet hum of the night wraps around you as you sit in Johan’s small, meticulously organized living space. The fire dwindles to a much softer glow, casting long shadows across the room before you notice Johan's gaze flickering between the firelight and you. His hands rest loosely on the arm of his chair, seemingly content in the silence. His stillness betrays a quiet attentiveness though—for he's always aware, always considering.

“You didn’t eat much,” says Johan, proving your musings. It's not an accusation either, just an old flat remark on his end.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I wasn’t that hungry earlier.”

He gets up without a word, movements unhurried as he disappears into the small kitchen. You hear the faint clink of a ladle against a pot and the gentle hiss of steam as he pours something. Moments later, Johan returns with a steaming bowl of soup and a slice of bread.

“Eat."

You hesitate for a moment before picking up the spoon, letting the warmth of the soup seep into your hands. “You don’t have to take care of me like this, you know?”

“I know,” he says simply before meeting your eyes, the usual coolness softened by something you couldn’t quite decipher. 

The soup is more than perfect, though—rich and comforting as always—and he knows you'd feel guilty if you don't eat it. “I don’t know how you do it,” you mumble in between, “but you always make things feel… manageable? I don’t know.”

He tilts his head slightly, as though considering your words. “Do expound."

"I’d rather not."

The chuckle he lets out with your statement has made it more difficult for you to hide your fluster, but much to your relief, Johan doesn't press you further.

The same chuckle wraps every crevice of your body with warmth. Oh, to have a friend taking care of you like this. His solitude can be dreary, but so utterly comfortable nonetheless.

Making Johan live next to you will always be one of the proudest decisions you ever made.

It was approximately three months after those fateful (intentional) encounters, that the library had become a haven for you both. Your quiet camaraderie grew into something akin to a routine. You’d share the same table, absorbed in your respective books, the soft rustle of pages turning creating a rhythm that felt comforting in its simplicity. Occasionally, you’d catch Johan glancing at you, and there would go his unreadable gaze for a moment before returning to his book. That time, you were engrossed in a novel while Johan seemed to be studying Hegel. The silence between you was companionable, feeling like you had carved out your own little world amidst the whispers and movements of the library. But the spell broke when Johan spoke, “May I ask you a favor?” Not that it annoyed you. It actually did quite the opposite. Johan, this guy, asking you a favor? He rarely initiated conversations in the first place! Still, you tried to be calm about it, settling down your book with poise and all. “Of course, what is it?” “I’ve been considering moving to a quieter neighborhood. The place I currently reside in… lacks a certain tranquility.” You tilted your head, “Quieter, huh? You don’t strike me as someone who’d tolerate noise for long.” He gave you a faint but genuine smile. “It’s not the noise itself. It’s the... atmosphere. I’d prefer somewhere where the days feel less hurried.” “I might know a few places. My neighborhood is pretty quiet, actually. There’s a lot of greenery, and the people keep to themselves. It’s the kind of place where you can choose to go weeks without bumping into your neighbors or talk to them to your heart's content.” His eyes lit up very slightly, but that rare glimmer of interest in his face made your heart skip. “That sounds ideal. Do you happen to know of any available apartments?” You hesitated, mind racing. The apartment beside yours had been vacant for months. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was cozy, with a small balcony overlooking the courtyard. The thought of Johan living next door—of sharing more than just library visits—has kept your tongue tied for a while. “A-actually… there’s a place right next to mine.” But hey, at least you were still trying to sound casual about it. “It’s quiet, and the landlord’s a nice guy. I can give you the details if you’re interested.” “That’s very kind of you. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it.” “Not at all!” you replied quickly, perhaps too eagerly. “I can show you the place after we leave here if you’d like.” “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

And now, as you go back to the present, you wonder why you’ve been feeling a bit too nostalgic lately, though it doesn’t stay unanswered when you glance at Johan’s calendar.

This day, last year, was the time you started sneaking on his spot at the library to initiate a talk. Reflecting on it now, your stupid tactics will never be something you’ll regret. He’s one of your closest friends now. 

Johan’s friendship isn’t one for grand gestures, but it becomes clear that his acts of care are his way of expressing what he’d prefer not to put into words. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing has appeared on his coffee table. A small vase of daffodils now sits on the windowsill the next time you visit. His dinners are always for two, even when you show up unannounced—and if, for instance, you try to ask him about it, he’d just casually shrug and say, “I just ended up cooking a lot. Eat it while it’s hot.” More, and more, and more. It’s as though Johan is slowly turning his house into your own, too.

The same goes for the stuff you accidentally leave at his place. Your scarf? You’d see it neatly folded on the chair by the door the day after. Feeling a bit too cold during the evening? There, he has a blanket ready before you could even ask. 

One night, you arrive at his house later than usual, steps heavy from a particularly grueling day. The door's unlocked, as it has been when he expects you.

“Johan?” you call, shrugging off your coat.

“In here,” comes his voice from the kitchen.

You follow the sound and find him standing by the stove while stirring a pot. The dim light casts a warm hue over him; his sharp features soften along the way.

He glances at you briefly, offering a small nod. “Long day?”

You lean against the doorway with a tired sigh. “You have no idea.”

Without a word, he turns off the stove and begins ladling soup into a bowl. He sets it on the table, gesturing for you to sit.

He sits across from you, his own bowl untouched. Then there goes his gaze, lingering on you, unintrusive but steady, as though he's reading every line of exhaustion on your face and filing it away.

“You should take a break."

You smiled wryly. “From what? Life?”

“From pushing yourself too hard."

His words hang in the air, simple yet profound. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Johan’s protection of your peace became a natural extension of his care for you. He never pushed you to do anything for him. He never asked for more than you were willing to give. But he shows up. Every day. Quietly. Steadily. 

The warmth of this dinner where Johan casually asks about your day, muses about his, shares the books he had read, makes you chuckle at the tomfooleries of children he has tutored, and more has been consuming you. It doesn’t take long until you finally work up the courage to ask a question that’s been lingering in your mind for quite some time.

 “Why do you do all this for me?”

Johan looks at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he might deflect, as he so often does when conversations edge too close to vulnerability. But then, he answers, his voice quieter than usual.

“Because you stay.”

The simplicity of his words struck you. Johan, who has always been careful, always guarded, is telling you more than you realize.

“I stay because I want to."

His gaze doesn’t waver, but you notice the subtle shift in his expression—a faint, almost imperceptible relaxation.

“I know,” he replies, and for the first time, there's a hint of something like certainty in his voice.

With the winter deepening and the night growing colder, the warmth inside Johan’s home never falters. The conversations drift to lighter topics—books you’d read, places you wanted to visit, small dreams you’d never share with anyone else. Johan listens intently, his focus unwavering.

“I think you’d like the mountains,” he says at one point. “Quiet. Peaceful.”

You smile. “You make it sound perfect.”

“Well, it could be.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. “Don't you think so?”

There's something in his tone—something unspoken, undecipherable, and yet undeniable. You realize something that made your heart ache and swell all at once: Johan isn’t just taking care of you. He's allowing you to take care of him, too, in the only way he knows how: by letting you stay. And, just like what happened just now, his likes and preferences will slip out of his mouth without him noticing from time to time, albeit much of them still projected as something you might like instead.

It's not easy for him, you know. But every bowl of soup, every blanket, every quiet moment shared in his little home is his way of saying what he couldn’t bring himself to say outright.

And for now, that is enough.

Johan’s care remains consistent, though you begin to notice small changes in his interactions with you.

His gaze often lingers a second longer, softening in ways you don’t know how to interpret—maybe it even softens a little too much especially when you’re telling him about your days. And his voice—oh, his voice that has bewitched you since the first time you had heard it in the library—recently it lowers in an almost tender way, his tone more perceptive of what you need even before you realize it yourself. 

Then there goes the gestures. An extra blanket he drapes over your shoulders on particularly cold nights. A cup of tea that spawns on the table whenever he notices your mood falter. A brush of his hand against yours when he steadies you under the weight of too many things. All these moments feel small, insignificant even, and yet they’ve become harder and harder to ignore. 

Maybe it’s a you problem (even though you tried your very best to stop the thoughts, to be fair) but oftentimes you can’t help but ask, has he always been this way?

No way Johan could like you, that much you know. But if we’re talking about you and the things under your sphere, the feelings that you can control, what would you answer if he came one day to ask if you still like him as a friend, or if it has progressed to something more dangerous—what would you tell him, then?

Fortunately, the Christmas season has brought a whirlwind of gatherings—giving you the space that you need from your colleagues. And for the night of Christmas itself, you’ve chosen to attend one with your friends instead of having dinner with him. It’s not that you don’t enjoy his company; you do, perhaps a bit too much, even, but you thought a change of pace would help clear your head.

You never intended to get yourself wasted, but the way you kept thinking of him during the gathering, spacing out, wondering if he managed to cook his own dinner or if he ‘accidentally’ made it again for two. At one point you even considered excusing yourself early just so you could go back home—to him. Oh god, you’re doomed indeed.

Hours later, the cold night air hits you as you stumble back to your apartment, the warmth of good food and too much wine still buzzing in your veins. While fumbling with your keys in the dark, you notice a figure standing at the door next to yours.

Johan.

His posture is impeccable as always, but his face is unreadable, bathed in the soft light of the hallway lamp. His sharp eyes meet yours, flickering briefly to the keys trembling in your hand.

“How long have you been—”

“You’re late.” His voice is rather calm, but there’s a note of something you can’t quite place.

“Merry Christmas, Johan,” you smile softly, the silly intoxicated mind finding his concern oddly amusing. “But oh, wait! Sorry, you told me you don’t celebrate holidays, right? Silly me,” you sway slightly. “Still, I bought you a gift, but I—hic—I left it inside. Maybe you can accompany me inside so y—you could, uh… what was I gonna say again?”

“You’re drunk,” he states the obvious with eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“No, I’m, hehe, not.” Though your keys clatter to the floor as if your body is mocking your denial. “Shit. I don’t have a spare key.” Disappointment so palpable as if the keys falling to the floor renders it unusable.

Johan sighs, bending to retrieve them with effortless grace. Without another word, he steps forward, unlocks your door, and gently guides you inside.

The warmth of your apartment envelops you, and you’re too tipsy to protest as Johan helps you to the couch. He disappears momentarily and returns with a glass of water.

“Drink.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You comply, sipping obediently, though you can’t help but watch him as he hovers nearby, his movements ever careful and deliberate, as though he’s weighing every action. When you finish, he takes the glass from your hands and sets it aside. “You should lie down.”

You nod. But then, Johan doesn’t accompany you to your room. He instead readies himself to leave. Why would he leave? He turns off the lights, assuming you are indeed on your way to your bedroom, and then bids you good night.

No.

The room spins slightly as you try to reach out to him. You fail miserably though, but Johan’s fast reaction steadies you immediately. He picks you up by the arm before you can even fall, “You okay?”

“Don’t leave.”

Johan squints his eyes, his thoughts lurking towards something. “Did something happen at the gathering? Did someone perhaps—”

“No, I—” you stammer because Johan’s proximity seems to have sobered you up. He gently sits your flailing body on the floor. He’s crouching, though his hold on your shoulder didn’t cease. “I just…I just realized something.”

He hums, waiting for you ever so gently to respond.

The same gentleness that pushes you off the edge.

“I like you.”

But the lights are off. You wouldn’t see Johan’s reaction.

The silence stretches painfully, and it doesn’t take long until you feel a pang of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and you think he might leave. But then he speaks, his voice quiet, almost strained. “You didn’t disappoint me,” he says finally, and you find it strange how that simple—perhaps even empty—clarification plucked out a thorn in your vein. “It’s just that you don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

“I do,” you insist despite the haze in your mind. Your eyes scan everything else but his face above, trying to articulate it in a way he’d believe. “I’ve liked you since we met at the library. I pretended to come across you accidentally just so we could have something to talk about. I—I used to sit there for hours just hoping we’d talk. It kept me awake at night… thinking about you, about the way you look when you read. I thought I was just like that because I wanted to be your friend so bad, but I—” you exhale, ragged, exhausted. “I don’t think it passed even when we became close. There go your habits, and how you’re so kind to me… I can’t deny it any further and pretend I just want to be friends.”

Your words trail off, and the silence thereafter has felt suffocating. Johan remains unmoved, his posture rigid, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his head.

“Let's talk about it tomorrow…” Johan starts. “When you’re sober.”

“Okay…”

And yet, no one dares to move.

You finally look up after five minutes or so, and there you catch Johan’s gaze lingering on you—not piercing, but steady, contemplative. His hands rest loosely on your shoulders, yet you notice the slight tension in his fingers, the faint clench, and release as though he’s holding something back.

“You’ve been quiet,” you finally say, voice softer than intended, eyes up at him and nothing else.

“So have you,” he replies, and though his tone is even, there’s something in the way his eyes flicker to yours, then away, as if he’s caught in something too raw to name.

There goes the silence again, not because it’s awkward but because something has changed. Your body can sense it—the urge to move just a bit higher so you can reach his face, perhaps cup his cheeks just a bit, and maybe a small kiss on the forehead too…? Your heart flutters like a bird aching to be let out. Your feelings for Johan have been climbing higher than you ever intended tonight. And yet, the way he looks at you now, guarded but searching, makes you wonder if he feels even a fraction of what you do.

“Johan,” you say, voice trembling, “I…”

He looks at you again but in a manner quite different from how he usually reacts whenever you call his name. Still, you don’t let it scare you off. 

“I don’t care if you can’t carry the weight of your past,” you say, the words spilling out like water from a dam. “I just want to be with you, and… maybe—”

It’s just that you don’t get to finish.

Johan leans in fast; you feel the time pacing a bit quicker, perhaps so it could cater to your shock. His hold on your cheek is gentle and controlled, but the way he meets your lips fervently speaks the urgency of it, as though he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’s willing to admit.

And so when you do more than push him away, your hand tentatively reaching for his arm instead—he deepens it further, his restraint crumbling just enough to let you feel his response to your confession. After all, what Johan lacks in words he always compensates in action. His care has always been consistent and predictable in its subtlety and restraint, thus making his lack of control and patience right now unusual and out of character. But even then, his lips have a careful precision that still feels so him.

Oftentimes you'd wonder how Johan's skin would feel against yours. He barely looks alive so you thought he'd feel cold. But oh how wrong you are. His hand languidly slides to your back, and then he abruptly pulls your body towards him. It's warm, perhaps too much that it overwhelms you. His heart is beating fast, the needed confirmation that this affects him just the same.

Johan’s movements feel as though he himself is unfamiliar with this feeling—as if this is the first time he's had this reaction. Your mind then races with questions. Does this mean he feels the same? Or is this meant to keep me guessing? What happens after this? 

The thoughts melt away when he pulls away, eyes lidded, lips puffed. “Johan, what—”

Only to kiss you harder again. Perhaps he did because he felt your attention drifting away from him. It’s as if to say you wanted this to happen, so relish it without thinking about anything else. This sudden assertion after keeping himself subtle is doing something in your brain.

Johan seems to take pleasure in your reactions, too—the way you pant as your lips pressed together, your hands clinging onto the waves of his hair, and when you slip out a little moan because his hands slide into your shirt to feel the heat of your back, you feel him smile. Then he becomes more passionate. More desperate. More longing. And in this moment, Johan feels more reachable, more understandable.

Perhaps his lack of usual poise also says a lot about how he’s still doing everything in his power right now to hold back, and he’s asking you to cooperate.

Johan pulls back for good in a rather slow, deliberate manner, just in sync with your panting breaths. His forehead brushes lightly against yours as he stays close. 

“I told you, hadn’t I?” His eyes, now open but still lidded, seemingly search your face for something—fear? Regret? Understanding? What is it? “We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober. You’re not listening to me.”

You open your mouth to say something but his fingertip presses gently to your lips.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice softer, reminding you of his restraint. “Not yet.”

But I just want to say that I liked it and I want more.

“Please,” he adds as if he just read your mind.

What a sight to see.

The way his face looks right now makes you feel his inner turmoil. The weight of his past he claims a deplorable being like him will not be willing to carry is making him more reluctant to let himself have this—to have you.

He needs time, doesn’t he? And so you finally nod, temporarily ceasing the itch to have your questions answered.

Johan sighs in relief, sounding genuinely tired as if this night has taken all of his energy and willpower. He doesn’t forget to usher you up, and when he realizes you’re not wobbling that much anymore, he nods, taps your cheeks, kisses your forehead, and repeats his good night.

As soon as the door closes, you slowly walk to your room. Eyes wide, fingertips touching your sore lips, and you plopped on the bed unceremoniously. 

For now, in the quiet of your apartment, with the taste of him still lingering on your lips, at least you can now assure yourself that for the first time since you’ve known each other, he finally let himself be vulnerable, even for a moment. And that is more than you ever could have asked for.

🏷️ SUBSCRIBE/UNSUSCRIBE TO STORIES | @chxrry-writes @nefarra @ellabellapumela @skexxll @xeiin-n

@melonvrs @s0m4-sh4rk

[kryptonbabe]

Ahhh Alright I will admit it! I haven't read any Superman comics yet.

I'm taking this as a cry for help, I see you friend and I'm giving you my hand, it's always time to start reading Supes. I'm not good giving recommendations because everyone enjoys different things, but there are a few comics that come to my mind when talking about good Superman starting points. I'll try to be super brief.

Golden Age

To answer your other question, you don't have to start from the very beginning, but you totally can start from there if you so desire. Golden age Superman got me into pre-code comics, they are, in my biased opinion, one of the best golden age comic series, the stories hold up incredibly well for their age. This Superman is still developing, a lot will change yet, but the core traits of what makes him special are already there: the compassion, the defense of the oppressed, the double identity, the importance of his journalism career and Lois Lane. The main villains of these early stories are structural oppression, the government and mobsters - so yeah, I'm a big fan. He is wild and sometime scary, but always kind.

Now for something completely different (modern compilations)

American Alien: all issues are written by the same guy with beautiful art by different and talented artists, this book compiles loosely interconnected stories centered around different periods of Clark's early life, one of my favorite Superman books, this one presents several aspects of his lore in a light but engaging way, everyone is here, Lobo is here, Batman, young Dick Grayson, Lex Luthor, Abin Sur (!)

Red and Blue: every story here has a different writer and artist, the collection highlights the idealistic and emotionally moving traits that are essential to Superman, short stories representing why this character is so dear to us

Miniseries

For all seasons: a moving character study focusing on Clark as a person, it's a beautiful book if you like Tim Sale's style, with gorgeous coloring by a team of people. The story is simple and grounded, narrated by different important characters of Clark's life, warm and melancholic, less action focused and more reflective. This has the feel of an old-school Superman, but still soft and emotional

Birthright: a retelling of Superman's origin story, this time while the emotional core of the character is there in the importance of Clark's family and friends there's a more thrilling plot. Character dynamics are the best thing here and when this is combined with the respect Waid has for this character and his ability to write fun moments the result is a really nice lively read

Recent runs

Patrick Gleason / Peter J. Tomasi (2016-2018): post-New 52 Superman, family man Clark, married with Lois and with a kid Jon to take care of, I love this era for how action packed, but still warm it is. It showcases a different Superman dynamic, a more intimate and accessible take on the character while he lives lots of different adventures with his family, you don't need to have read the New 52 stuff, just jump on this and you're good to go

Phillip Kennedy Johnson (Warwolrd Saga): another stellar and very recent run that you can jump in knowing that now Clark and Lois son is grown up and Clark is travelling to Warworld, planet of Mongul, to rescue the enslaved people he keeps there. This is a long arc and Superman is depowered for most of it, while there's not a lot of specific Superman lore regarding his origins, recurring characters and everyday life, this is a completely independent adventure that recontextualizes the core ideas of what makes Superman Superman. It's such a different scenario that you can read it without worrying about being familiarized with the characters and settings, it's all new, just enjoy the jouney, the fantastic art and the beefcake of gladiator shirtless Kal-el

This is all for now, I have lots of other Superman comics I'd like to put here, but they can be hard to navigate (like most of the arcs on the triangle era and post-John Byrne Superman, or bronze age stories that haven't been collected), or they have very specific tones that might be an acquired taste (like silver age comics, and more bronze age stuff). This is also a very personal selection, there are other good Superman comics out there, but these are my choices. I really hope you enjoy it if you decide to read any of them. Message me if you have any other question about this!

[love-toxin]

Dorian doesn’t know his own strength, you say? 👀 can’t wait for him to get all mean n’ bruise my cervix prrrrrr-

somehow I have this image of like...Dorian being so paranoid about being found out as an android/hunted down by Trinity that when you arrive on scene, he's so suspicious of you (because you're too pretty and make him feel too weird to be any normal human) and obsesses over thoughts of you without knowing he's in love until you do something drastic--like show up at his apartment door with some desserts you made or just to deliver his mail that was in your box by accident. and you have such a huuuuge crush on him you let him drag you by the arm into his place and shut the door behind you, thinking he's finally confessing his feelings for you even though he looks like he's about to punch something to everyone else.

(cws: rough sex, dubcon, afab darling)

cut to him holding your arms back and absolutely plowing you on his bed from behind, your pretty legs all shaky and your tits jiggling so mesmerizingly as he drags his cock in deep squelching thrusts through your precious, messy cunt. he's trying to interrogate you but he sounds somewhat garbled because of his messed-up voicebox, and it just sounds like guttural moans to you so you're none the wiser. when you try to squirm off he thinks it's cause you're trying to get out of talking--even though it's really cause he's pushing you to the brink of cumming your brains out--and he yanks you back by the hips every time, slamming you down on his cock even harder to hear you yelp and squeal before you bow your head in submission again.

eventually he realizes he's not getting the answers he wants, and that you're actually getting pleasure out of this questioning session, so he plucks you off the sheets and manhandles you in front of his mirror, just to bend you over the coffee table and make you look at how pathetic this is. how much you leak and drip all over his sweatpants as he pries you open, how your back arches and your tongue lolls out of your mouth when you should be clamming up and kicking him off. what's really pathetic is how hard he is, to the point that his cock has taken on a purplish hue at the tip (he didn't even know it could look that way) and it's no surprise when he decides that if you aren't going to talk, you should at least put your mouth to use and stuffs his tongue inside it. he hates all you Trinity scum, but he hates you the most, because no lemming of theirs should ever have such a soft, clingy pussy and the sweetest eyes when you beg for him to cum. he hates that you run your fingers through his hair and flash him a wobbly smile as you confess that you like him too, and that you wish you had said something sooner. he shouldn't cringe when you gasp in pain at a particularly bruising thrust, and he especially shouldn't pull out and lift your hips to his face to kiss your sweet, sloppy pussy better.

eventually, he'll have to realize that you're not with Trinity at all and that he just has a fat crush on you, but that might not come for awhile. so there's plenty of time, once he's finally let you drop and catch your breath for the session, to interrogate you again. maybe he needs new methods; new positions, new tortures to put you through, like sitting you on his mouth until you squirt or fucking those beautiful tits until he shoots ropes all over your adorable face. maybe he just has to pin you in a mating press and let you feel his biceps flex as he holds you down, threatening to put you in a chokehold if you don't give up Trinity's secret plans. there's so much he can do...and he won't rest until he's tried everything to get you to fess up, innocent or not.

[georgecunt]

Hello! Happy June! It's Pride and I have another question (5/30)

In the very first ask, I talked about the original Rainbow Pride Flag (designed by Gilbert Baker), but today let's talk about some other ones (sexuality/romantic orientation today, gender tomorrow):

Aromantic: The Aromantic Pride flag consists of 5 horizontal stripes. [Top->Bottom: Green, Light Green (aromanticism/aro-spec), White (non-romantic forms of love), Grey, and Black (the sexuality spectrum)] The flag was designed in 2014 by Cameron Whimsy (cameronwhimsy on tumblr).

Asexuality: The Asexual Pride flag consists of 4 horizontal stripes. [Black (Asexuality), Grey (Grey-Ace + Demisexual), White (Allies<- this has been debated/ talked about being changed), and Purple (Community)] The flag was created by an Asexual Visibility and Education Network user standup in 2010, as part of a community drive to created on.

Bisexuality: The Bisexual Pride flag consists of 1 broad stripe, 1 thin stripe and another broad stripe. [Pink (Sexual attraction to the same sex), Purple (the overlap colour representing sexual attraction to both sexes), and Blue (Sexual attraction to the opposite sex)] The flag was designed by Michael Page and introduced on December 5 1998. There is also a symbol of a blue and pink overlapping triangle that can be used to represent bisexual pride.

Lesbian: There is no one accepted Lesbian Pide flag, however the currently most used one is a 5 striped variation of the 7 striped Orange-Pink lesbian flag. (The 7 striped flag was created by tumblrina Emily Gwen in 2018. [Dark Orange (Gender non-conformity), Orange (independence), Light Orange (Community), White (Unique relationships to womanhood), Pink (Serenity and Peace), Dusty Pink (Love and Sex), and Dark Rose (Femininity)]

Pansexuality: The Pansexual pride flag consists of 3 horizontal stripes. [Pink (Attraction to women), Yellow (Attraction to non-binary genders/other genders), and Blue (Attraction to men)]. This flag was introduced in October 2010, again by another tumblr blig ("Pansexual Pride Flag").

Polyamory: Originally this flag was desing by Jim Evans in 1995, and it consisted of 3 horizontal stripes of Blue, Red, and Black with a gold Pi sign in the middle. However, this ended up being more confusing than anything else, and so a committee came together to vote on a new flag. The new flag was designed by Red Howell in 2022, and it consists of 3 horizonal stripes of Blue, Pink and Purple, with an off-centre White chevron on the left and a Gold Heart in the chevron.

Progress Pride Flag: The Progress Pride Flage evolved from the Philadelphia Pride Flag, and was created by Daniel Quasar (xe/xyr) in 2018. It consists of the traditional pride flag as the background, with a triangluar stripes of white/pink/blue (for thr trans community) and brown (people of colour and their contribution to the movement) and black (previous and a nod to the thousands of individuals were lost to the AIDs crisis. [There is also a variation of this flag which includes a triangle with the Intersex Pride flag addition and this was created by Valentino Vecchietti in 2021] [There was/is a little controversy with the Progress flag as Daniel Quasar did decide to copyright it]

Queer: The Queer Pride flag consists of 9 horizontal stripes. [Black, Light Blue, Blue, Green, White, Yellow, Pink, Dusty Pink, Black](The pink and blue shades represent same-gender attraction, orang and green stand for non-binary and gender non-conforming individuals and the balck and white stripes symbolise the asexual/aroamntic/agender community. It was created in 2015.

And so my question today (and yes it is late, I moved and vastly underestimated how many clothes I own, whoops), if you could design a flag to describe everything that makes you feel proud, what colours do you think would work best? (you can give as much or as little detail as you want, give an actual design or just list colours, or whatever, this is completely open ended and up to you)( i know it would probably take thought for people, so like don't feel pressure to answer instantly or whatever, take however long you need to be satisfied)

Happy Pride 🌈 🎉

okay this is really hard, because i love the lesbian flag and i do feel like the colors represent my identity but my favorite color combination is basically the aroace flag. If i have to make one for me it's probably be a small change visually on the lesbian flag, colors standing for community, happiness, devotion, love and sex

[sysig]

Go play pretend on your own (Patreon)

[crossbackpoke-check]

the pics of morgan and joel are from travis sanheim's wedding this weekend!

^^^me experiencing the one-two knockout punch of “oh they WERE each other’s wedding date” followed by the realization that sanny finally got married 🥹😭 cheers indeed!!!

[virtie333]

Well, here goes...

Mr. Dameron started teaching 12th grade Government when you were a freshman, so you had heard all the rumors about him long before you actually got to be in his class. By that time, he was the favorite teacher of every senior; even the students that weren't crushing on him loved him. He knew the subject matter inside and out and made it fun and interesting. His sense of humor was legendary (he loved playing practical jokes on the other teachers) and his support and encouragement of all of his students was genuine.

Everyone was a little bit in love with Mr. Dameron.

He was a pilot when he wasn't teaching. He flew Hueys for the Air National Guard and he had a little Cessna of his own; piloting both helicopters and fixed-winged aircraft proved his versatility and only increased his attractiveness. Rumor had it, that if he was interested in someone, he asked if they wanted to go flying with him. You couldn't imagine anyone turning him down.

When you finally got to your senior year, you were absolutely thrilled to get Mr. Dameron for government. You were finally able to talk to him and interact with him rather than just watching him from afar. You couldn't help but stare at him during class, trying hard to focus on what he was saying versus how he was saying it, but it was difficult. He was just too beautiful.

You began to imagine scenarios where he would ask you to stay after class so he could go into more detail about something or other. How he would tell you how mature you were for your age. How he thought you were beautiful and smart and perfect for him. You imagined him touching you, kissing you, telling you he loved you.

When you pulled yourself back to reality, you were embarrassed. There was no way he would be attracted to an introvert like yourself. But then he would smile at you, and it seemed brighter than his smiles toward others. He'd make eye contact with you during class, and you were sure he held your gaze longer than anyone else. You tried your best to let him know you reciprocated the attraction, but you had no clue how to flirt. So, you just did your best in his class, acing every test and answering every question asked of you correctly.

By the end of the semester, you started to realize that whether his feelings for you were a fantasy or a reality, he would never do anything about it. He was a good man, an honest man, a perfect teacher. He cared about all his students, and would never show favoritism.

Early in the second semester, word quickly spread that he had invited someone to go flying with him. And it was a teacher! Miss Kelly of all people! You were sure now that everything you had thought you had seen from Mr. Dameron toward you was pure imagination. You were a hopeless romantic in love with your hot teacher, and you were pretty sure you weren't the only one. Of course, you also weren't upset when you heard of Mr. Dameron and Miss Kelly's break-up in April.

You graduated in May with honors. Mr. Dameron came up to you and your family after the ceremony to congratulate you. He shook your hand; Lordy, his hands were so big compared to yours. He smiled, his eyes crinkling, and he asked about your plans for college and beyond. You told him you weren't really sure what you wanted to do, yet, but you actually thought teaching would be fun. History was the subject you were best at.

"Whatever you do, make sure you enjoy it," he told her. "Don't let your career define you. Always stay true to yourself."

He said his goodbyes, and if you thought his gaze held yours for a bit longer than normal, you convinced yourself it was once again your imagination.

You went off to university, dated a bit, thought you were in love once, and finally decided you did indeed want to teach. The year you were a senior in college, your little sister was a senior in High School. Of course, she got Mr. Dameron for government, and immediately began crushing on him hard.

"Isn't he married, yet?" you asked her, joking, but also very curious about the answer.

She shook her head. "From what I've heard, he doesn't even date much."

Maybe he's just very discreet, you thought. Or maybe he's gay but still hasn't come out, yet. Or maybe he's ace. Whatever the reason, you sincerely hoped he was happy and that whatever his relationship status was, it was by choice.

You got your degrees in both history and secondary education and applied at more than one school. When your old school was one of the half-dozen that wanted you to join their team, you accepted. It would be wizard teaching in the school you went to! You were welcomed by the staff with open arms, as most of them remembered you. You were very aware of Mr. Dameron's welcoming smile and handshake as you were introduced to the rest of the teachers. You were also annoyingly aware of the lurch your heart did at his touch. Don't you start that again, you told yourself.

Later that day, as you set up your new classroom, preparing to teach both freshman and sophomore history, there was a knock on the frame of the open door. You looked up and your heart gave another leap. "Mr. Dameron! Come in."

He smiled and walked up to your desk. "I think you can call me Poe, now," he said.

You felt your face heat. "Poe," you said for the first time outside of your fantasies.

His smile widened. "Say, I have a question I've been waiting five years to ask you."

"What is it?" How were you going to work with this man if he still affected you this way?

"Would you go flying with me?"

Just look at him!!!!

Can you imagine your High School Government teacher looking like this???? I would continue with this thought, but I am at work and my manager is sitting right next to me! 😳

[zmediaoutlet]

🛼 🧃

(Thanks for the ones you sent me! Hoping to get to them after work tonight 🤞)

(thank you, too! what's the point of the bluesite if we aren't high fiving each other!)

🛼 describe your latest wip with five emojis

Uhh. Let me pull up the Windows+. keyboard and stare into the distance for a few minutes...

🏚️🥃☠️😭🛫

🧃 share some personal lore you never posted about before

[that feel when you've been on here for a decade+ and have to remember all the shit you've blabbed about in that time]

When I was little I sometimes went to boy scout troop meetings with my brothers, because my dad was traveling for work just about every week and my mom had to take them to the meetings instead, and I was too small to be just abandoned all night on a Tuesday. My mom had this horrible blue Chrysler van and would ferry like 6 boys 'into town' (we grew up very rural) for the troop meetings. This was the non-Mormon troop in town, which a) meant that they actually did camping and learning instead of just churning badges to Eagle, and b) these kids were fuckin' degenerates, lol. There were lots of pranks and assholery and vicious games of shirts-vs-skins pickup football and also good-natured teasing and showing up for each other and trying their best, sometimes, or trying at all if their best wasn't possible. A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. I don't know if they hit every marker -- I know for a fact that some of those boys didn't grow up to be the best men -- but it was a good thing in their lives, for a while, and sitting in the back of the meetings playing or reading or boredly watching was a good way to learn about the way that boys are. Plus there's this all-time quote, from my mother, after she bought Taco Bell for the neighbor boys and for some reason let Eric get an enchirito: Eric, if you fart one more time, I am throwing you out onto the highway!