#250 pages in... just a warning :)

[annebrontesrequiem]

If Marya Timofeevna dies by this end of this book I'm resurrecting Dostoevsky and sending him back to fucking Siberia

[trickbxbes]

Hey girl!

Love your work, especially the Dae-ho stuff and I’m so glad I found your page!!!!

If I can, can I request more smut… WHO SAID THAT

I don’t know if you need an idea, maybe if you do what I’d Dae-ho and fem reader are in an established relationship and they haven’t had sex in a WHILE, you got it from there ;)

-🦑

Omg I’m so sorry I didn’t see this but yes >:)

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 (18+)

[𝐃𝐚𝐞-𝐇𝐨 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

Summary: You and Dae-Ho have been extraordinarily busy trying to stay afloat from all the debt. It led to long days, and shorter nights. Both of you spending less and less time with each other. But one argument actually helps release some long built tension :)

Warnings: Smut, Minor arguing, angry turned passionate sex, kitchen fucking, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex,

Word Count: 1,703

Your shoulders slack as you finally get home, holding your purse close to you as a reminder to stay awake. It was a long night at work. Your eyes stung from the dryness. You fumble for the keys to your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Dae-Ho. Debt had been weighing heavily on both your shoulders and his. Many times did you come home to your lover already asleep, and many times did you wake up to an empty bed.

Entering your home, you’re surprised to see the living room light still on. Dae-Ho was sitting at the dining table, back hunched slightly over his laptop. He turns to see you arrive, squinting his eyes and then rubbing them.

“Hi, honey. Wow, is it that late already?”

He checks the clock on the screen. You nod, rubbing your head. A migraine had creeped its way to the left side of your skull. You flick on the kitchen light to get yourself some water. But you’re greeted by a ghastly sight, dirty dishes stacked up in the sink. The chronic stress you were under turned your minor irritation into full frustration.

“Dae-Ho, I thought I told you to clean that…!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. Dae-Ho leans back in his chair, getting scolded making it harder for him to not get defensive.

“‘m sorry, I thought I did it already. I have a lot of stuff to do too, you know.”

His tone made him come off a little more self justifying than he intended, which further amplified your annoyance. You hum, looking to the ground.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure.” You mutter sarcastically. Dae-Ho’s eyebrows furrow as you go and grab a glass. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He sat up a bit straighter. “It means I’m not the one in 250 mil debt, Dae-Ho!” You knew you’d regret being so harsh but right now you couldn’t care less. A dry chuckle leaves his lips. “Don’t act so innocent. You’re in mil debt territory too!”

“I just wanna come home to a clean house!”

“You want me to do it so bad? Fine!”

Dae-Ho gets up from his seat and storms to the sink. “Y’know more than half of these are yours, though.” He’d say quietly, wanting an end to the conflict but also wanting to get that point across. You grip at your hair, your teeth grit. “Why are you making this so difficult? You think I like coming home super late and being so tired I can’t do anything but crawl in bed? I miss you!” You raise your voice, but lowering your volume mid shout. As angry as you were, you didn’t forget your boyfriend’s discomfort with shouting and aggression.

He’s about to turn on the sink, still heated. “I miss you too—!” Until he saw you pulling your hair, making him instinctively grab your wrist. “Stop that-!”

You jerk, trying to release yourself. “I wouldn’t be this pissed off if you had just did what you said!” Your struggling made you step back, now feeling the cold kitchen counter on your back.

“You think I like going to bed alone too? Barely being able to see you, huh?!”

His breath is hot on your face, the close proximity being mere inches. You find yourself staring up at him. Being pinned to the counter, his rough grip on your wrist, it made a certain heat rise in your stomach. You both don’t say anything for a few minutes, just glaring at each other. Until you use your free hand to grab the side of his neck and pull him in for a searing kiss.

Dae-Ho makes a surprised sound before reciprocating, groaning against your lips. He lets go of your wrist, instead choosing to grab your hips and pull you closer to his body. He presses you further against the counter, making you moan lightly as you had your hands tangled in his hair.

You lift a leg up, giving Dae-Ho a chance to grab your under thigh and lift your leg higher. You feel his bulge against your wet core, he was already getting hard. Had it really been that long since you two have done it?

You hook your leg around his waist, grinding against his body. A deep rumble leaves Dae-Ho’s throat, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting you both. “Fuck…” He pants for air. Disappointment and anxiety creeped up faster than you could’ve imagined. This was the first time you two were this passionate in awhile. You couldn’t let him pull away now.

You grab the cuff of his shirt and yank him back toward you. Oh that shirt, you always hated it. The design reminded you of some clown graffiti you’d see in a sketchy part of town. You’d rather see your boyfriend without it on.

As you kiss him again, you slide your hands up underneath his shirt. His skin was hot, his hips stuttered as you ran your fingers over his abs. Dae-Ho shuddered a little. But he leaned closer, his tongue dancing along with yours. He’d attempt to speak to you in between your hot temperature kisses.

“Wait—is this… okay?”

You cup his cheeks and look him in the eyes, you could see you both were much less angry. But the passion brewing was one you couldn’t let simmer. You needed that shit to over boil.

“Dae-Ho. Fuck me. Now.”

Dae-Ho did not have to be told twice as he dived back into your lips. The passionate exchange only broken for a moment as you made him take that ghastly shirt off. His hand slowly slid down your pants as your hands slid around his neck. Dae-Ho groans in your mouth as his hand feels your soaking folds. You whimper in pleasure, trying to somehow get closer to him. He starts to rub your clit in smooth slow circles. You whine out, Dae-Ho letting your sounds fill the room so he could hear you clearly. His mouth was slightly open, as if mimicking the shape your mouth was making.

He slips in a finger, curling it and making you bite your lip. Dae-Ho thumbs the bottom of your lip. He leans in close.

“Don’t. I wanna hear you.”

His tongue swirls around yours before his lips connect for a quick peck. He inserts another finger, now drawing out all your sounds. He plunged them in and out of you in a steady rhythm. You still had both your hands on the back of his neck.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck… Dae-Ho…!” You couldn’t take it, you needed more. You took off your shirt, and aggressively pulled down your bottoms. You’re left in just your bra and underwear for him. His fingers didn’t leave your dripping cunt, continuously finger fucking you. You felt yourself getting close, but this isn’t how you wanted to go. “Dae-Ho~! Get… inside!” Your command somehow made the male even harder, his cock stirring in his pants.

He removes his fingers so he could lift you up onto the kitchen counter. While you desperately removed your panties, he took off his pants and got his member free.

Dae-Ho lines up with your entrance. Your wetness being more than needed for a lubricant. “Fuck, you’re so wet. All this cause of me?” He’d remark with a light cocky smirk. You glare up at him, still needing your nerves fucked out of you.

“Shut up.”

The male narrows his eyes and enters you with one thrust, bottoming out. You cry out, wet enough where it didn’t hurt, just raw pleasure. “Oh fuck—!” You choke on your own words. Dae-Ho barely gives a moment to adjust as he starts ramming into you at a fast pace. Pumped full with adrenaline, you didn’t mind at all. It almost felt like having sex for the first time. But you’ve never felt Dae-Ho’s thrust so desperately before. He had his hands on your hips, pushing you further down on him to meet every thrust. You were seeing stars, almost drifting away from the feeling. But then, you hear a,

“I love you.”

Dae-Ho was looking at you with a deep sincerity. You gaze into his eyes. Of course, now you remember, you were fighting. Your heart grew so full. You cup his face, and lull him closer.

“I-I love you too!”

You both kiss lovingly, now out of pure passion and love for each other, than out of lust. His rhythm struck slightly out of order, and you knew he was close. Before you could even hold out for him though, you come undone. You cry out his name, your head arched toward the ceiling. Dae-Ho sped up, his thrusts sloppy, but yearning.

“(Y,n)… (Y,n)…! Shit…!”

He lets out a held back roar, finishing inside of you. You cling onto him, whining with broken gasps. Your hands drift from his back to his shoulders as the two of you calm down.

Panting, Dae-Ho rests his head against your collarbone. You weakly rub his head, closing your eyes. He slowly comes out of you, creating a light squelching sound.

“Don’t be mad…I love you.”

His tone was soft, hesitant. You recognized this vulnerability from him, and slowly wrap your arms around him. “I love you too…” You say sincerely. Dae-Ho doesn’t say anything back, but he does scoop you up bridal style in his arms.

You’re carried back to your bed, and he lays beside you. It was late, and you were more than happy to get some rest after that. You can safely say you’re no longer angry. To double check on that, Dae-Ho mumbles,

“I’ll do the dishes in the morning, I promise.”

He gently pushes a strand of hair from your face. You scoot closer, signaling your boyfriend to embrace you in his open arms. He plants a kiss on your head. You listen to his heartbeat, the way it beat so fast.

“I’m sorry…”

“…I’m sorry too…”

The two of you lay there together, drifting off into a well needed slumber. But for the first time in awhile, you felt like your relationship with your lover was secure. And how, that’s one way to get out of doing dishes.

[gyllenhaalstuff]

I will actually do ANYTHING for another adam bell orr maybe anthony claire…. fanfic since when u wrote him it was SOOO GOOD and there is not enough fanfics for him!!!!! I just rewatched Enemy and hes saur fine and im just craving to write another fanfic of him / them and especially by you

Adam Bell is one of his hottest characters idc. Also… I was ovulating when writing this. This is filthy.

After class

- Adam Bell x student!reader

Summary: Your professor asks you to stay behind after class. Wink.

Warnings: Dom!Adam, age gap!!, size kink if you squint, “sir”, he’s basically using you but you’re too in love to see it, mutual masturbation, fingering, piv sex, unprotected sex.

Word count: 1909

Notes: I am going insane (ovulating) sorry about the pervy pet names xx.

· · ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── · ·

Everyone struggles in university. The stakes are high, and the classes are too long to pay attention. But in Bell’s class, you couldn’t pay any attention at all. Not to the subject, at least. Your eyes would fall to your professor's hands, the bulge in his slacks, and his tongue when he licked his lips in between sentences.

With time he managed to make himself at home in your thoughts. Every waking hour you would fantasize about being bent over his desk or kneeling under it. You couldn’t catch a break, even in your sleep. This took a toll on you, as well as your studies.

“That’s all for today. Make sure to get to page 250 in the Iliad,” Adam reminded as the students packed up their things. “Oh, and y/n, could I have a word with you?” You froze in your tracks. You hadn’t done anything wrong or failed an exam; sure, your mind was elsewhere, but that was your own problem, not his. You trotted up to his desk, laptop under your arm. “Is everything alright?”

He gave you a reassuring nod, “No need to worry, sweetheart. Sit down for a second, will you?” You grabbed the closest chair and placed it in front of his desk. You twirled nervously with the hem of your skirt. You had never been this close to him, never been able to see the gray in his beard or pick up on his cologne. It was intoxicating.

“You seem a bit tired. Your studies are fine; I just want to make sure everything is alright,” Adam explained. Maybe it was just your imagination running wild, but he seemed nervous too. “Oh yeah, I haven’t been sleeping very well, that’s all,” you stuttered, feeling your cheeks heat as he studied you. He rubbed his tired eyes, making you notice the veins on his hand. “I understand. Insomnia?” Either he was actually oblivious to your attraction (spoiler alert, he wasn’t) or he tried his best to ignore it. “Weird dreams,” you corrected. You were stuck between wanting to jump his bones and running as far away as possible. Adam suddenly looked intrigued. “What kind of dreams?” He pushed, curious about his pretty young student. You stayed quiet at his question, unable to be truthful and unable to lie.

He chuckled at your nervous expression, “Now I see.” You blushed and squirmed in his chair. Could there be anything more embarrassing? “About who?” He asked and fiddled with his pen. He knew he crossed a line; he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t even want to know. But he did. And when he was met with silence again, he smiled to himself. “It’s me,” he sighed, a statement and not a question. You nodded. This was torture.

“Poor thing. You know that’s not possible.” You felt like crying. Not only was your secret out, but you were being rejected. You looked down at your clammy hands; you wanted out. Especially since your body went against your judgment, making you clench your thighs and your underwear damp. “I’m sorry, sir,” you mumbled.

Adam thanked God for being behind the desk; you seeing his erection would make his whole game collapse. “Look, if I were in charge, you wouldn’t have to suffer like this. But it’s not up to me now, is it?” His eyes were kind and nonjudgmental. You sniffled and forced a smile, “Yeah, I get it.” He leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling as if solving a problem. “However, if it never gets out…” He hummed, keeping you on your toes. Your heart lightened a bit, daring to get hopeful.

“Come here, honey,” Adam then said and scooted out his chair, making room for you to come stand in front of him. You put the laptop on his desk and walked towards him. He looked you up and down, slouched in his chair with his legs spread. Two strong hands grabbed your thighs from behind and pulled you closer. “I won’t bite.” He smiled and stroked you with his thumbs.

You were sure you had gone insane and were hallucinating the whole scenario. But his stern grip on you felt much too realistic. “You’re my favorite student, you know,” he began, with his eyes stuck to his hands on you, “You’re ambitious, smart, and pretty.” If your shame had died with your integrity, you would’ve moaned at his praise. Instead, you swallowed it down.

“You wouldn’t mind stripping for your professor now, would you?” His voice was so sweet, contrasting with his lust. You finally dared to look at him. Your doubts melted when you saw the tent in his pants. He wanted you too. Your hands began pulling up the hem of your shirt, all while your eyes were set on his crotch. Adam hummed at your lace bra. “Do you always wear pretty things like this to my classes?” One of his hands grazed your breast through the fabric, making your nipple peak. A pathetic “mhm” escaped your throat as you nodded at his question. “Should’ve found out sooner.”

Adam guided you to his desk, lifting you up on it, and stood between your legs. He cradled your warm face, adorned with glassy eyes. And when he kissed you, you thought you’d die. He was so gentle with it, maybe because of his ulterior motives, but it still made your heart melt. His lips moved slowly against yours, teasing you with his tongue, which finally entered when he wrapped an arm around your back. A shaky breath left you, and you involuntarily bucked your hips against his. He let out a laugh, muffled by your mouth.

He broke the kiss and commanded against your lips, “Take your skirt off.”You wiggled out of it, leaving you in your panties. Your nicest ones that you always wore to his lessons, not that you thought he’d ever know. Adam cupped his hand against your damp underwear, grinning to himself. “My poor girl.” He loosened his tie and began unbuckling his pants.

Your breath hitched at the sound of metal clanging. The amount of times that sound had echoed in your imagination was more than you could count. You sat perched on your arms, lending you a view of him undressing. When he untucked his shirt, his happy trail made your stomach swirl. You followed it down to the hem of his exposed underwear. His cock was straining against the fabric, eager to use you.

He pulled it out of its restraints. His hand wrapped around it, stroking himself. Sadly, your eyes were too focused on the movements of his hands that you didn’t notice how his eyes flickered between your needy expression and the damp spot on your panties. He had thought of this too, more times than he’d admit to himself. Dreamed about having his student squirming for him, needing him to take care of her.

“Show me what you do when you’re thinking about me,” he panted, “show me how you touch yourself.” In any normal situation, you would be way too embarrassed to do it. But for him, you would do whatever he asked. You pulled off your panties, exposing your soaked cunt before snaking one of your hands down to your clit. Your legs spasmed at the first touch; you had never been this turned on in your life. Adam watched intently as you massaged your clit, watching as your body tensed with each circling motion. You fought to keep your eyes open, to keep looking at his cock, finally revealed to you. You never thought you’d see it, let alone see him with his hand wrapped around it.

You paused for a second, not wanting to cum now and embarrass yourself. The pause was cut short by two callused fingertips taking your place. The surprise finally had you moan; Adam reveled in the sound. He let go of his cock, focusing solely on making you feel good.

He dipped his fingers down, running them over your slit. You had given up on sitting and were now lying down, sprawled across the dark wood. You clenched when his fingers entered you. If you didn’t know, you’d think it was his cock, based on the stretch compared to your own fingers. A tinge of jealousy hit you when he hit your spot with ease; he must’ve been with many women before you.

Adam’s mouth watered at your walls clenching around his digits. He pulled them out of you. You whined at the sudden emptiness. “Shh, don’t get all whiny now,” he shushed and grabbed his cock again. This time, he placed it against your clit, letting his tip press against it. “Next time, I’m gonna bury my face in you.”

Your hips jerked against him. His words went in one ear and out the other. You just needed him inside you. “Please, sir,” you whined. Adam huffed in response, “Hm? What?” He wasn’t gonna let you win this easily. “You want to be fucked?” The condescension in his voice was enough to make your thighs flex. “Yes, sir,” you nodded eagerly, “I want you inside me; it’s all I’ve been thinking about.” He scoffed at your rambling, pleased with your desperation.

He entered you slowly, making you stop your pathetic cries. He groaned at you enveloping him, squeezing his cock. “I could’ve told your age just from how tight you are,” he huffed, “my pretty little girl.” His strong hands hugged your waist, pulling you onto his cock. You swore internally to never be with a guy your age again. The stretch made your mind go quiet and your mouth loud. You moaned with each thrust, painfully slow but deliciously stretching and hard.

Adam watched his cock disappear into your, in his opinion, perfectly young cunt. He upped his pace once your body stopped fighting his length, stuffing you fully when he swiftly entered you. You cried out at the sudden change and kept at it as he continued with his relentless pace. You wrapped your legs around his hips; somehow you couldn’t get enough despite the painful intrusion.

Adam lowered his torso down over you, capturing your lips in a messy kiss. His beard scratched your chin as his tongue clashed with yours. His cock kept hitting your G-spot over and over, pushing you closer to the edge. “I’m close,” you whined against his beard, furrowing your brows in pleasure. “Go on, baby, make a mess on my cock.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair as the pressure rose, scratching his scalp. He was nearing his climax too; his jaw hung open as he panted against your skin. His strained noises pushed you over the edge, making your legs tremble around his tall frame. Your cries echoed through the lecture room. And soon his grunts did too. If you could, you’d play the sound on repeat forever.

He slumped over you, breathing heavily once his cum had filled you up. “I can’t believe you want me,” he mumbled, making your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t believe you finally slept with him, let alone having him even talk to you. “You’re gonna have to stay behind a lot from now on.”

You didn’t sleep any better that night. You were busy replaying the afternoon behind closed eyes, adding a third finger to resemble his two, staining your pristine sheets with need and the remainder of your professor's cum.

[rosemaryentombed]

October 20th - October 26th, 2025

Monday, October 20th - Alternate First Meeting // Villain AU

Tuesday, October 21st - Pretend Relationship // Teasing

Wednesday, October 22nd - Genderbending // Costume Swap

Thursday, October 23rd - Domesticity // Vanilla

Friday, October 24th - Space // Underwater

Saturday, October 25th - Halloween Costumes // Date Night

Sunday, October 26th - Monster & Monster Hunter // Wedding

Purpose?

Continuing to celebrate the BartKon Renaissance in the modern era. Since the ship has historically been a rarepair since its conception in the 1990's, this fanweek acts as both a way to celebrate the BartKon narrative in DC Comics, as well as engage new fans in our small yet mighty collective.

Why should we participate in this?

Because you like BartKon. Because you saw fanfiction and fanart and shitposts, and decided you wanted to see what's poppin' in the BartKonosphere. All creators are welcome. Our romcom lovers, the darkfic connoisseurs, and of course, our smut specialists.

So how does it work?

The release date for fanworks is from Monday, the 20th of October through Sunday, the 26th of October, 2025. 

You have over four months to write, draw, and create fanworks. On top of fanfiction and fanart, we also encourage meta, essays, ship manifestos, playlists, and poetry.

Please be courteous and treat each other with respect when engaging with fanworks and their creators. If you misbehave, I will be cursing you with gastrointestinal issues and toothaches for the rest of your life.

BartKon of ANY comic book universe is acceptable. If you want to spend the entire fanweek exploring Luthor-El and Bart because you love horrific love, then be my guest! If you want a crazed version of Bart to kidnap Kon from Gemworld, go for it! Let that imagination run WILD!!!

Both safe and not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell tropes are welcome. Just make sure that you post any Mature content on a landing page that doesn't restrict Mature content (like AO3). I don’t want anyone getting their blog banned. We cannot defeat our capitalist overlords, but we can definitely work around them.

This fanweek will not have a dedicated blog. These prompts are free for anyone to use. Because it is a non-traditional, non-monetized, and free-to-opt-in casual event, there will be no mods but moi, no advertising of paid services, and no ratings or participant restrictions. I will open a collection on AO3 in October for anyone who wants their work collated for this event.

In order to ensure that both creators and the audience are making informed decisions about what they engage with, all creators are encouraged to include triggers and any other squick warnings. 

Please utilize the read-more function for fanworks that are longer than 250 words. We're tryna read yer stories, not get spammed with a wall of text. Please Be Courteous.

And last but not least - if you are engaging with any of the fanworks, reblog, reblog, reblog! Share the work with your followers. Comment on fics! Send all the love to the creators for crafting their masterpieces!!

What can I contribute?

Fanart (standalones, comic strips, etc.), fanfiction (one-shots, multichapter, etc.), fanmixes, gifsets, graphics, meme collections, fanvids, ship essays and meta, songifics, playlists, poetry, whatever your heart desires! Go wild!!!

Can I create/write not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell content?

Yes!!! All creators are encouraged to include triggers warnings, sub-genre specifications, and other warnings in their posts. I will not discourage you from writing your 16k Bart Goes Insane Over Kon fic, but please... Be Courteous and tag your fanworks appropriately so people can make an informed decision about what they're comfortable with engaging with.

What does (X) prompt mean?

Each day has two prompts!! You can either pick a prompt OR you can combine prompts in different ways. I challenge you to let your imagination run wild!

To reiterate, mainstream canon, Elsewords, and AU content is all acceptable! Creativity is key! Have fun!!!

Can I crackship/multiship/harem/OT3/polyam the characters?

No. It's literally BartKon Week. There's like six active fans left on this bitch of an earth. Don't do this to me :'<

Does this have a tag?

During release week, use the general “bartkon” and "konbart" tags to share your work with the wider BartKon fandom on tunglr. You can use whatever other tags you fancy. The best way to share, however, is to directly @ me so that I may reblog it.

I didn’t read a damn thing before this, Ava.

TL;DR: Over four months until the fanweek!!! For all fanwork creators out there, now’s the time to start thinking about what prompts you want to utilize for your creations. There are no creative restrictions, but I do ask that you follow these posting tips:

All fanfiction should be under a read-more.  

Not-safe-for-tunglr fanwork should be LINKED to whatever landing site the content is being hosted on (Twitter, AO3, etc). This includes both fanfiction and fanart. I don’t want your blog getting flagged bc tunglr hates gay people.

Provide content warnings for all triggers, squicks, and sub-genres. Please list content warnings on your work but do not be discouraged in sharing your work. If a fancop gets on your ass, block them. If they keep bothering you, tell them their mom's a hoe.

You can participate as much as you want!! Maybe you only wanna create for one day? Cool! Maybe you’re an overachieving corporate clown insomniac like myself, and wanna create for every day of the week? Go for it!!! 

The most important thing is to have fun :)

Closing Remarks

Like all my other events I host, this event, too, is entirely selfish. I've loved BartKon since I was a child when I was first introduced to it in the form of Bart/Clark on Smallville. Although I only recently came back to reading DC's mainline comics, BartKon still holds a special place in my heart even after all these years, and the few who still create and engage in their fanworks inspired me to host a little something-something for our small community.

Take your time, look through the prompts, and get your creative juices flowing! I will be sending out reminders until the go-live date.

For the people who showed interest during the initial interest check, I hope you're able to participate. To the people who hate me, your mom's a hoe. Thank you.

[eringobragh420]

ᝰ‧₊ ᵎᵎ lost in the moment

➺ pairing — randy orton ♥︎ f!reader (past miz ♥︎ f!reader) ➺ summary — takes place in late 2010. randy’s had feelings for kelly kelly’s cousin, a new interviewer for wwe, but she’s been dating the miz. following their breakup, and a monumental cash in on a random episode of monday night raw, randy doesn’t want to pretend anymore. ➺ words — 1.8k ➺ warnings — none ➺ taglist — if you'd like to be added, please click here! ➺ requested by — anonymous. hope you enjoy! (i also had to take a few liberties with the idea to make it work, so i hope that’s okay.)

➺ MASTERLIST

She stood waiting patiently as the hair and makeup artists put their final touches on her camera-ready face. She clutched the microphone with the iconic WWE logo, a company she’d never dreamed of working for, her palm still sweaty even after nearly a year working here. She was becoming more and more comfortable with each passing week, and less and less depressed about the break up with Mike. And she wondered, like everyone else, why she’d even been depressed in the first place, considering the asshole had cheated on her. She looked up toward the ceiling as the makeup artist applied some last minute touch ups to her eyeliner. She couldn’t thank her cousin, Kelly, enough for getting her foot in the proverbial door, but she would surely hold a grudge against her for the foreseeable future for also introducing her to the Miz.

She heard a familiar voice nearby and her heart began to gallop. Why couldn’t Randy Orton have been the one to sit next to her and her cousin in catering on her first day instead of Mike? Not that anything would have happened between them necessarily, but if he’d been sitting there, maybe Mike wouldn’t have stopped, introduced himself and laid those baby blue eyes on her. Oh well, none of it mattered now. The only thing weighing on her shoulders was conducting this interview as professionally as possible. When she was finally able to look straight ahead again, she spotted the WWE Champion headed toward her in all his six foot five inch, 250 pound magnificence. He wore his trunks, and his tanned, sculpted body had already been lubed up to accentuate those muscles. The title was slung over his shoulder proudly, just where she and everyone else expected it to be after the upcoming match with Wade Barrett.

Peeling her eyes away from Randy, she went over the questions she was supposed to ask him once the interview started. There wasn’t much room for improv or interpretation, not with Vince around, so their interaction had already been laid out in front of her in black and white. She anticipated no issues. And when she anticipated no issues, in her experience, that’s usually when the issues arose. She turned the page of her script, and a pair of black boots stepped into her line of sight. She could smell him—cleanliness mixed with whatever he’d doused his body in to make it glisten. Her gaze rose from his boots to his dense thighs, to his trunks and a bulge she instantly looked away from, only to land on his six pack. She then followed those muscles outward to the tattoos on his arms, his well-defined biceps. His chest was ample and solid, half covered by the sparkling title belt, and she wasn’t sure she’d make it out of this interview with dry panties.

This wasn’t the first time she’d conversed with Randy, on camera or otherwise, but there seemed to be an aura of unrealized tension between them. Was he simply in his head trying to prepare for the match? Was he somehow unhappy with her work? Would he rather have had someone else ask the questions? He’d always been cordial to her, joking, and sometimes she thought he might have been flirting with her, but then she realized she was her and he was Randy and no way would he ever be interested in her, especially with all the gorgeous Divas running around half-naked.

Oh well, she thought, whether he likes it or not, the show must go on. She handed her script and notes to a nearby producer as she was told the time they had left before the commercial was over and they were live again. 

“So,” Randy spoke, voice deep and quiet, not interested in having the rest of the world hear their conversation. She looked at him, thinking for sure he wasn’t speaking to her, and so she looked behind her, finding nobody there. She turned back to Randy, he was smirking, and she felt her cheeks ignite. “I’m talkin’ to you,” he assured her. “How are you?”

“Oh,” she stammered, swallowing thickly. “I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

“I’m great,” he replied, nodding at the belt over his shoulder, “but I meant more like … how are you? I heard you and Miz broke up.”

She gaped up at him, eyes round and drying quick. It was true, everyone knew―not that she’d been the one to tell anybody, no, that had been Mike. The man was actually proud he’d cheated, blaming it on her and telling anyone who would listen how terrible of a lay she’d been, so naturally he’d had to seek out other women to satisfy his physical needs. Or some dumb shit. The last thing she wanted to do while in the company of Randy Orton was think about Mike or talk about Mike.

“Of course you did,” she sighed. “Honestly, I really don’t wanna talk about it—”

“Oh, I don’t either,” Randy cut her off. The producer warned them they had thirty seconds before they were to go live. “Just wanted to be sure you’re okay.” 

Her head tilted, and after a moment she smiled. “I’m okay,” she replied softly. “You’re actually the first person to say that, aside from Kelly. So thank you. It means a lot.”

Randy massaged the back of his neck, and were his cheeks tinged in pink? “Yeah, well, uh,” he stammered, and she hid her grin behind the microphone. “Miz is an ass. You deserve better.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor momentarily as her body waged a Great War with her mind. Her body wanted to fling itself at Randy in the hopes that he’d catch her, dip her, and kiss her, like they did in the old movies. Her mind screamed that she was a moron and if she did throw herself at him, it would likely end badly, both with Randy and the WWE. It was a quick battle, her mind coming out victorious when she convinced her body that the man was probably just being polite, and there was no double meaning behind you deserve better, no matter how bad she wanted there to be.

“That’s really sweet,” she resigned to say. “I appreciate it. Maybe someday I’ll meet a guy as charming as you are.” Although Mike had been quite charming in the beginning, he was more of a creepy charming, in that he would say something cute, but finish it with something dirty.

“Actually—” Randy started, but he was cut off by the producer with another warning about time. 

The interviewer and interviewee both checked themselves for anything out of place, and Randy readjusted the title on his shoulder before they were given the countdown from ten. When the camera went live, she forgot all about Mike and even the sweet thing Randy had said to her, as she focused on remembering the questions and her proper responses and reactions. But Randy was different. She wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed, but he seemed to hold her gaze for longer than he normally would when replying to her interrogation. He even reached out and touched her arm a few times during the segment, and she had to steel herself to keep from actually, physically, literally swooning. 

It had been so long since a man had handled her so softly, and that’s why her reaction had been overdramatic, she reasoned. He was just a nice guy, trying to make her feel better. Nothing more, nothing less, she thought, just as she sent the broadcast back to Michael Cole, Jerry Lawler, and the newest commentator to the team: CM Punk.

“So, listen,” Randy started.

“Sorry, we have another quick segment to film,” the producer interrupted.

The interviewer turned to Randy. “Thanks again,” she said. “Have a good match. Kick Barrett’s ass.” 

She was whisked away to another room backstage, and it was in this room, after taping the segment and toward the end of the show, where she would watch on the hanging television as the members of Wade’s faction, Nexus, attacked Randy as he was headed to the ring for their title match. She was all but biting her nails through the contest, which already saw the Viper at a disadvantage, and her heart stopped when John Cena interfered, consequently allowing Randy to RKO Barrett and retain the title. She jumped from the uncomfortable couch, clapping, and her heels clicked as she jumped up and down.

Sensing a presence and noticing something out of the corner of her eye, she glanced through the opened door to the hallway. Mike stood there in full gear, Money in the Bank Briefcase in hand, and his entire body was trembling. His once crystal clear eyes were now overcome with absolute abhorrence, and she tried to do some quick mathematics to see if she’d have enough time to close and lock the door before he could get inside. Hearing the commentators erupt on the television, she impulsively looked to see what was going on. Nexus was again battering Randy, and her body deflated as fear overwhelmed her. She remembered Mike. Looking back to the hallway, she found it empty.

“Mike!” she yelled, running into the hallway, but it was too late. She took her heels off so she could jog a little faster, taking a different route than Mike had to get to the ring. She stood in the background, powerless, as Mike cashed in, as Randy received a skull crushing finale, as Randy was pinned, and as Mike became the new WWE Champion.

Back in Gorilla, she waited, bouncing from one bare foot to the other, as Randy carefully made his way in her direction. Mike, however, came through the curtain first, brandishing the title and that stupid, shit-eating grin on his face.

“What do you think about that?” he taunted, shoving the belt in her face. “Huh? Who’s the man now? I got—”

A fist came out of nowhere, clocking Mike right in the temple, and he toppled to the floor, landing on the belt. She barely had time to look from the mess of Mike on the floor to who owned the face before Randy was wrapping his hand around the back of her head and pulling her lips to his. He was sweaty and bloody, skin the temperature of lava, and he was huge and imposing, but his kiss was soothing and adoring. Her arms snuck around his neck as she returned the gesture in kind, although her kiss might have been a little more desperate. She felt his lips curve into a smile just before he wrapped one arm around her waist, hoisting her into the air, and she threw her legs around him before she fell back to the floor. They separated to catch their breath, foreheads pressed together.

Replying to Mike’s earlier question, Randy rumbled, “I’m the man,” and kissed her again as she giggled.

[justaaveragereader]

10.01 | Frankensteins Monster

Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Monster Fucking, Stomach Bulge, Electrostimulation, Size Difference, Man Handling, Unprotected Sex (Wrap It Up), Nipple Play, Clothes Ripping, Oral (F Receiving), Soft Boy Monster Jongho, Spanking, If I Missed Anything Let Me Know 👀..

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

NSFW UNDER CUT ~ MDNI🔞!!!

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want too, Jongho.” You whisper out as quietly as possible.

“Yes he does! I need to know if it is properly working. And what better way to find out then you my sweet.” Dr. Frankenstein says through a pout while squishing your cheeks.

You bat his hands away from your face, rubbing Jonghos shoulder, trying to give him as much comfort as possible. It was his first time having sex as well…a monster. Dr. Stein felt it was best to run a test on his own creation to see if it was possible. The test? Seeing if the penis he had attached to Jongho could function normally. Hell, it better had worked well, it’s not like Dr. Stein sent you to a cemetery to dig up endless male bodies to decipher which penis would work best.

Jongho was 7 feet tall, 250 pounds of lean muscle, with the most off white blue skin you had seen. Both eyes were two different shades of brown, border lining black, big metal bolts stuck out each side of his neck, he had stitches covering various parts of his body, as none of those pieces belonged to his original body. Visually a terrifying monster to most people, but to you he was the softest thing that rolled off a metal table. Despite not knowing his own strength you had grown to like Jongho. Wanting his monster to “adapt” to what it’s like to be a real human, he decided why not start with a penis. Why? Dr. Stein didn’t even brief you with an answer on it.

“I just want you to fill out this clipboard when you are finished y/n. Tell me how it goes.” Dr. Stein shoved a clipboard with various pages attached to it, some pages had his own scribbled notes on them.

“Wait! You want us to do it..here?” You whispered loudly to Dr. Stein, while Jongho couldn’t speak, a couple grunts here, a couple grunts there. He wasn’t very verbal. Dr. Stein was still in the process of trying to tweak his vocal chords. While he couldn’t speak he was very smart, whatever he lacked in vocals, he made up for it with knowledge, he was highly intelligent.

“This isn’t romantic sex Y/n. This is for science! I will give you both some privacy.” Dr. Stein wiggled his eyebrows at Jongho giving him a firm grasp on his shoulder. Leaving you down in his work area, with a clipboard in your sweaty palms. Your eyes are shooting everywhere, refusing to look at Jongho.

Letting out a small grunt, your eyes lift over to Jongho. Who is slightly smiling while looking at you, his hands flat against the metal slab, dwarfing the piece of metal. You walk closer to him, your hand gripping the clipboard for dear life. You stand between his giant legs. Fiddling with the pen located at the top of the clipboard. Jongho never intimidated you because while he was a monster, who truly didn’t know his own strength. He was always gentle with you, he made you feel like he couldn’t even harm a fly.

“We really don’t have to do this, Jongho. You get a choice too..” you whisper out quietly. Still avoiding eye contact. He slowly raises his hand, grabbing the clipboard out of your hands. Placing it down next to him. Standing up, his body easily towers over yours. Jongho could make anyone feel small. Letting out a small grunt, he places a cold finger under your chin, tilting your head up so you could look at him. Your body is littered with goosebumps. For a man of few words he definitely knew what he was doing, that part of his brain definitely was intact. Your hands are tight in fists, nerves wracking your whole body. You don’t know if you were excited or full of nervousness. You’d be lying though if you said that the height difference between you both didn’t make your lower stomach tight.

Flashing you his signature gummy smile he grabs one of your hands that is tightly wrapped in a fist, causing your body to immediately relax at his cold touch. He steps closer to you, cocking your head back as far as it could do, the look in his different colored eyes is telling another story. You feel his hard cock crush against your belly. While you dug up the bodies you didn’t help Dr. Stein pick out the body part. Too exhausted from the hard labor you had done but boy oh boy did Dr. Stein pick out a thick one. Why would you expect anything less though? Dr. Stein only strived for the best.

You let out a small gasp at feeling his hardened length against your stomach. His giant hand that dwarfed yours, moves your fist down to his cock, making you feel how hard he actually was. You relaxed your hand, letting your fingers dance along his length, by the first brush of your fingers he jerks his body back slightly. The feeling of your hand on him was enough to make him prematurely cum. Letting out a small breathy grunt, he grabs your hand signaling you to stop touching him. Placing one hand on your waist he turns you around, pushing you down so you’re sitting on the metal slab. Now that you are seated you finally take in the true size difference between the both of you. He was going to break you in half.

You lay back on your arms, parting your legs so Jongho can fit further between them. Taking the invite he stands between your legs, cold fingers running over the swell of your breasts. You shiver slightly at his cold hands. His other hand coming up under your shirt, cold fingertips brushing against your warm skin. Letting out a small groan at the warmth radiating from you. His lips part as his hands travel further and further up your shirt til they meet the bottom of your bra. What he thinks is a small tug on the bra results in him lifting you slightly off the metal slab, your head bumping into his stomach. Huffing and puffing at the contraption that’s holding your chest. Instead of helping him you are too dazed in the way he is manhandling your body.

Like you truly are nothing but a piece of paper to him. Gripping the neck line he rips your shirt right in half, causing you to let out a small chuckle, your hands coming up to run along the chiseled abs underneath his shirt that looks like it’s made out of rags. Your warm hands on his cool skin causes him to buck into you, a loud grunt slipping out his mouth, his hard cock pressed directly into your stomach. Grabbing both sides of your bra he rips it off of your body, your breast falling free. His hand immediately gripping one of your warm breasts causing you to let out a small yelp at the temperature difference. He was addicted to your heat like a moth to a flame.

“Please Jongho…” you whine. Your thighs are trying to rub together but his big body is in the way.

Running his hands through his dark brown locks on his head, his cold hand brushing against the bolt on the side of his neck. Bringing his hand down to brush over your other breast while he still has a grip on the other, his cool hand making your nipple pebble. As his other hand comes down to brush against your other nipple it sends a small shock to your nipple, causing you to let out a loud moan, your bud instantly perking up. Your body jerks slightly against him, making his hard cock dig further into your stomach. You feel it twitch, his cock surely worked.

“Again..” you whimper out pathetically. Jongho was far from dumb, he knew that brushing his hand against his bolt would send a current through him, as he was dead he couldn’t feel it. As to where a warm blooded, pumping heart body would feel the current. Bringing a finger up to his bolted neck he gives it a light tap before pinching your hardened nipple in between his giant fingers, another shock is sent to your nipple causing your back to arch off the cool metal slab once more.

“Jongho!” You yelp out, lifting his other hand off of you he touches the other bolt, bringing it down to your other nipple, sending it a small shock making it pebble up even harder. Your eyes rolling back at the spark. Your hand shoots out to grab his humongous thigh. Nails digging into the material of his pants. Your breathing becomes heavier, eyes growing hooded. With just a couple touches Jongho already has you wrapped around his thick fingers.

Letting out a sound that is very similar to a cocky laugh, he grunts, stepping back so he can pull off the pants you are wearing. You could help him take them off so he doesn’t rip them, but that would take the fun away. Wasting no time he grips the hem of your pants, ripping them clean off your body, his cold hands instantly finding your skin. Running his hands all over your lower body, finding home between the meat of your very warm thighs. Making both of your legs straighten against him, your feet weren’t even close to his head, they landed just under his pecs.

His cold finger runs along your clothed clit, oh he for sure was experienced. That part of his brain was clearly working. His cool finger pushing on the fabric causes it to sandwich between your wet lips, causing you to let out a small whimper. His eyes shooting up at you with the biggest shit eating grin you think you’ve ever seen. His hand brushes against the bolt, bringing his electric charged hand to your cunt. The shock causes your legs to buckle, yet due to his strong grip on your legs, they barely move an inch. Your wet panties cause the shock to be felt all over your wet cunt, the pulsing feeling making your head spin. His thumb brushes his bolt, placing the pad of it directly on your clothes clit, sending the small zap directly to your clit.

Your eyes instantly roll back, your mouth hangs open with no noise coming out. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Your skin is buzzing, your body hairs now standing, while your body is littered with goosebumps. Letting your legs go with his other hand, he slowly places them down so your small legs are hanging on each side of him, opening you up more to him, your body in a full spread eagle position. Gripping the crotch area of your panties he rips them off of your body. The cold air causes your goosebumps to stand even more.

Your wet pussy on full display for him, you looked like you walked off a magazine to him. His brain is short circuiting, you can tell from the sparks that are flying off of the bolts that are pierced on each side of his neck. His cock twitches as the fluorescent lights shine off of your slick that’s covering your cunt. Clearly in a daze, you run your foot under his rag like shirt, the warm sole of your foot on his cold chest, wakens him slightly. Spark from the bolts still flying rapidly but his eyes drift up to your face. A warm smile on your pretty face.

“Hey big boy…are you still with me?” You whisper, a warm smile that warms his cold dead body. Letting out a small grunt, he nods his head. Giant hand gripping his cock to relieve some of the pent up frustration he lets out a deep growl. A noise you’ve never heard him make, it sounds border lining primal. You can clearly see the wet patch from his cock, what exactly liquid that is? You aren’t too sure, yet you don’t seem to care. Licking your lips, you nudge Jongho with your foot.

“Come on Jjong…fuck me please.” You plead to him. The sparks now shoot farther from his body. That nickname always made him feel something. You were working him up on purpose. His hand fully grips the bolt on his neck, sticking out his tongue he touches it, sending an electric charge through it. Confused by his sudden movements, you sit up on your arms, watching him as he falls to his knees. Big shoulders cause your legs to spread even further. What was he..?

“Oh my fucking goddddd!” You instantly moan out, his electric charged tongue was pressed directly against your wet cunt. The shock goes instantly to your clit, but the waves of the current spread out to your whole cunt, making you clench around nothing. Your hands gripping the soft brown locks on his head. Touching his bolt again, he makes direct contact with your clit, the shock sending your head spiraling back, choking out a sob. Tears of pleasure fill your eyes, his other hand grips your breast, pinching your nipple. Between him constantly electric charging his tongue, and him flicking your hardened buds your body is feeling so many sensations at once. His cold tongue on your wet clit, with the shocks of electricity. The mini sparks flying off his neck, that are landing on your thighs.

He’s eating you out like he’s a starved man, he’s on a mission. Flat cold tongue against your warm heat, the temperature difference felt like it was tweaking your nerves. Your legs jerking with each flick of his big tongue, charging his tongue again, he places his whole mouth on your pussy, practically swallowing you whole. Sending a current charge to it all, your body jerking up, legs trying to close yet not being able to, while your toes instantly curl. The shocking feeling instantly sends you into a screaming orgasm. Your hands gripping his hair for dear life while tears pour down your face. Drinking down your essence, he lifts his soaking face off of your red, puffy cunt. Charging his finger one last time, he presses against your clit, giving it once more small shock causing your whole body to spasm, your juices leak out of you once more.

Your chest is heaving up and down, eyes shut tightly, trying to regain all the focus back on your mind. It feels like you are the one now short circuiting. You hear rustling, cracking your eyes open, you see Jongho shimmying out of his pants, trying your best to regain consciousness, you lock eyes with his lower half, wanting to see what is underneath the material of his pants. Just as he gets them low enough a pale blue cock springs out, with stitching similar to his skin running along his lengthened member. His cock, hard as a rock, with various colors on it, dripping a clear fluid? Wanting to make sure it wasn’t embalming fluid you sit up, running your fingers over his member, cock bobbing as you were giving it attention. You rub your thumb over the tip, bringing it up to your nose to smell it. It had no scent…did he fill his balls with water..?

Jongho getting impatient with your light touches trying to figure out what was taking you so long. He moves his hips forward, cock brushing against your bottom lip, licking your bottom lip trying to figure out the clear fluid, smacking your lips to get a taste. Bastard, he did fill Jongho with water. Smoothing your hands over his tight balls, you pump his enormous cock two times, before looking up at Jongho with a small pout on your face.

“Did he fill you with water Jjong? He prepared you just for me.” Jongho throws his head back, letting you pump his hard cock, your small hand not even coming close to fully wrapping around him. Grabbing your hand he pulls you off the metal table, holding you in his arms. He lays down, placing you on top of him. Seating you right below where is cock stands up fully erect, fully ready for attention.

“I’ve never had a cock this big before Jongho..” you whisper out, hands still rubbing alongside of him. A grin takes place once again on his face. Clearly proud that he will be your biggest. Gripping your hand he guides you to get on top, your drooling cunt wavering over his thick cock. Easing the tip into your body, you instantly moan at the pressure of just the tip barely brushing your walls. He’s thick, thick, thick. Your head instantly is thrown back, you ease down on Jongho slowly, thanks to him eating you out earlier it loosened you up perfectly. As your ass comes in contact with his cold legs. He charges his hand, touching the bulge in your lower belly, causing you to let out such a pathetic whimper it makes his cock jump inside you. Your hands tightly gripping his muscular thighs. The ridges from the stitching brushes your wet walls causing you to fall forward, your hands bracing themselves on his muscular chest.

“Oh my fucking god Jongho..” you breathe out. Chest heaving with pleasure, your cunt has his thick cock in a vice grip. His swollen head brushing against your spongy spot with each breath you take. He was wall to wall in your cunt, filling you up deliciously. If you had been looking at him you would’ve been he was holding back all restrain to not bounce you on his cock like you were some sort of fuck toy. He didn’t have hardly any feeling in his body due to no nervous system, but the way his cock could feel all of you was having him walk on a tightrope.

Giving your hips a wiggle, trying to get as comfy as possible you bring your hips up before slowly making your way down. Trying to get a small rhythm going before you lost your mind on his thick cock that was just splitting you open. Mouth hung open with each raise of your hips, throaty moans leave your mouth, your nails raking down Jonghos shirt. Jongho charges one of his hands, bringing it down to rub on your clit, the charge sending you into another dimension. Your body stutters on top of him, falling forward so your chest is against his upper stomach. You could feel the bulge in your stomach, causing you to moan even louder. The spacious area left no sound to the imagination.

“J..Jongho pl-please..” you grunt out with barely any breath. That grin reappearing he places both of his feet on the metal slab, hiking your body up. His hips immediately slamming up into you. Causing your body to jerk like you were a doll. One hand on your hip the other wrapping itself around your throat, keeping your body held up. His thrusts going at an inhumane pace, your eyes instantly fill with tears, your choked out screams are filling the room. Your pussy juices are coating your inner thighs, along with your ass, causing a wet slapping noise to fill the room. Echoing the space, you wouldn’t be shocked if even the outsiders who roam close could hear you. Charging his hand he slaps your ass, your back arching further into the air, the prickly feeling on your skin causes you to grip his wrist that is keeping you upright.

“Fuck..Fuck Jongho.” You stutter out with each slam of his thick cock that’s bullying its way into your warm wet walls, has you losing sanity. Charging his hand again, he slaps your ass once more, causing your body to litter once again with goose bumps, your nails digging into his wrist. Charging that same hand again, he slaps your ass even harder once more, causing a loud crackling noise that’s sparking from his bolts to be heard in the room. The feeling has tears pouring down your face, your body feels like it’s riding cloud nine. He has permanently ruined you for any other man or monster that comes after him. Charging his hand once more, he lets out a loud grunt, his hips hiking you up more, the way he’s bouncing you in the air like you weigh nothing has you practically catching air time. Touching his own cock filling it with electric current when your cunt slams down on him it sends a shock through your whole inner core, up to your brain. Your body instantly gets thrown into an orgasm, your back arching letting out a curdling scream of pleasure.

The electric current flowing from him, with your scream causes the lights to flicker, along with one of them busting, and shattering all over the floor. Jongho is still hammering away into your pulsing cunt, he’s jackhammering you up and down like you are a weightless rag doll that only he can use to get off. His grip on your throat tightens, charging his other hand once more he cups your cunt as he pulls out, shooting his clear cum fluid all over his hand that is cupping your oozing cunt. A loud grunt leaves his throat, causing another light bulb to shatter. The jolts of electricity cause you to succumb to the pleasure, ripping another forceful orgasm. Legs shaking, what’s left of the lights flickering, glass shattering orgasm. Your body instantly falls slack against Jongho, releasing your throat so you flop down on him like a wet doll. The buzzing noise of the currents of electricity in the room are all that’s heard besides your heavy breathing. Jonghos cool, clammy hands come up to cup your face to make sure you are okay.

Giving him a dopey smile, you give his cool lips a quick peck. Before laying your head back down on his chest. His cool fingers run up and down your backside. Eyes starting to get heavy, just as you are about to pass out from exhaustion, you hear a knocking coming from the lair door upstairs.

“The way I heard you screaming, I would say there are no complaints.” Dr. Stein says through a loud chuckle from the other side of the door.

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[sunlightmurdock]

Ceasefire | 1.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

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Synopsis: Bradley Bradshaw is in San Diego, summoned to Top Gun for the first time. Commander “Hyde” Simpson is his flight instructor, and she doesn’t have time for schoolboy crushes.

Warnings: ex-husband!beausimpson, divorce, age gap (rooster is somewhere between 26-28, reader is 38), power imbalance between instructor and student aviator, swearing, slight angst at the end, smut, handjobs, teasing, riding and creampies that are never addressed again, sub!rooster, bondage, probably very inaccurate flight info

…

Eleven weeks have never felt quite so long. At the same time, the memory of seeing Bradley Bradshaw staring at you with that dopey smile still feels so fresh. In one week, classes will officially be over. Rooster will no longer be your student. It’s almost pathetic, the way you’re already miserable at the thought of not seeing his face when you walk in every morning.

Still, in this moment, he’s still here and frowning down at his flight manual. It’s a storming afternoon and the air stuff got canceled, but with Beau’s mood swings lately, class remains to be in session. You’re perched on the edge of your desk, waiting patiently for whichever one of your star pupils can answer your question first.

“Minimum total hydroplaning speed of the main landing gear tires inflated to 250 pounds per square inch is 140 knots groundspeed and, for nose gear tires inflated to 150 per square inch, is 110 knots. Ma’am.” Flipping his toothpick in his mouth and offering you a dimpled grin that proves he knows he’s correct before you tell him, Jake Seresin is a fraction faster than Natasha Trace, who sits directly behind him. It’s not the hardest question. They all should know it. It’s just the rain outside that even made you think of it.

Offering Jake a small smile and a curt nod, you open your mouth to confirm that he is once again correct. To his left, you can’t help but glance across at your favourite thing to look at in this bleak little teaching room. Only, he isn’t smiling at you.

He’s staring down at his NATOPs, brows drawn together in something between frustration and confusion. Maybe embarrassment. You can’t pretend that it isn’t your initial impulse to discredit Jake to save Bradley’s feelings — but you don’t. That’s not your job, and it’s not what you’ve worked so hard to do.

“Good work, Hangman.” You tell him calmly. Bradley doesn’t dare look up from the page. Not once. Rain pours on outside and he spends the entire afternoon glaring at the manual like he wants to rip it to shreds.

As you dismiss the class, the thought looms of this all being over soon. With just one more week to go, there are lots of decisions hanging heavy. Maybe that’s what is getting to him.

“Rooster, hang back. I need to speak to you.”

Instantly, you can tell that this was not the right move. He turns towards you, his face sullen and his eyes dark. Your brows draw together, closing the door behind the last of your students and shutting him in there with you. Alone, he remains just as closed off.

“Are you okay? — You seem kind of—“ One step forwards, you reach out for him with a gentle touch, in a way that could still be mistaken for professionalism if someone were to walk in on the two of you. But, the second your hand grazes his bicep, he shrugs it off.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, gaze turned towards the floor. His usual sunny disposition seems to have gone away with the weather. Your eyes draw into a stern squint. “Am I dismissed?”

“Dis— Okay. No, Bradshaw,” You pretend that one didn’t sting, squaring your shoulders and inhaling slowly, stepping closer so that he has no choice but to see you finally standing in front of him. “No, you’re not dismissed. If you want to start acting like this is about rank, then that’s fine by me. I want you to talk to me either way.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. His eyes dart towards the door, and then back to you. Finally, you watch him soften. His fingertips graze the inside of your palm, choosing to look down at that exchange rather than at you.

“Could you come over tonight?”

“On official Navy business?” You tease, poking softly at his ribs through the fabric of his flight suit. All you’re offered in return is a weak smile.

He links his fingers gently through yours. Slightly more incriminating, if you were to be walked in on. Still, it tugs at your heart strings as he sighs in resignation. “Please, Hyde?”

“Of course,” You tell him, giving his palm a quick squeeze. “I’ll be over just after seven.”

He has to wait for you to finish up your work before you’re able to leave. By the time you find him, he has already worked out and showered, and he has been sitting in his room wallowing for about forty minutes.

“Talk to me,” Even with his mood, there’s nothing he can do but drape his arms around your waist and tuck his head into the soft curve of your neck as you straddle his hips. “That’s what couples do.”

There’s a moment of silence, but not the same as earlier. His hands find the small of your back, tugging you closer as he sighs against your shoulder. You know that this time he’s just finding his words. It’s almost enough, having you here in his bedroom, draped around him, ready to listen.

In the meantime, you inhale the fresh scent of his cologne and turn your face towards his temple, pressing your lips to his damp curls.

“I’m just in my head about graduation,” He settles finally, curling his fingers around your hips, pulling back to look at you. “I knew I wasn’t going to graduate at the top of the class, but — I’m starting to wonder if I even deserve to be up there with all of them. You know?”

Your fingers are soft as they card through his hair, your expression much softer than it should be as his instructor. His fingers can’t sit still, pulling you closer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Of course you do,” The answer comes instantly, without hesitation. It’s followed by a chaste kiss. He turns his head and sighs again, readying to protest. “You knew the answer today. Doesn’t matter if you can find it in the book before Hangman or not, you knew it.”

“How’re you so sure that I did?” He challenges, frowning back at you. As much as he wants to believe you’re telling him this because you really believe in him, there’s still a voice in the back of his head telling him that you’re just trying to pacify him by giving him what he wants to hear.

You squint back at him, smoothing your fingers through his freshly washed curls.

“Because I know you better than I know anyone in that class, I’ve flown with you,” You tell him softly. He hums as you kiss his cheek. “I know your instincts up there are better than anyone else. Even if the answer isn’t in your head right away, I know that when you’re up there, you would know what to do.”

With that, he sighs and leans his head back. His fingers flex nervously around your hips. With his eyes closed, you used the moment to catch him by surprise. He sucks in a sharp breath as your palm dips between the two of you and grinds against his cock through his shorts.

“I trust you. Up there, and down here.”

His mouth twitches slightly, his eyes softening as he tries to pull back from you. “Hyde… come on, I don’t need you to baby me.”

You smile back at him, giving a curt nod of your head as you brush your palm more firmly against him. The way his throat contracts when he’s trying not to give in to you prickles along your skin, a rush of excitement.

He closes his eyes as you lean in and suck softly at the freckle on the left side of his neck. Your lips trail tantalizingly slowly along his throat until finally he shivers at the feeling of your breath against his earlobe, “Okay. You want me to make you prove it?”

“Make me?” He breathes out, fingers balling into the fabric of your T-shirt, brows knitting together. Already, his cock is standing to attention through the fabric of his shorts.

“That’s right,” It’s a gentle coo, so soft and sweet that Bradley really isn’t expecting it at all when you tug hard at his hair with your other hand. He inhales sharply, catching your hips and pulling you against him. His cheeks flush red, his eyes blown wide and desperate. You’ve never seen a man beg without even opening his mouth before. “Close your eyes for me.”

Another thick swallow, his throat squeezing around nothing as he closes his eyes, his dark lashes brushing against his cheek.

He’s so pliant, giving himself up to your more than capable touch. Lulling him into calmness that he’s powerless to fight against as your mouth kisses at his chest, pushing at the hem of his t-shirt and helping him out of it.

“Contrary to what you might have heard from Hangman, or from Pete Mitchell,” Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek as you lick at his freshly exposed chest, nipping at his pectoral. Even with his eyes closed, he’s red and embarrassed by how hard his nipples are in the chilled room. “Being a good aviator isn’t about confidence.”

If you’re going to keep talking as you head further south, he’s going to struggle to keep listening. His hands follow you as you slip out of his lap and settle between his knees, your tongue trailing along his middle.

“Instinct is everything.”

Bradley balls his hands into his bedsheets, lips parting just slightly as you suck firm kisses into his taut abdomen.

“Lay down.” You order, and without question, he obeys by scooting back and laying down flat with his legs still over the edge and bracketing you.

“Lay back for me.” You say sweetly, he obeys. To your right, you find the brown leather belt that you’ve been eyeing. Still looped through his jeans, discarded onto the chair in the corner of the room. Rooster fidgets in front of you, waiting to feel your touch again. “You trust me, right, Rooster?”

“Of course.” He exhales, his answer instant.

You push yourself up and he peeks an eye open, watching you free the belt and turn back towards him. Your smile grows as you find him even more red-faced than before, staring right at you.

“Lift your hands and hold your wrists together for me.”

“Really?” He whispers, his voice thick. You nod sweetly, nodding for him to shift further up the bed. He complies wordlessly, pushing himself to the top of the bed and presenting his wrists for you. His eyes darken and his brows raise, watching you climb up the bed with his belt in your hands.

“Don’t pull too hard, you’ll be sore.” You warn him, looping the belt around his wrists and through the wooden slats in his headboard. He gasps softly as you pull the leather tight and guide it through the buckle.

“Fucking hell…” He breathes out, his voice an excited whisper.

After the soft leather is secured, his wrists fastened to his headboard, you take a minute to sit back and observe. He’s watching you with such abject trust, desperation and excitement all at once. His stomach is quivering with each breath, stretched tight by the way his arms are raised.

Your tongue dips out to wet your bottom lip as your fingers reach for him, walking along the length of his thigh. Leaning over him again, you dip forwards and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to be naked.” Rooster rushes out, shifting uncomfortably and glancing towards his tied hands. When his eyes flicker back to you, he breaks into a bashful smile. Your lips twitch, looking back at him.

“Okay,” You agree sweetly, reaching for the bottom of your t-shirt. He watches the way your eyes darken, filling with mischief as you pull it up just enough to expose the soft skin of your stomach, then hold it there. “You’re at a cruise altitude of 35,000 feet, how do you know how to calculate your descent?”

Three miles per distance per thousand feet in altitude. Your mouth twitches watching him do the math in his head while staring at the sliver of exposed skin under your shirt.

“35,000 minus the last three zeroes — uh, thirty-five. Thirty-five multiplied by three… a hundred and five.” You narrow your eyes quizzically as he stumbles through the math, knowing that it comes more easily to him than he’s able to tell you. You’ve not seen him personally land on a carrier, but you know he can. You know that he’s done it a hundred times over. “You’d start the descent 105 nautical miles from the destination, maintaining a speed of 300 Knots-Indicated air speed… and a descent rate of 1,500 to 2,000 feet per minute, with thrust set at idle.”

You smile back at him, peeling your shirt up and over your head. He exhales, eyes falling down to the black bra covering your tits. Forgetting himself for a moment, he moves to sit, the buckle of his belt knocking into the woods and reminding him of his predicament.

“Feet per minute,” You continue, reaching for your own belt, slipping the leather from the buckle and pausing. “If you land on the carrier right, how does the hornet hit the deck?”

“800 feet per minute.” He exhales. Your mouth twists into a grin as you pop open your belt buckle.

By the time that he has rid you of your clothes, his answers are especially fast and you’ve noticed that his wrists are growing red under the hold of the leather.

Standing on your knees, you crawl your way up your, now completely naked, boyfriend and turn. Straddling his abdomen, your naked core sits just out of his reach. His mouth falls open and a dismayed, needy sound slips out.

Having freed him of his own shorts and boxers just moment before, his cock is red and swollen, angry from the lack of attention. Settling yourself with a sly wiggle of your hips, you take his cock in both of your hands and cover as much as you can with your mouth.

Soaking his length with a generous amount of saliva, you hear his head fall back and hit the headboard as your hands start to stroke him. Long strides coat his shaft in spit, your hands twisting loosely left from right. From this way, the way you’re straddling him, you’ve got a front-row view to the way his thighs have started to tremble.

Furthering his dismay, he has a front-row seat to your soaked pussy, inches from his face, but just out of reach. Your hands are steady, just as calm and skilled as they are when you’re in the cockpit. Not too fast, just guiding him steadily closer to his orgasm. Letting your spit soak him, adding more to the mix, squeezing him firmly every now and again. Craning your neck so that you can lick and suck softly at his balls. His moans are strangled, agonizingly desperate from behind you.

When you finally decide to grace him with a firmer, faster touch, his moans are so jagged and eager that you know Hangman and Coyote must be able to hear him. The heels of his feet press into the mattress, his hips bucking eagerly into your hands.

He tugs hard at his restraints and winces behind you. With each delighted sound from your lips as they’re wrapped around him, his own voice is growing more and more strained. For the life of him, he just can’t keep still. He’s putty in your hands. This wouldn’t be the first time he has made a mess all over your hands, but today, that isn’t the plan.

“Hyde, don’t — please don’t — I’m so fucking close…”

You hum, hands already withdrawn. He writhes under you as you turn to face him.

“You can hold on a little longer for me, right baby?”

His voice is getting more strained as you squeeze your hands around his twitching cock and just as he is about to erupt you retract your hands leaving his chest huffing in frustration and near euphoria.

You shift, straddling his hips. His eyes go wide and round, lips parted as you situate yourself right over him and sink down just barely. Your soaked core just grazes him as you rock back and forth softly. His eyes follow the curve of your waist, the slight movement of your tits as you taunt him.

“Can wait a little longer for me, right?”

“Oh, fuck.” Rooster whimpers.

You lower yourself gently onto him, palms braced against his shivering chest as his tip notches into you. He gasps and turns his head towards the pillow, pulling hard at the restraint.

You lean all the way forwards, your naked tits pushing against his chest, your lips mouthing softly at his neck. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you.”

Finally, he’s fully sheathed into you, and he sighs out in relief, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulders.

“I still wanna see you cum,” He pants out, groaning softly as you lift up and sink slowly back down on him, digging his heels into the mattress. “If I can’t do it, I still wanna see it.”

Your mouth twitches at the thought.

“Yeah, you want to watch me get off?” You grin, kissing across his cheek and finally at his mouth. He whines softly, watching you rocking your hips into his gently, grinding yourself into him.

“You have to stop talking or I’m gonna cum.” He mutters with a stiff shake of his head, his eyes flickering up to you as you giggle above him. You purse your lips and lean forwards, pressing a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose and then sit back.

He watches, every muscle in his chest and arms constricting as he watches you sit back on his thighs, all full of him, lifting your fingers and miming a zip across your lips, and then a lock at the corner of your mouth. Finally, even though all of his focus is on trying not to bust, his lips stretch into an amused grin.

You settle back into the rhythm of bouncing on him, bracing one hand back against his thigh as the other dips between your own legs.

The angle is just right, your orgasm ebbs closer but remains just out of reach as he watches helplessly, dazed by the glow of you.

From the first day he saw you, he’d never imagined he would be as lucky as to be at your mercy like this. The thought dawns him and his hips twitch, snapping up to meet yours.

“Christ— wait, slow down, wait— oh, fuck.”

You gasp sharply as he drives himself into you just once more from below before he’s spilling hot and fast into you, groaning and gasping out loud with little regard for who might hear him.

His deep groans are music to your ears as your fingers work feverishly at your clit to keep up. His mouth hangs open, still buried inside of you as he watches you come apart in front of him, your eyes closed and your chest heaving, his name on the tip of your tongue.

Finally, you collapse forwards against his chest, lifting off of him and kissing at his neck.

“Fuck…” He breathes out.

“You feel better?” You whisper, catching your breath as your nails rake along his stomach. He hums in response, kissing softly at your temple.

He sighs in relief as you pull the belt apart and free his wrists, stretching out his arms and rubbing at the reddened skin.

“I can’t stay, Taylor’s getting dropped off home at nine.” You kiss his mouth softly, already starting to push off of his chest. He just groans and rolls onto his front, disgruntled by the idea of not having you in his bed tonight. “I’ll see you tomorrow at six?”

“Right. What should I wear?”

“A little more than you’re wearing now, preferably.”

He chuckles tiredly and considers grabbing his boxers, opting to instead just press his face into his pillow as he listens to you getting dressed again.

“Should I bring them like… a gift or something?”

“It’s a little early for bribery.”

He sighs and sits up swiftly, resting his elbows on his knees, his mouth creasing into a worried frown. “What are we going to do if they don’t like me?”

Really, there’s only one answer; you’d never put him before your kids and he knows that.

Pulling your shirt down over your body, there’s only one thing to do. You lean forwards and kiss his lips tenderly. “They’ll love you.”

Once you convince him to get dressed again, Bradley walks you down to your car. Jake and Coyote say their greetings and goodbyes swiftly and politely, not making you stop for small talk.

Then, as Rooster heads back upstairs with a reddened face and even more reddened wrists, they meet him in the living room, beaming.

”Don’t start.” He groans, trying to dismiss them and head back to his room before the ridicule starts. It’s a little late for that. It’s been a little late for that since they heard Rooster practically crying your name twenty minutes earlier.

As you return home to reunite with your children, you’re greeted with an onslaught of texts about how — to quote — ‘those idiots heard everything’. It should bother you, but the thought of Bradley all red-faced and squirming at their comments just makes you chuckle.

Meeting at a neutral place always seemed like the best option, until you’re sitting in the parking lot, staring at your kids in the backseat — feeling like you’re introducing cats. Well, it has been quite some time since your children got over their interest in scratching and biting, so hopefully this will go smoother than that.

”How are you guys feeling?” You ask them, turning in your seat finally. Dylan can see the worry on your face. Your brows are raised, your eyes are round and fleeting between them each, lips pursed.

”Yeah, fine, mom.” He offers you a polite, sincere smile. It’s the best that he has to give. He knows this means something big to you. He knows that you’ve started singing in the kitchen again, and reading Taylor the stories with the voices, laughing with him until you’re doubled over and crying.

”Do you think he likes cats better or dogs?” Taylor perks up, tucking her feet up onto the seat and quirking her head at you. Your lips twitch as your son rolls his eyes at her.

“You can ask him.” You decide, and she seems to accept this as good enough of an answer. She settles back in her booster seat, crosses her arms across her little knit sweater and smiles back at you. Poor Rooster doesn’t have a clue what he’s in for with this little chatterbox — but you know he’ll be glad to not have to sit in silence.

A beat passes as you look between their faces. They both smile back at you, for different reasons entirely.

“Okay, are we ready to go inside?”

After quick agreement, Taylor watches her shoes cast purple neon shadows across the puddles, flashing bright with each step as your heels clack across the ground ahead of her. A hand lands on her shoulder, guiding her along and making sure that she keeps up.

Swiftly, she looks up at her big brother, frowning curiously at him, ”So, do we have to call him Dad too?”

”Rooster.” You breathe out, lips stretching into a smile as you spot him walking over from his truck. He looks right past you as you wrap your arms around his neck. About five paces back, your kids are trailing you, deep in conversation. About him, no doubt.

Suddenly, his attention snaps back to you, his eyes going wide as you kiss his cheek. He untangles himself from you, aggressively platonic for a man who was begging to hold you yesterday.

“Hi.”

”Don’t be weird, they’re children, not the FBI.” You whisper to him, turning quickly as you hear the two of them approaching this. “Guys, this is Bradley. Bradley, this is my daughter, Taylor, and my son, Dylan.”

”Hello.” Bradley stiffens.

“Hey.” Dylan tries.

“You’re pretty tall. Women like that.” It would seem that you’re all caught off guard by your daughter’s comment. Luckily, it’s just enough of a surprise to make Bradley’s tight-lipped smile break into a wide-stretching grin.

He sits opposite her at the table, Dylan by his side and you opposite Dylan. She spent the afternoon with your mother and it would seem, the two of them spent their time preparing questions.

”So—“ Dylan manages to interrupt, earning himself a stern glare from the little girl who was just about to get into the favourite colours segment of her interview. Bradley turns his head and looks at your son. “What team do you follow?”

Bradley shoots a glance over at you, knowing full well that your son has been raised to be a die hard 49ers fan. He looks back to the thirteen year old and inhales— he can’t pretend to like that team, he just can’t do it—

“The Eagles.” He rushes out.

“Huh.” Dylan quirks an eyebrow, turns his head and shoots you a look. He smirks softly, bringing the rim of his Pepsi glass to his mouth. “And… how’s that working out for ya, big guy?”

Bradley’s mouth falls slack, and he looks quickly across the table for support, finding nothing but you smirking back at him and Taylor giggling in response.

“Hey, buddy, I’ll have you know—“ And once again, that seems to do the trick. That’s the straw, right before the appetizers come out, that gets Bradley really talking, and after that it just doesn’t stop.

Taylor quickly gets him onto the conversation of cats versus dogs — he seems to pass her test. Bradley turns the conversation on you, and winds up grinning ear to ear with the insight of how your children perceive you to be, how they love you. You turn the conversation on Bradley, and reveal to the children that he not only enjoys rum and raisin flavoured ice-cream, but that it’s his favourite.

The betrayal on his face after that one will keep you laughing for weeks to come. It’s almost enough for the children to change their minds about him, but he quickly gets things back on track by revealing that he once met the guy who plays Captain America on a flight.

That wins him some serious brownie points.

You know that, just as easily as he had with you, he had won them over.

He grins at you as he settles the bill — despite your insistence to split it, his nerves seeming to have finally calmed.

“Mom, why do you call him Bradley when his work name is Rooster?” Taylor asks, slipping her hand into you palm as you head for the exit.

“Because we aren’t at work right now.” You answer with a shrug, checking over your shoulder to see Rooster talking with Dylan about something behind you.

“Can I call him Rooster?” She asks, peering up at you.

“If he says you can.”

“Bradley?” She cranes her neck as she calls back to him, capturing his attention instantly. “Can I call you Rooster?”

“Sure. Either works.” He shrugs, tucking his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans, walking to catch up with the two of you.

She looks quickly back up to you, approval plastered across her little face. She gives your hand a quick squeeze and smiles.

…

Tags: @cherrycola27 @mak-32 @khaylin27 @stoncms @shanimallina87 @cool-ultra-nerd @angelmavmurdock @gingerbreadandpaper @mizzzpink @whisperofsong @throwinsauce @perpetuelledaydreaming @n3ssm0nique @thedroneranger @abaker74 @marantha @ghxst-heart @diamond-3 @shawnsblue

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I’m getting a bit tired of the fanonized image of Arctic and him being an “irredeemable abuser” when he was essentially a refugee in the Night Kingdom that was treated like a tool in that kingdom as much as the ice kingdom.

He couldn’t go back to the Ice kingdom because he was a fugitive. He didn’t have any friends in the Night Kingdom and a lot of the tribe blamed him (and Foeslayer) for starting the war. And that doesn’t take away from Queen Vigilance wanting to use his magic to “win” the war, why do you think the Nightwings wanted Foeslayer to introduce magic into the tribe?

The worst of Arctic’s insults towards Darkstalker we see in the book is calling him “Moon Eyes” and questioning Darkstalker if he even had a bit of Icewing in him, which is still terrible, but isn’t the “constant verbal abuse” that some people say. The moon eyes insult actually only comes out when Arctic tell Darkstalker to stop invading people’s thoughts, especially his own.

The infamous line that Arctic says before he dies is likely him reacting to the situation, in which he is basically a puppet to Darkstalker and is finally bearing witness to the evil that is his son. The same son who antagonized him, the son who thought he was better than Arctic and that he was privy to exception for the consequences of his actions, the son who enchanted himself to have invincible scales and eventually immortality, the son who blamed him for every misfortune that befell the family.

The absolute worst thing he did do (and people are right to point out) was enchant Whiteout to follow him to the Ice Kingdom and basically obey what he wanted. What some people ignore is that Arctic states that Queen Diamond made an exception that would spare Whiteout and could potentially lead to him being able to free Foeslayer, albeit with another issue of him giving up Nightwing secrets and weaknesses to the Icewing army. He wasn’t worried about Darkstalker because as Arctic says, “You’ll be fine with you invincible scales, don’t worry.”

Through out the book, Arctic consistently shows that he wouldn’t kill either of his children. Even as he fled, Arctic decided to leave Darkstalker alive, even noting that he could have killed Darkstalker with a spell if he had actually desired to kill his own son. Yet he doesn’t. Arctic doesn’t try to kill Darkstalker a single time.

The more I reread Darkstalker, the more I realize that Arctic wasn’t the one always instigating fights, or that he wasn’t to blame for a few situations.

Not to mention that his story has some parallels to Albatross in the books.

Think about it:

Albatross was used as a tool by Queen Lagoon just as Queen Vigilance wanted to use Arctic (and Darkstalker and Fathom) as tools to win the war and strengthen the tribe

Both Arctic’s concerns and Albatross’s concerns are often dismissed. Arctic being dismissed for not wanting to hurt anymore Icewings (Queen Vigilance always wanted to use his magic, you cannot ignore that fact. Look at chapter 22, pages 250 and 251) and Albatross about not wanting to use his power for Lagoon’s selfish desires.

Both had children (a son for Arctic and grandson for Fathom) that had animus magic that they warned not to use their magic because they didn’t want them to lose their souls.

When Arctic learns about Albatross, he becomes more paranoid about his soul, which you know who was also worried? Albatross.

Both began to be cautious about using their magic after horrific incidents where they had used it and it did something that they didn’t actually want to happen (tearing out Sapphire’s claws and killing the Icewing guards)

Both die gruesome deaths to their younger peers, though in Fathom’s case it was self defense while Darkstalker murdered Arctic because he hated Arctic and thought it a fine punishment for betraying the tribe (and him, Whiteout, and Foeslayer)

Also, I wanted to point out that Darkstalker was absolutely happy to commit genocide way before the events of arc 2. Heck! Even before the end of his own book! In fact he was the one to suggest it to Vigilance himself! It’s in chapter 22, pages 254 to 256. The only reason he doesn’t is because Clearsight rightfully objects to this. In fact to quote him:

“Well,” Darkstalker said with a shrug, “if this is too effective for Clearsight’s delicate sensibilities, perhaps we could do something more targeted.”

TLDR;

Arctic isn’t as horrible as the fandom makes him out to be and is shown to constantly care about his family, specifically Whiteout and Foeslayer. He gets blamed by his own son so often that it is easy to overlook the fact that Darkstalker doesn’t even hesitate to blame Arctic for an assassination attempt that Arctic would have never been able to get another dragon to do. Arctic also shares a few parallels to Albatross in the books from the way he acts to some story beats.

Also, Darkstalker was on the genocide train way earlier than people think and wasn’t slipping into insanity. He was already there once Foeslayer was captured.

I’m planning to make a deep dive into this character eventually because I want to do him justice after the fandom’s years of painting him as a villain just like Albatross. I plan to include all sections of Runaway and Darkstalker that pertain to Arctic in detail with citations so that way people can see the facts alongside context of things that likely bled into Arctic’s behavior.

Sorry if this is a bit disorganized, I just needed to get this out though.

.

[horny-p0et]

simpbur x streamer!reader

wow what if i wrote about another bursona that's crazy. i know a lot of people put incelbur and simpbur under the same umbrella but in my mind they are more like brothers and not twins, different in important ways i can elaborate on another time. ty for support please enjoy some more horny ramblings :) slightly shorter as i'm introducing you all to my version of this character. nsfw in later parts but this is sfw.

warnings: mentions of stalking and obsessive tendencies

wordcount: 741

dont like, dni. please just block me and move on.

────୨ৎ────

SIMPBUR who spends most of his free time online. gaming, scrolling reddit, stalking the cute girls from his uni course- normal stuff. he finds himself more at home on the internet anyway, he's a social outcast who stumbles over his words and doesn't know how to small talk. he has friends, sure, but he feels like they don't understand him. whenever he opens up about his insecurities and trauma they push him away... he just wishes someone would see him, connect with him on a deeper level.

SIMPBUR who falls in love with every girl who even glances in his direction, let alone shows him basic levels of human decency. he remembered when a girl from his class gave him a pen to use when his broke and he brought flowers for her the next day, she stopped sitting next to him after that. he didn't know why, don't girls like flowers? he left poems on her desk and kept trying to talk to her until the school administration got involved.

SIMPBUR who's scrolling mindlessly through tiktok when a clip of you shows up on his for you page. its nothing crazy, just you getting trolled by your chat playing a creeper sound alert while you're in a cave, but something about the way you laughed, smiled and you scolded chat playfully gave him butterflies in his stomach.

SIMPBUR who scoured the internet for every drop of content about you he could find, checking every social media and consumed it all. every bit of information he learnt drew him in, it was like you were made in a laboratory for him. you're kind but assertive, funny but compassionate, beautiful but sexy. He feels like he knows you so well, you guys would make good friends. you play the same games, listen to the same bands, you're about the same age, it must have been fate that put you on his feed that day.

SIMPBUR who plays your vods on his second monitor while he plays games by himself, imagining you're in a discord with him chatting like friends. he finds himself growing addicted to your voice, he doesn't do anything without you playing in the background. eating breakfast? your funny moments are on his phone. walking to work? your podcast episodes play in his headphones. late nights when he can't sleep? your vlogs to soothe him to relax.

SIMPBUR who jumped out of his skin when he got the notification you were live. he hadn't been able to watch your streams live before, he'd always been asleep or in class- he was so frustrated you were in a different timezone. he hops in chat, finding his hands shaking as he chats with your fans during the 'stream starting soon' screen. he's nervous, this is basically your first date!

SIMPBUR who feels like he's on cloud nine when you appear on his stream, casually relaxing in your gaming chair as you read chat and talk about your day. you thank someone for resubbing, the way your face lights up with genuine appreciation is beautiful to him. he wants to be the reason you look that happy.

SIMPBUR who scrambles for his credit card, not even considering the consequences before he's gifting 50 subs to you. he doesn't even care its almost 250 dollars, he'd give you a million if it would make you smile even once. he watches with bated breath as your eyes widen and you cover your mouth with your hands.

"Holy shit- 50 gift subs? Are you serious? Oh my god... thank you so much <username>! You seriously just made my day, my week I think. I really appreciate that, sending my love to you."

SIMPBUR who quickly clips and screenshots you giving the camera a hand heart, giving him a hand heart. you said you gave him your love! he feels like the luckiest man on the planet. the rush of your approval makes him feel high, like he needs your praise more than oxygen.

SIMPBUR who is already obsessed and he found out about you a week ago. he dreams about you, you're the first thing on his mind when he wakes up and before he falls asleep. he can already imagine you in a white dress, holding your hand as you tell him you love him. he just needed to get his hands on you, because he knows once you meet him you'll feel the same way.

[kelcemenow]

Drive Me Crazy - Chapter 2.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1661

Warnings Strong language, but not much and a wee bit of flirting.

Huge thank you to the Anon who sent this in! They had such amazing words to say about my writing which I massively appreciate and then to top it off, had an incredible request for me! I only have experience with mechanics in the UK, so I've tried my best with this one! "I just recently got interested in Travis K. X reader stories and wanted to let you know, I read all of yours as quickly as I could. They are so well done and I couldn’t help but laugh/giggle and feel through each word you typed out. You’re doing amazing and I’m so glad to have stumbled onto your page. If you have any space for a request, I’d be curious about what Trav would think about having a military (like fighter pilot) or engineer or mechanic girlfriend. I see a lot of stories with him paired with models/singers/social media individuals (which are phenomenal!) but just wondering how he would be with a more tomboy like girlfriend!"

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

The dialling tone rang loudly in your ear for a few seconds as you wedged the office phone between your head and left shoulder. You typed up a couple of notes on the computer when the other end of the line picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it that Mr Kelce? It's Y/N from KC Auto repairs." You said, checking your notes.

A deep voice laughed, "Hey, yeah it's Travis. You can call me Travis."

"Oh, okay Travis. I had a look at your car and there is a problem with your combustion chamber. You see, vehicles need the right amount of air and fuel to mix and then-"

"Woah woah, you lost me at combustion." Travis said, "Just tell me, is the car a goner?"

You giggled, "No, you just need new spark plugs. It's around $250 including labour."

You could hear him sigh down the line, "Oh! That's fine then, do what you need to do."

"Okay, sure thing. I'll be finished with it by 4pm. Are you able to come and collect around then?"

There was a short silence, "I've got a crazy day. I got a couple of things to figure out first, I don't know if I'll be around."

You checked your schedule in the large leather bound diary in front of you, "Well, I'll be in the shop late working on some other cars, so if you drop by anytime before 7, I should still be here."

"Awesome, I'll stop by!"

"Great, catch you later." You placed the phone back onto the receiver and quickly jotted down in your diary details to remind yourself to replace Travis' spark plugs.

The office door opened and the noises of the shop floor grew increased for a second before they were muffled again as the door closed.

"Hey sport." You felt your Dad's hands on your shoulders, "Your headache gone yet?"

"Not really. I already got two cars to finish up, a service and now these new spark plugs for do for that GMC." You pointed your pen in the direction of Travis' car as you began to write out a worksheet.

Your Dad leant down across your shoulder, "I could do the GMC for you?"

"Dad no, Dr Martin said you had to take it easy." You covered the worksheet with your hand.

He swiped your hand away, "Oh come on, I'm fine! It's spark plugs."

You laughed until you noticed that his face had quickly changed when he caught sight of the sheet, "What's wrong?"

His once rosy cheeked complexion was now a ghostly shade of white, "Travis Kelce...you have Travis Kelce's car here?"

"Yeah, why?"

His eyes widened as he looked towards the shop floor, "His car is in my shop? The GMC, that's Travis Kelce's car?"

Your eyebrows lowered in confusion, "Yeah, he dropped it off this morning?"

"Oh man! Y/N, you gotta let me do it! The boys at the fishing lake aren't gonna believe this!"

"What is going on? Who is this guy?" Your voice was beginning to heighten in pitch.

Your Dad lifted his sweatshirt up to reveal a bright red jersey with the number 87 emblazoned on the front, "Travis Kelce is one of the greatest tight ends the Chiefs have ever seen!"

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your diary for the day.

"Which you would know if you ever watched football with me!" He poked you in the arm with his finger.

You tore off the worksheet from the pad, "If I give you this, will you stop shouting and making my headache worse?"

You Dad carefully took the paper from your hands and gently kissed the top of your head before dancing his way out of the office and onto the shop floor, Travis' GMC waiting in the corner of the garage.

______________________________________________________________

Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, you noted that it was 6.25pm. All of your colleagues had already left for the day, leaving you in the shop by yourself. You preferred working alone but your Dad's business had built up a good reputation in the city for being the best repair shop and it was always busy.

When you were younger, you had always preferred fixing your Barbie's houses to make them better as apposed to playing with the dolls themselves. As a teenager you could always be found in the workshop tinkering with tools and learning everything you could from your Dad. You started helping him in his shop during the summer and when you left school, he took you on and gave you a job. You saved every penny you could and when your Dad needed to take a step back from work, you bought into the business, running it alongside him.

You gazed up at the underside of the Ford that was lifted above you, squinting as the night drew in. The crackled radio played in the background and as you hummed along to yourself, the faint sound of footsteps seemed to blend into the music.

"Um...hello?"

You turned your head towards the direction of the deep voice, a silhouette standing in the doorway of the shop.

You squinted further, trying to make out any defining features but to no avail. "Karl, if this is you trying to scare the shit out of me, you gotta try harder than that." You shook your head and dropped your wrench down onto the floor, the sound of the metal hitting the cement loudly echoing in the vast room.

The figure stepped further forwards, his hands held up, "I'm sorry...it's Travis. I'm just here to pick up my car?"

You felt your cheeks flush red, "Travis? I am so sorry, that was really unprofessional of me."

"Hey, it's all good! Don't worry, I probably shouldn't have lingered in the doorway watching you."

Your mouth twisted to the side, "You were watching me?"

His eyes grew bigger, "Not in a creepy way. But now I've said that it wasn't in a creepy way, it sounds like it was in a creepy way."

You wiped your hands on your towel, smiling slightly as you listened to him struggle.

"I was just...impressed. Like I said earlier, I have no clue when it comes to shit like this." He looked around the room at the various tools and parts that were dotted around.

You slowly nodded your head, "Well, thanks...I guess?"

Travis scratched the back of his head and looked down at his feet, a clear indication that he was nervous. You took the opportunity to really look at him. He was wearing bright white trainers, dark wash jeans and a Louis Vuitton jacket with a white shirt underneath. He was so pristine and you were quite concerned that he wouldn't make it out of the shop without a smudge of oil on him.

"So, my car?"

You looked towards it, digging the keys from one of your many pockets, a couple of bolts coming out with them, "Uh yeah, my Dad took great pride in fixing your car. He's a big fan."

"Oh yeah? Well please, tell your Dad I said thanks!" He smiled before looking around again, "You on your own?"

You sighed, "Yeah, I got a few things to clear up on these babies and then I'll be done."

He unlocked his car and opened the door, pausing for a second before he turned back to you, "Wanna go for a drink?"

Your heart stopped for a beat or two and your chest tightened, a feeling you weren't used to. Men didn't usually ask you out, especially not at work. You didn't exactly make an effort to only be covered in grease all day and everyone knew that your Dad wouldn't be far away, meaning most potential dates kept you very much at an arms length. But here he was, an exception.

"I've still got some work to do." You looked down at your current appearance, "And I might not be down with the latest trends, but I'm pretty sure no one will let me in anywhere looking like this."

Travis smiled coyly, "So, is that a no?"

You winced at his hidden hurt, guessing he wasn't used to women turning him down, "Thanks...but no." Digging into your pocket, you retrieved his invoice, black fingerprints smudged across the paper.

As he reached to take the invoice, his large hand covered yours and you subconsciously held your breath, a fast heat rising to your face.

"No sweat, I might see you around anyway?" He jumped into his car, turning the engine on, "I'll wire you the money for the spark...things."

You nodded in acknowledgement, watching as he pulled away carefully out of the garage and into the night. You unclenched your shoulders and laughed to yourself, turning your attention back to the Ford.

______________________________________________________________

"A package? Who from?" You questioned.

Jordan shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. I didn't open it."

"We never get packages."

You became slightly distracted as Jordan tugged at the bottom hem of his hoodie and pulled it up and over his head, his shirt lifting up slightly to reveal a peek at his toned abs. He threw the garment onto the floor beside him and gazed at you.

"Y/N?"

You blinked, "Uh...I'll go and have a look now."

You furrowed your brows, making your way towards the office and shaking your head on the way, exacerbated at yourself.

On the desk was a small brown package with no indication of who it was from. You ripped open the paper and carefully pulled out the framed photograph. It was a picture of Travis midgame, the ball safely clutched in his gloved hands and speeding towards the end zone. He had signed the corner of the photograph. You turned the frame over to see some slightly messy handwriting on the back.

"For your Dad."

You smiled at his kind gesture.

"Let me know when you want to go for that drink."

______________________________________________________________

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989 @ajbird18 @triski73 @ctn26 @kgcaputo07 @abby-splace @bobthe-turmpetman29 @cedricbitch @jmamas92 @bellstwd @killatravsworld @marchmaiden @chimchimmarie @blackstabbath6 @fanficfanatic15 @jessiemariebarnes @mmb219 @vanwritesfan-fiction

[wc-confessions]

Yo. This is going to be a long rant since I am currently reading Tallstar’s revenge. I really hate Sandgorse. And I kind of hate Palebird, but mostly Sandgorse. (Cw; Abuse) I put the warning since Sandgorse is clearly abusive, though people tend to overlook that. So I’ll be explaining a little bit about what he’s done to Tallpaw. When it comes to the abuse toms in the series, people tend to often ignore or just downright deny that. (Ex: Crookedstar ironically enough and I’m not talking about on Rainflower’s end. Goosefeather, Tigerclaw (To be clear from Mapleshade and Pinestar. Pinestar is neglectful while Mapleshade groomed him). So I will argue with you if you disagree that “Sandgorse isn’t abusive"; he is. He’s a god-awful father. If CPS was a thing in this universe, I’d call them on him. 

Early on in reading Tallstars Revenge I liked Sandgorse for his passion for digging and because he seemed like a super caring father at first. But as the story progressed, he just started pissing me off. I hate how he cares more for damn tunnels than he does for Tallpaw’s own well-being and what he wants. I hate how he tried to force Tallpaw to do something he didn’t want and then cold-shouldered him for rightfully being terrified. As I got to chapter 14, it’s clear he’s just plain emotionally abusive, and overall, he's an emotionally absent father from Tallpaw. He doesn’t care about Tallpaw’s feelings and often dismisses how visibly uncomfortable he was. 

He insulted his son and brushed off his concerns when the tunnels flooded. I liked him and genuinely thought he was interesting since nobody ever elaborated on why he was "bad,” but Jesus. Nobody ever said he was outright abusive. Like Tallpaw himself says, “But what I want didn’t seem important.” That is how terrible Sandgorse is. That is how his Abuse affects tallpaw. All throughout chapter 13 of the SE, he constantly thought about becoming a tunnel just to please Sandgorse. It’s so fucking obvious that Sandgorse is a shitty and abusive parent. But then again, abuse in the Warriors universe is often overlooked because of how poorly written and portrayed it is and because, in general, not many readers are educated on the different types of abuse and factors involved. That or either they just deny it even exists. I feel so bad for Tallpaw. Even after how Sandgorse treated him, he still loved his father enough to run away from home just to avenge him. Sandgorse is such an ass. And he should’ve even been grateful at all that he had a tallpaw considering his other kit finchkit died. And I love Sparrow (so far, let’s hope he’s still an angel). I love how he pushed Tallpaw to care about what he wanted instead of trying to make Sandgorse happy. I love that he encouraged Tallpaw to follow his own path instead of letting him think that his feelings and what he wanted didn’t matter.

 Ew and the dirty looks Sandgorse kept giving Tallpaw Chapter 14; Page 250; (digital copy)

“Tallpaw snapped his head up and tried to catch Sandgorse’s eye. Before he pushed his way through the heather, his father shot him a look that stabbed Tallpaw’s heart.”

Someone, please help this poor child. Even Dawnstripe (who is his mentor if you haven’t read the SE’s or haven't read Tallstar's yet) could see how shitty he treated Tallpaw.

“Dawnstripe brushed softly against Tallpaw. “Why don’t you run to the first marker?” she suggested. “It might wake you up a bit.” Tallpaw heard sympathy in her mew. She saw how Sandgorse looked at me.”

“Why can’t I have normal kin who care about my training and who are proud of me?”

The fact that he feels so unloved by his parents is genuinely tragic to me. He’s one of the cats in the series that deserves better than anyone. Along with Bumble,Turtle Tail, etc. There’s probably some others, but I have bad memory, so I can’t list them all. This poor cat is continually plagued with grief and feelings of failure, feeling like everything is his fault. It was heartbreaking to see that he thought Palebird would hate him because he felt it was his fault her friend Brackenwing died. Even Sandgorse believed that he’d killed Brackenwing. Though Palebird imo is just as shit about believing it too, I won’t just shit on him for that.

And Sandgorse is such an ass for shit-talking his own son to Sparrow: “A flood scared one of the apprentices, so yeah, it’s all his fault that we can’t tunnel, and I hate him.” And then, in the next chapter, he just dies. And Tallpaw risked his life to save his abuser.  I cannot stress enough how much he deserves better than what he got. He risked his life; he was fully ready to throw away everything just to save his father. He didn’t care how badly he’d treated him; he still loved him. And Hareflight pisses me off. He saw how Shrewpaw kept bullying and picking on Tallpaw and didn’t do anything to stop him, but as soon as Tallpaw beat Shrew's ass, he wanted to act like Tallpaw was in the wrong. In fact, I wouldn't even call it bullying at that point because it's gone so much farther than that. 

.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

NASCAR Pantera ‐ First To 300

A reporter sat in a late-night cafe, sipping coffee and attempting to calm his nerves after a high-speed ride with Gary and his Pantera. The deafening roar of the V-8 engine still echoed in his mind, and his hands shook as he held his cup. It was as if he had just escaped from the clutches of the devil himself. Tragically, a few minutes later the devil caught up with Garry Mitsunaga and his red Pantera!

For students of Japanese car culture, the Mitsunaga Pantera that graced the cover of Option Magazine is a significant page of Asian tuning lore, as it was the first street-legal vehicle to achieve a recorded speed of 300 km/h in Japan.

Actual speed was 307.69 km/h on the infamous Yatabe Test Circuit in November 1981, making it the most legendary Pantera in all of Japan. Figuring Yatabe was too dangerous for civilian drivers, and wanting to take the human element of unpredictability out of things, driving duties at this event were performed by professional racer Kunimitsu Takahashi, who is considered the father of drifting.

Yatabe was the preeminent destination for high-speed testing in Japan from the 1960s to the 1990s. However, it was closed two decades ago due to a tragic accident involving Masa Saito, the editor of the tuning magazine Option. After the accident manufacturers started shifting towards more contemporary testing facilities.

Prior to the Porsche-vs-Skyline dreams of the 1990s, the streets of Japan were ruled by the infamous Midnight Club running Pantera's, Firebirds and American V-8s. For those unaware of the Pantera, it is an Italian-American sportscar with a Ford 351 Cleveland engine and were sold in the early 70's through Lincoln Mercury dealerships.

Leading up to November 1981, top speeds were achieved by vehicles such as the S30 Fairlady, tuned by SS Kubo, which reached a maximum speed of 257.60km/h. The fastest imported car, surprisingly, was the Trust Firebird Trans-Am, which recorded a top speed of 264.71km/h. So when the Pantera eclipsing the 300km/h mark it was a huge leap forward and a landmark achievement, becoming the benchmark for all the street racers and tuners to beat.

Mitsunaga was not entirely content. Only a speed above 320 km/h (200 mph) would suffice. It is said that Takahashi advised him against driving the Pantera outside of a racetrack. Mitsunaga disregarded the warning.

Just before the accident, he was transporting a journalist down a 38 kilometer (24 mile) stretch of the Tomei Expressway. With a recorded time of 6 minutes and 20 seconds he averaged 250 KM/H ( ~160 MPH).

Not long after dropping off that rattled journalist, he supposedly totaled his Pantera while avoiding a taxi. They meet their end at approximately 1:40 a.m. on November 28, 1981. Tragically, Mitsunaga died in the accident, instantly.

At the moment of his death, Garry Allan Mitsunaga was already a legend in the Japanese dragstrip and top-speed racing scene. He was an American, born in Hawaii and employed by the Harman Kardon audio group. The company sent him to Tokyo in 1975 to work for one of its Japanese divisions, in sales.

Upon his passing, he was revered as a patron saint of street racing, inspiring countless individuals to pursue ever-greater velocities. Despite his non-Japanese origin, he was a hero to the local community, and his legacy lived on through the Mitsunaga Pantera, a symbol of both the thrill and the peril of this high-octane pursuit. Although the whereabouts of the Pantera are unknown, its engine showed up for sale in 1995.

NASCAR

Mitsunaga's Pantera, was tuned by Masaru Hosoki from ABR, one of Japans most famous tuners. It also featuring a 600hp engine built by Mario Rossi, an American NASCAR mechanic and crew chief for the likes of Bobby Allison and Glenn “Fireball” Roberts. Rossi was also the guy that built the only Dodge Daytona to compete during the 1971 season. It's only race was finishing 7th at the Daytona 500 with a de-stroked Plymouth 340 TA engine to meet the new 305ci engine displacement mandate for the five Ford & Chrysler aero cars during the 1971 NASCAR season.

Rossi has been embroiled in controversy since his involvement in the $300 million drug smuggling scandal that shook NASCAR in 1982. Four days after the 1982 Daytona 500 in Florida, authorities arrested 66 people, including several associated with NASCAR teams, on what has been labeled “Black Thursday.” Among those implicated in the scheme that authorities believe grossed $300 million were owner Billie Harvey and driver Gary Balough from the team on which Rossi was working as a mechanic. Rossi’s role (if any) in the drug operation is unclear – though his own daughter implicates him.

Rossi's whereabouts have been a mystery since his disappearance, with some believing him to be in the witness protection program in the United States. Despite claims of his death in a plane crash off the Bahamas in 1983, the insurance company asserts that the plane in question has been sold multiple times without any recorded accidents.

What’s legend and what’s fact we are unlikely to ever know for certain. What we do know, however, is that Garry Mitsunaga and his Pantera dared to dance with the devil in the witching hour.

[rosemaryentombed]

March 3rd - 9th, 2025

Monday, March 3rd - Kryptonian Folklore // Malevolent God

Tuesday, March 4th - Metropolis in the Dark // Truth & Justice

Wednesday, March 5th - Earth 3 // Replaced

Thursday, March 6th - Nonconsensual Body Modification // Mistaken Identity

Friday, March 7th - Elseworld // The Phantom Zone

Saturday, March 8th - Mothers & Fathers // Sons & Daughters

Sunday, March 9th - Sacrifice // Liberation

Hi everyone! Happy to announce that there will be a second run of Superfam Horror Week. Last year, we had 10+ unique fanworks prepared for the fanevent. We hope to see y'all again in March for another round of spooky, Superfam goodness!! ( •̀ .̫ •́ )✧

EDIT: The collection on AO3 for 2025 Superfam Horror Week is now live! Feel free to add your works. :D

Some housekeeping items hehe

Purpose?

More horror-themed fanworks for the Soupeyfam! Please note that Horror is a VERY BIG GENRE with multiple subgenres that can also crossover with other big genres! All this to say, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO INCORPORATE ROMANCE, COMEDY, ETC. TO YOUR HEART'S CONTENT!!! Just make sure it also scares the shit outta people :'> Happy endings (and beginnings) are also welcome!

Why should we participate in this?

Because you want to read and see fanworks that are not entirely approved by the Comics Code Authority. This event encourages NSFW fanworks and exploration of Superfam characters' worst, most awful days.

So how does it work?

The release date for fanworks is from Monday, the 3rd of March through Sunday, the 9th of March, 2025. You have three months to prepare your fanworks! :3

This an opportunity for people who’d like to explore the Superfamily characters, dynamics, and relationships through a variety of prompts. Romantic ships are allowed, as well as dynamics with a sexual element that are not necessarily romantic, provided that the Superfam are the focus of your work.

Superfamily characters include, but are not limited to:

Clark Kent

Lois Lane

Kara Zor El

Jonathan and Martha Kent

Jon Kent

Osul Ra and Otho Ra

John Henry Irons

Natasha Irons

Kon El/Conner Kent

Chris Kent/Lor Zod

Karen Starr

Kong Kenan

Mon El

Superfamily characters of ANY comic book universe are acceptable. This includes Elseword variants, multiversal variants, and Superboy-Prime. If you want to spend the entire fanweek exploring Ultraman and Injustice!Superman because you love drama, then be my guest! If you want Ultraman to finally kidnap Lois, go for it!! Let that imagination run WILD!!!

What can I create?

Any and all content warnings are allowed, just make sure that you post any Mature content on a landing page that doesn't restrict Mature content (like AO3). I don’t want anyone getting their blog banned. We cannot defeat our capitalist overlords, but we can definitely work around them.

This fanweek will not have a dedicated blog because I am lazy. These prompts are free for anyone to use. Because it is a non-traditional, non-monetized, and free-to-opt-in casual event, there will be no mods but moi, no advertising of paid services, and no ratings or participant restrictions. I will open a collection on AO3 in March for anyone who wants their work collated for this event.

In order to ensure that both creators and the audience are making informed decisions about what they engage with, all creators are encouraged to include triggers, ships, and any other squick warnings. 

Fanart (standalones, comic strips, etc.), fanfiction (one-shots, multichapter, etc.), fanmixes, gifsets, graphics, meme collections, and fanvids are all allowed! Go wild!!!

Please utilize the read-more function for fanworks that are longer than 250 words. We're tryna read yer stories, not get spammed with a wall of text. Please Be Courteous.

And last but not least - if you are engaging with any of the fanworks, reblog, reblog, reblog! Share the work with your followers. Send all the love to the creators for crafting their masterpieces!!

What does (X) prompt mean?

Each day has two prompts!! You can either pick a prompt OR you can combine prompts in different ways. Let your imagination take you where you want to go with each prompt!! If you want to explore both in the same fanwork, then be my guest!! Creativity is key! Have fun!!!

Can I crackship/multiship/harem/OT3/polyam/rape the characters?

Absolutely!!! Just please remember that this is the Soupeyfam horror week, not the Batfam horror week. We love ships and non-ships alike, but this week is about the Superfamily being put in horrific situations, not a way for you to stealthily write your big name ships for a whole week. That's for a shipweek, which this is not.

Does this have a tag?

During release week, use the general “superfam” or "superfamily" tags to share your work with the wider Superfam fandom on tunglr. You can use whatever other tags you fancy. The best way to share, however, is to directly @ me so that I may reblog it. Please also share your AO3 links via DM so that I may include it in the collection on AO3.

I didn’t read a damn thing before this, Ava.

TL;DR: Three months until the fanweek!!! Now’s the time to start thinking about what prompts you want to utilize for your creations. There are no creative restrictions, but I do ask that you follow these posting tips:

All fanfiction should be under a read-more.  

NSFW fanwork should be LINKED to whatever landing site the content is being hosted on (Twitter, AO3, Bluesky). This includes both fanfiction and fanart. I don’t want your blog getting flagged bc tunglr hates gay people.

Provide content warnings for all triggers, squicks, and sub-genres.  If you feel uncomfortable sharing directly on your blog, you can post to AO3 anonymously and send me your link via DM to add to the collection on AO3.

You can participate as much as you want!! Maybe you only wanna create for one day? Cool! Maybe you’re an overachieving corporate clown like myself, and wanna create for every day of the week? Go for it!!! 

The most important thing is to have fun :)

If you enjoy deliciously dark fiction featuring our favorite DC clan, please come join us (me and my cat)! I would love to read your 10k character study of Jon's recent body modification and Kara's trip in space with a World Destroyer.

We’re three months away from release week, so take your time, look through the prompts, and get your creative juices flowing! I will be sending out reminders until the go-live date.

If you come across any Puriteens, censorship specialists, and crybabies who don't like anything that's not Rated G, please block as you go. Fandom is still in dire straits with puritanical behavior in every sub-pocket of comics fandom, so please block, block, and block some more! If a fancop gets on your ass, just link them to will.i.am & Britney Spears' MIND YOUR BUSINESS.

For the sixty-three people who showed interest during the initial interest check, I hope you're able to participate. To the ten people who hate me, your mom's a hoe. Thank you.

[diana-fortyseven]

Why not enhance your fanfic reading experience with a fun challenge?

Generate your own Fanfic Reading Bingo Card and try to finish it over a timespan of your choice (e.g. during your next family gathering).

Details & instructions under the cut

Generate a new bingo card until you're (mostly) happy with the results. You can re-roll every single bingo field separately by clicking/tapping on it. When you have a card that fits your reading habits (or takes you out of your comfort zone, if you want to challenge yourself), take a screenshot of the card to keep it. Closing the page and reloading it will reset the card.

There are no fanfic-negative or bashing items in the lists. This bingo card is meant to be a positive experience and celebrate fanfiction and fanworks in general.

It's just a little practice piece I made for funsies mostly over the weekend, with some finishing touches earlier today. I will add more content over the next few days and weeks (and let's be realistic, probably months), but everything that's currently in there should already work as intended.

The bingo generator is responsive, which means it should work on desktop and mobile. The mobile layout isn't ideal yet, I'm trying my best to make it better (but I'd also still consider myself a newbie and I'm learning by doing).

The platform I'm using, Perchance, recently added AI options for their generators. This is a regrettable decision that I don't condone, and I'd like to emphasise that this generator is 100% handcrafted chaos.

Leaving the NSFW checkbox unchecked should remove all NSFW tags and tropes, but you could still come across content you find objectionable. Leaving the AO3 Tags checkbox unchecked removes all tags, but you could still come across tropes you find objectionable.

If you run into any issues or come across any bugs, please let me know. If you find something that should be in the NSFW category, but isn't, please also let me know. It's possible that I missed a few tags when I worked through the list. (But don't ask me to remove content you find objectionable.)

What do the checkboxes mean?

NSFW is basically what it says on the tin. If you tick this box, the NSFW tropes will be added to the mix. If you also ticked the AO3 Tags box, NSFW AO3 tags will be added.

AO3 Tags is also what it says on the tin. It's a list with roughly 1,000 AO3 tags. Around 250 of them are currently marked NSFW and can only be generated if you ticked both the NSFW box and the AO3 Tags box.

Stats & Meta currently only includes the lists "length" (contains wordcounts ranging from drabble to >500k) and "meta", which currently contains items like "a work with a song lyrics title" or "a work in a series". I will probably add other lists to that category at some point.

The already populated lists are:

challenge (various challenges and events like Yuletide, Whumptober)

creator (items like favourite author, anon creator)

discovery (various ways you could've found a fic)

fandom (ranging from tiny fandom to megafandom, also options like old fandom, inactive fandom, etc)

length (wordcounts from drabble to over 500k)

medium (items like podfic, fandom meta, fic with fanart)

meta (a fic's front-end and stats, also "citrus scale for rating" xD)

platform (where you read the fic)

reader (your relationship with the fic; is it your comfort fic, or your first fic in a fandom?)

style (chatfic, iambic pentameter, custom workskin, stuff like that)

trope (roughly 100 tropes)

tag (roughly 1,000 AO3 tags)

Lists that are currently planned, but empty:

canon (probably stuff like anime fandom, video game fandom, etc)

category (planned to add the AO3 categories and maybe Archive Warnings to this list)

content (might be scrapped, might be populated with some items moved over from other lists)

genre (what it says on the tin)

setting (where or when does the fic take place)

It's possible that I come up with more ideas for more lists at one point.

I had lots of fun making it, and I hope that you'll have fun with it. If you're using it, let me know when you got a bingo! :D

If you have fannish accounts on there (or don't mind inflicting fandom on your regular followers), you can also share the Fanfic Reading Bingo on Twitter, Mastodon, and Bluesky! :D

[mushroomnoodlez]

how did simon pass in plainvanilla? was it just due to old age or something

i do have this in the FAQ linked in my pinned intro page, but ill answer it

old age kinda, yeah. being pregnant with morri imbued him with a lot of cosmic energy that kept him running for 250 more years, but it ran out. his body was like, oh, ok, bye and he dropped dead abruptly one morning before morri woke up. no warning signs, didn't look much older at all (had a bit more grey hair), completely painless and quick.

[chaotic-on-main]

Summer Event! 💕

Matcha Green Tea Ice Cream,

Kitchen Sink option but make it a surprise!

Thank you for being so understanding & sweet, I get really anxious if you can't tell haha. You're a dear💕✨

Order up!! One matcha green tea cone with everything but the kitchen sink for Eri!!

Sky's Summer and 250 Follower Event!

☾ Pairings ➼ janitor!Levi Ackerman x fem!people-pleaser!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ modernAU, meet-cute(kinda?), familial trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff, accidental therapy (for me), corporate ick

☾ Author's Note ➼ Hi Eri!! Thank you so much for sending this request in. I was a little worried with the whole "make it a surprise" because I struggle with lack of structure BUT I'm so proud of how this came out. I couldn't stop writing, as you can see. This might be a little self-indulgent and I hope I got the emotions right since I struggle with them. I just want Levi to call me out on my shit, okay?? Anyways, I hope you enjoy!! love you k bye *smooches*

☾ Word Count ➼ ~7.6k (oops)

“Hi, you’re the new hire right? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Carol from a few rows down. Listen, I hate to do this to you since you’re so new but you’re the only one I can ask. Would you be able to do the data entry on the Sina job? I can’t stay past closing tonight due to my set plans and unfortunately it’s due tomorrow morning. Could you help me out? I’ll pay you back!”

The voice of your overly excited brunette coworker reverberates through your skull as you type away at your desk, the bright light of your monitor biting at your eyes just like the migraine you feel in the back of your head. You had a feeling that this is not the first time the people in the office have picked on the newcomers, and you bet it wouldn’t be the last. You chalk it up the fact that you were still in the office past seven in the evening doing someone else’s work because they dropped the stack of papers on your desk before you could say anything back, but you knew better. Damn your pathological people pleasing tendencies.

Your chair squeaks as you lean back in it, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you sigh heavily. It’s a handful of days into your first week and you’re already daydreaming about your next vacation. An office job was not your first go to, but as all struggling artists do, you needed this job to supplement your income until your art took off – if that ever happened.

Thoughts of how much longer you’d have to be here swirl through your mind when you’re interrupted by a loud thunk a few cubicles down. It startles you so much that you jump up as your eyes shoot open, hand over your heart in an attempt to calm it. You weren’t aware of anyone else in the building so you can’t help but think there might be a mass murderer just feet away from you. Steeling your resolve, you push yourself up from your chair and carefully peek over the half wall to see what had made that noise.

At first you don’t see anything as your eyes adjust from seeing nothing to the semi-lit office floor from the setting sun and dimmed overheads. Down the row, you see the back of a man in what you assume to be a gray janitor’s suit. An undercut peeks between short raven locks, neck lines sharp giving away to a clean cut. It doesn’t seem like he notices you’re there as his attention is focused on the waste basket in front of him.

You sit back down slowly, heaving a heavy sigh from relief that it was indeed not a mass murderer – well, that you know of. He didn’t seem threatening from far away at least. Your hands hover on the keyboard as you do your best to blink away the tired. Only a few more pages now, you reassure yourself.

An hour later, miraculously you find yourself down to the last page. The miscellaneous words and numbers swim off the page as you force yourself to focus. With the promise of a late night treat, you finally make it down to the last line. Just as you’re about to hit ‘enter’, something kicks the back of your chair causing you to yelp loudly and slam down on the keys harder than you meant.

“What are you still doing here?” A deep voice grumbles from behind you, making your ears twitch at the sudden volume difference. You twist around in your chair to see who the voice belongs to and you’re surprised to see it coming from the janitor you saw earlier. What’s even more surprising is how young he looks, and handsome to boot - despite the look he’s giving you. Stark gray-blue lidded eyes stare down at you as he scowls, eyebrows pinched together. He doesn’t look pleased.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m working on some…” Your voice falters when his expression turns into annoyance.

“You’re in my way.” He simply states as he leans against a vacuum you only now notice sitting under his arm. Was your focus so strong that you completely missed the sounds of him cleaning around you?

“Oh, uh. Yeah, let me get out of your way then.” You say timidly, pushing yourself out of the chair. You’re face to face with him at standing height, even in your work heels. This was a very intimidating man despite his short stature.

“I’m not going to clean with you breathing down my neck.” He grumbles, eyes narrowing at you like you asked him the most offensive question known to man. Your lips part as you struggle to find your words, but nothing comes out as you find yourself low-key panicking.

“I c-can just-”

“Just finish what you’re working on, I’ll just come back.” He rolls his eyes before walking away, leaving you and the vacuum illuminated by your computer screen. You ball your hands in fists to keep them from shaking.

Exhaling a weak breath, you sit back down and force yourself to focus on the last line of data instead of the glowering expression of your office’s janitor.

.

You slam your forehead into the vinyl coating of your desk, not hard enough to leave a bruise but enough to hear the echoes of contact through the whole floor. It’s nearing seven at night again and you’re still in office catching up on yet another coworker’s workload.

When they asked what plans you had tonight, you didn’t think that saying you were going home to watch TV would bite you in the ass. If you were completely honest, you had quietly hoped they might be asking if you wanted to go out for drinks with them. After all, they were the only ones that had really talked to you in the past few weeks but you’re starting to wonder if they were just trying to butter you up to get you to say yes to their requests.

Who were you kidding though, you would have said yes anyways because the word ‘no’ didn’t exist in your vocabulary. You wish you weren’t so aware of that fact because not only are you stressed out, you’re full of self loathing. A groan escapes your lips.

“Still doing other people’s work?” You hear a familiar voice grumble from behind.

After lifting your head up from the cool desk, you swivel around in your chair to see the janitor – this time in dark blue. A white handkerchief wraps around his face, covering his mouth and nose so that all you see are his tired eyes. A same-colored bandana adorns his head with some of his bangs falling into his eyes. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from asking what the point of the bandana was if it didn’t keep his hair out of his face.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, partly from not using it for so long but also because of the steady unfriendly feeling radiating off him. He raises an eyebrow at you as you stare up at him almost dumbfounded.

“I- who said I was doing other people’s work?” You finally make out, voice trembling.

“You’re new, right? The office goons do that to every newbie that comes in.” He folds his arms over his chest and you see that his sleeves are rolled up to show his toned forearms, muscles popping up from the position they’re in. Your eyes flicker back up to his, blinking slowly.

“I’m sure but they needed the help, so...”

“Because they would rather slack off than do any work. They’re taking advantage of you and you’re falling for it? You’re an adult, right?” There isn’t malice in his words but they still sting.

“Of course I am! I work here, don’t I?” Your eyes widen in emphasis, sweeping your hands around you.

“Tch, that doesn’t make you an adult. I’ve been here for years and I’ve seen my fair share of children.” His scowl reappears at those words. You’ve never met someone so grumpy.

You close your mouth at that, not sure what else to say. He clicks his tongue and flips a small towel over his shoulder. Turning on his heel, he sets off down the aisle without another word, the sounds of his heavy boots getting quieter.

You don’t get done until 10:30 that night. On your way out, you pass by the janitor who was currently on the inside of the board meeting glass walls, wiping them down with what you suppose is glass cleaner. His eyes meet yours as you walk by and you offer a small wave and smile even though his short words still sting. You think he’s going to ignore you but instead, he gives you a curt nod.

.

The janitor’s words swim through your mind the next time you’re asked to stay behind to help out. You spent the last couple of weeks doing your best practicing in the shower on setting boundaries with your coworkers but when the person who came to you next was your supervisor, how could you say no.

You were in the middle of packing your bag while lost in thought of your weekend plans when she came to you. You’re thinking you might stop by the evening market by the river before heading home with some food from the local vendors when a finger taps on your shoulder followed by your name coming out in a honey-laced voice.

“Hey, I just wanted to stop by and commend you on being such a team player in the last month. It’s something we find rare in someone as young as you and of course we’re grateful.” Your red-haired boss beams down at you while she talks. The feeling of ice pricks in your veins at what you know was coming next.

“I’m really sorry to come to you so last minute and on a Friday no less, but because of your wonderful work ethic, you’re the only one I can trust to complete The Warrior Project. It’s been extremely slow going and we need it done by Monday. Do you think you can stay behind and help us out?” She offers you an apologetic smile, eyes boring into yours with sincerity.

You wished you could have said no but the words died before they made it out of your mouth, instead agreeing meekly with a fake smile.

So now here you sit at your desk with the dying rays of light rising higher against the back walls as the sun sets, fingers flying across the keyboard. You suppose you’ll have to stop by the late night convenience store on the way home for some dinner; your face scrunches up at the thought of your very limited choices.

“If you type any harder, you’ll break it.” You don’t bother to turn around at the voice, knowing damn well who it was.

“I’m sure they’ll get me another one. They need me to finish this, after all.” You mutter the last part under your breath. The smell of something sweet and tangy hits your nose and on contact, your stomach rumbles loudly.

Swiveling in your chair, you’re met with the janitor who’s simultaneously holding a feather duster as well as a bag of what looks like Chinese take-out. Your eyes widen at the sight, bouncing back and forth between the objects in his hand.

“Are you here to eat or dust?” You ask, finally looking up to his face. There’s no expression on his pretty face. You still haven’t gotten over how stunning he was, with his pointed nose and pouty bottom lip. Today he has his janitor uniform half on, the sleeves of the suit tied around his waist so that it’s only pants. Tucked in is a black t-shirt that shows more of his muscular arms. He’s not ripped by any means but it’s very obvious he exercises on his time off.

“I’m here to dust. This is for you to eat.” He says dryly, shoving the bag in your direction. Once again, you find your words stolen as you stare at the brown paper bag that sits curled in his pale fingers. Your eyes shift back and forth between his face and the food.

“F-for me? Why?”

“Whenever I see you here late, you never eat. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I eat when I get home.” You retort back softly. A late night meal for you consists of a single serving bag of chips and whatever looked edible at the convenience store – but you wouldn’t tell him that.

“Just eat it.” He pushes it forward to you again, the warm smells of food wafting past your nose. It smelled like heaven.

“I- no. I can’t take that, it’s yours!” You wave your hands in front of your chest in a dismissive manner. A dark eyebrow shoots up his face.

“So she can say no.” He reaches over you and places the paper bag down on your desk. Along with the smells of delicious food, the scent of clean laundry and musky pine tickles your nose. It’s a very pleasant combination, and one you were not expecting. “Eat it, throw it away, I don’t care.” He says casually before turning around and walking off. Your hand reaches out in an attempt to stop him, but he’s long gone.

Twisting your chair around, you eye the paper bag for a moment before finally caving. Your stomach is about to eat itself and he had paid for it, so you don’t want to waste it. Why he would care enough about you to order food is a mystery, though.

Upon opening the contents, you’re greeted with a small foil dish with a plastic covering holding what you believe is orange chicken. A little white box off to the side contains sticky rice and in the little plastic package next to it holds some spring rolls – all still steaming hot and smelling wonderful.

You spend the next half hour scarfing down your dinner while thinking about how you’d pay the janitor back. The flush that started creeping up your cheeks at the end of your encounter with him stays even when you go to bed late that night.

.

The week after, you intentionally slow down on your daily work so that you had a reason to stay late and finish it. But much to your dismay, you don’t see the janitor anywhere. You’d leave each night a little embarrassed at yourself for being so excited for someone you’ve talked to a handful of times, but to your benefit you had a reason for your madness.

Finally, you gather enough courage to peep your head over your half-wall and grab your coworker’s attention – whose attention was on a mobile game in his hands and not on the spreadsheets in front of his face.

“Ryan?” You whisper-shout down. Your brunette coworker’s eyes shoot up to yours, almost in a panic.

“What? Is the boss lady making her rounds?” He asks back. You sweep your eyes around the office floor and finally find your supervisor who was currently in a meeting with other board members.

“She’s busy, you’re fine. I actually had a question?” You didn’t realize how soft you were speaking until he stood up to meet you, towering a good foot above you with his ear down to you.

“What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you knew when the janitor might be back? I haven’t seen him in a few days.” You subconsciously start picking at your nails – a nervous habit.

Ryan stares at you as he processes your words before throwing his head back in bellowing laughter. You’re quick to shush him and duck your head down from the glares aimed your way at such a loud disturbance.

“Not so loud!!” You whisper-shout again.

“I’m sorry, I’m just curious why you want to know? He doesn’t like anyone, and no one likes him.” He shrugs his shoulders. You so badly want to tell him to shut up and that you like him, but instead you settle on trying to get him to answer your question.

“Well, what’s his schedule?” You narrow your eyes in hopes of getting the message across that you were serious.

“Well, that’s the thing, he’s always working. Sometimes even on the weekends. From what I heard, his cleaning routes are the same every week. He doesn’t get to our floor until late in the week. He has a thing for cleaning, so I heard, and that’s why there’s only one janitor contracted. He’s so weird.” Ryan rolls his eyes as he rests his chin against the top of the wall.

“What’s his name?”

“Why do you care so much about the janitor?” It’s Ryan’s turn to narrow his eyes to you. You’re asking too many questions and he’s getting far too nosy about your business. It’s best to retreat for now.

“Uh, it’s nothing. Thank you.” You squeak before plopping yourself down at your chair and pretending to click around on your word documents until you no longer feel the pierce of your coworker’s stare.

So he’s always here, you think. You’re just missing him on your way down. You bite back a smile as you glance down to the clock at the bottom corner of your screen. The time reads 4:37pm and it’s a Thursday which meant that he would be around your floor this evening. Perfect. Your eyes sweep over to your bag in your excitement.

In the time it takes for you to wait for the gray-blue eyed janitor, you’ve finished half of the next day’s work. A part of you starts to wonder if he isn’t coming tonight, that it may be tomorrow instead, and weirdly you find yourself hoping one of your coworkers would ask you to help them out again so that you had a reason to stay.

“That’s so stupid.” You say out loud as you stir sugar into the black tea you had spent the last 5 minutes steeping. You’re standing in the office break room, lost in thought.

“I’m sure the mug doesn’t feel that way.” That voice makes your heart flutter, and you bite back the smile that threatens to curve into your face. Instead, you pinch your lips together and turn around.

The janitor is there alright, uniform zipped up tight as he holds a spray bottle and a rag. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the break room, arms folded across his chest. His black hair falls into his face, almost kissing the corners of his heavy-lidded eyes as they watch you intently.

“Ah, there you are!” You exclaim, pointing your spoon at him.

“Here I am.”

“I have something to give you as payback for dinner last week.” You muse, grinning at him. His eyes widened briefly before going back to normal.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I’m grateful for it, dummy.” Carefully, you place your spoon next to your mug and walk towards him until you’re face to face. It takes him a moment to realize you were waiting for him to move, and carefully he backs away so that you have room to escape.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You order before dashing off to your cubicle.

When you come back with the gift in hand, you see that the janitor hadn’t moved an inch. His intimidating eyes follow you as you stop in front of him, slightly breathless from speed walking back. An eyebrow raises at you as he waits for you to catch your breath.

“I-ah. Okay. So. I made these for you. I ended up having to make a fresh batch because I didn’t see you for a bit and I didn’t want to feed you stale cookies so. Anyways, here. Thank you for feeding me last week.” You beam up at him as you hold your hands out to show him your gift.

It’s a small plastic bag wrapped with a pastel bow. The contents of the bag include bite sized cookies that you spent all last night remaking in hopes you would see him again. They’re pale yellow in color, dusted with a light coat of cane sugar. His eyes widen again at your gesture, this time staying big as they stare at the bag in your hand like its gold.

“You… made these for me?” His voice is low.

“I did! I don’t know if you like sweets but these are my mother’s recipe and her cookies were never that sweet. Pretty much the sweetness comes from the sugar on top. The rest are just buttery goodness.” You gush as you stare off in thought, the happy memories of your mom making these cookies for you flooding your brain.

When your eyes fall back to the raven-haired man, you’re almost tempted to run away in embarrassment. His neutral expression stares back at you and you take a small step back.

“I’m sorry, this is probably weird. You don’t have to take them actually. In fact, I’ll just le-“

“No, you’re fine. I uh, I appreciate it.” He quickly reaches out and grabs the bag, the sound of crinkling plastic taking up space in the nearly empty mess room. You offer him a small smile, grateful that he accepted the gift. His eyes trail past you and onto the kitchen counter behind you. He purses his lips as he thinks but finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Pour that disgusting excuse for a tea out and follow me. Bring the mug.” He says tersely before turning on his heels and out the door. You blink hard a few times as your brain processes his words but quickly you find yourself dumping out the tea and chasing after him down the cubicle aisles.

Soon, you’re sitting on the ground with the janitor as he pours steaming amber liquid from the thermos he pulled out of his cleaning cart just mere moments ago. It splashes into the bottom of your mug and fills it quickly, then he hands it over to you as he starts speaking.

“So are you a workaholic or…” He gives you a side eye.

“I should be asking you that. I’ve been told you work practically every day, even on weekends.” You hold the mug by the handle as you stare down into the cup. “Is this…?”

“It’s tea and no I didn’t poison it.”

“What was wrong with the tea I had?”

“Stale tea leaves don’t make for a good cup of tea.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No, I’m not a workaholic. I like to clean, and I get paid for it. Plus, I’m left alone. Usually.” He grumbles the last part, but you don’t detect any hostility in his voice.

“Well, I’m not either. A-a workaholic, I mean.”

“No, I suppose not. Just a people pleaser then?” His statement makes you splutter on the tea you had just sipped on. Despite it going almost everywhere, the bitter taste of the dark leaves bite at your taste buds. It’s unsweetened and you can’t keep the slight look of distaste off your face. Luckily, it’s covered up by the glare you shoot his way.

You don’t say anything back at that, knowing any denial would have been a lie but you didn’t want to confirm it either. However, you can’t hold back the annoyance that simmers in your chest at such a presumptuous statement, from someone you hardly know, no less.

“Beats being disliked by everyone.” You mutter finally, setting your mug on the floor next to you. Your eyes drift to the floor-to-ceiling window you were both sitting in front of. The last dreg of golden sunlight warms your face as you stare out into the bustling city as they prepare for the evening.

“You say that like it should bother me.”

“Shouldn’t it though?”

“Why would it?”

“Don’t you want people to like you?” You whisper softly, dragging your gaze over to his face. There’s no readable expression on his face as he sips his tea out of the top of his thermos lid. He’s holding it in a way you’ve never seen before – long fingers gripping the metal from the top rim and tilting it back into his mouth.

“I don’t give a shit if they like me or not.” He says finally as he gives you a side eye.

You’re not sure if your surprise at his callous attitude is warranted or not. Your interactions with him have been few and far in between but that night he got you dinner, you thought maybe he was a little more caring than that.

“Why do you care if people like you anyway?” He leans back on a hand, his other cradling his cup.

“I just- well. I don’t know.” You say simply. You do know.

“I read this thing about people-pleasers. It said that they’re great manipulators. They bend and break just so that others tolerate and like them, pretending to be something they’re not. Are you trying to get something out of it?”

Your eyes snap to his, feeling the heat behind your stare at his insinuation. Where did he get off calling you a manipulator? A pretender? Despite the subtle rage dancing in your eyes, you give him a smile and push yourself off the ground, grabbing your mug on your way up.

“Thank you for the tea. I really must be going now.” You say politely, voice coming out higher than you meant.

“Tch.” Is all you get back.

With that, you turn on your heel and head back to the break room to pour your tea out and rinse the mug, leaving it out on the rack to dry. You’re quick to gather your things before practically running down the aisles to the elevator, down to the front door, and towards home. A lump in your throat stays even after your shower and still when you lie down for the night.

.

After your last encounter with the janitor, you find that you’re rushing home as soon as you can. You aren’t necessarily mad at him for telling you a hard truth, but the rumination of having someone being annoyed at you doesn’t go away.

Your evasive tactics work for a while. Your office was in between projects and jobs so no one had come to you for help for anything. But of course that didn’t stay that way for long and your luck would run out as it always had as the quarter was about to close. Your supervisor came to you early on a rainy Tuesday morning to tell you that some freak accident had happened to the last reports which made the data you spent days organizing completely disappear.

You don’t know what was more frustrating: the fact that your hard work from the last week had completely vanished or the fact that no one in the office offered to give a helping hand when you needed it the most.

Your supervisor apologized and said the entries needed to be done by the next morning so they could be submitted in time for the quarter review. With a forced smile and false-positive voice, you agreed and got started on it right away.

This was about 12 hours ago.

The only thing that brings you solace is the knowledge that the janitor was not due for your floor for a couple days so at least you could work on it without worrying about running into him. And thankfully for you since you were semi-prepared for being held back, you ordered pizza for dinner before the front doors locked for the evening.

For some reason, you find yourself sitting on the floor in the same spot you had shared bitter tea with the janitor. You’re lying on your back with your phone hovering as you scroll on it mindlessly, a more than half filled pizza box next to you with the lid propped open slightly. There’s a vacation photo that pops up from one of your acquaintances that makes your chest tighten from envy.

“You’re in my way, brat.” A voice from above rings out. It startles you so much that your fingers loosen on your phone, and it comes smacking into your face with a loud slap. Your eyes scrunch shut from the stinging pain radiating from your nose as you groan softly.

You sit up from your position, making sure to grab your phone before it falls on the ground, and turn to narrow your eyes at the perpetually scowling janitor. You hear a subtle pop in your back as you do.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice comes out more accusatory than you meant, and you end up clearing your throat before giving him a forced smile.

“I’m working. That’s more than I can say for you.”

“You’re not supposed to be on this floor today.”

“Says who?” An eyebrow quirks at your statement.

The words die on your tongue because even you knew that one person’s word was not enough to be reliable. You reach over to close the pizza box and gather your things to leave. He doesn’t say anything and only stares while you push yourself up onto your feet.

“I’ll just get out of your way, then.” You mumble, bending down to grab the pizza box in one hand and your empty cup in the other. As you brush past him, you can’t help but wonder if he’s still mad at you, though you can’t logically find a reason why he would be mad in the first place. And if he was, then what did you do? These thoughts are jarred as a vibration in your back pocket alerts you to a notification. Upon more buzzes and the start of your soft ringtone, you realize it’s a phone call.

Stepping over to the nearest desk, you set your stuff down and pull out your phone. On the screen is the caller ID for your mom, her faux-happy face staring straight at you as the lights around it pulse. You don’t fight the grimace that etches into your features. Hitting the green button, you regret it immediately.

“Hi mom!” You exclaim, forcing another smile on your lips.

“There you are! I really thought you had died on us.”

“Of course, I’m not dead. Just busy!” You state happily, turning around to face the windows again. A relieved sigh escapes when you notice the janitor is no longer standing where he was.

“You should call us more. You know I was talking to our neighbor about you recently! Remember Donna and her kids? Apparently her youngest just got engaged. And it got me thinking…” Your mother’s words trail off as your eyes glaze over. Your pulse is steadily picking up speed with every word, and you grip the edge of the desk tightly to keep yourself grounded.

“Anyways, both of your sisters are coming to visit with their little families. When are you planning to come by? It would be nice to have everyone home again. Maybe this time with a man on your arm?”

“Oh, I don’t know, mom. I just started here, so getting the time off will be a little hard to do right away. But I will ask my supervisor, and see? I want to see everyone too.” Your voice wavers a little as the muscles in your face start to hurt from your smile.

“Your grandmother is asking about you, you know. I had to come up with some excuse about why you’re so far away, and single no less.”

“I’m working on it. I’ll give her a call soon.” Tears prick in the corners of your eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you are, honey. Oh, your little sister is calling, I need to go. Please call us more!” And just like that, the line goes silent as she hangs up.

“I’ll call tomorrow, I guess.” You whisper down at the blank screen. Setting your phone down, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes to get rid of the wetness that threatens to overflow. You practically feel your heart beating right out of your chest as your mom’s words float around your head.

“I see where it comes from now.” The janitor’s deep voice comes from the right of you. When you pull your hands away to look at him, he’s holding out a steaming mug to you. Hesitantly, you take it. The color of the liquid is lighter in color and smells slightly floral. A mile’s difference from the last thing he shared with you.

“Where what comes from?” You mutter before bringing the cup to your lips. It’s hot but not unbearably so. The taste is gentle and has a touch of sweetness to it. It’s pleasant, and not something you were expecting.

“Your people-pleasing tendencies.” He leans against the half wall next to him as he eyes you.

“Please do enlighten me, as I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” You reply back in a monotone voice. You were tired in more ways than one. Slaving away at this project that you were only 80% done with. Staying late, lack of sleep, and now your mother calling. You were tired and you can’t mask anymore.

“Let me guess.” He raises his hand and taps a finger against his chin in thought. “Middle child. Your parents always apologized for what you lacked. Always felt like you had to put in extra effort to be seen and walking on eggshells so that when you are seen, no one pulls away. You’re starving for real, positive attention.” Again, none of his words come out malicious but they really sting. This man hardly knows you and yet he’s spreading your entire childhood out like it was nothing.

You’re tired.

“Yeah. Exactly that. And it’s infuriating. Not to drag on my sisters because they’re doing their best and they have the same parents I have but it’s like…” You take another sip of the honey liquid before continuing, feeling the heat of not only the tea but also anger burning in your chest. Your eyes drift back to the front window.

“I can’t stop myself from doing above and beyond on the off chance I might be liked and appreciated. I’m putting in all this hard work and still it doesn’t matter. I’m just so tired.”

The sun is all but gone and is replaced by the city lights that illuminate the indigo sky above. The janitor stays quiet through all of this as he takes in your words. You’ve never told anyone any of this before, and part of you feels liberated. The other part feels guilty for putting something so heavy on someone who probably doesn’t even care.

“So, what if it doesn’t matter? Why are you putting so many expectations on yourself? You’re just one person.” He stands up from the wall and walks around it so that he’s face to face with you. His arms are folded across his chest again as he eyes you warily before continuing.

“I spend everyday cleaning after you shits and no one sees that. And yet, what I do matters because otherwise this place would be a shithole. You do not have to bend over backwards so people can see your accomplishments, they still exist whether they see it or not. But, say they approve of your help, then what?”

“What do-” Your fingers grip tight on the handle of your mug.

“They say thank you for doing what they asked you to do, then what? Do you keep up with their demands?”

“If I have to.”

“And what do you gain from that outside of exhaustion?”

You want to lie so bad. You want to say that you get a lot of enjoyment from making others happy. That you gain happiness for making others smile because you did what they ask of you. But you realize that putting yourself out there for the sake of others is wearing you down. And you aren’t actually happy.

“I don’t.” Your voice cracks and when you blink next, your sight is blurry.

“That’s what I’m saying. You bend and you bend for these short bursts of attention but you don’t need it. The only thing that should matter to you is your wellbeing. The rest comes after.” His voice retains the same dryness as it had before, but there’s an unmistaken lilt of tenderness.

You look away from his gaze and wipe the corners of your eyes with the back of your hand as you take a shaky breath.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you care so much about me?” You offer him a small smile to hopefully deter any ill will that statement could bring up.

“Tch, don’t get me wrong, you’re still annoying. But, I can’t stand watching people tear themselves down for the sake of others. You’re here to live for yourself, not for them.” His steely eyes roll to the ceiling before landing back on you.

“Right. Well. I’ll keep that in mind.” You smile at him, a genuine one that squeezes your eyes closed. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, even if your words are a little rough.” He huffs at that then nods curtly, tapping his foot on the ground.

“On that note, I need to-“

“Will you stay with me?” Your words come out faster than you can stop yourself. A sudden burst of warmth blooms into your face. “I-I mean, if you want. I just have this pizza left and-“

“Do you want me to stay?” He stares hard at you as he reads your reaction. You have a feeling he’s testing you.

Do you want that?

Yes, you do.

“Please stay?”

He considers you for a moment before relaxing, his arms falling to his sides.

“Okay.”

Once again, you find yourself on the floor with the janitor, knees tucked into your chest as you’re lost in thought. He sits a few feet away, slowly chewing on a just heated up piece of pizza while he stares out into the night. Your eyes never leave his face, watching the way his long eyelashes tickle his cheekbones and the way his hair falls in his face. You notice the dark circles that bruise the underside of his eyes.

“Do you ever take time off?” You ask softly.

“I never needed to.”

“You look really tired.”

“That’s just my face.” You laugh at that and he gives you a side eye. He wasn’t expecting that from you.

“Where would you go if you ever took time off?” You ask despite the fact he might ignore you as he didn’t seem the type to indulge such stupid questions, but he surprises you.

“Home.” He says without skipping a beat.

“Home? Really? Are you not home that often that you miss it more or something?”

“It’s quiet and all of my things are there. Where else would I go?” He stares at you with a perturbed expression. His dry voice adds to his comment and you find it very endearing. You think you see his lip twitch, but it might have been your imagination.

“What about you?”

Leaning back on your hands, you stretch your legs out with a soft groan and stare out the window. By this time, it’s well into 9pm and you still have work to do. But with the janitor staring at you, you find yourself pushing the thought of work away for now.

“Don’t laugh. But I really want to experience a day in that park off of Centennial. I heard it’s really nice in the afternoon because of the trees and little river that cuts through it. I would love to just sit out on a blanket and draw for a bit.” You say wistfully. You can already feel the heat of the sun against your skin.

“You’re an artist?”

“Yeah, struggling and starving as most are. But I draw when I can.”

He hums softly. “That sounds like a good day.” He says, wiping his hands on the towel that was tied to his utility belt around his waist.

You beam over to him at that. You again think to yourself of why people don’t like him. He was blunt and a little tactless, but he was caring and empathetic. Something you wouldn’t see from the outside. You liked him for just being himself with you.

Realization dawns on you at what his words meant earlier. Just being you was enough. You matter.

“Thank you.” You say simply, a toothy grin pointed his way.

.

A month passes and you find yourself steadily settling more into your job. You haven’t seen the janitor much since that one night. When you got home after that conversation, you made a promise you would only do things that you wanted to do for the sake of yourself and not others. The next time your coworker came to you for help, you were able to put your foot down and tell them no. Your voice and hands shook the whole time, but since then you haven’t been bothered. Unfortunately, you helped your supervisor when asked but you are proud of the progress that you made with your boundaries.

And now, here you are on a blanket in Centennial Park on a Thursday, lying on your stomach with your sketchbook propped open in front as you pop grapes into your mouth. There’s dark charcoal smudged along the side of your hands but you can’t find yourself caring as you finish a hooded eye with a flourish. It’s a nice day with a light breeze that helps keep you cool and soft music flows through your ears from your earphones, quiet enough so that you can be aware of your surroundings.

You’ve been at the park for so long that you’re almost done with your drawing and you’re thinking you should have brought a book to read when something kicks your foot. It makes you jump and your head twists behind you to see who or what it was. You assume it’s a child that kicked their ball too far as that happened earlier, but instead you scrunch your eyes to make sense of the figure in front of you.

Your eyes trail up to find it's a man dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt, with a pair of oversized headphones circling his neck and sunglasses covering his eyes. The shades are dark but you can only assume he’s staring down at you. In his hands are two hot to-go cups.

“Can I help you?” You ask up to the mystery man, not hiding the annoyance in your tone.

“So she does take a day off. It’s nice to see you away from the computer screen.” The voice is familiar and you find yourself scrambling up to your feet, staring at him hard. He’s the same height as you and you notice his lips are all too familiar. They’re the same ones belonging to the drawing you just finished.

“You’re the janitor! What are you doing here?” Your annoyance quickly changes into surprise.

“Took the day off and I’m meeting a friend.” He raises one of the cups which you assume must be his friend’s. “And you can just call me Levi, by the way.” He grumbles the last bit. You only now realize you never asked for his name in any of the interactions you’ve had with him. Your face flares in embarrassment.

“I- yeah. I’m sorry, that’s so rude of me to have never asked.” You tell him your name as well but he just nods.

“I know who you are, and it’s fine.” He shrugs, tone dry as ever.

“You know my name? But how?” You don’t remember telling him your name. Nor has he ever been around to hear it be said. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You have a plaque on your desk.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fair.” You run a hand through your hair as you laugh at that. You don’t notice the way his eyes flicker from your sweet face to the sketch behind you on the ground. He huffs softly at that.

“Well, I can’t keep them waiting so. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmurs before turning on his heel in the opposite direction.

“Wait, Levi!” You yell, taking a few steps towards him. His head tilts back in your direction so that you see his blue-gray eyes side-eying you from behind his sunglasses.

“What?”

“Would you like to get some tea with me sometime?” You ask quickly. Your voice wavers slightly with anxiety as you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Are you sure you don’t have other people’s work to complete first?” You laugh at that.

“No. I don’t think that will be a problem.” The sides of his mouth twitches.

“Then sure. Only if you bring your mom’s cookies again.” He raises his cup at you before turning his back to you and walking down the hill.

You sit back down with a grin, staring down at your finished sketch of Levi leaning against the doorframe of the break room.

Doing things for yourself has never felt so good.

I'm adding my taglist to this bc I'm actually quite proud of this one?

-> taglist: @averysmolbear @humanitys-strongest-bamf @youre-ackermine @notgoodforlife @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @levis-squishy-cheeks @icansmellsouls @dkbktk420 @elnyrae @romantichomicide95 @sckerman @secretmoneybearvoid @apolloshaiku @sujiroses @jadam724 @kamyru @highgoon69 @missyasma @nube55 @svftackerman

The link to my taglist is in my pinned post on my blog!!