#heels are a gender expectation for afab people

[btnclmrttn]

02. Bondage/Ghost (Simon Riley)

((cw: 18+, oral f.recieving, fingering, dirty talk, vaginal sex, afab gender neutral reader, 2.7k word count my bad, a shitty innuendo pun))

(Ghost gives you a private training lesson in escape tactics. He didn't expect failure to be on his own behalf...)

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“Now remember while you’re being timed,” Ghost says to you, “only one other person was able to get out of this their first attempt. Don’t get on your own nerves over a practice run.”

“Was it you, L.T?”

You question the man behind you, securing your wrists together against the thick post you rest your back on as you’re sitting on the floor. Despite being unable to see, you can feel how sturdy this knot is getting with how Ghost takes his time with it. Not quite cutting circulation, but damn close.

“No. That’s why I’m showing you.”

As far as you know, he’s given this particular lesson to a few people. You wonder if you can figure out who it could’ve been. That’s if he even means this specific squad. Still, in an odd way this is how he seems to be looking out for his team.

He seems finished with your wrists as he stands, walking around to the front of you with his remaining rope and kneeling in front of your feet. You watch how quick he works with his large hands wrapping the rope around your ankles and securing a tight knot. This one doesn’t seem to be as complex as the one around your wrists.

“Right. All set?”He walks off to the wall in front of you to lean himself against it.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Start.”

By instruction, you’re off to a start by getting a feel for what you’re working with. The binds on your wrists are tight, sturdy enough to question its material. You can hardly even twist your wrist in them without your skin rubbing harshly against it. It does feel like your ankles aren’t as secure as your wrist. Might be for practice sake.

If that’s as easy as he’s going at you, you’re feeling a rough time coming on. You’re putting your focus on your ankles; winding your legs about to stretch and loosen the rope. Hardly can you even shift an ankle higher than the other with how tight it is.

Your ear manages to catch an amused grunt from Ghost as he watches on. Does he find this funny? Possibly. It would fit his strange humor. You probably are looking like some amature that forgot all their previous training.

“What, am I taking too long?” You joke.

Ghost turns his wrist up to look at the watch he’s using to keep your time.

“Gettin’ close to dead,” he replies before folding his arm back in with the other and refocusing on you.

You can appreciate his little humor in this. It makes you a little less irritated with yourself. It’s starting to feel a bit embarrassing how much you're struggling vainly to kick just one boot off to get just the bind at your ankle.

Ghost, on the other hand, isn’t seeing it that way at all. He knows he has skill in this department of tying people up for interrogation and other means. Another use of this is starting to creep into his mind as he watches you struggle. Oh, this is shit timing. While he can consciously force himself to think otherwise, it isn't preventing the building heat in his stomach just watching you this way.

“Shallow grave been dug about now,” his voice breaks the silence again as he attempts more humor for his own sake. At least it gets a little laugh out of you.

Finally, the ankle of your boot is loose enough to kick off. Thank god for the small favors. You work on shoving your other boot off your heel to make more slack on the rope. As your other boot kicks off your foot, it takes most of the rope down with it, leaving you able to kick it off and start pushing yourself to stand up against the post.

“Halfway there,” He nods approvingly as he sits up from the wall he once leaned on.

A position like that wouldn’t leave you much option but to just take it, huh? Could you take Ghost like that, with a rough and merciless force? Or would you have to beg him to take it easy? You couldn’t even-Fucking hell, Simon, cut it out.

He creeps around you in a slow pace while he examines all angles of you. Yet progress isn't the thing on his mind anymore. It's wandering around the things he could do to you. The things that he could make you feel. It cycles around his head like a broken record.

Jesus Christ.

You wouldn't even be able to hide your face from him. Or cover your mouth if you start whining too loudly. Just all in his mercy...

You can feel his gaze raising the hairs of your neck as you attempt to focus on getting free. The twisting and tugging of your wrists don’t feel like they’re making them any more loose. He sure can tie a damn knot. You're still trying to focus on the task at hand despite feeling how Ghost's gaze burns into you. His undivided attention is making you feel a bit intimidated. Not necessarily bad...but nerve wrecking.

Fuck. He can feel his dick start getting harder from his gutter mind. This is an awful time for this. He remains out of your sight as clears his throat to speak up, his possible last attempt to regain himself.

“Need a tip?”

A grunt of irritation slips from you, “If you’re offering, Sir…”

“Well you’re already on the right track. Not much I can say other than remaining patient.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your nose as you let your head fall back, sort of relaxing your tenseness. It was a strangely calm tone coming from your Lieutenant. You’re unable to see the kind of look he has in his eyes as he watches you from behind, but you know he’s watching. After a pause of thought, you start trying a different move to loosen the tight bond from your wrists.

Ghost can hardly stand watching you like this anymore. You really are struggling. He knows he might have to end up letting you loose himself. It would be an awful shame letting such a good knot get cut up and wasted.

“I might have another tip for ya,” he mutters. Ghost circles around from behind to stand directly in front of you, and rather close.

“Do you, L.T?”

To your surprise, his left hand wraps its fingers around the buckle of your belt. It lifts you up off your feet and lifts you higher on the post before his pelvis pins you in place. His hands are now free to grab your legs and lift them to the sides of his hips. You feel a defined bump in the crotch of Ghost’s pants that press against you.

He looks down into your eyes, speaking in a hushed tone, “Would you like it?”

You feel a dryness in your throat as you swallow while looking up at your lieutenant, your mind going completely blank. This is what his mind was getting at? You can clearly see the arousal in his eyes now that he's up close. The same eyes that currently are studying you face for any sign of rejection here. The only thing you’re clearly able to process is the feeling of heat swimming rapidly through your body and a rock hard cock pressing against your cunt.

Without a thought in your head to go by, you speak for your body.“I would…”

One of his hands releases a thigh to pull his mask over his face and drop it to the floor, “That’s what I thought.”

Simon leans in close, letting his lips gently brush against yours as his thumb hooks around the tongue of your belt and pulls it free, snaking it from around your waist and dropping it to the floor as well. You take the initiative and lock your lips with his. He’s more than just eager to taste you. Simon follows your motions as best as he’s able with his stronger excitement, only growing as your slow and soft lips tease the thoughts brewing in his head.

While he continues to keep up with your kissing, his hips start to roll and grind his hard-on into your crotch. A groan buzzes against your lips as Simon takes pleasure in the friction he’s been growing a need for. The kiss breaks when he goes in for your neck.

Saliva hits your skin before his lips do. He couldn’t stop himself from drooling over the scent of you before he got to you. You feel yourself lowered back down to your feet with Simon kneeling to your level. Teeth graze up along the side of your neck with sloppy kisses as his hands roam, sliding under your shirt and tracing patterns on your sides with his fingertips. One of his hands decides to tease your chest with feather touches on your nipple.

He acts as if you’re slipping away from him with the way he keeps you so close, even when you’re restrained like this. Hips grinding roughly into you as he marks your tender skin with love. The sensations building together are making soft sighs slip your lips while a throbbing grows between your legs. Simon's hands are sliding lower, lower, his lips moving to your stomach to scatter more marks. The button of your pants is undone.

He doesn’t have the patience to take your pants off completely. Simon is already on his knees lapping the sticky trail pooling juices up from your folds before your underwear fully drops to your knees. His eager tongue grazes your entrance slowly, slathering your clit in your own cream. A growl of satisfaction rumbles in the throat of the man between your legs as he repeats the motion. He shoves tongue deeper between your folds, then sucks your lingering sweetness off your throbbing bud. Your thighs jolt in response, making his grip around them more firm.

Simon starts taking your clit in his mouth, swirling and flicking around it before letting it slip from his lips with a pop. His tongue dives back in again to your hole, back up to your clit and again;desperate to keep you satisfied enough to quench his growing thirst for your pussy. He’s not shy about his shameless and greedy behavior. There’s an undoubtable look of hunger in his focused gaze.

“God, you taste amazing,” Simon groans under his breath. Your pants are tugged down to your ankles and removed, getting tossed to the side somewhere while the hand gripping your thigh lifts it onto his shoulder for better access.

He maneuvers his other hand between your legs, tracing your dripping cunt with two fingers as he keeps your clit in his mouth. Your breathing picks up as one of his thick fingers slides in and immediately starts working in deep circular motions. A swelling feeling begind to build in your lower stomach as Simon keeps his tongue working. By reflex your arms start to tug at your restraints to no avail as your whining becomes harder to just let out in quiet sighs.

“Mm…what a fucking mess you’re making…”

A second finger slips into your cunt. Simon watches you with an amused gaze as you shake under the pleasure, moaning and squirming with your eyes shut tight before he goes back in with his mouth. His fingers shove themselves deep in your slick hole and curl upwards as they drag back out all while his tongue flicks against your clit. The shaking from your legs is making them buckle underneath the pleasure of the pressure in your stomach. Simon’s grip on your thigh holds your steady enough to stand for his tongue torture.

The fingers suddenly slowing to a stop halt the building pressure. Your eyes fully open to Simon sucking your juices from his fingers as he lets your thigh down.

“Simon–” you whimper out.

He keeps eye contact as he stands while pulling the tongue of his belt out, tugging it off his waist and popping the button of his pants open. His thick cock springs up as soon as his pants drop lower, unrestricted from any underwear. It's aching for relief.

“I want you to cum on my dick, _____.”

You keep your eyes on him as his hands grab hold of your ass and lift you up to level him better. The anticipation in your chest swells as his tip grazes your wet cunt while you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer to you. That thick cock of his takes its time stuffing itself into your throbbing pussy that greedily swallows him to the hilt. Simon’s grip on your ass tightens as the hot sensation sucks him in with a low growl.

“You alright?” He asks for your permission to move.

At your given signal, an eager nod, that once faded pressure in your stomach starts to build again with Simon’s slow grinding. It’s just perfect to adjust yourself to his thick girth, but god, is it almost torture for Simon. He’s still much more excited than you. His thoughts are swirling around how you would look taking a real pounding from his cock. All this potential to just ruin you right in his hands is almost too much.

The only thing keeping him is how sweet your little sounds are from his slow, sensual movement. He keeps himself close enough to bump noses, warm your face with his deep sighs, and occasionally lips catching for a quick embrace. Between your mewling, Simon’s name slips from your lips, making the man’s stomach flutter with the way it sounds from you.

“Fuck me…” he curses to himself as he dips his head into the crook of your neck, taking his lips against your skin once more to leave darker love marks, “you look so good takin’ my cock like this…”

Simon readjusts the position to hold you up better by pushing your knees up to your chest and letting the post support your back more as he holds you up. The new angle makes his cock drive deeper, grinding just right into your spot and ramming into your cervix. That first thrust hits so good it makes you yelp.

Oh, is Simon just starving for just that sound.

"Yeah? You like that?"Simon draws out his pace, but starts slamming his hips into you harder, "Just like that?"

He relishes in watching your face wash over with more pleasure as he fucks those beautiful sounds out of your mouth. He doesn’t give a shit if you’re getting so loud. The sounds of you echoing off the walls of the room are driving him insane.

“Mmhm…tell me how you like it,” he growls in your ear, pressing his cheek against yours to listen to your needy whimpers as close as he can.

“s-so good, Simon–”

The sound of your stutter slurring over itself pushes Simon to pick up a rougher pace with you. It’s just what he wanted to hear. You getting fucked so close into an incohearant mess. He wants more. He wants his ears filled with nothing but the loud sounds of slapping, wet skin and your whorish cries. He can feel your pussy getting tighter around him, sucking him back in more and more.

“You’re gonna cum on this dick for me, love? That what I'm hearin'?”

Between your quivering screams of pleasure, you can’t give Simon a verbal answer. The pressure inside your stomach pops like a balloon, with each of Simon’s thrusts milking a mess of sap that spills all between your legs. The scent of your messy juices is enough to make his mouth water. It pushes him completely overboard.

“F-Fuck–yeah, that’s it—fuck—”

He shuts his eyes tight as he allows himself a few more seconds inside your throbbing pussy before he pulls himself out. Ropes of cum shoot on your inner thigh and on your lower stomach while groans of ecstasy rumble in his throat. Your shaking legs are held up just barely by Simon’s own trembling hands. His cock slowly rubs against your soaked pussy to draw your orgasms out.

“Christ…____…you still stuck?"

Through your attempts to catch your breath, you manage to say, “Take a wild guess, Simon.”

“Oh, real shame…” he responds, “I’ll let you have your own wild guess on what will happen when I choose not to cut ya loose…”

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[magicalbats]

We Turn Not Older: Neuvillette

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5402

Warnings: Afab!reader, some gendered language, blowjob, deep throating, breath play

A/N: Alright, so I'm technically late on this but I finished it and by god am I going to post it. I had this crazy idea that I was going to write a little something for most of the character birthdays going into 2024 (minus the obvious ones like Diona and Klee, duh) so the title will be used as the catchall for this "series". I'm going to elaborate further on this reader character in a different post but basically we're just replacing Lumine in the canon story and everything else stays the same haha

"We turn not older with years, but newer every day" - Emily Dickinson

⭐

Neuvillette turns from his perusal of the floor to ceiling bookcase at the sound of the door opening and then closing behind him. The contemplative look on his face morphs into one of friendly greeting when he sees it is you standing there rather than a Melusine or one of the many human secretaries constantly flitting about the Palais with files and documents to leave on his desk. He isn’t exactly the easiest person to get a good read on, but you think he looks almost relieved. 

“Ah, so you were able to make it after all. It is a pleasure to see you again, Traveler.”

The honorable Iudex smiles at you, his expression so soft around the edges and inviting that you feel the regular tensions in your body relaxing in response. You were under the impression that not many could count themselves lucky enough to be on the receiving end of such a warm welcome and for good reason. Neuvillette took his obligations to Fontaine as much as its people quite seriously, so there was always a certain decorum with which he carried himself when interacting with others. It was a direct contrast to the Hydro Archon who seemed to operate on the far opposite end of the spectrum. 

But you were not a citizen of this nation so no such expectations existed between you and him. He was free to speak and behave in whatever way he deemed fit when dealing with you, and he chose to be warm and welcoming because the two of you were friends now. You could call yourselves that, couldn’t you? 

Truth be told you were banking on it today. Offering him a smile of your own, you start to walk across the office, the plush, no doubt expensive rug under your feet almost completely silencing the heels of your boots to make for a near silent approach on your part. You were glad Sedine hadn’t insisted on personally seeing you in but that was yet another perk of being on such good terms with the Chief Justice. It allowed for private audiences with him like this.  

“It is your birthday, you know. I wouldn’t willingly miss the chance to celebrate it with you for the world.” 

“You flatter me, of course, but I do hope you didn’t neglect anything important just to come see me?” He makes it a question, the curve of his mouth taking on a vaguely wry edge at the thought of what you may have decided to skip out on given your reputation in Teyvat. He was in a good mood then, if he could find humor in your many exploits. A promising sign if there ever was one. 

Stepping around the corner of his spacious desk, you walk right up to him and come to a stop with mere feet to spare. The height difference forces you to crane your neck back to peer up at him and he likewise tips his chin down to pin you with that amused yet still perfectly congenial look. That he allows you to get this close without questioning it or backing up a step to keep the distance polite and respectful speaks volumes. Your heartbeat subtly begins to speed up. You wonder if he can sense it in some way. 

“Luckily I didn’t have any pressing matters to take care of so I came as soon as I got your letter. How else was I supposed to give you your birthday present?” 

“A present?” Neuvillette echoes you, and his expression finally slips to belie his confusion on the matter. He’d clearly noticed that you’d entered his office empty handed with nothing except the clothes on your back, not even Paimon in tow. The fact he hadn’t expected anything at all and didn’t give it a second thought until now only further vindicates your choice to come here like this. He deserved what you planned to give him, if he would accept it. 

Oh, and how you hoped he would. 

“But of course, Monsieur Neuvillette. That is the custom everywhere in Teyvat, isn’t it? Even Fontaine must recognize the tradition of giving presents to someone on their birthday?” 

“Well, yes. That is true but …” 

He doesn’t finish his thought. Allowing the words to trail off into a curious silence, he watches you bring your hands up without protest as you carefully place them across his chest. There are many layers of clothes between you and his skin, and you register a distant note of surprise when you realize how narrow he feels under your touch. All the different coats and shirts, and the wide shouldered justice robe had given the impression of someone much bigger. More filled out. He actually seems to be rather svelte under everything he’s wearing, a thought that is surprisingly intriguing in that moment. You wanted to find out how he looked when he was bare and vulnerable in the way only lovers are with one another. Perhaps you could convince him to undress himself for you, one layer at a time. Slowly. 

That was for later though. For now, in this moment, you had an objective in mind, and you give him a coquettish bat of your eyelashes as you pointedly press in on him with your hands. “You’re free to decline the offer, Monsieur, but I wanted to gift you something that no one else can. You told me once before that you don’t allow yourself to foster close relationships with others, didn’t you? I wonder when was the last time you were able to really relax …”

You can see his thoughts working in the soft lilac of his horizontally slit eyes, so fascinating to look into even when you were well aware you’d presented him with a conundrum. A moral dilemma, if you would. As a dragon sovereign he had no right to involve himself with humans beyond surface level interactions, never anything intimate or more personal beyond a friendly greeting and the impartial judgments he passed on them in the court. But you weren’t a human — not a normal one, anyway. You were not of Teyvat and he knew that. That changed things, didn’t it? For you, only you, he could bend the rules. 

Understanding finally clicks into place and you can’t help the grin that comes over you at the way Neuvillette’s body stiffens with the knowledge of what you were offering him. But rather than looking affronted like you’d half expected him to initially react, unsure of how he would perceive such an offer, his otherworldly gaze actually takes on a low simmering heat that sparks warmth in your own skin. The way he looks at you now is very close to being unreadable but his eyes do not lie. They very rarely do in your experience. 

“My dearest Traveler,” He says it softly, quiet to conceal the hot undercurrent just below the surface. “Are you suggesting a gift of sexual favors in place of a more customary exchange?”

“Only if you want it, Monsieur. Like I said, you’re welcome to turn it down if you’re not interested.” 

Neuvillette regards you for a long stretch with what you think must be cautious inner reflection. You don’t doubt that he was taking this time to consider every angle of your proposal and the possible implications that might come with it. That’s just the kind of person he is and it’s what makes him such an effective judge. You don’t mind it. Had even anticipated it on some level, so you wait patiently for him to reach his verdict with your hands still braced against his chest, as suggestive as they were anticipatory. 

At length, he finally draws a single carefully tempered breath before speaking in the low, measured tones of someone who thinks they have been presented with an offer that is too good to be true and they don’t trust it. Not fully. Not yet. “I believe one would have to be a fool to decline such a generous offer coming from you, Traveler. It is an honor just to know you would be willing to have me in such a way and I give you my sincerest thanks for that.” 

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.” 

He visibly hesitates to do it but he still gives in to the urge. Lifting his hand, Neuvillette gently brushes the tips of long gloved fingers across your cheek before cupping it against the curve of his palm. Every movement, every gesture is so deliberate and heedful that you understand what he’s going to say long before he actually speaks it. 

“Yes. You are human. Perhaps not in the usual sense and while I certainly acknowledge that you are not of this world, that doesn’t change the composition of your body. I’m afraid I don’t know what to do with human women, Mademoiselle.” 

“I can teach you.” Is your ready answer, complete with a teasing smile for his benefit, and Neuvillette graces you with a faint chuckle in response. 

“Then I suppose it would be rude of me not to accept. Do you bestow such generous gifts to many of the men you’ve met on your travels?” 

“Only the ones I like.” 

Grinning, you give his chest a more purposeful push. Picking up on your intentions, Neuvillette takes a slow step backward and then another. He lets you guide him towards his empty high backed chair, never taking the intensity of his gaze away from you for so much as a moment while you steer him where you want. It almost surprises you a little bit, how easily such a proudly composed man is willing to comply and let you take the lead like this but the warm glint in his eyes remains even when you trap him against the side of the desk. He’s clearly not only interested in what you plan to do and curious, but also amused by this turn of events. You may have had the control here, for the moment at least, but that was only because he was letting you have it. He could have flipped the tables on you all too quickly and both of you were well aware of it. 

“Sit?” You flick your eyes in the direction of the chair for emphasis. A strange, heady sense of power comes over you when he shifts to the side and lowers himself into the seat with neither question nor protest. Just obedience. No matter how cursory it may have been, it was still very intoxicating to taste. 

Giving him a chance to get settled, you watch as he starts to cross his long legs as if it was second nature for him to do so only to think better of it at the last moment. He situates himself with both feet planted squarely on the floor instead and you eagerly lower yourself to kneel before him, palming his knees so you can gently push them apart while you do it. 

Neuvillette’s mouth automatically pops open as if this was the first thing he found any real complaint in. You softly shush him though, quietly assuring him that you’ll take care of everything as you push the front of his long robe up and out of the way to reveal the top of his high waisted pants. There are a series of buttons keeping the placquet of the trousers closed. He doesn’t try to hide his fretting over what you’re doing while you work to get them undone, a series of “Are you certain”s and “Please, Traveler,”s spilling from his mouth while elegantly gloved hands hover over you in uncertainty. Making a mental note to correct that later, you keep tugging until you at last get the final button freed so you can pull at his pants enough to reveal what’s inside.

The underwear is plain and clean white, yet even you can tell at just a glance that this particular garment is no less exquisite than the rest of his richly crafted attire. The cotton is some of the softest you’ve ever felt and the stitching is perfectly neat and precise. Not so much as a single thread out of place or loose to draw attention to such an obvious imperfection. You can’t help smiling to yourself as you carefully untie the dainty cord at the waistband. 

“Are all of your clothes bought at the finest boutiques, Monsieur?” You tease, sending him a meaningful look from your spot on the floor. 

Neuvillette frowns slightly, like he doesn’t quite understand what that has to do with anything. In truth, he probably doesn’t. “I am not particularly concerned with fashion, if that is what you are implying. As the Iudex of Fontaine I’m merely held to certain standards - -“

“Yes, yes, Monsieur. I understand your position.”

He huffs an almost silent exhale at your giggling response. Consideringly, he observes the way you trace fingertips over the front of his crisp white braies and nudge the fabric down one teasing inch at a time, slowly exposing a strip of soft flesh across his lower belly. “Really, Mademoiselle, is going about it in this manner truly necessary? It is not a gift for me to see you debase yourself like a lowly commoner.” 

“Hmm. Are you quite familiar with the practices of commoners, Neuvillette?” 

“Hardly. It is just …” He once again trails off, a distant spark alighting behind his eyes when you get the underwear edged down enough to reveal the startings of a fine patch of hair. Its silvery-white, almost transparent had it not stood out in contrast against the smooth color of his skin. Just like how the hair on his head is so pale it makes his face look warmer complexioned than it really is, this had the same effect. Your mouth starts to water at the thought of what would come next, and he gives a faint grunt as you give his bottoms a more insistent tug. 

“But you are my esteemed guest, Traveler, and it seems inappropriate to make you kneel before me.” Neuvillette finally finishes his thought and not without effort. 

“You have not made me do anything though. I chose to kneel by my own free will.” You shoot him a quick, cheeky grin. “Besides, I thought you would like seeing a so-called human on their knees for you, oh mighty Hydro Dragon.” 

He sucks in a quick breath. You can tell he’s going to argue it, correct it, contest the allegation you’ve lobbied against him but you don’t give him the chance. With one final pull, his cock springs free. A soft hiss escapes Neuvillette’s suddenly tight mouth as it hits the air, still mostly flaccid but quickly stirring to life even as it smacks against the bare strip of flesh along his pelvis. You’re admittedly surprised and a bit relieved to see that it is a by all accounts normal looking organ of the human persuasion. You hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect from the reincarnation of a Soverign but he looks every bit as normal as you do. Funny thing, that. 

“Oh, Monsieur,” You rove your attention up, catching his eye and holding it as you lean over his lap. Your lips part and you swipe a slow lick of your tongue from the base up to the head. It twitches under the sensation, bobbing upward as if to follow you but you pull away too fast for it to find your mouth again. He looses a terse breath that sounds as appreciative of the gesture as it is bemused at the audacity to tease him like that. “Such a lovely cock for a lovely man. Are you sure you don’t enjoy seeing me on my knees?” 

His length eagerly swells as if in response. It grows in size and shape right before your eyes, stiffening and starting to stand at attention just for you. Evidently he was very much a grower. 

“I said it did not seem appropriate, mon petit voyageur,” Neuvilette murmurs, finally bringing one hand close to cup the side of your face again. Tenderly, his thumb brushes over the swell of your cheek while he looks into your eyes with a certain masculine weight that makes your loins curl into a knot. “I said nothing about not enjoying it.” 

“My mistake.” You whisper back as you reach out to wrap your fingers around his cock. 

Keeping your hold loose, you gently massage it up and then down, giving the base an encouraging squeeze before dragging your hand towards the glans again. The motion makes his foreskin bunch and gather over the head, and when you bring your hand down next you’re rewarded with a soft, sticky click. He was becoming excited rather quickly, wasn’t he? You assumed that meant your earlier assumption had been correct. He must rarely if ever allow himself to indulge in the urges of his human body like this. Not with another person, at least. 

You feel decidedly emboldened as you take a moment to nuzzle into his hand. It was reassuring to know that he did not fear touching you in reciprocation and you intended to enforce the behavior. Gently, at first, then more forcefully if need be. 

“Does this mean I have your permission to proceed, Monsieur Neuvillette?” 

The breath he draws is stilted. Short. “I would certainly be appreciative of that.” 

Bringing your attention back around with a smile, you regard his cock again. It’s a good, healthy size — sturdy in your hand and incredibly soft to the touch despite how firm it’s gotten just below the surface of all that delicate skin. You lean in on the next downward tug of your fingers, when the foreskin has been pulled back enough to expose the ruddy pink head. Flicking your tongue over the dainty slit, you issue a low moan at the shock of salty precum that floods your tastebuds. It’s not exactly bitter but it wasn’t sweet either. Just clean and faintly musky with a distant note of male pheromones to taste. It made sense that he would be as close to a neutral flavor as the human body was likely capable of though, given how much he enjoyed drinking water. It was delicious. 

You let out a quiet sigh into the still air. Giving in to the instinctive urge, you wrap your lips around the head. He tenses underneath you at the sensation of your mouth fully on him, suckling at the sensitive glans, and his hand gives a faint jolt against your cheek. Reaching further back, Neuvillette gingerly cradles the back of your head with a hushed groan but doesn’t do anything beyond that. 

A groan that you belatedly realize is your name. 

Not the customary ‘Traveler’ you got everywhere in Teyvat nor the altering variation of either ‘Mademoiselle’ or ‘mon petit’ that he occasionally used with you in private. Your real name. 

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for the friends you’d made throughout your travels to call you that but Neuvillette did it so rarely, so infrequently that it strikes something delicate and soft inside of you. He was perfectly polite and cordial, and that often meant keeping those around him at a socially acceptable distance. Close, but not so close as to imply intimacy. Far enough at arms length to avoid misunderstandings but not so far as to come off rude. It was a razor fine line he usually walked and aside from the Melusine’s, Furina seemed to be the only exception. 

And now you too, or so it appeared. At least for right now. 

Softly groaning, you lean further over his lap — lean further into your work and take him deeper into your mouth. The stretch is exquisite. It’s hard not to imagine the same cock stretching other parts of your body open in similar fashion, your cunt fluttering in unmistakable excitement as you swallow him down to the halfway point of his shaft. Neuvillette’s fingers lightly spasm against your hair, stiff with the desire to close his fist around the strands and perhaps tug or use them as leverage to push, but he fights it. You’re acutely aware of this fact even while you languidly lap at the underside of his length with your tongue. Still so polite even when you had him pulled in almost to your throat and there was another inch or two waiting just beyond the edge of your lips. You couldn’t abide by him holding himself in check like this when it was supposed to be his birthday present for him to enjoy. He should have been enjoying it to the fullest. 

So you reach back with your unoccupied hand, the one not currently holding him around the base, and blindly latch onto his stiff knuckles. Giving him a quick, reassuring squeeze, you press his palm firmly into the back of your head. He lets out a low, seething hiss in response, still valiantly fighting it for another moment longer despite the encouragement. The gentlemanly facade finally cracks though and a small portion of the Dragon Sovereign seems to peak out. When he finally pushes down on your head, it’s surprisingly forceful and demanding. The pressure makes you take another inch or so, and you moan a thick sound around the cock stuffed in your mouth. Now he was really tickling your tonsils and the sensation makes your salivary glands kick into overtime to produce a copious amount of drool that slowly starts to bubble out past your lips. You were going to make a mess at this rate. 

“Mon petit,” Neuvillette whispers the pet name like an oath. “I am afraid that — nnghn. I seem to be ill equipped for this particular activity. As shameful as it is to admit … I did not expect it to feel this good.” 

Noising an incomprehensible sound, a sentiment meant to put his concerns at ease, you nudge your face down a little closer to his lap and take another half inch. His narrow hips buck slightly at the sensation of slipping into your throat but now he’s struggling just to maintain his composure instead of thrusting up like he wants to. Neuvillette no longer has the luxury or the presence of mind to be concerned about his manners, and his fingers finally close around your hair at the root. The dull yank on your scalp makes your pussy clench tight in response. You couldn’t wait to have him. You hoped he would have you after this. If he was as pent up as you suspected, then it probably wasn’t a stretch to think he would. 

Gathering your own willpower, you slowly start to pull back off his cock. Choking yourself on it sounded like a great idea at the moment but you wanted to give him a short reprieve, a break to get a hold of himself. So you ignore the spit that dribbles down his length to coat your fingers where you’re squeezing it tight in an attempt to stave off his release. Neuvillette manages to surprise you slightly when he issues a low, barely audible growl at the loss of your mouth but you ignore that too. You finally make it to the glans a heartbeat later and you take the chance to swirl your tongue around the pink head. A quick glance through the fall of your lashes shows you his expression pinched in obvious pleasure and something darker. Something far more primal than simple arousal. You weren’t sure how far you could push him before the long dormant draconian instincts started to take over but you were curious and bullheaded enough to try it. 

You finally sit back, taking your mouth off his cock completely. The pretty face of the polite Iudex momentarily scrunches up in a tense, heady groan of frustration that leaves tiny little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he opens them to peer down at you. The intensity in those slit irises, the pupils blown wide and dark, inspires a nervous shudder down the length of your spine. You had no idea he could look at someone like that. Like so much meat. Prey that was his for the taking if only he would reach out with a sharp taloned claw and slice into laughably soft flesh to spill whatever was inside. 

Your pussy achingly throbs, though you aren’t entirely sure if it’s from sexual excitement or mortal fear. Perhaps it was both. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Monsieur Neuvillette?” You speak softly, as if to avoid setting off the predator before you, but the only response you get is a single, hissed word. 

“Yes.” 

Then he’s pushing on your head just as demandingly as the first time, maybe even more so. He forces your face to his lap. Gives you no choice but to open your mouth wide and accept his cock again. Down, inch by inch, you take him straight to the edge of your throat and then you take him inside. Your gag reflex puts up cursory resistance for all of a single second and then he’s wedged as far down your gullet as he can go. You noise a pitifully muffled sound when your nose presses into his pelvis hard enough to bring tears to your eyes, the soft, nearly translucent hair tickling your skin. The muscles in your throat work around the intrusion as if to expel the blockage but it does very little in the way of good when he was already this deep. All you can do is heave on his cock and writhe there on the floor, your shoulders shuddering with each dry gag that assaults your body in violent waves. 

And you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so painfully aroused. 

Groaning in deeply felt pleasure, Neuvillette gingerly leans back into his chair while keeping his hand pressed firm against the back of your head to hold you in place. You blink through the tears and peer up at him, committing every detail of his stricken face, his posture, his breathy voice as it tumbles out of him to memory even as you reach under your travel dress for what’s between your legs. Pressing your fingers into the crotch of your bloomers, you start to rub hasty circles into yourself while you watch him stiffly shake towards his own release. Never mind the fact you couldn’t breathe like this. It was just going to make for an even more powerful orgasm than what you were already anticipating. 

“Your throat is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before,” He grits out through tightly clenched teeth, his brows knitted so deeply that a small wrinkle had formed between them. “Du ciel à la terre, I can’t hold out any longer, mon petit, I am going to — nnghnnn!” 

Neuvillette cums with a sharp, rumbling grunt. The sound seems to vibrate through his shuddering frame and bleed into you, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head when his cock gives one, pulsing throb before shooting thick ropes down your gullet. You choke at the sensation even as your throat desperately tries to get it all down before you can asphyxiate. It doesn’t feel like such a far off possibility at this point as you start to grow faint and dizzy from a lack of oxygen. But you just keep rubbing your cunt and swallowing, spurt after spurt of thick, creamy discharge until he finally hisses one final noise of pleasure before going lax underneath you. 

Without his hand holding you in place any longer, you quickly rear back and come up off his cock with a highly undignified, ugly wretching sound. You suck in a hungry mouthful of air even as sheets of drool and bubbling spit leak from your numb lips. You’re not half as concerned about that as you are with your quickly fleeting orgasm though. Like low tide, it seems to tauntingly lap at the edges of the shore line even as it quietly recedes out into the void of endless ocean without a second thought. You could almost sob at the loss as you rub yourself faster, harder. Even reaching up with your free hand to paw at your own breast through the thin material of your dress doesn’t bring it back. And you’d been so close too. 

“And what is this, Traveler?” 

Abruptly realizing that Neuvillette has recovered from his own orgasm and has been watching you for the last moment or so, you tip your head back to look at him. That glimpse of the dragon is gone and in its place is the same respectable Iudex you were usually accustomed to dealing with. The sole exception in his demeanor was the weight with which his gaze has settled upon you. There was a hunger there. An innate sense of superior dominance that had not been present when last he’d looked at you before this. 

It occurs to you then that you have perhaps awoken the beast in him with all your poking and prodding in more ways than one. There’s something in the way he looks at you down the length of his nose that sets your blood to boiling. You wanted — no, needed him to subjugate you to his will. That was what was missing. That was why your orgasm had fled at the first sign of reprieve from his iron will. 

Whimpering softly at your own helplessness, you lean back to press one hand against the floor and reach up with the other to tug one side of your dress down. He attentively watches your breast spill out into the open, drawing a subtle breath at the sight of you like this. So desperate. So needy and vulnerable. He doesn’t act on it though and you bite your lip to stop yourself from begging for it as you gather the front of your dress. You wonder if your sticky cunt had bled through the soft cotton of your bloomers yet as you present them to him without an ounce of shame to show for it. 

A small yet no less pleased smile plays across Neuvilette’s mouth. Rather primly, properly, he tugs the fabric of his justice robe to cover his lap and hide his softening cock from your voracious sights. The fact he doesn’t put it away, only covers it, makes your blood pound somehow even harder. It feels like you’ve got a second heartbeat in your cunt as he carefully shifts in his seat and brings the toe of an expensive shoe close to your pussy. 

“Is this how one handles human women, Mademoiselle?” He sounds vaguely amused, as if he already knew the answer. Like that one single exchange had enlightened him to a whole litany of sexual knowledge that he hadn’t been fully aware of before. 

You weren’t sure if it was just a result of his undeniable intelligence and he’d merely pieced everything together in record time or if it could really be a shared understanding with his past life. Did the Dragon Sovereign’s mate the same way people do? You didn’t really care about any of that right now. 

There’s only one thing on your mind and, at your nod, Neuvillette brings his foot closer. Slips it between your legs. He thoughtfully hums, as if considering his next move, and then presses up to flatten the top of his shoe along the pudge of your cunt. Even with the thin layer of your bloomers in the way it damn near makes you see double and you gasp. Your reaction seems to please him a great deal. Chuckling to himself, the Chief Justice of Fontaine slowly works his limb back and forth, up and down, to tease your slit with pressure that is simultaneously too much and yet not near enough to make you cum. You felt like you were going to be sick. 

“I must admit that this is quite interesting, Traveler.” He tells you softly, almost secretively. “You’ve certainly piqued my interest, at least. I had no idea touching you like this would make you look at me with such a … needy expression on your face. I wonder what will happen if I keep going. You’ll teach me this too won’t you, mon petit?” 

Of course you would. Anything for the birthday boy.

⭐

[lady-of-endless]

Hi!! I was wondering if you'd be willing to give any headcanons about Buggy. That's my unhinged little clown baby. My girlfail male wife. My skrunkly little jerk baby.

I have a headcanon that he's kinda gender nonconforming, as in looks at Gender as a Presentation, An Act, and the world is a stage, he's a performer, and he could not be paid to give a single fuck but people are WELCOME to try, he accepts cash and treasure, no credit.

Also AFAB bc I project on this blue haired buffoon. AuDHD. Hyperfixation on chemistry, explosives, circuses and carnivals, and fashion or makeup.

I'd love to hear your takes on Buggy!

Respond only if you want, I hope you have a LOVELY day, drink enough water, and have a nice tasty snack because you deserve it ♡♡♡♡

Love,

🍬 your friendly neighborhood gummy bear 🍬

General headcanons for Buggy

Author's Note: You are so very sweet, thank you for this request and your care. Sorry if some might sound out of character, those are just my assumptions. Hope you'll like them! Have a wonderful day!

(Lovely gif is not mine, please show appreciation to the OP)

- Everything about Buggy is avant-garde and so, this makes him a dreamer, a visionary. He's got so many ideas, he just needs someone that will listen.

- He got mocked so many times about his hair color but he doesn't care anymore. Of course, he likes to experiment with different hairstyles, he's open to anything. (expect cutting it shorter, that's off the table)

- I think Buggy had to learn how to act confident before becoming confident and that is never easy.

- He is fast to jump to conclusions and judgements but fine with changing his opinions if there are valid explanations. For example, he's the type to dislike a person in the first place because he thought that this person had a mocking stare when they looked at him. Once he gets to know that person, he's going to totally change his opinion without being upset about it or admitting his initial assumption.

- He does not realize how impressive his whole persona truly is. Yes, he acts like he knows it but in his heart is something else. So when someone shows genuine awe, it will melt his heart.

- This means that he's prone to falling in love too fast. With the right kind of affection and fantasy someone provides him, Buggy will be head over heels. As a result, this will unfortunately get him hurt many times.

- On another, less angsty note, he has a collection of colorful socks with different patterns. Also, I feel like he has some nice-looking pajamas too.

- He's pretty organised for someone so chaotic. Sure, his cabin might be a disaster but he knows about where any object can be found.

- I honestly think that he has a nice singing voice when he's not trying too hard. You'll notice it when he thinks he's alone and he starts singing for himself.

- He unexpectedly has a lot of scars for someone who's devil fruit ability is to turn himself into a human puzzle. He's wild, always has been. Most of his scars are from before eating the devil fruit however. He might be wild and reckless but not clumsy at all. Has good control over his body (obviously).

[abrcmswrld]

Cherry

Edward Nashton x Reader

━━━━

Word Count: 3,079

Warnings: smut (18+ only MDNI), gender neutral, but AFAB terms are used, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, not as much fluff and a little less melodramatic than my other fics, alcohol usage, drunk kissing

Summary: Reader is a bartender at the Iceberg Lounge and is used to the crowd of obnoxious rich men and their love for money and sex. Edward visits the club and stuns reader with his demeanor.

Author’s Notes: This was supposed to be a drabble of smut and somehow it ended up being 3000 words so idk lmao eat up I reckon. Idk if I will post this one on Ao3 I'll decided later. Not beta'd once again sorry for typos and such!

Ao3 Link

He catches your eyes quickly. Oddly enough by doing nothing. It's peculiar behavior in a place like The Iceberg Lounge. The men here have over exaggerated egos that flow out of them through their words like poisonous honey.

They take what they want. And what do they want? Money. Power. A quick fuck. All of the above. "I'll take care of you, sweetheart. You just can't tell anybody." You're used to their words. You can brush it off as you pour them another drink. They always talk too much.

But in contrast, he says nothing at all. He sits hunched at the bar, the beam of party lights glimmering off his glasses. He doesn't have the style, the stature, or the stare of the other guys. Instead it feels like he's avoiding eye contact with you.

"Is there something I can get you?"

He looks stunned. "Uh- I'm okay. Thanks." You raise your brow. "You come to a club and actively decide not to drink?" Maybe it was mean of you to say that. He could be 10 years sober for all you know. But to sit at the bar in a place like this and not drink was strange.

"I like the... atmosphere."

You glance over him once more. "Mhm. Are you meeting somebody?" He replies quickly and short, "No."

"I just come to observe."

So maybe he wasn't what you thought. Maybe he was just another pervert here to eye the girls as they strolled through in their glittery getups and high heels. It's what most of the men came for, who were you to assume he'd be any different.

"If you're looking for a girl you're gonna have to wander a little further. I don't do dances, I just serve the drinks."

He furrows his brows. "I don't want a dance."

"Okay."

He's not looking at you, but you feel rude ending it there. "Is there a specific something you're...observing?" His eyes meet your again. "The people." You nod. "Ah. So you're a people watcher, got it." 

You're smiling, but he doesn't seem to get the humor in your tone. "Sorry. I'm just joking around." He nods. "You know, you're like the only guy here who hasn't asked to fuck me for money, so I guess I'm just a little refreshed." 

"They'll regret saying things like that one day."

"I sure hope so." 

For once, he smiles at you. 

━━━━

"It's you again."

You're almost shocked to see him again. You get a few weirdos around the place but nothing like him. You'd expected it to be a one time visit once he realized this place wasn't for people like him. But there he was. In that same blue windbreaker. He glanced up at your words.

"Yes."

You smile. You can't help it. He's much more tolerable than the other men that hang around the club. It feels like your input into your conversations matters and isn't shrouded in obnoxious glances at your tits.

"So, can I get you a drink this time?"

He hesitates for a moment, thinking.

"Yeah. A White Russian."

He hands you his I.D. before you can ask. Patrick Parker. You tuck that information away for future conversation.

"Got it."

And he's quick to sip away the drink soon after you give it to him. He's different tonight than when you first met him. Elevated. Possibly a bit manic. You can't break the silence before he does.

"Don't you think it's strange? The people that come in here."

You finish the drink you are preparing and glance up at him. He's looking right at you.

"You mean the rich old men?"

"I mean the mayor, the DA, half the police department."

You're not sure why he would be asking you this. Sure, you had seen them around, but was it not common knowledge that politicians and city officials don't give a shit about morals? What exactly would you be doing about it?

"I mean, sure, I've seen them around. Our lovely officials have never really had the best morals." He frowns at your words. "It's not just bad morals. It's blood on their hands." He continues,

"Wouldn't it be something if that could change?"

His gaze is making you hot. Like his stare is a heat lamp pointed right on you. "Yeah. I guess that'd be something." He smiles. It's wide a wild and completely contrasts his demeanor from the previous night. But it's cute, you think, and you can't help but give him a small smile back. 

A table is waving for another bottle in the distance. You excuse yourself, assuring him and the rest of the men at the bar that you'd be back swiftly.

When you return to the bar, he's gone.

━━━━

The next time you see him, you're finishing up a shift. He catches your arm as you exit the bar. "Hey." He smiles. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah. I'm off."

He seems to deflate a little. "Oh." It's pathetic. You think. But it also makes your heart pull. Something about his soft expression and touch of his hand makes you want to stay with him here all night.

"I can stay for a little." You plant yourself into the stool next to his.

And it's nice. He's very clearly intelligent. But also inquisitive. He's asked you every question you can think about the club and your life. And you had answered them honestly, because his presence wasn't prying and uncomfortable like others have been in the past.

"What do you do, Patrick."

He sips the drink in front of him, another White Russian. "I'm a forensic accountant." You hum in response, not entirely shocked. You can see him filling that role. "It's nothing exciting."

"I mean I'm sure it's exciting when someone actually commits fraud." You laugh. He follows suit. The way his eye wrinkle when he smiles makes your heart beat a little faster.

He's a gentle person. His voice as soft as his features. And once again he's so different than he was the previous night. He's calm. Happy. And by the time the two of you have downed a couple drinks, you're laughing and leaning your head on his shoulder.

"Oh man, it's been a while since I've actually had fun here." You're still slightly giggling when you meet his eyes. "Thank you for this." You hardly think when you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. It stuns him, but your nerves aren't nearly as shot as they would be if you were completely sober. You hardly notice the warmth of his hand smoothing over your hip, until he scoops you toward him by the small of your back and presses his lips to yours.

His lips are soft like the rest of his features and he's gentle. You keep your eyes closed and your forehead against his for a moment after the kiss ends. You should go home, stop while you're ahead, before you make things awkward. But his hand is still warm against your back and he has treated you so nicely the entire night. You can't help yourself when you dive in once again, this time more assertive. He gasps as you tentatively lick into his mouth. He tastes like alcohol and coffee.

His eyes are half lidded when you pull away. You want to look at him forever, but instead you choose to escape the eyes of the creeps outside the club and grab his hand leading him back in. He follows obediently, not dragging his feet. His eyes are wide as you shut the bathroom door and click the lock. 

The club bathroom is just as dim as the rest of the club, the only source of light is a black light, but he still looks heavenly when you push his back against the door of the closed stall. His small gasps with each moment sound so good in the echo of the room. Your lips are on his neck in seconds. His hands float above your hips, hesitating. "You can touch me. It's okay."

He lays a hand on each hip, pulling your hips closer to his. You can feel the way his cock is straining against his dress pants. You smile against his neck. "Does that feel good?"

"Y-Yes." He's whispering.

You move your mouth to meet his, tongue meeting his once again. Strangled noises are escaping his throat through the kisses. You almost feel bad. He had been so nice to you, such a gentleman, all night long, and you were paying him in kisses in a dirty bathroom stall.

You trail a hand down his chest, stomach, until you reach the bulge in his pants. The pressure of your palm against his cock makes him whimper. It's delicious. "I like the noises you make for me." His eyes are wide. "I thought you didn't do these things?" 

You smile. "I don't. Not for money." 

He huffs out a laugh. "I-I'm special?" You squeeze the hardness under your hand. "Yeah, honey. You're special." 

And it's over just as quick as it had started. His choked off moan and the way he pushes your hand away, overstimulated, is all you need to know that he's come in his pants. His face is flushed and his hair is a mess. You leave a kiss on his lips before reaching to unlock the door. "What about you? Should I-" You shake your head and smile. "You can walk me to my cab." 

So he does just that. Before he turns to leave you grab his hand. He faces you, still flushed and tussled. You kiss his cheek before getting into the waiting car. 

"Be safe getting home."

A couple of drinks were never good for you.

━━━━

He doesn't come back after that. Which is fine. You tell yourself. You were both drunk the night you had kissed him. You doubt he even felt anything about you. But deep down you're disappointed.

Your shift had been long, boring, and unusually dead. But you had powered through it. Your feet ached, and it felt good to walk freely and let the cool air of Gotham hit your face.

It's relaxing for only a moment. Until you see him. He's in the shadows, but his glasses and features are unmistakable. You can't help but yell out to him. "Patrick!"

He doesn't respond. Before thinking with a rational mind, you're striding towards him. It's then that you've caught his attention, he looks stunned like an animal caught under bright headlights.

He's different. Same glasses and hair, but he's ditched his work shirt and windbreaker for a simple green hoodie and leather gloves. It is cold. You've become more aware as the wind hit your bare legs.

"Hey! You haven't been around."

He nods shyly. "I've been busy. Sorry." You shake your head. "No, I mean- it's okay. We all get busy sometimes. I just wanted to check on you." You hesitate before finishing. "I missed you."

You can hear the way his breath catches in his throat. He stands with his hands flat to this sides. Holding back but- "I missed you too." You smile.

"I don't think I'm gonna be hanging around here anymore."

You cock your head to side. "Did I drive you away? Did the drinks suck that bad?" You laugh, hoping to break his tense posture. But he doesn't laugh with you. Instead he keeps a straight face as his eyes bore into you. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you. I shouldn't have let things go that far. We can forget-" He cuts you off.

"I think you might become a distraction."

You're stunned and the words light a fire inside your stomach. So he had been thinking about you. Thinking about that night. You only hoped you were a good distraction.

"That's too bad. I wanted to see you again. "

His eyes fall over your figure. He's quiet, that's what you like most about him. He doesn't say anything unless it's absolutely necessary. He'd rather calculate what his next move will be in his head than let nonsensical banter fall from his lips. He only speaks when it's necessary. But he had spoken to you all those nights before. He had asked to.

And you're suddenly remembering the way he looked under the lights at the club. He'd been so out of place, but his soft features had looked perfect to you. You're remembering his face under the dim bathroom light, and the faces he had made...the sounds he had made, and as much as you want to continue to stare at him under the dim streetlight, you can't stop yourself from grabbing him by his hand and pulling him into the secluded alleyway.

You're both shrouded in darkness, but you can still see the glint of his glasses and the glimmer of his stare. "Am I a good distraction?" It comes out as a whisper, and you never let your eyes leave his. You practically stop breathing until his answer comes. He nods.

You're holding him by the crease of his elbows. There's something dangerous within his eyes. It makes you feel like prey in the arms of a predator, but you won't show him fear. You crave to break him down. You pull him closer by the collar of the soft hoodie. He's close enough that you're sure he can feel your hot breath hitting the skin of his neck.

"Do you wanna fuck me?"

You almost stun yourself with your words. It was something you'd heard so often from the other girls in the club. They knew it could make them good cash, but you had never been a part of that lifestyle. You were just the bartender.

Still, you relish in the sound of his inhale and the goosebumps that blossom on the skin that's visible to you. You're treading a thin line. You're not thinking with your brain, and are only acting on the heat in your core. Might as well, you think. You press an open mouthed kiss onto the soft skin under his jaw. He sighs a soft "Yes." And you can't help but grin into the crook of his neck.

You don't say a word as you unbuckle the belt and unzip the zipper of his dress pants. You pause to pull your panties down under your skirt to your knees. "Then fuck me, baby."

It's filthy the way he manhandles you until your cheek is pressed against the brick wall of the dark alley. He'd seemed like such a gentle man in all of your interactions, but he had forced your body around so easily it makes your stomach flutter. You gasp at the feeling of his cock prodding at your entrance. He's quick to shove two fingers into your mouth, muffling your small cries as he thrusts into you.

"Have to be quiet."

You can't help but moan against his fingers. A passerby could see you in this moment and you wouldn't bat an eye. You were fucking a man you had only met a week ago in an alley. And his cock is hitting spots inside you that make you forget every thought in your head. He's so different. So forceful. Like he just wants to take and take and take from you. 

He throws his head back. "Fuck- You're tight." His body is forcing yours forward into the wall in front of you with each sharp thrust. It's only in this moment that you realize how tall he is. He'd minimized himself within the walls of the club, but now you could see the real him.

"Do you let the other men fuck you like this?"

His arms are pulling your upper body off the brick wall until your back is pressed against his chest, your head resting against the dip of his shoulder.

"No- fuck- No. You know that. They're disgusting."

You can't help but smile up at him when he narrows his eyes down at you.

"What if I'm disgusting too?"

He holds your face up to his with a grip on your chin. You give in. "I don't care." He smiles at this and dips his head to connect your lips. You can taste the slight tinge of a past cigarette and coffee. He keeps your face cradled close to his even after the kiss breaks. You find his name falling from your mouth in breathy whispers, "Patri-"

"Edward. Call me Edward."

Edward? Had he given you a fake I.D.? Or perhaps it was his middle name? You're too blissed out to care as a sharp thrust has both you and him sighing out moans. You push away the thoughts of the red flags.

He pushes your head to face something illuminating in the sky above the club's alley. A symbol resembling a bat surrounded by beaming light.

"Things are gonna change soon. None of those pigs in that club will see it coming. But it's time to clean house."

You shutter at his words. He's close. You can tell by the way his thrusts are sloppier and his legs shake into them. His gloved hand has reached between your legs to rub desperate circles around your clit. You can feel your orgasm approaching. "Edward. I want you to come."

His features are falling more and more submissive as his thrust grow erratic. He's chasing his peak desperately, whining out moans, "Yes! Please- please let me come."

You can help but crack a smile as you feel yourself approaching your own end. "Come with me, baby. You can do that for me."

And he does. You're both soaring over the edge, and his whimpers and broken moans are so loud in your ear. His hot breath is hitting your neck and you can feel his cum dripping down your leg. It's the perfect form of overstimulation.

He straightens his body as he tucks himself back into his pants. You pull your soiled panties back up to your hips and face him. He's still breathing in heavy heaves. He had lied to you about his name. He had fucked you like a crazed man in an alley and preached to you about change. Always change. You think back to his words the first couple of nights you met him.The red flags were certainly there, but for some reason you find yourself not caring at all. 

"Come home with me tonight. Stay with me. Since you're done coming around and all."

"Okay."

"Then you can tell me why you lied to me about your name, and the real reason you haven't been around." 

He hesitates before giving in. 

"Okay." 

[seilucard]

stuff i wish people did when making a filipino character (part 1?)

disclaimer: i am by no means an expert, but i am a born and raised filipino so! take that as you will

actually make the filipino be born and raised in the philippines. there are very few filipinos that show just how beautiful (and, admittedly, toxic) the culture of the philippines can be in modern media, if AT ALL.

like lets talk about the toxicity of filipino culture -cause there is SO much to be said about how problematic the hierarchical family structure is of most filipino families. children are rarely given any agency, are spoiled in the early beginnings of their lives and then suddenly once theyre adults theyre expected to just know how to adult despite being sheltered their entire lives.

okay and lets not even get STARTED with religious trauma. there are actually quite a lot of filipino youth who are very very detached from the main religion here (catholicism) because of it. i cant speak for the muslim population of the philippines as they tend to live far from where i live, but what i do know is that a ton of us filipino youth have been traumatized from their experiences in catholic schools. like,,, the horror stories you will hear from this place are just sad.

but on the brighter side, lets talk about the casual gender neutrality of filipino culture. we have no gendered pronouns. at its best? the philippines is very liberal with how AMABs and AFABs can present - it's, of course, still shunned upon to dress like the opposite sex, but among the younger generations, its SO common to see AMABs wearing makeup and skirts and heels and AFABs having short, masculine looking haircuts. oh, and the philippine drag scene is absolutely amazing!! if you want an easy gateway into queer Filipino media, ph drag race shows are the way to go

[milehighmegs]

My Genderfluid Journey: Part 1 of ?

A periodic series of observations

As a 42-year-old AFAB with 2 grown kids and 3 ex-husbands, coming out as genderfluid seemed... daunting. At least, I thought it would be. Turns out that was the easy part for me. My 3 best friends (one of whom is my ex) had zero issues with it, as did my daughter, son, & mom. Haven't been brave enough to tell my dad yet. Announced it on FB, here on tumblr, and on Xitter. The reception has been wonderful; lots of support & congrats, even from people I don't know. It's been sublime.

I won't get into all the details surrounding my genderfluid realization; most of it is 1) too personal, 2) TMI, 3) NSFW, and 4) puts other peoples' business/inclinations on blast and that ain't mine to put out in the world. What I can say is that this is far from recent, not just a whim, and definitely not a phase. I've been... not so much battling with as confused/indecisive about my gender identity since I was a kid. When I was 8 or 9, I saw the film 'Ghost' and fell in love with Demi Moore's super short pixie cut. I asked my mom if I could get it, and she (shockingly) said yes. I thought it looked adorable (and it DID), but when I got to school... you guessed it: I got teased for looking like a boy. I never could figure out what was so wrong with that. But I grew my hair out afterward, not cutting it short again until I was in my 30's.

Things got even more confusing after high school when I started wishing I was male because I wanted to be like all the wonderful gay men I was meeting in WeHo in the early 2000's: confident, expressive, fun... they just looked so FREE. They could be super masc, super femme, & everything in between in a way I couldn't be. On the few occasions throughout my life that I've been brave enough to adopt a more masculine look, I've been told I look like a 90's lesbian. Hardly an insult, but a) inaccurate (I'm not), and b) not what I was going for. It was like, DAMNIT, can't I just BE a GUY for like, a few days? And go back & forth whenever I want to? Why is it that I'm "supposed" to shave my legs because of what's between them? Why am I expected to wear dresses & heels because I have hips? And why the FUCK do I get dirty looks when I wear a plaid shirt with a band tee & Docs? Is it because of the TIDDIES?! Fuckin ridiculous, man.

As I got older and the world became (blessedly!) more accepting of all gender identities/orientations, I learned that there was a term for what I'd been feeling since childhood. Scrolling through FB, then Pinterest, and eventually Insta & TikTok, seeing genderfluid & trans people adopting & embracing their identities fully & openly gave me a great deal of happiness for them and for the world, but also mad gender envy (a term I learned only in the last 2 years). It really hit me hard when I saw 'The Sandman' for the first time: the ineffably amazing Mason Alexander Park as Desire had me asking myself some serious questions. I spent the better part of a year trying to put together what it was I was feeling with the new things I'd learned about gender fluidity before coming out. Now that I have a more fully-formed idea of what that means for me, I'm ready to really be MYSELF.

I've created a new Pinterest board titled 'masc looks & tips,' got a dozen open tabs on my laptop of genderfluid TikTok accounts, and a whole list of "guy stuff" I want on my phone. The part that sucks is that my broke ass isn't able to buy the $50 binder that's been so highly recommended by many; shit, I can't even afford the boxer briefs I've been eyeing for months. I also got a super feminine body: thicc thighs, wide hips, tiddies that make sure everyone can see them... in other words, it's pretty hard to drown these curves under an ocean of fabric. And since I'm only 5 feet tall, oversized clothes will literally just drag on the ground, making me look more like a kid who stole her older brother's clothes than a male-presenting genderfluid adult person. Gah.

I know that the next step for me is to lean into the traditionally masculine presentation that I've been craving most of my life. There are a lot of ways to do this, but I know step one for me is to tame these tiddies. I've been told that Ace bandages are a bad idea for binding, but I've also heard that they're perfectly safe as long as you do it right. Guess I'll just have to find out for myself. Also, I'll be dyeing my brows in the near future; I overplucked them in the 90's (yet another stupid ass beauty standard for women) and now they refuse to grow back. I ain't got the steady hands needed to draw them bitches in, so dye it is. Finally, I've got a haircut lined up for 3 weeks from now. I'm planning to undercut about a third of my head (think Natalie Dormer in 'The Hunger Games') and keep the rest of my hard-fought grown-out hair in a wolf cut. Maybe this will help encourage me to work harder and save up for all that "guy stuff" I've been craving.

Until then, it's tits & hips & feminine lips, all drowning under an ocean of fabric. Sigh.

[disasterghaster]

Devang is, I think, demi-omnisexual which isn't too different from from pansexual. Instead of being 'gender-blind' as is often described by pansexuals, she is 'gender-aware' in her attractions. She is attracted to all genders and sexual anatomy, particularly when she is emotionally engaged with a person. Which I think means that that instead of gender/sex being a cherry on top, as it is with a pansexual, she is quickly attracted to that gender/biological arrangement as a actively enjoyed feature of the person she becomes emotionally invested in.

She is also aromantic. She's got a lot of hang-ups about the concept of 'romance' and romantic gestures that inhibits her being comfortable or able to express or participable in romantic actions and activities. She loves deeply, but gets quickly overwhelmed or repelled by conventional romance tropes. Not to say she can't look back and appreciate a partner's sentiment in post. Or occasionally overcome her discomfort for her partners enjoyment.

Devang is absolutely polyamorous. She tried to be monogamous for a loooooooong time due to societal expectation and it made her fucking miserable. She's too big hearted. And too old for people to be playing jealousy games over her. She went celibate for a ridiculous amount of time to avoid that shit and her own stumbles in monogamy. She loves. The end. Anyone not comfortable with it can get lost. She'd tired of acting like she's any other way.

She's some kind of non-binary/trans. Though she has been 'she/her' so long it's second nature in the pronoun department, she's never felt particularly feminine. Eschewing things like heels and dresses even in eras where presentation was more hardline in societies she's lived in. Often straight-up crossdressing to present as a cis-male across time.

She feels kind of genderless most of all, be this a sense of depersonalization or what have you. She does prefer to continue dressing masculine, but doesn't feel much strong aversion to her female-sexed traits. Just often modifies her self to her day to day comfort.

Which I feel would make her non-binary or genderfluid.

Though she was anatomically AFAB for the majority of her life, she recently (in the last decade or so) discovered a way to use magic to alter her anatomical sex to flow with her gendered feelings, lol. Which means sometimes she has a vulva and all that and sometimes a penis with help of a charm. Making her not exactly intersex, but certainly some kind of anatomy-fluid to go with her gender-fluidness.

[theharrowing]

Babyface 🥇 1: Bring it on, Wildflower

An up and coming pro wrestling company hires you to work alongside Kim Seokjin—a rising star in the industry, and everyone’s favorite heel. His arrogance is dashed when he discovers you are not only talented enough to rival his skills, but that he can’t stop thinking about you.

INDEX | NEXT

🥇 Seokjin x Athletic Non-binary (AFAB) Reader 🥇 word count: 8.4k 🥇 rivals to lovers, pro wrestling au, light angst, light fluff, mature, 18+ 🥇 warnings: anxiety and being overwhelmed (general and related to identity), these two are clearly perfect for each other and are both idiots. 🥇 written for the Catch of the Century Collab!  🥇 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 🥇 posted dec. 2022 | read on ao3 🥇 see index for lengthy author notes and small glossary of terms.

Your manager’s words echo through your ears, harsh and uninviting, like salt being ground into a wound. The fluorescent lighting of the large, vacant conference room is suddenly too bright, buzzing under your skin like a poorly connected fuse. You attempt to hold your composure and keep a straight face, but the more his words ricochet, the higher your anxiety spikes. 

"Did you hear me?" Jimin asks after a moment of silence, eyes wide and expectant, watching for any minor change in your demeanor like he always does. “You will be partnering up with Kim Seokjin."

And you do your best to keep it cool, but his eyes drop to your mouth the second your jaw twitches, and his lips turn down into a frown while his attempt to smooth things over borders on frantic. 

“Look, you and I both know he’s a great showman—“

“Jimin, he’s a heel!” 

In all of your career on the women’s team, you were a face—a wrestler the crowd got behind and cheered for; a wrestler loved by all. Joining teams with a heel feels like career suicide. 

“I don’t know how to be a heel,” you groan under your breath.

“You can act, darling!” Jimin bites back, already clearly exasperated by this conversation, pushing a hand through his short, dark brown hair. 

Tears prick your eyes, and suddenly, the air in the room feels too thin to inhale properly—the walls begin to close in. 

“What if the crowd gets the wrong idea,” you mutter, voice cracking around every word. “I was the hero as a woman and now…now I’m the villain.”

“First of all, you are not rebranding,” Jimin offers. “You’re still Wildflower. You just dress less feminine, your hair is short, and your…you know…”

“Tits are gone,” you grumble. 

Jimin hums, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. You know that it is not the topic of your gender-reaffirming surgery that makes him uncomfortable, but his fidgeting stresses you out nonetheless. Jimin has been the only person who has supported you since the day you came out, and he has been by your side every step of the way. 

But Jimin is empathic and sensitive enough for both of you, and often he doesn’t know what to say, for fear of getting it wrong. You don’t blame him; it’s your identity, and sometimes even you get it wrong. Life is strange, like that. 

“I don’t want to work with Seokjin,” you groan, dropping your face into your hands. 

“He’s the people’s heel. Everyone loves Seokjin. They love to hate him, and cheer him on when he wins because he has a charming arrogance that draws people to him.”

“He’s insufferable,” you mutter. 

Jimin huffs, “He is actually very kind! You’ve just never given him a chance!”

There are a handful of wrestlers you have never tried to schmooze with, and Kim Seokjin is at the top of the list. People love to kiss his ass and say he is kind and wise, but you know better. Wrestlers rarely sway from their true personalities on stage. Assholes portray assholes. That is how it has always been. At the end of the day, the people's heel is still a heel—the character meant to be hated; the bad guy who always breaks the rules. 

Not to mention, you can count on one hand how many male athletes have given you the time of day. Usually, once they have a taste of fame and it gets to their heads, everyone who isn’t a cishet male may as well be gum on the bottom of their shoe—and often, even their own kind end up treated the same. There is no way Kim—superstar people’s heel—Seokjin is any better. 

With a sigh, Jimin reaches over the table and takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Meet with him and his manager tomorrow. If you absolutely hate him, we’ll postpone your comeback and find you another wrestler.”

“I don’t want—“

“You will not get a better opportunity than this,” Jimin interrupts sternly. “Wildflower teaming up with Worldwide Handsome will be the biggest event of the year. You're being offered a spot in the hot, new company that is already expected to rival the others in the division because of its inclusivity alone, and you and I both know tag team matches are bigger than individual matches, which is why they want you as a team. People won’t be able to keep your name out of their mouths; you will be a crowd favorite overnight.”

What is left unsaid—the truth you are not ready to voice out loud, into the universe—is that you are not sure you are good enough to be on a team with Worldwide Handsome Seokjin. He is one of the most talented athletes in the industry today, and it terrifies you to imagine not being able to keep up with him. 

That, and you are not sure how he will take the news that he has to wrestle alongside someone who used to perform as a woman. You dread the things he may say during interviews, even if, by some stroke of luck, he is okay with the idea of working with a non-binary athlete at all. It terrifies you. 

“He gets ten minutes of my time,” you concede, knowing damn well Jimin will not accept such a low number, despite his nodding and eyebrow-raising. 

“That’s all you need,” Jimin lies, squeezing your hand once more. 

You hope like hell that he is right. 

You are made aware of Seokjin’s presence not by seeing him, but by hearing the cheers and claps from everyone outside the conference room the moment he exits the elevator. Even Hoseok, your secretary and second best friend in the whole world stands from his seat, waving frantically with the widest smile you have ever seen, like the traitor he is. 

The chair you sit in is a monster of black leather on wheels that swivels, and you spin yourself in a circle, kicking your feet out and letting them slam into the metal leg of the large conference table before propelling yourself in the opposite direction. As Seokjin approaches, you decide that perhaps sitting in a chair like this while you are anxious is a bad idea, so you get up and move down to the other end to a group of large, leather stationary chairs, taking a seat in one of those, instead. 

With a deep breath, you smooth your hands down your charcoal grey slacks and check your white button-up blouse once more to make sure there are no coffee stains. Then, the door creaks open, and in comes Jimin, followed by Kim Seokjin and his manager, Kim Namjoon. Jimin wears a pink sweater and black slacks that nearly matches the blue sweater and black slacks worn by Seokjin, and Namjoon looks professional as can be in a black button-up tucked into black slacks, with his short, dark brown hair pushed away from his forehead. You stand to greet everyone and tug your lips into a forced smile, and although you are sure your eyes betray you, you do your best to appear happy and collected. 

As Seokjin enters, rather than taking a seat across from you, he walks over, takes your hand in both of his, and bows at the hips, nearly touching your conjoined hands with his forehead. You hesitate but follow suit, and when you stand, looking Seokjin in the eye up close, your heart beats heavily in your chest. Seokjin is, indeed, a very handsome man, and with his short, dark brown hair trimmed just above his brow line, his gaze is very focused.

"Wildflower, we finally meet," Seokjin says as his lips break into a hint of a smile.

Warmth rises to your cheeks. "I suppose it was only a matter of time," you respond softly, unsure whether you can say his stage name with a straight face.

After a beat, you loosen your hold on Seokjin's palm with the hopes of him getting the hint and letting you go. He seems to catch on and he gives you one more small bow before taking the seat beside yours, angling himself to face you.

Jimin hesitates, having expected to be the one to sit next to you, then walks around the table, taking his place beside Namjoon. You sit and angle yourself slightly toward Seokjin, avoiding his knees as you shift around. All of this feels unexpected and perhaps a little too friendly for your first meeting, but you keep an open mind. 

"I have actually been wanting to meet you for a long time," Seokjin begins. To your left, Namjoon and Jimin open files and quietly shuffle around papers, and you do your best to stay focused. "You were absolutely brilliant while shoehorned into the rolls the last company gave you, in the women's division, and when your team made the coming out announcement, I was very excited."

"Oh?" you ask. Your voice is quiet and meek, and you clear your throat, then glance around the room for some water, finding none. 

Seokjin hums. "Your talent and potential are unmatched, but that company didn't favor female athletes, which was a shame. I had actually put in the request several times to be partnered with you, due to your skill level and command over the ring. I was excited to not only receive an offer from the new company, but to find my request finally being granted in a roundabout way."

Seokjin's candor takes you by surprise. There is a sharpness to the way he speaks—an arrogance that you had expected but that makes you shift in your seat. You are also surprised to learn that Seokjin has wanted to work with you before.

"I admit, I know very little about being trans and non-binary," Seokjin continues, "So, for that reason—should you accept our proposal to work together—I hope we can talk openly about the kinds of things you absolutely do not want me to say during promo cuts, interviews, and casual conversations among friends. I do not plan to ever speak for you, but I will be expected to speak about you, and I want to make sure I get it right."

"We have created a questionnaire," Namjoon interjects, pulling your attention to the left, across the table, "so that we can get a sense for how you feel, in the event that you may not be comfortable or ready to discuss anything aloud, today."

A questionnaire feels awkward, and you shake your head, glancing at Jimin, then turn back to Seokjin. "I'm an open book, you can ask me anything now."

"You continue to use your same legal name," Namjoon begins, and you nod, directing your response to Seokjin, who watches you with calm patience. 

"Correct. The concept of a dead name doesn't really resonate with me the way it does for others."

"And you identify as non-binary," Namjoon continues. 

With a nod, you glance at Jimin, whose warm smile gives you strength. It is not as if this topic is difficult to discuss, but this is only the second time you have had to do it for possible contractual purposes.

"Correct," you respond, turning once more to Seokjin. "Trans is also fine, as it is an umbrella term, but I use the term non-binary."

"It's a spectrum, right?" Seokjin asks softly, and you smile, nodding your head.

The conversation continues like this, never getting too invasive with personal questions, but making sure they understand the terminology you prefer, and getting to know a little more about you, personally. Although it is a bit of a rigid conversation, it feels good to get everything off your chest, and you find yourself warming up to the idea of working with Seokjin. 

"So, as you know, I'm a heel," Seokjin says, and suddenly, all of your worries come flooding back. 

"That's right," you say, letting your head droop before you can catch yourself. 

"And you have always been a face," Seokjin continues, to which you nod. "I don't want you to feel pressured to become a heel for me. I wonder if the two of us could keep the different dynamics that we have already been working with. It might be fun if the two of us acted as if we didn't want to wrestle together, but were given no choice."

You mull it over and consider how fun it could be to play-fight with Seokjin while also having to work with him to defeat the other wrestlers. "What if the crowd turns on you, in favor of me?"

A wide grin spreads on Seokjin's face, forcing your breath to hitch. He really is breathtaking with a cheshire smile and a twinkle in his eyes, and you get goosebumps when he leans in close and says, "Bring it on, Wildflower."

"I love this idea," Jimin pipes up, mercifully pulling your attention from Seokjin. You blink rapidly as you turn to face your manager. "Bickering while assisting one another with an elevated jawbreaker. Maybe even distracting one another and getting knocked out by a member of the other team. A fight within a fight!"

"Yeah, honestly, I like the idea a lot," you admit, though, you imagine how difficult it may be to grab someone who is sitting on Seokjin's shoulders by the head. Perhaps an elevated jawbreaker isn't quite the move, but Jimin is certainly onto something. 

"On the issue of your attire," Namjoon adds, "will you continue to wear pink?"

"I would like to," you respond softly. Your outfit has always been pink with blue and silver accents, and, aside from changing the top from a glorified bra to more of a tank top, you like the thought of keeping everything the same. 

"So we'll change my uniform colors, then," Seokjin says, raising his eyebrows to Namjoon.

"If you wish," Namjoon responds. "Perhaps, at first, you should join as a mismatched team, and then over time, change your outfit to match their style?"

If you remember correctly, Seokjin's outfit is a burgundy blouse exposing a deep v-line of skin and white slacks. 

"Sounds good to me," Seokjin says. "Wildflower?"

You hum, turning your attention back to Seokjin, and nod listlessly. "Sure. That could be cool."

"Do you think I'll look good in pink?" Seokjin asks, holding a hand below his chin and fluttering his eyelashes. 

"You'd look good in any color," you respond before you can stop yourself, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. 

Seokjin's eyes widen as he smiles softly, and you curse yourself for being so loose-lipped. You were so determined to hate this man, and here you are, becoming flustered after complimenting him. 

"They don't call you Worldwide Handsome for nothing," Jimin chimes in, and Seokjin's smile grows before he turns to face your manager, though his gaze lingers on you just a bit before he does. 

The rest of the meeting is more formal, with Namjoon and Jimin going over contractual terms. The discussion returns to your identity and pronouns, and how to address you during promo cuts and interviews, but Seokjin assures you that he will always defer to your advice or keep his mouth shut if he is unsure what to say. At the end of the meeting, Seokjin gives you a firm handshake and bows before leaving, and you sit back at the conference table in a daze. 

"Wow, you really stood firm on your unfounded hatred and showed him who's boss," Jimin teases as the door is closed, leaving the two of you alone.

"Shut up," you mutter, unamused. 

"He gets ten minutes," Jimin parrots in the slightly higher-pitched voice which he uses to mock you. "Kim Seokjin is like all the other icky men, and there is no way I'm going to work with him."

You cross your arms over your chest and tongue the inside of your mouth. "Are you finished?"

A grin breaks out over Jimin's pretty face. "For now."

Over the next several weeks, you train like your life depends on it. You already work out a fair amount for an athlete, but given that you are going to make your comeback debut with a tall, strong man who you are likely going to have to do complicated wrestling moves with, you have been taking everything to the next level, focusing on your legs, shoulders, and arms. 

"What if, on opening night, you and Seokjin enter the ring and immediately attack one another before the other team is announced?" Jimin had suggested, setting your panic into motion. 

Sure, you have performed complicated moves with people who were bigger than you plenty of times, but this bout with Seokjin will need to be whiplash-fast and over-the-top if it is going to not only be the crowd's first impression of the two of you as a team, but take place before other wrestlers enter the ring. 

You also have no idea what Seokjin may want to do, and you realize as you stand in front of the mirror of your home gym, drinking water while a towel hangs lazily from your neck, that you have no direct way to get in touch with him. You had not exchanged numbers during the meeting.

Stressed about wanting to discuss your comeback with your new partner, you grab your phone, pause the very loud music playing on your home speakers—currently Cream by Mannequin Pussy—and dial your manager. 

He answers on the first ring. “Yes, my love?”

“Hey, h-how do I get in touch with Seokjin?”

“You never exchanged numbers?”

You stare at your reflection, dumbfounded. “N—what? No. You were at the meeting.”

Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I was. But I was distracted by the other Kim in the room. Did you hear how deep his voice was?”

Never a dull moment, you think, pinching the bridge of your nose as you squeeze your eyes closed. Jimin can be heard chuckling through the phone, which lifts your spirits a bit more—not that you would show any indication of the fact.

"Anyway," you grumble, "can you ask deep-voiced-Kim to give me broad-shouldered-Kim my number? Or pass my number along to them?"

"You think Seokjin has broad shoulders?" Jimin teases and you roll your eyes.

"It is a statement of fact."

"Sure, sure," Jimin continues to chide, then adds, "I'll send your number along right now. Thanks for giving me an excuse to hear that deep voice again, darling!"

You deadpan, "I live to serve," as flatly as possible, biting back a grin as Jimin laughs and hangs up. 

As you wait, you begin flexing in the mirror to check out your gains, as the kids say. Staying at the top of your game is hard work, and you are always proud to see a reflection staring back that looks ideal for the kind of work you want to do. Then your eyes linger on your chest—flat and muscular. It still takes you by surprise at times—makes you do a double-take and stare. How fortunate and grateful you feel to have been able to take such a step in your life, despite all the various risks. 

The sound of your phone dinging pulls you from your thoughts and even makes you flinch. Embarrassed by your jumpiness, you exhale and squeeze your eyes closed for a couple seconds before holding up your phone to find a message from an unknown number.

[Unknown] It has come to my attention that you seek communication with the most handsome man on the planet. 

"Ridiculous," you mutter to yourself, holding back a small smile. Seokjin being obsessed with how good-looking he is has certainly become part of his act, but you wonder how much you can stand the performance outside of the ring. 

You Oh, sorry! I was actually looking for Kim Seokjin.

You nibble on the inside of your mouth as you watch three dots appear and disappear...then appear and disappear...over and over. Rumor has it that Seokjin has a good sense of humor, and you wait in hope that the rumor is true. 

[Unknown] Ah, here I thought I was messaging my pretty, charismatic new partner Wildflower. I guess I have the wrong number. 

You Darn! Well, if you see Seokjin-ssi, let him know I need to talk to him. 

Once again, three dots appear and disappear. Then, your phone rings. You let it go for a bit, drawing out the tension of the moment, then pick up, shifting around on your feet while staring at the floor.

"Yes?"

Seokjin scoffs in response, then simply says, "Wildflower."

You wonder if he will ever greet you by your name, but decide not to question it. "Kim Seokjin-ssi."

"Please, call me Worldwide Handsome Jin."

"Wow," is all you can say in response, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. 

"I hear you request my presence. Miss me already?"

"Hardly," you deadpan, rolling your eyes. "But I would like to discuss our comeback opener. I guess I'm getting antsy about having no plan."

"Agreed. Come by this week? I can order some dinner and we can discuss what we have in mind, and then—if we're not too full—we can practice some moves."

Dinner sounds nice but at Seokjin's place? You wonder if it would be more convenient to find a restaurant close to one of the rings. 

"I'm always down to eat," you respond. "I don't want to put you out, though. We can always find a place near one of the practice rings. Which do you usually reserve?"

Seokjin laughs—a deep, condescending sound. "I have my own ring. Less paperwork and red tape. My dining room happens to be the closest eatery to that location, so it is no trouble at all."

"Oh," you mutter. "Okay."

The conversation cuts after you settle on a date and location. Then, as you let your arm drop to your side and stare at your reflection, reality begins to sink back in. You have to work with Kim Seokjin. 

Seokjin's house is massive, and you feel overwhelmed entering the property. Whereas most people you know live in apartment buildings—some very lavish, nonetheless—this man lives on a large swathe of property on a hill just outside the city. Once you arrive, you have to be buzzed into the driveway and wait for a large steel gate to open, granting you access. 

As soon as you park your shabby little car behind a large, shiny sedan, Seokjin's front door opens wide. And before you have your seatbelt unclicked, he is already opening your driver's side door and holding his arms out to you. 

Even while giving a warm welcome, there is something piercing and dark in Seokjin's eyes. Only once during your previous meeting did they soften—when you said he would look good in anything—and you feel scrutinized under his gaze. 

"Welcome!" Seokjin says, pulling you into a hug that is brief but tight, and then turning to lead you into his home. 

He wears a simple white tee tucked into blue jeans, and suddenly you feel overdressed in your crisp black short-sleeve button-up tucked into charcoal grey slacks. You had, of course, packed workout gear in the event that the two of you decide to try out some moves in Seokjin's ring, and you lean back into your open car door and reach across to the passenger seat to retrieve your black leather duffle bag before closing up the car and running to join Seokjin in his foyer. 

"Shall we eat now or later?" Seokjin offers, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

You hesitate, then begin to slip out of your shoes as you say, "I'm actually quite anxious, so I don't have much of an appetite."

Seokjin cracks a smile and says, "Perfect! Let's get changed then, and head to the ring?"

With a soft smile, you nod and follow Seokjin to the left, down a set of stairs into a home gym. Surprisingly, the basement is set fairly deep into the foundation, and you are surprised when you peer toward the far end of the large space and see the ceiling rise even higher above a professional-sized wrestling ring.

"It's excessive, I know," Seokjin begins. "But this home actually belonged to my father. It was his idea to build a mansion large enough to house a ring in the basement. I merely inherited it."

Now that he mentions it, you faintly remember hearing that Seokjin's father had also been a wrestler, several generations back. At the time, you probably brushed off the notion and cited nepotism to Seokjin's rise in fame—ignoring, of course, the pure athleticism it takes to be a wrestler of Seokjin's caliber. Bitter thoughts are rarely rational. 

Seokjin leads you through a home gym that rivals your own, toward the ring. You grip the leather strap of your bag tightly as your eyes flit over the black ropes, off-white canvas floor, and the various black and red padding over the steel beams holding it all together. Rather than having a skirt covering the underside, it sits open, and you spy ladders, folding tables and chairs, and various other things beneath the ring. 

"Bathroom is there," Seokjin says, pointing toward a white door that is cracked open. "Feel free to change and meet me ringside?"

You nod, swallow a lump of nervousness, and head toward the bathroom. Of course, it is a full en suite equipped with a large walk-in shower, and you allow yourself to focus on the details of the room—cream-colored tiles, light marble counters, and gold furnishings—as you untuck your shirt and begin to undress. 

Time blurs as you change into your workout gear—black knee-length spandex shorts and a black tank top over a sports bra, which you continue to wear because you like the familiar squeeze of the tight fabric around your ribs. When you return, holding a pair of sneakers in your hand, you nearly stop in your tracks as you find Seokjin standing bent over against the side of the ring in a tight black tank top and shorts. He is tying a pair of shoes, so you join him and lean your butt against the ring, slipping into your own and keeping your eyes off all the dips and curves of his muscular frame. Seokjin's wrestling costume covers him up to the extent that you are not used to seeing so much skin. 

"We'll do some warmup stretches and then practice some moves?" Seokjin suggests, stepping away from the ring. 

You hum in acknowledgment, pulling your shoelace bow taut and standing up straight. When you turn to Seokjin, he is gazing at you with a straight expression, and you once again feel nervousness under his stare. 

After a brief moment, as if coming out of a trance, Seokjin blinks once, twice, then narrows his gaze. "Over text, I called you pretty. I've been dwelling on it since."

"Oh," you respond, trying to think back to the text conversation. Already, it is a bit of a blur. "I assumed you were being cheeky, so don't sweat it."

"I mean," Seokjin begins but pauses, cocking his head slightly. "I guess, what I mean to say is, I don't know if that's a word you mind being called, because of its feminine nature."

"Oh!" You suddenly feel embarrassed, mostly for not realizing Seokjin may have genuinely been complimenting you. "I don't mind. I still think I'm pretty."

Seokjin hums and nods. "Just let me know if I say the wrong thing."

With a shrug, you begin to stretch, pulling your left arm over your chest while your right hand presses against your upper arm, then alternating. "Stuff like that is kind of whatever. I strive to exist between the realm of pretty and handsome, so being both or neither is perfectly fine. They're words that don't really need to be gendered anyway, you know?"

You're rambling, and you catch yourself, clamping your mouth shut while bringing your right knee up to your chest and pulling it close with both hands. Seokjin stands straight from having been touching his toes and rolls his shoulders back.

"True," he says. "Although I find only 'handsome' applies to me. Never saw myself as 'pretty' before."

As you release your right leg and bring your left knee to your chest, you survey Seokjin's face—keeping your eyes off of his body as much as possible. "I disagree. Your eyes are very pretty. As is your smile. You just have more of a classic masculine prettiness, I suppose."

Seokjin glances up and fixes you with an unreadable look. Then, he begins to squat, dropping his gaze to the floor. You could swear the tips of his ears are a deeper shade of red, and you bite back a smile. 

Stretching continues in silence, save for labored breaths as you begin to do more complicated, strenuous moves. Then, after an indiscernible amount of time, the two of you hop up and down, shaking out your hands, and looking at the ring. 

"Ready?" Seokjin asks with a hint of a smirk.

Truth be told, you are not so sure that you are. As you turn to the ring and approach, your heart pounds so hard, you can hear it booming in your ears. You reach out and grab the bottom rope, feeling the thick layers of tape in your palms, and you squeeze and tug, feeling it pull taut, then release. Without another word, you bend, placing your right arm and leg onto the mat, and roll onto the canvas. 

As you stand and get your bearings, Seokjin grabs onto the middle rope and lifts himself, jumping onto the edge of the canvas with both feet. Then, with a bounce, he flips over the top rope, bounding onto the ring with a boom and causing the padded wooden floor to bounce. You stand stunned, watching as your partner—and rival, for all intents and purposes—gets into position, knees bent and hands in front of his chest. 

"Come at me, Wildflower," Seokjin mutters with a grin, and you hesitate before stepping forward and contemplating your opening move. 

To say Seokjin wiped the floor with you during your first bout would be putting it lightly. In fact, you are pretty sure he went easy on you. Although it was easy to get him into a headlock, as soon as you began to pivot and drop to your knee to bring him to the mat and finish the takeover move, Seokjin lifted you, easily breaking the headlock, and brought you back to your feet—setting you down carefully as if you were delicate—before stepping behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and muttering, "Suplex, tuck your chin," as he brought you both onto your backs.

From there, the two of you called out moves that you were going to try, coming at one another slow enough to make sure you were positioned correctly and that the other had a chance to react. But Seokjin quickly and easily broke out of everything you attempted, and you struggled to make yourself heavy enough for him not to toss around like a ragdoll. 

Sweaty and out of breath, the two of you sit on the floor of the ring. Seokjin has his palms on the mat, anchoring himself up, and he stares at the ceiling with his head back. The long, sweaty column of his neck glistens, and you fight back all thoughts of how biteable it looks while making the mistake of allowing your eyes to trail down to his toned arms, and to the shirt that sticks to his pecs and abs. 

Truth be told, Seokjin is a walking distraction. Attempting to get the upper hand whenever he flashes a smile, or god forbid a wink, feels impossible. And every time his hands grab your shoulders, ribs, waist, or thighs—all perfectly good places grips with no intent but to perform wrestling moves—you feel something inside you stir. 

"I know you're holding back, but that's to be expected," Seokjin mutters. "I was, as well. Let's take a water break and work on choreography?"

You crack a smile, sitting up and stretching your neck from side to side. "Sounds good."

After a quick water break, the two of you begin to choreograph a possible opener. The plan is to come out to the ring from opposite entrances, pissed off and acting as if you want to be anywhere but in the ring with one another. 

Seokjin will ham up to the crowd while you hold your chin up and make your way down the ramp, glaring at him from across the stadium. The announcer will say something about an offensive comment Seokjin made about having to work with you, which will piss you off, causing you to scream profanities at him as you advance. Incensed, Seokjin will begin to run for the ring, sliding under the bottom rope and jumping to his feet, holding his arms out in a challenge, and you will also run to meet him. 

"Can you enter the ring like I did earlier? Flipping over the ropes?" 

You have flipped over the ropes many times in the past, and you nod as you slide from a standing position under the bottom rope and onto the floor. It takes several tries to jump with both feet from the floor to the edge of the canvas, but your legs begin to remember what it feels like. 

The first time you grab onto the top rope and jump to flip, you don't get enough air and nearly topple over. Seokjin makes a move to grab you in case you fall, but you find your footing easily, get onto the bottom rope, and try again, this time making it over the top. 

"Just need to get the hang of this again," you say as you return to the outside of the ropes and stand on the lower one again, positioned to jump. 

Seokjin says nothing, just watches as you flip, reposition, and flip again. After four tries, you stand on the edge of the ring and grab the top rope. As you fling your body over and into the ring, the weightlessness you felt in your early days returns. Before rising to the level of fame that you managed to reach in a short amount of time; before deciding to transition away from the women's team—a move that caused your former employee to fire you—when nothing mattered but the feeling of the canvas-covered wood beneath your feet. The rush of that memory takes hold and carries you to your feet. 

Your land is loud and a bit sloppy, and you stumble slightly into your stance, but Seokjin squares up in his squatted position and lunges as if the landing was perfect, and you pull each other into your starter move, with your hands on one another's shoulders.

"We'll tug one another like this," Seokjin says, warm breath ghosting over your face as you stare at his clavicle—scared to look him in the eye this close. "Take wide steps into a circle, and then you'll attempt to knee me, which I'll kick away."

As Seokjin talks, you slowly move, lifting your leg, which he pretends to kick away. The back and forth comes naturally and you fall into step as if performing a dance you know by heart. You manage to get Seokjin into a headlock and attempt to take him down, but he lifts you and flips you over his back. 

"From here, the referee should attempt to separate us, but we will continue to lunge at each other, until finally, the other team comes out and pulls us off one another, thus starting the tag team match. I imagine we'll both fight a member of their team for a while, and then one of us will retreat to the corner."

Everything seems perfect, and you practice the choreography several times. Then, when you are worn out, feeling satisfied despite being out of practice, Seokjin slides out of the ring and crosses the room to pull his phone from his pants pocket. 

"How does sushi sound," he asks, thumbing around his phone.

"Sounds good," you respond, breathless as you sit in the center of the canvas. Seokjin orders, and you roll unceremoniously out of the ring and follow him up into his house without changing out of your sweaty workout gear. 

He has a plain house with scarcely decorated off-white walls. There are paintings here and there that feel sterile, like something you might see at a therapist's office, and it feels to you like they are simply taking up space and making the large rooms feel less empty. His dining room table is large enough for eight, and he has tan marble counters in his kitchen, on which he sets two plates and two sets of utensils, stacked neatly. 

You take a seat at the table, close to the end nearest the kitchen island, and wait as Seokjin brings everything over. Ordinarily, you would ask if your host needs a hand, but there is something about being alone with him in his large house that has you retreating and sitting quietly, eager to stay out of the way. 

It could also be Seokjin's demeanor. You wouldn't necessarily call him cold, but he isn't really warm, either. Unless he has something constructive to say, he doesn't say much at all, never really engaging in small talk. For years, all people could talk about was how charming and charismatic he is, but the more you get to know him, the more you wonder if those people had ever sat with him like this, one-on-one.

When Seokjin sets the plates down, you jolt. You had been so lost in thought, staring at the lines in the wood grain on the polished table before you that you hadn't seen him approach.

"Jumpy," Seokjin mutters, and you let out a soft chuckle, attempting to dispel some of your anxiety with the breath.

"I get lost in my head sometimes."

"Sorry I'm not very talkative," Seokjin says as he returns to the kitchen. You watch as he opens a large wooden cabinet and takes out two glasses. 

"It's fine," you respond after a pause. "I'm not really, either."

"I know."

Awkward. You lift your hands onto the table and fiddle with your fingers, searching for something to say. Your time in the ring together went well, and you think you made good progress, but those words had already been spoken in the moment, and you don't feel like they bear repeating. Seokjin returns with a glass of water and sets it before you, then he takes the seat beside you. 

"If I weren't mistaken, I would think you hate me," Seokjin says, taking you by surprise. 

When you lift your head, you find him sitting with his body angled toward you and his elbow on the table. His expression is flat, though there is something indiscernible in his eyes, once more. 

"I don't hate you," you respond softly, feeling the urge to get defensive but attempting to tamp it down. 

Seokjin hums and cocks his head. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

You squint and shake your head, straightening your posture to face him better. "No."

"I know that you originally weren't pleased to work with me—" Seokjin begins.

You squeeze your eyes closed and mutter, "Fucking Jimin," under your breath.

"—but I feel like I have been kind and welcoming."

"You have been."

"So what's—"

"Nothing," you say, voice slightly raised and a little clipped. Surprised by your volume, you clear your throat and feel your shoulders shrink inwardly. "There is nothing wrong. I'm sorry if Jimin said I didn't want to work with you...I just...I don't know. Before I met you, I assumed your whole persona was fake."

Seokjin scoffs, pulling your attention back to him, and you find him studying you with a hint of a scowl. Surely, Seokjin cannot be surprised by how his arrogance on stage has translated to others. His moniker is Worldwide Handsome, for fuck's sake. 

Just as Seokjin opens his mouth to speak, the doorbell rings, pulling his attention toward the front door before he momentarily glances back at you and lets out another silent laugh with his mouth open as if he has something he wants to say. You feel the urge to get up and run for the exit, shoving the poor sushi delivery person out of the way and jumping into your car. Instead, you sit feeling dazed as Seokjin's chair scrapes against the floor, and he stands to retrieve the food.

Although it is faint, there is a polite lilt in Seokjin's voice—practiced happiness reserved just for strangers—as he greets the delivery person. Anxiety swirls like acid in the pit of your stomach, and you take a large drink of water. You tell yourself that whatever that conversation was will not easily be resolved and that you should just leave. But when you stand, determined to apologize and thank Seokjin for the training session before taking your leave, he returns with a hint of a smile fading into a confused grimace. 

"Sit," Seokjin says, setting the large plastic bag in the center of the table. "We need to eat after that strenuous workout. I think it's safe to say we were both a little out of our element and need to refuel."

You hesitate but ultimately sit. Then, feeling bold, you stand again.

"Are you sure? I feel like I insulted you; maybe I should leave."

Seokjin does not make eye contact as he continues to undo the flimsy bag and set out plastic containers of sushi rolls and appetizers. He really ordered too much. 

"You didn't insult me," he says toward the food, "It's nothing I haven't heard before. And I would feel worse if you left without helping me eat all of this."

There is a hint of kindness in his voice, but there is also something that seems a little sad. You feel the urge to investigate, but you hardly know the guy and decide that if he wants to open up to you, he will.

But he does not. As you settle back down and begin to eat, you do so in silence. When Seokjin finally does speak again, it is to comment on the various moves you did and to suggest ways to improve the flow. From what little you have gathered as his partner, Seokjin seems to have a brilliance with the way he approaches the ring, and has very quickly adjusted to your weight, height, and strength to attempt to suggest moves that would be easiest for both of you to execute. In fact, you feel like you were hardly contributing, which, in turn, makes you feel bad for letting him do everything. You can't help but wonder if he minds, but you don't really want to ask. Maybe when things feel a little less...tense.

After the meal, you offer to help Seokjin clear everything away. When he declines, you thank him for the meal and excuse yourself, bowing at the hips and turning to the exit. Perhaps it is rude to leave so abruptly, but everything feels weird, and you want to step outside and get some fresh air. Surely, Seokjin will understand, you convince yourself as you shuffle toward the front door.

Footsteps follow you, and you reach for the door without looking back. But then, Seokjin calls, "What about your clothes?" and you freeze in your tracks. You had forgotten your clothing and duffle bag in the basement, and you were even going to leave without putting on the sneakers you walked into the house wearing. 

Without another word, Seokjin runs down to the basement. You walk after him, feeling foolish enough for trying to make a break for it and not wanting to be a deer in the headlights by his front door. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, Seokjin comes from the bathroom holding the strap of your black bag bunched in one hand.

"There you are," he says as he hands it off to you and walks past, back to the top landing. 

You turn on the balls of your feet and pad up the steps, then take off the wrestling shoes and set them bottom-side up on top of your clothes in the duffle before sliding your other sneakers on, wiggling to get the heel of the shoe to stop bending under the weight of your feet. 

"Thanks," you mutter, finding it hard to look Seokjin in the eye.

Seokjin hums and says, "Good work today. We'll do this again soon." Then he walks away, back toward the kitchen. 

With a resolved sigh, you grab the gold handle of his large wooden door and twist. The first inhale of fresh air fills your lungs with reprieve, and you hold it for three seconds, then exhale slowly, feeling yourself become lighter. This day may not have been perfect, but it was productive and worth being proud of, all things considered. Small miracles.

Two hours after returning home From Seokjin's house, you sit freshly showered on your couch, staring at your television while pictures move and sounds follow, unbeknownst to you. You are completely lost in your head, replaying every minute detail of your visit with Seokjin, attempting to make sense of some of it. The more you allow yourself to dwell on it, the worse you feel for the way you behaved. 

If you are being honest with yourself, it was in part because Seokjin feels impossible to read at times, and partly because he is stupid fucking handsome, and it makes your brain come to a screeching halt at times. But how do you tell him that without compromising your relationship as his wrestling partner? Sure he called you pretty in jest, but telling him that his beauty makes your heart race so fast you want to throw up feels a little intense. 

When your phone buzzes, you hardly notice. A tiny voice alerts you to the feeling against your leg, but you continue to stare ahead and attempt to dissect the look on his face after you told him you assumed his personality was fake. You squeeze your eyes closed and groan, scolding yourself silently for saying something like that to him. Then, your phone buzzes again, snapping you from your reverie, and you glance at the screen, expecting to hear from Jimin, and surprised by what you find instead. 

Worldwide Handsome Great work today, Wildflower! We definitely have chemistry in the ring, and I look forward to meeting again to work on our comeback.

Worldwide Handsome Also, please don't worry about what you said. Unfortunately, I think we are both a little awkward. We'll figure it out. 

With a sigh of relief, you smile to yourself. Seokjin is hot and cold, but at least he makes an attempt to communicate, and that is honestly more than you have been able to say for yourself since meeting the guy. 

You I feel really bad for what I said. I should have apologized properly, but sometimes I have a hard time expressing myself to people I don't know very well. It was unfair of me.

You hit send and consider a myriad of things to say, to explain yourself further. But before your thumbs can work out what to send next, your phone lights up with a call. Phone calls always make you feel apprehensive, and you brace yourself with a deep breath before answering. 

"Seokjin," you mutter, but he cuts you off.

"You don't need to apologize. You were right, my on-screen persona is incredibly fake."

There is a bite to Seokjin's voice that sounds matter-of-fact and also a bit harsh. But it does not feel directed at you. At least, you don't think it does.

"I mean, to an extent, all of our in-ring personas are fake," you supply, attempting to squash some of the tension you have felt building between the two of you all day.

Then, Seokjin responds with, "You're more charismatic, for one."

Stunned, your mouth opens, but all you manage to do is squeak out a weak sound. "I'm—oh. Okay."

"I almost bought into your awkward, manic-pixie-dream act, you know? But then I thought about how different you were in the ring and out of the ring at my house, and it's pretty clear that you just don't like me."

Seokjin's reasoning hardly makes sense, but all you can bring yourself to respond with is, "What?"

"It's fine. Whatever. We only have to work together; we don't need to be friends. And I meant what I said, we do have in-ring chemistry together. We can work on our awkwardness for the camera and avoid each other, otherwise."

The tone of this conversation is nothing like what you had expected, considering his text messages seemed so kind and understanding. But, then again, it is always difficult to tell someone's intentions over text. And, as you are coming to discover, Seokjin is an arrogant asshole, after all.

"Fine," you huff with a sigh, resolved not to argue. If Seokjin wants nothing more than a working relationship with you, then that is all he is going to get. 

"I can speak with our managers and find us suitable sparring partners for the time being, if you would rather not practice with me," Seokjin offers, rubbing salt in wounds you didn't realize you had. 

"Don't bother," you grit into the phone. "We'll work together just fine. And Worldwide Handsome?"

Seokjin hums into the receiver, and you sense surprise in his tone. 

"You had better bring your A-game because our so-called fake rivalry is very fucking real, I am going to make you regret talking to me like this."

As you pull your cell phone away from your ear and hit the end call button, there is a quake in your hands, your ears begin to ring, and all sensation feels both non-existent and overwhelming, all at once. Seokjin is going to rue the day he made you his rival, and you are going to make sure he knows it. 

tags: @btsiguess-kpop @btsstan12 @codeinebelle@dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki​ | this is a limited run series, but if you would like to be tagged, comment or dm!

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[mostbrilliantidiot]

I don't know why, but even when I was making an effort to be Properly Feminine and perform what society expected out of someone who's afab, most people who saw me on a daily basis subconsciously put me in the "one of the guys" box. Not in a mean way, not in a rude way; they'd just kind of mentally shuffle me over into that group. Then they'd address me, assign me, and interact based on that.

Keep in mind, I have DDs. I wore stiletto heels. My makeup game was incredible. I was often in gowns and corsets due to performances. I had long flowing hair. Etc.

I made an effort.

People who saw me less often did in fact categorize me as a woman.

So this led to hilarious instances of "why is she here!?" "Dude wtf why are you asking that??" I got to witness. (Sometimes the exclamation was understandable: such as when it was The Guys Car on a long road trip and one of them wasn't as close to me. Everyone went to change from Stuffy Business Clothes to Sweats and T-shirts and he squawked in surprise.)

And sometimes I'd see someone realize that there was some internal cognitive dissonance and they didn't know how to address that.

Well there's no point here, other than gender and whatnot is clearly more than clothes and biology, based on my experience. I can be in a miniskirt, corset, and five inch heels, with gorgeous makeup; someone will still reflexively (and respectfully) address me as "sir"

[duckiiboop]

BABE WAKE UP DUCKY IS DROPPING MAYU LORE!!

Drum roll please… Everyone, meet Mayu.

Mayume Furukawa.

A girl who was on her way to fame with her two best friends when her dream was destroyed by her childhood rival, a fellow Stand User. After accidentally activating her stand to his full potential, she was sentenced to 5 years at Green Dolphin Street Prison for property damage charges. From there, she met a woman named Ermes Costello, and that’s when everything changed…

Personal Information

Kanji

古川真夢

Nicknames

Mayu

Mai

Pipsqueak

Birthday

April 1st, 1993

Zodiac Big Three

Aries Sun, Cancer Moon, Pisces Rising

Gender and Pronouns

AFAB, She/Her

Height

5’4” / 164 cm

Weight

120 lb. / 54.43 kg

Birthmarks and Body Modifications

Inherited freckles and her hair birthmark from her mother

Inherited a cowlick from her father

Several piercings. She has 6 ear piercings on each side, a bridge piercing, snakebites and a set of hidden piercings.

Profession

Before coming to the Aquarium, Mayu was part of a pop group named Watermelon Cubed.

Favorites

Color - Periwinkle

Food - Soup! Specifically Loaded Potato soup and Minestrone

Musicians - Rihanna and Taylor Swift

Drink - Cold Brew

Animal - Mice

Hobby - Songwriting

Flower - Hydrangeas

Likes

Any kind of cold coffee, nothing too sweet though! She loves her espresso.

CROCS! Her uncle gave her first pair when she was a toddler, and she never looked back.

Writing, specifically songwriting and prose

Anything about music: singing, listening to music, playing instruments, analyzing song lyrics and more

Disney, ESPECIALLY Mickey Mouse— her dad raised her to adore him

Driving

Culinary Arts

Games of any kind

SHINY THINGS. She loves glitter and holographic objects.

Dislikes

Anyone who is not close to her using her nickname, ESPECIALLY “Mai.” That nickname is solely reserved for her dad, and later on Jolyne and Ermes.

Being cold

HEELS

Making decisions, big or small. PLEASE DON’T ASK HER WHERE SHE WANTS TO EAT.

Messing up when she’s playing an instrument

Losing

Snobs and people who think they’re superior than others

Silence

Personality Traits

Loyal

- Mayu easily takes the clothes off her back for her friends and family. She’s so loyal to the point where she can be a huge pushover.

Introverted

- Mayu tends to be quiet and standoffish when first meeting her. In normal situations, it takes a second for her to warm up to others.

- Tends to be stone cold when not interacting with others.

Kind

- Mayu is a soft spoken sweetheart, and a gentle soul. She’s very courteous and friendly to everyone. She’s definitely a goody two shoes.

Confident in public

- Having always been on a stage since she was young, Mayu is used to crowds and keeping up with appearances.

- She’s just a little competitive…

Nervous behind the scenes

- She can struggle with constructive criticism; she hates not living up to expectations, whether it be others’ or her own. She’s very much a perfectionist when it comes to her skills and performances.

- Mayu struggles with telling others what she wants and sharing her opinion; she prefers for others to make big decisions, and following orders.

Snarky and Sassy

- Once Mayu opens up, her silly side will begin to come out. She loves bantering with her friends!

Ticking Time Bomb

- While Mayu is a pretty patient person, she can get irritated pretty easily. However, she’s quiet about it.

- However, if her buttons are pushed just enough… her anger is explosive. Especially when it comes to someone messing with her close ones.

Crybaby

- She was born with a faucet in her eyes. If she’s happy she’s crying, if she’s mad she’s crying, if she’s sad she’s crying even more.

- She can get very overwhelmed with her emotions after being frustrated for so long.

- If a situation gets dire enough, she’ll enter into a state of panic and begin hyperventilating. However, if others are more anxious than she is she is able to stay calm.

NSYNC

NSYNC has the ability of manipulating sound waves.

The most common usage of NSYNC’s ability is using sound shields for Mayu and her comrades; whenever anything makes contact with the shield, it will make a loud vibration (similar to smacking a tuning fork) to stun enemies. NSYNC can shield someone up to 3 meters/9 feet away from him.

NSYNC is able to collect sound waves in their hands and feet to punch, kick, and stomp with supersonic force.

NSYNC can throw Mayu’s voice through the air, acting as a walkie talkie of some sorts. Its range is 61 meters/200 feet.

NSYNC is capable of performing supersonic screams; however Mayu MUST be screaming with him to activate this. If she has her mouth closed or covered it will not activate.

NSYNC can take the sound waves of things and collect them, rendering them mute if he touches them. (For example, if he were to hold Jolyne’s boot, she could put it back on and she would have silent footsteps.) If he collects enough sound waves he can enhance the strength of his attacks.

NSYNC’s stand cry is “Bye, bye, bye!”

NSYNC’s headphones are in fact functional; Mayu is able to wear them and enhance her hearing; it also has a 200 feet / 61 meter range.

They can also serve as noise cancellation headphones.

NSYNC is generally referred to with he/him pronouns.

Close Relationships

Riku and Tomoka Furukawa - Mayu’s parents

Mamoru, Marisa, Manami, Makoto and Makena Furukawa & Ichiha Matsuno - Mayu’s siblings

Sora and Kairi Hanamiya - Mayu’s aunt and uncle, her parents’ best friends

Allegra Armani Torroja - Mayu’s childhood rival

Cereza Olivera - Mayu’s band manager

Sadie Sterling and Lulu St. Pierre - Mayu’s bandmates from Watermelon Cubed and best friends

Ermes Costello - Mayu’s cellmate, who recruits her to Jolyne’s gang. She eventually becomes one of Mayu’s closest friends.

Jolyne Cujoh - Mayu’s new friend and eventual girlfriend. They slowly fall for each other over the course of the Stone Ocean timeline.

Fun Facts

Mayu’s voice claim is Emma Proulx, the lead singer of the band Men I Trust.

Mayu’s favorite music genres are alternative and COUNTRY

Mayu is a classically trained pianist and violinist, preferring the former.

Mayu’s a skilled dancer, having been in dancing classes before starting music school. During fights, she tends to prance around as she attacks enemies.

Mayu has distant Japanese heritage from both sides of the family.

Mayu knew self defense before she started fighting stand users; her dad taught her.

- She’s also one of seven siblings… she had to fight for her life growing up man

Even though she doesn’t like strangers using her nicknames, she loves giving others nicknames!

After everything is over, Mayu wants to go to college to study music education.

- Maybe in a better universe that’ll happen.

Mayu knows how to sew!!

Mayu’s really good at giving massages.

Mayu sings or hums to herself very often. She even does it to put herself to sleep.

She accidentally trained Ermes to fall asleep to her singing as well.

Mayu knows quite of a bit of Spanish.

Allegra, Mayu’s childhood rival, always calls her mouse/rat related nicknames due to her love of Mickey Mouse.

Mayu has canon smells: she uses coconut scented shampoo and perfume with scent notes of freesia, clementine, peach, violet and musk. (She wears Gingham from bath and body works.)

Mayu wears three different hairstyles. Those that include space buns are named the “Mickey Buns” and the “Minnie Buns!”

Mayu gives Jolyne a friendship bracelet to serve as a protection charm for her. She has a matching one as well.

[garetthawke]

I posted 4,127 times in 2022

That's 399 more posts than 2021!

757 posts created (18%)

3,370 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sapphoseraphim

@luciferscathedral

@chelseawolfe

@cripplepunx

@fredersen

I tagged 865 of my posts in 2022

#anders - 23 posts

#literally - 11 posts

#yeah - 9 posts

#scorpio - 5 posts

#lmao - 5 posts

#steve harrington - 5 posts

#yes - 4 posts

#lol - 4 posts

#stranger things - 4 posts

#ref - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#what do u mean u don't over analyze the same media over and over to supplement your own ideas so they're reinforced by canon and not fanon

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

internet-only lgbt+ people being obsessed with seeming “normal” is going to be what weakens us

1,305 notes - Posted June 26, 2022

#4

"all lesbian rep is always femme" it's not, actually. i literally never look on the screen and see femmes. we get hallmark channel blondes who look exactly like every other straight woman on tv. actual femmes are so beyond what's considered acceptable or normal for lesbians - in fact characters i would call femme are usually very pointedly straight and usually shamed/demonized, with their appearance a pointed commentary on why they're bad people, from slutshaming to the selfish material girl trope, unless it treads into the "weird" category for straight people, in which case they're always oddball lonely cat ladies nobody likes.

but even then, the distinct things that i recognize in femmes (queercoding, if you will,) are always absent, because they are deviations from the male gaze. femininity is expected to be a performance for the male gaze, femininity embraced by lesbians is literally the opposite. guess what we see on tv?

and i don't say this to be like "ooh femmephobia is real!" rather, my point is that media just hates lesbians. and i dislike when people say "all we see for lesbian rep is femmes," because we don't see femmes, we see feminine people playing a lesbian based on a straight interpretation of what femme and the female gaze is. they literally don't understand it. there is no gender nonconformity, no actual femme coding on any of these characters; what you mean by "femme" is they wear makeup and maybe high heels.

media hates lesbians. butch rep is utterly abysmal, and I'm begging y'all to reframe how you look at what rep we do have, because continuing to call what they give us "femme" is a disservice to lesbians. straight people do not understand that there are different ways to be a woman or perform femininity, so all we get for lesbian rep are straight women and straight interpretations of lesbians, not femmes. please don't disrespect lesbians by acting like any of what we get qualifies as rep for butches and femmes, because it doesn't, and it won't without direct queer involvement because straight people are incapable of understanding what we are or even look like.

1,403 notes - Posted June 4, 2022

#3

amab people can dress masc and be gnc and afab people can dress fem and be gnc and yall really need to get this thru ur skulls bc u seem to think "gender non conforming" refers to agab and not. you know. people's actual gender

7,367 notes - Posted June 15, 2022

#2

the tumblr discourse brainrot that had ppl reading the phrase "gender essentialism" and sped them past actual gender essentialism just to arrive at "no critique of men ever feminism is over unless you're a terf."

y'all really need to start getting education off this fucking website bc I'm sick and tired of y'all not grasping basic shit only to take nuanced terms out of context just bc they're trending.

8,519 notes - Posted June 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I'll never forgive tumblr for being so quick to shit on the concept of "queer platonic" relationships bc even outside of asexual/aromantic relationships, the bond I've shared with other queer women in a non romantic, non sexual way has been wildly different and more intimate than any friendships I've ever had with cishet people, even when we're not as close as my cishet friends. the fact that y'all were like "relationships are strictly within these categories there is only familial, platonic, sexual, and romantic" like yall pls 😭 queer connection and bonding is so much deeper and more complex than that. get offline and connect with some of your community i beg

28,085 notes - Posted June 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[snekdood]

Ive heard some people say that "masculinity is the default for everyone so thats why people dont recognize you as your assigned gender" and idk i gotta disagree?? Masculinity is the default, yes- but is it the default for everyone? Id say its the default for what the default type of person is considered, which is often a cishet white man. The default for those whom have womanness pushed on to us is dresses and heels. I am subverting expectations somewhat when i dress in pants and a button up shirt, but thats old news, thats what feminists did back in the day, however, its that exact association- the association with the cis girl feminists who rebelled against the norm, thats been locked in with ppl afab. When i wear pants and a pixie cut and act more masculine- im seen as a subversive, cool, hip, feminist woman. Thats the most that im allowed. Its not the default for afab people, but its accepted at this point, and is now more or less a default clothing style for everyone however its originally designated for the "default", cis men. If it were the end all be all default, though, we wouldnt still have tradwives about, now would we? Plenty of people still think women should be in the kitchen wearing dresses with their mouths sewn shut. That is still the default many people *want* me to end up in. So now, me wearing pants is just me being "a rebellious woman". That is the two extremes to many people and they only ever allow themselves to see me on either end of each spectrum. They never allow themselves to see me creep over to the spectrum of man. Im only either a traditional woman or a woman thats "trying to be different" to them. Unless im capable of passing as a man and they dont know im trans by default and i have to reveal it to them for them to realize "women" can become men, but id think only extremely passing trans guys could ever get away with that, and even then, when they find out, theyll start eyeing you up and down and pretend to notice parts of you that actually reveal that you're afab, in spite of not seeing it there before, as if i said the magic words that suddenly *unveiled* my "disguise". And once again im locked in the role of woman for them. And once you're locked in that role for a lot of cis men, you cant get out of it, because theyve found a million excuses to not listen to anything "women" say. You minus well be mute. Ive only ever been treated like a human by cis men like this when they dont know that im a trans man and think im cis too.

No matter how hard i try to prove my masculinity, when i dress as a man people have to dismiss it as me being butch. I can never be a man but just a female version of whatever man they think im trying emulate. Im a masculine man? Then im a butch. Im a sporty man? Then im actually just a cool tough tomboy sporty girl actually. Im an expressive and artistic man and it shows in the way i dress? Then im just an eccentric alt woman whos more willing to bend my gender expression. I can never just *be* a man. I only get to be the "female" version of whatever man they think im trying to be. Im allowed to dress like a man, im even allowed to be a butch woman in plenty of cases for cis men, but im never allowed to actually identify as a man. They see it almost as me playing pretend and playing dress up when i dress masc and when i cross over that border of manhood then suddenly i crossed over into accepting my life as being a half goat demon man or whatever. Suddenly thats when things get serious and its code red and everyone has to hit the deck and start doing their best effort to get me to Not start identifying as a man and stop living as if i am and stop trying to get ppl to recognize me for who i am. Im allowed to dress however i want insofar as people can think im just playing pretend.

And bc its old news for afab people to wear pants n shit, I also sort of feel like a lot of cis people see amab people becoming feminine as more dramatic of a change than it is for someone like me to be masculine, which makes me seem like a tomboy or whatever to them. Me dressing with pants and button ups and such is seen as this ~whatever~ thing because im allowed to explore my gender expression so long as i dont try to claim to be an entirely different gender. However, since it is such a dramatic shift for amab people in cis ppls eyes, and because masculinity is seen as so prized, people will assume that if an amab person decides they want to be a woman then that means she really means it, because "no truly masculine man would do that" or whatever.

[angelsaxis]

i agree w u that we need to be way way more critical abt shit like makeup and plastic surgery wherein "freedom of choice" is just leaning into patriarchal white-centric ideals of beauty etc. but i think freedom of choice is still impt in other aspects like life goals and saying that choice doesnt matter as much as fighting patriarchy in all aspects seems a little off to me? like if a woman happens to want kids, which is a gendered expectation, then by your post's standards, she isnt fighting the patriarchy. if she chooses to stay at home and watch the kid because thats genuinely what fulfills her more than a job and is fortunate that her spouse wants to and can financially support her, thats also going to be considered not feminist simply because she isnt doing the opposite of gender norms, according to your post. same goes for if a woman wears gendered clothes? has a job like childcare teacher, nannying, nurse? i dont like the idea of defanged (and largely cishet white abled) feminism as much as you, but acting like all forms of freedom of choice that conforms to gender norms is inherently bad strays really close to political lesbianism ideology wherein even choosing to be romantically involved with a man becomes traitorous. because dating men Is a gender norm. short of being a radfem, there is a line where we recognize that choice does matter because otherwise, the act of dating a man in itself plays into gender roles and expectations.

i just think theres a bit more nuance. i.e. genuinely further normalizing hurtful rhetoric/ideas (which makeup and plastic surgery do) should be looked at critically and i personally think we ought to abandon aesthetic surgeries n makeup for the sake of simply fitting into beauty standards all together. i also think that people will always have innate preferences. mine is towards counselling and psychology- is it unfeminist to go into a field that is woman dominated? must we let go of all freedom to choose to do "the most anti-patriarchy thing possible"? i feel like more nuance is necessary or we fall into traps for ourselves and actually end up stifling other women. like women who dont want to go into male dominated fields because its rife with sexism. like women who genuinely want kids with a man. like women who dont have the capacity emotionalmy or physically due to disabilities to work the jobs they are qualified for and so they choose to be homemakers. or even trans women who choose to do makeup because it saves them from transmisogyny. like yes, absolutely we need to critique where some preferences come from because, like with beauty standards and diets and skincare and fashion/makeup trends, some of them can be genuinely harmful to others (especially young girls who are exposed only to manicured picture-perfect bodies and faces). but at the end of the day, sacrificing All individual preferences will not make women happier, healthier or freer. and i mean this for ALL women.

yes I agree that nuance is important! that post is only a few paragraphs long and I made it in a moment of anger--so please nobody think that when I went into it, I was thinking that any conformity to a gender role is worse than death itself lol. like im literally in cornrows and a woman's shirt now.

that's why i always make the distinction between feminist action vs nonfeminist actions, rather than IDing as a feminist and then taking all the things I do as either qualifying or disqualifying me as a feminist. There's women who, for any reason, choose to be homemakers rather than work. Is that a valid choice for them? Yeah! Is it a feminist action? In my personal opinion, no--but is it wrong? Hell no. It's just that, on the list of things that a woman might say are things she's done to dismantle the patriarchy, being a SAHM/homemaker wouldn't be on the list. That's not a bad thing. We can't live our lives wholly dedicated dismantling something to the point of our own self destruction (and considering how deeply gender roles run--even down to social interactions--this would be impossible, anyways). that's where liberal feminism and choice feminism are in the wrong--it's ID first, and then the belief that as along as she's a woman Doing What She Wants, she's fighting the patriarchy (in lots of ways this is the case, but in lots of ways it definitely isn't). so a woman ends up saying its a totes feminist thing to like. actively support plastic surgery and the harmful makeup culture. rather than admitting that those are things that a feminist can do that don't make her not a feminist, but that definitely aren't feminist actions.

(I think most of the people reblogging that post understood as much, considering how there's any number of folks reblogging that who are women w long hair or wearing bras or doing something else that's a gender role and thus supported by the patriarchy)

My beef is with the pushing of personal empowerment over liberation from the thing that makes you need to feel empowered in the first place--and then acting like that is a win against patriarchy. like in the ideal world, people wouldn't need to wear make up, you know? Like, there'd be no expectation for women of any type of contour their faces and coat their skin and clog their pores and spend dozens or even hundreds every year to look a Specific Way. The fact that trans women have to wear make up for their safety is evidence that we live in a society where women are at risk of facing extreme violence for non-conformity--that's a fundamental change to society that make up, while helpful in a lot of these situations, bandages over. Bear in mind that I'm not saying that trans women shouldn't ever wear make up or anything! Make up as a choice for personal freedom/safety obv varies between women and by situation. It's still a gender expectation that men don't have to face, though.

My post was aimed more at the hardline liberal feminists/choice feminists who truly do think that make up is like. a 100% liberating tool whose acceptance actually contributes to the furthering of women's rights and the dismantling of patriarchy. it was generally directed at the women who call themselves feminsts but don't actually have like. an ounce of anything negative to say about the gender roles that are forced on us from birth. like they keep insisting that there is liberation through conformity as long as you change your mind about it or change the definition of feminism entirely. I don't think anyone's evil or partaking wholeheartedly in the oppression of women by wearing makeup n heels or being a SAHM, but again I know better than to equate a choice (often made under some level of misogynistic social coercion) with like, strives to get women in normally male-dominant fields or boost our representation in government or securing our reproductive rights.

[sin-sidejob]

P L A Y T I M E

JR Scheimpough x Fem!reader

Note: gender neutral pronouns, afab anatomy, and mommy title. Used fem! Guide word to be safe and avoid triggering people or causing confusion

Warnings: nsfw, minors and ageless blogs DNI, sex toys, oral, sexual intercourse, smut, vibrators, dildos, like debauched filth to an obscene degree. Gendered neutral for reader with femme title/name (mommy). reader wears heels and stockings + a garter. No mention of tits or anything beyond readers clothing + mommy + manicured nails. Safe for femme/afab folks. Well not really safe it’s literal NSFW smut, how safe can it be?? Dom/Sub dynamics + begging. JR uses the term mommy for the reader. smut under the cut

Content: This is like if Dante’s inferno was a walk through a sex shop. Like the back of Spencer’s. Trapped Groundhog Day style in an Adam & Eve commercial. this is just JR getting fucked to jesus until his holiness shoots JR back to hell. Also, heavily inspired by @jrdickconnoisseur ‘s art on their twitter. Like very heavily inspired that shits phenomenal

Those who shoulder the burdens of the world require the most thorough of rest at unfortunately rare opportunities. And, as seen alone by the name of his yacht, Atlas Shrugged, JR is one of those who’s needs are more simple than assumed, and yet, so much more than you had ever expected. Getting him to relax, to ease away the taut knots in his shoulders and the furrow in his brows, lull him to contentment, takes time and dutiful attention and care. Rest and relaxation or tender love and care weren’t phrases familiar to JR. He lacked that compassion and adoration.

Until you came into his life.

You were so much more than you had ever seemed, all of his assumptions that he had made about you tossed away to corrode and rot in the grass before nature seasons conquered that too. Ethereal and potent, sleek and almost unnatural to him. Purely carnal appetite masked behind kind stares and even kinder touches and gestures.

The way you loved him was tender, something plush and honeyed. The way you fucked him was something else entirely.

You had an innate ability to render him useless and limp, like a ragdoll, limbs weighted down and anchored to gravity’s pull after you’ve fucked him dumb and milked him dry, lowering his IQ points all the while. Draining him empty and pumping out every last drop from his ball, have his cum drip and splatter against fresh-pressed pinstripe slacks and the base of his taut, silken vest with the white dots of his spunk marking the black fabric like an elementary art class’s take on Jackson Pollock’s works.

Master artisan you were, so gifted with your hands.

His favorite moments with you, under you, in you, revolved around your impeccable knack for tending to him with open palms, smoothed and soft, and turning those manicured nails against him. The way those painted fingernails glinted like justice in the low light of the bedroom before wrapping around his throat is a sight ingrained in his brain.

“You like this, don’t you baby boy?” Crooning wickedly in his ear, thrusting the thick, ribbed toy in and out of his puckered hole, lube and your spit drooling from it, “sick little fuck, needing mommy to pound this tight hole until you can’t speak, hmm?”

Nails scrape around the pale skin of his throat as you squeezed the sides, not blocking the airflow but pressing the veins, giving him that delicious delirium in his mind as you thrust the dick further.

“Gotta’ answer me baby, words. I need words baby boy. Or mommy’s gonna’ leave you here dripping wide open like a whore.”

JR keens, back arching while he tries to stutter out a broken, high pitched whine from the back of his throat, faint little pleases pass his lips until your touch and movements fade, feeling the weight of your body lift from the bed, his eyes widening as he lifts his ass up.

“Mommy please,”

The curl of your smile is wicked, dark and cynical, vicious yet bewitching like the slow drip of sugar into Absinthe before it meets the tongue, insanity-inducing and drawing you back in for more. And he was just as addicted.

“I’ll be good- please, just please, wanna’ cum.”

“Awww, darling,”

Crooning lowly, you smooth his hair back, spotting the marks you’ve dotted across his body and rolling hands over them tenderly, with the grace of a pianist ghosting fingertips across the keys, knowing the instrument far more than just places to press but the tender, louder things beneath.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

You yank the toy out from his gaping ass, savoring that almost squeaking shout that flies from his abused, kiss-puffed lips as you do so, his hole clenching around nothing but air. Shushes and coos fly from your lips as you run warm hands across his spine, rucking up his already wrinkled and battered shirt, vest, and suit jacket.

Eying his weeping cock, reddened and angry as it hangs heavy between his thighs, partially obstructed from view with the position and how his pants are barely down to his knees, patience never being one of your virtues, eager to play with it. If you tugged on his engorged shaft, barely ran a fingertip over his weeping and exposed slit, he’d crumble and come undone, literally. Turning, you spoke once more as you diverted your attention to another matter, “Be easy for me baby boy, I’ve got you,”

You step away, grinning as your eyes lock on a thick dildo, silicone soft and solid with the flared edge and the button switches at the base. Turning, teeth glinting in the light as you return behind him and eye the flushed, reddened cheeks and swells of his ass, remnants of earlier standing present and angry on his pale skin. A hand braces at the base of his spine, finding purchase on warm skin while the other settles to spread his cheeks in order to nudge the head of the vibrator at his still gaping hole. You lean down to press a kiss across his spine, hearing JR whine in response, feeling you slide in the flared head of the vibrator and pausing, trying to buck his hips back in order to get more of it in him. “Breathe for me baby,”

“Mommy’s going to make you feel just fine.”

With a flourish of your wrist, muscles rippling in your forearm, you slide the vibrator full-through.

All in one swift thrust, while yanking his neck back by his tie, drinking in his cries and excited noises, you nudge that flared vibrator head near his prostate and listen to JR blubber and whine, drooling nearly a puddle past puffy lips.

“M-mommy please fuck me, m’so close - s’close.”

Gone was the polished and suave business man, a hairs plug away from snake oil slicking him up as he’s managed to reach the near top of the pyramid and his own version of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. A robe-ship looming and orgasm nearing, JR had it all. But you humbled him, always grounding him. Unearthing him from where he felt his soul rotted in the peat and clay, shining him up and polishing him bright.

“Louder.”

He keens, almost shrieking out as you thrust the vibrator fully after sliding it out besides the flared cockhead clung taut around the clenching hole of his you’ve been abusing. He can do better. Your hand smacks against the already bruised flesh of his ass, spotting marks appearing darker where the rings you wore made contact. You’d always be the hand of clarity raising the mirror to the broken soul you dug up and restored. Keep him bright. Keep him begging.

“Please! Mommy please I’ll be so good - so good I promise.”

Warmth leaving his back and waist, you walk around to bend at the waist, clicking your tongue as you brush hair out of his face almost tenderly, affection in the gesture but lacking in your eyes. Cruel irises looking to his dilated, blown wide pupils behind his foggy and askew lenses. Nails glide and tap against his cheek before reaching to grip his chin as the vibrator sits stagnant, unmoving as it hangs from where he’s clenching desperately around the tip.

“But you haven’t been good, have you?” acid lies across your tongue, syrupy sweet and thick like molasses as it spills forth, “taking money that wasn’t yours, when you’ve got,” a hand tightens around his necktie, wrapping it around your palm, “more money than god.” You straighten your hand, crouching to eye level, seeing him in such disarray solely by your hand, “being greedy, and you got caught. Mommy had to fix your problems, clean your mess.”

Straightening, standing tall before him and seeing him maintain position, knowing he’d be worse off if he diverted from him being ass-up in the room, made your sardonic grin return. Fingers curl around the silk and polyester tie in your palm, poised and coiled for timing. “Bad Boys don’t get good treatment, don’t get coddling.”

Forearms flex as you seize the tie and pull taut, seeing his eyes roll back all pretty, him mumbling and whining incoherently, trying to talk his way out of this, to earn your kindness and warmth, work his way to being buried in your pussy.

But, alas, he fucked up. He didn’t deserve your compassion and courtesy let alone your cunt. He stepped the line, JR crossing barriers of ethos you hadn’t expected. Presumptuous and self-centered. He almost got fucked over, ruined.

You’d do that yourself.

Heels clicking against the stone floor of the bedroom, you turn to the other side of him where his waist is bent up to god as if he’d receive some sort of salvation, some forgiveness. This place is not of holy ground, rather for wickedness and sin so debauched even the darkest of souls would turn away. Rookies.

“JR, baby, I expected better of you,” is said softly, disappointment lacing your tone as you readjust your heeled shoes, tightening the straps and smoothing over your stockings that clung tight, “silly little whore, should’ve known you couldn’t do the right thing.” He tries to speak but knows you aren’t in the mood to hear it, burying his face in his arms and keeping his ass raised.

“Don’t worry, after this, I doubt you’d ever do anything wrong let alone disobey.”

A noise of confusion hums forth from his throat before he just about shrieks, a loud cry of your name flying from his lips as the flattened base of your heel not only shoves in the vibrator snugly into his puckering, weeping asshole, but turning it on in the process.

It shakes, loud thrumming filling the room as he nearly buckles and exclaims, shuddering and feeling the vibrations traipse through his body, muscles liquifying and rendering his brain to useless matter.

“Now there’s a good boy.”

The flared base sticks out from his ass, slotted between the globes of his ass and flickers little lights with the one setting. It’s new, unused by him. Familiar with it, you know it’s got three more settings, each stronger than the last, but just knew he wouldn’t go further than the second.

Even if that cock ring, taut around his base, was hindering orgasms that would’ve come much earlier, that next setting when notched against his prostate would have him gushing. Not that he’d know. JR was too far gone, eyes almost permanently stuck rolled back as his lip was tugged between teeth, cock flaring an angry ruddy magenta, nearly purple at the tip, swollen and twitching.

“Promise you’ll be good, no more messing with perfectly competent employees?” is spoken softly, leaning over his back to his ear.

“Yes!”

“No more money laundering and embezzling, sticking to your own funds and assets?” You croon, smacking down against his already bruised ass.

“Y-yes! Please-”

“Just doing your job, and sticking to normal, promise?”

“Yes- fuck, yes! Please!”

Fingers wrap around the base, hovering over the button but not moving a centimeter further while the other nears where his cock hung heavy and full between his thighs, unattended to. Waiting for the moment to release him and let him go, let him cum to you.

“No spending, for a month.”

“Anything- please just, god, fuck me.”

Hands move while you shift back to behind him, an eyeful of the beautiful view of his ass high up and cock close to leaking. “There we are, that’s my good boy, s’almost over,” he whines, wriggling his hips like it would somehow get him everything he wanted.

In a flourish of poised movement, you flip him over to his back, face up and pin his thighs to his chest with you’re forearm while you yank off the cock ring. He nearly cums until you reach down, nudging the vibrator, and flicking your thumb across the button that sends the setting much higher.

JR’s mouth opens wide as he shouts brokenly, voice breaking as he finally cums, eyes rolled back before shutting as his chest heaves. He’s gone, breath rattling as his weeping tip spurts out hot streams of cum, over and over again all across his vest and tie, splattering white thick globs of his spunk. Smoothing hands over the underside of his thighs, keeping his legs spread and stretched wide while he cums, nearly cumming yourself from the view of him nearly passed out, still shooting ropes of cum almost endlessly as the vibrator sends shudders he matches across his body.

You shut the vibrator off, slowly lowering the setting and the potency of the vibrations until it’s completely off, easing it out of his ass to see the gush of lube and spit drip out as his hole gapes wide. Fingers probe inside, minding his sensitivity while you hear him cry and whine out dejectedly as you make sure you didn’t tear or break him before pulling back out and marveling at the sight of your shiny fingers.

He blinks blearily, semen still spilling out as he’s reduced to aftershocks, bursts of cum dribbling out slowly down his shaft and from his weeping, puffy cockhead, to see you smiling softly and offering your fingers for him to suck on as he comes down. JR’s tongue wraps around your digits, breathing faintly through his nose as his eyes, half lidded, take you in while he smiles around your fingers. The other hand, unoccupied, works on removing his clothes as gently as you can, shucking off cum painted articles of clothing to a pile on the floor. After he’s sucked your fingers clean, he tries to lean up for a kiss on shaky forearms that you immediately reward him with, knowing he needed it.

“Hi darlin’, lemme’ go grab something to clean you up with and we can go fix you something to eat.” Is murmured against his forehead, him humming in response as your lips pressed to his heated skin. His dark eyes follow as you saunter away, padding over in stockings and a garter after you kicked off your shoes, humming as you warmed the water over a washcloth in the adjoined bathroom.

“Anything you want to eat?” He hears from you in the bathroom, taking a second to form a coherent thought let alone a response, grinning as he sees you enter, warm cloth in hand while standing in the doorway, and the words finally meet his tongue, smile crooked and sated.

“You on the menu?”

Tags (let me know if you want off): @mrsbretthand @cognitosclowns @radioactivebowtie @mollicutes @bluebaronness @jrdickconnoisseur @cowboylovin @scribe-of-planes

[relax-and-read-on]

May I ask for those precious realistic female primarch hcs for those who remain??

GOD yes. Please accept my very gay gaze

The primarch, if they were afab

Roboute: The cute tom boy next door. Oh my god is she so stupid hot. The softer face with the blond pixie cut??? Yes please. Actually struggling a bit with expectations and presentations. She is very muscular, but she really wish that she could pull out the formal dress and not appear awkward. Or not give a fuck enough and just wear men's ceremonial wear. She's on the fence in how she wants to be perceived.

Rogal: Finally, the butch lesbian that Rogal always was can be OUT!!! Literally almost nothing change with her, personality wise, and yet she is drowning in feral fem throwing themself at her. She does not perform feminity at all, and yet, she is confortable in her female body. Strangely, probably a bit more... Mellow? She understand that she does not conform to society expectation of gender, and is fine with that.

Mortarion: Outwardly, very few difference. But inward.... She hate herself. She's intersex again, and her body is so far from what should be consider "feminity", she cannot handle it. I could see her story changing quite a bit because of those facts. I could see her willingly fall to Nurgle, in a pit of her own deep depressions, and come back anew in her grotesque and beautiful butterfly form, finally feeling herself in her own body.

Angron: Biggest. Rack. Ever. Everyone see her as "broken" and "in need of fixing" but... She's actually a bit saner than in canon here? She try to really focus on using her strength and rage to protects those she care about, and she probably like her astartes a bit more in this au. It's those maternal feelings. Ugly, scarred, and still so prideful. Got HUGE protective vibe for Lorgar.

Vulkan: GOD THE TITS ON THIS WOMAN!!! Huge. Beautiful. Thigh that crush watermelon. Very vague notions of what is appropriate level of nudity, expect to be flashed a few time when hanging out with her. Still shave her head, but wear colorful scarf around it instead. The biggest motherly vibe of the bunch. She probably babysat so many kids back home.

Sanguinius: Did u know that Sanguinius can be even MORE gorgeous?!? Small figer, almost no hips or breast, but her armour give the illusion of an hourglass figure. She would be a lot more careful than in canon, less of an angel of mercy and more of a mysterious desert creature. She has a harsh life of people trying to victimize her, and she will not bow down to any man. Very soft spoken, but still a terror to fight against.

Jaghatai: trans masc. Im sorry but he always hit me as a man, he would proudly declare himself as such the minute he understood things like male and female, and would be very much ready to kill anyone that missgender him. And yet, he is pretty comfortable in his body, and see nothing wrong with it.

Fulgrim: Surprisingly more.... Subdued? She wants to bring the drama and the bedazzle, but she doesn't want to be that woman, so she actually try to keep herself in check. How well that work is anyone guess. The only one insane enough to actually wear heels to the battlefield. Tall, lanky, beautiful, her breast are virtually non existant but she ROCKS a flat chest. Very into kicking men down a few pegs if they underestimate her.

Horus: God. What a beautiful bad bitch. She take an absolute DELIGHT in making men uncomfortable. She's strong and prideful and "not like other girls". Major case of long curly hair, they get everywhere. Expert at taking masculine things and being better at them than all the Boys (tm). Get even more bitches than canon fuckboy Horus. Still turn into an instant disaster lesbian at the view of Sanguinius.

Lorgar: oh that poor, precious, sweet girl. That lil angel. She did not deserve this. The abuse that Kor Phaeron inflicted upon her took a much darker turn, because it's less.... Socially acceptable to hit a girl in public. So he would punish her. In private. You know where this is going. Has a much bigger martyr complex, idolise her siblings much more, because clearly, they are so much more worthy than someone dirty like her. She fall to chaos even harder, seeing it as her salvations. Physically, her body is almost delicate, very small of soft for a primarch.

Alpharius Omegon: Literally no change from canon. None. They already fuck around with gender. Swapping around outies for innies is like, of no consequence for them.

Konrad: one of those that change the least. Still a murder hobo who eat people. Still the same body shape and face. Still the same backstory of abuse and of being left alone in the world. Tho, this time, people would react a bit differently to her, and would be more willing to excuse her. She think they are cowards for excusing her because of something as dumb as her gender. Still fucking Sevatar. Literally nothing change lmaooo.

Ferrus: Second trans men here ayooo! He probably struggled a lot more with his body and identity tho, giving him some severe gender issues for a long time. Happy to be manly now, but probably had a crisis when he met Fulgrim and went "OH GOD WHAT IF SHE DOESN'T SEE ME AS A MAN-", wich was dumb af. Like to joke that he's the only straight person in his entire family.

Magnus: lmao what's a gender. You think amab Magnus was a shapeshifter??? Afab is 10x WORST. Use she/they and change appearance all the damn time. Self identifie as agender. Still over the top in the clothing and hair department, but it gets a LOT more creative this time around. Fulgrim is lowkey jelly. Give no fuck of gender norms.

Perturabo: SHE HAD SUCH A BAD TIME OH LORD. They wanted her to conform to traditional greek society standard for woman and she had to fight for every. Single. Damn. Thing. She was not loved by her father, he was higly embarassed that his most competant child was a daughter. They tried to marry her off a few time. She, literally, strangled all of her husbands on their wedding night, creating even bigger messes. She want to be feminine but associate those things with weakness now, and she fucking HATE Rogal, who gets to be a woman but also do all the Men's Things and it's FINE.

Corvus: I already hc her as a transwoman literally nothing chaaaange lmao. Just her good old regular canon self. She would probably have a bit more pity on Konrad, and even then. Still has a crush as big as Deliverance on Vulkan, this time it's just gayer.

Leman: Probably the most interesting, because I can't imagine the "viking" society accepting very well a feral half wolf teenage girl. She would have ripped up her dress and fough the men. She would have howled her pride and her freedom, not letting anyone or any society truly define her. She would be a mess of wild hair and braids to her hips, of shinning fangs and of joyful agression. She would have seen magic and grabbed it by the throat and used it, as a tool against the men of her planet. She would have been the wild Witch Queen, a force of nature and impossible to contain.

Lion: FAIRYTALE?!?!?? LISTEN THIS IS A FAIRYTALE. A beautiful maiden found in the forest? A fay???? They would have married her off to Luther pretty damn quick, and it would have been quite the awkward union, age gap included. But then, she would have started beating everyone in practice, and guiding Luther, and she would have made him king of the planet, while she controlled everything from the shadow. She would have been queen, and Big E would have showed up, and wisk her away, because that's what fay do.

[wearequeer-andwearehere]

Hi, I hope you're doing well :) I only recently stumbled over your blog and saw the post where you offered advice to people who need it, so I hope it's alright I'm leaving this ask!

I am afab and recently shaved my head for the fun of it, but that sent me into gender dysphoria which I've never experienced before, and I honestly didn't expect that to happen. On some days, I really want to look feminine so I wear heels, skirts/dresses and make-up and I feel great, whereas on other days, the thought of wearing heels repels me and I need to wear something tight to have a flat chest. I don't identify as male though, so I'm questioning if I'm non-binary or genderfluid, but none of it really resonates with me. Maybe I need more time figuring it out? I only know that when my teacher said that there are girls only in my class, I felt insulted, and that instant sent me spiralling lmao. I go by she/they, and have been doing that for a few months now, and I really vibe with it. I don't really have anyone in my life that I would want to burden with this, though 'burden' is kind of a stretch because I am quite calm about the entire thing, I would just like to have it figured out without having to think about it all the time. I hope I didn't bother you with this, and I hope you have a nice day/afternoon/evening/night, wherever you are x

Hi there :D I’m doing okay!! And ofc, it’s totally alright! /gen I’m always happy to answer any questions y’all have about gender and stuff :DDD

Here’s a post on gender dysphoria you might wanna read :DDD It sounds like you are experiencing social dysphoria and maybe physical dysphoria as well. so yeah you’re most likely not cis.

Remember, only way of being trans is being yourself!

Don’t force yourself into labels that don’t fit. You’re not supposed to fit labels, labels are supposed to fit you

There’s nothing wrong with not having a label or using only umbrella labels!

Feel free to experiment with labels! Live your life for one day and say “I am [gender],” try it out for a day or so and see how it feels!

Labels are like sweaters, you can try them on for a bit and see which one is comfiest!

“What makes me happy?” and “what makes me feel truest to myself?” are better questions than “what gender am I?”

The goal of gender questioning isn’t to find a label, it’s to make yourself happy—whether having a ton of microlabels, a few umbrella labels or just going unlabelled!

Happiness is always first priority—happiness first, labels second.

It’s okay to have “contradictory” labels as long as you aren’t hurting anyone

And last of all, take your time. You don’t have to find a label tomorrow or today. It’s okay. Don’t rush, take a deep breath. Maybe you’ll find labels, maybe you won’t! And that’s okay! Live your life and be happy, that’s all that matters

Feel free to look through my #gender questioning tag or send me an ask if you want to!

Honestly my advice is just be happy and everything will fall into place. Try on some labels if you want to, or coin your own! If you can send another ask describing your gender I can see if I can find some labels you might like!

And remember, the entire trans community is here for you, okay? It might seem lonely at times but there is a whole community of people that will love and support you no matter what. 

Maybe try making a tumblr/discord and joining some trans discord servers so you have someone to talk to! Going through questioning on your own can be hard and if you don’t have anyone to talk to irl, online communities are the next best thing!

I hope I could help you out, and I wish you luck with your gender journey :D Lmk if you have any more questions, and have a great day/night :DD