#pretense headcanons

[pretense-pence]

Rufus Shinra Physical Disability Headcanons

So, I don’t know if this is headcanon, partially canon, or canon, but I believe that Rufus, after the events of On The Way To A Smile, is permanently physically disabled. And I decided to write some headcanons about it. 

(For reference, I’m physically disabled. I have chronic pain in my right knee that causes me to have to use a mobility aid. I don’t always use a mobility aid but I do when I’m having a bad pain day. So far, I’ve only used a cane due to the fact that other mobility aids are extremely expensive. These headcanons are based on what I’ve learned from other physically disabled people, along with my own experiences.)

Rufus, if I remember correctly, had injured his foot, ribs, and neck. Due to the fact that he ended up being kidnapped and mistreated multiple times, his injuries never properly healed. And even though he was cured of geostigma, he still had it for a while so it probably took a toll on his body. So, nowadays, he’s left with injuries that aren’t properly healed, chronic pain, chronic fatigue, and all sorts of other issues. 

He doesn’t always use the same mobility aid. On bad days, he’s more likely to use a wheelchair. Or if he’s going anywhere long distance. But on better days, he’s more likely to use a cane or forearm crutches. And, not as often, he does have days where he doesn’t use any mobility aids.

If there’s ever a time where he gets a sudden flare up and he doesn’t have the proper mobility aid with him, he will have one of the Turks, preferably Tseng, carry him. Look, he may not be President of Shinra anymore, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be treated like he still is.

At first, Rufus was really self conscious of his disabilities. In his eyes, they were a weakness. A way of showing that he needs help from others. Which is something he always insisted he didn’t need. It took a while for him to accept that it isn’t bad he needs help with his disabilities.

Actually, this acceptance of his disabilities was because of the Turks. They always treated him like he was the same Rufus. They didn’t look down on him. They still took him seriously. 

In canon, we know that Rufus helps fund the WRO. I like to think that him and Reeve set up a program for disabled people. After the end of the world and geostigma, there was a definite increase in disabilities. So Rufus and Reeve decided to set up a program to help those people.

Rufus, as we see in Advent Children, isn’t afraid to be on the frontlines. Even if he can’t fight the same as he used to, he’s still quite the foe to face. I mean, he jumped out of an exploding building and shot Jenova in the head.

Due to geostigma, he’s developed chronic fatigue. He tends to take short naps throughout the day to help him. Rufus typically takes these naps by laying on Darkstar. 

Rufus tends to keep his mobility aids plain. He never decorates them. This is for a few reasons. One, stuff to decorate mobility aids with is rare to come by. Two, he likes the look of plain things. He wears very basic colors. And three, having a lack of individuality is safer if he ever needs to go out. Most of the world thinks he’s dead and it’s better if it stays that way.

[flowerisherehi]

I’m the first person on earth to make slushynoobz and far cry crossover

I rlly hope the quality isn’t bad when I upload this 😭

[dragonfly0808]

One Year!

so guys, I just noticed that, today it has officially been one year since A Withering Pretense ended!

Can’t believe it’s been so long already!!! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh

Anyway, happy one year anniversary to A Withering Pretense, a work that cost my blood, sweat and tears and is undoubtedly the project I am most proud of so far!

Might post smth in celebration idk, I got a shit ton of homework I am procastinating so maybe

[inanimateinsanitywiki]

trophpep is kind of an epic dynamic now that i think about it..... potential (wo)men who have based their entire identity around their relationship with another character...... much to think about

[sysig]

Some highlights from a tense but still very Winterkov-y scene (Patreon)

[quietwingsinthesky]

I think if timelords bit people to show that they loved them, then nine would bite people in the way that a dog bites a toy it doesn’t want to let go of, teeth go in and he just stays there for a minute holding on. bruises that last a good long while, but he doesn’t ever draw blood. (<- genuine concern because of aforementioned sharp teeth.) it’s something rose has to get used to, after near death experiences and running with their hands clenched tight — and then the doctor will bite her shoulder and hold there and it hurts but not enough for her to protest under the adrenaline. jack does not have to get used to it because jack is on-board with it at once. timelord teeth in his throat plz and thank you <3

ten nips people and nips them hard enough to bleed, but only a little, a quick shock of pain and a scab. he does it to rose lots (except you can look at his face, and oh, does he wish he could still just hold on and never let go like he used to, but it’s different now, he’s different, he’s set a new precedent.) ten nips martha without thinking and then retreats from ever talking about it for days until she makes him. nips her a little more after that, and it makes their reunions after she leaves always a little awkward because he’s not sure if he should? a hug, that’s fine, but can he? (he can. if he doesn’t make a big thing about it.) ten bites donna, and she slaps him. he spends the rest of the week pouting. ten bites donna again, and this time, she bites back. post-adventure bonding is now games of bitey to see who will let go first. (the doctor has the better pain tolerance. the doctor always loses.)

[impercre]

Muse Preview- Irulan

In her girlhood she had read a story of a sea maid who had no soul and instead watched the world from beneath the waves. It had struck her even then that she and her sisters where like those sea maids watching in the waters. Watching the world of their father, the court, only to allowed to surface without a voice.

They had no space to cultivate their souls even if they had one. They were in a sense branded with their father's name, molded in the kiln of their mother and her Bene Gesserit sisterhood for their own ends and the ends of the Great Houses who coveted them like keys to unlocked rooms and unattended thrones.

Need to Knows

Irulan can be a bitch. She definetly has something of a petty streak in her and can come across as fairly emotional for a Bene Gesserit adept.

She's considered something of a disappointment by the Bene Gesserit not only because of the above, her inability to seduce Paul after their marriage but Irulan also has a very strong will of her own. She isn't afraid to push back against her Bene Gesserit teachers.

She is fiercely loyal to those she does care about and extremely protective of them.

On the subject of Paul- YeaaaAAAAaaaah no I don't like the idea of Irulan being in love with Paul given how verbally abusive he is of her in the book. She defects from the BG at the end of Dune Messiah and devotes herself to raising the twins because of Chani. In the book Chani is the one who defends her to Paul and advocates for her. It feels more logical and emotionally plausible for me to go this route. Irulan's decision to defect from the BG is also heavily influenced by her role in Chani's death.

[pretense-pence]

Wake-Up Times: AVALANCHE Edition

I forgot to set an alarm for the morning I began writing this so that’s what inspired this post.

Cloud: He seems like the type to wake up from between 5:30-6:00 am. He was a trooper and they probably had to wake up super early. Cloud honestly also feels like the type to do some sort of workout as soon as he wakes up. 

Tifa: She definitely wakes up at like 6:00 am. And like Cloud, does some sort of workout. Sometimes she’ll workout with Cloud.

Barret: He probably wakes up at like 6:00 as well. He uses that time to clean his gun arm and make sure he has everything ready for the day. 

Aerith: She wakes up at like 7:00 am. She thinks this is plenty early but the earlier risers have to disagree. She also probably doesn’t have that much of a morning routine. She’s just ready to go. 

Nanaki: He wakes up at like 5:00 am. Typical cat/dog behavior. He expects breakfast to be ready at that time. Which is never the case during the days they were chasing after Sephiroth since hotels don’t usually serve breakfast that early.

Yuffie: People think she wakes up late, but really, she wakes up at 5:30 am. It’s the perfect time to train her ninja skills! And steal from her sleeping comrades. Sadly, Nanaki always catches her.

Cait Sith: He’s a robot so he doesn’t need to sleep, but he does have shut down time. Said shut down time typically corresponds with when Reeve is asleep. So, typically, he’s awake at like 6:00 am. Though, it’s not completely unusual for him to be randomly up at 4:00 am. 

Reeve: Speaking of being up randomly at 4:00 am, Reeve’s sleep schedule is kind of fucked. He tries to wake up at 6:00 am but usually is awake way earlier. He’s always stressed so as soon as he wakes up, no matter the time, he’s up. 

Vincent: Either he doesn’t sleep or he’s up at like 3:00 pm. Sadly, the others force him to wake up at 8:00 am if he isn’t already awake. Even if you wake him up at 8:00 am, there’s a chance he’ll find somewhere to nap shortly after waking up.

Cid: He’s up at like 6:30 am. The first thing he does when he wakes up is go out for a smoke.

[the-smut-mongerer]

ɢʀᴇᴇᴋ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴡɪɴɢᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ

a/n: the wings take inspo from maleficent. Colors, and other details are left vague! Feel free to send an ask for any other god for pt 2!

tags: wings, fluff, romance, human? reader, gods, headcanons format. completely gn reader! no gender ever mentioned. Not proof read!!!

characters: zeus, hera, ares, aphrodiate, hephaestus, hermes

Disclaimer: this combines the world of the og Greek texts, blood of zeus, epic the musical, hades game, and my personal view of the gods. this can contain improper or ooc information. I have favorites if it's not obvious.

if you wish to support me please consider donating to my kofi or requesting a commission so I can help feed both my cats and colony cats of my neighborhood!!!

ᴢᴇᴜꜱ

-> loves them, finds that they add on to your beauty. teh strength of your wings impress him greatly, and he'd love to watch you fly. he sometimes likes to fly with you, turning into his bird form so you can race. yes, he will get upset if he loses and zeus tantrum ensues.

-> kiss, kiss, kisses them all the time. not an each of wing is left untouched. he knows where all of your senstive bits are and will use it to his advantage. the spot between your wings is teased relentlessly and often found to be covered in hickeys.

-> he has a painting of your wings and has them placed somewhere on his palace walls and likes to look at it frequently. he makes sure to get one that involves both him and your wings eventually as well. he's adamant that you have your wings around him as your sleep regardless of the position. he enjoys the feeling of your feathers against his skin greatly.

ʜᴇʀᴀ

-> finds your wings to be beautiful. She appreciates them for their appearance and their strength. she can often find herself captivated at the way they move even when idle. she loves flying with you, not to race but to simply relax. she likes to go sight seeing with you, pretty areas you find are often new vacation spots you use to get away from everyone.

-> she likes to touch them, where they connect with your back. the feathers are the softest there, and where your the most sensitive. somtimes she likes teasing you via letting her hands ghost around that area. she also likes to kiss your wings. she often does collect your feathers, adding them to her daily appearance since she wants to both look good(she always does) and have something to constantly remind her of you.

-> she finds it comfortable to be wrapped up in your wings. so please, let her rest against your chest safe in each other's arms as your wings are wrapped around her. blocking the rest of the world from reaching her.

ᴀʀᴇꜱ

-> he's indifferent about your wings, but he's worried about their fragility. at the beginning, he refused to spar with you on this pretense, but that changed when you managed to slap somebody with your wing and send them flying. when you spar, he's still careful and makes sure not to damage your wings intentionally.

-> just like his mother, he also likes to touch them, can quite find them therapeutic when he needs to calm down. he used to be and still is scared of breaking them, he's witnessed how easily his hands can break things and he doesn't want to break you. also because he accidentally pulled a feather out and didn't touch your wings willingly for a while. he doesn't kiss your wings but he smothers his face in them and just chills there.

-> the feathers that shead from your wings get collected for his helmet crest/plume(it's the brush looking thing on greek helms) when he finally acquires enough he'd have them condensed and into a newer helmet that he'd wear to battle.

ᴀᴘʜʀᴏᴅɪᴀᴛᴇ

-> she loves them! quite obsessed with them, actually. she makes sure they're taken care of and beautiful at any hour of day. she usually has a servant take care of them as she watches, making sure they're up to standard or she'd do it herself.

-> she collects your feathers, adding them onto the clothing she wears to show off who she's with. any feathers she can't put into clothes are tucked away in a box for later. don't bother worry the amount of feathers you'd eventually end up with and possibly hiding them. she will always end up finding them and will get upset with you.

-> she likes to sleep in your arms already and the wings are just a bonus. and even when you aren't in bed sleeping, regardless if your simply going about with your day doing whatever. she likes to hide in your wings to avoid her any duties and people.

ʜᴇᴘʜᴀᴇꜱᴛᴜꜱ

-> finds them quite beautiful and interesting. He doesn't worry about the fragility since he has a handle on his strength already. regardless of if you are a warrior or not, he wants to create armor for you. he almost reminds you of a strict seamstress when he takes your measurements.

-> he doesn't really do anything with your feathers aside for using them for a fidget. When he's looking over blueprints or paperwork, he lets himself twist it between his fingers and runs his fingers through it. like he does with his pencils he subconsciously tucks the feather into his ear or into his hair.

-> he doesn't mind being wrapped up into your wings but prefers when you lay on his chest/against him with your wings spread out across the large bed. he likes to run his fingers against the thick bones and feathers as he finds it easier to fall asleep.

ʜᴇʀᴍᴇꜱ

-> wants to race you and is quite impressed if you can keep up but even if you can't, he appreciates the effort. he likes to be held by you and fly with you on his breaks, enjoying your company and the view at the same time. he also would help you take care of them, preening is a new favorite pass time of his.

-> hands and lips are all over the wings. running his hands through them any chance he possibly has as he relaxes. he steals your feathers, he has no use for them but he likes to have them on his long messenger trips to help him feel less home sick. the feather helps him keep his head on his shoulders when he's all stressed out.

-> wrap him in your wings like you'd roll a cat into a burrito. He likes them, and even if he suffocates, he wld be content it. Just like aphrodiate he'd use your wings as cover for when he's hiding away from his duties or people, forcing himself into your arms and having you hide him in your wings as discretely as possible.

[r3starttt]

BEHAVE

PAIRING: Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

SUMMARY: Being her controversial young girlfriend but she's sooo mean about it.

CW: Mean Caitlyn. fingering and public sex if u squint. A mix of Cait act 1 and after act 3 because that eye patch makes her so hot.

A/N: this was a headcanon but it's too long so, enjoy(? also I apologize because this is very self indulgent and maybe it doesn't feel like it's Caitlyn at all but who cares!

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @fakevalentine

* first post of the year!!!! ahhhh praying I can write so much more

* PART TWO

"Do you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?" Caitlyn’s voice brushed against your ear, a velvet whisper laced with reproach as her hands rested on your shoulders. She guided you through the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, her touch light yet insistent. The weight of her name—Kiramman—still carried its unyielding responsibilities. These endless soirées, gilded in pretension, were as much a part of her world as the air she breathed.

You hummed in acknowledgment, your brow furrowing as the opulent liquor in your glass shimmered with each step. The crystal caught the golden glow of chandeliers, creating ripples of light that danced with the cadence of your movements.

"I distinctly recall telling you not to speak to her," Caitlyn said, her voice low but firm, a melody of restrained fury and high-society decorum. And there it was—why she was upset. Her words, precise as a scalpel, made the realization cut deeper.

Jealousy. It wasn’t the first time.

She was a woman molded by singularity, the only child of a family whose legacy loomed large. Years of hard work and calculated poise had shaped her, yet even Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t immune to the corrosive sting of possessiveness. She had drawn comfort from women, and in doing so, learned too much about how easily temptation could unravel the strongest resolves. She knew what could happen when the wrong hands reached for what they desired.

"And I didn’t," you replied, your tone measured but pointed as you placed emphasis on the pronoun. "She spoke to me."

But you knew the defense was weak, the excuse thin. It wasn’t about who initiated the conversation—it was about the way you let it linger, the playful barbs you traded in defiance of Caitlyn’s clear wishes.

"Look at me."

She halted, steering you into a quiet corner where the hallway stood mostly empty save for the occasional passing silhouette. Her grip shifted to your chin, blue-painted nails biting just enough to demand your attention. Tilting your face upward, her single piercing eye—framed by the violet eyepatch that gleamed under the estate’s polished lighting—locked onto yours.

"That woman," Caitlyn said, her tone laced with hate, "will go to any lengths to provoke me. She is petty, immature, and cannot tolerate the fact that I chose you." The emphasis on you was punctuated with a fleeting brush of her thumb along your cheek.

"And why is that?" you countered, tilting your head slightly, an air of defiance laced in your words. You knew the unspoken truths hidden in her gaze, the ghosts of her past lovers lingering in her quiet. You weren’t the first to occupy her bed, but you intended to be the last. Still, the question hung in the air, daring her to acknowledge the vulnerability that simmered beneath her jealousy.

Her posture shifted, the tension momentarily releasing as she let go of your face, her hands finding yours. "Behave," she murmured, her voice carrying a polished warn. "You’re not some foolish girl in need of coddling , are you? Didn’t you insist I treat you like a grown woman and not—what was it?—a 'sweet indulgence,' like those other girls you claim I once entertained?"

Sharp, clever, and unrelenting , Caitlyn always knew how to turn the blade back on you, her wit as honed as the rifle she wielded with such precision.

"I’m merely observing," you replied with a shrug, feigning indifference though the sting of her words lingered. "You seem awfully afraid of some women. Almost as though you know them too well."

Her laugh was soft, almost a scoff, but her grip on your waist tightened. Caitlyn wasn’t one to retreat. Instead, she seized the moment, her free hand taking your glass and setting it on a side table near the staircase alongside her own. Without a word, she led you upward.

The quiet intimacy of the stairwell was a stark contrast to the party below. The golden light softened as you ascended, and with each step, the air between you grew heavier, thick with the unsaid.

Your heels echoed against the polished marble, mirroring hers as you followed her onto one of the estate’s many balconies. Caitlyn left the balcony door ajar, the muffled hum of the soirée seeping through like a distant murmur.

Her lips grazed the delicate curve of your neck, warm and insistent. "Do you know what I used to do?" she murmured, her voice low-- confessional. Her hands found your waist, steadying you as though she feared you might falter under the weight of her words.

"I would take them home," she began, her tone as smooth as the feel of her hands on your skin. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, a possessive gesture had you folding already. "I would ask about their lives, their dreams... enough to slip beneath their guard."

Her lips traveled upward, brushing the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, before stopping just next to your ear. "And then," she continued, her voice a breath against your skin, "I would lean in, cup their necks, let my gaze linger on their lips... kiss them."

As the words left her mouth, she mirrored the act with you. Her fingers glided to the nape of your neck, holding you firm, her lips capturing yours with a deliberate fervor. The kiss was unhurried yet commanding, a declaration rather than a question.

"I would undo their clothes, piece by piece, savoring the soft of their skins." Her hands traveled down, tracing the contours of your frame with reverence until her fingers found the hem of your dress. Slowly, she gathered the fabric, the rustle of it rising in harmony with the quickening beat of your heart.

"I would caress their thighs," she continued, her voice dropping with promise. Her hand slid beneath the folds of your dress. She paused there, letting the silence be filled with the distant hum of the party behind you.

Her gaze met yours again, piercing. She pressed her knee in between your legs, her fingers making small circles over your clothed clit, feeling the fabric damp under her touch. A smile spread on her face, almost a mocking laugh escaping her as her forehead leaned closer to your own. "Yeah? feels good, doesn't it?" Her breath hovering over your lips before you nodded, opening your lips further to try and get a kiss she denied.

"I would love to feel how wet they got... listening those whimpers and the many obscenities spilling through such pretty lips." Her other hand went behind your waist, digging her fingers into you.

Your head tilted down as you got pressed into the railing. Worried that someone might see.

It wouldn't be new to them. Cailtyn had been caught endless times by those working for her or around her- and she couldn't care less. Making her girls go louder each time.

"I loved to hear how they pronounced my name in between gasps." Her wet lips pressed another kiss into your neck. Her hand guiding your hips to move against her leg as she slid her fingers up and down your covered slit.

You held behind onto the railing, using it to impulse your body as you wished against her fingers and her body and just enjoy yourself while using her. Your lips pressed too tightly to not let any sound out.

Your eyebrows furrowed to a point it hurt. Caitlyn made you mad, she knew how to put you in your place every single time.

"Be a good girl and let me hear you, love." She pressed herself closer to you again, her fingers busy with your wet. She had minutes that felt endless just rubbing at your clit over your clothes, providing you the friction of her knee against your cunt or her fingers over your hole- teasing to pull your panties aside and fuck you-- But that was it.

And maybe all of it had you falling for her one last time. Opening your lips to moan and whimper against her own. She wanted the show and if she asked so nicely why would you deny her?

But just as you felt like maybe there could be a way to convince her to fuck you like you wanted, she stopped. It was almost too abruptly it hurt.

"Go to the bathroom and compose yourself," Caitlyn instructed. Her grip tightened on your chin, tilting your face upward with a practiced ease that left little room to argument. The intensity in her eyes was an unspoken demand.

"I will not endure the embarrassment of your behavior tonight." The sharp edge of her accent making each syllable bite. Her fingers pressed into your cheeks, just enough to remind you of her control, her authority over this moment. "Your age is already... challenging for me. Do not make me regret this, love. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the motion awkward under the restraint of her hand. A wave of heat prickled at the corners of your eyes, tears threatening to spill, not from pain but from the raw sting of her words. Your voice came out small, broken, as though the very air had been stolen from your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you murmured an apology barely audible, stifled by the weight of her fingers against your face.

"Don't apologize," she snapped, the command as firm as it was cold. Her gaze bore into yours, cutting through your composure. "Just do as I ask. Prove to me that you're capable of being what I need you to be."

Her lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breath warm, intimate, yet void of comfort. "Show me you're worth it-" She paused to make it clear, it was a warn if not a threat. "And never, ever speak to her again. Not a word, not a glance. Or it's over. Is that clear?"

There was no room for negotiation, no softness to temper her gaze. Her words were final. Like anything else around her, it was an unspoken contract you had no choice but to sign.

[dragonfly0808]

Roxy (S4 Sneak Peak)

Roxanne McTyre had always been a bit of a loner.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want friends or that she didn’t like people it was just that… people were difficult. And complex.

And Roxy had never been very good at reading people.

But Roxy was comfortable with being alone. So, for the most part, she didn’t mind the fact that she didn’t have very many friends… or any friends… at all.

She had her pets after all! Her service dog Arthur, who not only warned her when one of her fainting spells was approaching but was also simply her best friend, and whatever animals she managed to convince her dad to let her foster.

Some might’ve thought that she had reasons to be sad but… she really didn’t.

She had her dad, and her dog. She liked going to school and, while she wasn’t very close with any of her classmates, she got along with them enough to do projects in peace and to chat comfortably.

She of course had the Frutti Music Bar, which her dad had opened after retiring as a firefighter, where she loved working, finding the routine relaxing.

And her favorite of all, she had the two animal shelters that she volunteered at, where she constantly found fosters to take home at least for a little while. Though she was yet to convince her dad to let her keep any of the kittens.

She was happy. Okay maybe the tiniest bit lonely, but that didn’t really make her sad. Or at least not as sad as others might’ve assumed.

She liked her life. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it worked. And she wouldn’t really change it for anything.

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ HIGH FASHION ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA As Your Roomate

★ Commissioner: @mrs-potatocat

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You had no idea how renting worked in Dreamland. You tried to offer ENA some rocks and a torn “coupon” for housing payment. She accepted with a businesslike handshake, then later taped the rocks to the ceiling as “mood crystals.”

☆ ENA never asked if you wanted to be roommates. She just appeared beside you one day, pointed at a wobbly house that materialized on the shore, and said, “Welcome to our entrepreneurial headquarters. Rent’s due in emotional labor.”

☆ She has a business chalkboard in the kitchen. Most mornings you wake up to her jotting things like “Goal: Catch a fish the size of despair” or “Revenue stream: sell bottled sighs.” You pretend you know what’s happening.

☆ She casually intrudes into your personal space without warning. Like popping up from your laundry hamper or pushing through your bedroom window with a megaphone: “Good morning! Q1 goals are calling!”

☆ Her moods flick like a switch. Sometimes she’ll gently ask if you want coffee with a perfect smile, and two seconds later she’s screaming into the fridge about “THE DEATH OF EGG SUPPLY CHAINS!!!”

☆ You often find her in bizarre states of “relaxation.” One time she sat criss-cross applesauce inside the washing machine because “I need to rotate my anxieties evenly.”

☆ Nighttime is when she gets weirdly vulnerable. Laying on the couch, hat slipping off her head, murmuring to herself things like “Some days… I wish I was just static noise,” before immediately snapping back to pitch you a “start-up idea.”

☆ Despite her chaos, she’s quietly protective. If any other Dreamland entity so much as looks at you funny, ENA’s already intercepting with a sales-pitch so aggressive it borders on threat: “Would you like to invest in a lifetime supply of BACK OFF?”

☆ Sharing the same roof means learning her tics. Like how her Meanie side can’t fall asleep unless the window is cracked open exactly 2.3 inches, or how her red side won’t eat unless you pretend it’s “closing a business deal” over toast.

☆ Slowly, it starts feeling less like survival and more like home. Not because the house is stable (it isn’t) or because ENA is easy to live with (she’s not), but because somehow… you fit here. Like two missing puzzle pieces accidentally jammed into the wrong box.

When You And ENA Are Dating:

☆ ENA immediately made a PowerPoint presentation about it. Titled: “Reasons Why Dating Me is a Fiscal and Emotional Investment.” It included bullet points like ‘frequent hugs’ and ‘unlicensed emotional support during catastrophic events.’

☆ She keeps treating “dates” like business trips. “Thank you for accompanying me on this critical mission to the ice cream stand,” she’ll say while holding your hand like it’s a formal contract.

☆ Her Meanie side gets violently flustered when you’re affectionate. The moment you kiss her cheek, she’s yelling: “STOCKS ARE CRASHING!!! MY WALLS ARE DOWN! MY WALLS ARE DOWN!!!” (while secretly melting.)

☆ At home, she’s unbearably clingy in the softest way. Following you from room to room under the pretense of “supervising home operations,” but really just wanting to lean her sharp shoulder against yours.

☆ She accidentally made you matching “Employee of the Month” badges. (“You’re the best co-founder of this messy heart company,” she said, pressing it onto your chest while you tried not to cry.)

☆ Arguments are surreal and stupidly sweet. You’ll be bickering about who left a portal open in the laundry room again, only for ENA to suddenly grab your hand mid-shout and mutter: “I’m only mad because if you fell into the sky, I’d miss you.”

☆ Her Salesperson side plans “business retreats” that are just beach days. Setting up towels like “negotiation tables” and trying to teach you how to build a sandcastle shaped like a quarterly report.

☆ Her Meanie side has a special nickname for you now. She only uses it when she’s feeling too much at once. (Something stupidly intense like “Captain Foolheart” or “Top-Grade Dreamlander.”)

☆ Some nights, you both sit on the roof together. ENA lets her hat fall to her lap, and you both watch the neon moons turn inside out. She tells you, in a voice heavy with the red side’s warmth, “I never thought I’d find someone who understands the wrong parts of me too.”

☆ Living together used to feel like a gamble. Now, it feels inevitable. Like you were both tossed into existence not to be lonely chaos, but to be…each other’s slightly broken, slightly brilliant, slightly ridiculous home.

[horny-marbles]

I would love to see your headcanons for who's the most to least likely to sub for their partner! Whatever characters of your choice <3

hii!! this was honestly so fun to write :P these lowkey are kind of like a scenario split into hcs, idk why but that's just how my brain decided to go about it lol.

they're in order from most to least likely to sub :P also the prompt i worked with as a base for these is basically the reader bringing it up to them while in a relationship. i found it worked better than just writing who would do it voluntarily (because they wouldn't i'm afraid 💀). also also, gn partner!

enjoy!! <3

Creepypasta Submissive Headcanons (NSFW)

CW: dom/sub dynamics, a bit of brat taming?, degradation, a bit of bondage, spit, orgasm control/edging, dubcon at the end, oral (giving and receiving for both the characters and the reader), slight mention of trauma but nothing explicit

BEN Drowned

모 sex with him is generally you centric because he's always geeked off that grass and uses that as an excuse to be lazy and lay back while you ride his face and use his dick—he gets off anyway, so might as well let you do the work under the pretense of "Yeah babe you can use me, empowerment or whatever."

모 so when you bring up domming him, he doesn't even think twice about it. goes into it thinking it's just regular sex but on steroids. not because he's blind to what it means—he's been inside the internet, he's seen shit—but because it's you. and what will you do.

모 there would be a tiny brat-dom dynamic by default because, yeah he's down for whatever you bring up, but he cannot take it fully seriously. kind of difficult to do that when you're baked like a pastry.

모 you want him to address you with a superior nickname? "yes ma'am/sir/master" but he's rolling his eyes and sporting a shit eating grin the entire time because he thinks it's comical.

모 you demand that he doesn't jerk off unless you tell him to? definitely does it when he's nose deep between your legs just to see what you do about it. "What?? It's muscle memory babe, don't pretend it's not hot."

모 genuinely huffing and puffing if you tied his hands behind his back and edged him as punishment. talking shit up until the point he's twitching and rutting in the air when you stop touching him. then it's:

"Holy shit, OKAY I'm sorry, fuck, I'm sorry, just— babe-master, I'm getting dick cramps, come on,"

모 refuses to beg for about 10 seconds total. the moment you tease him again, "Ohhh my fucking god, please fuck me, please, I can't take this anymore, PLEASE make me cum".

모 balls deep inside you and choking on mindless thanks, making these broken, indignant whines if you told him to slow down.

모 all in all, however, he would be into it more than he expected. it doesn't become default freaky time because he does not have that kind of energy, but when it happens again, he'd lay off the brattiness.

모 aftercare is basically non-existent. he doesn't need it, he would just spark up again and hop on the game, but if you felt like you needed it, it would be more quality time than cuddles.

Toby Rodgers

𓌏 he's lowkey a closeted switch disguised as a feral fuck machine so when you bring it up he gets lowkey defensive, he feels CLOCKED.

𓌏 "What, s-so I don't fuh-fuck you good? That it?" "Is this a con-control thing? You want a-an excuse t-to bully me?" full 7 stages of grief like huh?

𓌏 eventually agrees grudgingly which, in other words, means he was fiending for this shit forever but he never surpassed preteen emotional maturity. so, coming to terms with being bossed around was a project in erosion (thanks Slender).

𓌏 he's acting like a stray dog at first, defenses up so high that you have to break character and remind him it's still just you and if he doesn't like something he can just tell you. didn't even establish a safe word because you thought this was going to fail from the start.

𓌏 it takes approximately 5 minutes of you easing him into it with gentle authority assertion until he melts and starts begging, just like that. you're half-way into calling him a good boy for making eye contact when you asked, and he's already whining.

𓌏 you specifically avoid degradation because you don't wanna push it. however, "Are you gonna be a good boy and stay still while I suck you off?" is exactly the moment where the puzzle pieces fall into place for him.

𓌏 "Yes, I'll— f-fuck I'll be the b-best fucking slut f-for you, please," oh okay. i thought we were— alright??

𓌏 barely a decent slut for you, canNOT stay still, but he tries. kind of. hips thrusting up too excitedly, cockhead ramming so hard in the back of your throat that you basically feel the bruise forming in real time. "S-shit, fuck, I'm sorry— I-I'm sorry, it's a t-tic, please d-don't stop." lies.

𓌏 quickly discovers he likes begging with his mouth full. your fingers, your underwear, you, anything. choking on messy “pl-please, c’n I cum, I’ll be g-good, I swear", so needy you would confuse his pleas for the begging of his victims.

𓌏 hot take or not, slight mommy/daddy kink. obvious reasons.

𓌏 so obnoxiously loud when you start degrading him. "You're that much of a worthless mutt? You can't even take what I give you and you're expecting me to let you cum?" groaning, whining, eyes glassy and mouth snarling like he's in pain, voice cracking when you have a hand around his throat, or a foot on his chest.

𓌏 when you finally let him cum, he sobs actual tears. voice breaking and wheezing from how begging in guttural groans scratched his throat the entire time. spit dripping down his neck from the gash in his cheek. whole body convulsing and tics flaring up like crazy. you can barely even hear the thanks he whispers breathlessly.

𓌏 so quick to clean his cum out of you if you asked.

𓌏 aftercare consists of him completely limp on top of you while you detangle his sweaty hair, muttering little praises in his ear, which he petulantly grunts away like you didn't just reduce him to whimpering mush.

Eyeless Jack

⚉ he's a predator by nature, so subbing isn't exactly something that's ever crossed his mind. but the thing with Jack is, he doesn't just do relationships. if you're partners, you're really fucking special to him, and by proxy he would jump into it just because he's devoted. so, your answer would be a short, certain "...Alright."

⚉ he's surprisingly a very good sport about it. the second you put your hand on his chest and push him down, he goes easy. obedient. no passive aggressiveness, no brattiness, no "I could flip this on you so quick". he just watches you from where he's propped up on his elbows with this unreadable expression like he's waiting for you to take him apart and it doesn’t even bruise his pride.

⚉ doesn’t beg, doesn’t whimper, doesn’t plead. but the second you tell him to stay still and open his mouth, he does. you’ll straddle his chest and he just tilts his head back, mouth parting obediently, waiting for your fingers, your taste, anything.

⚉ he'll sit and take whatever you give him, answers everything with short, respectful answers like it's something sacred. "You like being used, big boy?" "Yes, ma'am/sir." the only sign he’s into it is how fucking hard he gets from just serving you.

⚉ at one point you slap his hand away when he tries to jerk off without permission and he just freezes. like a dog being told to stay. stares at you with wide sockets and says, “...Apologies.” voice low, like it’s actually sincere.

⚉ takes edging mostly unphased, only grunting when you stop to watch his leaking cock twitch helplessly on his stomach. the restraint is borderline terrifying. HOWEVER, by the 5th, 6th time, he's panting, thighs shaking, hips thrusting in the air purely out of instinct.

⚉ you tie his wrists behind his back just for fun, and the moment you straddle him, his whole body tenses like a loaded weapon. he doesn't dare move until you tell him to. when you finally lean back and put your hands on his knees for leverage while riding him—bouncing, relentless—he jerks his hands against the ties, teeth bared in a hiss.

⚉ doesn't need praise, didn't react to it the entire time, but the moment you start huffing out little "so big, so obedient, such a good fucking toy for me" while he's balls deep inside you, his chest ruptures with a growl.

⚉ the only real, shaken reaction you'll get out of him is when you give him permission to cum. chokes on a growl, snarls "yes, fuck yes, yes—" through gritted teeth and starts pistoning into you from below.

⚉ doesn't need aftercare, but he just lays there with you like he’s resting after a blood ritual. no words. no movement. you curl into him and he shifts just enough to wrap an arm around your waist. breathes in slow, reverent, like he’d let you kill him if you wanted.

Brian Thomas

☹ bringing it up to him in a conversation would go south quickly. sex with him generally feels impersonal and more like a vessel for frustration, regardless of how long you have been together. letting his guard down is off the table.

☹ unless you manage to sneak it into the rare instance where he's allowing himself to relax just enough to soften a bit. where he kisses you slowly while stroking your back under the covers and his body succumbs to your gentleness, instead of crashing his mouth into yours with clenched teeth and shoving his hand in your underwear like fucking you as urgently as possible would take the weight off his shoulders.

☹ starting slow would be the best course of action. gently guiding his face to the side to drag your lips down his neck, feeling him through his shirt while whispering into his skin. "Relax, let me take care of you", "Let me take these off, baby", "Lift your hips for me."

☹ looks at you with these wary eyes and parted lips like he's so torn. but he lets you. lets you undress him, lets you get on top of him to kiss down his chest, down his stomach. lets you lick up his shaft instead of grabbing your hair and guiding you to take him in your mouth right off the bat. even fights himself to keep still and not rush you when you start teasing him.

☹ "So good for me, baby" while stroking from the base up and licking around his tip? he whimpers. genuine, meek, like that's enough to crack him open.

☹ hands will eventually fly to your hair on instinct. you'll grab his wrists and set them down back at his sides, not forcing them down but just holding your hands over them to remind. he wouldn't squirm, but he would tense. and "be a good boy for me and i'll give you what you want, okay?" is enough to get him biting his lip and breathe harder.

☹ the more you give, the more he gives back like it's natural. you take him deeper, relax your throat and let his cock slide down slowly, he groans so deep you can barely hear the "fffuck yes, thank you," but it's there. small and new and unsure, but coming out without resistance.

☹ praise, for anything and everything, and he melts into a puddle of breathy moans and shaking thighs. "Look at you, you look so fucking good on your knees for me" and his eyes would roll back in a muffled whine.

☹ surprisingly self controlled when you tell him just how to fuck you, but he's panting in your ear like it's painful not to pound into you when you keep him moving slowly. "F-fuck, you're so tight, please, just a bit... just— let me fuck you proper, please."

☹ does NOT take edging easily. crumbling by the second time he starts getting close, bucking up into your hand and sweating bullets.

☹ looks damaged when you let him cum. eyes wide, brows pinched together tightly, mouth wide open and slack and nothing coming out, like you punched the air out of his lungs.

☹ aftercare is silent and sticky with tight hugs and noses buried in each other's shoulders. won't say it out loud in a million years, but it felt cathartic.

Tim Wright

⦻ takes a LOT of convincing, a lot of reasoning, you even almost resort to making a google slideshow for him. however, it's clear from the get go he's not fully opposed to it with the way he's smirking every time you start your "hear me out" rant. he just wants to watch you reason with him just to fuck with you a little. mind games™

⦻ agrees EVENTUALLY. and he's deceptively composed when he gets on his knees for you. deceptive little grin when you spread your legs and pull him in. something's wrong.

⦻ "Tim." "What?? I'm on my knees, no? Ain't you supposed to call me a good boy?" before he dives in with his entire mouth right away. latches on and sucks like he's trying to prove something.

⦻ "Hm? Easier? Should've specified." "Maybe you should get rougher with me so I listen. C'mon, you wanted this, do I have to teach you?"

⦻ you do get rougher. yank him off you by the hair, hold him there and jerk his head while you scold him. he just looks up at you with low eyes and a sharp, toothy grin, like he's completely unphased by the sting but loving you getting riled up.

⦻ makes a show of jacking off after you specifically demanded that he doesn't, moaning a little extra when you slap his hand off his dick. "Shit, yeah, punish me baby, I've been sooo bad. Maybe you should tie me up too."

⦻ ends up cuffed for maybe 5 minutes while you alternate between fisting his cock and slapping it, before he somehow he ends up out of the restraint—maybe he slipped his hands out because you didn't want to be cruel by tying them too tight and giving him rope burn on his wrists, maybe he just undid the knot while you were focused on keeping him on the edge. either way, you end up yanked on top of him mid "petulant fucking manwhore".

⦻ "Come on, is that it? You're giving up that easy?" gives you no chance whatsoever to stop him from shoving inside you from below. it quickly morphs into thrashing for who fucks who, half him sloppily thrusting into you, half you wrapping both hands around his neck and bouncing on his dick while snarling.

⦻ a mess of spit. yours in his mouth, his on your chest, wetting the sheets, somehow in your hair. he looks like he's thriving while you're genuinely frustrated that he flipped it on you.

⦻ "Tim, come on—!" "Come on? Oh, you want me to cum on you? Fuck, ain't you gonna make me beg for it first?" mockery on 100% even though his voice is shaking by the unforgiving way he just slams into you, just challenging you to keep talking, keep trying, keep failing.

⦻ ruined orgasm. you haul yourself up right when he's starting to grunt low and breathless in his throat, over and over like he does when he's close. actually gasps when he starts pulsating and throbbing angry spurts on his own stomach, cock spasming frustrated and his expression so shocked, like you were the traitor.

⦻ no aftercare, only because he's moping that it felt like shit. you're so proud, and underneath all that huffing and puffing, he is too. silently.

Jeff the Killer

꒷꒦ ...right.

꒷꒦ so, you bring it up to him one night, soft and careful and fully aware of how stupid of an idea this is. hands cold, eyes on the floor, voice so meek and shaky he actually goes "HUH?" 3 times before you actually spit it out.

"Have you, um... thought about, like... letting me be the one in charge...? Like, when we fuck?" instant regret.

꒷꒦ he barks at you. genuinely cackling, eyes bugging a little extra, like that was just so hilarious. you're already backpedaling because you know you should've just kept this in the vault and jerked off to it in private instead.

"You wanna dom me? Hilarious babe, fucking hysterical."

꒷꒦ flips it so fucking fast, you don't even have time to open your mouth before he's on you. hand on your throat so tight you can feel your pulse in your temples, eyes sharp and manic and pinning you down. "You wanna sit on my dick and boss me around? Are you out of your fucking mind, bitch?"

꒷꒦ shoves you down at his feet so you fall face down next to his shoes. yanks you up by the hair and slams his crotch into your face, keeping you there until you're clawing at his legs for air. fucks your throat raw like he's trying to shut you up forever, pinches your nose when you start choking as if to punish you for even conjuring up the thought of flipping the dynamic. "Dominant little whore can't take a fucking blowjob?"

꒷꒦ fucks you like he's correcting you, no prep, no lube (unless you count the spit from your mouth already on his dick). ass up, face pushed in the pillows by his foot on the back of your head.

꒷꒦ "You need to have the stupid fucked outta you? Huh? Say you're stupid. Say 'that was the stupidest shit I done ever said in my life'." "I'm— I'm sorry, I—" "Say it or I'll fucking beat it out of you."

꒷꒦ you do not bring it up again. or maybe you do.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

ღ sukuna —sex headcanons

1. utter domination

There’s no pretense. No gentle start. Sukuna owns you the second he lays hands on you and he makes damn sure you feel it. “You’re mine now. Try and keep up.”

2. brutal, punishing thrusts

He fucks like a curse. Hard, fast, deep. And your body aches for days. He likes hearing you sob his name, gasping that it’s too much, only to shove deeper and growl, “You’ll take it. You’ll take all of me.”

3. two mouths, four hands - no mercy

The tongue on his stomach? That thing licks and sucks when he’s balls-deep inside you. Extra hands? Pinning you down, holding your throat, playing with your nipples all at once. It’s overkill in the best way.

4. gets off on fear

He lives for the way you tremble. The way your breath hitches when he smirks and says, “Scared, little one? You should be.”

5. corrupts you completely

He wants to ruin you. Mind, body, soul. “A good girl, turned filthy for me,” he sneers while you’re spread beneath him, dripping, moaning, broken.

6. chants your name like a threat

He doesn’t moan. He snarls your name over and over like a vow. “You belong to me. Say it louder.” If you don’t? He’ll make you.

7. feral possessiveness

No one touches you. No one looks at you. If they do? He’ll fuck you in front of them just to prove you’re his. “Let them watch. Let them see what they’ll never have.”

8. bites like a beast

He marks every part of you - shoulders, thighs, chest. Leaves you bruised and bleeding with his teeth. And he purrs when he sees the damage.

9. praises you like a god worshipper

When you finally take him all, when you shatter under his control, he slows just enough to whisper, “That’s it, little one. My perfect, ruined thing.”

10. doesn’t do aftercare unless he’s obsessed

And if he is? He’ll cradle your trembling body, licking blood and sweat from your skin like it’s sacrament. “You survived me,” he’ll murmur. “Maybe I’ll keep you.”

[imperishablereverie]

KOOK!ART HEADCANONS

pairing: kook!art donaldson x pouge!reader

𓇼 ·⠀· art is the kind of kook who seems like he has it all—generational wealth, beach houses on both sides of the island, and the kind of charm that makes moms want to feed him and dads want to mentor him. 

𓇼 ·⠀· beneath the polished image, art is quietly at war with himself. he plays the role well: parties, surfside bonfires, midsummers. but he often feels like a visitor in his own life. especially among the other kooks, who are mostly about image, money, and dominance.

𓇼 ·⠀· you met unintentionally. it was just another night on the beach where he ditched a charity dinner early and took a walk to escape the noise. you were sitting in the sand alone, hair wild from the sea air, completely unbothered by the world around you. he didn’t say anything at first, just watched. something about you didn’t belong and he liked that.

𓇼 ·⠀· you aren’t a kook, not really. maybe you’re a pogue, maybe somewhere in between, but you live without pretense—and that shakes him. you say what you mean, don’t bow to money, and don’t care if your clothes match or your car stalls. you’re all instinct and gut, and he loves it.

𓇼 ·⠀· he starts finding excuses to be where you are, claiming he wants to "experience the real outer banks." you roll your eyes the first time he says that, and he laughs, but he still shows up. 

𓇼 ·⠀· he’ll offer to help you fix your bike, even though he’s never held a wrench. when you invite him to a bonfire with your friends, he’s awkward at first but earns their trust faster than he expected. turns out, under the country club polish, he’s just a boy craving realness.

𓇼 ·⠀· he’s not proud of it, but he keeps your relationship quiet in the beginning. kooks don’t date “down,” and he knows the kind of backlash he’d face if he was seen with you. not just from his friends, but from his parents, who still measure success by marriage prospects and family names. you find out when you spot him at a club event, smiling beside a kook girl his mom has been pushing onto him since they were thirteen.

𓇼 ·⠀· when you you call him out? he doesn’t deflect. he listens. that’s the night he shows up at your place barefoot, hair a mess, eyes soft. no driver, no excuses. he kisses you like he’s never kissed anyone before. and from that point on, he doesn’t hide you again.

𓇼 ·⠀· he’s not the type to fight someone at a party or key someone’s car. he's a little too timid for that. art protects you with his presence—an unspoken signal that you're off limits. he won’t start drama, but he’ll stand in front of you when someone sneers, and he’ll shut down his kook friends with quiet, lethal words when they make offhand comments about pogues or “people like you.”

𓇼 ·⠀· he listens to your stories, your opinions, your anger. when you rant about the class divide or how kooks ruin the natural beauty of the island, he doesn’t try to fix it or argue. he just takes it in. 

𓇼 ·⠀· sometimes he looks shaken, like he remembers you go against everything he was ever taught. other times, he looks like he finally understands why he’s always felt like something was missing.

𓇼 ·⠀· the first time he invites you to a party, you're hesitant. kooks and pouges don't mix, it's basic logic. but he promises he'll be by your side the entire night—a promise he keeps. he holds your hand and introduces you as someone important. the kooks don’t know how to handle you, and you don’t care. you notice the way art watches you the whole night—protective, proud, maybe a little in awe. you fit into his world like a storm rolling into a sunny day—unpredictable, powerful, and impossible to ignore.

𓇼 ·⠀· art starts talking about leaving outer banks. not because he wants to abandon his life, but because for the first time, he sees another way to live. you challenge him. you make him think. he confesses he doesn’t want to take over the family business. he wants to start something of his own. maybe a surf shop or a nonprofit for underprivileged kids on the island. something that means something.

𓇼 ·⠀· one night, you’re lying on his family’s yacht. the stars gleam above, his arm rests under your neck, and he whispers that if you asked him to run away with you tomorrow, he would. you believe him.

𓇼 ·⠀· art is composed in public—shy, poised, a master of masks. but behind closed doors, he’s something else entirely. he leaves notes in your bag with maps to secret beach spots. the notes are always something along the lines of "MEET ME HERE AT MIDNIGHT AND WEAR THE SUNDRESS I BOUGHT YOU. PLEASE. -A." when you fall asleep on him during a movie night, he doesn’t move—even if his arm goes numb. he brushes hair from your face gently, like you're some beautiful sacred being and he's worried he'll break you. you call him out when he’s too guarded, and he lets himself crumble with you, because you’re the one person he doesn’t need to impress.

𓇼 ·⠀· by the end of summer, the kooks don’t really know what to make of him anymore. he still dresses like one of them, still shows up at parties and fundraisers—but he’s different. he speaks up more. he pushes back. he spends more time in the cut than in figure eight.

𓇼 ·⠀· people whisper. some say he’s throwing his future away. some say he’ll realize far too late. but when he looks at you—sun kissed, salt laced, free—he knows he’s never been more certain of anything in his life.

taglist: @fwaist @pittsick @cowboyfaists @manipulatemedonaldson @nozhdyved

[yrenesbrainrotss]

Can you write a small fanfic/headcanons on ENA elevator operator x reader? Maybe even a little hint on NSFW if it's not too much trouble? (I apologize, English is not my native language)

A/N: This was so much fun to write susjsjjaja. I think i went overboard with the little hint on nsfw but oh well.

•Warnings : NSFW content ahead!!

•Reader pronouns : Female

•Summary: ENA gives you exclusive treatment.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

The grand hotel lobby buzzes with low murmurs and clinking glasses.The hotel is almost full tonight, the waiters are running around eager to please every customer that arrives and the tables are all occupied. A soft melody plays from the speakers placed around the room, setting a nice cozy but jazzy atmosphere.

You almost drag your tired feet across the golden and white marble floors, passing the dark oak bar buzzing with customers, making a lively atmosphere with their cheerful chatter. You groan and clutch your purse closer to yourself and try to distinguish the abstract shapes and colors of the busy lobby..maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much with your friends..

You exit the loud room and take a left path to the elevators as the jazz music fades,where— as expected— your usual acquaintance is waiting eagerly for your presence.

She tips her hat and welcomes you inside the polished vintage elevator with a mysterious smile on the right side of her red split, revealing only a bit of her sharp teeth.

She stands poised in a crisp, form-fitting red uniform, adorned with gold and white buttons and small pins—cap tilted just so, gloves pristine white, and lips painted a dark red that borders on dangerous. Her triangular eyes lock with yours as the ornate gates shut behind you with a satisfying clang.You’re the only one riding.

“Going up?” she asks, her voice a sultry purr under the hum of the old gears. You only nod and without another word she presses the button with her gloved finger laced with deliberate slowness, glancing sideways at you.

You glance at the velvet floor as the elevator rises—there are shapes shifting on the burgundy material and you squint your eyes trying to decipher, however not for long because you suddenly become aware of the closeness of another presence in the small space—a heavy atmosphere pressing against your chest and the stuffy air around you— as she moves her white gloved hand on your chest at the pretense of ‘adjusting your collar’.

“You’re the last ride tonight,” she whispers. “Sometimes, things move… slower after midnight. Fewer stops.”

The lift halts—not at your floor. Not yet.

She smirks, locks the controls.

“Private service,” she says, voice lower now. “Hope you don’t mind a little overtime.”

Her breath fawns over your cleavage and your body responds with a hitched breath—she chuckles and inhales your perfume.

“Hm..you changed your perfume? Quite a novelty for you to be so…experimental.”

ENA’s gloved hand travels from your exposed lower back to the nape of your neck teasingly,using only the tips of her fingers. The hairs on your skin rise forming goosebumps and you almost shudder if it weren’t for your attempt at suppressing it. She kisses the soft spot at your clavicle and grazes her glossy lips to your right shoulder pressing another wet kiss.

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. “You always take this elevator. Always so… polite.”

The last gap of space between your bodies closes when she grabs your lower abdomen and pushes your back against her own,her hands explore every inches of your body, from your thighs exposed through the slit of your dress to the curves of your hips and heaving ribcage and the cut of the black,silky material that reveals the center of your jewelry-covered chest, showing a small part of your breasts.

The brunette trails one finger over the exposed skin and rests her cheek on the space between your shoulder and neck—relishing in the way your disoriented self reacted— and when it reaches lower dipping under the silky material her palm squishes your soft skin,kneading it in a satisfying manner. You lean your head back supporting it on her chest and your lips part to for a small moan to slip out.

Her other hand, that was pressing you against her form, ghosts over your skin and settles on the centre of you neck—making a nice replacement for a necklace— as the tip of her index finger turns your head towards her.

She looks into your glassy eyes. “I’m off-duty. And I take special care of passengers who ride alone.”

The air feels heavy. Her breath fans your parted lips, and the tension between you could snap steel cables.

Her gloved hand guides you to her awaiting mouth by your neck as she pulls you down into her kiss—hot, commanding, laced with months of bottled-up hunger. ENA’s lips taste faintly like cherry and mystery and the tip of her tongue prods your now abused lips. When you don’t respond her attempt at exploring your velvet mouth, she uses her thumb to part your lips herself, slipping her wet muscle inside. She steals the air out of your lungs,not parting even when you tap her arm.

She breaks away with a low laugh with a string of saliva attached to your tongue, her lipstick now smeared beautifully across your mouth. “I knew you’d taste good,” she whispers. You can only muster up a few breathless whines, and bring your arms to circle her delicate neck.

Without breaking eye contact, she unbuttons her uniform jacket—fast,impatient, as if she needs to find a way too keep you there, with your gaze fixed on her—and only her.Beneath, ENA wears little. Just a silk camisole and a black bra that does nothing to hide how hard her nipples have gotten under your gaze.

She catches you looking and gives you a smug curve of her lips.

“Floor’s stuck,” she says, straddling your thigh, grinding ever so slightly. “Might as well… make use of the time.”

Her hands are no longer gloved,you don’t even know when she took them off.Bare fingers now trace down your chest, reaching your groin, covered with a small layer from your black stockings.She rips them open exposing you black lace panties,the loud tear sounding in the confined space. Your body responds instantly, pressed up against the velvet-lined wall as she takes off her hat and places it on your head before sinking to her knees, a wicked look sparkling in her eye.

She doesn’t rush. She wants you desperate.

“This elevator’s seen a lot,” she purrs, nuzzling just above your waistband. “But not this.”

Her sharp clawed finger drags your soaked panties to the side, revealing your glistening heat—you flush red and avoid her knowing eyes.

Her mouth meets your pulsating heat, prodding the entrance with the tip of her tongue—teasing, tasting and kissing all the exposed flesh.You tangle your fingers in her midnight colored hair and bring her closer,almost grinding into her face when she suckles on that bundle of nerves that makes your eyes roll and jaw fall slack.

Endless praises and struggling blabbering falls from your lips, and your leg finds its place over her shoulder,encasing her whole—slurping and humming, whines and cries fill the once silent elevator room, and the rush of the whole thing excites you even more.

ENA’s lips leave your aching core and leaves you confused before pushing two of her red fingers into your wet cunt, the muscle wrapping snugly around them. You cry out in pleasure and sink your nails into her scalp,she doesn’t even flinch—instead her tongue sticks out once more to gather your leaking fluids.

The squelching noise of her fingers moving in and out of you would have made you want to bury your head in the dirt if it weren’t for the dizzying ecstasy you felt at the moment,combined with the buzz of the alcohol in your veins.You buck your hips into her face and she uses her sharp hand to keep your pelvis in place in an almost demanding manner, you thrash and whine but she has you locked in place, determined to bring you over the edge, and she does just that. You shut your eyes and arch your back off of the elevator wall, the hand tangled in dark hair gripping the locks and bringing their owner closer to your trembling heat.

ENA doesn’t stop.

She drinks from you—tongue working greedily through your orgasm, sucking your clit until you’re a mess, until your legs nearly give out and you’re begging, breathless.

When it’s done and she has enough.she pulls away licking her lips, glistening with your fluids, a smirk tugging at her split mouth, with her hair all disheveled and her once perfectly ironed uniform crumpled and uneven on her exposed shoulders.

As the elevator jolts to life again—long, long minutes later—your clothes are a mess, your hair is sticking out from all the possible angles and her lipstick is smudged everywhere, on your mouth and neck, and your legs feel like they’re made of smoke.

Your ripped thighs do nothing more than show more of your messy state, but luckily it’s too late for anyone to wander the halls of your private floor.

The raven haired woman stands, smoothing her red pants with grace like nothing happened and hands you a ridiculously small napkin that doesn’t even wipe the lipstick off of your pristine skin as it only smudges it further.

“Your floor,” she says with a wink. “But you’re welcome to ride again. I’m always here… after midnight.”

The gates slide open.

And just like that, she’s a uniformed stranger again—until the next ride when she proves that her knowledge of your body still remains in her mind.