#tag: female

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Fae/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 4,075 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You meet Lysander at a casino, where he only ever wins. There's more to him than you think... and maybe more to the both of you.

As you stepped into the dazzling interior of the Midnight Mirage, a wave of nostalgia and excitement washed over you. It had been years since you last set foot in this particular casino, yet everything felt so familiar—the clinking of chips, the soft hum of conversation, and the dim, seductive lighting that promised endless possibilities.

You were no stranger to the world of casinos. Your reputation as a professional poker player had been built on a foundation of sharp wit and an uncanny ability to read people. Tonight, you were here not just for the thrill of the game but to scout the competition for an upcoming tournament.

As you meandered through the casino, your eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the usual suspects - hopeful amateurs, seasoned gamblers, and the flamboyant personalities that frequented such places. Amidst the familiar sights, one figure caught your attention.

He was at a blackjack table, his back to you, but there was something about him that stood out. Maybe it was the striking white hair or the casual, almost nonchalant manner in which he tossed his chips onto the table. You couldn't put your finger on it yet, but you knew one thing for sure; he was different to the amateurs here.

You leaned against a nearby pillar, your gaze fixed on the man at the blackjack table. The way he played was almost artful, his hands moving with a grace that was mesmerizing. His silky white hair shone under the casino lights, and when he turned slightly, you caught a glimpse of striking amber eyes and the delicate golden wings that marked him as fae. Around him, the table was a mix of humans and one particularly bulky orc, all seemingly entranced by his charm.

As you watched, it became clear that he wasn't just lucky; he was winning too easily. His moves were subtle, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, but to someone like you, who had spent years mastering the art of poker, the signs were there. He was cheating, but how?

When he finally stood up from the table, his winnings substantial, the other players seemed to snap out of their daze, murmuring amongst themselves. This was your chance.

You pushed off from the pillar and made your way through the crowd, your heart beating a rhythm of excitement and caution. Approaching him, you put on your best casual smile. “That was some impressive playing,” you said, your voice laced with a hint of admiration and challenge.

He turned to face you, and for a moment, you were taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice smooth like velvet. “I do enjoy a good game.”

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you continued, leaning in slightly. “How about a friendly game? Just you and me?”

For a moment, he seemed to assess you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read your intentions. Then, with a smile that hinted at mischief, he nodded. “I’m always up for a challenge. Lead the way.”

You led him to a quieter corner of the casino, where a poker table was set up. As you both sat down, the dealer shuffled the cards with practiced ease. You could feel the tension between you and the fae man, an electric charge that made the air hum.

"So, what's your name?" you asked, peeking at your cards before glancing back up at him.

He flashed a charming smile, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Lysander," he replied. "And you?"

You offered your name, trying to sound nonchalant as you placed a bet. "I haven't seen you around the Midnight Mirage before, although to be fair it’s been a while. You a regular?"

Lysander chuckled softly, the sound almost melodic. "I wander in from time to time. The games here... they have a certain allure."

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral as you watched him place his bet. His movements were graceful, almost hypnotic, and despite your best efforts, you found your attention drifting from the game to the man himself. Lysander was undeniably attractive, with a certain feminine allure that made your chest flutter.

You tried to refocus on the game, paying close attention to his every move. Every so often, your eyes would wander, taking in the way his long hair fell perfectly around his face, or the way his lips curved when he smiled.

"So, Lysander," you said, attempting to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "You seem to have quite the talent. Always been lucky?"

His eyes met yours, a spark of something unreadable there. "You could say I have a knack for reading the odds," he replied, a hint of mystery in his voice.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your gaze. "Is that so? I’ve got to say, I'm pretty good at reading people. Comes with the territory, I guess."

A knowing smile spread across Lysander's face. "Is that your secret, then? Observation and intuition?"

"Something like that," you replied, your heart racing slightly. There was something there, bubbling just beneath the surface. Could he feel it too?

You tried to stay focused, watching Lysander's every move for any sign of cheating. It was becoming increasingly difficult; his presence was distracting, his attractiveness undeniable.

The game continued. Each hand was a delicate balance of skill and luck, but as the rounds progressed, Lysander's luck seemed more than just chance.

"So, Lysander," you started, trying to keep your tone light as you threw in your chips for the next round. "You must have some stories, being as lucky as you are. Any secret to your success?"

He glanced at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he looked back at his cards. "Oh, I suppose you could say I've had my fair share of interesting experiences," he said, his voice smooth. "Secrets, though? Love, we hardly know each other well enough for that. Those are best kept close to the chest, don't you think?"

You chuckled, trying to mask how the way he said love made your spine tingle. "Fair enough, but there's no harm in sharing a little, is there? After all, we're just passing the time."

Lysander smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Some things are more enjoyable when shrouded in a bit of mystery."

You smiled to yourself at that. He did, after all, have a point.

You took a moment to assess your hand, trying to focus. Something was off, though, and more than just because of Lysander’s distracting smile. You were making mistakes, small ones that you wouldn't normally make.

It wasn't just you; even the dealer seemed slightly out of it, as if Lysander's presence was affecting everyone's concentration.

You thought back to the other players at the blackjack table, the dazed looks in their eyes, the way they seemed to snap back to reality only when Lysander stood up. It was more than just charm or charisma; he was doing something to the players, but in a way so subtle and seamless that it was almost impossible to pinpoint.

"Your play," Lysander prompted gently, bringing you back to the game.

You placed your bet a little more cautiously this time. "You know, Lysander, I've played against all sorts of people. High rollers, amateurs, humans and elves and even a few dragonborn guys. You’re not like them. There's something about the way you play... It's almost like you're in control of more than just your cards."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression one of amused curiosity. "Is that your professional opinion?"

"It's an observation," you replied, watching as he casually met your bet through the fog clouding your mind. "I'm usually pretty good at reading the game."

The turn was dealt, and you played through the rounds, your mind racing. Lysander's hands were consistently lucky, but it was more than that. His presence seemed to cast a subtle spell over the table, one that made it hard to concentrate, hard to think.

As the game drew to a close, you knew you had to make a decision. You could keep playing, try to uncover more - or you could call him out, confront him about what you suspected.

Before you could come to a decision, Lysander suddenly stood up, his chair scraping softly against the plush carpet. You looked up at him, slightly taken aback by the abrupt end to the game.

"I have a rule," he said, his voice as captivating as ever. "I only ever play one game with the same people. Keeps things interesting." He flashed a charming smile, one that didn't fail to stir something within you. "It was lovely to meet you,," he continued, extending his hand towards you.

Hesitantly, you reached out, your hand slipping into his. His touch was warm, sending a jolt of electricity through you. You noticed then just how attractive he really was up close, his features almost ethereal in their perfection. His amber eyes held yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world around you faded into the background.

"The pleasure was mine, Lysander," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you felt.

He held your gaze for a moment longer, a hint of something like amusement playing in his eyes. "Perhaps we'll cross paths again in the future," he said, his tone suggesting a promise rather than a mere possibility.

As he released your hand and turned to leave, you couldn't help but watch him go, his figure retreating into the crowd. It was only when he was out of sight that you realized the fog in your mind was lifting, clarity slowly seeping back in.

You looked down at the table, the cards and chips a blur in your memory. Strangely, you found it hard to recall the details of the game, the hands you played, the bets you made. It was as if Lysander's presence had not only affected your concentration but had also left a blank space in your recollection of events.

You stood up, a mix of frustration and fascination swirling within you. He was definitely using magic. Had to have been. The pull you felt towards him was unnerving. Unnatural.

All you could think about was the way he looked at you, the way he smiled, and the promise of a future meeting. Was that a part of his spell, too?

***

A week had slipped by since that night at the Midnight Mirage, and Lysander had become a constant presence in your thoughts. Each time you returned to the casino, your eyes involuntarily scanned the crowd for a glimpse of silken white hair or golden wings, but he was nowhere to be found. His promise of a future encounter felt like nothing more than a fleeting illusion, leaving you with a sense of unfulfilled curiosity.

You had hoped that the spell he cast – whatever it was – would have faded by now, yet his image lingered in your mind, as vivid as ever. It was perplexing, the way your thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the mystery he represented.

Then, an invitation arrived that sparked a new wave of anticipation. The grand opening of a new casino, another branch of the Midnight Mirage, named the Morning Ghost. The name itself promised an evening of glamour and excitement, and you couldn't resist the allure.

Dressed in a stunning black gown that hugged your figure and accentuated your best features, you stepped into the Morning Ghost. The new casino was a vision of opulence, with lavish decor and an atmosphere buzzing with the energy of high society and the thrill of gambling.

As you mingled through the crowd, you recognized a few familiar faces from the poker world, exchanging pleasantries and small talk. The air was filled with the clinking of glasses, the soft murmur of conversation, and the sounds of slots and cards.

Yet, amidst the grandeur and excitement, a part of you was still searching, hoping against hope to spot Lysander. The disappointment was a dull ache, a reminder of the strange hold he seemed to have on you.

You tried to immerse yourself in the party, grabbing champagne from the bar, your heart wasn't in it. The Morning Ghost, for all its splendour, lacked the one element that had inexplicably become the most intriguing to you.

As you contemplated leaving the Morning Ghost, the sight of a poker table caught your eye. It was set up in a quieter corner of the casino, away from the louder slot machines and the bustling crowds. Seated around it were a diverse group of players: two elves in elegant dresses with sharp, intelligent eyes; an orc whose massive build was contrasted by his surprisingly gentle demeanour; and a goblin whose quick, darting glances seemed to take in everything at once.

Intrigued, you made your way over, the allure of the game momentarily overshadowing your disappointment. Just as you were about to take a seat, a familiar voice from behind stopped you in your tracks.

“Is there room for one more?” Lysander’s smooth tone was unmistakable.

Your heart leaped at the sound, and you turned to find him standing there, as captivating as you remembered. His white hair glowed subtly under the casino lights, and his eyes held a playful spark as they met yours.

“Lysander,” you breathed, feeling the instant attraction rush back, overwhelming and undeniable.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, a flirtatious edge to his voice as he took the seat next to you.

“Not at all,” you managed to reply, trying to keep your composure. The proximity to him sent a thrill through you, his presence both exhilarating and disconcerting.

As the game started, you felt that familiar fuzzy feeling settle over you, like a soft blanket muffling your senses. It was definitely magic, you realized, affecting not just you but everyone else at the table.

The cards were dealt, and you tried to focus on your hand, but Lysander’s presence was a constant distraction. He played with an effortless grace, his every move deliberate and precise. Every so often, he would glance at you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on you.

“You seem a bit distracted, love,” Lysander commented softly during a pause in the game, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You met his gaze, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. “Just trying to figure out your game,” you replied, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked on yours. “Have you figured it out yet?”

You hesitated, the close proximity making your thoughts scatter. “I’m working on it,” you said, but even to your own ears, it sounded more like a question. The way he looked at you, eyes lidded and smile playful, was burning you up.

Despite the strange atmosphere and foggy mind, a part of you couldn't help but wonder if this intense attraction was a result of his spell. You glanced around the table; the other players, absorbed in their game, showed no signs of being affected in the same way you were. Were your feelings for Lysander merely a product of his magical influence, or was there a genuine connection between you?

You tried to focus on the game, on the cards in your hand, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Lysander. The way he smiled, the subtle gestures he made, the light in his eyes - everything about him seemed to draw you in further. His presence was intoxicating, and you found yourself increasingly captivated by him.

The game came to a close with Lysander once again emerging victorious, though it was a close call. As he stood up, the familiar fog that had clouded your mind lifted, clarity returning.. You could think more clearly now, but the flutter in your chest and flushed cheeks remained unchanged, unaffected by the dispersal of his magic.

He turned to you, a knowing smile on his lips. “Would you care to join me for a drink at the bar?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitated for a moment, aware of the rapid beating of your heart. The logical part of your mind warned you to be cautious, to not get too entangled in the web of charm and magic that Lysander wove so effortlessly. Another part of you, the part that had been enchanted by him since that first encounter, yearned to spend more time with him.

“Yes,” you found yourself saying, almost without thinking. “I’d like that.”

Walking to the bar with Lysander, you felt a rush of excitement mixed with a tinge of nervousness. The casino's ambient noise faded into the background as you focused on the man beside you. He led the way with a confidence that seemed to come naturally to him, his hips swaying.

At the bar, Lysander ordered drinks for both of you, seeming to know exactly what you wanted without needing to ask.

“How’d you know?” you asked.

He only smirked and answered, “I had a gut feeling.”

Lysander himself ordered a vintage red wine. You watched as he swirled the wine in his glass, the dim lights of the casino catching the deep ruby red of the liquid. He caught your gaze and raised his glass slightly before taking a sip, a silent toast.

"You have a taste for the finer things," you commented, taking a sip of your own drink.

"One of the perks of immortality," Lysander replied with a wry smile. "You develop a certain appreciation for quality over the centuries."

"Centuries?" you echoed, your curiosity piqued. "You must have seen a lot of change."

"More than you can imagine," he said, a faraway look in his eyes. "The world is constantly evolving, but some things," he paused, looking directly at you, "some things remain captivatingly constant."

The conversation drifted from trivial topics to more personal ones, but you were intent on uncovering more about him. "So, Lysander, what do you do when you're not hypnotising everyone at the poker table?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Hypnotising. Is that what you think I do?"

"Well," you leaned in closer, lowering your voice, "it's hard to ignore the way everyone seems... distracted when you're around - or how I seem to forget the details once I leave."

Lysander's expression remained unreadable, but there was a hint of caution in his eyes. "The world is full of mysteries. Not everything can be explained."

"Most things can," you persisted gently. "Like how you always seem to win. Are you using some kind of enchantment magic?"

For a moment, he seemed taken aback, his guard slipping. "Enchantment magic?" he echoed, then quickly regained his composure. "You’ve been reading too many books."

You studied his face, trying to read his expression. "Or maybe I've just noticed something others haven't. It wouldn't be the first time."

There was a pause, a tension hanging in the air between you. "You think I've been hypnotizing people?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of offense.

"I don't know," you admitted. "There's just something unusual going on, and there’s only a handful of explanations. The way you make me feel…” you trail off, staring into your long island, cheeks flushed. “I'm just trying to understand it."

Lysander's gaze held yours, a storm of emotions playing across his face. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you. His lips were so soft, but there was a roughness as his hands tangled in your hair, his body pressing into you.

You jumped, nearly staggering from the stool. Lysander’s sharp teeth nipped at your bottom lip though, and warmth pooled low in your stomach. You kissed back with a ferocity that was overwhelming, heat spreading through you before you could even figure out what was going on.

As he pulled back a moment later, you were left breathless, heart thundering. You couldn’t ignore the desire rising inside of you, or the lingering taste of his lips on your tongue.

Lysander held your gaze with unshakable confidence, the corner of his mouth curling up in a knowing smile. You were momentarily lost in him, in the unexpected passion of the kiss.

"You're quite good at changing the subject," you said, trying to steady your voice and regain some semblance of control.

"Am I?" Lysander's voice was smooth, his eyes still locked with yours. "Or maybe you're just easily distracted."

You couldn't deny the burning desire that the kiss had ignited within you, but your curiosity was equally hot. "Is that part of your enchantment?" you asked, half-teasing, half-serious. "Distracting your opponents with a kiss?"

Lysander leaned back, the amusement clear in his expression. "I find my methods are effective in various situations." Lysander's tone shifted slightly as he asked, "would you like to continue this conversation somewhere more private? My hotel is just a short walk from here."

You hesitated, torn between the undeniable attraction you felt and the nagging suspicion in your mind. Even though you were practically mad with desire, you had the common sense to at least try and stay on control.

"No," you finally said, the word firmer than you expected. "I can't. This... whatever this is, it's too complicated. You're enchanting me, making me feel this way."

Lysander's expression changed, the playful confidence giving way to genuine surprise and a hint of offense. "You think I'm using my magic on you for this?" he asked, his tone taking on a serious edge.

You met his gaze, searching for any sign of deceit. "Aren't you?"

"No," he said firmly. "I admit, I've used my magic to win at the tables. It's a harmless game, a bit of fun. This," he gestured between the two of you, "I would never use my magic to influence someone's feelings. Especially not for sex."

The sincerity in his voice gave you pause. You studied his angular face, looking for any hint of a lie, but found none. The revelation that he had used his magic at the poker table wasn't surprising, but his adamant denial of using it on you for personal gain had guilt dimming your desire. Oh.

"I'm sorry," you said after a moment, the tension slowly dissipating. "I shouldn't have accused you of that. It's just... all of this is a lot to take in."

Lysander nodded, his expression softening. "I understand. It's not every day you meet someone who can bend luck to their will. You’re not the first person to think I’d use it for… that."

There was a look in his dark eyes, a vulnerability that made your chest ache and breath hitch. Without thinking, you reached out to take his hand.

"I would never do that," he reiterated, his voice tinged with a sincerity that resonated within you.

"I believe you," you said softly, and without another word, you leaned in for another kiss.

This kiss was different from the first. It was slow, careful, Lysander’s lips pliable against your own in a way that made you shudder against him. You were lost in the sensation, the way his lips moved against yours, gentle yet insistent. When he bit your lower lip, a jolt of desire shot through you, and you responded with equal fervour, the kiss turning rougher, more passionate.

The moment was broken by the bartender clearing his throat, a subtle reminder that you were still in a public place. Reluctantly, you and Lysander parted, both smiling, the lingering taste of the kiss still on your lips.

Lysander's eyes twinkled with a mixture of desire and amusement. "Would you perhaps like to go on a date with me? Somewhere nice, away from all this," he gestured around the casino.

The invitation was tempting, the prospect of spending more time with him outside the enchanted walls of the casino appealing. "Yes," you said, your heart racing with excitement. "I'd like that."

As Lysander signalled the bartender to settle the tab, you felt a sense of anticipation for what was to come.

“So,” you said with a grin, “where are you taking me on this date?

Lysander’s grin matched your own. "That remains to be seen. I thought you liked a mystery?”

Your laughed was melodic as you replied, “oh, I do.”

[sparklejumpropequeen1949]

This or nothing

[so-you-read-the-usernames]

Female characters who are the sole voice of reason <<<<<<< Female characters who think of themselves as the sole voice of reason but who are actually just as insane as those around them

[pig-mania]

me

[acid-ixx]

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.

[r08s]

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo learns something about himself 🏳️‍⚧️

Based roughly on this old post.

Bonus:

[Leo is taking the fact that he was born biologically female simultaneously very well and also not so well but overall he’s mostly coping with the fact that it was Draxum that just essentially gave him the turtle equivalent of ‘The Talk’.]

[lesbianarthistory]

Gaetan Henrioux – The Kiss (2012)

[rheheartssquirrels]

۶ৎ Bows and Blows ۶ৎ

Sevika x Female Reader

Contains: Sex: strap-on, deep throat, thumb sucking, hair pulling, rope play but with bows, and ass slapping.

A/N: Took sm pills, im NOT staying sick. This is the second time, all bc my fuckass friend took a sip of my drink. FUCK THISSSSSS!!! Also this isn’t proofread!!!

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

Her eyes stared down at your swollen lips as you sucked on her large thumb. Your tongue felt every curve of her finger as she, herself, felt around your pretty mouth. With her dark lips curled into a smirk, Sevika’s mech hand gripped tightly onto your hair as she slid further into your mouth. She made sure your eyes watered when she slid to the back of your mouth to feel around. You held back a gag before she pulled out.

You could barely take her thumb.

“Don’t think you can handle a strap, baby.” A soft scoff left her lips as your girlfriend brushed back your disheveled hair, she liked keeping you full; mouth or cunt, she had to have something in you. “I can handle it..” You, swallowing another gag, look up at her with teary eyes. Everything about her was pulling, especially the way she gently tugged onto your hair again. You would do anything she asked you to, even let her mouth fuck you.

“Can you now?”

You were sat on the edge of the bed, arms tightly tied behind you with the use of ribbons. Sevika had made sure to tie them into perfectly pretty bows as you demanded so. “We’ll see if you can, doll.” With a pull of your head, your girlfriend rested the tip of her strap on your lips before running it along your moistened skin. “Open wide for me, sweet thing.” And you obediently did as she said. Opening your mouth, you held back a gag as she immediately bucked her cock to the back of your your throat. A sinister smirk played on her lips as she watched you struggle with taking her thick strap.

“You got it, baby.” You did your best in letting her fuck your throat, each thrust was harder to swallow than the one that came before. Your eyes watering, you stay open for your girlfriend’s pleasure. Sevika was enjoying seeing your flushed face, it brought her a sense of thrill to the way you were so damn obedient. You did whatever she said, desperate for her approval or not it made her feel powerful.

All you could really do was take it. Hands curled into a fist, eyes tightly shut, and breathing heavy you patiently wait to actually be fucked. Sure, you liked the way your girlfriend looked down at you whenever you had her thumb in your mouth but you liked it so much more when she’d actually hit the spot that got you writhing. Your cunt was a pulsing mess, it was screaming to be acknowledged, to be touched.

After a few good thrusts, your girlfriend was satisfied with your wet and red cheeks. Sevika pulled out of your mouth and watched as you coughed, it was a sight she’d never get enough of. “You did good, baby..” with a deep breather you let your girlfriend shift you on the bed. She wasn’t done with you just yet. On your knees, with your ass up, and your face burried into the pillows, she couldn’t keep herself from spreading your folds apart to see just how slick you were; and of course she’d point it out. “All wet and ready for me, how cute.” She was growing cocky at how good of a listener you were, how you never complained and took her without a second thought.

With a press on your entrance, Sevika gave your ass a rough slap— which you whined at— before gripping onto your tied hands with her mech hand. “You gonna take it like a good girl?” Tone all playful, your girlfriend tilted her head to get a better look at the way your cunt fit perfectly around her tip. It was as if you were meant for it. “Mm-hm, I will, Vika.” Voice shaky, you prepare yourself for the night of your life. To be fucked for your good behavior.

With a gasp leaving your lips, you feel your insides squish against your girlfriend’s cock. She’d went hard and deep, and she wouldn’t stop. She gave no warning and pounded in and out, giving you no time to react. “Look at you, all pretty and tired up.” Her words were gruffed out from the excitement you gave her. The room was full of your moans, your girlfriend’s grunting, the contact between her cock and your pussy, and the squelching of your wetness. It was already too much to handle and it had only been a good minute. Your walls were closing and you were sure you couldn’t last long; even though you wanted to keep feeling the warmth pool in your core.

Sevika’s grip on the ribbon tied around your wrists was tight, it even helped keep her pace steady and strong. She was practically blowing her cock inside of you. With the view of your backside, your girlfriend silently admired you. Your hair, the way it sat perfectly on your back, and your moans that turned her on furthermore. They were sweet and damn hot. “You’re.. damn good for me.” Slapping your ass a few hard times, she increased her speed and fucked you until your moans were desperate pleads. “Vika! Shittt, I can’t— I can’t go on!..” it was hard to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure jolting around your body, from your pussy to your brain it was too good to be real. “Cum on it, doll.” Her smirked out demand, she wanted it messy.

And messy was what you gave her.

Head dropping, mind hazy, you let your orgasm come. Whimpering into the pillows, you cum all over her cock that was dug deep into your pussy. She didn’t pull out, nor did Sevika want to. Your cum was practically dripping off her strap, and she liked how slick it now looked. Your walls clenched around your girlfriend as you shuddered, feeling every bit of the orgasm Sevika had provided. The feeling was unbearably good, so much so that it could drive you wild.

Pulling out, your girlfriend ran her finger over your cunt before licking your cum off.

“Sweet as ever.”

[trans-androgyne]

People have insisted to me that masculinity is not punished in women/"women" because tomboys are accepted. This excerpt from Female Masculinity puts my thoughts on it into words really well:

Tomboyism may even be encouraged to the extent that it remains comfortably linked to a stable sense of a girl identity. Tomboyism is punished, however, when it appears to be the sign of extreme male identification (taking a boy's name or refusing girl clothing of any type) and when it threatens to extend beyond childhood and into adolescence. Teenage tomboyism presents a problem and tends to be subject to the most severe efforts to reorient. We could say that tomboyism is tolerated as long as the child remains prepubescent; as soon as puberty begins, however, the full force of gender conformity descends on the girl...for girls, adolescence is a lesson in restraint, punishment, and repression. It is in the context of female adolescence that the tomboy instincts of millions of girls are remodeled into compliant forms of femininity...as even a cursory survey of popular cinema confirms, the image of the tomboy can be tolerated only within a narrative of blossoming womanhood.

-- Jack Halberstam, Female Masculinity (1998)

Yes, it does look different from the way "boys" are punished for expressing femininity regardless of age or context. But tomboyish girls being accepted in some contexts does not mean we don't still get the gender non-conformity beat out of us when it can no longer be considered some girlish phase. And it certainly doesn't speak to how masculinity is treated in adult "women." All I'll say is I got called a dyke at age 11 and I still get called one now.

[yawnzshit]

glasses are the sluttiest thing a man can wear.

[girlnut]

"boys will be boys" yeah boys will whine like a pup in heat while their pretty cock gets edged and overstimulated by a pretty girl over n over again until they cant take it anymore. boys will be boys though

[ditzydestiny]

The things I’d do to be held and loved like this.

[chuuyayanya]

I keep forgetting to post here…

[humanharvest]

for the butch lovers

[diminuel]

The sexual tension sadly got interrupted by Rouge's growling stomach.

A follow up comic to this one!

(Next part!)

(Rouge design inspired by @mangyraccooon ♥)

(I'm just slapping all the tags on this because I have no idea what's up with Crocodile's gender in this comic.)