#and my body is just built....so not feminine at all....

[joannasteez]

stay, please

pairing: roman reigns x blackreader warning: ANGST.. smut . explicit descriptions! so minors please do not interact! word count: 10k ... now that we found love, what are we gonna do, with it? ...

all that time ago, when you'd first met him, your acknowledgement of roman was flimsy, a shell of nothing, but the simple words and pretty smiles made him run warm all the same. "my tribal chief", you'd say, airy and teasing, void of awe. he was big and strong, hubris making him this mountain of a man, but he was just that, nothing more than a man, and you'd seen enough men to know that they did not differ much. they groaned in time with their irritations, made their problems yours. lusted wild and unapologetically. they demanded everything, in their time, in their way, and gave what little that they wanted. and roman reigns, the tribal chief, was no different. 

his eyes, suggestive and sharp, had taken to the fit of your ring gear easily. the shaping of the fabrics in places and in others, the lack thereof, pulling his interest till his fixations melted something warm and devious into your skin. he'd approach you wolf like, this stalking pace as if to circle prey. grinning amused. "i think you can do better than that for me. a little more enthusiasm".

and he was a tower then, still is now, strides long, full of leisure. your eyes peered from under the fan of your lashes, indulging the domineer of his presence with the coyness of good prey. you'd done well to make the game, the chase, or whatever this was for him, at least somewhat entertaining if not completely so. 

you'd indulged. leaned into the mass of him, one small step forward after another till the air had no choice but to be shared between the both of you. a finger lifting to trace faint over the lettering of his shirt. and it'd taken everything not to fall then, not to give in to the pull of him, like some small wayward celestial object fighting against the orbit of a great star. the heady note of his smell, the strong comfort of his warmth, the height of him, the sure soft ways his eyes drifted over you, like he'd just known without complete expression of words or deeds that you were his. 

your touch had turned more firm then, from one finger to your palm, slipping down till it played at his abs. and a grin had curled, amused now too, feeling the rushing in his blood. "i can be a whole lot better for you, you gotta earn that though".

but your words, so teasing and strong then, built firm and made off your tongue to last, were not as reliable as you'd thought they'd be, for the gravity of him was this overwhelming thing. and before the rush of it could settle, before the excitement of lust could wane, you found yourself with him at every corner or surface available. your legs wrapped in his, your lips wet and your tongue tangled, pushing and licking to taste him. your breaths caught forever, short and desperate as they fought to be full. he felt good and the heat of him melted the worry in your bones, until it didn't. 

until the fun of it became dense, so much so that it was unbearable. his touch becoming more nailed into the skin of you, and his words fixing quiet, each more vulnerable than the ones before them. these heavy sinking whispers in the night, your bodies laying sated and damp, thighs aching and your blood rushing smooth just after release. arousal still sticky between your legs where his hands and mouth had been. from him came these words, forming to sound like something similar to forever. but by then it was too late, to stop, to take back, to slip away from under him. 

and in the midst of fighting and failing to keep away from his body, and his quiet bed time passions, creatives of the smackdown brand championed the idea of a more feminine edge to the bloodline. someone who could rough and tough it, take a bump and bounce back for more. someone who could smile and charm and manipulate. someone who could, in the blink of an eye turn vicious if need be. a character that had draw, that could have the crowd eating from their palm. and though yes, roman was not starved of womanly support by way of the viewership, the faction was in sore need still of a lighter touch. something, or rather someone less naturally brutish, that did not wreak of ego or that larger than life self importance. and so, from a charismatic mid-carder, to the upper echelon, you rose and dominated as an entity connected to the infamous crew. 

the full silver of your ring gear slowly altered to accommodate the overwhelming red and black, his colors, till there was a more even mix. and it all spoke without words, the black and red these leading lines, binding you to the one called the tribal chief. 

a botched spot in the ring kept you away for some time. a few months of recovery, the perfect amount of time to go cold turkey from roman. 

and though he called and texted and face timed, his constant travels and your inconsistencies left him hallow. an emptiness that soon would leave his ego to pulse with a bruising pain. he thought, in the midst of all those months of your recovery, that it was just the tingling in his fingers that he needed gone, these simple bouts of lust that could be easily remedied. but it was more than that it seemed. aches in his chest and this drawing pull in his skin. a helpless sort of longing. 

he wrestled harder in those months, brutal, bordering relentless. when you wouldn't answer at all, or would only answer with few words, he pushed the fire of his anger, drove it through muscle and nerve, about the bones that built him till it was all he could feel. 

why the fuck were you dodging him?

and all that fire, that white hot anger, attempting to purge his bones of you, flared and burst wild till it could no longer. flared to consume him till it proved shallow and here you were, under his eyes again. the silver-red-black of your ring gear calling his fingers to run against it, the tips where his nerves live itching to flex and curl into your skin. the curve in there where your hip dips, the muscles in him remembering well as the feelings there form back to life with excitement. 

you look as good as you did pre-injury. maybe even a little better. 

he makes himself known, the tone of him rich, stunning. something dark amidst the allure. you'd forgotten how well it arrested you. 

"hows your arm?"

"bendable, so it's fine". 

you do little to acknowledge him, afraid of what even a little eye contact can do to the strength of already weak resolve, but you move your newly healed arm about rather flimsily, showing him just enough so he can go about his business. 

the carpet ruffles with his every step. closer and closer he gets. your heart knocking into your chest. "recovery must've been good, should've been", his breath warm and feathering along your neck. your fingers moving with a slight shake as you make to clean an already clean vanity. "had to have been", his fingers taking a small trace over your shoulders to hold you there, "cause i barely heard a thing from you". his thumbs sooth into the fabric, soft and remembering. 

your breath hitches, the tip of his nose running small at the line of your neck. and none of those months of recovery mean anything in the slightest, save for the healing of your arm. your pulse quickens and beats harsh, same as it did before, skin taking to a slight tremble as the warmth of him surrounds you here. and your own fingers, working to burrow into the hard shape of the vanity, itch to touch him too, though something nags at you to fight against him. to war with the resolute way his touch fastens to your body. 

"i didn't realize you were my keeper". 

he sighs, slightly annoyed by the way your words fight to push against his own, but it doesn't stop the straying of his lips along your skin. skimming where they please till they pull in to leave a faint kiss at your pulse. "you've been ignoring me".

"apparently not enough". 

he laughs, pulls your hips close till they flush against him, and laughs some more. his mouth parting just at the shell of your ear. "you're not convincing", his fingers flexing, a firm pulling as they make their way to play between your thighs at the fabric covering where they'd itched and feened to be. "not even a little bit". 

and how you'd gotten here, falling so fast back into him to be consumed, back into the deft maneuver of his fingers and the heat of his mouth, was not at all lost on you. just as similar as it was not all that lost on him either, to feel your skin and the faint release of your breaths. fighting on his own for months to undo you from him, all for nothing. both affected in full by the other, thirsty and bordering impatient. and when he curls in past the stretchy material to slip against the wet of your slit, your hips move with a mind all their own, seeking a harsher friction. 

heat braces your skin, head lulling forward. your hips shifting rigid, fighting to still and losing as they chase the smooth circling of his touch. "roman", breathy. urgent. 

"no, no, no, no, no", his free hand firmly at your neck. an upward motion to reveal your eyes again. "you don't run from me, not when you want it this badly". his finger slipping further to sink in knuckle deep. the push in of them lax and patient. a pace he takes to feel you throb for him. with every second, the length of it steeping in the soaked mess of you. 

you gather words, a sloppy attempt to fire back at him and it fails as you moan through it. "who said i wanted this or you". 

"you know what it is babygirl", the speed of his touch urged on by his ego. his need to prove you wrong. you want him, you want him and he knows it. if not for words then he knows it with how eager your hips grind into his fingers. the slip of your pussy easy and hungry as it pulses. so much so that it resounds into the dead air of the dressing room, the tune of it forcing his hips to rut into you. "you don't want it, you tell me and i stop". he breathes hot and hectic into your skin, into your neck, kissing between takes of air. fingers thick and glistening under harsh fluorescent lights as they curve in to fuck you deep. "c'mon, tell me how much you don't need it, how much you don't need me", eyes brown and blistered. of course you needed him, of fucking course you do how could you not? when he needed you. "c'mon sweetheart, tell me so i can leave". a tear struck the apple of your cheek, a simple roll that told of everything. your skin twitched and your muscles ached, ready to feel the draw out of release, but the cage of your chest rattled, flaming with a need to say something long unspoken.

but to do it, to say it, would be worse than breaking a bone. worse than the raw opening of slit skin. to give in to him, would be the end of it all. 

"fuck", a whimper breaking. wrecking the strength of your voice. your hips working to rut against the curl in of his fingers. your head lulls at an angle to sink into his chest. hands free from the vanity as you grab to hold onto him. "keep it there baby, please". 

"yeah?", his neck craning to take your lips with his. tongue messy and suckling. and his fingers move with vigor, arm taut and muscle bound, veins striking against his skin. something similar to lightning. "and when you come what do you say?"

your breath catches and the sharp ways of your vision blur. the coil wound up in your core bursting wild at the seams as you rut and drip against the softening thrust of roman's fingers. your lips trembling as words flow hot and feverish. "th-thankyouthankyouthankyou". 

even if the body was not made to do so, you could fly high, tumble, knock into, break at, and push over just about anything in ring. it's what made the rise from the mid-card so satisfying. it's what made the star studded rivalries so well anticipated and stunning. women of a particular caliber, head to head, their bodies and their wits and their wills stressed and strained until only one remained. at it's core, the work all by it's lonesome was easy. tiresome yes, but the pursuit of winning, that bright gold belt about the waist, was all a singleminded affair. easy. but the presence of him was, is, a storm. difficult to escape. reckless. ungovernable. and it seemed that the drifting of his eyes to find you and the remnants of his touch could not be undone. like a deep soldering under your skin, at the hard make of your bones.

he lingered, and beyond the shallow 'i don't want you's', the cut of your eyes and that cold far away disposition, something like need teemed, warm and fettered to your fingers, pressing slow into his skin, the fabric of his t-shirt, slipping into his hair. just before the quiet, when ecstasy was it's loudest, he could feel it running into him like nails, 'stay', etching red and raw into his flesh. and then a soothing kiss, more passionate, wordless but tender all the same, 'stay please'. 

your inconsistencies were nearly earsplitting. i want him, i won't. i need him, no i don't. it made even the prestige of the women's world championship lackluster. 

you'd won, your waist decorated in gold, but the true excitement of such a grand moment could not reach you beyond the loose way liquor paints your tongue. skin racing warm and control undone. the floor moving with this deep hard shudder, bass bleeding out. the air is thick from bodies, from the unintelligible roar of people. but what is clear, beyond the blur that comes for the eyes after chilly shots of espolon, is him. roman smiling in that faithful way that he does, wolf like, suggestive. clever and telling in the way that it so clearer reminds you of how small and good you can be as prey. something for him to take. to hold and guide and pull and pry at till he’s full. but that look of allure is not for you, no he'd done something fucked. he'd gone and found someone else to look at like that, some woman near the edge of the bar too oblivious and taken by the size of him to know that it was all a game. 

a game you were losing at. your lips wet from the bits of your next shot that seemed to miss your tongue. you were too loose, too hot, too lethal. it was just barely easy to play the game when it was you, denying him and tugging along that thinly wound string that tethered itself from you to him, but when he made his moves to do the same, it wrecked you well. 

tore you asunder. this deep splitting at the heart till you were left raw to the open air. 

'fuck him, you're the women's world champion', the espolon steeped so well into you that it speaks. 'say it', persistent. you turn from him, your head lulling as your mouth greets another shot of that smooth tequila taste. 'sayitsayitsayit' 

"fuck him".

but is it believable? the harsh bite and break of words as drunk lips form around them, bound to such a severity that only comes with the pain of pain. 

the harsh bass nearly breaks your ears and makes your body tremble. you would like to leave, to tear your eyes away from them, from him, but you would also like to stay. 

"you play right into his hand when you do that", a mouth near your ear persists above the noise. the well fitted dress of a button up forgotten for something sloppier and indicative of the loose, dancing, club energy. cody rhodes' face just a few ways away from beet red as he holds chilly water in one hand. 

and there are crueler things in the world, things that grind against the spirit till it's worn and faint, but nothing pricks against the heart more in this moment than that woman’s fingers lingering against romans. the charm of her smile luring him in as she mouths to him unrecognizable things. "he wants to spite me, let him". 

cody snorts, lazily throws his arm about you. "it wouldn't be anything you've never done". and you think maybe you hate the sense of his logic and his friendship. the filterless way he says things. so forthright, so readymade. 

"fuck you, wheres the loyalty". 

his cheeks pull high into the creasing corner of his baby blue eyes. fully amused. he probably thinks you're a damn joke, and maybe it's true, in the petulant ways you avoid and revert inward. 

he hands you the cup of water and you sip it willingly, wishing maybe though that its something else. 

"he'll play cat, you'll play mouse, he'll fuck you and hint at what you fear most, you'll run and we'll be right back to where we are now. so what the fuck's up with the preamble". 

you shove the cup of water into his chest, picking up one of the many shot glasses that stand still on a tray. the taste of it not so dissimilar to water. he frowns, watching on as you glare into the emptiness of the shot glass. sometimes, in these short moments, when you crave things you aim to kill, he worries. 

"didn't realize all my shit was so entertaining". you look angry, sound that way even, but the melodramatic coupling of words tell him you drift more towards a sullen pain than to anger. 

"no, entertainment isn't this boring", he quips and you jab your elbow into his stomach. just enough to make him grunt before the break into a fit of little laughs.

but then you set the glass down and turn in to face him, to nuzzle closer into where your forehead meets his collarbone. eyes forming with hints of a glassiness that lend themselves to vulnerability. 

roman's eyes take to looking about the club, instinctively, falling against the warmth of your embrace with cody. fire forms in his chest, aches with a burning. 

your voice leaves off soft into cody's ear, muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "it won't work. not in any way that matters". 

"you don't know that"

"i've been played before. i'm not new to games". 

cody rubs soothing into your shoulder, the compassion making you melt in that drunken way that leads to the welling of a tear. 

"games aren't made to last, that's why they get played, and why people play them. if it's real then it's real". 

"is this what it is now? you don't speak when you see me?" 

dead air and his own words, tired in their anger. 'how long can i go, before i break?', but the break came quickly, the silence disrupting him. he rests but not really, stands there idle as if to feign the strength of a stable man but his nerves stir with ill-control. they flip and they twitch, crashing up against the inner parts of him. you won't speak, and your eyes don't meet. and when the job forces your hand, you grow cold in this subtle way. warm still but a biting chill just like at the cusp of spring. and your lips become these masters of brevity. and he wants to say it here —where his blood rushes irate, wrought by adrenaline— that he isn't too far from hating you. your skin, your touch, your voice, your face, the pull of your lips when you smile, all the things that make him lov-

"we work together, i talk to you all the time". 

and even in all this, he couldn't not move closer to you. one foot in front the other till he was arms length. "promos and in-ring action aside, y'know what i mean". 

you fight your own urges. to meet his eyes, to touch him, to fall beyond the bounds of those drunken whispers from nights passed where you cursed his name. "it should stay like that, professional. it's cleaner this way, safer". 

he scoffs. something like a tower now the way he stands over you.

"yeah?", smirk mirthless. "and what, me fucking you out back behind an arena ain't clean? you bendin' over in a dressing room ain't safe enough anymore?" each word slightly louder than the last. 

"keep you voice down", you hiss. 

"or what?", his eyes sharp and narrowing. scrutiny burned into the brown of them. "everything you do is convenient for you". and his lips spread in that mirthless way again, bordering disgust. "you get scared so you pull away, you feel good again and come runnin' back. you ain't never fit me in for consideration, not once, unless it meant me sticking my dick in you". 

and when blood is drawn, words like venom dripping into raw split skin, isn't it only appropriate to do the same? to do him in with the violence he so easily struck with first?

"once upon a time i didn't have to consider you", meeting him with words, cold and mocking. "i paid you fucking dust and when i did acknowledge you, you were grateful for it". vexed and thrilled, you watch the silent ways his rage manifests. the flaring in his nose and the shifting in his jaw. beneath where heaps of muscle lie, just there at his chest, falters this steady beating. a deep plunging of his ego. it makes you smile, nicks pain into your heart just the same. "maybe we should revisit that and stay there, and not be so damn emotional about it".

he recedes into something like pity. "whoever he was before me, he did a number on you". 

it's this rupturing that hurts the most. the pain of it, a distant memory long remembered. this great big wound. raw and the skin so tattered still and messily undone. "you don't know me". 

"exactly", roman urges. still above it all, wanting to know something. the slightest thing. anything. 

you leave, slamming the dressing room door.

it was as if the spite of him, that which that'd already existed —a small, near idle thing, had reared it's head to tear through him again. seemingly more brutal than before. whether cruel or not, whether it worked or not, he'd made the effort, against his better judgement to see you bend. not to break no, but to see something other than the usual push and pull that became the mainstay of whatever this thing was between the two of you. that night at the club—his own go at drawing up some jealousy, an attempt at cracking your little shell of resistance, to see if you even cared, but still he didn't know. not for sure anyways. so here he was, needy, spiteful, and a short ways away from brutal as sweat broke from his brows and a frustrated groan from his lips. hips swinging in lethal, teeth gritting, and the core of him coiling tight. 

he couldn't remember her name, no, but she was too similar to pass on. she ran just parallel enough to you that it could work. similar skin tone, the nonchalance, the coy silence of the eyes, sly slim touches that roughed into something harsh—near skin splitting. but when she spoke, the puzzle piece couldn't quite fit. her pitch too bright, not bitty enough. it didn't wreck through him the same, didn't rush in to him or thrum his blood but he couldn't complain about it, not when the chase of his release was so close. just palpable enough to satisfy. 

roman took a mild shifting, hiking up a leg to leave the other bent, his foot nailing further into the hotel bed sheets, all to work his hips deeper. 

her face ran into the sheets, mascara smudging dark into the clean white. "mhmm- fuck! i-", her hips fluid, rolling against the swing of roman's. words nearly undone, breaths close to finishing. "pleasepleaseplease".

she pulsed about him, hips rocking to chase the burning in her limbs, the harsh twist up of her core. and where he dug into her she fought to keep him there, soaked and clenching but it just barely came close. she hugged him for dear life, fucked on him till she couldn't take him to the hilt anymore. attempted to possess him even, with sultry moans and the allure of whispered begging. everything he liked, everything he wanted but it didn't quite fit. everything lacked by only half of a half step but it all mattered. and it was evident you made the difference. 

the lazy trace of your lips, the delirium you took—even in rare bouts of aggression—the burn of your touch like a piercing in his skin. the dulling of your eyes, till they rolled overwhelmed and undone. the shivers in your skin and the submission of your body, the skin and bones of you left for him to form back together. 

he missed you, and yes of course he wanted to fuck you, completely break you in that faithful way that he did in times past, where you'd rush in dainty, words like feathers, thankyouthankyouthankyou, but he also wanted to hold you. wanted to mold himself to you till he was unsure of where he ended and you began. he wanted breath stealing kisses that rolled lazy and thick. he wanted to still the shivers in your body, wanted to caress you through the burden of release and even after, he wanted to keep you there. safe in the strength of him. 

and it was here, in these thoughts, where he found the feeling. the pulling in his gut strong and subduing, tugging away from the wet mess of her to release. thick ropes against her skin as he groaned. 

"fuck......".  

your name slipping through. unabashed and clear as day. 

roman winces, feels the recoil of it in his flesh. this awkward reversion where his body fights not to cave in on itself out of embarrassment.

why the fuck would he do that? 

but she's moving before he can do anything, cleaning herself till she's rid of him. and damn it, why can't he remember her name? his back flopping into the sheets, an arm thrown over his eyes. he's tired and ill feeling, somewhat ashamed. 

the woman saunters in, some ways from disgust. such a beautiful man, so obviously successful, and seemingly hung up on a woman who cares less than a fuck about him. thats what she can gather anyways. her fingers helping her slip her clothes back on. she grows curious. 

"who is she?"

roman looks to her, realizing just how much she doesn't look like you at all. beautiful but not you. 

"what?"

her eyes roll. that small sliver of curiosity done away with as she shuffles to adjust her heels."if your'e gonna finish all over me, the least you can do is remember my name". 

she makes for the bedroom door of the luxury suite, leaving roman to fall deeper into his own silence. her voice carries, sweet and mocking. 

"your little nda is signed. thanks for making me come". 

roman grunts in response. feeling the slight rattle of the slammed door. 

from the chill of new york city winter weather, to the warmth of one of the city's many luxurious hotels, came a firm dulling of the nights mixture of cocktails and whatever other light liquor your dear friend cody rhodes had decided was good enough for you. and what a dear friend indeed, always so caring, so righteous and so fucking motherly. his every word soft and urbane — "slow down, take this water, no more of that drink"—and his every look one of knowing and pity, until his glassy blue eyes and lisp-y mouth became resolute, even when in their own drunkenness, going as far as to putting you in a car and shipping you back to where you were now, at the hotel. "you're not even having fun, go sleep", his lips pulling into a gentle pout. his arms a warm embrace till they were gone, and you were ducking sullenly into an SUV. 

he was all you could think about.

...whoever he was before me, he did a number on you... 

and with so little said, roman had done you in to a silent sort of suffering. this shoddily made shell of something —your heart— playing at nonchalance, completely destroyed. stripped now, naked and fearful of whatever is to follow. the possibility, whether with or without him, the unknown, left you stunned, ill even. 

...should you call?... fingers itching to reach, to slip against his contact ...but would he answer?... or would he, and rightfully so, do you the quieted sort of violence you'd done to him, time and time again?... those brutal ways your lips refused to speak, and when they did their words like daggers. your eyes never meeting, and when they came upon him, they bore over him icy and displeasured. like he was a nuisance, or even worse, a stranger. and the desertion of your touch, once upon a time, when the drive of lust and adoration was new in him, seemed that it would never leave. yes, you'd understand, but fuck if it wouldn't hurt, wouldn't pierce the greater parts of you, where strength of the ego and desire lives. 

but its only when the phone rings that all hesitancy of the moment breathes hard. knocks unceremoniously against free inhibitions till you're wishing for him to ignore you. maybe, right here, right now, making the effort is enough, maybe it's all you need to say ...i did it, i tried... and nothing else. your whispers rushed and a bit scared and waiting. "don't answer, don't answer don't answer".

the ringing stops. he answers. 

your breathing is soft, but present, the only thing that sings amongst the silence of him. what is this? after the callousness, the hardy stones you'd thrown into the glass of his resolve in an attempt to break him. 

he's tired but not really. done but not really. he sighs, fingers roughing through his beard. "yeah?"

you giggle, breathy. a bit unnerved. your words rolling off, slightly slurred still. "thought i'd get your voicemail", you wonder how he looks, if his heart threatens to beat beyond the cage of his chest the way it does yours. "didn't think you'd answer".

he's quiet. breathing. "why'd you call?"

"you sound nice". the little thats left of the tequila pouring over your tongue into words. even in his tiredness he sounded beautiful. rich and dark and alluring. "did i wake you?" 

"no". but he can't help himself, in being curious, in caring. "you alright?" 

"i'mfine, ijust...i-"

"you sound drunk". 

"tipsy". 

"how much did you have?", a question but more so a command. the authority threaded in his voice lulling you in. it makes you shiver with need. makes you want to touch him. 

"mhmm idon'tknow rome". and he can hear your shifting over the sheets, as you shift over answers to give him, that would satisfy him. you wanted so badly, despite your fears, to satisfy him. "a shot, a drink or two". 

"lightweight for real", he chuckles. "who were you with?"

"cody. he got my uber". 

is it so bad?, when the hour is late?, to think of seeing you, even if the thought is little and fleeting and ways away from dangerous? "you here at the hotel?" 

"damn", and you're laughing. giddy at the way he worries. reeling with sarcasm "you want me to share my location?" 

"watch yourself".

"yes sir". 

and here the air is hesitant, forming fragile and ill-informed of whats to come. it shapes about the both of you wearily and groans even in it's stillness of how ill-suited it is at holding the ambivalence of this... love, lust, longing or whatever it is twisting about the both of you. it yearns for something new, for something unweighted and free and sweet. 

roman asks you again. curiosity breaking a heaviness into the weight of him. "why'd you call?" 

your bed sheets pinch and ruffle between your fingers, taking on the burden of your anxieties. "i figured if i went out...i'd-i'd get a little courage yknow? a drink or two and then i could call you, could hear your voice". 

"hear my voice huh?", his jaw clenching. tone one of full mocking and scrutiny. after everything, all that was said, something like venom off your tongue in a means to poison his resolve, and now you wanted to hear from him? "and all that big talk, all that mouth and bravado, paying me dust and keepin it how it used to be", smiling mirthless. "what happened to that? where'd that go?"

you shiver, cold despite the warmth of the room. "i don't know roman". 

"you don't?"

"i don't wanna argue with you". 

"what do you want then? tell me so i know". 

"it doesn't matter", something like a grin running through your lips, sullen and wistful. formed only by the sweet safety of what if's and what could be's, because those were always easier. "you'd leave". a single tear slips against your cheek. "you'd get bored after a while and you'd leave". 

...but he isn't him, whoever that other man was, or could be, the one that'd seemingly broken you...

he sighs. "you're afraid of somethin that ain't happen".

"yet", you add. 

"it's not going to".

"you don't know that". 

"you don't either". and of course the fight is natural, this insistent war where true desires of the heart are subdued to the will of something comfortable and simple, because love, even at its easiest, proved always to be tedious and demanding. "i don't make it a habit of getting played".

"i don't make it a habit of playin", sincerity filling him whole. "how i've felt... how i feel still, about you? it's always been real sweetheart". 

another tear and then another, till your skin is warm and nerves flustered. your chest tightening as your mouth trembles. "don't fault me for being scared, please?" 

"clean slate. we can start over". 

"ok". 

and that restless buzzing, the harsh rushing  of the city — cars and trains and people— works easy to overcome the natural fall of silence. breaths passing, his and then yours, one after the other and then together, in waiting, eager but unsure. 

the emptiness is unsettling. makes you restless. urges the drive in his muscles to move. 

your hand splays against a pillow, fingers curling in soft, your voice even softer. "what side of the bed are you laying on?"

"left side". 

you hum. imagining him. hair splayed, long and gentle. "i hate the left side".

"i know", he smiles, small like and imaginative. thinking of older memories, where your legs find themselves curling against his own. 

"it's empty, my left side".

"yeah?"

"yeah".

possibility, this mighty rushing in his blood. 

"whats your room number?" 

there was nothing flimsy about this, the gentle pull of his lips, tongue slipping cautioned but ready all the same, his fingers and palms seemingly made to do and withstand the brute force of many things but taking the time instead to hold you dearly. to savor with his touch what his lips cannot. but when the well of patience in him fills to the brim, when it overflows and floods him unsparingly, his persistence has no choice but to do the same. and your knees threaten to buckle, threaten to kill your resolve, as he cradles your head with one hand and the other anchored firm at your jaw —thumb and pointer— his kiss growing wetter, tongue sharper. because the time away —where neither of you could do more than fight and throw stones and break and avert, gazes and words and touches and thoughts and feelings— felt like forever. and then came the standstill, the white flag. clear air and even clearer intentions, over a phone call of all things. with simple words of the heart. 

roman figured if anything, he was making up for lost time. your palms taking to his beard, thumbing over his cheeks, mouth forming soft over his. 

you felt good, he felt good, but not so much that it couldn't be true.  

and here, where you feel the abandon of his control grow, you break from his mouth, trying and failing to grab for something on a nearby shelf. but he's faster, reaches to grab the outstretch of your arm, flying it over his shoulder. his breath warm and enticing, rushing a thrumming in your blood as he nips the skin there. teasing. 

your nails take this tender clawing into his nape, dipping into silky hair. "i thought we were taking it easy?"

his words mix between the twist of his lips. "we are. your clothes are still on". kissing along your neck.

but he doesn't loom here, statuesque in his anger. doesn't suffer your resolve to threaten a breaking or diminishing to fold under the weight of a harsh truth. knowing whether or not if his words would split you raw for a vicious bout of bloodletting. no he doesn't loom here, but his standing is firm all the same. gentle minded and secure. immovable in the way that it refuses to let you go. 

you wonder if jimmy and jey and solo and naomi can hear him in the pantry from where they are in the living room. hear his groaning, and the smack of his lips as he takes yours. hear his lust and his love and his longing. 

you hum against him in bliss. "you make it very obvious that you want to eat me alive when you look at me like that in front of everybody". 

"am i supposed to feel bad about that? because i don't". 

"being lowkey goes a long way sometimes". 

"yeah a little too long". 

but that night had only been one of the first nights of this mending, this slow cautious maneuver of putting back together the broken pieces of whatever this thing was that had been brewing for sometime. and it isn't until you're sitting in a shared comfortable silence, sipping wine and tasting sweet deserts that the realization comes to you. that this —the sex and the passion and the strife— has only ever been a thing, something ill formed and without definite shape. uncategorized and hesitantly spoken of. it had all been rushed with hushed pleasures and secrecy, rendezvous and an inherent longing that would not, for fear of realer things, be spoken of.

but it was very clear now, as he dipped a spoon into tiramisu, that you needed him. 

and the pace here is easy, as waiters and other patrons breeze by your table without rest, without wait, his eyes and his stillness forming well over the hold you have as you touch him idly. your palm at his knee, raising to take his hand in yours, fingers folding in, shy and feathered and bursting with a wordless affection. 

from where you are, just a short lean in from his lips, his features are not so intimidating, not so all consuming in that daunting way he's perfected. his cheeks are freckled and round and the brown of his eyes are bright. 

you kiss him, take that short lean in and meld your lips till he hums and thumbs your chin. because he isn't him if he doesn't touch you. doesn't hold fast to your warmth. 

and even after you part, the intimacy laced in the air breathes slow and lingering. "thank you for being so patient with me, with everything". your fingers fiddle and caress over his. "i know i haven't made it easy for you". 

"when it's something i want, i wait". 

and wait he did, with a statues patience. but even the strength of statues fail, worn and weathered if left to stand against time and their own stillness. eventually they all crumble, some in such a poetic fashion that its destruction means more than its birth, and other's with a simple, unceremonious falling. but the undoing of roman's patience is fierce and alluring. and as you breathe short, in between the firm pull of his lips, water hot and raining against your skin, you feel the chipping away of that patience as well. and it isn't just the pouring in of the shower and the sweet warmth of soaps and candles, but the influence of him as well, melting underneath flesh and bone.

6:17 PM

the steam forms something amorous. thickens the anticipation and lulls your resolve into a surrendering. and the tight feeding of his fingers into your thigh doesn't help any, nailing sharp and greedy as they have your leg hooked about his waist, his tongue licking against yours. and here in the kiss his lust grows slow and exacting, in a means to savor. making you moan and forcing your hips to grind mindless. his body hard and wet and safe. 

your fingers curl into the hair just at his nape, tugging to pull, to break his lips from yours, but he's fast and wanting, rushing in for another sweet assailment. groaning in time with his pleasures as his hips rut at your soft skin. you try again to break from him, to breathe even if the air suffocates you so, and he gives in. settles for fastening himself to you elsewhere, to supple skin, and to grinding his hard dick at you. his mouth roaming about your neck, nipping with his teeth and kissing gentle. a meager attempt to reigning himself in. 

your touch wanders further into his soaked hair, mouth moving to trace his, to tease him. "we have a reservation for 9", you kiss him lightly. "i don't wanna be late".

he hums, rests his forehead to yours. taut fingers working your hips to a slow grind against his dick. working what nerves lay dormant in you to life. 

"the restaurant is a 30 minute drive", his nose and mouth nestling into the plains of skin where your neck ends and your shoulder begins. drinking in the small breaking off of your moans. "plenty of time". 

7:29 PM 

and the minutes wandered away fast and teasing, forcing in an urgency as you fought hard to slip away from him and the heaviness of his desires. and it took much control, to part from his warmth and the heavy lust of his eyes. from the way his touch and his mouth maneuvered —with seductive method— and the heat of his cock laying at your skin, so terribly close to where you need him. but how odd the fear is here, after the pulling away of all that nasty pettiness and the settling of it, no longer scared of how much he would love you, or how well he could etch himself to the inside of you —with touches and deep words filled with passion— but now, weary of just how unbearable you would be. because it seemed now that he was stuck with you, and that if he would continue his affections with such an intensity, that you would have no choice but to return it. and even in this, your fears, your weariness of this love and lust and longing, were not so frightening at all. but exciting. 

you're excited. 

"tie or no tie?"

the bulk of his arm, where tattoos paint the skin, slip through a white button up. fingers deft as they take the time to do in each button. 

"no tie".

your hands soothing over your skin with a warm smelling body butter. eyes trailing to his as he watches your hands work over your skin. 

"and the jacket, yes? no?" 

"yes to the jacket", but your answer barely registers, and how could it possibly do so clearly enough when the fabrics of your underwear form over your body the way that it does. everything about you soft and inviting to the touch as you approach him. your fingers undoing the top most buttons. the intricate designs of tattoos here at the curve of his pec peaking through. "and just leave this open a little". your palms smoothening away at the rest of his shirt, over his shoulders to adjust the already adjusted collar, fingers slipping against already buttoned buttons, and when the smallest wrinkle catches your eyes, you're already flattening it to straighten. and here he takes you in, arresting with silence and a never ending depth to his eyes that leaves you without words.

his mouth close enough, breaths are shared. and there is no other word to describe the scent of him other than divine. 

you want to fall into him, as free as air and without hesitation. 

his lips smile. "you're staring". 

but it is justified, because shouldn't all beautiful things be looked upon with awe and a speechless sort of appreciation? shouldn't they be touched, the way you touch him, your palms possessing him to hold as you kiss him greedily and without wait. your tongue lashing through firm and without the mind to yield. moaning gentle into him and if not for his own strength he would fall to his knees. is this not how beautiful things should be treated? should they not be adored and reverenced? should he not pry at your skin the way that he does? dull nails sinking in to remember the forms they take as they go. your leg found slipping around his waist again as his fingers move swiftly to claw their way down till your panties push away helpless. 

and he groans, lips parting only to find yours again, finding you warm and wet as his touch slips through the mess of your slit. and he wonders how long you've been like this, stewing in your own desires. his blood rushing hot and fast, feeling the heavy throb your body takes as he plays a teasing touch at your opening. something whiny and dainty tumbling off your tongue as you fight to reign in that wild burst of lust so loosely falling off your skin.

"roman", you warn. so small it nears a whisper. 

"shhhh, relax", his finger dipping in to feel the heat of your pussy. a neediness to see you break bursting in the cage of his chest, his heart hammering at the sweet daze in your eyes. "just a little bit baby". 

"we're gonna be late". you fight.

and you want to say how much you hate him, how much you hate the ease of his touch—such a terrible gentleness— and you hate how it makes you swoon, and throb harder, feeling the depth of his artful handlings. you fucking hate it, hate him, fuck, and your breath labors harsher than before, feeling the seam of his lips as they sit to hover above yours, and shit, his fingers stroking firmer than before, a slighter urgency in the pace that catches your breath and his eyes dim low but they hypnotize you, and no you don't, but, well yes you do hate him, but you don't, a moan stretching in sync from him and from you, and damnit you love him. love his touch and the proof of his lust, how naturally it is born from his love and his longings. 

he can see the prickling in your eyes, the glassiness just before the burning brown of them. and you ruffle your face into his chest, into the balminess of his skin but he does not relent. and the sound your arousal makes as it coats his long fingers is lewd but it brushes over you warm and inviting. drives your waist to grind into his every stroke till release is sweet and so close. 

the undoing is palpable, a licking flame against the skin. short tremors starting in your legs as you call to him. little whispers that beg, "please...please...please", hushed and slurred. 

and just when it's there, it isn't, his fingers slipping out of you slow, wet still and gripping your ass to stop the mindless grinding your hips take. 

"roman, no, what are you-", his lips kissing yours to stop the words and the worry. but he's kilt weeks, hell, months of such a lengthy build up, and your body rushes confused and unsatisfied. you pull from him, just enough to speak, feeling his palm caress into where he holds you. "what are you doing?" 

"its almost eight", his body forsaking yours to step out of the bedroom. "need you to clean up and finish getting ready". 

8:18

at your wrist

at the bend of your inner knees, your elbows

the skin of your neck just behind your ears

and just where your ankles roll inward. 

his dress shoes click back into the bedroom to be met with an immediate assailment. but this violence is no violence at all, but rather a sweet, sultry thing. enticing. and he holds his wrist forward to check the time. 8:20. fuck the reservation, he thinks, stepping till he's behind you. eyes peering through the mirror, watching the delicate way you curl a thin brush over your eyelashes. a dark mascara that thickens and pulls the length and when you check the fruits of such minuscule labor, beautiful and satisfied, the crotch of his pants prove too thin, and uncomfortable. and as he dips his nose into your neck and molds his fingers to your hips, flushing you against him easy, you work into your nerves an air of dispassion. cleaning the dresser of miscellaneous things, fighting the urge to let him do whatever he wants with you. 

and here, just behind your ear, the perfume proves to be intoxicating. his grip nailing in, curling to bring you impossibly closer. but his eyes never break. they hold, piercing hot and mischievous through the mirror. 

in the silence you both suspend, weighing the importance of your plans. 

he nestles into you. the fabric of your dress raising as his fingers pull. 

and his voice makes you weak. thrums your blood. 

"how important is this dress?". 

"important enough", you hold against the balling his fist takes. "i paid money for it".

roman eases to his knees. undoes the neat knot he's made of his hair. he knows just how much you adore the feel of it. he pushes the fabric to rest above the curve of your hips. taps your right leg. 

you lift it, angling it to rest your knee on the dresser. breathing labored. excited. 

his own breath is warm at your skin, "and if we miss the reservation?" the sweet spice of your perfume meets him here too. his thumbs spreading you in a leisure manner. 

anticipation consumes you. voice ragged. "it's not important". 

he hums, delighted, his tongue lapping soft. testing and teasing. and your body leans forward, sensitive and longing, hips shifting away at such an intimate touch. but he holds firm, slipping wet through your slit again, continuously, his thumbs caressing where his grip tightens into your skin. and now that he's here, his patience to leave you undone forms new. bleeds a vigor about his every muscle and bone. your senses growing pliant above him, resolve melting as your hips shift to brush along the wet sweep of his tongue. and why he takes to such a leisure pace, you have no idea, but the pleasure simmering, fighting its way up the slope of your spine, grieves. wishing for something harsher. something less controlled. 

the silence is remedied with a tender "please". teeth taking your lips to bite. 

his mouth kissing, lingering, and you feel it spread. a smile. his mischief slipping into your skin before the inevitable pulling in, your clit caught, pulsing and needy as he sucks, thirsty and unstopping. and you feel arousal drip slow, glistening, his tongue catching it to savor. throat groaning as he shifts back forward to taste the fat of your clit. and though you stand above him, your hips shift ill-controlled and your voice leaves you soft and broken. belly coiling tight as his ministrations grow more singleminded by the second. 

the nails of your fingers find their way to the roots of his hair, pulling him closer and running to soothe into his scalp. jaw dropped and gasping."feels so good baby". 

and the slip of roman's tongue is lewd, caresses the swell of your clit as his mouth works your pussy. and as desperation mounts your bones, your other set of fingers tighten to hold against the dresser, arousal dripping its way past the onslaught of his mouth to run through his beard. the pricks of the hair there, rubbing your inner thighs to burn raw. 

he grunts. "fuck", muffled and heated. dipping his tongue through till he's caressing the warmth of your walls. slow and reverential, savoring the tight clutch that holds him there. 

white heat blankets your skin, fingers slipping to nestle through your slit, laying a dulcet touch to your clit. his tongue wide and gentle as it fucks you. and the sensation there is terribly sweet, solders hot and binding till your legs begin to tremble above him.

"roman", you call for him. tender and broken. he feels a blooming in his chest. heat and an eagerness. " 'm coming". 

and the burden of that mounting coil shatters. pulses hard as you ride the sensation, fingers rubbing over the mess of your clit. thumb catching the soft nub to press against your pointer, trapping it to prolong that rich thrumming that flows about your skin. and roman takes to kissing you again, licking his tongue through the messiness of your release and kissing over your fingers.

8:50. the dinner reservation long forgotten.

but there are many other things forgotten besides white table cloth, wine glasses and intimately lit candles. the once so perfect button up he'd tucked into expensive slacks, now strewn about the floor, creased to hell next to the shine of abandoned shoes. and with all these things, left to be unremembered, is that mischievous sort of patience born from his teasing. where his touch was once salacious and mocking, unforgiving in the way it played well and denied pleasure better, is now just a filled shell of desperation. need running like flares of wild fire. and it shows here, as you sit atop the dresser, legs wrapped about him, the way roman aches and throbs, hot and demanding. cock thick and hard, reddened and leaking as he slips it through the stickiness of your slit.  

his tongue growing sloppy, drunkly slipping over yours, pushing in the taste he'd savored so dearly. his skin teeming with a rushing, this great throbbing in his spine and the muscles in his core as he nestles the tip of his dick through the tight clutch of your heat. groaning in time with his pleasures as he sinks in, corralling your thighs forward to control the pacing, and deeper he goes till you're taking him to the hilt. the build of him seeming to crumble before your eyes, this mountain of a man trembling and undone by the warmth of you. delirium coursing fluid over bones as he stills to feel the softness and the pulsing. everything he'd missed, finally at his finger tips again. 

and if not for the pain and the violence of it, you'd pull your nails through him. over taut skin and the great build of his muscles. not in a means to destroy, no, but in the hopes to consume him. a more permanent etching beneath his flesh where blood flows, just as he's done to you. 

you hiss, breaths stuttered. mouth falling where the freckles at his cheeks live, balmy and heavy, attempting to find his mouth amongst the fall of his hair. to kiss him as he stretches you to take him. your fingers combing over the strays and flyaways, roughing your legs tighter to deepen the weight of him inside you. 

you moan. something feathery and gentle. the fullness of him threatening to split your ears. and when his hips slip forward, fluid and strong, your fist knocks against the marble of the dresser. pain in your hand turning to pleasure else where. 

"mhmgmh", his groan dark, feeling it rough up your body. and the carved marble of the dresser becomes more tainted by the second, the drag of him against the pulse and flutter of your heat so terribly charming. a soothing take to your pussy thats rigid enough to leave you breathless. and when your spine curls forward, head lulling to kiss the mirror, he leads with tongue to kiss your skin. "that's it right there huh?", but he needs no answer. pure evidence here, his dick rutting forward through the mess of you. 

"yesss", stressed and drawn out. 

the gentle pull of you, flexing wet and tight, a cureless addiction. his words slightly slurred, lips at your cheek, trailing to your neck, over your shoulder, plush and kiss swollen. "so soft babygirl". the draw in of him singleminded, throbbing and rutting. groaning as dazed eyes catch the feed in of his cock, a deep burying that shudders his skin. "love when you let me touch you like this", driving his fingers to form further up over your hips, dull nails curling at your back. "when you let me fuck you good", his hips pressing in as he stills, grinding slow, for you to feel him there, where he belongs. "how you need it". 

you cry, a tear staining your cheek. the tremble of your lips forming over his as you kiss him. body molding to him, the go of his thrusts mindful as they work to fill you. and here, he slips in easy, steady still but with a gentler purpose. and his fingers, even in their dullness, don't run as brutal and the deftness of him proves with a tender rocking of his hips. arousal soaking him sweet as it sounds above the silence. 

and the shock of everything takes hold. the ways you fought so terribly against him, to suffer in what you thought would be some less harsher fate than to live lovingly with him. 

your voice stretches out delicately. into the safety of him. "don't leave me", quivering as you feel the building pressure in your body. "stay please".

"not going anywhere sweetheart", a hand at your cheek, thumb caressing there, "i'm right here", and the other pulling you impossibly closer by the thigh. lips over yours, sharing breaths. "you feel me? i'm right here", words whispered and groaning, the stroke of him deep and easy still. 

and as he'd wanted since the beginning, your resolve crumbles as he holds you in his hands. 

your heart heavy. fearful, excited. "....love you....", trembling as you come undone. "i love you". 

he twitches, releasing thick and warm in you. pulling your lips in, passionate and relieved, tongue rolling to taste the words he'd waited to hear from forever ago, when everything about your attitude towards him was flimsy and hollow. and the bursting in his chest is undeniable, a smile slipping across his lips as the heat of the air sits easy about the both of you. 

he kisses you again, lingering, with love and lust and longing. 

"i love you too". 

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns smut #platonic!cody rhodes x reader #joannasteez #roman reigns x female reader #angst #i love the angst #reader may be a lil insufferable idk #shes going through it #bare with herrrrrrrrrr #roman has sex with a woman thats not reader #it makes him sad tho so… we still win #i wrote one of these parts when i was tipsy #these are yearning hours #its smut with decent plot #the fear of love after love is lost #at this point im just yappin in the tags #nah this shit is long as hell omg #but it ended so cute !!!

[oftidheard]

o my days im on my knees pls do a part two of ur recent coriolanus fic (the one he chose to take the punishment instead of her) 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

so happy to hear people enjoyed it enough to want more ♡ this is a part two to burn me twice and the blame walks for you

you thought it'd be nice to hold the ice i can't see coriolanus snow x reader ↳ 2.4k ↳ angst with a happy? ending ↳ feminine

that night — per coriolanus's instruction — you'd pulled yourself together enough to slip through crowds with an inconspicuous politeness, and made your way home.

he hadn't joined you like he usually did, and instead parted from you in that very hallway outside heavensbee hall. he didn't have to utter a word for you to recognise the calculated look in his eyes and clenched jaw; he had a plan.

so you'd said your goodbyes, and felt his gaze follow you until you were out of sight, but onwards still felt that protective aura he'd built up around you — as if on your cold walk home, he was still there to keep you safe.

from the second your hand had been dropped from coriolanus's, to the moment you'd crossed the threshold to your lavish bedroom, it had all been a mist. you'd received congratulations from some classmates, and bitter glares from others, but they'd all blurred together — just as your quick feet hitting the pavement had rushed so quickly, that when your body finally landed atop your neatly set bed, your head still span.

everything had felt light, like the only things stopping you from simply floating away were the roof above your head and your unbreakable anchor to your boyfriend — wherever he was, whatever he was doing now.

when you'd come down from the dissociated thump in your head clouding behind your eyes, you'd found yourself sat at your windowsill.

your gaze then met the ball of soft light rising in the sky, eyes following the moon as she grew brighter, as she welcomed her night-time kingdom — and you, her subject.

you don't remember if it comforted you — staring up at the fixture of the sky, the objectively serene picture something one might guess to be the calmest thing you could ever find — but you remember pretending coriolanus might be watching the moon too, likewise hoping you to be okay just as you did for him; so that was, perhaps, what kept you going.

but at the very least, you don't remember hanging on for dear life and grasping for empty gasps as you'd fallen asleep.

petty theft gets you hung in the districts — the fact played on repeat in your tired head; you didn't want to even think about what sort of noose would await you for disrespecting the capitol's prestigious games — so you tried to trick yourself into dreaming of a picnic with your boyfriend.

the moon — ever kind — had lulled you to slumber, and granted you a dreamless sleep, momentarily letting you forget the ruin your life would face come morning.

now you've awoken, you can feel where the opaque glue has been piped between your shattered pieces; all in a fragile attempt to keep you together. the shards of yesterday's breakage prick at your sore neck and constrict the beating of your heart, flashes of last night's emotions stabbing you relentlessly.

it feels surreal, knowing at the end of it all, you still have to return to the academy today for what would be — if it weren't for dean highbottom and what he shouldn't know — an entirely regular school day; a disconcerting departure from the chaos of recent that had dug itself a burrow in your life and started to feel like your new norm.

but it isn't, and you're a distinguished young woman who needs to gratefully embrace her education, and you cannot return as a role model for future mentors with tear-stained cheeks and yesterday's mussed uniform. so you shakily rise from your curled up position by the still opened window, and clean yourself up as best you can with trembling hands spurred on by unsteady breaths.

the wind whips at you the entire walk to the academy, and you hope it's strong enough to wash away any semblance of the broken girl you'd caught a glimpse of in the mirror just before departing — and you think, if that requires the ice-cold breeze knocking you over with such a force that each and every shard of you falls apart into disrepair; you'd let it happen.

but as your feet drag you to your destination you are not granted the reprieve of irreversibly breaking; you are simply torn, and it hurts so much worse.

your shoes scuff the path, and the rips deep inside you that make the walk laborious are invisible to the outside world. your lips upturn when you pass a neighbour, but your smile is dampened just enough that they would notice just how unconvincing it is if you weren't set in motion, and already gone down the street.

you are in disarray, you are fraying at the edges that have been caressed by fire. your fingertips are singed by the very items that saved you, and the smoke of the flames that bit you back draws your breaths heavy.

you try to breathe through it, and keep your head high enough that no one wonders why you look so miserable, but low enough that eyes lamenting your arrogance after just one win don't follow you.

embers climb up your legs and sting your skin. they leave a path of flickering — slowing fading out — scraps of coal behind you, digging your heavy footsteps deep into the path so everyone knows where you are to mock and gawk at.

the sharp heat grows, reaching higher and higher until your legs wobble from the stress and the heat wraps around you, all to desperately grasp at the tip of your fingers.

a prick, like a needle — on the tip of the same fingers that had passed lucy gray her means to win, and a painful spark grows not too dissimilar to the odd shock followed by heat you'd felt when those same fingertips had brushed against her own.

the spark doesn't light the rest of you on fire, but rather runs through vein and bone, travelling through your body so overwhelmed and ready to crumble you down.

it runs up your spine, it reminds you that your time perhaps even in the capitol itself is running out, and you hope that perhaps if the spark is finally set alight in the centre of your skull that it might shrivel nerve endings and pain receptors, until it won't hurt to soon hear your life is over.

you feel the reprieve running up your neck joined by a tear down your cheek, but just as the fire is about to swallow you whole — for better, you'd hoped, but more than certainly for worse no matter whether you realise that — its force is snuffed.

the tear — your first of the day, salty water only just thawed from the numbness that had frozen in your heart over the cold night — that had just escaped your eye, crystalises.

the sudden change surrounds you, you are doused with a bucket of freezing cold water and shoved into an existence where the warm colours of the word that had just been swallowed by licks of flames and swift heartbeats are stripped away.

now, that all is quelled, and you find yourself — at the foot of the steps to the academy — in a dim world you'd glimpsed in the company of the moon just last night. and yet, this one feels even heavier.

you glance around, and with every figure your eyes glaze over, there is an unfathomable solemness that not even the death of the ring twins had evoked over the entire student body.

you feel a terror — for your life, for coryo's life — but it feels out of place in this collective sadness, in this community where you are left out of the know; it makes you feel like everyone else also knows that you do not fit into whatever this is.

your feet fly up the pristine steps with urgency, as if at the top you might face a place to hide away, and not the inevitable doubled population of unusually unsmiling students.

you gasp when — while the sight of the large imposing doors of the academy come into view — you also catch sight of the one person you've wanted to see more than anything since the moment you were separated; coriolanus.

he stands facing you, presumably in conversation with io jasper — whose back is in turn turned to you — but when his gaze catches yours, he swiftly ends the interaction, and is quick to approach you.

his strides are steady and reach you in the matter of a couple of seconds — a contrast to your trembling steps, which may well serve as a rather accurate representation of your relationship — and his hands don't hesitate to find your shoulders with a secure grip.

your eyes dart side-to-side — as if looking for any onlookers which you are so certain must be watching your every breath — and after your search, you still can't bring them to settle assuredly on coriolanus's own as you anxiously whisper.

"what's going on?"

all you receive is a stony expression, but which precedes one hand dropping to hold your wrist and the other rising to hold the back of your neck; both of which gently tug you closer to him.

"everyone's staring," you sputter in a marginally quieter whisper than before, "i don't—"

he shushes you, a finger on the back of your neck begins to trace calming circles, and his hand on your wrist tightens slightly.

"breathe," he instructs, so you try.

the breath is unreliable and you don't feel any more better than before the air had rushed into your lips, but coriolanus demonstrates himself taking several deep breaths to encourage yourself to continue trying.

slowly, the colours a well-adjusted and perfectly calm girl might observe at her place of education squeeze in on the edges of your vision, and with coriolanus pulling you even closer to him — his every breath now blowing across your cheek — you start to feel calmer.

he raises an eyebrow to ask if you're better, and you — however hesitantly — nod.

with another unconvinced but digressing once-over, one hand leaves your neck and the other slips up to now link your arm with his.

your legs don't feel like they might suddenly fall out from beneath you anymore, and you find yourself falling into step with coriolanus's own headed towards the doors without much struggle.

he easily glides you through the crowds, and you begin to feel uneasy once more at the harrowingly uncharacteristic silence that envelops the foyer.

you lean towards coryo with a stuttered whisper, "what about—" dean highbottom, "won't he—"

you're tugged closer again, with another "breathe" whispered into your ear, just as you join a specific group of your classmates; who all appear to be in different levels of melancholy.

festus creed turns around and makes room — standing to your left — for yourself and coriolanus to join the group, and while he doesn't look particularly distraught, he appears the most emotionally affected of the group.

lysistrata vickers stands directly in front of you with a respectfully plain expression, though she offers you a kind, but oddly still sad smile in greeting. though it serves only to scare you into overthinking — does she know? do they all know?

coriolanus's has unlinked your arms, and now holds your hand. breath.

to lysistrata's right, stands persephone price, with the most seemingly unaffected disposition of the group.

feeling like a fish out of water slowly asphyxiating, you glance to your boyfriend, and note his stony expression has grown to make room for a hint of something similar to the others' sombre looks.

hopelessly, your eyes flicker back to lysistrata — the person who you'd say is next on your list of people you trust here, even if there's still a large blank gap between her name and coriolanus's — and she only gives you a pitiful look that says 'i understand'.

but she can't, and you don't either, and you find yourself in the unlikely situation of being grateful for persephone talking to you unprompted.

"didn't you hear?" she gives a small raise of her eyebrows.

your frown, and your evident confusion is enough of an answer itself.

just as persephone's lips pop open again, coriolanus's hand anticipatorily squeezes yours.

"dean highbottom died."

you're tossed like a ragdoll in an echoing bubble of numbness.

persephone predictably prattles on, "it's no surprise he drank himself to death," but her words continue to grow less and less coherent to you, before she utters, "i mean, that flask he..." and your brain completely silences her to join as just another buzz in the fuzziness that constricts you.

your eyes must glaze, your mouth must be agape, you must have gone slick with sweat and started all but shivering — because the one new feeling you register, is a hand that can't be coryo's holding yours tenderly.

you want to hold it back — if your own weren't so weak that you're sure you can't even pick up a pencil — if only to reach for that anchor.

but as your fingers graze pathetically, coryo's hand that still keeps hold of your other, compresses. the force is overwhelming, and he must be squeezing your hand to limpness; but above the instinctual alarm going off in your head at circulation loss, you know why he's doing this.

he's grounding you, forcing you to concentrate on something physical, something strong.

though he's always gotten mixed results when he attempts this — some days it succesfully draws you back in, some tries it causes you to panic, and sometimes even faint with a light head and racing heart — but you try to slow your breathing, and convince yourself that it's helping.

a thumb rubbing across your pulse-point on your wrist joins coriolanus's death grip, and it's almost like a pinch that wakes you from a nightmare.

as your blurry eyes focus back in on a reality that is not in fact a dark bubble of nothingness, you realise your other hand is held by lysistrata.

once she notices your slow descent from fright, she gives you a sympathetic smile, and lets go.

finally, you look to persephone with a breathless reply to the news.

"that's horrible."

she glances around the room, then shrugs — shoulders weightless with the freedom of not knowing how it felt for dean highbottom to have held your fate atop his, the lightness of having the only thing that haunts her past being a failure, instead of a secret that could kill.

which now, you dare to dream, might not even be a threat to you anymore.

she dismisses, "i suppose so, but he wasn't exactly a model citizen," and casually changes the subject to the upcoming academic year.

coriolanus's thumb still runs over your wrist, and you can't tell if with the dean's threats all but inconsequential now, you may finally take a breath of fresh air — or if this signifies the last time you ever will.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #thg x reader #❤︎ — the mockingjay sings

[midnight-omega]

Male Omega hc

I wrote these a while ago and never posted them. Male omegas and female alphas are my favorite dynamics and my favorite pairing fr so I wanted to do an entirely separate post on my boys

Pretty long so bear with me under the cut also its fairly nsfw at some points reader beware

🍥 Omegas in general are considered a rarer dynamic but when adding primary gender to the statistic male omegas are one of the rarest of the 6 gender/dynamic combinations

🍥 Male omegas typically cannot impregnate. It can happen in extremely rare cases but it’s so unlikely no one really considers it a thing. They are biologically built to conceive and bear pups even tho this is a little more challenging for them

🍥 Male omegas have wider hips than an alpha or beta male, but narrower hips than a female beta or omega. This can make it difficult to give birth naturally. It’s possible and happens all the time! But sometimes it’s just too narrow and a c-section is needed

🍥 Male omegas have lower fertility rates than their female counterparts. They’re more on par with betas fertility wise which means they aren’t likely to have litters (3-4 pups) like females can. Males usually carry 1-2 pups at a time and anything more is considered a high risk pregnancy

🍥 Over the course of their pregnancy they do develop breasts

🍥 They’re much smaller than the other dynamics, more on par with a female alphas, but they do lactate

🍥 This is a permanent change! They do not reduce after the first pregnancy

🍥 This physically marks males who have carried a pregnancy at least until 3rd term, and those who haven’t

🍥 Unfortunately male omegas suffer from body dysphoria at a higher rate than other gender/dynamic combinations

🍥 There’s a lot that goes into this and it differs from omega to omega, but it boils down to masculine body parts that function and a more masculine stature vs how feminized the omega identity has become and the feminization of bearing children. 

🍥 Pregnancy and the development of breasts makes this a lot worse

🍥 Binders are rather popular and easy to find because of this. It’s highly recommended to use these instead of resorting to your own tactics to avoid any bodily harm

🍥 Top surgery is also available for male omegas who feel strong or crippling dysphoria, but they won’t be able to lactate afterwards. More traditional packs/religions frown on the surgery for this reason and prefer binders as a solution

🍥 Pharmacies, department stores, lingerie stores, anywhere you can buy a bra or healthcare products will probably sell some sort of postpartum binder!

🍥 Speaking of lingerie stores, stores that specialize in omega lingerie typically carry two styles of bottom for every top. One that accommodates afab anatomy and one that accommodates amab anatomy

🍥 Some omegas feel the opposite kind of dysphoria tho, where we just talked about those who are unsettled by their more “feminine” parts there are other’s who identify with their omegean side more and find their more masculine parts more upsetting

🍥 Tucking is a common solution, though this is kept kinda on the down low in omega only circles. You won’t find this sort of thing advertised in common media

🍥 I mentioned earlier that male omegas are p much sterile, so this makes them really popular hookups especially for other omegas going through a heat

🍥 In some areas male omegas are more demanded than alphas when an unmated omega wants a partner for heat

🍥 Not only is there really no pregnancy risk with them, but some argue they make better lovers in general since they understand the vulnerability of penetration/heat and how to work the anatomy since they’re built similarly 

🍥 The concept that male omegas do not get as much pleasure out of penetrating compared to receiving is a myth! Both kinds of orgasms are equally pleasurable and some males only enjoy penetrating just as others only enjoy being penetrated. Its a personal preference!

🍥 The omega micro penis is also a myth. Omegas are smaller on average but they’re really not much smaller than an average beta

🍥 Keep in mind that when concerning length most alphas are showers and most omegas are growers. Your omega man might end up bamboozling you :))

🍥 Omega cum is clear or opaque. No/little sperm = no white

🍥 Male omegas are at the very bottom of the unspoken hierarchy. Normally the male takes place above the female, but it’s not the case with omegas who’s primary biological function is to conceive. Since female omegas are better at that they’re considered above males

🍥 Male omegas are very rarely represented in leadership positions because of this. Even within packs it’s extremely rare to find a male omega in a place of power/respect

🍥 This also contributes to a lot of the adversity they face. Males are at a higher risk of mental illnesses, suicide, sexual abuse, drug use, and face higher incarceration rates

🍥 Lightening the mood a bit…

🍥 Males have a deeper purr than females. It tends to be quieter too, but that can vary from person to person

🍥 Male omegas growl at anything. Any small inconvenience or discomfort grrr… they can whine and keen like all omegas but on average they tend to be more gruff with vocalizations.

🍥 Male omega fashion varies widely from place to place. They can be more masculine coded or more feminine depending on the dominant culture of the area. Neck covering is popular with all omegas, so high necked outfits or matching chokers are always in style.

🍥 Weddings and mating ceremonies are similar in variation with options for more feminine coded or more masculine coded outfits. Jumpsuits with pants partially concealed by the top flaring down is the style for male omegas.

🍥 feminine coded examples:

🍥 A more masculine coded example thank you kpop ur visuals are unparalleled bc i could not find more masculine ones for the life of me until i remembered ab6ix the future world tour in seoul donghyun booby titty outfit:

🍥 Male omegas can be referred to as wife/mom or husband/dad depending on the preference of the individual. If someone needs to clarify which of their dads gave birth to them they’ll use the terms dam and sire, otherwise parental names are a toss up

🍥 All omegas have nesting instincts, if they don’t suppress them, but males and females have slightly different habits. Male omegas tend to pick very closed-in areas with one entry/exit. They also keep their nests extremely hidden, it’s unlikely you’ll know where it is unless you’re mated to or a child of theirs.

🍥 Males need just as much affection, attention, and physical touch as females do. If they’re aloof don’t let them fool you

🍥 If alpha male dude bros can be compared to overexcited dogs then omega males can be comparable to cats

#a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #omega #worldbuilding #alpha/beta/omega verse #male omega #omegaverse headcanons #omegaverse worldbuilding

[diejager]

Meeting in the same line of work as an operator. But the ‘reader’ in this scenario isn’t ‘small’. Being only just a couple inches shorter then Simon, and built quite large on the ‘bulk’ side. Spoopy Operator Girlfriend that can pick you up who doesn’t like that..? Boyfriend operator who’s used to interacting with women who prefer the feminine dainty life, now they gotta deal with reader being almost the complete opposite of what he’s used too!

(plus side of having operator girlfriend, no need to worry about being gentle, especially when their covered in scars like Simon)

Guess they can count their calories together as they get ready to work out…how many calories do you think Simon eats daily…?

I know shit about calories and being/feeling tall, but I can sure can try and live my dream in this >:]

Unusual Size Cw: fluff, implied smut, hookups, Ghost being confused, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost always thought himself as the provider in a relationship, the person who cared and protected —the shield. He always thought he preferred pretty and dainty women, like those he dated in the past or the rare and occasional hookups he brought to a motel room from the bar. They were good fucks, pretty things mewling and moaning beneath him, their pleasures spurred on by his broad stature and mask, but none were permanent, always a staple of his lonely nights. Ghost - Simon - knew who he was and what he liked —or so he fucking thought. 

You came crashing through everything he thought of himself, a straight man into small and fragile women with painted nails and rouge lips. You were unlike anything he’d every seen, bulky and tall, limbs sculpted from hardened marble and mind made of rough wires. You rivaled him in size and broadness, taller than Gaz, broader than Soap and gruffer than Price. You were a carbon copy of him in your whole attire and equipment, decked in black and blues, lifting more than anyone he’d seen and broke through men like they were made of glass, shattering them in the same velocity of a bowling ball towards pins. 

And when you shrugged off your mask, he was sure that he knew at least one thing about himself, that he was a straight and confused man, bordering on bisexual with how strongly he reacted to you appearing as a male with your deeper voice and gruffness. You were practically a man.

You didn’t need protection, you didn’t need to be provided for or to be cared for. You were as independent and strong as he was, someone he could equally depend on for help and comfort, to reach for someone he knew could take him as a whole: all his fear, all his scars, all his trauma and all his regrets. Simon knew you can take all of him, following him through thick and thin to pull him back from the depths of his mind, scattering his nightmares and bringing him into your strong arms. 

Everything came so naturally with you, he trusted you with his life, having you watch his back when he cleared a room with you, and you trusted him just as much when you smiled at him before he left for overwatch. You worked together so effortlessly, he moved when you moved, and you stopped when he stopped, step for step and act for act. It came to the point where he was never seen without you and you were always shadowed by him, stuck by the hip and fingers touching, two giants in bulk and gear stomping around base with your masks pulled up and scaring people off. It was a sight to behold. 

And in moments of vulnerability, where he once thought he had to be gentle and careful, he could fully throw himself at you without the fear of hurting you, using his whole body to press you down and his strength to hold you still, fingers bruising your scarred skin and growling out your name. He didn’t have to hold back and he didn’t have to do all the work, letting you take care of him, featherlight touches and tender kisses, praising him and encouraging him to let go. He didn’t know he liked to be treated softly, to be loved and gently handled, it was such a difference of his battle-hardened facade he put up. 

He learned that he liked being reminded of his humanity, that he was flawed and that it was all right to be a wounded being. He learned that he liked you more than he did with small and dainty women, never having to hold back and being able to let go of his control. And he learned that it was fine to not conform to the imagine people had of him, to stand out for what he liked and favoured; to trust and to love; to be cared for and to be protected; and to share his pain.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost #ghost #Tall!reader #cod fluff #fluff

[yaut-jaknowit]

Can you please write Older yautja x f reader. Like a really big old yautja cheif. The reader is native american (not that it matters) and an overly energetic girl. Very fluffy n cuddly. Reader is whining about the cold and snuggles up to the elder n gets a little frisky he's grumpy but willing to help out. Thank you!

Pet names: Girly, little one, my girl, etc

Kinks: softdom, possesive, breeding, mild somnophilia

Hold You

Pairing: Woftik (Male Yautja) x AFAB Reader

Warnings: SMUT, softdom, possesive Yautja, breeding kink, light size kink, knotting, light aftercare, P in V, soft sex, fluff, use of very feminine pet names. You know the drill people lol

Word Count: 4516

Summary: Yautja Prime is a large planet. It sits in the designated zone for life to sprout. And life easily thrives all over the place. Even when a bitter cold takes over the poles. Woftik lives there with you. Life is great. Until the frozen lands are swallowed with a blizzard. All the two of you could possibly do was wait out the storm with each other.

Author Note: I'm so sorry this took a bit to get to. I had gotten caught up with a few self-interest writings. I do promise, I'm working on the ones that people have requested. Also, I do love all of your requests guys!

Masterlist

Ao3

In the middle of the equator and the poles of Yautja Prime, it had weather closer to earth. Closer to said poles, an actual four seasons will cycle every year of the planet. Though rare, some Yautjas will live up towards the poles. A select few clans have laid down claim to vast, cool plains of barren lands and ocean.  

Off of the top of your head, you could remember the clan Woftik was part of and another his clan was affiliated with. Nacht Klinge and Snoq are the clan names. There were two more, you believed that survive in the colder climates. Truly, you didn’t mind the cold as much, enjoying on some days. While on others, you snuggled up to your Yautja and napped content.

Today was no different. A blizzard had wiped the Nacht Klinge clan off of the map currently. It was far too dangerous for even a Yautja to step foot outside without being lost. There wasn’t nothing out there worth the risk in the first place. Food, water, entertainment, warmth all bundled into one place. No one could drag you out there if they wanted to.

That meant, you found yourself pinned to Woftik’s meaty side. One of his thickly corded arms thrown heavily over your shoulders. Just the weight alone had you trapped. Woftik wasn’t moving anytime soon. It seemed, neither were you.

The Yautja had his eyes closed, ears open, and body sagged into the couch. Your little warmth wasn’t attentive but it had him satisfied. He let loose a rumble that vibrated across the expanse of his torso. You giggled and squirmed in your spot, unable to move much.

As time went on, the fire that Woftik had built sometime before, had dwindled. With the harsh cold threatening to breakdown the door and environment you lived in, you felt the crisp, frosty air biting at your exposed skin. Despite the blazing heat warming up your side, it wasn’t enough to hold it back. Your body was raked with a shiver. That caught Woftik’s attention.

His dark, almost black, brown eyes opening and flicked down to you. You gazed up at him with doe eyes. “It’s getting cold,” you explained and trembled again. It wasn’t on purpose.

Old Woftik grumbled, not out of annoyance, just a noise he regularly makes and lifted his arm off of you. His heat fleeting away the moment he did. This was an open opportunity though. You leaped off of the couch and raced over to the fireplace.

Orange, glowing embers produced heated that fell over your goose bumped skin. At this distance, the cold was chased away once more. You reached next to the mantle and grabbed three chopped logs, as much as possible. They were carefully placed on top of the dying fire. Next, you mindfully leaned in, still a safe distance away and gently blew.

It helped stroke the ember, pushing oxygen towards them. They grew bright with flames flickering to life once more. Those flames licked up at the logs a few times as you did this over and over. Until the logs finally caught the fire and burned. You smiled to yourself and stood back up. With one move, you pivoted around to face Woftik.

The elder was the spitting image of tranquility. Arms hanging on the back of the couch, legs spread far wider than necessary. His head leaned back and exposing his throat to you. Not a single muscle was tensed or twitching. Softly, his chest rose and fell with quiet breaths. You didn’t let your smile fade at the sight of him.

Instead, you skipped up to him. Woftik made a noise that kept solidifying his growing age. His Adam’s apple bobbing with the sound. You took the initiative to climb into his lap and straddle his wide waist.

Woftik didn’t move a muscle. Your hands touched at his midriff before sliding up to his wide shoulders. For a male, this Yautja was massive in mass and height. He rivaled a few females that live among his clan. Yet, Woftik’s color has been adapted to his environment over decades of living here.

An off color of white painted his skin. Though white was considered a curse among many of the clans that lived towards the equator. For him, it was a gift. To hunt and live in a climate this harsh and deadly required skill and great camouflage. Maybe that’s why he’s chief of the Nacht Klinge clan.

Similar to all of his kind, he was only adorned with a loin cloth – albeit thicker. The bulky size of him kept him far warmer than you in this kind of weather. Another adaptation for the climate. If he were outside when the weather was normal, a furred covering would hang from his shoulders. Woftik would wear shoes as well. It was too cold for him to go bare foot like the rest of his kind at the equator.

In the safety of Woftik’s dwelling, he sat almost naked and lax. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your chest against his. A short purr vibrated from deep within his barrel torso. You quietly laughed and shook your head.

With the newly rebuilt fire rewarming the house once more, you softened against Woftik. One of his massive arms encircled your form. It kept you snug to him. You release a sigh of content, a hidden smile gracing your features. Barely above a whisper, you mummer, “love ya, ya big giant.” Woftik’s arm flexed just a hair. You felt it though and didn’t let your turned up lips fall.

The temperature continued to drop throughout the day. It sapped up your heat, even your own Yautja started to feel that annoying bite at his heels. He threw his other arm over you, encasing your frame. You canted your hips to scoot forward, to somehow press yourself into his skin. Maybe, somehow get underneath it to steal all of his warmth.

You stuttered with a gasp at the accidently stimulation of your clit skirting across Woftik’s loin cloth. An all too familiar heat bloomed over you features. A new fire sparking to life deep within your stomach. You whined and snuggled deeper into him. This time, you grounded your hips down on purpose. Your eyes rolled back. Woftik’s deadly claws poked into your feeble flesh.

Now, with the feeling starting a fire across your skin, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. It would help keep you warm in this weather, fire or not. You let an arm fall from around his neck and settled on his navel, nails lightly scratching. “Woftik,” you softly cry his name before picking up your head to look at him in the eye. He was already peering down at you, mandibles tense. You had started a gentle fire, not the one in the fireplace.

“What do you want, little one?” he muttered lowly and bent down the best he could. His face was close to yours. You felt the warm, moist exhale flutter over your features. He was close enough to make out the texture of his dark eyes. Darker than usual as need grew within them.

A heavier blush blanketed your cheeks at the name he called you. One he didn’t let fade. Woftik shifted his hands to engulf your hips. With those limbs, he forced you to grind up against him. You sucked in a sharp breath of air between your clenched teeth. “I asked you a question, girly.” You keened quietly and ducked underneath his chin to hide in his neck. But the white Yautja wasn’t gonna let that happen.

With a hand, he pinched your jaw and softly brought you back out. “Little one,” he spoke with a hardened, lax tone. You couldn’t help your hips jutting forward, knocking your clothed cunt against the slowly growing bulge in his pants. Woftik squeezed your chin for a moment before untensing.

“You,” you quietly stated. Woftik was eating this up like a hungry, starved man. From the usual bouncing, talking ooman on daily basis you were, to this. Such a nervous, needy, little ooman, embarrassed about asking for something so normal.

The old Yautja rumbled a noise of thinking. His dark eyes never leaving yours. “You already have me,” he stated a fact. Here you were, plopped on Woftik’s lap, humping against him like a needy little girl.

You keened with a pathetic whine and finally met his eyes. They begged for him silently. They were filled with emotions, flooding them fully. Woftik used a thumb to rub along your cheek bone. Your whole body went slack in his hold. “Yeah, I know. Such a good little ooman for me. Will you let me take you?” he whispered into the cooling living room. “I’ll keep you warm and safe with me.”

How could anyone say no to him when he speaks like that? Woftik was the best person – alien or not – you’ve ever met. His hands were gentle each time they laid on your feeble skin. His words always had you smiling or keening. His eyes had yours captured each time they met.

Your head was quick to nod. “I want you, love. Please, keep me warm.” To sell the whole show, you shivered, partially fake. Truly, it was dropping in temperature inside of his house.

Woftik grumbled a noise of old age and content before letting his hands skirt underneath your shirt. The blazing heat that radiated off of his skin left a hot trail of the skin he touched. As much as you wanted to hide in the safety of his neck, you didn’t want to part from his eyes. You searched through them and found all the love he had for you stored within them.

“Then, you’ll have me.” One of his hands roamed north before settling over the swell of one of your breasts. You sighed softly at the feeling. The hand on his navel scratching once more. The thick muscle there rippled at your touch. He didn’t let that distract him and run a talon mindfully over a pliant nipple. It immediately had blood rushing to it, growing hard underneath his administration. “Your body knows who I am, doesn’t it?” Your empty cunt clenched at his words.

A warm, short gush of slick dampened your underwear. A new flush of blood brushing over your cheeks. You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore and found the ground more interesting. “Sweet girl, look at me,” he called out to you. In return, you whine and kept your chin tucked down. “Come on, let me see your pretty eyes.”

Relenting, you lifted your head, eyes finding each other. “There’s my girl. I can smell you thick in the air-hey don’t look away now. There you go, keep your eyes on me. You smell like heaven.” Your heart thundered in your ears, almost drowning out his words. It stuttered in its bony cage. How could he talk… fuck you.

“Now, lets get these pants off of you.” Woftik helped lift you up and off of his lap. Your legs trembled at first when you added weight to them. With him right there though, he kept you up and removing your leggings at the same time. His arms flex with use of his muscles. Your lips pressed together, eyes roaming over him.

Once your leggings were tossed to the side, you shivered at the biting cold and leaped into Woftik’s lap. Without hesitancy, his large arms encased your form once more. You hummed at the skin-to-skin contact. “Hm, you’re so warm, love,” you muttered against the giant wall of muscle your head was laid on.

With your shirt still on, Woftik slid a hand underneath and had it returned to its original spot. A groan sounding from the back of your throat. His moves weren’t harsh or demanding, gentle like a waves lapping at a shore.

His free hand slipped between the apex of your plush thighs and cupped your moist core. A gasp tore at your throat from the sudden move. Your spine curved to pressed your hips more against him. He rumbled a chuckle and palmed at you. The move rubbed over your soak clit as his fingers teased your folds. One move and he could be buried inside of you. Yet, the Yautja didn’t let that happen. His digits just stayed still like a statue.

A whine built up in the back of your throat. “Love, I need more.” At your begging, Woftik rested his thumb on top of your nub. Immediately, your muscles tensed and waited impatiently at his next move. When he didn’t, you took it upon yourself to hump against him. The former embarrassment slipping away from you like water. “Fuck, like that. That feels so good.”

Woftik felt pleasure wash over him in a heady amount, soaking into his bones. Despite a want to move that hand coated in your slick, the Yautja pinched at your nipples instead. This distracted you from jerking your hips, you bit at your bottom lip.

Now, he took it upon himself to start a slow, mindful rubbing over your clit. The sticky slick coating your cunt easily allowed for him to pass over your nub. You released your lip with an airy cry, hands clawing at his exposed shoulders. The cold forgotten about now. A wall built to deter it away from the safety of your Yautja.

In tandem, your hips rocked against Woftik’s hand, further increasing the pressure. The Yautja watched, raptured with the way you moved with a desperate need. Your eyes hooded over, bottom lip captured between dull teeth. You were heavily breathing through your nostrils before you started to pant.

He let his upper hand abandon your breast to skim up to wrap firmly around your neck. Your eyes snapped open to stare wide at him. With a thumb, he stroked your jawline. “I didn’t say stop, pretty girl,” he huskily whispered. Your eyes rolled up. You didn’t realize you had stopped moving until he said something. You didn’t waste a second to begin again. A new fever rushing into your veins.

“That’s it,” he growled lowly. You squeaked, hands grasping at his skin. It had to be the combination of everything. Him, his noises, his body, his warmth, his hands, everything. It was affecting you. His last encouragement was the final nail in the coffin.

Your back arched, chest pressed up against him. A hardy gasp tore at the back of your throat, causing a cracking sound. “Fuck!” you spat out and refused to still, jutting your hips without rhythm till the end. A new gush of fluids coating his massive hand between your thighs. Despite the Yautja forcing you to look at him, your hooded back over. The bliss ebbing away from the blood that filled your veins.

When you officially slumped against his broad form, head resting on his shoulder. Woftik dragged his lower limb from between the apex of his body and lifted it in front of his alien face. From the corner of your heavy eyes, you watched as the Yautja licked your juices off. You mewled while humping, horny at the display.

Woftik grumbled his elder noises of content. “Hm, always so good for me.” Then, the Yautja tilted his head back to gaze down at your loose form. “Do you know what you do to me, little one? Do you know how hard you get me? How desperate you have me right now?” If you had a sober mind, the blush coating your cheeks could be from him.

All you could do for the moment was make a pathetic sound from the depths of your chest and bury your face in his neck. “Oh no, no, no. You don’t get to hide away from me now. I want to watch you come on my cock next, sweet girl.”

“Fuck me, please,” you groaned into his neck without thinking. Your body tensed a second after those words had left your mouth. Had you just said that?

The alien in front of you rumbled his low laughter. “That’s what my good girl wants, doesn’t she?” You forced yourself to bite at your bottom lip. At this point, it has had to bleeding or rubbed raw. After all the times you’ve constantly agitated it. A part of yourself would be surprised if it wouldn’t hurt in the morning. “Come on, tell me that you’re my good girl.”

Your hips rolled subconsciously. That’s when you felt a bulge in his pants. Without meaning to, they moved against the bump you had felt. Pleasure shot up the length of your spine all over again. With the combination of him calling you his good girl and the proposition of what’s to come, your walls clenched emptily.

“Your good girl,” you whined. You needed him now.

One moment, Woftik had you on his lap. The very next second, you were slammed onto your back on the couch cushions, legs spread wide. The oxygen in your lungs forced out at the sudden pressure. Any sounds of surprise couldn’t reach the air. But there wasn’t a hint of fear in your eyes as you stared up at the lumber giant above you. Woftik had you pinned to the couch, calm as ever, gaze locked onto you. One hand was wrapped snuggly around your throat. His other had found its way to your navel and gently held you there.

With his lower limb, he retreated it to pull off his pants. They were moved down enough for his cock to spring out and slap against him navel. A thick bead of precum leaking from the head, dripping down the length of him. Such an alien look to him that’ll have you always satisfied.

His size matched his body. Thickly corded and large. A vein ran down the side before disappearing where the noticeable lump of his deflated knot. He was a bright, neon green, just like his blood. At the sight of him, your mouth watered.

Your eyes lifted up to find his nearly black eyes on you, heavy with lust. Without even needing to say a word, you knew what he was asking of you. “Fill me, love.” Woftik didn’t need to ask again. With one hand, he lined himself up with your dripping cunt and pressed forward.

The head of his flat head popped inside before he stilled. Both of you relished in the delicious feeling seeping into your veins. Your head leaned back with a keen sounding from you. “You feel so good, little one. So tight and I’m barely inside of you,” he groaned and forced himself  to still for your benefit. Past interactions have taught him well.

Woftik was gentle, mindful on his actions until his hips finally kissed your inner thighs. The two of you cried out, heads thrown back at the same time. His hands squeezed temporarily. Before the one on your neck slid up to tangle in your hair. He tugged on the strands to force you to look at him again. “That’s all me, little one. Pauk, yeah. So pauking tight around me.” That lower hand touched your navel again and pressed down. You harshly gasped.

With a newfound energy, Woftik snatched one of your hands and pressed it to your navel. He preformed the same action as before. Your eyes widened, unable to look away from his dark ones. You felt the giant twitch inside of you. You could feel him with your hand, deep inside of you.

“I’m so far inside of you. So deep. I’m inside of your womb. I’m going to fill your womb with my seed. Breed you so full of me.” For a lumbering giant, he knew how to use words for his advantage. You throbbed, walls barely able to even move with him inside of you. “Pauk, I love when you do that. You love the way I’m so far inside of you.”

Yeah, you most definitely do. He’s ruined you for anyone else. And it wasn’t just the sex that convinced you to stay with him. He may have been an ass in the beginning, but he was the best thing you had back then. You were glad to have stayed with him, through the dangers of his life.

“I do. Now, fucking pound me,” you demanded and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down. His warm breath fell over you at each exhale. One deep inhale filled your lungs with his earthy scent of wildlife and nature and salt.

He didn’t need to be told twice at the order of his mate. With one pull of his hips, almost removing himself from you, he thrusted forward. The slap against your thighs wasn’t harsh or painful by any means. This was the beginning after all. He wants to savor the moment for however long he possible could.

On the other hand, you were loving every, single second. His girth pressed every crook and nanny inside of you. You were seeing stars, despite the vanilla pace he usually sets up.

Woftik’s tresses fell around you in a curtain of light green. With the leftovers of your sober mind, you turned your head and captured the end of one of them with your lip. Woftik slammed his hips particular hard against you. It sent your body sliding up before he pulled you back down flush with him. “Do that again,” he begged and partially draped himself over you. His weight kept you trapped.

At his request, you suckled on the end of the one you caught. Woftik grounded his hips hard into you, only thrusting them while holding you down to the couch. It had your clit scrapping across his pelvis. You squeezed like a snake around him at the harsh stimulation. He yowled and shuttered above you, a beautiful sight before you. You felt that familiar heat blooming back into your chest.

The Yautja didn’t speed up but kept the punishing harshness of his hips snapping to you. He fell to his elbows, chest to chest with you now. You were completely pinned between him and the couch. There was nowhere to go. Not that you wanted to leave anyhow. This is where you wanted to be. This is where you are meant to be.

You keened a particular thrust that had you seeing stars. Your whole body shuttered, walls fluttering around him. Woftik snarled huskily above, mandibles clicking wildly. “You’re mine to breed. Mine to fill. Mine to love. Mine to pauk.” Your hands clawed at his back, probably not leaving any sort of marks. Yet, the alien shuttered as if you had hurt him.

“All yours, love. All you-oh!” He firmly rewrapped his hand back around your throat, once he had realized it slipped away. Woftik watched the way your eyes rolled back up into your head, eyelids hooded. You squeezed him once more, dragging him closer and closer towards the end.

His growing knot kept catching on your entrance, almost locking him prematurely inside. As much as he wanted to stop anything from preventing a smooth thrust, he was too far gone. He used the muscles that lined his broad back and waist to keep slamming his hips against you. There wasn’t anything that could pull him away from you. You were his. Through and through.

With the slight increase in his rough pounding, his skin rubbed against your erect nipples. Bliss was thrumming throughout your whole body. From the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You were soaking in it with your mate fucking you into the living room couch. The harsh, winter cold no longer a problem from the heat the two of you generated. No fire was needed for fiery love you held for each other.

One particular slam had you sobbing, body threatening to curl into his blazing body. “That’s it, little one. Be my good girl, come for me. And I’ll fill you with my seed as you’re mine,” he praised into your ear. Harsh clicks following afterwards. He cursed in his own language, losing his ability to speak ooman for the moment.

A body splintering orgasm pushed you right off of the edge. Everything went white, body tense and writing against Woftik’s never ending moving form. There was static in your ear. The only thing you could hear was a far off scream echoing in your ears. Your throat started to burn, vibrating for some odd reason.

Then, as your soul returned, you realized it was you who was making that noise. The rest of the air in your lungs left and forced you to sputter for more oxygen. You were panting, roughly and rasping inhales. Sweat dotted your half naked form. The shirt that hung off of your shoulders was sticking to your skin like an uncomfortable second layer.

You tried to gather your thoughts for a second only to feel a painful slap meet your thigh. If it wasn’t for the strong body pinning you down or the sturdy hold clasped around your throat, you would’ve been thrown far up the couch.

An all too familiar pressure burst inside of you, locking. You keened at the feeling, back arching off of the couch. Woftik’s snarl vibrated across the expanse of your skin. His native language falling off his alien tongue in heady mouthfuls. Your name cried out like a prayer along the words.

With a shaky, weak hand, you cupped his lower jaw. This had him opening his eyes, hooded and heavily to stare down at the mess he made of you. He purred thickly once he did.

There was so many emotions swirl inside of those gorgeous eyes of his. Not just the lust or subdued hunger for you. No, the affection he has that stems from deep within his soul shone through. You felt yourself completely soften at the sight.

The limb on your throat shifted to mirror your action. Woftik leaned forward and softly knocked his forehead against yours. “You did so well for me, sweet girl,” he breathed in to your ear, breathing faster than usual. You smiled up at him with a tilt of your head. “Yeah, you did so pauking good for me.”

Now, the blush blanketing your cheeks wasn’t from your exertion or former embarrassment. It was due to his new words. Instead of shying away, you kept your gaze on him. “Thank you, love. That was amazing, just like you.”

Woftik tensed before sputtering. You giggled softly at his reaction before rewrapping your arm back around him. He relaxed in your hold and let the moment carry on. Until you felt the dreading cold nip at the skin exposed to the house’s air. You whined and wiggled underneath him. “Wof… it’s getting cold again.” There wasn’t much he could do until his knot deflated. So, you had to wait until then. Don’t fret, the Yautja ensured you kept warm underneath him.

#yautja smut #yautja x you #yautja #alien vs predator #predator #predator x human #predator x you #x reader #yautja x reader #predator x reader #yautja x human

[lees-chaotic-brain]

I Love Spandex (Gojo Satoru x Reader)

You are a gymnast.

Note: This is completely self-indulgent bc i'm a gymnast and I wanted to write this. Sorry not sorry??

CW: Idk fluff and like him telling you he thinks you're hot, he a horny horny man, insecurities, kind of hurt/comfort??

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While your boyfriend Gojo knew you were a gymnast, you had never invited him to one of your competitions.

You loved how powerful and confident you felt in your sparkly leotard as you flipped and spun around the equipment. However, you were the slightest bit insecure.

Without a single soft feminine curve to speak of, you were slender, but every part of you was packed with muscle. From your rough calloused hands to your broad "man-shoulders," you felt that you resembled a man more than a woman in the way you were built.

And while Gojo saw you everyday, you were irrationally paranoid that if he saw you actually out on the equipment, and the way your muscles were made more prominent by the strain, he would become less attracted to you.

Alas, your nosy boyfriend had begged, and cajoled, and bribed you until you finally caved and allowed him to attend one of your competitions.

You had done well, winning bars and beam, and ending with a 38.5 all around. But the nerves you felt now, approaching your boyfriend, made the nerves you felt waiting to salute the judges seem insignificant.

Mustering up the courage, you walked up to him.

"Hey Sat-"

"BABE!"

His eyes lit up as he bounded towards you.

"You were amazing! Oh my god why haven't you let me come to one of these things before?!

He picked you up and spun you around before setting you down and grabbing your hand. Confused, you let him drag you along, unsure of what he was doing.

Running to the nearest person, he wrapped his arm around your waist and began to loudly brag.

"See her? This is my girlfriend. My girlfriend. And she won! My girlfriend is the BEST."

Blinking up at him, you chuckled nervously and apologized to the poor lady.

"I'm so sorry about him, I honestly had no idea he was about to do that."

"Don't worry about it."

The older lady waved it off with a smile.

"He's just excited about his girlfriend. It's cute."

Blushing, you thanked her and dragged your boyfriend off by his arm into a corner.

"Babe, I would want to do this right now if I was dating me too, but your coach is right over there-"

"You aren't embarrassed of me?"

You blurt, unable to keep your insecurities hidden anymore.

Your boyfriend blinks owlishly at you.

"Embarrassed-what baby, no of course not."

He steps closer and grabs your hands.

"Why would you even think that?!

Shyly you tried tugging your hands from his, but he wouldn't let you.

"C'mon babe, talk to me here."

You averted your gaze.

"I-I don't know, you don't think that I'm unattractive?"

"WHAT?"

Your boyfriend looked at you in shock and horror.

"Why would you even think that?!"

His gaze darkened.

"Who do I need to kill?"

"No one I just, I mean look at me!"

You gestured at your body frustrated.

"What is this-"

He copied your gesture.

"Supposed to mean?"

"Don't make me spell it out!"

"No, please. Do spell it out for me. Why would you ever think I find you unattractive?"

"Satoru! Seriously! Have you never noticed that I'm built like a man? My hands are gross and calloused. I'm not delicate or curvy. I-"

"Stop."

You stop mid sentence, your mouth still open.

He sighs and pulls you into his chest.

"Babe. I wouldn't change a single thing about you. You are literally the sexiest person I have ever met. Well except for me of course."

"But my muscles and callouses-"

"Do you think my muscles and callouses make me unattractive?"

"Well no, but-"

"No buts."

You make a little sound of protest against his chest.

"Babe. Wanna know something I discovered about myself today?"

"Sure."

You mumble against his chest, starting to calm down a bit.

"I love spandex. Especially on you."

Startled you look up at him.

"What?"

"You heard me. You have no idea how unbelievably hard I was watching you earlier. Like-"

"Satoru, what?"

"Like we are going to be busy tonight."

His eyes lit up like a little kids.

"Do you think that you could wear your leotard to bed tonight?!"

"Wait, you got turned on watching me compete? You weren't like grossed out?"

"Grossed out? Sweetheart I got blue balls from watching you. The way it hugs your ass, I mean GYAT-"

"Satoru!"

You smack his arm laughing.

"Alright. You've convinced me."

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you give him a quick kiss.

"Thanks for making me feel better."

"Of course babe."

He looks at you mischieviously.

"You can make it up to me tonight. In your leotard."

That's all! Thanks for reading! I'm taking requests rn so if anyone has any lmk!

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x fem reader #gojo x fem reader #gojo makes me go brrrr #gojo x insecure reader #jjk x reader #jjk x fem reader #jjk one shot #gojo satoru fic #hurt/comfort #lee's brain writes

[misseviehyde]

DOUBLED SLUT

"You know Nancy - you'd be surprised how easy it is to transform a nice kind boy like your loving brother, into a mean, slutty, spoiled bully like me - especially with the resources my family has.

There's too much big Alpha dick in this town for me to suck on my own - I decided I needed another slut to help me out. I could have chosen a girl and corrupted her into being like me - but it's even more fun to take some beta loser and totally enhance him.

I got my Daddy to kidnap your brother off the street and hook him up to a machine that turned him into a total slut. Knowing it was another way I could bully and humiliate you just made me so fucking wet as I watched my Daddy's men strap Charlie in.

It's such a wonderful machine of my own design built by my Daddy's people - a kind of a cross between an auto-surgeon and a VR machine.

I'm the DNA donor the machine uses - so it began to inject him with new hormones and my superior genetic code.

Watching the physical changes was hot. His body was so receptive to my DNA - his hair turned blonde just like mine and his tiny dick shrivelled away to nothing till he had a tight pussy for all the boys to use. Watching his C-cup titties swell up was so hot and even his internal organs have changed! Charlie is fully female now loser... but that's only half of it.

The most fun part was fucking with his mind. My machine plugged directly into his puny male brain and allowed me to subject him to constant brainwashing and simulations.

I used my memories as a basis and made sure you were always the victim. I trained your brothers body to get horny and aroused by acting slutty and mean. I made him suck cock after cock in the simulations and bombarded him with toxic femininity.

Time passes differently in VR - your brother has had thr equivilent of twenty years of neuro-reprogramming in a matter of days. I deleted and destroyed his old memories and totally replaced his personality.

Charlie is gone loser. Your sister Chloe is your sibling now. I got my Daddy to pay off your parents and sort out all the I.D and stuff she needed. Now Chloe has totally replaced that loser boy you used to care about so much.

Now I have the bestie I always wanted and if I need to I can make her even worse in my machine. Maybe you'd like a go too? We could turn you into a femboy and give you a micro-penis. I'm not sure someone as pathetic as you deserves to be a girl.

Haha - maybe later. Chloe and I have some boys coming over and we're gonna be busy sucking and riding big cock. You can stay and watch if you like.

Don't you wanna see how nasty I made your brother?

Oh... that's too bad."

#evie hyde #bitchification #m2f corruption #corruption #bully #machine #identity replaced

[queenofcoquette]

beauty standards and curated aesthetics online

tiktok, pinterest and the promotion of aesthetics

curated aesthetics like coquette, downtown girl, cottagecore, femme fatale, that girl, clean girl, coconut girl 

anti aging (promoting retinol, 10-step skincare routines, palstic surgery, not smiling to reduce wrinkles????)

normalization of plastic surgery

body types (heroin chic, curvy, etc.)

“energy” (divine feminine)

doe eyes, siren eyes

popular pretty, natural pretty or model pretty

why this is harmful

curated aesthetics- people are pushed to conform to a manufactured style. instead of creating your own style and wearing what you want, people are trying to fit into aesthetics

anti aging- people are now terrified of aging and are going thru great lengths so they don’t get lines on their face. at the end of the day, you’re going to get wrinkles eventually. when you’re 80 no $500 serum is gonna stop natural aging. 

normalization of plastic surgery- plastic surgery is now seen as a trend. the kardashians did all that work, then got their BBL removed. no it’s about buccal fat removal. whats next? why do we view plastic surgery as a trend? fashion trends are one thing but our faces are another.

body types- beauty standards for our bodies shift all the time. 4 years ago it was big boobs, tiny waist and wide hips. now it’s heroin chic, ultra thin with slim faces and no buccal fat.

“energy”- no one cares about divine feminine energy. it’s a chronically online idea, similar to the whole alpha male, beta male sigma thing. in real life people aren’t gonna go “wow she’s so divine feminine!” outside of the online sphere, people don’t care at all about these terms.

conclusion- we’re all being pushed into boxes style wise. the clothes we wear, how our bodys are built, how our faces look, what energy we give off. if we have doe eyes or siren eyes, if we’re popular pretty, natural pretty or model pretty. it’s just another stressor that pushes people towards insecurities. and these social media platforms push this content towards young women and teens like me, making us feel like in order to be pretty we need to fit these labels and conform to these standards.

taking back our identity

recognizing online manipulation- when this content gets pushed so heavily, especially on tiktok, it’s easy to get caught in the algorithmic loop. but it’s important to take a step back and think- what am i actually watching? how is this affecting me?

cutting back on social media time- another thing that helps is just taking time offline and cutting back on social media. when you do so you realize how pointless these things are. in the real world no one is going to notice if you have “doe eyes or siren eyes” or if you’re a high value woman or a femme fatale or whatever.

embracing health over trends- my main point though is to prioritize your health over trends. prioritize taking care of your body- eating good, working out, taking care of your physical health. instead of getting caught up with anti-aging, just focusing on basic skincare and nourishing your body. by taking care of yourself you’ll be embracing your natural beauty :)

conclusion- social media can be damaging, and it can promote negative ideas. i’m getting tired of all the curated styles, the pressure put on appearances. it’s just another stressor in life, one that isn’t important. if you enjoy these styles online, thats great i do too! but its important to remember that it’s all pointless really. youre not a femme fatale, youre 15.

#that girl #that girl 2023 #self improvement #pink pilates princess #queenofcoquette

[princessbrunette]

i’ve finally built up the courage to voice my thoughts, so i’m on a bit of a roll today, let me know if i’m annoying you!

we talk about all the ways jj babies you, but can we talk about all the ways you baby him? like jj x obsessive caring bimbo reader where she’s always having to reach up and clean his mouth whenever he’s eating because he’s too engrossed in whatever conversation he’s having, or whatever food he’s eating that he doesn’t even notice the food on his mouth. The little things like fixing his collar and making sure to bring a spare jacket for him bc even though he swears he won’t need it you know he will. Absentmindedly brushing his hair out of his eyes whenever he’s talking to someone, and placing your hand on his knee when he’s bouncing it anxiously. Dragging him away to apply sunscreen all over his body cs there’s no way you’re letting your man get skin cancer, no way! randomly showing up with shirts and sweaters that you hold up to him and gush “oh, jayj! this would look so handsome on you.” clapping your hands excitedly and giggling when he tries it on, ignoring john b and pope snickering in the background. Whenever you see him in the evenings the first thing that comes out of your mouth is “jj what did you eat today?” and when he uncertainly mumbles nothing, you burst into tears and he has to comfort and reassure you that he’s not going to die of starvation. Putting him through your skincare routine against his will, and sometimes you wash his hair for him (but he really likes that part) it’s gotten to the point that the gang starts saying shit like “eat your veggies jj!” “drink your juice jj.” “no bad words jj.” and he can’t even be mad, cs it really does sound like you. And they’re always always saying “don’t make me call her on you, jayj.” and he just rolls his eyes cs little do they all know, he’s the dominant one where it really counts. You can always tell whenever he is out with the gang getting into some shit he shouldn’t have been and causing trouble, “jj what have you done?” you ask and he tells you nothing but you know your man better than that, so you tell him to pass the phone to kiara because you know she wouldn’t lie to you, and when she snitches on him he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck “i better get going before she comes all the way out here.” like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Telling him to be careful and fussing over him even when he’s doing something completely harmless like changing the tire “jj don’t burn yourself!” you shriek covering your eyes when he does something that doesn’t look too safe to you ( i don’t know anything about cars and neither does she) “baby, it’s not even hot.” he shakes his head fondly, never getting annoyed with your behavior even when other guys would, it’s nice to know someone cares for him so much. it’s something he’s never had.

ur not annoying at all!!!

obsessive bimbo gf has my heart !! honestly because jj is such a… guy he’s always messy n getting himself into problems n danger etc i feel like he would benefit from a feminine voice being around to make sure he’s good !! esp bursting into tears upon hearing he hasn’t eaten today bc omg ?? let me cook for u rn ????

and sometimes jj just wants u to relax and let him look after you, but you’re so set on your doting housewife-like tendencies u just can’t help yourself from fussing over him all the time :((. maybe if he wasn’t so pretty and reckless you’d be able to relax but !!!!

#anon #jj maybank prompt

[genderkoolaid]

Transandrophobia: A F.A.Q

!! Please see this updated version !!

If you find this FAQ useful and/or you want to help me out, you can donate to me here.

What is transandrophobia?

It is transphobia that targets transmasculinity. Some people also refer to it as transmisandry or anti-transmasculinity.

What are some examples of transandrophobia?

Laws blocking medical transition or puberty blockers, which come from fearmongering about "young girls ruining their bodies to become men"

The idea that AFAB trans people only transition to escape misogyny and gain male privilege

The idea that transmascs are "betraying" womanhood by transitioning, and that it would be more feminist of them to "stay women"

The erasure of transmasculine voices, history, and culture, to the point that many people do not know that transmasculine people exist, or think that transmasculine people do not face violence because they don't hear about it

Being refused important medical exams and treatment because they are only for women (such as pap smears) for transmasculine people who are legally male.

Testosterone being a protected substance which people can be fined or arrested for having without permission from a doctor.

Also see my examples of transandrophobia tag for more, and my experiences with transandrophobia tag for people's real-life accounts, and the Archive of Violence Against Transmasculine People.

Androphobia doesn't exist, though, so how can transphobia intersect with it?

The term "transandrophobia" was made to emphasize the targeting of transmasculinity, not to represent an intersection between transphobia and androphobia; the same goes for "transmisandry". Transunity theory considers misandry to be one of the "three arms of transphobia", along with misogyny and misandrogyny. All forms of transphobia view trans people as having the negative traits of masculinity/manhood and femininity/womanhood, as well as the negative trait of being unable to fit into either binary option (androgyny). This is also why transunitism uses "transmisogyny" to mean transphobia targeting transfemininity and not just as the intersection of transphobia and misogyny it was originally coined as. Alongside exorsexism/ceterophobia/nonbinaryphobia, the use of these three terms to express transphobia targeted towards different groups allows us to discuss the way different groups of trans people are perceived and treated. To quote this article, "Misandry [...] can never reliably be prevented from collapsing into transphobia." Negative traits associated with masculinity (aggression, hypersexuality, dirtiness, being a danger to vulnerable/innocent women, etc.) are used as justification to attack all kinds of trans people based on trans people as a class's unique relationship with gender, as well as intersex people's. These negative traits are also frequently used as justification for the oppression of marginalized men, who are seen as both an opponent of dominant masculinity and a threat to dominant femininity. Cis men do not need to be systematically oppressed in the same way as cis women in order for misandry/androphobia/antimasculism to be an aspect of transphobia and play a role in other forms of oppression.

Does transandrophobia mean transfems oppress transmascs?

No, not at all. Trans people cannot oppress each other for being trans; none of us have the systematic power to do that. Transfems can be transandrophobic, but that is lateral aggression. Transfems do not have any social power over transmascs. Transandrophobia is built and propagated by cis people and they are the ones who have power over us. Anyone who argues that transfems are uniquely/especially transandrophobic, that they have class privilege over transmascs, or that transmascs should separate from the wider trans community are either not arguing in good faith, or are transmisogynistic and should not be listened to.

I've heard some really bad things about the coiner of the word transandrophobia.

Firstly, the accusations at Saint were a part of a smear campaign that heavily distorted the facts to make him seem like an awful person. He also coined "transandrophobia" as an alternative to a pre-existing term, "transmisandry" - he did not create the idea nor did he start the discussion on it, merely the term now most widely used. See this explanation by doberbutts, a black trans man. But regardless of how you feel about Saint, he gets no material benefit from the use of his word. He gets no money from transandrophobia being used, it does not "support" him in any way. The word was coined in good faith to give transmascs a word to describe our experiences with specific forms of transphobia. See the "genetic" and "guilt by association" fallacies.

Why is it important to have this word?

Why is it important to have the word transmisogyny, or exorsexism/nbphobia? Those could also be grouped under "general transphobia", but it's vital that we don't because we need to understand where certain ideas come from. Bathroom bills don't just come from a general hatred of trans people - fearmongering about transfems being sexual predators is what causes them. Ignoring the transmisogyny rooted in these bathroom bills obscures the true motivation behind them. "There are only two genders" is transphobic, but it isn't based in a hatred for binary trans people - it's aimed at nonbinary people specifically. Fears about the destruction of gender come largely from nonbinary existence. Laws against transitioning do not come from fears about trans women, they come from the idea of young girls "corrupting themselves" by cutting their hair, taking testosterone, and getting affirmative surgery. By being able to point out where exactly certain transphobic ideas come from, we can better fight transphobia as a whole; that's the idea behind transunitism.

Additionally, discussing transandrophobia has helped many people (myself included) become more comfortable identifying as transmasc/trans men. Transandrophobic and antimasculist ideas are unfortunately very frequent even in queer spaces, leading many people to avoid identifying as transmasc. Speaking out about transandrophobia helps people realize that the problem exists, and heal from the damage it has caused.

This is meant to be a primer for people who dont know much about transandrophobia, to clear up common misconceptions and introduce some ideas. Please do more research into transandrophobia and the nuances of it when you can.

Further Resources:

""Transandrophobia" Primer" by nothorses

"As a transfem, what's your insight on the way transmascs are treated when talking about their experiences?" by cipheramnesia

"This is just your regular free-of-charge reminder that when people argue that transandrophobia does not exist, or that its not important enough to talk about, they are explicitly saying they don't care about sexual assault victims or victims of suicide (among other things)" by nothorses

"Transandrophobia Posts Masterpost- 2022" by transgentlemanluke

Pinned post with links to discussions about transandrophobia, baeddelism, and other issues by nothorses

"What is transandophobia actually?" by transmasc-pirate, with additions by doberbutts and psychoticallytrans

"Transandrophobic Fundamentals and the Intersections of Trans Masc Marginalization" by none-gender-left-man

"Hello, I apologise if you've already received questions like this, but can you explain why you would say that transmisandry/androphobia is distinct from misogyny?" by transfaguette

"I Am A Transwoman. I Am In The Closet. I Am Not Coming Out." by Jennifer Coates — not transandrophobia related, but a very valuable read.

This conversation between doberbutts and folly-of-alexandria on how transandrophobia differs from general transphobia and why it's important, which lists some further examples of how transandrophobia manifests in life.

Transandrophobia Explained carrd, by myself

Transmisogyny is not the intersection of transphobia and misogyny by luckyladylily

This post on misogyny, misandry, and transandrophobia by thorne1345

"tumblr can make fun of Blizzard’s Oppression Calculator all they want, that’s exactly how people act with discourse poisoned queer discussions" by cardentist

Invisible Men: FTMs and Homelessness in Toronto by the FTM Safer Shelter Project Research Team

On Hating Men (And Becoming One) by Noah Zazanis, an analysis of transmasculinity in feminism & Marxist feminst "unity theory"

#transandrophobia #m. #examples of transandrophobia #antimasculism #experiences with transandrophobia

[ludinusdaleth]

hi y'all, it's officially been 1 year since i started T!

it's been a wild, wild year and, tumblr willing, im gonna share some progress photos.

here's a pic i took right after my first injection vs now. i think the most noticeable yet subtle sign of my transition might be just getting broader & thicker in every aspect and you can tell that down to my face shape & nose & neck.

sideburns, pre t vs now. this in particular makes me so, so happy. and im getting curly beard hairs which means.... i may have a curly beard?? well my mom wins the hair lottery in one way i guess, lol

when i first started noticing chin hairs (i think 2 or 3 months into t?) vs now - kind of have billy goat scruff going on as my body needs to create a neckbeard before a full beard, i guess, but im honestly happy about it. all ive ever wanted was facial hair. and i hope it grows into a massive bushy affair one day. i also definitely have a double chin now and it's honestly very cute & handsome to me.

my happy trail area (and i guess my belly hang, lol), pre t vs now

and some more general body pics (warning, slight but censored ns/fw), pre t vs me now. these..... stun me. not only does the first pic show obvious masculinization of the face but more than that - im bearing up! gaining about 50 to 60 lbs? one of the best things that ever happened to me, and i have t to thank. going from being malnourished for a multitude of reasons to the point it hurt to breathe, vs now being a "big chonker" to my friends. going from being terrified of any sign of being feminine in any way, to practically worshipping my moobs (also hella furry now - but im not posting that here) & learning to accept my hips. feeling like i am not a ghost who cant be touched but a person, maybe a bear today or one day, literally built with fat & muscle to aid & comfort those i care for.

thanks to everyone who has treated me kindly & been accepting over my progress - especially in wishing with all my heart to be a bear. a few years ago i accepted transition as something impossible in texas, and resigned myself to misery with jeers & looks my way, & death threats & isolation. and now.... it feels so opposite. i grin at conservatives looking at me in anger because i know they can be as mad as they want but im still me, and i have a support system, people who treat me so kindly it's made me realize how much goodness really is possible. i used to feel more wraith than alive. now i feel like a wolf with his pack, a fae in his domain. life is a clusterfuck but something ive learned the past while is you must seek the good in it. you must.

and i did.

#van speaks #operation bearification #long post #the bear agenda #twink to bear

[transenbyconfessions]

I am transmasc and AFAB. I want to be seen as a boy. I want to be called by a boy’s name. I want there to be no hesitation before I’m called “mr.”

But this is my body. I built my body, I made it strong, I made it fast, I made it do all the things I need it to do. This is my body. I don’t want to have the body of a boy because that will never be the body that I made.

I like feminine clothing. I like my voice. I like my hair. I’ve worked hard to love myself. And I don’t want to change just so people will see me how they think a boy should look.

Submitted May 15, 2023

#transgender #trans #enby #nb #nonbinary #non-binary #non binary #trans masc #transmasc #trans masculine #transmasculine #trans man #trans boy #transgender man #transgender boy #trans guy #transgender guy #ftm #afab #gender expression #gender presentation #social transition

[luxudus]

Here's my celebration of 2023's femboy day! back when i was first drawing out the celebration in 2022 i was originally intending to use one of these guys, but due to time constraints and a bit of motivation I went with the sophonts seen in last year's celebration. This time i brought back those original concepts and fixed up their designs Some where slight tweaks and other complete redesigns. Lastly for reference they're all around 1.8 meters / 6 feet tall

The Mm-Kca't't are a sophont species of crustacean-like centaurs from a world named C'tok-Uur.

A blue moon orbiting a jovian world. Despite it's sheer blueness, C'tok-Uur has no major oceans but dozens of seas and lakes, it is dominated by savannahs and deserts where plant life takes on a deep blue hue. The dominant form of fauna are 4 limbed crustacean-like invertebrates with a single compound eye stretching across the face.

The Mm-Kca't't are heavily derived from that group, the "upper body" is actually an elongated head with the brain at the base, with their arms evolved from a pair of mandibles and the mouth is located at the center of the chest, males have large megacerops-like horns while females have a flat disk head. They are competitive obligate herbivores native to the savannahs of C'tok-Uur, males will spar with each other over potential mates. The motion dazzle camoflage helps their herds become indistinguishable to predators. They communicate through hums and clicks, and live in hierarchal herds, and living such social lives and with such surprisingly dexterous arms paved way for sapience

The Mm-Kca't't are somewhat advanced, they had just invented nuclear energy and are experiencing an atomic revolution as and are just beginning the construction of the first satellites. A popular facet of their culture involve male Mm-Kca't't denouncing their "masculinity" by cutting off their horns, modifying their diet, and present themselves more femininely while still identifying as "male"

The Hsh'shhh are a sophont species of mollusk-like flyers from a planet known as Sss'Shaa

Their homeworld is a humid superearth with an incredibly dense atmosphere and 6 moons. The planet has a wide axial tilt, coupled with the dense atmosphere, allows heat and light to distribute evenly across the planet. Giving ideal conditions for plant life of all photosynthetic processes to evolve and thrive, giving the surface of this world a "rainbow" hue. Fauna come in the form of external gilled, 4-eyed, slug-like pseudovertebrates that established an aerial ecosystem stretching into the clouds.

The Hsh'shhh evolved in the emergant layer of Sss'Shaa's rainforests. Descending from a line of "bipeds" that evolved their external gills into a set of wings. They eat with a radula located through the slit on their chest. Their red-pink facial disk act as ears while the blue fans act as a nose and rudders. They use their entire head and neck as a single arm to manipulate their envrionment, and their middle "finger" isa derived from a genital sheath. Their extremely vibrant coloring and black stripes help break up their outline when flying over the multicolored landscape, and their countershaded underbellies blend in with the sky. They live in order-less flocks and communicate through hissing.

Their society is surprisingly advanced given the higher gravity and greater air resistance of their home, but through the construction of several heavy duty space elevators and the establishment of 2 dozen space stations built for construction, they were able to bypass the limitations of their homeworld and colonize the rest of their star system, effectively becoming a kardeshev type 2 civilization comprised of independant nation states occupying different worlds. Their society is egalitarian and environmentalist and are currently terraforming their nearest interplanetary neighbours.

The concept of "femenine" males has been a cultural staple across Hsh'shhh history, and the idea is so prevelant that they and "masculine" females are categorized as their own entire genders

And the Vonzullt are a sapient species of mammal-like hexapods from a cold planet named Toiazuul.

Their homeworld is somewhat earthlike and is the only one supporting a breathable atmosphere. The major difference is that all landmasses are converged into a single supercontinent, and the planet is in the middle of an ice age that freezes any part of the planet 30 degrees away from the equator. flora on this world is yellow in color and technically wam blooded. The dominant fauna come in the form of jawless segmented vertebrate-like hexapods with 4 patches of layered photoreceptors that act as eyes.

The Vonzullt evolve from a family of mammal-like hexapodal carnivores that recently took an upright stance to watch out for apex predators. To make up for the lack of jaws, they and all other hexapods evolved a pair of chelicerae to hold onto food and "chew" on it. They live in hunting packs and evolved in the southern seasonal forests. Their intricate pack bonds and hunting strategies kickstarted their sapience, and eventually civilization as a whole

Unlike the previously mentioned civilizations, the VonZullt are far less developed, they experienced an industrial revolution a generation ago, are currently rediscovering the rest of their planet, and the concept of democracy has just developed and begun to spread.

surprisingly, the concept of feminine men is held with high regard among many Vonzullt societies, and in the case of the most prominent society, a somewhat militaristic empire. They are even given positions of power as they are seen as selflessly giving their strength to their brothers rather than hording it to themselves.

#alien species #speculative zoology #speculative biology #alien #worldbuilding #my art #artist on tumblr #art #my art <3

[bloodycherry22]

Two Girls and a Blunt | Ellie Williams

Genre: Smut

Summary: You recently broke up with you boyfriend and turn to your friends for some kind of release, unlucky for you, Dina and Jesse leave you and Ellie alone. She isn't afraid to give you a release.

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, use of weed, smoking, praise kink, clothed sex, i dunno.

Not proofead

Locking eyes with the redhead from across the room sent a different kind of shiver through your body that you had never felt before, the feeling like pins as your mind grew hazy at the unfamiliar herbal scent filling your nose. Dina had always suggested that you join the groups blunt rotation but having never had a reason, you always refused.

The extremely dramatic breakup with your boyfriend basically took over your waking moments, barely being able to focus on patrol out of pure anger towards the dick. Had you ever even loved him? fuck knows. Does it matter? fuck no.

"Hey..you listening?" Jesse asked, nudging your shoulder as he leaned against the couch arm, pointing your eyes in his direction you noticed the small joint between his fingers, smoke pouring out of it, slowly dissipating into the now smokey air.

Although the smell of the weed was strong, it didn't cover the comforting scent of Ellie, her masculine but somehow so feminine aroma, old spice and firewood. After what felt like a long pause you finally responded to the male "huh?"

"i was asking about how your doing? after the whole..shabam" he moved his hands intensely, lifting his fingers and taking a hit with an interested expression. You just nodded, a light shrug of the shoulders.

"weirdly, other than being pissed..i'm doing pretty good" a light laugh left your lips and you could hear the small breathy laughs escape from both Dina and Ellie. Dina suddenly walked towards you and put her hand out "move i wanna sit next to my dearest lover" she joked, already a bit dazed, it being obvious from the slight slur in her voice.

With a huff, you took her hand and stood, slowly heading towards Ellie, she sat comfortably, one leg to her chest while the other laid over the couch arm over the back of it. She sent you a short smile, moving her legs so you could take a seat beside her. she sat back against the couch, man spreading, it being almost impossible for her to not notice the way your eyes flickered to her thighs as she did so.

An odd anxiety built up in your chest as you sat beside her, letting a small smile appear on your face in return to her, something had changed but neither of you were confident enough to act on the sudden tension. although, you did catch a short glimpse of Dina quirking her brow in Ellie's direction. The action made the anxiety grow.

Soon, it was your turn to smoke, it wasn’t your first time but it sure had been a while. The way Ellie’s eyes followed your every move as you carefully took the blunt between your fingers, lifting it to your lips and inhaling the thick smoke, the feeling of it filling your lungs sending an instant calm wave over your body, letting your head fall back, hitting Ellie’s arm, although she didn’t move it, letting it fall over your shoulders with a grin. “Good huh?” She asked and you just nodded. Too focused on the smoke and ellie, you hadn’t even began to notice the tension between dina and Jesse, before long they were all over each other. Ellie shared a “look at them idiots” look with you, light laughs leaving you both.

As expected, Jesse suddenly stood up “so..as fun as this is, me and Dina are gonna head out” he grinned and Dina just laughed lightly.

“You guys have fun though!” She said and stood up, grabbing jesses hand, pulling him out of the house, shooting Ellie a wink as she left. Turning to ellie, your brow raised and she just shrugged, acting just as confused as you were.

She reached out for the blunt and smirked “hey, what could go wrong with just two girls and a blunt?” She snickered and you handed her it, fingertips brushing over hers, her words making your mind wander. Watching her every move, she lifted her hand, lips parting as she inhaled the smoke, eyes fluttering shut as she breathed out a small cloud. The way her head tipped back, neck fully on show made your thighs clench, all you wanted was to mark it up. What had gotten into you? Was it the weed?

She took another puff of it before letting her eyes fall open, half lidded as she looked at you, eyes flickering up and down over you. “Come closer..let’s try something” she grinned, lifting her other hand to motion you over with her pointer and middle finger, the action making you shiver.

Leaning towards her, breath shaky, made both of you blush ever so slightly, the redness evident on her features as she took another hit. Although she didn’t exhale, instead letting her hand fall to the back of your head, pulling you closer. The situation finally hit you and you allowed it to happen smoothly, leaning in closer to press your lips against hers. Her lips parted against yours, letting the smoke pass beteeen you, the feeling of it filling your lungs bringing a smirk to your face.

Pulling back to breath out the smoke, she looked deeply into your eyes, a comfortable silence between you both before you took the blunt, shaking your head “fuck the weed” a small giggle erupted from you as you put it out. In a swift movement you were on her lip, thighs either side of hers as her hands landed on your waist, pulling your body plush against hers, the air thick with tension.

It felt different when you kissed her again, like there was a new purpose to it, a new meaning. Her finger tips dancing over the top of your thighs, thumbs drawing circles through the fabric of your jeans as her soft lips moved against yours. Small noises escaped both of you as you lightly pressed your hips down against hers, letting your hands fall to her shoulders. The feeling of her body on yours was so insanely hot it made you want to rip your clothes off, the way she was barely touching you but every time she did it still felt like a shock wave.

The situation was indescribable, in-explainable. It had happened so fast that there was barely enough room to breath, the way her lips felt against yours was better than every kiss you had shared with your ex boyfriend, by a large amount. Her hands smoothed over your hips, yours finding their way into her auburn hair, fumbling with the strands. Her head reared into your touch ever so slightly, signalling that she was enjoying the act.

Her knee slipped between your legs, now straddling her thigh, the way her knee pressed into your core making your thighs shake lightly, the action not being missed by her. Physically able to feel her smirk against your mouth as her fingertips dug into your waist, the tight grip pulling you down onto her knee, the friction sending a new sensation to your head, letting your eyes screw shut.

She pulled back from the kiss, eyes scanning over your face, eyes half lidded, whether it was from lust or the amount of weed she had smoked would be an unsolved mystery. Opening your eye you were able to see her expression, completely lost and desperate, eyes locked on your clothed cunt and mouth agape, staggered breaths escaping her.

The way she eyed you was like a predator with its prey, as if she was claiming you, her hands and knee both encouraging you to move against her. finally, she lifted her gaze to look at you, her eyes evr so slightly bloodshot. "get yourself off on my thigh" she stated, no room to disagree with her, the look she was giving you was more persuasive than anything ever before.

You found yourself rolling your body desperately against her thigh in seconds, her hands squeezing your waist as if she could loose you at any moment, her touch just making you move more. no rhythm to your actions. The way your core felt against her thigh was euphoric, the feeling making your head tip back and eyes flutter shut.

Her right hand landed in your hair, letting her fingers grow entangled in it before pushing your head back up, looking into your eyes. “No…wanna see your face, wanna see how good I make you feel” she grinned, pulling you in for a deep, open mouthed kiss although the pleasure you were experiencing made it hard to kiss back, quiet noises slipping past your lips. She hummed into the kiss, biting your lip gently, enjoying the whine you gave in response.

with a sharp inhale, you pulled back from the kiss, breath shaky and unsteady as the pleasure built in your abdomen, the coil tightening as you grew closer. The low chuckle that left her mouth sent shivers down your spine, her demeaning gaze just encouraging your orgasm, she spoke just above a whisper "look so pretty...cum for me" she ordered a proud grin plastered on her face. The words ended it all, hips bucking against her thigh desperately as your mouth opened in a silent scream, pleasure overtaking your mind, no longer thinking nor speaking coherently. She helped you ride our thigh, purposely slowing down your movements with her grip, leaning down to pepper gentle kisses on the skin of your neck.

"good girl" she mumbled before pulling back, he hand falling to your cheek, thumb swiping over the skin in a comforting manner.

"holy shit, Ellie." you let out a small laugh and she just chuckled lightly, cheeks turning slightly red as she looked away bashfully. Both of you had seemed to sober up even if it was just a little, it was enough to make the situation hit. Yet, it wouldn't be the thing you wake up and regret, because you were already considering how much further she would go with you later. if she would be yours and vice versa. either way, who cars. You just rode Ellie Williams thigh.

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams smut #tlou x reader #tlou part two #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #tlou smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfic

[manstrans]

Pregnant trans masc anon back again and coming off of anon because... Well, why not?

I just saw the other anons you got about my ask saying that pregnancy is always feminine or whatever bullshit. And I want it to be known:

Being pregnant was the most masculine I have ever felt. Never in my life have I felt stronger. Never in my life have I felt more connected to my body. Being pregnant helped me learn to love my body in a way I never have before. The parts I resented had a purpose: to care for, to nourish, and to protect my kid.

There's lots of cishet normative garbage in the world about what it means to be a dad. But being the partner to carry and birth our child? To me that is peak fatherdom. All of the things a father, a dad, is supposed to be - the provider, the protector, the solid ground in which to seek refuge - I got to be from day one. And because of all the garbage people have thrown at me because I am a masculine person who got pregnant, I know that I did the most fatherly thing I could do: I put the needs of my child and my family first. I let my transition take a backseat for almost 2 years so my wife and I could finally have a family after years of trying.

So fuck anyone who wants to make me feel like being pregnant isn't masculine. Pregnancy is only feminine because of cisnormative bullshit. And if being queer for as long as I have has taught me anything it's that societal ideas of masculinity and femininity really mean nothing once you break them down. Anyone can be anything. Anything can be masculine or feminine.

I am a trans masculine person who is sometimes a man. I am a husband. I am a father. And I am so tired of people refusing to question the ideas they've inherited from cishet society. Acceptance of what has always been is a problem queer people have been fighting for as long as society has hated queer people. And maintaining societal ideas that work to silence some or render them invisible is not going to get us, as queer people, anywhere. Maybe it's because I'm considered old now, but I've given up trying to fit into a box that was not made for me. Because, at the end of the day, the people who are going to hate queer people and want to erase us aren't going to stop just because we squeeze into ill-fitting labels they built. Claim whatever labels you want. Feel as much or as little of that label that is comfortable for you. But don't tell others that their understanding of that label or how it fits them is wrong.

I'm sorry for getting angry at your anons and sending you an essay. But I'm coming off of anon, so perhaps they'll come directly to my askbox if they want to make claims about pregnant masculine people.

^^^^^

also I think being angry is justified here tbh

[annoyinglandmagazine]

I have a very specific take on the first meetings of Elrond and Celebrian that I am very obsessed with. So picture this. Celebrian during the Last Alliance is a pretty senior commanding officer within some of her parents forces and when she accompanies her mother to Imladris for the White Council she’s still largely fulfilling some of those duties for most of her stay, she’s out for a lot of the official events on patrols and such. She also spends most of the time around Imladris in her uniform, she has status of her own thank you very much she doesn’t need to introduce herself as Galadriel’s daughter to garner respect (Galadriel herself of course approves of this very wholeheartedly).

So in general she’d appear fairly masculine ( this was definitely not deliberate butch presentation to signal to queer elleths what are you talking about?), it’s mainly ambiguous on her part but she got her mother’s tall genes and built up a decent bit of lean muscle so people will draw their own conclusions. And while she’s in the training yard she hears someone humming what sounds like a Song of Power to enhance the stock of healing herbs kept nearby. She spots a stunning raven elleth in the corner that she was relatively certain she would be able to lift off her feet with shocking ease by the size of her.

Her conclusions were correct, the elf maid had a healer’s apron fastened over her dress and was most likely come from the Healing Halls, she was surprised she hadn’t seen her before though she hadn’t now until she’d started singing so maybe she was just good at blending it the background. She most certainly did not flex her sweat soaked muscles a little more than necessary with the next thrust, though the elleth most certainly seemed to think she had because she snorted to herself. Celebrian threw her a wink as she strode over to lean against a pillar.

She gets the name of Elwen, though she does not give one herself to the other’s great amusement. They flirt rather outrageously over the following weeks when they run into each other, sparring on occasion (and for such a tiny thing, by the Valar that Elwen was vicious. She was only two victories off drawing even with her, not that she was keeping track). Elrond was always fond of the anonymity offered by indulging his femininity, it was frankly shocking how few people recognised him when he did so, it was a pleasant way to both fulfil the need for a change that could not be ignored for long stretches of time and to experience things (and people) without the constant expectations to be a thousand different things at once. The opportunity for affairs of every nature without sullying the propriety of his reputation too thoroughly was another advantage.

So this all culminates in the first proper banquet Celebrian attends. ‘Lord Elrond, oh there you are, I was wondering if you’ve met my daughter Celebrian?’

Queue Celebrian going ‘oh shit, oh shit, I’ve been absolutely scandalous to one of my mother’s friends, oh Valar she’s going to kill me.’

And Elrond going ‘fuck, of all people you had to pick Galadriel’s daughter? Galadriel’s going to kill me, they will never find the body. Was that indecent corset really necessary?’

Galadriel finds this whole story hilarious when they tell her several centuries later (she knew the whole time and was just stirring shit up). Elrond and Celebrian are both bi so it works out anyways once they figure out exactly what happened.

#silmarillion #tolkien #Celrond #genderfluid #genderfluid Elrond #celebrian #elrond #galadriel #How queer can I make them