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[piratewithvigor]

It has nothing to do with that, Shawn. I know you didn’t see this live, but I know you’ve heard, and I know you got my voicemail, but if you want me to do this in front of the whole world, I will. (x)

[piratewithvigor]

i really like outsider POV, but the thing is, it fundamentally works better when whatever is going on with the characters in question is so fucking weird that no reasonable outsider could ever discern it

like, the ideal outsider POV should have at least some element of 'what the fuck is wrong with these people'.

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Imagine wearing that to work!

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TK you either show up to the nfl draft in a neckbrace and wheelchair or you don't show up at all

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I so need some HCs on the AEW trans group! I love them already!

(Someone also requested Hook HCs, so I combined them into a fic!)

Trans!Garcia, Yuta, and Hook

Yuta's splayed over Garcia's lap, playing some game on his phone, when he hears the locker room door open. He isn't immediately interested, figuring it's another guy coming in to get changed for a match. Chuck and Orange were off doing BTE stuff and the rest of JAS were doing...well, Yuta didn't know, but Garcia apparently wanted no part of it.

So, it wasn't until whoever had walked in plopped down next to Garcia, just over Yuta's head, that he blinks and twists to see who's there.

"Uh," Garcia says, looking up from his own phone, "hi?"

Hook is sitting back such that he's basically swallowed by his hoodie, a shock of blonde hair sticking out, his handsome face all pouted and his shoulders hunched. For a long moment, he just glares at them. Long enough that Yuta pockets his phone and shifts up off Garcia's lap, sitting upright on the couch.

"Dude, what's up?" Yuta asks, and Hook's eyes flicker to him. This quiet guy that Yuta's met maybe all of one time seems, for the first time, to possibly be uncomfortable. Unsure. He's looking between the two of them, hands stuffed into the front of his hoodie, and he seems...anxious.

"My dad...told me you guys are trans," Hook says, and it's the most consecutive words Yuta's heard from him. His voice is quiet, low, and there's that distinct New York accent on him. Yuta looks at Garcia, then at Hook, his hackles starting to raise.

Garcia, the bolder of the two, the one who strutted in his first day with his top surgery scars and vagina and had undressed in front of the whole locker room long before Yuta got the same courage, asks,

"And?"

Hook's frown deepens, and he glances around. There's a few other guys in there with them, but they're being too loud over some video game for them to notice the three guys on the couch. Finally, Hook shifts to sit closer to them, angling his back to the rest of the guys, and he pulls something halfway out of his pocket.

At first, Yuta doesn't know what he's looking at. It's a...mount of flesh, maybe, with a clear cup coming out of a gaping hole in the top, and-

"Oh...oh!" Yuta gasps, and Hook, a vibrant shade of red, shoves his STP back into his front pocket.

"I don't know...how to use it. I wanna start using the urinals here, but.... Internet doesn't help much," Hook mutters quietly. Garcia, who a moment ago looked like he was rearing for a fight, is suddenly smiling with all his teeth.

He glances at Yuta and the two of them share a look of excitement, right before they focus back on Hook. Yuta grabs Hook's hand and gives it a tug.

"There's a single-stall bathroom a couple halls down, we'll show you the trick to it!" Yuta promises him.

"If yours doesn't work, it might just not fit," Garcia adds, standing up, and Hook is wide-eyed as the two of them tug him along, excited, thrilled, and Yuta wonders in the back of his head: Is this what it felt like for an endangered species to find another one of their own? Is this how the last two Dodo birds felt, huddled together in the forest? This thrill, this excitement, this immediate knowledge that he would lay himself down on the railroad tracks for Hook?

"You can try mine, I have an extra one," Yuta says once they're in the hallway. "If yours doesn't fit, I mean. I always bring two in case one breaks."

"Okay," Hook says, quiet. His face is unreadable as he follows them, still dour, still frowning. But to anyone watching them go by, they might notice the most incremental change in Hook's posture. Like his shoulders were relaxed, his frown wasn't so tight.

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Bret Hart vows to be in the corner of the 1-2-3 Kid as the Kid takes on Bob Backlund. Monday Night Raw November 7, 1994

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I feel like coffe and Greece got a lot of votes so I’m voting PCC or trans wrestler whichever inspires you more in the moment no pressure

(You know I'm always a sucker for Pink Pony Club)

Ospreay/Yuta (Sliiight NSFW below the cut)

"It's okay," Yuta says softly, kneeling in front of Ospreay, "I was in your position three years ago. It feels weird at first, but you open up to it."

Ospreay nods, and he has this kind of puppy-dog nervousness to him that makes Yuta want to wrap him up in his arms and hold him there, kiss his head, ease him into it like he was eased into it.

He wishes Bryan had at least let him sit in on the first session with him, just so he knew where they were starting from, but then - Ospreay wasn't his student, really. He was Bryan's replacement, the looming evidence that their little world was changing.

"I've done it with blokes before," Ospreay explains, motioning with his hand. "I just don't really know how to ah.... Well, Bryan said you were the best at kissing and blowies."

Yuta laughs and moves his robe out a bit so he can sit on his hip, leaning against the pillows on the bed and motioning Ospreay to lay down with him. He follows easily, and he smiles at him, obviously self-conscious but willing to go along with this. For a moment, Yuta just takes him in.

He's all muscle and boyish blush, with a body that should make him a douchebag jock. But he isn't. He's sweet, and Yuta wishes he wasn't sweet. Yuta wishes Ospreay was a prick that he could take all his messy emotions out on, resenting the new guy that Bryan had chosen to take his place, but. He can't.

"You've kissed guys before?" Yuta asks, moving a hand to rest on Ospreay's shoulder, then sliding down, fingers tracing over the soft white tank top they had him in. Ospreay nods, his eyes flickering from Yuta's lips back up to his eyes. "Good, so it's not that scary for you."

"Ah- yeah, but I'm still all...nervous," Ospreay laughs, and fuck. Yuta wants to ride him so bad. Yuta wants to kiss him until all that self-consciousness goes away. "Doesn't help that you're pretty. Do I uh, do I get to wear somethin' that nice when I start?"

Yuta's been called pretty by men every single day since he started at the Club, but this is maybe the first time that someone says it and Yuta wants to preen. Wants to blush like he's in highschool again. It's just that Ospreay, when he says it, he's so....

Cute.

"You choose your outfits," Yuta says, motioning to the silk shorts he's wearing, and the red silk robe. "Most of us have the base shorts and robe, and most of us have a set of lingerie for customers who are into that kind of thing. You can be fitted for things like harnesses and any sort of costume you can think of. But you want to do bondage, right?" Yuta asks, watching how Ospreay's brows still haven't dropped from when Yuta said 'lingerie.'

"Y-yeah, I mean- yeah," he says, and Yuta moves his hand back to Ospreay's waist, splaying out his fingers and leaning in to gently, gently kiss his cheek.

"You'll get a harness, then. It's going to look great on you," Yuta mutters. "You just have to have confidence, and your clients will relax."

"Ah...right," Ospreay says, barely moving his lips. When he turns his head, Yuta presses his lips to the corner of his lips, then his lower lip, and he can feel the other man exhale shakily.

"Are you okay?" Yuta asks, flicking his eyes up to meet pretty blues. And Ospreay nods, pale lashes turned down, as he leans in and kisses Yuta himself.

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If there ever comes a day I don't ask for Trans Eddie, assume it is the day they bury me

(Arin my beloved never will I not write Trans Eddie, and I wanted to try and write him with a new pairing anyway so here we go)

Matt/Eddie (NSFW below the cut)

Matt traces the pencil-thin scars under Eddie's chest, his thumbs starting from the inside corners to the outside. Eddie sits back and lets him, just enjoying an evening where he got paid and didn't seriously injure anything.

"...Can I.... I need. Um... I.... Eddie?" Matt asks, and the desperation in his voice, the unhinged little crack. After tonight, the shit he pulled, Eddie's not surprised that he had his little brat knocking on his door, still in the suit he'd worn to give their fucking boss a piledriver on live TV. It was maybe the most insane, funniest shit Eddie had ever watched, but it still surprised him.

Apparently, when he ignored Matt Jackson long enough, he goes and stages corporate coups.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, and Matt nods, eyes big, swimming with...everything. Too much. Sometimes, Matt is too much for himself, and Eddie needs to step in to keep him from imploding. And fuck Eddie for wanting to keep him whole. He's soft for the guy.

With a sigh that isn't as reluctant as it sounds, Eddie nudges Matt backwards so he has room to shuck off his basketball shorts, tossing them off the side of the bed. The cold air hits his cunt uncomfortably, but he puts up with it, knowing by the look on Matt's face that it's gonna get real warm, real soon. Matt is practically drooling, his big eyes fixed between Eddie's thighs, under the ponch of his lower stomach.

He snaps his fingers in front of Matt's face, and Matt looks up quickly. His eyes are wide and unfocused, and there's something fraying inside him. Matt's not...unhinged, per say. But he's getting there, one step away from a lost plot. Eddie snaps his fingers again and Matt's lids twitch, not a full blink.

"Hair tie, gimme," Eddie instructs. It takes a second for the information to load in Matt's brain, and Eddie swears he can hear the dial-up tones. Finally, after a delayed second, Matt slips the black hair tie off his wrist and hands it over to Eddie, who holds it hooked on his pinkie finger.

Eddie works on slicking Matt's hair back, being careful of knots but not caring too much for how smooth it looks. It's gonna get ruined by the bottom of Eddie's stomach and his thighs, anyway, especially with the way that Matt nurses on him. Little shit just can't keep still. Fuck. Eddie's halfway in love with him for it.

Once he has the tie holding Matt's long hair back, he reclines on the hotel pillows and plants his heels on the bed, parting his legs so that his cunt is open for Matt. It's blossomed up a little bit, knowing that his favorite brat is about to get him nice and wet and warm for a long while.

By the look of hunger and desperation on Matt's face, Eddie would be surprised if he pulled off in under an hour.

"Lookit you," Eddie hums, grabbing the remote off the hotel side table and flicking on the basketball game that Mox was gonna want to talk to him about later. "I go on tour for a couple weeks and look how you get. Gonna need to remind you to breathe, aren't I?"

"Eddie," Matt begs, and his voice is quiet, rough, broken. Looking back at him, Eddie can see his desperation leaking out of every pour, his body strung taut as he holds himself back from the prize that Eddie's dangling in front of him.

And if he were in the mood for it, Eddie would make Matt wait, but he can already see tears starting to prick up in the corners of Matt's eyes. Now isn't the time to tease him, Eddie figures. He's already too close to the edge, there's no playroom.

"Alright, c'mon baby. Remember to breathe-" Eddie grunts as Matt dives down the second he's given the green light, hitting his elbows and scooping his hands under Eddie's ass so he has something to hold. Before Eddie can even tell him to take a breath, Matt's nose is buried in his cunt and his lips are wrapped around his swollen t-dick.

The shock of pleasure is mixed with an all-too-sudden overstimulation, and Eddie has to press his hand to the top of Matt's head and force him down so that his lips are slipping over his vulva instead, and he's suckling on his lips until, finally, he latches onto his labia and starts lapping at his entrance with his tongue.

"Shit, there you go. Goddamn, you wanna go at this for a while you can't go right for my dick, babygirl," Eddie chuckles, and Matt makes a tiny noise of apology, maybe. Or maybe he's just happy, as he slowly starts suckling and licking at Eddie's folds.

It isn't practiced or pointed, the pace is slow and the area isn't sensitive enough for Matt to be edging Eddie up towards an orgasm. It's too sloppy and too self-focused, but it's enough to keep Eddie warm, especially with Matt's nose nudging against his t-dick every time he lifts his head to take in a shallow breath.

Eddie settles back, Matt's head between his legs, the game on, a pleasant, warm buzzing in the back of his head. Maybe, in about an hour, he'll roll Matt onto his back and ride his face until he gets the orgasm that's coming to him, or maybe Matt will snuffle up to his t-cock again and suck in earnest until Eddie's swearing and crushing Matt's head between his thighs.

For now, though, he can see the tension melting out of Matt. The pace goes from sloppy to a rhythmic licking/sucking, and Eddie lowers a hand to pet through Matt's hair at the nape of his neck, giving him something to rest his head on.

"Good, go on now. Take what you need, baby. I got all the time in the world for you," Eddie mutters as he rests his own head back and focuses, half-focuses, on the game. Matt hums, softly, his fingers twitching on Eddie's ass as they fall into a gentle, quiet rhythm. Soon enough, the only sounds in the room are the squeak of sneakers on a basketball court, the occasional deep breath, and a gentle, quiet slurping.

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"Orange Cassidy is so much better than any of you deserve." - Chuck Taylor (2015)

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If Jack Perry Joins this new formation of Elite:::::

If Jack wants to commit arson, the Bucks and Okada would definitely allow it

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🐐