#and now just like. a femme afab person

[amarrymeinbostonwriter]

The Grass Widow by Nanci Little

Joss seriously just offered to marry Aidan and she threw it back in her face? I don't think she gets how HUGE a deal that is.

It was super dangerous for the women (and trans men) who took on the role of female husband in their relationships. This book is set in the 1870's so this was the right time for female wives/female husbands.

With that historic context, Joss basically said she'd be willing to die for Aidan and Aidan response is... "lying is wrong".

[2soft2sensitive]

I have two wolves inside me, one is a high femme and the other is a trans man, and every night they fucking kill each other

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

taedros taedros

part two: taedros twodros ☆ part three: taedros tresdros**NEW wc: 2k reader: femme afab warnings: MINORS DNI EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ -- porn with plot, oral f!receiving, swearing, calling tae a virgin loser as a joke, mentioning the weeknd LMAO summary: loserbestfriend!taerae makes you watch the idol on hbo max with him for movie night, but a certain convertible scene sparks your "curiosity" more than the others... and taerae proves he might not be such a loser after all. :0 omg who am i?? i even wrote in all lower case letters in the fic to throw you off... i know you'll know right away though but that's not the point lmao!! i just didn't think i should be this horny for taerae on main so. here's the dedicated zb1 smut blog no one was asking for (except me. i was asking for it so let me live.) thank you to taerae for posting these pics next to each other and ruining my life. also the idol sucks and sam levinson and the weeknd are horrific for creating it. i only know some scenes from it because i watch comedy commentary videos about it. jennie is beautiful tho love her. ALSO i thought of this title and i cried laughing. mwahaha okay thanks for reading byeeeee

“this is the worst show I’ve ever seen in my life,” you say with a laugh, throwing a piece of popcorn in your mouth. “i can’t believe we’ve made it through two episodes already.”

🚨 SMUT BELOW CUT -- MINORS DNI -- 18+ 🚨

taerae sighs, “i think i’m gonna need to bleach my eyes.”

“throw some in my ears while you’re at it,” you joke, letting a leg drape over your best friend’s. you’re crammed together in the bottom bunk of his dorm room bed, watching the idol on the tv that’s hung at the foot of it. “i will never, ever be unable to hear the weeknd whispering, ‘stretch that tiny little pussy for me’. and every single day i will beg the lord for mercy.”

“are we sure we wanna watch the third episode?” taerae asks-- shifting a bit next to you. “this show is so graphic.”

“of course the virgin wants to chicken out,” you tease, smacking his stomach with a pillow. he grabs it from you and leaves it there. “you’re the one who wanted to watch it! now you wanna quit two episodes in? not gonna happen. we can make it through this.”

if you hadn’t pressed play at that exact moment, you would’ve heard taerae gulp beside you. 

the intro of the show plays, assaulting your eyes with an up-close and personal view of jocelyn’s bare chest. what else is new? you yawn, hoping the third episode’s graphic scenes (at the very least) won’t be repetitive. bitch has put on a blindfold to end both episodes so far...

sitting with your back leaning against the wall, you try to steal a glance at taerae. his upper back is propped up on his pillow as he lies perpendicular to you, facing the tv screen. you watch his eyes, catching the subtle dilation of his pupils. it could be the light from the television in the otherwise dark room shifting their size, but you find yourself curious nonetheless.

“do you think she’s pretty?” you ask suddenly.

taerae coughs. “me? do i think the actress is pretty?”

you nod, eyes returning to the screen in hopes that the lack of eye contact will make taerae feel comfortable enough to give you an answer.

“she’s pretty, yeah,” he says after a moment. 

“like, you’re attracted to her?” you clarify, throwing another piece of popcorn into your mouth.

“uh,” he hesitates and you feel his legs tense up under yours. “i guess. i mean she’s not really my type, but--.”

“but you like her tits.”

“exactly,” taerae agrees too quickly. “wait, no--.”

“no need to walk it back,” you cut him off with a snort. “boobs are hot. end of story.”

taerae sits up a bit more, seemingly trying to relax after your probing. you didn’t talk to taerae about sex or girls all that much, but you’d be lying if you said the show hadn’t suddenly made you a bit curious. what experience did your lovable loser of a best friend have-- if any at all?

the interrogatory questions you’re suddenly wanting to ask are thrown from your brain, however, as the show now cuts to a shot of the weeknd (you and taerae refuse to call him tedros tedros) and jocelyn in the back of a convertible-- their poor assistant driving these two insufferable cretins down the freeway.

nothing’s out of the ordinary until jocelyn crawls from her seat and lifts one leg to straddle the weeknd. she’s in a slinky tangerine bodysuit and little black shorts and the weeknd’s hands easily envelope her waist. you roll your eyes, already having grown so sick of these two. 

but when jocelyn is suddenly pushed to the edge of the seat, her back against the car door and her head resting on the frame-- your attention is piqued. the weeknd wraps his hands around her thighs, prying them apart so he can pull her shorts to the side just enough to fit his tongue. the actress’s head lolls back over the car door frame; her blonde hair dangling over the side and flowing in the wind. her face is screwed up in absolute bliss and the sounds coming out of her confirm her state.

would she really be screaming like that just from his tongue?

“um,” you hear taerae say and you look over at him curiously. “if-- if he’s good with it, then yeah. she would be, i guess.”

you frown. what was he talking about? if he’s good with what? ... oh fuck, you think as you realize that you’d accidentally said your previous thought out loud. and now poor taerae is stumbling to give you an answer.

what did he say? if he’s good with it then she would be.

“huh,” you mumble, your brow furrowing as you ponder his answer.

you turn back to the tv, but taerae clears his throat. “what?”

“what? what do you mean, what?”

“why did you say ‘huh’ like that?” he asks, the pillow on his stomach rustling as he shifts slightly. “do you not agree or something?”

“oh, uh,” you stutter as you feel your cheeks start to heat, not sure what to say. “um, i guess i wouldn’t know.”

the silence from taerae is deafening as your eyes stay locked on the tv. you’re not sure why you said that. you could’ve just lied. you should’ve just lied.

“are you a virgin?” taerae asks softly. the accusation whips your head around to stare at him angrily and his eyes widen cautiously.

“obviously not,” you answer in a huff. “i just... i’ve never...”

you look down at your lap, picking at the skin on your fingers. you should stop while you can. you don’t need to tell the truth. why are you even considering telling him this?

“no one’s ever gone down on me or anything.”

“oh,” taerae manages to respond after a long moment, but you can’t even look at him.

“yeah.”

another moment of silence. “you shouldn’t be, like, embarrassed by that. that’s... that’s entirely their fault for not prioritizing you, you know?”

your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, the aforementioned embarrassment flushing your skin as you nod. the show is still playing, but you can only hear garbled sounds. why did you tell him that!? now taerae has to awkwardly comfort you when you could’ve just shut your mouth in the first place. you didn’t really talk about these kinds of things with taerae. your best friend was there for movie nights, chinese food binges, laughing until you cry, and most importantly taking the absolute piss out of... 

and here you were making him uncomfortable by randomly talking about your oral virginity.

“would you want me to do it?”

taerae’s voice is so quiet that you’re positive for a moment that you hallucinated it. you look over at your best friend tentatively to find his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping his pillow to his stomach. 

“what?”

taerae blinks nervously. “if you wanted to, you know, try it... i could--.”

“WHAT!?” you shout; hands grabbing the pillow on taerae’s stomach and throwing it across the room. “are you-- are you fucking joking!? you think i’m desperate enough to ask my best friend to eat me out?”

“no, no, no,” taerae respond quickly, hands flying up in defense. “not at all!”

“then what?” you ask, jaw setting in anger as you wait for a good enough answer to keep you from punching him in the balls.

taerae’s lips form the slightest pout. “you seemed really curious about it. i just... i just thought i’d offer.”

you bite your lip as you think. “what do you even know about that kind of thing? I thought you were a virgin loser.”

“ouch,” taerae says but quickly shrugs it off. “i guess you’re only right about half of that statement.”

you frown. even though you’d never talked about it before, was taerae secretly experienced? more experienced than you?

“you don’t have to say yes though,” he adds quickly. “i’m sorry; i probably shouldn’t have said any--.”

“okay,” you cut him off softly.

taerae’s eyes widen in surprise. “okay?”

you nod slowly. “i don’t believe you that you’re not a virgin loser, but if you’re offering...”

taerae sits up, leaning on his hands as a little smirk lights up his face. “i’ll eat you out and then you can eat those words. how does that sound?”

the way your heat flutters at his words catches you off guard. so does the way he swiftly flips you onto your back as you take the position he was just in.

“whoah,” you exhale, your best friend absolutely knocking the wind out of you as he positions himself between your thighs. he takes the hem of your shorts in his fingers, eyebrows raising at you expectantly. you lift up your hips enough for him to shimmy them off, discarding them on the floor without taking his eyes off your still-clothed center.

you glance at your underwear, panic immediately hitting you when you realize you wore the only clean pair that you had left...

a black, lace thong.

they were the only pair left, because you honestly hadn’t had a reason to wear them in a little while.

“fuck,” taerae curses, hands wrapped around the outsides of your thighs. “were you going somewhere after this or...?”

“if you don’t shut your mouth, i’ll be going somewhere before this,” you threaten, but the words come out shakier than you would’ve liked as taerae begins to plant open-mouthed kisses up your thighs. “... ‘s laundry day tomorrow.”

“mm, I see,” he replies, shifting his weight to one hand so he can bring his right hand to your heat. your heart rate rises as he moves towards where you’re quickly growing to need his attention most. two fingers press at your clothed-core gently and the sound of the tv in the background does nothing to dampen the moan that escapes you from just the small amount of pressure.

“laundry day’s coming just in time i think,” taerae says, a smirk highlighting his cavernous dimples in a light you’ve never seen before. “from the way you’re soaking through these.”

“shut up,” you groan, bringing your hands up to cover your face. taerae hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, tugging at them playfully to get your attention. peeking out through your fingers, you glare at him.

“do you want to stop?” he asks, removing his hands quickly. “we can stop if you want to or need to or anything.”

you reach down and grab both of his hands in yours, reattaching them to your underwear. “please keep going.”

he blinks at you for a moment before nodding, pulling your thong down your legs as you lift your hips up for him. taerae lies down fully in between your thighs now, guitar-string calloused hands wrapping around your thighs and guiding them to rest on his shoulders. 

“so pretty,” he whispers. eyes focusing on your throbbing cunt, taerae’s grip on your legs gets a little tighter-- a little more desperate. “really.”

“thanks,” you respond shyly, watching as a bit of steam begins to coat the rim of taerae’s glasses. you can’t help but smile as you reach for them, carefully removing the frames and placing them on the stand next to his bed. 

“thanks,” he echoes. 

“i’m still not convinced that you aren’t a-- oh fuck...” just as you’re about to tease your loser of a best friend again, his tongue finds your core and licks a long stripe up from your opening to your clit. taerae exhales a laugh against your pussy, tongue circling your clit as his hands now take hold of your hips.

“wait, what the fuck?” you whine breathlessly as he works you over with his mouth. “tae, i thought... oh my god.”

“taste so good, baby,” taerae moans like he’s enjoying it just as much as you are. he slips a finger in your entrance carefully, stretching you until he deems you ready for a second. “Think this pussy might be perfect.”

his eyes are closed; eating at you like you’re his favorite meal. it’s hot. way hotter than the scene from the show. way hotter than anything on that stupid show-- in which another sex scene is playing on the screen behind taerae. you suddenly feel so much pity for jocelyn; one of the hardest characters in history to pity. but the fact that there’s no way tedros fucking tedros is eating her out as good as taerae’s eating you out right now is tugging at your heart strings.

“tae,” you whimper, feeling the knot in the pit of your stomach begin to tighten. your hand tangling up in his hair at the nape of his neck causes him to moan into you and the vibration only makes you tug harder. “please, please wanna cum.”

“already? you sure?” he says, disappointment coating his voice. “could eat this pussy all night.”

“holy shit,” you exhale. you didn’t even know taerae was capable of talking like this. the only time he ever said pussy around you was if he was calling you one. now as he looks up at you from between your thighs, his pretty dimpled-smile covered in your juices as he continues to fuck you with his fingers and press his thumb against your clit...

you’re nodding frantically now. “please, please tae. make me cum.”

“fuck, baby, okay. whatever you want,” he agrees quickly, the lust in his eyes at your demand reaching a whole new level. he removes his thumb from your clit and the sudden lack of contact causes you to whine pathetically. “sshhh, don’t worry baby. i’ve got something even better, i promise.”

just as some tears from frustration are welling up in your eyes, taerae’s lips close around your clit and he begins to suck. “oh my GOD,” is all you can manage as your orgasm starts to wash over you. “taerae. oh my god, tae... c-cumming.”

you’re grinding your pussy against his tongue now to maximize the friction and the way he lifts your hips a bit to bring you even closer tells you that he’s loving every second of this. your moans match the ones that taerae is mewing into your core. he places your hips back down onto the mattress, holding them steady as you start to squirm a bit from the overstimulation. he continues to lap at you gently as your hand falls from his hair to his shoulder, causing him to look up at you.

your cheeks are red now from both your climax and the new wave of embarrassment that’s creeping up on you. you’re not sure what to say, but luckily taerae’s got you covered.

he inserts two fingers inside of you again and then pulls them out-- covered in your juices. without hesitating, he sticks them in his mouth and sucks them clean. “you’ve tasted yourself, right? probably a lot. fuck, i’m so jealous.”

your jaw drops a bit, now doubly unable to speak at the filth pouring out of your best friend’s mouth..

taerae frowns at you. “what? you want to make this awkward now?”

you shake your head. 

“was it good?” he asks, head tilting to the side as he squints slightly. you reach over to his nightstand and grab his glasses, handing them back to him. he puts them on; raising his hand to ruffle his hair.

“you know it was good,” you mumble annoyedly.

he grins. “yeah. i do.”

“UGH,” you groan, hiding behind your hands again. “i hate you.”

“please, pleeeease tae,” he mocks, climbing up closer to your face to really rub it in. “make me cum.”

“SHUT UP!” you shout, hitting his chest with your fists in annoyance. “do not get cocky about this.”

taerae shrugs, biting his lip to keep from smirking. “i guess you never wanna do this again then?”

you sigh defeatedly before replying softly, “i didn’t say that.”

“good,” he says with a smile-- shifting to the edge of the bed and standing up. “i’m gonna get you some water and a towel, okay? don’t move a muscle.”

you don’t. taerae had made sure of that with the orgasm he’d just pulled out of you. as the door to his dorm room closes behind him, you’re left with only your thoughts and the sound of that shitty tv show playing in the background. you reach for the remote weakly, pressing pause on a bizarre scene of the weeknd jerking it over a clothing rack (?).

all you can think about, though, is taerae lapping at your pussy like a starved man. what the fuck just happened? did you really just let your best friend eat you out?

and how the fuck had he managed to leave you wanting more?

[mrscarmenbearzatto]

femmes en colère | carmen berzatto

when carmen's former head chef shows up, it may be your rage or the pregnancy hormones causing you to walk over to him ─ 844 ─ fem/afab!reader, pregnant!reader, reader yelling at his former head chef, some cursing

ʚɞ

You were the nicest person Carmen Berzatto had ever met. Ever since you and him met, you had been the calmest, sweetest girl he could have ever met. And ever since you'd gotten pregnant nearly six months ago, he started seeing you differently. The pregnancy hormones brought out a more attractive yet angrier side of you.

It was the busiest night of the Bear so far, and from the second Carmy came back into the kitchen from his brief appearence in the dining room, he's got tears in his eyes. Hands nervously shaking his hands at his sides as he takes deep breaths.

You're perched near Natalie as she holds a tablet in front of you, talking over some details with you. Both of your eyes are drawn to Carmy as you (lightly) shove her away, making your way over to your distraught husband. "Are you okay?" You ask, though you think you know the answer. But his shaking of his head confirms that. "Sugar, take him into the office. Get him some water." You direct as Natalie does so.

You walk over to Richie, whose staring at the dining room area. There, sat at one of the booths, is Carmy's former head chef. His image engraved from the time Carmy showed you an article he was mentioned in.

"Shit. Why is he here?" Richie asks, his voice low. You shake your head. "Hell no. Not tonight, uh-uh. Take over the table orders, make sure Carmen's okay." You say, as you shove open the doors. Smoothing out your hair and dress, you walk over to the table the chef is sat at. "Hi there. My name is Y/N Berzatto, I'm the chef's wife. I am just such a huge fan, do you mind if I sit?" You ask, rubbing your stomach.

The man smiles. "Take a seat. I'm shocked Carmen has a wife. And a child on the way it appears." He comments. You laugh. "Oh, you know he is such a good guy. You must have been the best teacher, he tells me you're really smart." You say, a smile on your face.

"Oh, well thank you, I tried with-"

"Yeah, so I really don't understand how you think it's acceptable to show your face here after the hell you put my husband through." Your smile then drops.

Carmen steps out of the office, a hand running through his hair. "Where's my wife?" He asks, fearing the answer. Richie watches from the door, and when there's no answer, Carmy steps over to it, beginning to watch you. They open it a little, just enough to overhear the conversation.

"Should we stop her?" Richie asks.

"No, no, I wanna see how this goes." Carmen answers.

The chef stares at you, almost in disbelief. "Excuse me? Who the hell are you to talk to me like this?!"

"I''m the wife of the chef who was put through emotional torture by you. Do you actually believe it is acceptable to 'teach' people through methods of verbal abuse? You told him he'd be better off dead, did you think he'd forget that by morning?" You question as you lean forward. "Or maybe you were under the impression I'd forget he told me that, or that I'd forget his face. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't do this to every person whose insulted Carmen because I wouldn't have a chance to rest, right? But I don't despise those people."

"I don't appreciate-"

"All due respect, I don't give a damn what you appreciate. I don't care if you appreciate my tone or don't appreciate my attitude. I know the staff back there, don't appreciate what you put him through. I almost didn't come out here but you better be glad it's me and not his crazed family. They're really scary some times, even worse then me right now, if you can believe." You smile, exhaling as you stand up. "I hope you enjoy your meal, sir. I'm sure the chef would love all the positive comments you have to give." You turn, walking back into the kitchen.

You can hear the faintest "bitch" come out of him, and as soon as you're turning to go at him again, Carmen and Richie are suddenly pulling you off. They pull you back into the kitchen, as you exhale. "I really don't like that guy." You mumble.

"Are you okay?" Carmy asks. You nod, pulling him into a hug. "Are you?" You question in return as he laughs. "If that's how you react everytime he's around, I will be. Those pregnancy hormones are something else."

"Yeah, I'm actually kind of scared to piss you off now." Richie comments as you smile. "Aw, I could never hurt you, Richie!" You say as you turn, going back over to Natalie. She grins. "You really are something else, I may use you as my new backup." She says.

Carmen watches you as Richie stands beside him. "You're scared of her too, right?" He asks softly.

"Scared shitless." He answers before going back to work.

[drdemonprince]

Hey, I just wanted to thank you for your honesty and willingness to explain how queer spaces can be a lot less transphobic than discourse within the trans community can make it seem. A lot of the past few years for me have been spent closeted out of fear that reactions around me would be uniformly hostile. Things are obviously going to be different for me as a transfem, but I have a much easier time being optimistic now!

I am so glad! Listen, the people who post online all the time about how miserably hard it is to find a place for oneself as a trans person create a kind of reverse survivorship bias. They are the people who have already convinced themselves it's best to forever remain closeted or that forging any kind of accepting community for oneself is impossible. Often, they are also people who once harbored unrealistic fantasies about just strolling up one day into a pre-existing community that was perfect for them, not realizing that we must form our relationships painstakingly one by one (it tends to be the white eggs/unhappy lonely trans people who are most prone to thinking of community in that way). there's plenty of trans guys who are doomers like this too and they really tend to actively encourage one another to remain locked away. it's like incel kind of behavior when it's taken to its most extreme form. sometimes, it can be outwardly really nasty homophobic shit too (especially among "afabs" who complain about "cis gays" never accepting them and being super privileged). in its milder form, it's just extreme trauma brain.

The people you do not hear from so much are the people who are busy out in the world going on dates, acting in plays, getting their asses spanked in dungeons, playing tabletop roleplaying games, and going to farmer's markets with their three also transgender wives. Those are the people who know (that is to say, have learned!) how to interact with their fellow queer people, have spent some time out in the community, and in all likelihood have many rich friendships with cis lesbians, cis gay men, enbies, asexuals, bisexuals, straight ish poly people, and everybody else under our big umbrella.

I don't want to be overly pollyannaish because of course trans people have a tough time, and especially trans women have unfortunately to be on the lookout for really vile transmisogyny. But I think when people are wounded and traumatized by these things, they sometimes make the entire world sound incredibly unwelcoming, which creates a self-limiting feedback loop of isolation and mistrust. That is what trauma does! But it is not the truth. and we only learn otherwise when we give other people the chance to prove our worst fears wrong.

Like, just for an example, this Sunday I was at a silent book club at Dorothy, a gay bar on the west side that skews lesbian but is for everyone. I'd never been there before but it was an absolutely charming experience! Dozens upon dozens of lesbians draped over couches and curled up in chairs with their books, quaffing cocktails, alongside a few random dots of gay and/or trans men. Trans women were just a natural completely unremarkable feature of this environment. I couldn't even tell you how many t girls were there. It would be like counting plus sized girls or butches at this lesbian function. If it's a good lesbian function, there's gonna be a diverse crowd and it won't be weird or a big deal to anyone, they'll just be like any other women there. a lot of the big lesbian events here in Chicago (like Strapped) are organized by trans women, so of course there's a robust trans femme presence there.

And all of these groups at this function were getting laid. the couches were overflowing with women, so many that girls were grabbing pillows to sit on and huddle together with their books on the floor. Girls canoodled and cuddled on couches. I saw a cis alt girl covered in facial piercings flirting with a very prim and proper trans girl who was dressed like a victorian governness. they didnt know one another, but after the silent book club hour was done, they left for a while together, then came back with some food. across from me and my friends, i watched them gathering up on the couch, the space between their bodies slowly closing up into nothing over the course of the evening. they flirted and touched and then left the bar together to (and im no expert on body language but i could pick up on this one) fuck eachothers tits right off.

and of course plenty of other lesbians and wlw paired off or tripled off and had their fun too. again, just like steamworks, fat people, thin people, black and brown people, white people, disabled people, neurodivergent people, trans people, older people, younger people, everybody was there. like any good queer space, it was just a reflection of humanity. there is always more that can be done to make these spaces more broadly accessible to full community. but part of that is by putting ourselves there.

again i dont mean to make it sound like finding and making one's space is easy! especially not for trans women! but I also don't want people to get seduced by the hopeless jadedness that some foment online. there are spaces that some trans women I know will never go to -- even an explicitly trans affirming bookstore like Women and Children First gives many trans women I know bad vibes they cant quite explain but all feel (the store is owned and run by old white cis lesbians, it's not surprising to me that it's a little fucked no matter their good intentions) -- and ive heard people say transmisogynistic stuff at events, particularly from "ill date anybody but cis men" type t boys (my brothers, i hate you). shit can be tough. very tough. but also, the world isn't all uniformly as hostile as it's made out to be. there are people who are desperate to meet you. I hope you will come out to find them.

[siriusblackslastmarsbar]

Advice for baby butches, mascs, trans masculine people or just who wants to appear masculine and still take care of themselves-

Accessories and clothing -

Men’s chains, chose thicker ones. Plain white or black t-shirts are your bsf now. Don’t be scared to shop in the men’s section, Flannels are amazing, short sleeve ones are VERY butch, Belts make any outfit more butch. Straight leg jeans can help reduce curves in the hips and ass area

Hair-

Long hair isn’t “not masc” you don’t have to cut it, but if you want a masc cut, if you’re afab, find a picture of a feminine presenting person with the haircut you want, it makes the hairdresser more e likely to do it

Get a good routine in place for your hair, I like the Monday shampoo and Conditioner and the Cantu deep conditioner, although those can feel really feminine, id Recommend the bull dog line if you don’t like that. If you have a textured fringe or shag, spray salt water on your hair. It helps the look, but it can make your hair feel low-key gross, so don’t touch it

Skin-

Very basic skincare routine, contour serums can help you achieve a more masculine face shape, moisturise properly and shape your brows. Remember to cleanse, zinc and salysillic (I can’t spell that sorry) acid are good ingredients to look for.

Personality and behaviour-

Showing chivalry can help people view you as more masculine, as well as just taking up space, but for butches especially, don’t be that dude who’s a full on saviour for the damsel in distress, just show femmes the respect cis men don’t, and maybe carry their bag too. Butchness is about subverting masculinity to make it gentle and nurturing. So avoid agression, sort shit out by talking to people

[chaesparklez]

holiday fling | jiwoong x reader

wc: 2.4k

reader: femme afab: heavily gendered descriptions (reader is described with gendered terms, described to be wearing lingerie, having breasts)

warnings: MINORS DNI EXPLICIT SMUT 18+

alcohol consumption, oral f! receiving, heavy petting, vaginal sex, one night stand, teasing, spanking, once again mentions of reader being female!!

synopsis: a hot mysterious stranger approaches you on the roof of your hotel on vacation. after chatting to you through a night filled with sexual tension, he slips a chit of paper into your hand inscribed with only one thing- his room number. by the energy built up between you, you just know exactly what’ll happen once you step foot in that room. :)

a/n: cross posted on wattpad and ao3. full version available on both platforms by yours truly. wattpad+ao3 @/chaesparkle

you've been staring at your reflection so hard it's starting to distort itself.

you had been slowly making yourself up for the past 45 minutes, spraying scent on freshly showered skin and dabbing cream highlight across your cheekbones. you'd come to the decision that you were going to jiwoong's hotel room tonight.

a couple of days had passed since the night on the terrace which you were still surprised wasn't a fever dream. it wasn’t often that a tall handsome stranger approached you out of nowhere and started flirting… and you actually flirted back.

you had decided to say 'fuck it' and take up his lucrative offer. those raven black eyes and wily smile had charmed you.

and after all, what was the harm in having some fun on vacation?

so you find yourself stood outside the mahogany door with '107' marked in gold letters on it. taking a deep breath, you knock.

and there he is. the man himself, standing before you in all his glory in grey sweatpants, hair still damp from the shower and smelling amazing. jiwoong greets you with his lazy smile, leaning against the doorframe in that laidback sexy way that seemed to entice you here in the first place.

"and she finally makes her appearance. come on in," he says, gesturing for you to enter with a nod of his head.

the suite is amazing. cream interior with windows stretching from floor to ceiling through which you can see the view of the whole city. the room is dimly lit with only the warm light of a tall floor lamp.

'it's nice to see you again. how are you?'

"never been better."

jiwoong sidles over to the window and gazes out at the sparkling view.

"it's a beautiful view." you comment.

he turns around and smiles.

"it's a very, very beautiful view." he remarks, walking over to you while taking in your appearance. your heart skips a beat at his piercing gaze which now focuses on your deep red lips.

"would you like some wine?"

"i'd love some."

he pours a glass of plum wine for you both before proffering his glass to cheers.

"what should we cheers to?"

"to this impossibly gorgeous view. to this long summer night. and to us?" you smile.

"to us." he grins, clinking your glasses together. he takes your hand gently and guides you to sit on the plushy king-sized bed where you perch down gingerly.

"i'm sorry i approached you so abruptly." he says.‘ever since i saw you i just felt this overwhelming feeling.'

"a good or a bad feeling?" you ask, smiling and sipping your wine.

"i thought i was going insane. it’s not everyday you come across a beautiful woman like you. whatever i felt when i saw you, it was... primal."

"well then, i guess that doesn't make you the only insane person." you mutter delicately.

your heart rate quickens as a moment of silence passes between you. you gaze up into his eyes before they travel down to his full lips, the sexual tension in the air almost palpable. he brushes your hair away from your face and caresses your cheek with his thumb. his thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, his gaze fixed on those ruby lips once again.

a mischievous idea comes into your head. and you proceed to take his thumb into your mouth while maintaining eye contact the whole time.

jiwoong purses his lips and squeezes his eyes closed while shaking his head, overcome with lust. taking a step away from you he runs a hand through his hair and curses under his breath, muttering just loud enough for you to hear:

"you drive me crazy."

"i could say the same to you as well." cocking your head to the side and giving him a mischievous grin.

you stand up and inch towards him with your hands behind your back. coming so close to him you can smell his earthy cologne, you look into his eyes again.

'you know, i dreamt of you that night. after we met on the terrace.'

"oh?"

"mhmm."

he pulls you in by the waist so you're merely inches away.

"and what did we get up to in this dream?" he asks, a dark glint in his eye.

your hand, which rests against his muscled chest, strokes down slowly as you lean in closer.

"you fucked the shit out of me." you whisper into his ear.

a beat.

and his lips are on yours.

he kisses you passionately, his lips soft and warm against your own. the kiss is hot and sultry, the two of you desperately hungry for one another. your heartbeat goes crazy and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he intensifies the kiss. you naturally sink onto the bed so he's on top of you. the heat of your bodies combined only increases your hunger for one another, his hand slowly travelling up your thigh to trace the line of your panties. you shiver at his cool touch and run your hands through his hair.

exploring each other's bodies, you caress his muscled chest. your hand travels down to his perfect abs; you feel his growing erection pressed against your pelvis and he takes a sharp intake of breath as your hand brushes over it. in return his touch travels up to your breasts gently massaging them over your bra.

the white robe you wear begins to slip down your shoulder with the movement, exposing your skin, and jiwoong's mouth strays from your lips down to your neck, sucking and nibbling gently on your soft skin. he leaves gentle kisses on the sensitive part of your neck where it meets the collarbone. it feels so good you can't help but let out a gentle moan, waves of pleasure blooming throughout your body right to the tips of your fingers.

he removes his t shirt before taking off your robe and tossing it aside so you can feel each other's bare skin. god, the view of him on top of you with those muscles on full display has you reeling.

his kisses wander from your neck to your collarbone across to the shoulder, then back to your lips. the tip of his tongue slides across your teeth, and you moan once again. you need more; you need him all over you.

you pull away for a moment, the two of you breathless and flushed with desire. he takes a look at you lying underneath him; the view of you gazing up at him with pink cheeks and your lipstick smudged makes him positively ravenous for you.

removing your bra and throwing it aside in a swift movement, he begins to massage one of your breasts while sloppily licking and sucking the hardened nipple of the other; his cold hand contrasting with the heat of his tongue circling your nipple. you sigh in pleasure, running your fingers along his exposed back.

between kisses you ask in a yearning voice: "please. i need your lips. your tongue. down here." you take his hand and place it between your legs, where without missing a beat he strokes along the line of your dripping wet pussy, his middle finger massaging your clit in circular motions, making you gasp between his lips at his touch.

with swollen lips and tousled hair, he locks eyes with you and slowly sinks down to your legs before taking off your panties.

he runs his tongue up along the length of your pussy and down again allowing himself to enjoy your sweet juices. eating you out fast and sloppily, the room is filled with your moans at the relentless flicks of his tongue against your clit. gripping your thighs, you arch into his touch as he continues to lick your pussy with ravenous desire. he sucks right on your clit, the suction sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body.

his passion, the messiness of it, the rawness of everything is so erotic. your thighs begin to tremble around his face and you weave your fingers through his thick black hair pulling in desperation, feeling your climax coming close already.

"f-fuck me..." you whimper, head spinning.

upon hearing this he emerges from between your legs with messy hair and wetness dripping down his chin. wiping it with the back of his hand before slowly making his way back up to you.

with him on top of you and your legs wrapped around him you can feel his hard length on your center. finally straying away from your body, he pauses to take a condom out of the bedside drawer.

he tears open the condom packet with his teeth in an irresistibly sexy way, looking right at you with those dark bedroom eyes. then removes his shorts. you gape at his fully grown length, unable to help rubbing your thighs together at how the sight before you makes you even wetter. just before he puts it on, you find yourself asking:

“can i do it?”

he hands it over and as you take his length into your hand for a moment he lets out a deep moan under his breath, making you smile in amusement and gaze up at him, stroking it once to tease him.

"don't," he breathes. 'it's hard enough trying not to cum without you looking at me like that.' he brushes your hair away from your eyes.

placing the condom on his tip you lean forward and roll it down with your mouth, prompting another suppressed moan from him. he curses under his breath at the feeling of your lips around his length. unable to stand it, he roughly pushes you back onto the bed.

your breath quickens, your chest rising and falling in close proximity with the heat of his body. you bite your lip in anticipation.

"tell me if it hurts." he says in a deepened voice.

then he thrusts his cock deep inside you. you cry out in pleasure and grip at the sheets, your walls clenching around him. as he begins to move his hips, you grasp at his back leaving faint scratches on it. the sensation of his touch all over your body making every cell in your body light up in response.

he fucks you passionately, robbing you of your breath. you feel every inch of his throbbing cock inside you hitting your g spot with every rough thrust. he burrows his face into your neck and moans deeply, so you can feel the vibrations on your skin.

making out with you sloppily, he picks up the pace, fucking you hard and fast so the room is filled with the sound of your desperate moans and skin slapping against skin. you throw your head back in desire and moan without holding back.

"ah, fuck! just like that. please. keep going."

"how much do you want it? beg for me."

"p-please. please jiwoong. fuck me. go deeper."

"oh yeah? and what if i don't?" he contests, smirking.

he pulls out and strokes along the length of your center with his cock deliberately refusing to enter you. the stimulation against your sensitive clit combined with his husky voice whispering filth in your ear has you in pieces. you cant handle this anymore.

you move out from underneath him and pin him down, straddling him. surprised at first, that dangerous smirk of his creeps onto his face again as he takes in the view before him. he places his hands on your hips and squeezes your ass, letting his touch wander up to caress your waist, your breasts.

"you look so good on top of me like that." he mutters.

"you don't look too bad yourself," you smile and lean down to plant a hot kiss on his lips.

then you take in his length once again and begin to ride him, stimulating your clit with every movement while enjoying the feeling of his cock inside you. he squeezes your hips tighter and moans. he really does look so hot laying underneath you. his abdominals ripple in pleasure and his neck glimmers with sweat. his eyes fixate on your undulating body without wavering. you stroke your hand slowly down from his chest to his abs and whisper, "you like that?" in a breathy voice.

"mhmm" he replies, eyes closed and head thrown back.

you grin, satisfied, and continue to ride him. the sound of your combined moans reverberates around the room and your pussy throbs at how jiwoong looks at you with eyes filled with lust. you take his hand and place it on your breast, which he fondles with his firm grip. he rolls the tip of your nipple between his fingers. you whine loudly and throw your head back while riding him, your body rolls becoming slow and drawn out before coming to a stop.

switching positions, you place yourself on all fours and sink your head to rest on your arms while jiwoong positions himself behind you. slowly, so you can feel every pulsating vein, he slides his length into your pussy. you moan at how you can feel every inch of his cock inside you in this position. and once again he fucks you intensely as if he has something to prove, his hands gripping your ass hard and using the momentum to fuck you deeper. he alternates between deep, rough thrusts and smooth movements grinding his hips. you hide your face in the pillow stifling your moans but you feel him pull your head back with a tug to your hair.

"let it all out, princess. you don't have to be quiet here." he says, kissing the nape of your neck.

you cry out in pleasure just as he expects, to which he continues fucking you intensely and spanks your ass. your pussy clenches around his length at this, the sensation of your throbbing pussy combined with the way your ass tingles from the slap making you so wet you can feel it dripping down your legs. you beg for more and he obliges. you moan desperately at every spank landed on your trembling ass. you feel your climax come close and grasp at the pillow.

"fuck, i'm cumming, i'm cumming.." you whimper before your climax finally hits you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you. your body trembles, overcome with sweet relief, and your pussy throbs around jiwoong's length. he cums right after, finishing with deep solid thrusts while moaning deeply. he gently massages the throbbing red skin of your ass and pulls out.

and like that, your bodies come to a repose. you sink into one another like withered leaves on the bed, jiwoong resting his head on your breasts.

a holiday fling, indeed.

[thevirtualvalentine]

000. NARUTO, OBITO UCHIHA.

content warnings: (rough) face fucking, tobi who uses his madara impression on you, afab / femme reader, tbh he’s kinda mean, reader wants this guy bad, fatdicked!obito (real),

plot: you fuck around and find out with Tobi, they say curiosity killed the cat.

Can you imagine hanging around the akatsuki, for some reason you’re like .. really attached (attracted) to the goofy guy in the mask that’s just so silly and kinda a joy to be around. He’s real sweet to you and overall a lot different than the other cloaked members you’d met, he talks a bunch too! It helps to fill the more quiet spaces in your life.

You start trying to hold his hand, he’s pretty skittish at first. Pulling away and retracting before he’s the one initiating the touch with you in full force. Grabbing onto you or jumping into your arms when mean n’ grumpy Deidara yells at him for being a shitty partner and a sasori replacement. “Y/n!! Save me! Deidara-senpai is being a big ole meanie. Tobi doesn’t deserve this inhumane treatment! I’ll be calling HR on you.” Always dramatic and so whiny.

Then you keep seeing him, spending time with him alone in remote hideouts. He never takes off that mask of his, but you can clearly see his deep dark eye that stares into you. Even if your conversation isn’t ever breaching bellow surface level, you know he’s listening intently. He may be unserious and full of quirks, but he really does have his own sense of charm. You’ve always felt there was more to this guy than what he’s showing, maybe if you got to know him a bit more .. personally you’d figure it out.

One day you honestly just can’t take it anymore. “Tobi have you ever .. uhhh , you know.” You’re playing with your hands because you feel entirely ridiculous asking this masked entity such a lewd question. You’re starting to think it’s because of that same damn mask that you’re where you are now.

“Have I ever what y/n! You can tell me, Tobi’s a great listener~” he goads you, completely unaware of the whorish request you have in store for him. That same cheerful voice that makes you feel so comforted is asking you to be honest with him, your legs touching as you sit together on the floor.

“Y’know, you ever do it with anyone?” You’re gesturing with your hands nervously as he tilts his head in confusion.

“Do it? Do what! Tobi doesn’t quite understand what pretty miss y/n is asking for.” He places his hands together while leaning his head to the side, playing such an innocent role in all this.

“Has anyone ever sucked your dick?” You can’t even bother to face his masked appearance as it finally tumbled forth from your lips, the question you’ve been itching to ask. “Like, touched you in a way you liked or that felt really good?” He can’t be that unadulterated can he? If so this was going to be a very awkward conversation.

“Ooooo, does y/n wanna make Tobi feel good? Naughty girl asking such questions.” He waggles his finger at you as if to insinuate you were a pervert for asking him anything like that. He doesn’t answer your question but he doesn’t deny it either, pulling the tide of control back into his own hands.

“Eugh not when you put it like that” you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, heat rising throughout your body wishing you could take back what you just asked.

“Tobi doesn’t mind, m’not stoppin you.” A schoolgirl like giggle escapes him as he stands up, shedding the ostentatiously long coat. Oh wow, you didn’t expect this guy to be so built, what the hell was he hiding under that cloak? An all black ensemble that covers him from head to toe but defines all of his muscle groups with a pair of black gloves. Still, the omnipresent mask doesn’t move.

You’re stuck peering up at him from your knees as he slides his fingers beneath your chin, angling your head to face him as he’s shrouded in light. “Still wanna suck my cock? Or did you change your mind.” When he speaks this time he doesn’t sound like Tobi, his eye flickers to life in dark red hues through the hole of his mask. The deep tone makes your jaw drop as you stare at him dumbly, grabbing his wrist as you scramble to make sense of what just happened. His entire being just changed in front of you, not even his chakra feels the same as it did before. They say curiosity killed the cat.

“Tobi?” You ask, almost afraid of what his answer could be. His chakra is dark and ominous, cool and uninviting as it swallows you whole. If Tobi had left and been replaced with another person in the blink of an eye, you’d believe them.

“No.” It’s simple, but you’ll take it. “Go on.”

You meekly nod your head while obeying his command, that voice of his is making your underwear drenched. That same red eye watches your nimble hands shake as you pull his cock out, “I’ll take care of you, good care.” The unnamed man pats your head in an effort to calm you but you just keep getting wetter and wetter each time he speaks. Something in his mannerism compels you to listen as if you’re in a trance.

“So obedient, what a good girl.” He’s not unaware of what his voice is doing to you, sharingan abilities and all. He just finds it cute, been waiting for this day for months. The day you stop beating around the bush and ask him for what he wants.

He’s thick, much thicker and longer than what you thought a man like Tob— no, whoever this man is, would be. You lick your lips at the sight of his angry brown tip that’s leaking thick globs of pre cum, begging for you to lick it up. He’s so hard it’s slapping against his own abdomen. What kind of expression must be on his face beneath that mask to be this stiff right in front of you.

He revels in the way you size him up, unabashed staring at the monster hidden beneath his pants. He thanks his Uchiha genes for such a pretty cock, it’s truly a masterpiece. “Don’t be shy when you were so eager earlier, I don’t bite.” A heavy chuckle leaves him as you start to work his pre up and down his shaft, spitting in your hands as it requires both appendages to fully jerk him off.

Once you find a rhythm with your hands that satisfies the man before you enough to elicit a grunt, you pop his head between your lips, suckling on the slit hoping to make him moan out. “Just like that, what a smart girl you are. You really know how to suck dick, hm?” But again, it’s him making you gush and clench your thighs as you sit up on your knees to suck him off. If you knew it was gonna be like this you would have asked Tobi to fuck eons ago, what the hell???

You start to take more of him in your mouth inch by inch, using a hand to brace yourself against his toned thigh. Your wrist twists in atune with each bob of your head along his girth as your cheeks hollow in. You try breathing through your nose so you won’t ruin the mood by gagging, but he’s just too thick. “What? Too big for you? Thought you wanted to suck my dick.”

You pull off of him trying to explain yourself but he doesn’t care, grabbing you by the curls as his red eye lowers in disappointment. “Less talking, ore sucking.” You’re shoved back on his fat cock while it jabs the back of your throat, effectively face fucking you.

“Your throat’s so warm, mhhm, and tight. Can you breathe down there?” Drool dribbles down his balls as your throat constricts around his cock. Tears forming in your waterline from the assault on your throat. You want to touch yourself to relieve the unbearable ache in your cunny from being used as a hole to fuck but the lack of oxygen makes you dumb, compliant in whatever way he holds your head still with his big hands. His heavy balls slap your chin with each thrust into your face.

It’s exhilarating and you almost wish you could thank him for using you so well, it’s exactly what you’ve been craving. You gurgle around his shaft with each drag of his hips, he doesn’t moan but groans when your tongue laps the underside of his cock. “Such a cute little thing, kept following me around. Wanted to fuck this throat so bad. Kept teasing me too, bet you were fantasizing about it.”

To say this is what you were expecting is far from the truth, you thought you’d have Tobi crying and whimpering while giving him the sloppiest top of his life, but here you are; having your throat bruised by a man you never truly knew. Shouldn’t you be scared? Alarmed?

Your cunt betrays you, oozing at the thought of what his heavy dick could do to your insides. You’d go slack from the intrusion alone, would it even all fit inside you?

Your jaw feels like it’s going to break off it’s hinges if he isn’t more careful with you, but it’s addicting with each revolution of his hips. The black fabric of his shirt riding up to expose scarred skin. Your hands trail up to his v-line and he shudders, “ahh— fuck, don’t do that.” He grabs a fist full of your hair before shoving you down further, not caring if you choke or not. “Make yourself useful, will you?”

His strong hands grip the side of your head, continuously fucking your throat raw in a way that you won’t be able to speak tomorrow. Each thrust of his hips lets the tip of his fat dick kiss the back of your throat and it makes your eyes roll back into your skull. You’re moaning, crying, drooling all from one man and it’s making you stupid.

“Fuck, swallow it. All of it, or there’ll be trouble to pay later.” The playfulness of his voice reminds you of Tobi, but the underlying threat awards you a pang of pleasure in your cunt. Moaning around him sends vibrations that rattle his being, at least you’re listening. “Be good and I may just keep you around.”

He throws his head back with a long groan as he keeps you pinned to his pelvis, you can only take it as his warm seed spills down your throat. You didn’t even have a choice to swallow it or not. Shallow strokes accompany soft curses as he grips your hair for purchase, orgasm causing him to shudder above you. He stumbles back a bit, letting you take care of his after shocks. You slowly pump him as you recover your breath, “you taste good.”

Voice already hoarse but you felt he deserved a compliment for fucking your throat raw. He simply laughs, tucking himself back in his pants. The discarded cloak on the ground resumes being draped back over his shoulders. “And don’t forget~ whatever you saw here you don’t speak about!” He’s back to to twirling around in that idiotic high pitched voice you love so much, a stark contrast to what just happened here. He grabs your hand to pull you up from the floor, wiping your knees of any debris in an animated fashion.

“It’s a Tobi and y/n secret, right y/n?” He extends his pinky to you while you stare at him incredulously trying to figure out which one is the real him.

You’ll later come to find out that it was neither.

[olderthannetfic]

I used to think Seme and Uke were like a heteronormative thing based on a vague sense that these stories are bad with no real reason why, and the knowledge that the Uke is both feminine and literally the way in which the female audience projects themselves into the story. But now I don't understand why I ever did think that. Being a projection point for women does not mean that a character isn't literally a man actually, and women don't write characters like this to appease homophobes or perpetuate queer oppression or the heteronormative model of relationships, it's just what appeals to them personally in fiction.

I never would have suggested this about a story with a femme gay man and a masc gay man, I love stories like that and write a lot of them myself. I just sort of heard people say things that vaguely carried this implication with it and internalized that without thinking critically on it or trying to see if this fit together with my other beliefs.

--

The thing I think is missing from a lot of seme/uke discourse or slash fandom discourse is that it's not as simple as identification.

Shallow analysis tends to treat BL like a stereotypical het romance novel, which probably does a disservice to het romance novels and their audiences as well but definitely does a disservice to BL.

It appears to be reasonably common that people do identify with the bottom and not the top... But it does not follow that they're attracted to only the top.

Often, they're absolutely rabid for the bottom in a "Do I want to fuck him or do I want to be him?" way, which is an incredibly queer form of attraction whether we're looking at AFABs working out their gender issues via BL or clueless girls at boarding school wondering what all these feelings for sempai are.

One does occasionally see some of this vibe in (nominally het) stories about female characters crossdressing to enter some school/the military/etc., but it's a dynamic that's not typically present in a het romance novel of the type people seem to liken BL to. It's a very queer vibe even if the art contains a f/m ship, and it seems like a lot of fans of BL are actually seeking this in preference to something where the lines of identification and attraction are more set in stone.

I just don't think you can do any real analysis of BL without confronting this two-part attraction, but it's missing from all those "You made this one The Girl" critiques.

[cipheramnesia]

Hey, just say your tags about TME/TMA language being problematic. Genuine question: what is the issue with them? Is it that transmisogyny can be directed at people who aren't considered "TMA"?

I've talked about it here and there, but maybe this will be the time my thoughts are organized.

Up front, let me note there could be more elements involved the TME/TMA than I'm familiar with. I also feel it could be a useful tool in the right circumstances (for example, if you pursued research specifically focused on transmisogyny). My subjective experience is that TME/TMA are not used in this way, and the functional use of them isn't beneficial in general to trans people.

For those unfamiliar, TME means "transmisogyny exempt" and TMA means "transmisogyny affected." Now, as a thing that happens, these make sense. However, as commonly used, TME/TMA describes innate traits, which is where they stop being useful for me.

To start at the broadest scale, TME/A is often used reductively, with the principle that general bigotry against trans folx is in effect all derived from transmisogyny. I'm simplifying a little bit, but if we cut through some of the theory mechanics, we end up left with a broad generalization of transmisogyny as the primary and defining feature of the effort for trans rights, transphobia, and such. And, not to undermine the substantial effect transmisogyny has on the whole community, but this is not completely different from treating misogyny in general as the defining characteristic of all inequality. Misogyny is a significant form of inequality, but reducing all inequality to misogyny is kinda radical feminist territory. What with radfems generally wanting to wipe trans people off the map, I'm not comfortable standing on an ideological platform that close to theirs.

Related to this, there's no terms like "Transandrophobia Exempt," nothing at all addressing what kind of exemption / effect would apply to anyone off the gender binary - if it's going to be used to examine different kinds of bias against different kinds of trans people, or if it's meant to represent a state of being for trans people, there should be versions of it which apply to other people affected by bigotry who aren't trans femme. I suppose it can be argued that it's only to define one category of people (TMA) versus any other people (TME), which is true but again defines away the experiences of a large number of different trans people, or necessitates other trans people's experiences being defined through transmisogyny. To me that's not useful, because it excludes a significant amount of the complexity of the trans experience for the sake of only understanding a narrow band of it.

This leads into some further difficulties with the term. As a group, trans people have a great deal of insight to share with one another about our positive and negative experiences. The great variety and range of experiences in our community is fantastic, because I can find the experience of people who are trans men, agender, genderqueer, nonbinary, or anything else very relatable. I don't need to limit my understanding of gender via my specific experience as a trans woman either to share in how other trans folx view gender, nor to share my experience with the trans community at large.

We're getting deep down into it now, but related to the above and your note, I see TMA/E used as interchangeable with AFAB/AMAB, while being affected by transmisogyny isn't particularly limited to your assigned gender at birth. Bigotry expressed against trans people is not complex - it's a matter of a person or person who thinks any expression of gender they perceive as out of sync with what they assume is an intuitive understanding of innate gender characteristic should be must be resisted in the strongest possible way.

Or, more succinctly, transphobes do not care your agab, where you fall under the trans umbrella, or if you're trans at all. If a transphobe sees a cis woman and thinks she looks like a trans woman, they'll be transmisogynistic. If they see a trans woman and thinks she looks like a trans man, it's transandrophobia for them. They don't believe they ever have or ever will encounter anyone intersex, because they're really bad a statistics (fun fact, a small percentage is still a huge amount in any kind of city or town population). Bigots do not slow down to decide what kind of specific form of hate they're expressing, because the only thing important to them is that they're seeing someone who deviates from their internal belief system, and that person must be penalized for deviation.

We can certainly dissect how bigotry affects us all after the fact, the particular and (importantly) varying social lenses people are experiencing when they direct prejudice based on gender. I think that's a very complex and interesting question but it can't be examined via transmisogyny alone, because it's not limited to trans feminine people. Gender is one component of the many facets of how society can exert controls over disenfranchised groups, and it's tied into race, income, religion, nationality, and so forth. It's not impossible to examine one facet, it's just important to recognize that one facet is neither universal nor exclusive.

So far, the issue I have with TMA/E is that in a broad sense it seems to be used in an exclusionary way, as well as used in a way that re-creates a gender binary, and limits understanding bias towards trans people clearly. But all of this overlooks one very important issue.

We don't define who we are by how we are hated. I don't want to define myself as TMA. I'm a trans woman, I'm awesome. My gender isn't defined by someone who hates me for my genitals, my gender is defined by how much I love who I am, how much better my life is for being a trans woman. I do not find it useful to define myself by whether some specific kind of hatefulness is directed at me. To me, that's the component of TMA/E I cannot find a way around.

I am a depressed lady with massive anxiety, sometimes to the point I can't function, okay? I don't want to designate myself by another reason to be unhappy. So I don't find it useful, I kinda get why it's used, because it feels like a more inclusive way to talk about being trans and being expected to conform to an idea of femininity but not doing so. I do not think it succeeds in that capacity, and my overall experience with the term is that it does not usefully serve the trans community. My personal feeling is that it makes me uncomfortable. Despite being TMA by technicality, I haven't experienced much in the way of transmisogyny, and I would rather use a positive term to describe who I am.

(i haven't checked this for typos or spelling or inconsistencies)

[americascomic]

Hello. I sat here for a good 30 minutes trying to think of best how to ask this question without giving the online version of an annoying exposition dump, so I hope this somewhat makes sense: I’ve found myself, increasingly, having conversations with the more tenderqueer-esque queers in my life surrounding slurs- specifically slurs like faggot and tranny. I’m a trans guy, and I was told by another trans guy of the genre of person i just mentioned that only gay men can reclaim the word faggot, and trans women can reclaim the word tranny. I thought this was a stupid and gatekeep-y idea, and told him so, but i have been genuinely wondering if this is just a manifestation of terminally online induced queer infighting or a form of ignorant transmisogyny on my part. Is tranny a slur directed at and only to be reclaimed by trans women? Or is it just another tick in the barrel of a long line of slur speciation discourse?

I think the short answer of who can say what slur is "this is terminally online bullshit"

And my second answer is "this is a conversation that mostly people under the age of 30 have, and people mostly online have." I think the age is important - it's feels like it's a developmental phase a lot of queers go through, where they negotiate their identity." So, like I'm patient (if a little irked) when I see it on my feed. Or hear some dipshit socially awkward t-femme at Bluestockings rudely chime in to a conversation I'm having with a friend.

and I sometimes put it as a hypothetical;

I'm telling you right now, as a trans woman, in my lived experience, people of your exact intersecting identities are only allowed to say the word "tranny" on a Tuesday and "faggot" on a Friday. If you forget, remember 'tranny' and 'Tuesday' starts with 'T' and 'faggot' and 'Friday' starts with 'F'

Like, that's absurd for me to ask. And so I think that kind of forces the thought that at the end of the day I'm the one asking it. There'll be no consensus on this issue.; you have to decide for yourself whatever or not to respect one point of view over the other.

We say "listen to black people" but I had this moment in my life where IRL I did a call-out of Nazis in my community and a Black friend told me that I was talking over people of color and another thanked me for speaking up in a way that they wouldn't be listened to. Who is right? Neither. Both. You have to decide for yourself and have a strong sense of race. Same with interacting with our own queer community.

Who can say what queer slur where and when is a thing that can never be litigated online. It's such an interpersonal person-to-person thing. There's no pundit square that can fit all slurs and all identities and all experiences.

in the case of the teen in the previous story who told me not to use the word "tranny," I immediately retorted that people say that word to me on the street and spit at me, which means they recognize it as a thing of power and so I will use that power. And I don't think she'd ever had copped to it, but I think changed her mind because she was saying "tranny" over the next months.

I think for some of this shit, us trans women policing who can say "tranny" is us just doing a proxy war for transmisogny. Like, we get transmisogny in our community, an AFAB person queer person of some type who could probably leverage their privilege against us says "tranny," I can see it irking some. But, have you met a trans woman? Everything irks us. We're reprehensible.

And, I think in terms of your conversation and your friend. I dunno, I think of who-gets-to-be-lesbian discourse. I see so many people online twist in the wind trying to justify to others that they're a trans masc lesbian, or a non-binary lesbian or a bisexual lesbian and I'm kinda sitting there on my ass wondering why they're trying so hard to get probably the dumbest people online to justify our identity. Like, we're hear, we're queer, get used to it. I sometimes feel of the matter that we're all a mass medium as one and just going about shit without apology as a way to force people to confront our humanity.

Iffen you want my personal feelings on the matter, you're just as impacted by the codified violence of the state that's imposed on us and so we're all faggots at the end of the day. But the t-girl sitting next to me might feel differently, and you have to negotiate with that. Sometimes times calls for moments of respect and sometimes it's a matter of saying "fuck it" and doing the thing you know how it is.

If you would like, I can draw you a card that says "Amber, a hot trans woman, says I can say 'faggot'"

Finally, I'll say I wrote a couple paragraphs for you so I'm going to force you to return the favor and just challenge you to sit on your ass and ask yourself in honest ways what the word means and what it means to you and what's beautiful and what's ugly about the word. That - an internal process - a lot more valuable thing worth to litigate then everybody in-community being cops to each other.

And then after that, I always like to challenge people to look beyond the debate. This post I made on the matter is about a dead trans teen. It's nice to debate words, but it's also nice to look out at our wonderful, annoying community, name problems we see that creates material struggle, and then imagine solutions.

[archangeldyke-all]

Hi, first time ever sending an ask like this but I needed to tell you how much I love what you write and that I am absolutely grateful you also write for amab sevika 🥺🙏❤️ I was wondering if you maybe would write amab sevika having sex with an insecure afab nonbinary reader and Sev kissing their top surgery scars and doing a bit of body worship? 🥺 Thank you 😭🙏❤️

of course!! this is gonna be a little less smutty because i just wrote a big ol' smut piece last night so i'm all smutted out rn, so i hope that's okay!

disclaimer! i'm cis, so i'm unfamiliar with the specifics of top surgery. if i got anything wrong, please lmk and i'll fix it right away! :)

men and minors dni

first of all, if you guys are together when you get top surgery, sevika would almost be more excited than you.

it's not that she doesn't love your tits. (she does.)

but she loves you so much more, and she knows top surgery is going to make you so happy, and she's so excited for you.

your recovery is uncomfortable and painful as it always is, but it's a little more bearable when sevika's waiting on you hand and foot, grinning each time she changes your bandages and sees your still-swollen but now flat chest.

each night, she'd insist she be the one to rub your scar-fading cream over the scars on your chest.

and each time, she'd press a kiss right over your heart as she rubs it in.

when you're fully healed, sevika wouldn't be able to keep her hands to herself.

not really in a sexual context (we'll get to that in a second) but just because she wants to reassure you and touch you and soothe the scars on your chest.

she's always tracing over the scars, slipping her hand up your shirt to gently rub her thumb back and forth over them.

if you're ever feeling insecure (maybe the scars are lopsided or really obvious, maybe your nipples look a little different now, or you don't have any at all, maybe you're just feeling blah about your body) sevika's the first person to notice something's off-- sometimes even before you do.

"what's wrong?" sevika asks when she wanders into the bathroom and finds you tracing your top surgery scars. you huff.

"nothin'." you say. she shoots you a skeptical look as she approaches you, both hands on your hips and her chin hooking over your shoulder to lock eyes with you in the mirror.

slowly, her hands creep up your side until she's holding your chest, gently tracing over the scars as she presses kisses to your neck and cheek.

"i love you." she whispers. "you're perfect, y'know." she says.

(it's always easy to believe her, especially when you can feel her dick growing hard against your ass.)

in the bedroom, sevika'd always have her mouth on your scars. tracing them with her tongue, pressing kisses to the center of your chest or your nipples, sucking hickeys underneath the scars to decorate them.

she still sleeps on your chest-- slightly less comfortable now without the fat of your breasts to cushion her-- but she doesn't care.

sometimes, you wake up to her whispering secrets to the scars.

"so pretty. so perfect."

"fuckin' sexy ass body."

and your favorite so far, "you made 'em so happy. never saw 'em smile as big as they did when they first saw their new chest. thank you." whispered reverently against the scar tissue on your skin.

you had to snap your eyes shut to pretend to be sleeping when she pulled back away, not wanting her to know you caught her.

she knows, though. she can hear your rapid heart beat beneath her ear as she settles back down. she doesn't say anything, just presses a kiss to your skin, a smile on her lips.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

lesson (still not) learned

part one: lesson (not) learned *** read note below wc: 2k reader: afab (i don't think i used any pronouns so i don't think its femme? just warning you just in case!!) warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT MINORS DNI!!! (detailed warnings below cut) summary: hao convinces poly!reader to help him tie up dom!hanbin when he least expects it SO. this is PART TWO to lesson (not) learned. *** it got c*mm*n*ty l*b*led (lmao i don't want them to find this one) so PLEASE if you wanna go read that one just turn off/enable your l*b*ls on your account to read it. you can always change them back lol. i might repost a version with warnings under the cut since i was stupid and forgot to. oh well. also does this need a part 3 where hao and hanbin get their revenge?? lemme know. anyway i love this one ENJOY!!

SMUT UNDER CUT MINORS DNI!! you have been warned 🚨

warnings: established poly relationship, oral m!receiving, brief mxm (oral), handjob, pussyjob, p in v intercourse— riding, orgasm denial, hanbin and hao’s wrists are tied to the bed, brattysubbyswitch!hao that attempts to dom, switch!reader that doms towards the end, dom-leaningswitch!hanbin that “subs” for most, pet names (baby, angel, honey), they talk in the third person a lot bc they’re all horny messes, obviously swearing, this is not dubcon-- hanbin loves it he just has to keep up his dom persona… also unprotected sex (be smart, stay safe or whatever). i think that should cover it?

~

“i’d double-knot that if i were you, angel,” hanbin suggests; a broad, cocky smile now gracing his lips. you reluctantly obey— knowing he’s right. how hao had talked you into tricking hanbin, you had no idea.

sure, the idea of tying up hanbin and using him however you liked was incredibly intriguing, but you knew the punishment for it would be more intense than you’d yet to experienced it was both terrifying and thrilling. 

plus hao promised to do your laundry for a month if you helped him. so now, here you are— the element of surprise the only way you managed to secure both of hanbin’s wrists to slats in the headboard of the bed with two silk ties. you tuck the extra one you’d brought in case of an emergency under hanbin’s pillow, safely out of his reach.

“no talking,” hao barks, starting to unbutton hanbin’s jeans and pull down the zipper. you can tell that hao is doing his best to imitate how hanbin usually talks to the both if you. it’s cuter than he intended and, from the chuckle that escapes hanbin, you can tell he thinks the same.

“and no laughing,” you add, crawling over to help hao tug hanbin’s jeans down past his hips. “if binnie makes a sound, he’ll have to be punished.”

“yeah? and what will be binnie’s punishment?” hanbin asks curiously; smiling softly at you. 

“he’ll find out soon,” hao answers, shimmying hanbin’s jeans and underwear down his legs and discarding them carelessly on the floor, “since he just earned one.”

“ooooh,” hanbin mocks, eyebrows raised in a challenge. though he’s pretending to be annoyed by this stunt, his cock is already hard. “i’m very scared, hyungie.”

“and another,” hao replies before spitting in his hands and wrapping them around the base of hanbin’s length— starting to gently wring them as he takes the tip into his mouth.

hanbin doesn’t react at first, but the farther hao shoves his cock down his throat, the harder it is for him to continue maintaining his composure. once hao starts sucking, the older boy taps hanbin’s hips quickly to signal you to come help him hold them down. 

“don’t play with him though,” hao warns as he comes up for air. “binnie’s mine right now.”

you roll your eyes as you crawl back over, placing a hand over hanbin’s lower abdomen to keep him still for hao. the younger boy’s face is screwed up in pleasure— a rogue moan escaping him every now and then despite his best efforts to keep quiet. 

it’s not long before the sight has you rubbing your thighs together— the need for friction getting the better of you. hanbin eyes you tentatively, gazing at your core as you feel yourself starting to grind into the sheets.

it’s only another minute before hanbin is cursing— warning hao that he’s about to cum. “g’nna cum, don’t stop! g’nna— NO, NO FUCK!”

hanbin lets out a frustrated cry as hao removes his length from his mouth. hao kisses each of hanbin’s thighs, laughing meanly, “should’ve kept your mouth shut, huh, binnie?”

a particular grind of your pussy against the mattress causes you to moan and hao’s eyes dart to you. his attention falls to your core— practically sticking to the mattress from all of the juice pouring out of it. 

“did you like that, baby?” hao asks, lips parting as he continues to stare at your heat. “grinding your little pussy watching us?”

you bite your lip, nodding shyly as hanbin continues to seethe.

“well are you gonna keep it all to yourself or are you gonna share with the rest of us?” hao asks, prompting you to take your index and middle finger and swipe at your slick— starting to hold it out to hanbin.

“ah-ah,” hao shakes his head. “i taste first today, remember?”

you blink back at him, bringing your fingers up to hao’s lips. he takes them in his mouth; sucking them as he lets out a throaty moan. when he releases them, he licks his lips— praising, “taste so good, baby. now give hanbinnie a bite.”

you bring your fingers back to your core, coating them again and extending them to a slightly calmer hanbin. he doesn’t take them in his mouth, but he does lick them clean. “thank you, angel,” he says softly, clearly trying to get on your good side.

“my turn now?” you ask, turning to hao.

“i guess,” the older boy huffs reluctantly as you switch positions; throwing a leg around hanbin’s lap to straddle him. “gonna ride binnie?”

“i don’t think my angel is ready to take m—,” hanbin starts to tease when you hold his cock to your entrance, but as you sink down onto him, his sentence is cut short. “oh, fuuuck.”

letting yourself adjust to his size, you slowly start to bounce up and down— finding a good rhythm as hanbin’s eyes roll back at the feeling of your tight walls around him. hao strokes his cock as he watches the scene— tough guy act thrown out the window within minutes as you continue to ride hanbin.

“perfect,” hanbin pants, a light glisten of sweat starting to form on his skin. he’s getting close again as he’s already riled up from his first orgasm denial and you moan at his praise. “pussy s'perfect.”

“fuck, i wanna see binnie cum,” hao whines from beside you; his pumping of his cock getting sloppier. you shake your head at his infuriating need for constant attention. “baby, please— wanna watch binnie cum inside you.”

“are you kidding me!? this was all your idea,” you yell back at him. hanbin laughs under you and you squeeze your walls tightly to shut him up. he throws his head back in a strangled moan— tugging a little harder on his wrist constraints as his desire to get his hands on you grows even stronger.

“i know, but,” hao replies and a quick glance at him tells you he’s just as desperate as hanbin is for release. you should’ve figured hao would cave under the pressure. “binnie wants to cum so bad.”

you turn back to hanbin. he’s whimpering now; biting his lip hard to keep from coming undone. as his hips lazily trying to fuck up into you, you realize that hanbin must be enjoying this much more than he’s been letting on. 

“is it good, binnie?” you ask, running your hands up his chest. hanbin nods wildly; tugging against his restraints again. “does binnie wanna cum?”

hanbin nods again— pressing his lips together to keep from answering. you remember now that hao’s rule for hanbin had been not to talk. but now that you had obviously been handed the reins by your irritatingly needy partner in crime, you were suddenly excited to switch things up and play the game your own way.

you lean forward, pressing a messy kiss to hanbin’s lips. he accepts greedily; thrusting his hips harder as your tongues fight hungrily for dominance. before anyone can win, you pull back slightly. “you can trust me, binnie. i’ll let binnie cum if he tells me he wants to cum.”

hanbin searches your eyes; so overcome with desperation that he doesn’t care whether you’re telling the truth or not. “oh my god, yes— wanna cum inside you, angel.”

his cock twitches inside you and you whimper in response. reaching your left hand out now to cup hao’s jaw beside you, you run your thumb across his cheek soothingly. “does hao wanna cum, too?”

with wide eyes, hao nods— nuzzling his cheek into your touch. “please, baby!”

“come here, then,” you instruct as hao eagerly crawls towards you— positioning himself on his knees to bring his cock more level with your mouth. you wrap your hand around the shaft and bring the tip to your lips; lapping at the head as hao’s right hand caresses your cheek carefully. taking his full length in your mouth, hao gasps when he hits the back of your throat.

the sound makes you clench around hanbin, which causes the younger boy to inadvertently buck his hips up into you. you gag a bit as hanbin cries out pitifully— his abdomen shaking a bit from the pleasurable sensation. removing hao’s cock from your mouth, you continue to pump him.

“look at binnie, honey,” you say, watching as hao directs his attention to hanbin. “this is what you wanted, hmm? to see binnie all squirming and helpless like this?”

as hao reaches his hand towards hanbin’s face, hanbin quickly understands what the older boy is asking for— taking his middle and ring fingers into his mouth. a fresh flood of desire warms your core as hanbin swirls his tongue around hao’s fingers— sucking on them until hao’s jaw drops at the sight.

“mm, binnie’s so pretty sucking my fingers while you fuck him,” hao whimpers as you pick up the pace of your hand; continuing to fuck yourself on hanbin’s cock. the two boys in front of you are starting to get messy in their need to cum. “baby’s so nice to let binnie cum. w-wanna cum, too!”

“lie down, honey,” you suggest as you watch hao’s thighs start to shake— unable to stay propped on his knees as he gets closer to his high. with a mischievous look in your eyes, you continue, “hao can cum, too.”

“hyungie, i wouldn’t do that if i were— oh fuuuuck,” hanbin starts to warn, but you cut him off by milking his dick with your walls again; an absolutely pathetic moan escaping his throat. “do whatever you want, hyung— oh my god.”

hao must not hear any of what hanbin says over the throbbing of his cock, because he collapses on his back next to the younger boy almost immediately— nearly out of his mind as he looks up at you through dark, lust-filled eyes. 

“our hao doesn’t know what’s good for him, huh, angel?” hanbin whispers, smirking at you as if he thinks he’s on your team now. 

he’s not.

a hard smack to the side of his ass sends him reeling; crying out at the pain that’s followed quickly by pleasure. hanbin looks up at you; bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he mewls. smiling at him innocently, you reply, “neither does binnie.”

“touch hao’s cock!!” the older boy huffs; starting to throw a tantrum at the lack of attention on him. “been so good, just wanna cum.”

hanbin starts to laugh again, but his laugh turns to a yelp at the loss of contact as you lift up off of his length. “no, no, no, nooooo,” he whines, thrusting his hips up to try to find your entrance again but you’re already climbing off him and hooking a leg around the older boy to straddle him. 

“didn’t binnie hear? hao wants to cum,” you say to hanbin, nearly giggling at how angry and wet you’ve left his cock. you’re surprised when you see hanbin’s eyes water in frustration. he had apparently been holding it together on the outside this whole time far better than he was on the inside. “and hao’s been so good.”

hao hums; biting his lip in a sweet smile as you lower yourself down towards his crotch. grinding your warm, slick folds on hao’s shaft— both hanbin and hao moan at the contact. “s'amazing, baby. love it s’much, thank you."

taking each of hao’s hands in one of yours, you gently pin them above his head— holding both of his wrists in your left hand as you stealthily reach for the extra silk tie under the pillow that hanbin is resting on. 

“could you cum like this, honey?” you ask hao, trying your best to keep your poker face as the veins running up his shaft tease your clit while you grind against him. 

hao nods; his eyes closing from the pleasure. “please keep going, baby,” he begs as you wrap the tie around his wrists— taking advantage of his state of blissed-out state of distraction. “g’nna cum if you keep going.”

securing hao’s wrists to a slat in the headboard; you tie the second knot on the far side so its out of reach of his fingers. sitting back up straight, you continue to grind on hao’s cock; reaching over and taking hanbin’s in your hand as well.

hanbin sighs in relief, meeting your gaze. “my angel’s so smart, huh?”

you nod as your hand works the same rhythm as your core. hao hasn’t noticed the constraint on his wrists as his moaning grows even more uncontrollable. the twitching of hanbin’s cock against your palm alerts you that he, too, is dangerously close.

“fuck, g’nna cum, baby,” hao cries, only now attempting to move his arms. his brow furrows confusedly amidst the pleasure as he tugs at the silk tie holding his hands to the headboard. “what the—... mm, when did—… NO, PLEASE! BABY, PLEASE!”

just as hao is about to cum, you pull off of him and crawl back over to hanbin. he immediately begins to cry; babbling absolute nonsense in a hopeless plea to make you come back and finish him off. hanbin is concerningly silent, lips pressed together and brows knitted-- seemingly praying that he’s been nice enough to you tonight to avoid meeting the same fate as hao.

you continue to pump hanbin’s cock; speeding up the pace as he stifles his moaning.

“THIS ISN’T FUCKING FAIR!” hao wails next to hanbin—hiccupping through his tears. “this was my idea!”

“shouldn’t have pussied out so early then,” you reply with a glare, sticking your tongue out at him childishly. brushing hanbin’s bangs out of his face, you tell him sweetly, “don’t worry. binnie gets to cum.”

the younger boy’s face lights up at your words as he melts into your touch like the prettiest puppy— hao still throwing a fit to your left.

“but not yet,” you say with a wicked smile; removing your hand from around hanbin’s cock and quickly hopping off of the bed.

hanbin yelps angrily; thrashing at his wrist restraints— definitely wishing now that he hadn’t reminded you to tie a double-knot. menacingly, he growls, “get your ass back here right now.”

from the doorway, you giggle. “it’s okay— i’ll be back in a little bit! and then whoever can last the longest inside of me can go free.”

running out of the room before the boys can protest further, hanbin and hao are left lying next to each other on the bed— wrists tied up behind them to the headboard.

“you’re a fucking idiot,” hanbin huffs, kicking hao’s shin with his foot.

the older boy pouts, mumbling as the tip of his cock leaks sorrily onto his stomach: 

“takes one to know one.”

[firein-thesky]

Act II

|| kaeya alberich x afab!reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort/fluff || wc: 37k || ao3 || masterlist || Act III -> coming soon! ||

When you, a beloved artist and performer of Mondstadt, attract the attention of the Fatui, there is only one person you seek out for help; the infamous Cavalry Captain of the Ordo Favonius, Mondstadt's beloved bastard.

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+ only

❀ give me a world masterlist ❀

❀ for you are the world (as i am in pieces) - @lorelune ❀

a/n: hello! i am two days late, but here is the second act!! instead of splitting into multiple parts/posts, i just linked the ao3 at the bottom to continue reading! 37k is actually insane of me. i struggled a great deal with this act and it was the source of a lot of frustration but...i am ultimately happy with how it turned out <33 big shout out to my buddies @lorelune who helped me a lot and beta-ed parts, as well as @suguwu who beta-ed and gave me some great feedback on this act, and finally, @acerathia for beta-ing and giving me feedback as well! i am very appreciative of all your help! also please go check out lore's lovely diluc fic linked above as part of this collab!! without further ado, here is act ii! i would love to hear your feedback!! your thoughts!! your predictions! anything! thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoy <3

tags: afab reader (she/her pronouns but is rather gender fluid/binds her chest sometimes and presents both femme and masc), alcohol use, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking/full on stalking from the fatui to the reader, smut, oral (f!receiving), use of "good girl", friends with benefits, somewhat unclear and messy dynamics, mentions of heartbreak/abandonment issues, bodyguard au technically, fake dating au technically, angst, hurt/comfort

SCENE I

Somewhere dark and stone, dripping, and cave-like. Shadows press and shudder and shift. This is an unknown place and sharply different to Mondstadt’s gold and sky. Confined and cold. Each sound should echo softly or loudly, should repeat itself over and over again. 

Kaeya moves with his back to us, slipping among the darkness as if he might belong there. 

Kaeya has spent nearly an entire day attempting to tail one of the Fatui members he knows is keeping tabs on you. There’s three, he believes, and they rotate in shifts, much like he, Diluc, Jean, and Venti rotate being near you. 

For the first time in a long time, he hasn’t spent his entire day with you. Nor the previous. Venti stayed with you in your own home and now you’re with Jean. 

He hates to admit it, but he’s become rather accustomed to watching over you. 

But he needs answers for you, so he’s been running all over the city, searching for their reasoning. 

This is the closest he’s gotten to a new discovery; this ruin beneath the earth, ducking and weaving through an old, stone crypt of some sort. 

He realizes rather quickly it must be some secret meeting place for the Fatui in the city, especially those dealing with the Abyss Order.  

The narrow hall opens up into a larger space where an old desk, piled with papers and maps sits under lantern light. Shadows grow large and spindly on the floor. On the stone walls are photos and torn notebook paper, pinned and plastered together, a collage of secrets. 

Kaeya peers carefully from his hiding spot to get a better look. 

He wants to look at that desk, all the information atop it. He’s certain there must be something there of use, even a greater hint. But he needs this member to leave. 

Kaeya picks up a stone, smooth and cool to the touch. He has to play this carefully. 

There’s an adjacent hallway across this room. It leads to further darkness. And with the Fatui member’s back turned to him, facing the desk, if he can aim well enough, he’ll be able to–

Kaeya throws the stone and watches it sail through the air, finding it’s mark as it clatters into the bend of the wall down the hallway. He flattens himself to his own wall, waiting and listening. 

“Who's there?” The Fatui member calls and Kaeya holds his breath.

“Hello?” Again, before he hears their footsteps stride towards the hallway Kaeya had thrown the stone in and away from him. 

He waits as they retreat, deeper and deeper, echoing softly. 

He knows he won’t have much time now. 

As silently and quickly as possible, he rushes to the desk. His eye flies over all of the papers and maps and scribbling notes. 

Your name jumps out to him. He skims. 

Vision: Pyro 

Strength: Low

Intelligence: High

-Not a fighter

-Use discretion; known and beloved by Mondstadt and other nations. 

Kaeya searches harder, shuffling through the papers a little. 

There’s a ledger with all the places you’d gone, every single day. There are notes about where best to kidnap you and Kaeya’s stomach sours as he reads words like use force. And torture if necessary. 

But what is it they think you know? What would they need to torture out of you? 

He moves another piece of paper, only to catch sight of something that makes his heart stop. 

Your diary. 

There’s no mistaking it. He’d know it anywhere now. 

How do they have this? It should’ve been in his home or safe with you. 

Horror sweeps through him–they don’t–they couldn’t have taken you, could they? 

You’re with Jean, he tries to rationalize. Had you hidden your diary again? Had they found it? 

If you hid it, had you snuck away from Venti or Jean in the last day or so? His mind spins sharply. 

Footsteps echo. 

He’s out of time. 

He disappears down his own hallway, heart ricketing in his chest wildly. If they had you, would you be here? Should he search? Is he being unreasonable? 

He’ll go to Jean first. 

Use force. 

You’ll be with Jean. And if you’re not, Jean will organize a rescue party. He’s found their hideout. 

Torture if necessary. 

Kaeya breaks the surface of the world with a new urgency. The day is melting into evening and the light nearly blinds him a moment as he stumbles out. He doesn’t have time, he breaks into a sprint. His mind flashes hotly, imagines he wish he could never conjure. Images of you tied up, bloody, beaten–

He runs towards the city gates fast and hard. 

Strength: Low 

He shouldn’t have pawned you off on others–he should’ve stayed beside you. This whole time. He should’ve had Diluc look for the Fatui, he shouldn’t have bid you goodbye yesterday. He should’ve checked in with you. 

His ribs ache, his legs burn. He doesn’t stop. 

What was he thinking? You’re practically a sitting duck. He knows this. 

Not a fighter. 

You wouldn’t stand a chance against them. What if Jean is already searching for him because you’ve been taken? He imagines bursting into the city to find her or Venti or Diluc, with some pale look on their face. 

The knights on watch must know something is wrong as he runs beneath the gates–they call after him, but don’t stop him. 

“Where’s Jean?” He barks to the one trying to catch up to him. 

“Headquarters, I think!” 

Kaeya veers sharply for Headquarters. 

He prays he’ll burst through the door and find you there, with Jean. You’ll be pestering her as the sun sets, chirping and flitting around her office while she tries to get paperwork done. You’ll be there, he tries to tell himself, you will be. They must’ve just nicked your diary. 

He throws open the door to Headquarters, rounds the corner and bursts into Jean’s office. Jean is standing on the opposite side of her desk, back facing Kaeya and–

You’re nowhere to be found. 

His stomach drops. 

“Jean,” he says her name sharply, a note of desperation. “Where is she?” 

Jean turns, startled by his appearance, by his urgency, but–

“I left her with Venti. They said they were going to Angel’s Share to perform some songs.” Jean steps towards him, “why? What’s wrong?” 

“They have her diary.” Kaeya gets out, rushing out the door of her office. 

“Kaeya!” She barks after him, but he’s already pushing his way out of Headquarters. He won’t rest, not until he sees you, until you’re right in front of him. “What are you–where was her diary?” 

“I don’t know,” Kaeya snaps, taking stairs two at a time, “I thought it was at my apartment but she’s always hiding it and–” He breaks into another run, heading towards the tavern, “when did you leave her with Venti?” 

“I don’t know,” Jean gets out, keeping pace with him, “a few hours ago, maybe? I had a lot to do–” 

Kaeya curses under his breath. 

“I still don’t know what they want with her but–their notes were about using force. Or–” he can’t get the word out. “They think she knows something.” 

“About what?” 

“I don’t know.” Kaeya bites out. 

He rounds the corner to Angel’s Share sharply and Jean takes it with him. 

“I’m sure she’ll be here with Venti.” Jean gets out, attempting to be calm with him. She’s attempting to be a leader. 

Kaeya throws open the door, gaze flying across the room and–

He doesn’t see you. 

His blood runs cold. 

For once, he wishes it was Diluc at the bar, but it’s Charles. 

“Has Venti been here?” And then he asks for you, too, says your name with a shot voice. 

Charles shakes his head, “haven’t seen either of them at all today. They were supposed to play music tonight, I think–” 

Kaeya doesn’t let him finish. He rushes out. 

He has half a mind to start shouting like a lunatic for you, all over the city, wandering like a mad man with your name a cry on his lips. 

“Maybe they went to her house before–” Jean tries to rationalize, but he can tell she is beginning to fret, too. 

Kaeya is already ahead of her, rushing towards your home on the hill in the city. He can’t help his pace, the run he breaks into again. He tries to think of you throwing open the door, laughing at his worry. Where else would you be? He wants to hear you say. 

But when he pounds on the door, there is no answer. Not a peep. Your little space is quiet. 

“Do you have a key?” Jean asks, but Kaeya doesn’t have the time. 

He takes a step back only to kick in the door easily, letting it fly open on its hinges. 

(He promises he’ll get you a new door, a better one, one that isn’t so flimsy–that could be so easily broken into. He thinks of you asleep here, with a door like that, and his worry grows insurmountably.)

He shouts your name as he enters. 

No answer. 

He storms the place. Your bedroom, your bathroom, all familiar and all so empty. 

“Venti!” Jean calls, and then your own name, too, as she searches. 

Nothing. 

“You know how they are,” Jean tries to rationalize, “they’re always getting up to trouble. They could be anywhere.” 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Kaeya growls, rushing past her and back out the door. He’s beginning to panic. He can feel the tendrils of it creep up his chest, wrapping like vines around his poor throat. His head is growing foggy, warped with his fear. All he can see is you being dragged away. 

Use force. 

His mind feels hot, too sharp. 

Torture if necessary. 

“Kaeya,” Jean barks his name, rushing to catch up to him. 

Her voice is a balm, he wants–she should–

“I’ll try to get ahold of Diluc and send word out to search the city for her.” Jean says and her voice is filled with authority now, level-headed and steady, “where else would she be?” 

“I’m going to my apartment.” Kaeya says, mind narrowing, “in case she’s–I don’t know–” 

“Go,” Jean agrees, a command, “and if she’s not there, keep searching–you know her hiding spots now.” 

Kaeya nods dazedly. 

Jean grabs him roughly, on the arm, jerking him to face her. One hand coming down on his shoulder. 

“We’ll find her.” She promises and she dips her head a little to force him to meet her eyes. They’re all stone and determination. The eyes of a leader. “Do you hear me, Captain?” 

Kaeya nods, more assuredly now, “yes,” he agrees, finding his voice, her eyes. 

She shoves him a little, a push to go, “I’ll reconvene with you shortly. Stay sharp.” 

Kaeya doesn’t need another moment; he picks his eyes up to catch the city skyline of Mondstadt, of his apartment in the distance. He breaks into a sprint. He tries to focus only on his breath, on the way his feet carry him swiftly, weaving in and around the city. 

He tries to force away what he’d seen. 

He bounds for his home, feels his heart and fear ratchet up inside of himself. He’s imagining his home empty. 

He’s imagining you gone. 

He’s imagining the door shut tight and locked, how he’d left it, and you’re nowhere to be found. A cold space. An empty space. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, he tries the door and it–it’s locked still. 

He doesn’t pray. He’s not a religious man. And that stupid Archon–

Is sitting perched on his kitchen counter, overlooking the living room.

“Ssh,” Venti hisses, finger to his lips, as he points to his couch. The one Kaeya has slept on nearly every night since this whole ordeal started. The one you are currently occupying, curled up beneath the blanket he usually uses, sleeping soundly.

Or, you were. 

You blink awake, slow, confused. 

Kaeya rushes to your side. 

He kneels. 

The door is left ajar. 

“You’re here,” he gets out, winded, rough. 

“Kaeya?” Your voice is so small and confused. 

Without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair from your face as gently as he can, hands shaking. He’s still panting, chest still heaving. But–

“I’m here.” He says then, astonished, relieved. 

He wants to pull you off the couch and into his arms. He wants to hold you. He wants to collapse on top of you. 

He falls back onto his bottom, breathing hard, all his fear leaking out of him swiftly. “Oh, you’re here.” He says again, voice breaking, as if to assure himself. 

You sit up, eyes pricking with concern, “what’s wrong?” you murmur, “where else would I be?” 

Kaeya can’t even speak yet, but he laughs, delirious, out of breath. 

“No where.” He says, “I thought–you were–” 

“She was trying to nap,” Venti finally speaks up and his eyes are far too keen. “Before our performance tonight.” 

Kaeya looks at him. Venti looks back. 

The door is open. 

He heaves out a rough breath. He hangs his head between his shoulders. He tries to calm himself. 

“I need to tell Jean to call off–” he laughs, “oh, Diluc is going to lose his mind.” 

“Call off what?” You ask.

“Your search party.” Kaeya finally can get out. Your face brightens to shock. 

“My search party? Kaeya–”

“Venti, why don’t you find Jean and tell her where you’ve been? Before the whole city turns upside down looking for her.” Kaeya then says. He won’t look at him but he can feel Venti’s eyes on him.

But then Venti laughs, and chirps, “aye, Captain!” 

And he flits out of Kaeya’s home. 

Venti shuts the door behind him and seals you away with him. Kaeya exhales roughly again, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Are you okay?” You ask for a second time, so sweetly. So sincerely. You lean towards him like you want to touch him. 

And he wants to say, I was scared. He wants to say, I was terrified of losing you. I could’ve torn the whole city apart looking for you. He wants to say, I’m so relieved to see you. Hold me. Let me hold you. 

Instead, all he says is, “they had your diary. And I thought–” 

The door is shut tightly. 

“Oh,” you breathe, “I left it at home, the last time we–” 

“They must’ve broken in.” He agrees softly. And then he looks rather sheepish. 

“What?” You ask, as if you know. 

“I broke in. I owe you a new door.” 

“Kaeya!” You scold, “why did you–why were you so–?!”

“Jean and I thought you were kidnapped!” Kaeya defends himself.

“Kaeya–” 

“We were searching for you. Since you weren’t in any of the places you were supposed to be.” He begins to scold. 

“Kaeya,” 

“Didn’t I leave you with Jean? You should’ve stayed with her.” 

You suddenly launch forward, arms wrapping around his neck, falling from the couch and onto his body. His breath is almost knocked out of his lungs for the millionth time today because of you and surprise colors his face. Raises his brows. 

You hug him tight, face pressing to the crook of his neck, a bundle in his lap. 

“I’m okay,” you murmur, “I’m right here.” 

His arms, which had come up in surprise, finally settle over you. They wrap all the way around your shoulders, your middle, pull you closer, and he’s sure his heart is such a mess in his chest. He’s sure it sounds like a disaster. 

But you press harder into him, fingers digging into his muscles. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, and then your voice tilts upwards playfully, “didn’t think you’d really send the cavalry just because–” 

He pinches your side. 

“I had reason to believe–!” 

You start to laugh, into his throat. You shift to pull away and he wants to keep you there, he wants to hold fast to you and not let go. He wants to cling to you. But he lets you move away to look at his face once more. 

You look at him in a way that just makes him feel naked. He wants to hide. He wants to say something clever. 

“Thank you,” you suddenly say. 

“For what?” Kaeya laughs, “causing a ruckus? Waking you from your nap?” 

“For coming for me.” You cut him off. “I feel safe with you and this just proves that–” 

Kaeya slackens a little, perhaps surprised or unsure or–you always leave him wobbly and uncertain. You always disarm him so swiftly, so viciously. 

“Of course I’d come for you.” Kaeya says and he does mean it. He softens it’s truth with, “it’s my duty.” 

But that night, you don’t ask him to sit beside you as you fall asleep–he does so anyway. You don’t say a word, except to ask him for another bedtime story playfully, except to hear him speak, as you always do when he stays with you. 

You didn’t ask but he needed to. 

It’s not his duty, but he wanted to.

He can’t imagine not watching you drift off to sleep tonight, of all nights, when he thought he’d lost you. 

He watches you sleep soundly in his bed, back rising and falling as you curl around one of his pillows, cheek endearingly squished against it. He doesn’t sleep. 

The door is locked tight. 

And even though it's not his duty, he watches over you, anyway.

***

SCENE II

On the docks of Cider Lake in the early afternoon sun. Venti is perched beside you, plucking lazily at a lyre. Your feet dangle off the dock, swinging like a child. The sky is endlessly blue. Clouds are like sleeping rabbits in the sky. The wind kisses you. 

“I feel their eyes most when I’m with you.” You say suddenly, glancing at your companion out of the corner of your eyes. 

A note strums from Venti’s fingers. He hums lightly. 

“Not sure what the Fatui would want with a measly bard.” Venti shrugs, “maybe they think I’m the weakest of your guards.” 

“Maybe,” you say, but you don’t believe that. You don’t believe it because–well, because you noticed them following him first. At first, you weren’t quite sure and you had mentioned it to Venti, but he’d shrugged you off. 

Breezy as ever. He’d pretend there was nothing to worry about. 

You turn towards him and look at him before you murmur, low enough that any ears listening would only catch the sound of the gently lapping water, “why were the Fatui following you?” 

“I believe I’m supposed to ask that of you,” Venti replies with a smile but you can tell, there’s a chipping like a porcelain teacup losing a piece of its lip. 

“I wasn’t sure at first,” you tell him softly, eyes glancing out over the calm lake, “but then I caught them intercepting letters and messages of yours. I caught them in the belltower and I knew.” 

The belltower in the cathedral was a place Venti had shown you early in your return to Mondstadt. He’d told you it’d been a place that he came to play music, to look out at the world below. A secret place for him, now for you; a gift, he’d said. Places are a gift to give the people you love and secrets are, too. 

Then you’d caught a Fatui member snooping through the hidden items Venti had left there; music sheets, maps the two of you had crudely drawn, and old clues to scavenger hunts long past. 

The two of you had always liked sending the other all over Mondstadt; it’s why you hide your diary. He hides new songs he wants you to learn. You’d leave clues, games to play, puzzles to solve for each other. 

Venti plucks out a few, odd notes on his lyre. Goosebumps erupt over your skin.

“You don’t think I have dealings with them, do you?” Venti asks queerly. There’s a funny sound to his voice. 

You shake your head quickly, “Archons, no.” And then you tilt your head, “but I did what I do best.” 

A wrong note. It rings discordant in the air. 

Venti looks at you. 

“You didn’t.” He almost begs, but he knows. 

“Of course I did.” You respond and Venti looks genuinely distraught. So you add, “nothing terrible–but I wrote you false letters. I led them on a goose chase a little, like I always do when the Fatui gets too close or comfortable in Mondstadt.” 

Venti shakes his head, “you shouldn’t have meddled here.”

“They’re looking for something of yours, aren’t they?” You ask slowly. 

Venti, for once, is quiet. The wind catches on your clothes in a burst. It’s confirmation enough. 

“So I sent them all over Mondstadt with puzzles and clues and fake letters.” You said, “and really, I thought it was harmless but–” 

“Did you tell this to Kaeya?” Venti asks.

“Not specifically this. I always toy with the Fatui when I can, though, he knows that.” 

Venti shakes his head slightly, fingers digging into the wood of his instrument, “and with all the hiding places and riddles between us, I’m sure they–” Venti stands abruptly, “I need to speak to Kaeya.” 

You stand with him suddenly, “why? What for?”

Venti frowns at you and it’s an expression you hardly ever see him wear. 

So you press tenderly, “what are they looking for, Venti?” 

“You’re such trouble,” Venti replies and his voice catches with emotion; he doesn’t  mean it meanly, in fact it’s–well, it’s fond. Mournful, almost. The wind rushes past the two of you, stronger now. Water laps at the docks. 

“Give me a clue.” You try to charm him but it sounds more like a plea. “Like always. I’ll figure it out and you won’t ever have to say it outloud, if you’re that scared.” 

Your heart feels like a brewing storm in your chest. Venti has never hidden things so openly from you. It frightens you. 

But Venti shakes his head for once, small and soft. “Not this time, my friend.” 

“Venti–” 

He suddenly looks away, down towards the other side of the dock, where the cobblestone of the street meets the wood. Kaeya is standing there, waiting to relieve Venti and walk with you to Springvale for rehearsal. The gold of his coat glints in the afternoon sun. He looks like a knight. 

He waits for you. 

“You have rehearsal,” Venti says, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “go.” 

“Please, will you tell me?” You ask again. You swallow hard around sudden tears; stupid and silly but–aching. You can’t name why you feel like crying, only that you can tell something far larger is on the horizon. 

It hangs like a storm. 

You can feel its pressure, now more than ever. 

Tell me, you want to beg him, you want to sing, you want to scream. Let me help you, let me in. 

Venti looks at you with love and affection and sadness. He looks at you with a heaviness you can’t name, but can taste. It’s ancient. It’s otherworldly. You want to hold him. You want to hide him from the world. 

“Not yet,” he replies. 

“Why not?” Your voice breaks as easily and fragile as a bird’s wing. 

Venti smiles sadly, “because if you knew, you’d put yourself in even more danger than you already have for me.” 

You open your mouth, but he continues;

“And this isn’t your battle.” He turns away, eyes glassy, but waves at Kaeya, as if nothing is wrong. He smiles at you, watery and fond. 

“Besides, you’ve never been much of a fighter in the first place.” 

***

SCENE III

In the living room of Kaeya’s apartment. Soft, evening blue light through the windows. Hazy, dark shadows. You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked up underneath you, with a cup of tea held in your palms. You’re ready for bed. Kaeya enters from his office with a stack of letters and papers; what the audience can see of his face is that he’s somber for once. He casts the greater shadow.

“Will you tell me again why you thought it was a good idea to toy with the Fatui?” Kaeya asks and in his hand, he has only some of the letters and maps and sheet music that you’d been leaving for Venti. 

Or, the Fatui. Since you knew they were rifling through Venti’s things. 

“I always toy with them.” You reply simply, taking a slow, burning sip of tea. It’s chamomile and rose. A hint of cinnamon. Kaeya prepared it for you before disappearing to do some work in his office. You swallow. “And I never said it was a good idea.” 

“Then why do it?” 

“Why are they following Venti? What are they looking for?” 

Kaeya lets out a sharp breath, perhaps growing impatient. “I don’t know. Right now, I need to know why they think they need you to find it, though.” 

“Well, I made it seem like I had whatever they’re looking for.” 

You watch Kaeya freeze for a moment and if you weren’t so intuitive and just a little wittier, you’d make some sort of joke about cryo and freezing in place. 

“Why?” He demands suddenly. 

“I wanted to get them off Venti’s back.” You say, “this is what I do when the Fatui get too close to the people I know. This is what I do when the Fatui think they can stick their hands in Mondstadt. Someone has to teach them a lesson.” You take another little sip of your tea, and then add, “and I don’t have a sword–my weapon is my pen. My voice. My wit.” 

Kaeya shakes his head, “you don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into.” 

You gesture smoothly, “then enlighten me.”

“This is bigger than you, do you understand that?” Kaeya then says and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him quite so stern. 

His face is shadowed. It’s growing darker. 

“Sure,” you say easily, “that’s why I had to intervene.” 

“I don’t think you actually understand.” Kaeya says and his voice has grown more serious, imperative, a little lower. 

“I’m not an idiot,” you snip, “clearly! Since I’ve managed to fool the Fatui and send them running all over Mondstadt.” You can feel your hackles rise a little, heat swimming in your chest, up your neck. “And most importantly, away from Venti–since he’s got some huge secret that no one will tell me!” 

Kaeya moves suddenly to sit on the coffee table in front of the sofa you’re on. Your knees nearly brush. He splays out your letters and music sheets and maps. “Why didn’t you come to me before doing all of this? Before involving yourself?” 

“Because I always mess with the Fatui!” Your voice raises and you finally move to set the tea cup beside him on the coffee table. “I didn’t think it was any different than any of the other times!” 

“The Fatui aren’t just–” Kaeya gestures, papers crinkling beneath his grip that has grown tighter with his own frustration. “–some band of half-wit politicians or merchants for you to toy with! They’re dangerous.” 

This quiets you for a moment. And then, “so? A lot of things are dangerou–” 

“So?” Kaeya repeats, “so?! You’re not even–” he laughs, but the sound is scraping and hollow, off-kilter. It’s disbelief, almost a scoff, “you’re not even a fighter. You’re not a Knight or a warrior. You’re not even an adventurer of some kind.” 

Silence stretches between the two of you. 

“Can you ever trust my own judgment and intuition? I have made it this far–” 

“But you’re reckless.” Kaeya says, “specifically, you’re reckless with yourself. You know the Fatui are dangerous–it’s why you’re worried about Venti, right? It’s why you intervened.” Kaeya says and then his voice gentles, “so why don’t you have the same concern for yourself?” 

You feel your jaw lock. It ticks. 

You look away from him defiantly, out towards one of the windows, blue with the evergrowing night sky. 

It strikes a strange note inside of you. You have concern for yourself, you want to say, you came to him, didn’t you? Eventually. 

But it doesn’t negate what you did, which was reckless. He’s right; you could’ve turned to him immediately, you could’ve gone to Diluc or Jean or him. But instead, you tried to distract the Fatui; you tried to dance and sing and entice them onto the path you’re on, instead of the one Venti is on.

You gave them a performance. And now, with all their eyes set on you, like the hungry, vying eyes of an audience, a predator, you are in danger. 

“This isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t funny or—or breezy. You’ve gotten yourself into real danger, do you understand?” Kaeya then says and you can tell he’s trying to get you to look at him again. 

“I have you and Jean and Diluc to—“

“But your recklessness got us all here. You rush head first into—into everything, without regard for yourself.” Kaeya continues. “You’re an open book. You wear your heart on your sleeve—it’s like you have no self preservation whatsoever.” 

You sit in silence. You cross your arms over your chest and you feel a hard, little ache in the pit of your throat.

He’s chipping away at something inside of you, something already too tender to take the beating. 

“It’s not a bad thing to be open.” You say and your voice is tight, thicker than it should be. 

“No,” he agrees, “but you have no regard for yourself and all of it for everyone else.” 

Tears prick your eyes, much to your dismay. 

You know the reason. You can feel it, somewhere in the back of your mouth, down where your throat is tight. 

You can’t lose Venti. 

Venti could lose you, you’ve decided. The world could lose you. But you are so terrified of loss and really–you must’ve been easy to leave if–

If it could be done so effortlessly. 

(You think of yourself as a child and your father setting you down for the last time. You think of yourself at an altar, forever waiting, the way you waited for your father your whole life.) 

Venti can lose you. 

But you can’t lose Venti. 

You hope that maybe if you give enough of yourself to the world, it will need you bad enough to never lose. You think one day, it’ll fill the empty, aching wound inside of you that has been just left to dry out. Crack and splinter. 

Sometimes, you think if you scare someone bad enough, they’ll look at you and say they can’t lose you. You think maybe if you scare yourself bad enough, you’ll finally look at yourself and say I can’t lose you. 

“Don’t cry,” Kaeya hushes softly and you wipe quickly at the tear that has freed itself to slip down the slope of your cheek. 

It makes you want to cry harder, for some reason, for him to be so tender now. 

He sets the papers down beside you on the couch finally. He reaches out and touches your knee, broad palm surprisingly warm, as he rubs a gentle pass with his thumb. 

“Why are you crying?” Kaeya then asks, coaxing, gentle.

You sniff hard. 

You dig a little, you search for the answer. Is it because you’re careless with yourself? Is it because you’re scared now? Is it because he pointed it out at all—that he noticed enough, saw through you enough, to finally say it? 

Is it because—

“I worry about you.” He says when you don’t answer him. 

—you’re worth fretting over?

You shake your head a little, perhaps in an attempt to disagree with him, perhaps in an attempt to reassure him. But nothing comes out except another few tears. 

You try to keep the sob back, the noise trapped with the reason in the back of your throat. You fear what will come out. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper and when you finally turn to face him, he’s right there, and for a moment, you think he might move further to hold you. You think you might just slide into his arms. 

You hold your breath. 

You think he holds his, too. 

“I don’t need an apology.” Kaeya finally murmurs and he doesn’t fold you into his arms, but he turns up his hand on your knee carefully. His palm, an offering. “I just need you to be more careful.” 

Slowly, you slide your hand into his. 

You’ve held his hand plenty now, know the rough scrape of his calluses against your own, but it has never quite felt like this.

Real. Weighted. 

He folds his fingers between yours gently. Your hands lock together, woven, knuckle over knuckle. Palm to palm. 

You’re both watching your hands, enamored, maybe terrified. 

You cling to him in a way you haven’t clung to someone in a long, long time. 

You think you’ve tried to hold onto everything like this; with too much force, gripped in your rebellious fist. You think everything you’ve ever held must’ve been crumpled and ruined from your grasp, you think everything must have the indents of your fingers permanently etched there. 

You want to squeeze, you want to bear down on his hands like a dog who finally caught a bird. 

“Can you promise me that?” Kaeya prompts gently when he doesn’t receive a response from you. 

You glance up at his searching face, the way he’s watching you carefully, scouring to see any flicker of emotion. 

You nod a little, jerky, unsure. 

“Will you say it for me?” He murmurs and dips his head a little to keep your straying gaze. 

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat, tight and hard. 

You feel your eyes fill with tears again. 

But still, you manage to croak, “I’ll try to be more careful.” 

You can tell the response displeases him somewhat; you can tell he wants more. But anything more right now, may feel like a lie. 

And you’re no good at that. 

“Okay,” Kaeya agrees, “thank you.” And then he adds with a gentle lilt, “I’m sorry for making you cry.” 

You laugh a little through your tears, “it’s okay–” you mumble, letting your eyes fall back to your intertwined hands. “I probably needed to hear it.” 

His thumb makes a slow, comforting pass over the back of your hand. 

For a moment, the space fills with silence. 

You watch the careful sweep of his thumb, you watch the flex of his  hand, the veins against his wrist. You can feel the room fill with something more, a growing of a feeling, stretching amongst your ribs. Perhaps amongst his. You think there is something blooming inside of him, something he’s terrified of, something you’ll always long for. 

(If you could feel his pulse in his wrist, it would be jumping, picking up in a fierce little tempo.) 

He’s tenser now, you realize. His breath is caught somewhere in his chest, like he might speak again. 

You wait for him. 

He opens his mouth. 

But then after a moment, he closes it. 

You pick your head up to examine his face, to try and discern what it is he wants to say now. 

And mostly, it’s a mask of causality. 

(His trembling heart is the only thing that gives him away now.)

Maybe, the depth of his eye, or maybe it’s only a trick of the light. 

You want to say, what is it? Or prompt him for more. You want him to speak what is so clearly on the very tip of his tongue. 

Tell me, you want to say, tell me what seems to scare you so badly. 

“I–” he starts. He stops. 

And then neither of you speak and the tension stretches and something inside you grows. You cling to him harder without realizing it, as if anticipating the way he’ll pull away. You don’t want him to go. You can feel it, your heart unfurling for him, you can feel the way he holds you, too. 

In the same way that you hold him. 

You hope he leaves indents in your skin. You hope he never lets go. 

“Yes?” You prompt gently. 

But then he clears his throat and glances away. 

The spell is broken and he forces his hands to loosen from his own hold on you. He forces himself to recede and to calm his heart. You watch as he mentally pulls away from you. You force yourself not to cling harder to him, to catch his hand and hold it close to yourself, to pull him closer to you. 

He says, “Mondstadt cares very deeply for you–and you for Mondstadt. I only wish–” he draws in a small breath, “that you’d afford yourself the same care.” 

You wonder what he was going to say instead. You know this is not his original thought, but the secondary, more distant one. You almost want to ask him, you want to needle and beg, but you know Kaeya well now. 

You know he doesn’t say anything he hasn’t carefully thought about or that he doesn’t want you to hear. 

Still, it manages to make you soften, to make tears press again behind your eyes. 

You turn to tuck your face into your shoulder, like it may stop him from seeing you cry. You squeeze his hand like a lifeline. 

“Oh, look what I’ve done now.” He says and his voice is light–he’s teasing you gently, holding you tighter again as you laugh now and sniffle, fingers still digging deep into his hand. 

“I’m sorry–” you mumble, “Am I hurting you?”

You loosen your grip on his hand. 

“I’ve been through far worse,” he soothes, running his thumb back over the dips and plains of your hand. 

You try to keep yourself from bursting into heavier, harder tears. You can’t even quite name why; your care for him, or his for you. The fact that he won’t name it, or because you’re scared he’ll leave if you do. 

You’re nearly trembling with it; you’re afraid he’ll say one more word, one more phrase and you’ll simply fall to pieces.

You don’t know what it is about care; but when someone is gentle with you, it makes you feel as if they’ve torn you to shreds. It turns you inside out. It turns you into a child again, desperately seeking it out. It feels foolish now sometimes, over dramatic.

But Kaeya holds your hand and you take deep, shuddering breaths until you don’t feel as if you’re going to bawl your eyes out anymore. 

You don’t want to stop clinging to his hand, though. 

“I should get to bed,” you finally say, if only for him, if only to give him an out because it’s easier than if he finds it himself. You’re too fragile for him to pull away first tonight.

So you slip from his grasp and stand. Your legs feel a little wobbly, unsure of yourself. He looks up at you, from beneath the fan of his dark lashes. You swallow hard, around the tears, around whatever it is he makes you feel. 

You can still feel the pressure in your hand, the way his fingers feel against yours. 

Again, he looks as if he wants to say something. 

You wait, expectant. 

And again, he lets it fall. 

Instead, he says, “yes–it's another early morning. I’ll let you sleep.” 

He stands now, too, collecting the papers, gathering them into his hands carefully. All of your wit and love and craft. All of your recklessness in the palm of his hand.

“I’m going to stay up a little longer,” he says then, “if you need anything.” 

Now it's your turn to look up at him. 

And there must be something too raw, too sincere in your eyes, because he can’t look for long. 

“Kaeya,” you want to draw his gaze back to yours, but he doesn't quite reach your eyes. Still, you need to say, “thank you.” 

“For scolding you?” He asks, light, too light. He tries to create distance. Coldness. 

“For caring about me.” 

He swallows. He doesn’t confirm or deny it. But he looks guilty, a man held back, everything carefully in place. Not a word misspoken, not a look out of place. Sometimes, you have the urge to destroy that veneer. Sometimes, you want to know what he looks like without all his thoughtfully placed appearances. 

You wonder if you will ever see him like that. You wonder if he will ever tell you more; if he will ever let you in. 

You think maybe you will stay like this forever, close to him, but not too close. 

With care, but without it spoken. Always in the blue dark and never in the dawn. 

He clears his throat, “it’s my job to look out for you.” 

Your heart falls a little, sharp, like a plummeting note, a tight draw of the strings of a discordant chord. You swallow around the lump in your throat. 

“Yes,” you agree distantly, nodding your head, “I suppose it is.” 

“I’ll be in the office.” He says because he must slip away from you now. You think when he gets too close, he grows scared of being burned. 

He closes the door behind him.

You watch it for a moment, steady. 

You wonder if it’ll stay like this forever; always on the other side of the door. 

When you go to sleep that night, you leave the bedroom door ajar, as if to prove something. 

But in the morning, you find it shut tight. 

At rehearsal, you’re somewhere else, off in your mind. Though you say your lines, you feel as if you miss them, like they’re coming out automatically, half-hearted. 

And the only ones that rings true, that resonates throughout the stage is one you’d previously thrown away;

“Hold on tight–don’t let go.” 

This time, your voice cracks with it, breaks over the don’t. 

That night, Kaeya presents you with a bouquet of flowers; a show in front of the world. 

And when he brushes his knuckles against yours, you eagerly slip your hand into his as you walk home. 

You don’t even care that it’s for the world and no longer for you.

You are, if nothing else, a good actor (or of foolish heart);

So you pretend it’s real, with the flowers he gave you nestled into the crook of your elbow, and his hand curled around yours. You pretend that you are walking home with your love, and the sun is setting, and you are filled to the brim. 

You laugh as if that’s the case. You lean into him as if that’s the case. 

You knock into him as you walk, desperate to be close, to feel his side against yours. You are desperate to have more of him; all his attention, all his affection. 

To not feel like a world away–or like there’s a door between you, one that you don’t know if he’ll ever open or not. 

***

PRELUDE TO SCENE IV

Springvale in the afternoon, the sun warm and bright; it makes everything sparkle, almost radiant. The grass seems lush and full, the lake is shimmering. 

Klee eats cut fruit happily beside you at a picnic table. You steal a piece or two from time to time. Kaeya sits across from you and Klee, his back to the audience.

“Are you and Kaeya boyfriend and girlfriend?” Klee suddenly asks around a burst of valberries. 

Despite everything, you feel your heart tick up in a strange, sharp tempo. 

Your eyes fly to Kaeya, who's already looking at you. 

You share a silent conversation with each other and a series of increasingly dramatic expressions;

What should we tell her? 

The truth? 

What? No! 

Then you tell her–

“Yes,” Kaeya finally says, “we are boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

Klee picks her head up, perhaps surprised at his answer. “You’re dating?!” She asks, louder now and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Yes,” Kaeya lies, perhaps for any eavesdroppers, “we’re dating, Klee.” 

She looks between the two of you. 

“Miss Jean said you’re in love with each other.” Klee says casually and that makes both of you freeze momentarily. 

You feel heat rush into the high points of your face. Your mind whirls, spins into overthinking. Why would Jean say this? To keep your covers? A kinder way to say it to a child? 

For a moment, you fear Jean knows a part of your heart that you fully haven’t gotten to know yet yourself. 

You fear there is some truth to it. 

(Perhaps love is too strong of a word but—)

You adore Kaeya. 

You have your whole life, you think, from when you were young and chasing after them with childlike, outstretched hands, to adulthood, where you have always held respect for him and now—

Something more, perhaps, after all your time with him. 

How could you not? What chance did you have against him, anyways? 

(You hope he doesn’t dare read your diary again. 

You suddenly worry that Jean has instead.) 

You’re almost fearful to catch Kaeya’s gaze, you swallow hard, but force yourself to. And when you do, you realize he’s–

Amused. Near laughing.

That absolute bas— 

You kick him underneath the table and he yelps a little. You hide your snicker behind a hand against your mouth. 

“We care about each other very much.” You tell Klee, sobering. 

“Are you gonna get married?” She asks then, just as casually, around another piece of fruit. 

Kaeya makes a noise of surprise, “married?” He asks Klee, “where are these questions coming from?” 

“I thought if you’re boyfriend and girlfriend, then you get married.” Klee responds. 

“Sometimes,” you agree, nudging the bowl of fruit closer to her little hands so that she can reach the last few pieces better. “But right now we’re just boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

Klee hums around her berry. 

And then she looks up at you, “do you guys kiss?” 

The word kiss is punctuated with disgust, almost sick curiosity; as if she might not be able to believe it. 

It makes you choke, then stutter into a laugh. Kaeya laughs as well, full and surprised. 

“People who are dating do tend to kiss, Klee, so yes.” He says, amused with her. He catches your eye across the table. You swallow hard with the way he gazes at you, infinitely pleased and laid back, deeply amused. By you or Klee, you’re not sure. Still, you can’t help the smile that touches your lips, perhaps just as entertained, perhaps a little rueful. 

“Gross,” she declares. And then she looks at Kaeya, “do you think she’s pretty?” 

You look at Kaeya expectantly, propping your chin in your hands, and sing, “yes, Kaeya, do you think I’m pretty?” 

He smirks, leaning back in his seat a little, and a fissure of heat rips through you. You bat your lashes for him. 

“I think you’re beautiful, darling.” Kaeya croons, sweet as ever, and enough to make you damn near melt. 

You can feel heat in your face, despite it all. You feel like a teenager. You feel like a girl with a crush, a boy with his love in front of him, and not a clue what to do. Bumbling and suddenly young, graceless. 

A pang hits you squarely in the chest; you wish this was real. You wish he was being honest. 

Klee squeals in embarrassment or surprise. “You’re going to get cooties!” She tells you. 

You use her as a distraction, leaning down a little to conspire with her, “Kaeya does have cooties.” You agree in a faux-whisper. “But I have the antidote.” 

“You do?” Klee asks, “what is it?”

“Its a secret recipe,” you begin, putting on a good show of trying to come up with the ingredients, “but it certainly starts with the essence of butterflies.” You glance over at the field behind you, which you know is teeming with butterflies.

You used to chase them here in your youth until the sun set and the fireflies sparked to life in the evening dark. And then you chased their soft, blinking lights until the other kids were called home. And it was just you and the rolling fields and endless night skies and bumbling bugs. You’d try to carry one home with you so you wouldn’t feel so lonely. 

Klee follows your gaze and watches as one of the butterflies flits and flutters. 

“Can I ask for your help, little Spark Knight? Will you carefully catch me a butterfly? Don’t hurt it, though, we need it alive for the antidote.” 

Immediately, she is perking up, jumping up from her seat. 

“You can count on me!” 

She bounds off into the field of swaying wildflowers. 

You turn back to Kaeya. 

His eye is soft, perhaps fond. 

Before you can loose your bravery, loose your courageous little heart, you stand and move to his side of the bench so that you can watch Klee. 

Your shoulder brushes with his. Your thigh touches his. You’re aware of it all, sharply, keenly. 

He looks at you and you gaze back up at him. For a moment, you get swept away in his star-blue eye. The bend of dark lashes. Like the butterflies in the field, your heart flutters, feeling as delicate as their wings. 

“Careful,” Kaeya says softly, so smoothly that his voice could be a melody, “or people really will think we’re in love.” 

Heat smarts your face again. But you tip your chin up because you’ve never shied away from a challenge before; “why do you say that?” 

Kaeya suddenly reaches out and carefully, as if you might fall to pieces at his touch (and really—you think you might), takes hold of your chin. His thumb barely brushes your bottom lip. Then he says, “the way you look at me.” 

“You were looking at me first,” you accuse but your voice is hushed. 

“And you shouldn’t melt when I touch you.” 

Your stomach swoops like a bird in the sky and then soars. Your lashes flutter. You’re close to him—almost nose to nose. And now you really do think of kissing him like he’s actually yours. As if he could be. 

His eye drops to your lips, thumb inching upwards. 

“Then you shouldn’t touch me so.” You murmur, earnest, and if your voice is soft with pleading—a pleading for what, you can’t tell—then whose to say? “Like—like you want to kiss me.” 

Your nose brushes against his. 

“Don’t—” his voice sticks, “don’t kiss me. No one’s even watching.” 

“Do you not want me to?” 

“Yes, I want—” he stops. 

Your heart sings. I want, I want, I want—

He swallows, “we shouldn’t, though.” 

“Why not?” You dare to ask, hands drifting to his chest, his collar bones. 

You can almost, almost feel his smile, slow and fond, “well, firstly, you’ll get cooties…” 

“Kaeya,” your own smile is a warm curve that you want to feel against his.

“Secondly,” He begins, drawing in a soft breath that you feel beneath the palm of your hand. 

“I have a butterfly!” Klee shouts, head suddenly poking up from the wildflowers in a burst of petals. 

You and Kaeya jolt away from each other, hands drawing back into your laps, facing away from each other as if teenagers caught by your parents. Heat zips through you in a rush. 

He almost—you almost—

Something in your chest bats its wings, excited, elated. It takes to flight. A smile overtakes your face, winning, determined. 

Oh, you think, glancing at him as you head to Klee, oh, you want me, too. 

She opens her little hands for you and the moment she does, the butterfly escapes into the sky—taking to flight. 

You laugh as she squeals. 

She races after it. 

And then you do, too. 

In an instant, Kaeya has joined you, too. 

And it dissolves, the sun slowly moving throughout the sky, into running and chasing and laughing. The joyful sound of your laugh, of Klee’s excitement, of Kaeya’s fondness. 

It melts like the sky, like your heart, like the way you do when Kaeya touches you. 

There’s a moment, quick, when you’re in the wildflowers with him. He’s on his back and you lean over him. 

He peers up at you. 

Beautiful man that he is with sparkling eyes. 

You think, people really will think we’re in love, if you look at me like that. 

And then you say, boldened by the day and the sun and the warmth and the tempo of his heart beneath your open palm;

“You’ll be mine yet, Captain.” 

He blinks, perhaps surprised, before a full, warm laugh falls from his lips. 

“Is that a challenge, princess?” He purrs, looking up at you with a halo of flowers beneath his head. 

You grin, beautiful and wicked and radiant. 

“It’s a promise.” 

And then you stand to run after Klee, down the sloping hill, and into the arms of the sky hanging above your heads. 

He watches you and you can feel his gaze on your back, your silhouette against the sky, your laugh caught on the wind, and tuck the vow into your heart. 

Hope it tucks into his, too, finds it’s home there where no one has before and claim it as yours, yours, yours. 

You open your palms and a butterfly, blue as the sea, as a bird’s wing, leaps from your hands and takes to flight. Takes to the sky all open just for you. 

***

SCENE IV

The belltower in the Cathedral, high above Mondstadt. Storm clouds cling to the horizon. The sky is mostly dark, but the sun escapes through a sliver of clouds and still shines for now, casting the world in a strange contradiction. More ominous. More stunning. Burnished buildings set against wicked, deep blue storm clouds. 

Your skirts swirl against gold and silver bells, as blue as the clouds. Kaeya turns and twists, so we only catch flashes of his face. 

Kaeya takes the steps near two at a time to keep up with your pace. You lift your skirts with one hand, racing up the curving, stone steps, and your other hand holds fast to his. You drag him up and up and up. 

The whole day, you’d dragged him all over Mondstadt, to all your favorite places; bakeries and music stores and the library. Eagerly, he’d followed, been at your side, at your heel like a loyal dog. 

(A lovesick pup—) 

Kaeya thinks he could spend countless days with you like this. 

The world is always more brilliant with you—he can’t deny it. 

And now, you’ve promised him another secret place of yours. 

“How much further?” He breathes hard, surprised to find himself winded. His legs almost burn; there have been far more stairs than he originally thought. Or was promised. but he was also promised the best view in all of Mondstadt, with one of your sweetest smiles.

And really, how could he have denied you then? How could he deny you at all today?  

“Not much!” You chirp back and then all it takes is a little more, until you come to a wooden door. 

It gives easily under your weight, your excited push, throwing it wide open. 

Light gleams, the world bursts before his eyes in a shimmer of gold, a rain of color and life. 

You sweep into the space, the arch beneath the stones and over the other side of one of the great bells. If he peers down, he can see the wooden scaffolding where someone stands to pull on the huge rope below. No doubt, it would take up this whole space, swing wildly so that the two of you would have to nimbly dodge and move, duck just to keep your heads. 

He hopes you’ve accounted for this, too. 

He follows you carefully around the bell, only to come to the other side of it and have the whole world open up before you. 

And it’s just you, in the breeze, and the storm clouds, above all of Mondstadt. 

You hang, perhaps a little too precariously, off one of the large stone pillars. 

Kaeya has half a mind to grab you, to pull you back towards him. But the wind favors you. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You breathe and you’re so taken with it all, that he can hear your voice catch. 

“It is,” he agrees, but he’s not looking at the world the way you are. 

He’s looking at you. 

He watches you watch the streets below and the clouds above. He watches love and adoration paint across your face; joy and a strange sort of melancholy. 

Oh, you’ve always been so open.

Finally, you inhale. 

 Whilst still looking at the world below, the heavens above, you say, “I can’t explain what it does to me–the sky and the city and the wind when it touches me.” You look as if you could almost cry, and immediately his heart gives a lurch in his chest, “I don’t know how anyone can stand it.” 

Something in him twists and constricts. He wants to wipe your tears. He wants to coo, don’t cry, don’t cry. 

You laugh, “I’m sorry,” and shake your head like you’re silly, “I can’t help it��I’m just so happy. I adore the world so much.” 

You turn to face him, open and raw, “I know these haven’t been ideal circumstances,” you start and you shift, and like he’s drawn to the movement, like you’ve pulled him in, he moves, too. 

And then he’s standing in front of you. In front of an ancient bell from a nation that isn’t is, but could be. Above the whole world. Beneath the storm of it. 

“But I’ve been–” a tear escapes and again, as if he possessed, before he can even think, his hand has darted out to catch it. You laugh again, joyful and aching, “you make me so happy. And I—“

“Doesn’t seem so,” he murmurs, “seems I’ve made you cry.” 

You laugh again, sweet to his ears, like their own song. Your hands come up to his chest, palms open and flat against his racing heart. He’s sure you can feel it. Can you hear it? He hopes not. 

And no one is watching. He doesn’t need to stand this close to you or wipe your tears. 

You don’t need to put your hands on his chest and look up at him like that, in a way he doesn’t deserve. 

(You’ll be mine yet, Captain.) 

You look at him like he could’ve hung the moon. Or carved your beloved Mondstadt itself with his own hands from hill and valley. 

An ache spreads its wings like a bird in his chest. It isn’t fair, he thinks, to be looked at by you, with this expression on your face, when he knows he can’t have you. He knows you can’t be his, not truly. 

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him so. 

“They’re happy tears,” you tell him, pawing at his chest, creeping up towards his neck. You sway towards him. You finish what he tried to stop you from admitting, “—and I adore you.” 

Kaeya’s heart gives this twist, like it’s trying to rebel against him. He wants to run. He wants your arms around him. He wants—

“Careful,” Kaeya murmurs reflexively. Careful of what, though, he can’t say. 

Careful with yourself around him? Careful with him? 

You don’t heed his warning at all, and like you always have, you barrel towards all that you want. You press up to him. 

“You do make me happy,” you say again, sweeter now like honey on your lips, tip your chin up like you might offer him a taste. 

“Everything makes you happy,” Kaeya counters, shaking his head fractionally, looking down at you with lidded eyes. 

“Not true,” you almost pout up at him, shaking your head, fingers tightening in the collars of his shirt like you know he’s thinking about fleeing. 

He has half a mind to kiss you. You’re leaning up on your toes a little. He can smell your perfume; red berries and honeysuckle. Warm vanilla. He feels something tighten inside of him, hot and aching. He needs to put a stop to this—

He says your name, in warning. Perhaps fear. 

And you look up at him through the fan of your lashes and say his name like it’s a melody, “Kaeya.” 

He shakes his head now, fractionally, “don’t.” He murmurs, voice a low rumble. 

“Don’t what?” You ask innocently and then you do it again, as if you know perfectly well, “Kaeya–” 

His hand comes down to clutch your wrist, to keep it from moving around to the nape of his neck. He stills you. 

You look up at him, questioning, almost desperate. Perhaps unsure–you go to pull away, but he seizes your wrist, holds it tight to his chest and keeps you close. 

Thunder rumbles. 

“Don’t say my name like that.” He croons, voice a little rough, “don’t torture me.” 

He watches your face transform into understanding. Into—

Your fingers sink back into the fabric of his clothes, emboldened, “Kaeya,” you say like it bursts on your tongue, and then again, “Kaeya,” you hum, sing his name on a note that could be its own siren song. “Kaeya,” you purr as one of your arms winds around his neck. 

His poor heart—

He makes a noise; a soft groan of frustration, a little growl, back in his throat. 

“You’re such trouble,” but his other hand is squeezing at your hip now. “I swore to everyone I had nothing but pure intentions with you.” 

Your nose brushes his, a smile licking at the corner of your mouth, “I surely hope not.”

“I’m supposed to protect you.” He gets out.

“You do—you are.” Soft, sweet little assurance. 

He shakes his head again, barely, nose brushing yours. Fractionally closer. “You’re my responsibility.” 

“Are my desires, too?” You murmur and when you lean towards him to close the short distance between your lips, he suddenly seizes your jaw in his hand.

You gasp.

“And what of mine?” He asks, eye glinting like the too-hot part of a flame. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” 

His voice is a low rasp.

You look up at him with wide eyes, soft in the center, your eyebrows drawing in a little and you look—you look like you adore him. Like you’re desperate for him. 

“Sleeping in my bed every night, my clothes—“ Kaeya allows his thumb to drift over your bottom lip, slow, parting it from your top. He exhales roughly. “What am I supposed to do with you?” 

“Kiss me,” you plead.

Lightning cracks across the sky in a fissure of heat. 

“I shouldn’t.” He counters, even as you kiss at the pad of his thumb. Lips soft and warm, wet as your tongue darts out in a flash of heat. He inhales tightly, letting his thumb be drawn into the crux of your mouth. 

You look up at him through your lashes. He has to fight back another groan. There’s a flush on the nape of his neck, heat that swims beneath his skin. He’s certain you’ll melt him with your gaze alone.

What’s he supposed to do?

How’s he supposed to survive you? 

He scrambles for his wits. 

And firstly, he pulls his thumb from your lips.

“Kaeya—“ you coax again, “Kaeya.” 

“Stop it,” he hushes, “I can’t.” 

“I want you,” you murmur, almost whine.

“You’re a brat.” Kaeya groans finally, “stop tempting me.” 

“I’ll beg,” you sing sweetly. “Is that what you want to hear?” 

“No,” he says quickly because the thought of that makes his mind screech to a halt. “Never. I’d never—“

Make you beg.

He swallows around the words sharply. 

He lays his hands, long and broad, on your shoulders. 

He forces distance between the two of you. 

Thunder grumbles unhappily across the sky.

“I’m not going to kiss you.” 

“But you want to?” 

And the way you look at him, so earnestly and so desperately—

“That’s besides the point—“ You open your mouth to speak, only for him to continue, “my job is to protect you. This would be highly unprofessional of me.” 

“Since when have you—“

“You deserve better.” He finally says, words flying from his mouth before he can stop them, “I am, frankly, a rake and a cheat and—“

“That’s not—“

“The point is,” Kaeya continues over you, lest you do something even worse and try to fight or deny him, “it would be unwise of us.” 

“I, for one, have never claimed to be wise.” 

Kaeya laughs now, full and warm and fond. He shakes his head. You’re near glowing with just the sound of his joy. So he continues;

“It would be foolish. Perhaps, even, one of the worst things we could do.” 

His voice lilts, turns melodic. 

Your hands are back on his chest somehow. Flat over his heart, nearing his collar again. He’s losing. You’re sidling close and he wants to bring you closer still. He can feel all the curves of your body to his, fitting up against him like a missing puzzle piece. 

“Utterly disastrous, really.” He continues, voice growing fainter. He’s losing. 

“Wildly reckless?” You murmur, tipping your chin up, offering your lips to him like a sweet lamb to sacrifice. 

“Terribly…” he drifts, feeling the brush of your lips against his, “stupid, I’m afraid.” 

You hum lightly, barely, in acknowledgement before he’s suddenly closing the distance and kissing you soundly.

Oh, he’s lost. 

(It’s a promise.) 

The wind picks up sharply for a proper storm. Lightning flashes behind his eyelids. 

And that’s all it takes, Kaeya realizes, heart swinging wildly in his chest like a bell tolling. Knocking against his rib cage.

You throw your arms around his neck and deepen it. 

He groans in defeat, damning it all, and grabs at the skirts of your waist, squeezing at your hips desperately. 

Damn it all, he thinks again, knowing it’ll be something of a shipwreck; brutal and splendid and massive. Beautiful and heartbreaking enough that he just won’t be able to look away. 

More thunder, sky swirling and teeming and ready to just burst. He can feel it under his skin. 

You sink your hands into his hair. He nips sharply enough at your bottom lip that a gasp is wrenched from you. He swallows it. 

He wants so much more. 

The sky opens up and rain falls from the heavens in a golden and brutal downpour. 

***

SCENE V 

Dawn Winery in the evening, plum dark and warm from fire in the hearth. You and Diluc are at the grand piano, seated side by side, in an intimate and cozy parlor room. 

Kaeya has just entered and we see the side profile of his face as he watches the two of you. 

“Oh, do you remember this one?” You ask and immediately, music fills the space as your hands dance over the keys in a sweet, jaunty little tune. 

“Like this?” Diluc asks, setting his hands to the lower side to immediately complete the melody you play. “It’s this one, right?” 

“Yes!” You exclaim, the two of you playing with ease, a smile on your face. “We used to play this one all the time for our parents.” 

It’s such an innocent remark. Kaeya is almost caught off guard by it, by the memory that floods back to him. 

Crepus in the lounge chair, your parents across from him on the settee. The glow of the fire warm and gentle. Faces of people that swim in his mind, that he hasn’t seen or has avoided for a long time now, their smiles and laughs. People who left. Who died. Ghosts that once listened to your music, just as he is now, on the outskirts. 

Diluc, surprisingly, is not put off by the memory. Instead, he smiles, “I used to always mess this part up.” 

And then with ease, his large hands cascade over the keys. Not a note out of place.

“And look at you now!” You encourage him. 

He laughs softly, low, like the fire in the hearth. 

With ease, the two of you close the song together, watching each other with crinkled, happy eyes for the timing. For the last notes. 

He can hardly stand how lovely you look. Or how you look at Diluc. 

Have you ever looked at him like that? 

He clears his throat. 

When you see him, your face lights up and the way you say his name, with such warmth and adoration makes him feel worse somehow, “Kaeya!” 

Immediately, Diluc’s face hardens. 

“Apologies,” Kaeya says with perhaps more chill than he anticipates, “I didn’t mean to interrupt the concert.” 

“Not at all,” you respond, “how did we sound?” 

“Your music is lovely as usual.” Kaeya responds flippantly and you eye him for a moment, scrutinizing. 

And then, slowly, you say, “then you wouldn’t mind if we play a few more? This piano does bring back fond memories for me.” 

There’s a glint in your eyes; it could be the fire that favors you or a trick of the light. 

And because Kaeya pretends he doesn’t care, he says, “please; don’t allow me to stop you.” 

He takes a seat on the settee as far from you and Diluc as he can manage. 

Diluc sets his hands back to the keys and opens with a few, small notes, “do you remember this one?” He asks you.

“How could I forget?” You laugh, “I sang this one at every party and soiree we ever had.” 

And Kaeya also instantly recognizes the first chord that Diluc eases out, the tune of it like his childhood. He remembers you standing so small and young, by the piano which seemed so much larger when he was a boy. Your glowing face and sweet, little voice. 

And when you open your mouth to sing this time, it’s mature and warm, lower but more distinguished. 

The lyrics must come to you like from a dream, he’s sure of it. 

As if it was yesterday, you sing the song of a different time, a different lifetime ago it feels like. Of late nights in this very parlor, with laughter and the clinking of glasses. A house full. A heart full. 

You sing of angels and the moon in the sky, the stars, and a love from forever ago. 

And really, it’s so horribly fitting for you; the song is as in love with the world as you are. How could anyone sleep, you sing, how could anyone close their eyes to the night sky? To love? 

Kaeya realizes sharply that he feels as if he’s been sleeping for a very long time. 

He’s turned his eyes away from the stars and love and the whole world. 

And you, wonder that you are, have been desperately trying to wake him. To show him again. 

The last concluding notes ring softly, hang in the air, before you are smiling and leaning onto Diluc’s shoulder, hugging his broad arm to you happily. 

Kaeya looks at the two of you, the light and dark of Mondstadt. The joy and pride of the city, so beautiful in the fire. 

How could he ever compare to the two of you? 

“Kaeya, did you remember that one?” You ask suddenly, turning to face him. 

He somehow manages to unstick his voice, and lies, “not really.” 

After a moment, a heartbeat where you seem to see right through him, you ask, “shall we go home?” 

Yes, he wants to say. Let me take you home. Let me take you away. 

Instead, he says, “I’m hardly in a rush.” 

You stand from the piano bench and saunter over to him. Diluc turns to watch as you come to stand between his legs, peering down at him. 

“I missed you today.” You say honestly, “were you busy?”

Kaeya won’t return the sentiment in front of Diluc. In fact, he’s surprised that you’ve come this close in front of him at all. He thought this was supposed to be between the two of you and no one else. 

Selfishly, he wants to keep it that way. He wants you all to himself. 

Kaeya glances at his brother, then back to you. Diluc’s eyes narrow fractionally in suspicion as Kaeya says, “very, unfortunately.” 

You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. Your fingers drift then, hovering around his jaw like you might touch him more. You don’t. You say, “let’s go home, then.”

You offer him your hand and when he takes it to stand, you don’t drop it. You tuck up against his side. Kaeya feels something wobbly and fragile take a few, tentative steps inside of him, like a newborn fawn. 

How strange, he thinks, to imagine you as openly his. How strange, to have your genuine affection, your genuine adoration. 

“Thank you for playing with me, Diluc,” you say with a smile, “I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother today.” 

“You’re never a bother,” Diluc promises like the gentleman he is, “and I am always charmed to play the piano beside you.” 

Diluc glances down at your interlocked hands. You let him look. Kaeya fights the urge to pull away and create distance. You squeeze his hand. You say to Diluc, “perhaps we should throw a soiree, the way our parents used to. I miss being in the manor. And then we can play for everyone again.” 

Everyone except the ghosts, Kaeya thinks, their faces pale in his eyes. 

Diluc seems as wary as Kaeya is, for once, but it is so hard to deny you. Kaeya knows that well. 

As if to sweeten it, you let your head tip onto Kaeya’s shoulder, cuddling up to him even closer, “I think it’d be great fun. A reason to come together again.” 

Diluc meets Kaeya’s eyes briefly and he can already feel the scolding he will receive. He can already feel Diluc’s doubt and judgment. But instead of starting a quarrel, he says to you, “Perhaps we can arrange something.” 

And really, Kaeya thinks it's a testament to how charming and lovely you are. 

You bid Diluc goodnight, sweet as ever, and lead Kaeya out by the hand. 

He can feel Diluc’s gaze burning into the center of his back. 

And the moment you pull him around the corner and out of Diluc’s eyesight, you turn and suddenly pull him down into a deep, slow kiss. 

Kaeya’s eyes flutter in surprise and immediately, he attempts to pull away from you. It’s one thing for Diluc to see the way you held his hand, it’s another thing entirely for him to catch the two of you like this.

You hardly let him get a word out, before you’re pulling him back down into a dirtier, heavier, more desperate sort of kiss. 

He yields with a soft, surprised noise of wanting. He kisses you back, just as dirty, just as desperate—tongue licking into your mouth, heat stoking to life along the nape of his neck, the curve of his spine. 

When you pull away, he manages to get out, “well. Hello to you, too.”

You smile, wide and lovely. “I did miss you.” You say again, as if you know you have to convince him, and that he never believes you the first time. And still, he thinks you must be lying. You’d never miss him. 

But you lean up onto your toes to get him to kiss you again; which he does. Easily, happily. It’s gentler than the previous, a little more content, though no less heated. He draws you closer, as close as you can get. His tongue dips gently into your mouth, deep and hungry and exploring. He feels the fabric of your dress bunch up beneath greedy hands, pulling at them, pawing at you. 

A cleared throat. 

The two of you jump apart, whirling around to face Diluc in the entryway. 

He does not look pleased. 

Kaeya, for once, feels like a younger brother again, caught red handed. He opens his mouth for some strange excuse, but you beat him to it;

“We’re taking our role as a couple very seriously. Archon forbid the Fatui question our legitimacy.” 

Kaeya can’t help the laugh that barks out of him, before Diluc’s glare forces him to clear his throat and compose himself. 

“I can see that.” He says dryly. 

“It was my fault,” you then add, “Kaeya is, for once, blameless. I’m a bad influence.” 

“I highly doubt that.” Diluc drawls, “he’s never blameless.” 

Kaeya opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it again.

“We will truly be taking our leave now.” You then say, tugging at Kaeya’s hand, “goodnight, Diluc!” 

The door slams hard behind you. 

Kaeya looks at you, your back to the door, chest heaving a little. You look back at him. 

And then you burst into laughter. He shakes his head, but he can’t stop the smile that comes onto his face. The laugh of disbelief. 

“Diluc is going to kill me,” he finally says, “I can’t believe you.” 

“Oh,” you coo, striding past him, “should I protect you? Diluc is harmless.” 

Kaeya laughs again, though this time it’s dryer, not as funny, but more ironic. 

Well, he has an eyepatch to certainly prove otherwise. You must catch onto his shift in mood, because you take his hand again and assure him, “I’ll deal with Diluc, if you’d like.” 

“No,” Kaeya says, “no need to fight my battles.” 

“I did get you in trouble.” 

 “Well, that I can’t deny.” Kaeya agrees with a smile, slipping his hand around your waist and this time, he knows it is real. Realer than ever before. 

The stars are bright above your heads. The moon is full and shining like a coin and casting you in its soft light. Your eyes are crinkled in delight. 

“You’re also a liar,” you add and Kaeya pauses, looking at you.

It strikes a strange note in him. 

You continue, “I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type?” 

Kaeya’s brows prick upwards, “did you think I was jealous?”

“Kaeya,” you say his name warmly, with love, “I could feel you glaring a hole into the back of our heads while we were at the piano.” 

Kaeya laughs, but it’s rather hollow, “I’m not the jealous type, my dear. I’m sorry to disappoint. Did you have fantasies of being ravished by me in a jealous rage?” 

It’s a little barbed. 

If you notice (which you do), you don’t take his bait. 

“Well, now that you say it…” you tease, walking backwards and in front of him, a sly little smile on your lips. 

Kaeya shakes his head, “there’ll be no ravishing.” He promises, “I’m being a gentleman.” 

“Hm,” you hum lightly, “and how long do you plan to keep that facade up?” 

“It’s not a facade–” he starts to protest, but your hand is winding in the front of his shirt to pull him back into your orbit. 

You pull him into a hard kiss. 

This one is more desperate. Heavier. Hotter. 

He sees what game you’re playing. 

The walk home, in Mondstadt’s streets, for everyone and the moon to see, is a game of cat and mouse. Kissing hard and soft, slow and fast, against brick walls and wooden fences. Leaning into shadows and sharp, little gasps. Teasing kisses along the jaw, before slipping away, and back into the night. 

You manage to lead him right up to the threshold of his bedroom. 

He takes a stance here, roots himself down. He swallows hard—he has to steel himself, he knows. 

So he goes no further than the arch of the doorway, no matter how much you pull at him, or kiss him or tease him. And as hard as it is, he doesn’t even sway when you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes; dreamy and enamored. 

You look at him like he could be a great man. 

It’s absolutely horrifying. His heart jumps in his chest. He can feel as if he can hardly breathe.

“You really won’t sleep with me?” You ask, lips hovering just beneath his. His hands are latched tight to the doorframe of his bedroom as to stay them. To keep his resolve. 

Kaeya shakes his head, “I’m a gentleman.”

You let go of a tired sigh, “I don’t need you to be one.” 

He swallows hard. 

“I’m afraid I need to be one.” He answers. 

“I didn’t take you as chaste.” You murmur, kissing at the corner of his mouth, his cheek. All that warmth comes rushing back to him. 

“Hardly,” he scoffs reflexively, allowing you room at his throat, down the length of his neck. “But I am trying to preserve–” 

He stalls, when he feels your tongue at his pulse. 

You blink up at him innocently and supply, “you’re trying to preserve–?” 

He clears his throat, “some level of professionality. Dignity, maybe.” 

Protection, too, though he isn’t sure anymore if it’s for you or him. Perhaps both. 

The only way he sees this ending is poorly–he cannot foresee a current future where you don’t end up disappointed and hurt by him. He cannot see a future where you don’t leave for your own good. 

And besides, all things must end, he knows, all people must leave or be left behind. 

He was left once and he’s vowed to never be left again, standing in the rain, shivering and young. 

(He tries not to think of you—left at an altar.)

You pull away to look up at him, sweet-eyed and gentle, almost amused with him. “If you say so.” 

Reluctantly and with a great deal of his strength, he leans away to put distance between you. Coldness sweeps in. He tries to appreciate it. “You should sleep. You have rehearsal early tomorrow morning.” 

You step away as well. You offer him a little curtsy in jest, “as you wish, my most proper and chaste lord.” 

“I’m a lord?” He asks, astonished. 

“A prince?” you ask, “or do you prefer a knight? We can roleplay, if you’d like–” 

“Goodnight!” Kaeya announces then, reaching for the doorknob to begin swinging the door closed, to put distance between whatever it is growing between the two of you. 

You laugh, though, so warm and wonderful at his antics that he just can’t help it; he kisses you once more, soundly, goodnight. 

And this time, he says it gentler, lower and sweeter in a way he knows makes you shiver, “goodnight, princess.” 

He watches you fluster, the way you blink up at him. And now it’s his turn to laugh, low and soft and hot, before he quickly swings the door the rest of the way shut. Locking you on the other side of it. Far from his reach. 

Lest he do something horrible. 

Lest he want you too greatly. 

But when he lays down on the couch to sleep that night, he realizes he can hardly sleep at all–and, really, he thinks, who could sleep at all? With the night sky like diamonds, and the way you kiss him like you have everything to lose, and everything to gain. 

Like he could be desired to keep. 

How could he sleep at all? When there is a door between the two of you? And the world hums and glows and shifts, right from underneath his feet. 

How could he sleep? He hears you sing, around and around in his mind, at the piano of his childhood, and the one tonight, a lifetime later. 

***

Finish the rest on Ao3 ->

a/n: this act was too long to post on tumblr in full and i would've had to split it into three separate posts. i figured linking ao3 would be easiest to finish reading :)) thank you for reading!! let me know your thoughts!! <33

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

i’ve just recently started to understand that i’m non-binary. my dysphoria varies a lot, and when i’m wearing masculine clothing i’m fine, but when i dress in any way feminine i just become really uncomfortable with my chest? (i’m afab, and definitely NOT flat chested) like it literally depends on whether i’m presenting more femme as to whether i’m uncomfortable with my figure, but yeah. is this, like, odd? i’ve not seen anyone saying they feel like this yet and i don’t really know what it means for me.

Lee says:

Your experience is not odd or unusual! Gender identity and expression are deeply personal and can vary greatly from person to person. Many non-binary people experience fluctuations in their gender dysphoria, which can change depending on how they are presenting or how they feel on a particular day.

The discomfort you feel with your chest when presenting more femininely, while being fine with it in masculine clothing, is a valid experience.

That being said, one thing to consider is whether you're actually comfortable in feminine outfits in the current moment with the body/presentation that you currently have. You might be feeling self-conscious in women's clothes because you just aren't comfortable with wearing those clothes right now because it emphasizes things that you're not comfortable with (Aka reminds you of your chest).

You may want to experiment with different feminine clothing styles that might make you feel more comfortable. Sometimes a different cut, fit, or type of fabric can make a big difference in how the clothes drape on your chest, and it can be possible to wear a feminine outfit which doesn't emphasize your chest. Men's floral shirts with a stiff fabric can look feminine but also provide a good amount of coverage.

If you find out that even with different styles of clothes you still feel uncomfortable with your chest when presenting femininely, you may want to consider binding. We have more information about binding on our Binding FAQ page, so I won't get into the details of that right now, but binding might be a good option to creating the profile you like in the clothes you like.

But I think sometimes we tend to overthink these things. If you're saying "Doing X thing makes me feel bad!" and X thing is optional, and not doing X thing is neutral (or least not-bad for your health), then the solution might be "OK, just don't do X thing!"

So ultimately if you don't feel comfortable with your chest while dressing femininely, then maybe one solution is to not wear feminine clothes and then you don't have chest dysphoria and the problem is solved.

I think some people tend to react defensively to that, and I'm not saying you really Need to stop wearing feminine clothes, but I do think it's something worth considering. Do you really enjoy wearing feminine clothes? Or is it something you think you should like, something you used to like, or something you want to like but don't really like the reality of?

I used to have this confusion myself for a while with some gender expression stuff, but eventually I realized that in general there's a difference between admiring something and thinking a style looks cool and actually feeling comfortable doing that thing/wearing those clothes. I might like the idea of certain things but they don't make me feel comfortable and self-confident because it just feels like it's not me.

I do know that there are some people who had top surgery, for example, and then were super excited to start wearing women's shirts and crop tops and stuff like that because they really liked wearing women's clothes and just didn't like the way their body looked in those clothes, but it can vary.

Personally, when I was pre-op I wasn't super comfortable with how I looked in clothes (or without clothes lol) because I had a lot of body dysphoria. After I had my surgeries I became more comfortable with my body which included being comfortable about how it looks in clothes. But I didn't change my style because I still like the same things (I'm still wearing the same sweatshirt as I wore at 16 on the daily!) I just feel more comfortable in general, so I still tend to only wear men's clothes.

Anyway, circling back to where I started, it's possible that not feeling comfortable about your chest while wearing feminine clothes might be a sign that you're not comfortable with your chest in general, and the only reason you don't mind it in men's clothes is because you notice it less because the clothes aren't made to emphasize it. Journaling or reflecting on your feelings when you dress differently can help you better understand your dysphoria and what triggers it, and that might be a place to start if you're trying to get to the bottom of it. Therapy can also help you untangle your feelings.

I would also say that as things are now, experimenting with different solutions is a good idea. To recap, that includes not wearing clothes that cause chest dysphoria, wearing the clothes but also binding, wearing similar clothes but differently styled (with a zip-up sweatshirt left unzipped to hide your chest, a men's shirt with a stiffer different fabric but a similar pattern/print than the women's shirts you like, etc), or just wearing the same dysphoria-triggering clothes without binding but trying coping strategies to deal with the dysphoria.

These feelings can change and shift over time, so you may feel differently in the future-- maybe you'll grow more comfortable with your chest in time, or maybe you'll start to experience more persistent dysphoria and ultimately undergo surgery, or a myriad of other possibilities. It's okay if your feelings change over the course of your transition and it's perfectly normal!

You only recently started to figure out that you're non-binary and that means you likely haven't fully explored your identity yet. There are still some things about yourself that you may not really know yet-- we can surprise ourselves as we grow into our identities/selves and grow up.

I can't really tell you what your feelings mean for you because only you can figure out who you are and what it all means, but I can tell you that it's okay to feel that way, and that you'll figure it all out eventually.