đ 25, Butch4femme. Student with a thing for obscure games, abandonwares and fandom talk. I enjoy listening to others and sharing my own interests. My style is kind of early 2000s punk/emo â think perpetual black clothing and Linkin Park â but I'm also a fan of strawberry milk and decorating my space with cute green whimsical things. I like talking about literature and science.
đ Pronouns: He/him and she/her (He/him butches are integral part of the lesbian community)
đ (Unfortunately) 5'4
đ Dom/Stone/Service top. I do love non-sexual dominance, I'm not a very sexual person â but I do have urges, just not a very high libido.
đ I like to make femmes laugh. Currently into lifting weights.
đ My nsft writings are tagged under #wizard ruts, and my normal life & daily updates under #wizard rambling
đ If you're too shy to send a message, like this post here and I'll do it :)
đ If you have a fantasy, a prompt or want to ask something, my Tumblr anon asks are open and so is this NGL link.
The room is quiet except for your breathing, the jerk of your head to the side pulling the sheets, the click of your tongue as you wait for me.
Your wrists are caught in the leather cuffs at either side of the bedframe . I have made sure they are not tight, but snug enough that you canât slip free. The straps creak when you move, but you donât move much now. Youâre floating, eyes unfocused unfocused but still locked somewhere in my direction.
Iâm sitting at the edge of the mattress, one knee bent, leaning over you. My hand moves from your hair to your cheek, thumb dragging along your jaw.
âWhat color?â I murmur into the flushed skin of your cheek.
You whimper, a sound that comes when your body is confused. Your fingers twitch in their cuffs uselessly.
âTell me,â I say, a touch commandeering. My grip on your face hardens, fingers digging into the soft side of your jaw.
You click open your mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting the plump perfections I have worked hard to achieve. âG-Gr-Green.â
I shift closer, bracing one arm on the mattress so youâre framed between my shoulders. âYouâre being such a good girl,â I say again, slower this time. My left hand slides down your sternum, not to do anything, but just to feel your heartbeat under my palm. âBreathe. In. Out. With me.â
You follow. The rise of your chest becomes deeper, your lips part. Youâre trembling faintly now, the telltale sign of someone slipping, of sinking, of letting me take over.
âYou donât have to think,â I whisper, leaning closer until my breath hits your ear. âJust be here and feel me.â
I drag my hand lower, letting them catch against the gooseflesh on your twitching body. I slip my finger around one of your taunt nipples and pull ever so slightly. âBreath, baby. Feel me.â
Another soft sound escapes you, a sigh or a moan or both. Your head tips to the side, cheek brushing against the pillow.
âThatâs it,â I murmur. My fingers tighten just slightly on your jaw, anchoring you, my other hand grabbing a handful of tits. âThatâs my good girl.â
Just as your eyes fall close, I know you wanted to hear that.
âIâm right here,â I tell you one more time, thumb brushing your temple. âIâve got you. Stay with me.â
Oh to take care of a butch, I know it sounds silly. But just being soft and sweet to them. To rub their shoulders and their back after a long stressful day. To kiss their lips softly, maybe their biceps, possibly their jaw, just to love on them when theyâre tired or hurt, the idea makes my heart swoon đ
Oooo ok idk how this works but PLEASE non sexual domination and/or size kink? I love non sexual domination and miss it so bad đđ€§
Hi, darling. Sorry for the late reply. I was caught up with stuff đș
I'm still looking at the menu, but I'm not really seeing it. My thumb traces the font, and I know the small crease between my eyebrows is a tell. You've been watching me, and after a moment, you reach across the table and try to take the menu from my hands.
"You're not getting that," I say, already sliding the menu shut. I catch the waiter's eye, and he begins to move in our direction.
Your brows pinch together. "You don't even know what I was going to â"
"Yes, I do." I say calmly, smiling at the room at large. "And you'll like what I'm ordering more."
The waiter arrives, pen poised. I don't look at you as I rattle off both our orders. I name your drink, with extra ice, the one you always hesitate to get because you think itâs too indulgent. Then, I order the main dish you love but never remember the name of, the one with that sauce you readily licked off the plate last time. I don't have to look at you to know your eyes have dropped to the table.
When the waiter leaves, I lean back in my chair.
"Breathe now," I murmur softly, but it's not a whisper you cannot hear. "You can relax. I've got you."
Your fingers toy with the folded edge of your napkin. "You didn't have to â"
"I know," I cut in. "But I wanted to." I tilt my head, catching your gaze until you hold it. "And I know what you like better than you do when you're overthinking it."
You let out a slow exhale, and the tension slips from your shoulders.
"Good," I say, letting the corner of my mouth curl upward. "Now stop fidgeting. Your drink's coming."
re: stone tops and aftercare, I feel like thereâs this expectation that your dom/top is not only going to create and lead the scene and give you sexual release, but also that afterwards theyâre going to run you a bath and give you a massage and paint your nails because thatâs what they ~love to do~ and because making you feel good is their reward. And itâs absolutely true that I want my partner to feel loved and spoiled, but thatâs a lot of mental, physical, and emotional energy to expend without even getting a verbal check-in in return, even if we derive fulfillment from our partnerâs pleasure. If youâre a bottom, especially a submissive bottom, start fantasizing about how you can make your stone top feel seen and special and important. maybe they donât want sexual touch, but maybe they want a massage, verbal affirmation, gratitude and recognition. ask not what your stone top can do for you, but what you can do for your stone top.
someone proposed the idea of having me on their lap to mindlessly play with me while they watch porn, using me as a toy. Canât stop thinking about how iâd be so jealous iâd be putting on a show for them so theyâd pay attention to me instead.
gorgeous hyperfemme that often catches a lot of peoples attention when they're out and about.
possession box for the kink bingo! maybe you can check off that public use box too if you're feeling up for it. open-ended prompt, you can do whatever you want - đȘ·
Thank you for the prompt, I hope you like this :) I tried to be as inclusive as possible
Butch x femme reader (possession)
You're steadfastly ignoring me. Or pretending to, at least, because from across the room under the flickering fluorescent lights and the thumping vibration of ear-splitting music, I still catch you stealing glances at me.
You're wearing red â plush lips stained to mimic the vivid vermilion of blood, cheeks pulled wide with the smile you're sporting, dimpling and flushed bright red to the very edge of your ears. The dress is low-hanging, tight around your curves, pulled taut around your back where I remember spending time doing nothing but worshiping. Your back is to me. You're facing the bar, talking to the bartender and the few people who surround you like insects to a bright light. Even from a distance, I know where they're looking â right in the dip of your breasts, encased by that low neckline, where the silver rounded locket rests.
There's a man â tall, broad-shouldered. He's leaning a bit too steeply in your direction with a salacious grin, white teeth gleaming under the bar light. And you? You laugh at him, at his audacity, letting him caress your elbow, welcoming his touch in my presence.
I don't like clubs. I don't like the music, the heat. I don't like how people stare at me â and I hate how they stare at you. I donât make the mark of my ownership loud, but itâs there. Evident. Hidden, but present. And if you're new here, to this bar, to this world â if you're foolish â you'd challenge the claim without knowing.
I close my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose, exhaling louder than I intend. Beside me, a scantily clad young man cocks his head, silently asking if I'm okay.
I shake my head at him.
But peace doesn't come to the wicked. It's the sound of your heady laughter, head thrown back, the long line of your throat stretched tight with the vibration. The manâs hands are no longer fleeting; theyâre full on your hips.
I'm quick to stand and walk over to the bar. On the surface, I wear a calm, human facade. Inside, I am nothing short of feral. The animal in my chest is hurling itself at my ribs, trying to chew through bone and muscle, begging to be let loose. To reach between you and the man, to grab him by the back of his head and smash his face into the bar until he understands: you are not his to touch.
It feels like the crowd parts as I move â whether they really do or not doesn't matter. My attention is fixed on a single detail; the manâs hand â big, pale, nails untrimmed â pawing at your body like itâs his right. Like heâs won the game.
I stop behind you. Close enough that you'd feel the heat radiating off me, and I donât have to clear my throat. You've been watching, waiting for me to approach.
You shift slightly on your heels, just enough that the curve of your back arches deeper, presenting yourself like a gift, like bait, pressing into me. My chest heaves as I lean in even closer, enough for you to feel the press of my breasts through my tucked-in black shirt. You glance at me over your shoulder, lazy and knowing, your smile curling slowly around the rim of your glass.
I'm not sure if the man's just foolish or enjoys inviting trouble, because his hands donât move. They curl tighter on your hips as he eyes us both.
âI wouldnât do that if I were you,â I say, smiling.
âOh,â he blinks, surprised, and finally removes his hand. âI didnât know she was taken.â
âMm.â I tilt my head, studying him like Iâm choosing which bone to break first. Heâs tall, but soft-looking. âShe likes games. She likes to poke the bear.â
He stares, confused, mouth parting like heâs trying to find footing.
âBut she is mine. And I donât share.â
I feel your breath hitch. Your smile softens, turns inward, more genuine than the one youâd been offering him.
He steps back, palms up, like he's backing away from a lit fuse. âAlright, alright. Didnât mean anything by it.â
âI know,â I say, voice still pleasant. âThatâs why Iâm still smiling.â
The moment heâs gone, I turn to you. Youâre still leaning against the bar, lazy and lit up, your eyes wicked beneath the fan of your lashes.
âYouâre cruel,â I murmur, reaching out to trail a finger along the exposed line of your collarbone.
You lean into the touch. âYou like it.â
I catch your chin between my fingers, tilt your face up. âYou like making me jealous.â
You hum, lips parting. âYouâre hot when youâre angry.â
I step closer, slowly backing you into the bar until your spine presses flush to the wood, caging you in with nothing but my presence.
âYou want to see what I do when Iâm angry?â
Your lush lips part in something close to a mewl, your eyes searching mine in the dim light. You nod quickly, fingers tightening in the fabric of my shirt. My hand wraps gently around your throat.
I know people are watching us, watching you. You're a thorned rose among daisies. Everyone wants to touch, but they know better. The thorns will cut.
You like being watched, especially when itâs me placing my claim â again and again. Itâs a perverse kind of pleasure, knowing you belong to someone who rarely cracks under pressure, rarely chases a tongue out, but is willing to shatter every self-imposed rule just to make sure the world sees who you belong to.
Your eyes are hooded as I descend, my mouth finding yours. Youâre unsurprisingly pliant, melting into me, wrapping your arms around my shoulders and simply letting go, oblivious to what that does to me. Or maybe not so oblivious, judging by the wicked gleam in your eyes.
A low thrum builds, rising into a pounding staccato that clouds my thoughts like smoke. Iâm panting into your mouth, pressing in deeper, as your tongue and teeth draw me closer, swallow me whole.
A string of saliva connected us when I finally pulled back. When you opened your eyes, they were almost cross-eyed, glossy, tracking the string like you couldnât help it â your face the shade of deep cherries, blush creeping all the way up to your hairline. I groaned low in my throat, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the need at bay, to stop myself from bending you over this bar and eating you out until you forgot your own name.
You smelled like that fruity drink you keep ordering, the tang of slight sweat, and my perfume â the one you keep stealing. I shoved my face into the space between your neck and shoulder, letting my nose trace a slow path down your exposed collarbone. You shivered under my hands.
You're cradled in the hollow of my arm, pushing yourself forward, arching your back. I drag a knuckle over your tits, knowing full well your little nubs underneath that dress are hard and begging for my attention. I bite into your collarbone, hard,then soothe the sting with a slow, suckling kiss. You whimper loudly, uncaring of the crowd, digging your nails into my shoulder. Always wanting more. My little slut.
âShh,â I murmur against the skin just above your clothed breast, shoving a thigh between your legs, under your messed-up dress, giving you some relief, something to grind your cunt on.
âI wonât touch you anymore.â
You whine, even needier, looking up at me with wide, blown pupils, eyelashes clumped with unshed tears. I chuckle.
âYou think you wonât be punished for pulling a stunt like that, sweetheart?â
You bite your lip, that obscene red now smeared across your jaw. Your neck is blossoming with my marks, your chest heaving. Your cunt soaking my pant. You look debauched under the low, flickering lights.
âI know thatâs not what you want,â I whisper into your ear. âBut now you'll know to listen when I tell you not to play with me.â
reminder that butch/femme is a working class exclusive community with communist roots. if i see one more post that's like "i want a rich butch/femme" or "i want to be a rich butch/femme" i'm actually going to lose my fucking mind.
this post is on an nsfw blog and is about t4t lesbians. minors, terfs, and men (including trans men) dni.
butch x femme reader ; sub drop without play ; can be interpreted as other forms of emotional shock
When I get back from work, you're quiet. There's silence in our house that I can't seem to imagine would occur with you. No sounds of pots and pans, no noise from the TV, or the PC. I tiptoe into our bedroom and find that you're huddled into the blanket, the only light in the room is coming from the open doorway.
I crawl across the bed, and the first thing I notice is your hands â how they stay clenched in the blanket instead of drifting to me like they usually do.
You're lying on your side, knees drawn up, staring at the edge of the mattress like it might start talking any moment. I call your name, soft. You blink, but donât look.
âHey,â I murmur, as softly as I can, dragging the backs of my knuckles across your exposed shoulder. âWhereâd you go?â
Your lips part like you might answer. But nothing comes out. Youâre not shivering yet, but your skinâs got that damp chill, that clammy feel of an upcoming fever.
Across the room, I reach for the hoodie, the big one you always steal, and slip it over your head. You don't help. You canât, right now. Thatâs okay. I do it for you.
I settle behind you, pull you into my lap like you weigh nothing at all, even when I know it feels like you weigh too much to yourself. One arm around your waist. One pressed tight to your chest.
âYou did so well, baby,â I murmured, mouth close to your ear. âIâve got you. You donât have to talk.â
You let out this tiny, broken sound, and finally melted into me. Like your body was waiting to do for so long.
I rock you, just enough tiny motions. Just so you know youâre not floating anymore, that you're tethered to me.
