#tw profanity
Ah, yes, back at it again with my bullshit. Do you like unsympathetic Patton? Do you just hate Patton in general? Do you like discord servers? Well, do I have a discord for you!! Come on down and join the I Wanna Bust Patton’s Knee Caps Club on discord, where we talk all about our favorite unsympathetic father figure figment and how much we hate him, ALONG with how much we HATE UwU Baby Virgil and RemRom (shippers), among other things! Have a blast headcanoning Patton and making new chaotic ass friends!! (This link never expires so it doesn’t matter WHEN you see it!)
this has been in my drafts for weeks and in my head for months // 1.9k words
cw: fem reader, hate sex, long haired hanma (yes that’s a warning), profanity, sacrilege, degradation, a bit of angst ig???
“I knew you’d be here.” hearing your voice, Hanma stands up from his seat in front of Kisaki’s grave.
Kisaki Tetta. You never liked him. He was always so arrogant and pretentious. He was an awful person to be around, but you tolerated him, after all by his side is the only place you’d find Hanma. That’s another one.
Hanma Shuji. Loud, annoying and causing trouble everywhere he went. But he fucked you so good. You spent so many nights fucked out, sleeping in his bed while he went to mess around with god knows who. And that’s not all, of course you had to catch feelings for this asshole. It was bound to happen, you’re attracted to danger anyway. When he started hanging around your friends, you knew you’d end up ruined by him. It was Izana’s idea to take him and Kisaki into Tenjiku. You told him that was a bad idea, that they were bad news, but of course Izana never listens. And now he’s dead. He left you here, alone and in love with the accomplice of his murder. You hate him. You hate him so much, yet here you are, standing in front of him again.
“It’s been a while, y/n. Missed me?” Hanma smirks at you and takes a drag of his cigarette.
“You don’t know how much I want to punch you in the face right now.” You dig your nails into your palms, frustrated. Why did you even come here? What was the plan after you found him? You can’t even move right now.
“Do it. I deserve it.” he exhales, smoke coming out of his mouth and ascending into the night sky.
His words irritate you so much. You take a step forward, grabbing him by his hoodie.
“Yeah, you do! You left Izana to die! You left him for dead to save that fucking asshole Kisaki! All of this for him to get run over by a damn truck. It’s almost funny, you know? If he was going to die anyway he could’ve shot himself in the head in the first place!” you scream at him, trying to contain your tears.
“Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about, you fucking bitch.” Hanma grabs you by the collar. His height makes this action almost lift you from the ground.
“Shut up? Or what? You’re gonna left me for dead too?” You keep your eyes on his, glaring at him through the tears.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up. You’re the one who came here looking for me, so stop talking shit. If you missed my dick you just had to call, you fucking slut.” Hanma’s face gets closer with each word. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand him. You don’t know how to top his words, so you spit on his face. It’s what he deserves.
“You’re fucking disgusting.” he laughs bitterly, wiping your spit off his cheek. “I missed your pretty face so much, doll.”
“You have no right to miss me. You and your dead friend here ruined my life.” You say, pointing at Kisaki’s grave.
“You were screaming at me to ruin you, babe. You don’t know how much I think about fucking that pretty cunt of yours for hours, about how damn fucked out you looked after, so pretty covered in my cum.” Hanma firmly puts his hand on your waist, bringing your back to his chest. You’re trapped between him and the stone with Kisaki’s name on it.
“Yeah I used to enjoy that too, until you killed my best friend.” you scoff, refusing to turn to look at him.
“I didn’t kill anyone. You’re standing on the culprit right now, you know? Do you think he’s watching? He never accepted when I told him I’d let you fuck you, but he can’t refuse now, can he?” His hands roam through your body grabbing at every part he comes across.
“Stop fucking around and let me go. Coming here was a bad idea.” You try to push his hands away, but he grabs your wrists, joining them and holding them down behind your back.
“You can’t tell me you don’t want to do it here. Can’t tell me you don’t want to cover Kisaki’s grave in your cum.” You’d never admit it, but he’s right. Maybe it’s a twisted kind of revenge, or maybe you just find it hot, but he’s right. Hanma’s hand finds his way between your legs, lifting your skirt and making his way into your panties, feeling the mess you made with only thinking about defiling Kisaki’s grave.
“Maybe I do, but not with you.” you’re lying through your teeth. You know it, and he does too.
“Yeah, you say that, but this…” he takes his hand out of your panties to lift his fingers, now covered in your slick, in front of your eyes. “…this tells me otherwise.”
You turn around to glare at him, irritated by the fact he was right, he knew exactly what you were thinking. Did you come here to yell at him or to fuck him again? Because you’re not sure anymore. The thought of coming back to him after all he’s done is infuriating, you just want to forget about it. So you do, grabbing his hoodie to bring his lips to yours. He laughs into the kiss, the audacity this fucking asshole has, you think.
“So eager, looks like you did miss me after all.” he says, hands around your waist to lift you and sit you down on the grave.
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear your fucking voice.” you say, shutting him up with a heated kiss, feeling him laugh against you again. His hands leave your waist to remove your underwear, his long fingers finding their way between your folds. You hiss at the feeling, the combination of the cold stone beneath you and Hanma’s hand warming your cunt. He inserts his finger into you, his thumb busy rubbing circles on your clit. He picks up his pace when he sees you trying to contain your moans. He takes it as a challenge, burying his face in your neck, placing wet kisses al over the area.
“C'mon, let me hear you. Let him hear you.” He adds a finger into you, curling the tips in that spot he remembers you liked so much.
“I said shut u- shit” you’re cut off by a harsh thrust of his fingers.
“Drop the act, sugar. We both know you’re enjoying this.” he says as he attaches his lips to your neck once again. His fingers stretch you so good, hitting your sweet spot again and again. Does he remember or is he just that good with his hands? Could be both, but the thought of him retaining those memories, hitting all the right spots he once knew like the palm of his hands makes you feel some kind of way. Did he think of you in all this time? Fuck, are you really hoping he did? You don’t know, and you don’t want to know. At least there’s some good in him knowing how to please you, because as you start to think too much, Hanma bites your neck, his fingers so deep in you and his palm rubbing right on your clit make you forget everything. You’re panting, melting into his hands, legs trembling against the gelid stone.
“Gonna cum? Yeah?” he uses his free hand to grab the back of your head, pulling you back by the hair. “Fuckin’ filthy, aren’t ya?” he laughs, running his tongue to your exposed neck.
“I told.. I told you to shut up.” you say in between moans. Your nails scratch the surface beneath you so hard it might make for a second epitaph. You’re close, so close. And then he stops. His hand leaves your body, ruining your orgasm. God, how you hate him. Your eyes fill with tears. You can’t stand the frustration that’s consuming you right now. And he laughs. He fucking laughs.
“You really thought it’d be that easy? You just come to me and I give you what you want?” he scoffs. His hands grab your thighs, making you stand up in front of him to roughly bend you over the tombstone. His hand comes down to spank your ass as he lines his cock with your entrance, collecting your juices on his tip before thrusting in all at once. You let out a squeal at the sudden flash of pain that traveled through your body. Even after stretching you out, it felt like you were being split open. God, if there was one thing you missed about him, it was his cock. He was big, he filled you up so good that you were seriously starting to consider sticking around. Until he opened his mouth, that is.
“Coming here” thrust “after all this time” thrust “and for what?” thrust “so I would fuck you like you want it? You that fucking desperate?” he presses his chest to your back, biting the shell of your ear.
“Or is it that… you still love me?” he whispers, abruptly stopping his brutal pace. You squirm under him, clearly annoyed by his question.
“Shh, easy, doll.” he coos “No need to get so worked up, hm?” his hand reaches to collect the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, lips ghosting over your shoulder blades. He places a soft kiss on your skin, just to follow it with a bite as he roughly thrusts into you once again. You stopped trying to contain your moans long ago. Your cries sounding through the cemetery might even get someone believing it’s haunted. Hanma keeps his pace, enjoying the sight of your body going limp under him.
“Ahh, fuck… I missed this slutty pussy so much. Gonna fill it up now, baby.” his thrusts are getting sloppier, his deep groans ringing in your ear. You don’t even process his words, you’re too fucked out to tell him to pull out.
“God, fuck.” he stills, painting your walls with his cum. “Fuckin’ slut.” he pulls out, eyes fixed on the hot white liquid that leaks out of you. You whine, feeling the cold night air on your bare cunt, but you can’t form any coherent words. Hanma picks you up, turning you around to look at him.
“Now what?” his face is serious, looking down at you. “You gonna finally punch me? Spit in my face again? Hah. What did you come here for, huh?”
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.” you keep your gaze on his. “What do you want me to say? Tch, whatever. You’re playing with me, as always.”
“Oooh, are you mad that I ruined your orgasm? Boo-hoo. Little slut thought she could get what she wanted by just showing up and shaking her hips a little bit.” his words sting. On your ego or your feelings, you still don’t know.
“This little slut made you cum like a damn virgin, didn’t she? You talk too much, Hanma.” you stand your ground. You can’t let him think this meant something. But did it? Fuck, you’ll think about that later.
“Can’t say I didn’t enjoy that.” he laughs “you make a good little fleshlight.”
“You’re fucking disgusting.” you fix your skirt and turn around, ready to go home for the night.
“Man, leave her hanging once and all she does is bitch about it.” he laughs. He hadn’t changed one bit. He was still the loud, annoying troublemaker you fell in love with, and that’s what irked you the most.
“Well” he says as he passes you, walking in the same direction. You can’t see it, but you hear the smirk in his voice. “if that orgasm is what got you so frustrated, you can always follow me home. Maybe I’ll make you cum, for old days sake.”
I feel like an absolute bastard. (cw gender stuff, names, pronouns, family drama)
As a way to update my parents about Janelle Monae saying in an interview that their pronoun is “free-ass muthafucka” (because gender goals x infinity!!!), I casually led into it by mentioning that my new therapist wanted to know my preferred name/nickname and pronouns—all as a means of getting to my stupid punchline, “they/them seems so much easier now, doesn’t it!” ha ha ha I thought we were cool, I’ve been making pronoun jokes since I came out to them last September because I know it’s weird for them to go from having a daughter to having an adult child / offspring / neither daughter nor son. I get it. And I’ve really tried to be cool about them continuing to Female me while also trying to gradually/gently push them with things like… my Kirk haircut, sharing trivia or articles about NB stuff with them (e.g. the Janelle Monae news), etc. Anyway, I didn’t think any of that would come up again, but I’m clearly an idiot because I’ve spent 32 and a half years with one parent who Never Forgets Anything and Never Lets Any Little Detail Go Unnoticed.
Six hours later, my mother asks me what my answers had been when my therapist asked me to pin them down more concretely than “either way, whatever you prefer.” ((Aside: apparently therapists want to know the Real You? and having other people decide who the Real Me is… is not what they mean by that??)) I knew I was trapped but I never want to lie to my mom, right? So I told her honestly that my therapist will be referring to me as “they/them” and “Jim” (aka Not my legal name/what my family calls me, as well as a name which traditionally is given to people who are the “opposite” of my agab). (I also reminded her that my previous therapist knew me as Jim, too, hoping that might soften the blow.) Again: I get it. I knew before I said it that it was going to hurt her because I’m choosing to have certain people call me by a name that’s not the one she and dad gave me when I was born. I understand that it’s hard for them. I understand why it’s hard for them.
(And this makes no never mind, but… it’s hard for me, too. But I know, that’s beside the point.)
After a long, very uncomfortable silence, she said, “Is it okay if I keep saying she/her?” So I counted to five in my head and said it’s fine, because I honestly never expected her or my dad to be fully understanding of any of this. But now (and not for the first time) I’m very much wishing I’d just never come out to them at all, because at least that way I wouldn’t have gotten my hopes up when they responded by claiming that my being NB was fine and claiming that they would be totally supportive/accepting of it. My expectations were low before they knew because I assumed they would be honest with me about how it made them feel, which I assumed would be along the lines of “betrayed,” “inconvenienced,” “confused,” “disappointed,” “skeptical,” “disrespected,” and/or “we failed our child.“ It seems that when they were so chill about it up front, I forgot to keep expecting those reactions in delayed forms, and I guess I let myself believe that they would actually make the effort to shift some of their thinking about me, maybe even start using they/them for me, etc.
Turns out they were enthusiastic to declare their support (which I greatly appreciate, don’t get me wrong) but putting that support into practice has proven to be harder than I think they realized. “Too much has changed too fast” is what I’ve been told now… even though I’m not transitioning to male, I’m not doing HRT or having surgeries, I’m still dressing the same on a daily basis (just changing my “fancy” wardrobe), and the only thing that’s physically different is that I’ve stopped shaving my legs (which neither of them has even noticed because I only wear long pants).
Anyway she just happened to ask me all this as she was on her way to bed. So there was another awkward silence before she said goodnight, and if 32 years’ experience has enabled me to read any of her moods correctly, then she started crying as soon as I was out of earshot. (I would have confirmed and/or tried to get her to talk to me about it but I’m running, like, a spoon deficit at this point.)
So is my lack of much visible change the problem, then? Is this breaking my mom’s heart because I’m not different enough from my “old” self? Would this be easier in some way if I was transitioning and she could, idk, genuinely mourn the daughter she no longer has? And despite losing a daughter at least she would have a “replacement” kid whose gender still Made Sense to someone entrenched in the gender binary for almost seven decades? Or would it just make things worse?
Should I have simply lied and said I’m going by my legal name with my therapist, because how will my mom ever know that anyway? Has this name thing crushed her so bad because not much else has changed about me otherwise, so she didn’t see it coming? Or am I genuinely the asshole for expecting her to be more supportive/validating too soon, and I just need to be more patient?
((Tangent: she witnessed a really bad impostor-syndrome meltdown of mine a few months ago. I was trying to figure out what to wear to a church function and eventually got so frustrated—and convinced that I’m not really NB, just a pathetic ugly female who hates herself/her body—that I told her to pick out a damn dress for me and take me to a wig shop so I could try and undo everything I’ve done to try and hate my biologically female body a little bit less. And she responded by telling me to wear the pants/button-down/sweater aka “masc-ish” outfit I’d started with. So… is it only if I’m in crisis/panic mode that she can get on board with my being NB? Did my meltdown help her put her own misgivings about this aside? Or was she only okay with my being NB before it included having new people in my life call me by a different name??))
I keep trying to pinpoint what I’ve done wrong, and every time I re-do the math I still can only come up with, “…I was born.” But that wasn’t even my fault. I just feel incredibly selfish for trying to get them to see me the way I see myself. I keep thinking that if I don’t feel female, that’s my problem and I should have kept it to my damn self. If my identity is, in fact, Jim + they/them + non-binary, fine, but I feel like I should have known better than to reveal—to the people who named me and raised me—that I don’t really feel, and never really have felt, like I actually am the person we all assumed I was for 31 years because there didn’t seem to be an alternative.
And this is precisely why I started things off with my new therapist by trying to make her decide whether to call me she or they, Jim or my real name. More than anything—more than being sane, healthy, or alive—Iwantnotto be a burden on others.
But that’s all I ever seem to be able to do without fail.
