There is no “right way” to be or feel nonbinary. It’s hard to finally learn to accept and be comfortable with your gender, regardless of outside influences. There’s no such thing as being “nonbinary enough”. If you identify as nonbinary, then you are nonbinary no matter what. Don’t worry about matching other peoples’ presentations or identities. Be your own enby; there’s no better way to be than yourself.
There isn’t a list of criteria you need to check off in order to qualify as nonbinary. You are perfect the way you are.
Summary: It is that time of the year when your husband disappears behind his office doors, stacks of papers piled high on his desk, and fails to return home until the wee hours of the morning-if he returns at all. As the days pass by and his side of the bed grows colder, you decide that if he is too busy to come home, you’ll just have to go to him. Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: Smut, romance || Husband/CEO! Yoongi Word Count: 3,900+ Warnings: office (desk) sex, riding, oral, etc. For Prompt #2: “Shh, let’s just see how quiet you can be” which was requested by @baepsaewhalien and an anon. || This was meant to just be a drabble… → Other Drabbles
The door falls shut with a gentle clink, the noise resounding in the small office space and you blink back the nerves and excitement as Yoongi peers up at you from where he is seated behind his large, oak desk, glasses falling gradually down the bridge of his nose. He says nothing at your presence, simply cocks a brow in muted amusement and motions for you to take a seat on the leather couch that is nestled in the small corner of his work space. You follow his instructions silently, heels clicking along the tiled floor as you move over to take a spot on the plush cushions, hands coming to rest on your lap. There is a familiar itch that comes with these meetings, a pleasant buzz of eagerness that lingers just below the surface of your limbs.
An hour ago, if somebody had told Jason that his night would get worse, he probably wouldn’t have believed them— it was bad enough already. He was back in Gotham (the second time since he’d crawled out of his own tomb), and he’d immediately run into one of the people he’d really, really been hoping to avoid.
“Oh,” the kid had said, “It’s you.”
That was all. He’d held his staff out warily too, which was reasonable, considering everything that had happened the last time the two of them had met. Honestly, Jason would have expected a stronger reaction. New kid was very calm.
Not so much anymore.
Fear toxin. Jason knew the feeling. He was fine, of course— safe underneath his helmet— but Drake didn’t have that kind of cover, and he’d gone down quickly. He was lying in the alleyway, twitching quietly, and Jason didn’t really know what to do about it.
It wasn’t his concern, was it? He didn’t ask Drake to show up. They weren’t working together— they’d met up completely by accident, chasing the same lead. This kind of thing happened sometimes; Lord knew Jason had been through enough of Crane’s fearscapes in his time.
Which was making it really hard to leave, even though that was absolutely what he should be doing. Running. Before Batman showed up.
“Dammit,” Jason muttered, bending over the other kid’s body. “Hey, listen— you gotta get back to the cave. I don’t have an antidote for this stuff. Can you walk?” Drake didn’t respond, so Jason reached out a hand, intending to shake him awake.
That did the trick— before Jason could make contact, the other kid pushed himself upright and dragged himself backwards, away from Jason and against the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Fine.” Jason could respect that. “Whatever. Go home. Can you make it by yourself?”
Drake’s eyes closed again— his hands, clasped around his legs, were shaking. Jason could hear him hyperventilating. He had about thirty seconds, Jason figured, before the hallucinations started, and that meant no, he couldn’t get home by himself. He wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Alright,” he decided. “I’ve got a bike a few streets over. I can carry you to the—”
“I said no.” Drake was struggling to breathe now, shuddering with the effort of it. His eyes were wide behind his mask. He scooped up his staff from the asphalt and leveled it at Jason, forcing him a few steps back down the street.
“Get away from me.”
“I said get away!” He stared at Jason, past Jason, blankly. The nightmares had started— who knew what he was seeing now? It could be anything. In a hellpit like Gotham, there were infinite options.
But Jason needed to get him home, so he took a step forward and grabbed the end of the staff, trying to wrench it away. Drake didn’t take that well.
“No!” He yanked back his staff and then jabbed it at Jason’s chest. “I’m sorry, okay! I didn’t mean to— I didn’t—” He was still gasping for air. “I was just trying to help. You were dead! How was I supposed to know you would—?”
Oh, Jason though, he’s still talking to me. I’m in his fearscape. Great.
“I thought he needed—”
Jason pulled the staff away and threw it behind him, back towards the mouth of the alley. “Yeah yeah, you thought he needed you. I get it.”
“He needed you. Next best thing.” Drake threw his arms in front of his head, trying to shield his face. “Please don’t…”
Christ. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? Just… stay there for a bit. I’m backing away now. See?” Jason retreated up the alley with his hands held out in front of him. Maybe that would make Drake feel better.
What was he supposed to do? He wouldn’t be able to take Drake home himself, not if he was going to fight like that the entire way. He didn’t have many options. He could leave— he probably should leave. The toxin would wear off eventually. With all of the confusion, the other kid might not even remember that Jason was actually there— he would be another hallucination.
Or. Jason pulled out his phone and stared at the empty screen. He could— Dammit. Dammit. Fine. He chose the lesser of two evils and dialed.