#a man putting on makeup & heels for gay sex reasons and to be a little bit of a provocatrice

[textualviolence]

in all ways except physical i am a cis male drag queen. its a hard confession to make but when ya'll are talking about women's oppression im always first like omg stay strong queens😔i'm an ally and im #listeningandlearning. In a way i get what you're going through because i often get mistaken for a woman. thank god im not one though you guys seem to be having it ROUGH

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish​ pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John! 

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic). 

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​ @rhapsodyrecs​ ​​​ @joemazzmatazz​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​ @namelesslosers​​ @inthegardensofourminds​​ @sleepretreat​​ @hardyshoe​​​ @sevenseasofcats​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @madeinheavxn​​ @whatgoeson-itslate​​​ @herewegoagainniall​​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​​ @pomjompish​​ @allauraleigh​​  @bluutac​​ @johndeaconshands​​ 

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.  

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man��or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.  

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.  

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.  

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.  

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”  

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.  

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

[onewithnomightypowers]

clandestine (chapter 1)

PAIRING: Tom Holland x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is an up and coming actress, married to a once hotshot actor, Harrison (Haz). What happens when her co-star, Tom, makes her realise that she is stuck in a loveless marriage. A marriage starts crumbling and a new romance stars brewing.

Chapter 1: too wise to trust

A/N: y/n is bisexual but not paired with a women. the characters have been aged up. the characters in no way portray how these ppl are in real life. i do not encourage cheating. i hope you guys like it as much is i do. if you want to be tagged them pls tell me. also comments are appreciated as they motivate me to write more and i love to know how you guys feel about the story.  

warning: cursing, mention of miscarriage, mention of sex, mention of cat calling, angst. fluff? 

word count: 1.4k

important: character thoughts are bold and italic, flashback is in italic

masterlist   series masterlist   chapter 2

She picked up her makeup bag from her vanity and started walking towards her empty suitcase which was wide open on her bed. “What time is your flight?” Haz asked while walking into their bedroom. “I think it’s at 6:30 in the evening but the car will be here to pick me up at 4”, she replied whilst folding her clothes.

“So we have at least an hour to us”; he pulled her by the waist and started kissing her neck. She tried pushing his chest away but failed miserably. “Haz, I’m not in the mood, please stop”

“Fine. But you have been saying that for months now”, he was frustrated.

She ignored his words like always. 

He was right. They hadn’t had sex for at least five months now and it was starting to gain on Harrison. Their marriage, which had been ‘couple goals’ according to the internet, was now slowly falling apart. It was clear that Y/N was falling out of love but she couldn’t find grounds for it. She couldn’t reason it by making him the villain because he was a good man who, in theory, had done nothing wrong. Though, to her, it felt like he had. Maybe he didn’t love her enough or maybe all had gone astray when they had lost their baby last year.

“Will Tom be there?” his words felt like venom, entering her bloodstream.

She placed her hand on her forehead, trying to indicate that she did not want to have this conversation or the inevitable fight, again.

“Of course he will be there, he is my co-star. You should get off the internet, it’s feeding you poison”, she said in an almost nonchalant way. Trying her best not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction to his name. His name, which did not mean anything to her. Tom was her colleague whom the internet liked to ship her with, but he was just a friend. Haz found it hard to believe this because the internet told him so. Their relationship was so far gone that he had no other way of knowing what was going on in her life. 

His wife was so far gone. She was as distant as the sun is from the moon. The distance left coldness between them. The kind of cold that you feel when you pass a stranger. She was a stranger to him and the only reason he could think of was that she and Tom were having an affair. This was not true, but the ache in his soul found comfort in painting Tom as the villain. 

“I don’t believe you”, Haz spat out.

She threw her heels inside the suitcase in anger. “What do you not believe? That Tom is my co-star? Is that what you don’t believe?” her voice was louder than before.

“I don’t trust him.” Haz matched her voice.

“Do you trust me?”

Trust? Her? How can I trust a stranger?

It was his turn to ignore her.

She zipped her bag, put on her shoes, and left the room. “Fuck you”, she cried before slamming their apartment door and leaving for London.

--

Y/N had first met Tom at a cast and crew dinner in New York, six months ago. Greta, the director, had invited both her and Haz but he had decided to opt-out of the ‘fancy’ dinner. Y/N was excited to meet her new co-stars and mark the starting of a new project, a new phase in her life.

It was cold in New York, she figured she shouldn’t wear a dress. She put on black stockings underneath blue bell-bottoms to keep her warm. She wore a dark grey American Eagles t-shirt and over that, a tan leather trench coat. She liked commuting via subway because she believed ‘nobody gives two shits about who is sitting next to them on the train’; and a town car was much slower, especially when it had been snowing. She stuffed her heels in her purse and wore her commuting shoes.

Tribeca to West Village was a good ten minutes train. Her travel was mostly uninterrupted except for the catcalls which felt like the usual to a native. Just before ringing Greta’s doorbell, she got out of her Converse and wore her heels.

Y/N entered a packed house. Almost everyone was there and she was late. But someone was to arrive even later than her. She examined the room, everyone was mingling with each other. She didn’t know anybody there except Noah Baumbach from the time she auditioned for ‘marriage story’. She didn’t get the part but still loved the movie. She realized Tom was missing.  

Greta pulled her into a conversation about when the production of the movie would start or something like that. She wasn’t really paying attention. She was so eager to meet Tom that her eyes couldn’t stop roaming around the room, trying to find him, and just when she thought he wouldn’t show up, he did. 

Everybody’s head turned towards him when he entered the living room. It was as if every person in the room wanted him, including her. His dark brown hair, falling into place like a domino, had snowflakes in them.

“Excuse me”, Greta gave a small smile to Y/N and walked over to Tom. She greeted him and politely touched his back. “Now that everyone is here we should take the party to the dining hall”, she said in a loud and cheerful tone.

Following Greta, everyone started moving towards the dining hall. Tom sat right across Y/N on the grand dining table. “Hi, I’m Tom”, he introduced himself in his thick British accent. “And he’s English”, Y/N said, adding to her list of things she found captivating about Tom.  

“And?” Tom gave her a confused look.

Shit. I said it out loud.

“I-I mean hi, I’m Y/N”, she tried to cover up her mistake.

His dark brown eyes on her, made her thoughts run wild. It was wrong enough to feel right. The dinner was served and small groups of conversations were taking place. Somehow the whole table took on the topic of bisexuality. Y/N felt obligated to take part in the conversation, being part of the community herself. 

“I think bisexuality is a gateway to being gay”, Tom said to the whole table.

“You’re being bi-phobic, Tom”, Y/N called him out. All eyes were on her now.

“And how do you know that?” Tom asked Y/N.

“Because I am bisexual, and any decent human being would know that”

“Are you calling me indecent?”

“No, I’m calling you bi-phobic”

“But aren’t you married to a guy?”

“That doesn’t change my sexual orientation, and you’re being bi-phobic. Again.” There was silence, everyone was listening carefully. 

“Okay, so please explain to me how I’m being bi-phobic?”

“Just the fact that you believe bisexuality is a gateway to being gay and me being married to a guy, means my bisexual card has been revoked, portray your biphobia”

“I am a little confused”, Tom said while reaching for his wine glass. 

“Someone who is bisexual is attracted to both men as well as women. It isn’t a gateway to being gay, it is a legit sexuality of its own”, 

“Hmm, I suppose I stand corrected. I’m sorry if I offended you or anyone. I will go home, do the research and try to be more open-minded”, said Tom, smiling.

“Good”, Y/N said, feeling accomplished and impressed by Tom’s ability to accept his mistake.

Haz would have never accepted that he was wrong.

Y/N felt wonderstruck. Blushing all the way home. She hoped Tom knew how enchanting it was for her to meet him. She wondered if someone was waiting for him at home, like someone was waiting for her. She wasn’t quite sure whether Haz was waiting for her to reach home or not.

She reached home to an empty bed. Not knowing what to make of it, she got ready to sleep. 2 AM and Haz was still not home. She didn’t try to reach him because she knew all phone calls would go straight to voice message and all messages would go unreplied. She closed her eyes, feeling indifferent towards Haz. Even in her sleep, her mind echoed Tom’s name. She was unaware of the treacherous road ahead of her. And that gave her comfort. His thought gave her comfort.

[theyanderespecialist]

A Sinful Voice 1 (One Shot) Cajun Accented Human Alastor X Crossdresser Mark

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS Hello sexies another Cajun alastorwe hope you all enjoy this as well as it is with crossdresser mark again enjoy!]

(no one's pov)

A man sat down, glancing around. Why there were so many people here..it was clear he was uncomfortable, the only reason he was here, he needed to get the Police off his tail. he watched as a 'woman' walked out as the music started

"Gee I'm awful lonesome,

I need company,

'Cause I've turned my sweetie down,

For he's been cheatin' on me

Now I'm by my ownsome,

An' I'm thinkin'of;

I'm just lookin' round for a new sweetie,

I want somebody to love

Won't somebody hear my plea?

I'll be sweet as I can see

I wanna good man,

And I want him bad

If you crave endearing charms,

I can fill your empty arms

I wanna good man,

And I want him bad" the singer continued with the band playing as the men and a few women watched.

"To take a chance

In love's romance,

Now that's right where I shine

For love indeed

Is what I need,

Affection is my line

In my plea, for goodness sake,

Won't someone give me a break?

I wanna good man,

And I want him bad" the song continued as the man looked up from his drink.

"If you're poor or if you're rich,

Strong or weak, I don't care which

I love to have a good man,

And I need him so bad

If you're hot or if you're cold,

I don't care if you're young or old,

I'd even take one ninety three,

But I want him so bad

Now look at me;

You will see

I'm very very real!" They stopped looking at the crowd. "Well...mostly." they laughed at their own joke as the room laughed as well. "Don't have the dough

Of Sarah Bow,

But lots more neck appeal

Now's your chance, men, hear me say,

"This may be your lucky day!".

I wanna good man,

And I want him bad

Say, I still own

A country home,

'Way from noise and fuss;

A little love nest,

A place to rest,

The rest is up to us

Here I am, make up your mind," they then make a quotation mark with their hands at the next part.

" "Girls" like me are hard to find

I wanna good man,

And I want him so bad" they finish the song as the room clapped as they smiled. "Aw you are all so nice. You all make a girl feel important...well and a boy too." They said

Laughing as they walked off the stage as Alastor hasn't blinked, only just blinking now with the burning pain.

(So Alastor was worried the police suspected him..so..his alibi is a gay underground club?)

(Not the best al XD)

(well I mean they got some great music)

She or he had been the most beautiful person he ever met and his brain was processing what he just saw

He watched as they came over, another person beside them.

"You think the police will raid again?"

"Oh I hope not. I'm starting to feel whatever money I'm making, going straight to bailing myself out. Look at me, 'a danger to society' is what they call me. Like I'm harming anyone. I mean god, if I end up in prison I'm dead. I won't survive."

"I know you wouldn't."

"You're not supposed to agree-- we should have stayed in Canada. I mean we get our papers and what do you know, the first state we visit? Jail. Then we get out." They walk next to alastor not paying attention, focusing on their own conversation.

"Then jail, again and then we get out and suddenly there a killer..." The other one said as the brunette sat right beside Alastor, he could smell that perfume. It wasn't like the chemical smell, it was.. similar to the one his mother would sometimes wear in fancy occasions

(he just.. He really just compared to his mother..)

(XD)

It made him visibly relax and he had to look at the brunettes in detail

He looked at her, well him, it was a man, the fave shape although very feminine did have a more masculine shape, the hair was definitely his, it was all together, there was not a single strand out of place. His makeup complimented his eyes and his sun kissed skin--

"Oh sorry, are we making you uncomfortable?" The other one asked. "Huh--" "you know talking about the serial killer going around--" "John, I'm sure the man wasn't even paying attention. Why don't you go fix your makeup?" "Rude Mark, rude, you always want the cute ones" he said as he walked off leaving the two.

"Don't mind John. He can get that way, I'm Mark, say you look pretty uncomfortable, something tells me you didn't come here to see men in stockings and women in suits."

(Alastor pov)

My heart began to race and I had to put my hand on it. "Naw I never pay my mind to the to sex really. I just hear the music was good, you know Mawn Ange?" I say.

I see him stop before he smiled. "I know what you mean, normally I'd say you and every other man in here, but I can tell you're telling the truth..the music used to be much better..but some of our musicians are still in jail." He said looking at me. "..I'd like to see you here again though, I think if you appreciate music, you'll like it here"

And we'll..that's how I became a regular, I found out so much more about him. He was born to a large family, wants one of his own, left home due to differing opinions if jobs and sexuality but is slowly regaining a relationship with his mother, he's never been out of Quebec before this, he is very sensory, when talking to him he just plays with his jackets fur. And he seemed to always have something in his mouth. Gum, unlit cigarette since he apparently doesn't smoke really ever but it's something to put in his mouth, and that he has a fan that's getting a little too handsy.. and I feel he should be more forceful about getting him to stop, but I'm sure mark is just to m

Much a pacifist to really stop it..my dear little far - mine? ..I suppose..I wanted him to be mine.

(Oh he's close to snapping yasss)

(YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS)

I could not stop thinking about him or dreaming about him he consumed every second of my life and I needed him. I was in love. I had trouble killing without seeing him first to make sure he was safe. I watched as Mark left as I see the man as I glare as I grabbed him, dragging him behind into the alleyway as I stabbed him before he shoved me back, running away when I hear heels. A double murder.. well isn't that eventful--

"I-I can't believe I left my purse back there, I don't even have the keys for the front do--oh my god!"

"You gotta run! The devil of new Orleans it's him he--" I hear a thud as I ran out to see Mark.

"No no no no no you're going to be okay you're-- oh my god.."he muttered, his hands holding the man's wound when he noticed me.

(oh no..oh mark Mark) do you have to care about other people and try and save them from their wounds? Why cant you have self preservation and run

He stared at me. "pl-Please just let me save him...." He says staring at me and I smirked oh sweet mark your kind heart has led you right into my arms~

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS Another chapter done we hope you all enjoyed and stay sexy!]

[overheardatthecontinental]

Part of the Endlessly collection that describes the endless possible meetings of Helen and John Wick. Can be read as a standalone.

When Helen realizes she'll have to drop out of med school after spending all her life's savings on her sick mother, she reaches a new level of desperate. With the help of her roommate, Helen creates an online account to get set up with a sugar daddy. Enter John Wick.

AKA the sugar baby! Helen / sugar daddy! John au that absolutely nobody asked for

Helen Kingston stared into the mirror. She was wearing enough makeup to hide the fact she hadn’t slept the night before and a little black dress she hadn’t touched since college. She had to admit, she didn’t look terrible. Even fifteen years later, the dress still clung to her curves and made her feel attractive.

But there were laugh lines around her eyes when she smiled and her skin didn’t look as tight as it had once been.

“Don’t men want younger women? Clear-skinned undergraduates or twenty-somethings with huge tits?”

“You’d be surprised .” Mac, her best friend had said after suggesting it. “It’s not about sex.”

Helen had snorted at that. It was always about sex.

“I’m serious! Some of these guys are just lonely. Some of them are gay and looking for a beard. And some just want to make it look like they have their lives together without actually having to have a relationship. ”

Helen wondered, not for the first time if this was not still a form of prostitution. Selling herself, her time and, for appearances' sake, her body.

But she was going to lose her apartment if she couldn’t pay rent. She would have to drop out of med school and go back to working full-time in a pharmacy. It had taken her years to save enough money to go to graduate school and all of it had been lost in the space of six months.

MacKenzie had interfered, as she so often did, insisting that she couldn’t handle three more years of med school without her friend.

Then Mac had said, “I know about this service. It pairs women with rich men and it pays ridiculously well. It’s how I managed to pay for undergrad.”

“I’m not going to fuck someone to stay in school. It isn’t worth it to me.”

Mac had rolled her eyes, “The fucking is optional. Most of the time, it’s not even on the table.”

She had continued to insist that she wasn’t interested until Mac pulled up the site and showed Helen the listings. “You get a grand for a single date, Hel.”

“Fuck me.” Helen had sat down at the computer, “ You’re kidding me?”

“Nope. And that’s just the initial meeting. Technically, you only get $900. The site gets a 10% commission off of whatever you make. And there’s no contract at the first meeting. If you don’t like the guy, you still get 9-hundos for two hours of your time.”

And for a woman who hadn’t had a full meal in weeks… that was ridiculously appealing.

So she let Mac set her up a profile and was shocked at the requests for meetings that came in.

“If I just took five initial meetings, I could make $4,500.”

“Possibly more, depending on the guy. I’m telling you, I had this regular guy in college who paid me extra for exclusive rights. I got two grand a week on top of money for individual dates.”

Helen exhales in the mirror. She looks as good as she is going to, she thinks, before grabbing her purse and slipping on her high heels shoes. Grabbing the keys to her POS car, she heads out.

It’s an hour drive into the city and to the restaurant he had picked.

His name was John.

There was no picture posted but his age was listed as early-forties.

If his description were honest, which she doubted, he had black medium length hair, brown eyes, and a beard. He selected ‘average’ for build and his height was listed at 6’1. His employment is listed as ‘contractor’, whatever the hell that meant.

He had sent her a polite request for a meeting.

Unlike so many of the other requests she had received, he did not wax poetic about her looks nor did he include any torrid ideas about what he wanted to do to her.

It was simple, respectful, and to the point. He proposed a time and a place and offered to send a car, which she declined. She still wasn’t sure that she trusted the service and, despite the cost of gas, she had just enough to get her there. And, once at the restaurant, $900 would be wired to her account.

She arrived early enough to park in a lot that stopped charging after six pm and Helen walked the rest of the way to the restaurant.

Maybe, she thinks as her anxiety builds with every step, that this was a bad idea.

Mac knew where she was so, hopefully, she wouldn't be murdered but...

Oh god�� she could get murdered.

Well, at least that would take care of her debt.

She took her phone as she walked and shot off a text to Mac. "If I die, I'm haunting you."

She started to slip it back in her purse but it began ringing.

It's Mac.

"What?"

"You're not going to die."

"It's a possibility." The restaurant was in sight. "I'm strangely not that concerned. Either I die or I don't."

"That's the spirit."

"That said, if I end the night in someone's trunk, I blame you for getting me into this."

"Are you alive when you're put in this dude's trunk?"

"That's an interesting game you pose. Schroedinger's' Helen. Dead and alive in the trunk."

She heard a snort and glanced up. A man stood by the front of the restaurant with a smirk on his face.

He was tall and handsome and that smirk should be illegal. In a three-piece black suit, he looked like he just stepped off the cover of GQ.

"I don't get it."

"Well, I'm sorry it went over your head, but I assure you, I'm very funny."

The man's smirk transformed into a full grin and… fuck.

Helen looked away so as not to flush under his gaze. She reminded herself that she is there to meet someone who is paying very well for her time.

"You're really not." Mac told her but she barely listening.

Mister Tall-dark-and-handsome was making his way over.

"Helen Kingston?" He asked.

And...fuck.

"John?" She replied, hoping she was wrong. Hoping that the attractive man she just talked about being murdered and thrown into someone's trunk in front of is not the man she is going on a date with.

But he nodded and Helen decided she is, indeed, fucked.

"Ohmigod is that him?"

"If it would bring you and your friend comfort, I can assure you that you won't end up in my trunk."

Her goal to not flush in front of the attractive man was lost. Her face was red as she murmured a quick goodbye to Mac and stuffed her phone away.

"Hi," She said, lost and unsure of how to proceed.

He looked younger than his forties but it appeared as though he was mostly honest.

He had shoulder-length black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were brown and soft. In fact, the only argument she could think of was that he was anything but average. Even under layers, she could make out a trim and toned body.

This wasn't an ugly rich man who struggled to meet women.

Her first thought goes to beard. Is he hiding the fact he's gay and looking to keep his secret covered?

She can't think of another reason that he couldn't get a date. Unless he was a tremendous ass but her gut said that wasn't the case.

"Hello." He greeted back.

“Any chance you’d be willing to start over?” Helen asked hopefully.

“We could, but I think it would be a shame to not speak about Shrodinger’s Helen.”

Helen ran a hand through her hair. It was a fair blow but she still finds herself turning pink yet again.

John offered his arm, “Let me get you a drink.”

Helen takes it, “Yes. Please.”

They walk inside and John gives his name. Immediately, they are brought to a private corner of the dining room, far away from prying ears.

John held out the chair for her and Helen wondered if she wasn't in over her head with the kind of lifestyle that includes candlelit dinners and wine lists.

The waiter recited the specials and John ordered a bottle of wine which could not come fast enough.

Helen could still feel the burn in her cheeks as she glanced through the menu. She had never been to a restaurant before that didn’t include their prices next to the item in question. That, along with thorough descriptions of each item, made her think that the restaurant was far bougie-r than she had initially thought.

It was a good thing John was paying.

The waiter came back and poured them each a glass and she itched to down in a single gulp. But she didn’t, allowing the waiter to take their orders and leave before reaching for the glass.

Helen took a large sip and was aware that she was under the scrutiny of her date. He gazed at her with something akin to wonder or curiosity. It was far more intimidating than she had imagined, sitting at her computer.

“Relax.” John said, picking up his own wine glass, “You have the control here.”

Helen exhaled. Damn right.

“I think it’s obvious I haven’t done this before.”

“It’s okay. Neither have I.”

That surprised her. “Really?”

He nodded his head, once. “This is a first for me.”

“Can I ask… why now?”

“You can ask whatever you like. And to be honest, I don’t date. It’s never been a priority for me, but my work often requires attending social and formal events. I usually don’t mind attending alone but I’m getting tired of colleagues trying to set me up.”

And… it’s excessive to be sure, but practical. Helen knew she wasn’t in any place to judge but she had still been expecting someone… older, unattractive, and unpleasant.  

“So you’re looking for someone to attend events with?”

“More or less. Were you interested, I would want to spend some time and get to know you beforehand.”  

Again, practical.

What she did not understand was why he had reached out to her . There were plenty of other women on the site, Mac for instance, who had experience in that world. Mac knew how to waltz and curtsy and be proper. A practiced set of niceties that came from growing up with money.

Helen did not have those skills. Or any skills that seemed applicable to the world of wealthy men.

“I admit that I don’t have much experience with formalities.”

“I saw on your profile.” He said, appearing largely unaffected.

“Then why me? There are plenty of other women who specialize in that kind of world.”

“Anyone can figure out which fork to use. But not everyone has read Camus and Kierkegaard and Sartre. Not everyone can make jokes about being locked in a trunk and compare it to Shrodinger.”

Helen blinked, her lips twitching in a small grin, “You picked me because I like existentialism?”

“Because I thought that anyone who lists Camus as their favorite author would be able to hold a decent conversation.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s a guarantee.” Helen fired back. “Perhaps I’m just a narcissist. I am in med school, after all.”

John grinned widely, “Well, then, at least this will be interesting. What year are you in?”

“My second. Two and a half more to go before residency.”

“And what did you do before?”

“I was, and am, a pharmacy tech. It paid well and it gave me some medical experience while I saved for med school. Unfortunately, I ran into some financial issues and I really don’t have another ten years to save before I start over.”

John nodded, “May I ask about what happened?”

There was no reason, she decided, to not put everything out on the table. “My mother got sick just after I started med school. Cancer. I supported her the best I could but after paying for treatments out of pocket, I had blown through my savings within a couple months. Between that and school payments, I quickly ended up in over my head.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. It must have been very frightening to have your life altered so drastically, so quickly.”

“It was.” Helen agreed, “I’ve always known that anything can happen at any time but it was the first time I really felt my entire life slip from my control.”

“Is that how you ended up here?”

On the site. At the restaurant. Not a judgment, just an assessment.

“Yes. I’m a bit short on school payments and Mac, my roommate, suggested this as a solution.”

He nodded and Helen reached for her wine again.

Thankfully, John turned the subject to simpler things and she exhaled in relief. “Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”

“Yes. Ever since I was a kid, I knew I wanted to be a doctor.”

“Area of specialty?”

“Honestly, I’d like to work in a trauma ward or an emergency room.”

And for whatever reason, that made him smile. “Fast-paced.”

“I’ve waited a long time to make it to med school. I don’t want to waste any more time.” She offered a small smile in return, “What do you do?”

“I’m an independent contractor,” John told her.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever needs to be done.”

Helen inclined her head, “Are you always so elusive or is this just a first meeting kind of thing?”

“My work is… complicated,” John said, thoughtfully.

“Is that a polite way of saying illegal?”

His lips twitched and his eyes seemed to shine.

Helen flushed, "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate. Sometimes, when I'm sleep deprived, I don't think before I speak."

"That was delightful," John argued, "please don't feel like you need to hold back, however, you said you're sleep deprived?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "usually. Work, school, and homework tend to take more hours than there is time in the day. But don't think I haven't noticed that you still have not answered my question."

John continued to stare at her, assessing. And then, just when she thought he would elude her again, he answered with a simple, "Yes."

Helen gave him a nod but remained silent as the waiter returned with their salads.

"How do you feel about that?" John asked as the waiter left them in their private corner again.

"It requires less effort to condemn than to think.

And John grinned a full, true smile that made her heart skip a beat.

"Emma Goldman."

"I think I butchered her words, but I believe it just the same."

"Tell me, sweet Helen, are you an anarchist?"

It was unfair, she decided, the way he could make her cheeks burn.

"I am not sure I fully align with any political thought. I'll admit that anarchy has its merits, but laws have their place."

"Laws can be confining."

"They can but, since we have yet to find a system that works, majority rule is the best we have."

"Unless you take into account the collective stupidity of mankind, in which case, majority rule can be just as harmful as anything."

"But what would you have to replace it? Rules are necessary, a contract is required."

"Rules or consequences?" He seemed genuinely interested in her opinion and it completely threw her from the small talk she had anticipated.

By the time their dinner had arrived, Helen had forgotten that it wasn't a real date. That their meeting was not chance but an arrangement.

She was more than full after her meal, feeling as though she would burst. She ordered dessert only for the sake of lengthening their conversation, which stemmed from politics to philosophy to art.

John was… brilliant. Utterly brilliant and completely captivating and… not what she had planned for.

He walked her to her car, even though she warned him it was blocks away. He carried her leftovers in one hand while the other rested at her lower back.

Anyone who saw them might think they were an actual couple.

It made her heartstrings ache because… they weren't a couple. This wasn't a real date.

As if she had time for such luxuries.

All too soon, they reached her car and Helen put the leftovers in the front seat before turning back to John.

"I had a wonderful time with you tonight."

Helen swallowed, noting his proximity. "I had a great time too."

"And I would like to see you again. My only concern," John said after a moment, "is timing. You already have work, school, and obligations that come from your studies. I worry that time spent with me would be subtracted from your sleep."

Helen flushed and tried to not let the disappointment show on her face.

He was wonderful. Smart and funny and a perfect gentleman. Perhaps the most handsome man she had ever gone out with.

But she understood.

She came with too much baggage.

He needed someone with fewer commitments, someone better suited to his needs.

"I understand." She said, looking down. "Thank you for a lovely evening."

"I think you misunderstand," and John stepped closer and caught her chin in his hand and angled her face upward, his dark eyes staring into hers. "I have a proposal for you and I hope, in offering such, that I do not come across as if I'm trying to manipulate you or your life. You still hold all the cards and still have the opportunity to walk away if you desire."

It was hard to breathe with him so close. He smelled like whiskey and cologne and it made her salivate.

"What's your proposal?"

God, he stood so close to her now.

“I know that my situation is less than ideal. What I do,” which he still had not told her, “is highly illegal. Many of my associates are criminals, even if they are widely respected. Between the time constraints and the subpar company, I know I ask a lot. In return, I would like you to consider allowing me to play for the rest of your schooling.”

Her lips parted in shock.

“And expenses. So you don’t have to work instead of sleep.”

Her head felt light because… this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She feels his cool hand touch jaw before cupping her cheek.

“I know it’s a lot to consider.” John says softly, “And I don’t want you to answer now. I want you to think about it. If possible, sleep on it.”

Her lips twitch in a smile.

“I would like to kiss you.”

Fuck. Me. She thinks and then nods, “Then you should kiss me.”

John bends down, obliging her, and presses his lips to hers.

And she can’t describe it. It’s not fireworks because that would be too distracting. Music doesn’t start playing somewhere in the background but it doesn’t need to.

His mouth is warm and soft and… claiming. God, it feels like she is being branded by his lips.

And her heart is racing as if it suddenly understands why kissing other people had never felt right. Because this was right. Kissing John was right.

All too soon, it’s over. And when her eyes open, they are staring into his.

She thinks although she isn’t sure, that he doesn’t want to leave it at this either. But he moves back slightly.

“You know how to reach me,” John says, pressing a final kiss to her forehead. “Drive safe, sweet Helen.”

And he walks away, heading back down the street towards the restaurant.

Her hand rises and she brushes her lips with her fingers.

She is in far over her head.

[artificialqueens]

Bad Mood (Trixya) - DenDenMonMon

Of Lovers, Friends and Everything in Between. Part 8.- Oral Sex

Title: Bad Mood Category: M/M Summary: Trixie is about to find out the curative properties of Katya’s oral skills. Notes: On the original challenge there were two number 45 entries, I almost did both, but finally decided to pick this one. Please remember that this is a work of fiction and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. Once again, female pronouns are used when they are in drag. Written: May 16th, 2020 - July 16th, 2020 (Honestly, it took me this long to finish this because stan twitter, and its cancel culture, made it hard for me to enjoy writing Trixya. Someone said it was easier if we thought of them as fictional characters within the fanfiction side of the fandom, and that made it so much easier. So now I’m back, back, back again!)

Bad Mood

I don’t think I have ever been happier in my entire life.

This is it. This is what I was born to do. This is me. This is who I am, Trixie Mattel.

Standing on the center of the stage, I line up with my sisters. We hold hands, lift them up in the air and take a bow. The crowd goes wild, the gays go insane. The yelling, the screaming, the clapping, the loud music, there’s nothing in the world that I like to hear more than that. The sweating, the foot pain, the tight clothes, those are things I could very easily live without; but it’s only a small price to pay.

As soon as we are allowed to leave the stage, I take my wig off. By the time I reach the last step of the ladder, my dress is already unzipped. I stumble with my own feet as I try to walk and undress at the same time. My body bounces between the wall and my friends. It’s fun and it makes me laugh hysterically.

We reach the dressing rooms, and I open mine with a loud scream, a scream filled with joy, laughter and pure happiness. Adrenaline runs through by veins, making my whole body pulse to the rhythm of my bloodstream.

Long fingers wrap around my arms and I recognize the owner right away.

“Bitch!” Maybe it’s out of pure excitement, maybe it’s because her ears are still buzzing, but Katya stops me and yells right to my face. “That was our best show yet!” She screams through bright red lips. Even when I’m halfway through the process of de-dragging, she’s still living her whole woman fantasy, and I’m sure we will leave this venue with her still in full drag.

Both her hands land on my shoulders and she shakes me, trying to physically make me understand her words. I let her. My body goes limp and I allow her to treat me like a rag doll. She laughs, I laugh. We look into each other’s eyes and the laughter turns louder. I can’t stop myself, my arms go around her and I pull her into a tight hug. This is so unlike me. If there’s anything that I can’t stand is physical contact like this and, here I am, breaking all my rules and initiating a hug.

Katya’s energy is contagious, I can feel my inner batteries recharging the longer I hug her. Unfortunately, our moment is interrupted when security knocks on the open door, saying that someone is looking for her. The sparkle in her eye is something that I’m familiar with, and the side smile taking over her entire face is the last confirmation I need.

The bitch is about to have sex.

I see her padded ass swaying as she exits the room, leaving me alone in the poorly lit room. It’s cozy, it’s cute. I like it. I’m even humming to myself as I take my makeup off.

Just when I’m about done, I see people rushing past my door. I go out, trying to see what’s the commotion about, and I crash into Alaska in the hallway. She is really in a hurry.

“Trix, come on!” She says pulling me by the arm.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Remember those guys that met us at the airport?” I nod as she starts walking. “Well, Katya brough one backstage. They are doing it in her dressing room.” A giggle interrupts her every other word, because this whole thing sounds ridiculous. We all know Katya sleeps with fans, why is it such big news now?

We reach a bunch of people, all pushing each other and giggling like little kids. The door is opened just a crack, and they are all trying to look through it.

“Move, move,” Alaska makes way for us to reach the front and my heart stops.

Katya looks beautiful, so beautiful. That’s the first thing that registers in my brain. Her blonde hair falls like a courtine covering part of her face, making everything feel almost mysterious. She’s on her knees, her shoes thrown to the side. The naked guy she’s sucking is the last thing I notice. All I can think of is how sexy she looks. She’s all woman, pleasuring a guy who seems to be fully enjoying it. He is grunting, and breathing heavily. His fingers tangle in her wig and she moans loudly with him deep in her mouth.

This is… wrong. We shouldn’t be watching. We shouldn’t be here. We should be getting ready to go. I look around and see that most of the queens are, either still in drag, or wearing their normal clothes with a full face on. We are never leaving this place. I just wanna go.

“You guys, we should get going,” I try to call their attention, remind them we have a bus to catch. All I get is booing as they shove me away from the door.

Fine.

I don’t even want to see that anyway. They are clearly showing off. There’s no way they don’t know people are watching, they are putting on a show. Nobody makes those noises. Katya can’t possibly be that good, can she?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I just wanna leave here. This dressing room area is hot and dirty, and I want out. My own room is tiny, and overheated. There are no fans or ventilation. The more I look around the place, the less I like it. The chairs have stains and so does the carpet. Gross. The room is dirty, who knows how many people have been here before me. And it’s messy, my stuff is thrown everywhere, picking it all up is gonna take forever.

Before anything, I need to get rid of the rest of these uncomfortable clothes. Being in drag is the absolute worst. Everything hurt. Everything smells. It’s disgusting. Moments like this make me wonder why I even picked this line of work. As I take everything off and throw it in its place, I remember how easy my life used to be working at the MAC counter. Simpler times.

It takes me a few minutes, but I finally get everything in the suitcases and ready to go. My face is still stained but it will go away once I shower. I walk out with my backpack on, ready to leave. Since, clearly, nobody is going to listen to me, I grab all my stuff and wheel the suitcases to the bus. The driver seems surprised to see me here by myself, still he rushes to my side and helps me with my stuff. He doesn’t disturb me as I sit alone, looking at my phone. He lets me be for as long as it takes for everybody else to get here. It feels as if days have passed before the small space is filled with loud laughter, yelling and screaming. Just like I predicted, Katya still looks… like Katya. Her lipstick is perfectly applied on her lips, and I have a million questions running through my head. Did she reapply it? What brand is it? Did it endure the sucking of a dick?

“But you ate his whole ass!” Someone shouts. I don’t register who when my full attention is focused on her flawless lips.

She shrugs a shoulder. “You know I love eating a good ass,” she says so casually, so easily; but then she can’t hold it any longer and burst out laughing. Her cool exterior cracks to let her goofy self be seen.

They are still talking about that guy’s ass when she sits next to me. I don’t wanna deal with that right now, so I close my eyes. Nobody notices I’m pretending and nobody bothers me. It’s hard to sleep on a bus, or a plane, or a hotel. Anywhere that is not my own bed, basically. My back hurts all the time, and the corsets I need for my different outfits just make everything worse. Putting and taking off my makeup, without giving my skin a day to breathe, is making me break out. There’s nothing I hate more than that, than this whole thing. Days and nights have no difference when all you see is the inside of a bus, crowded with the same faces, as it takes you from venue to venue, from airports to the next crappy hotel.

And that’s how the next week passes.

After several cities without a day off, I just feel tired, more than usual. My mood just keeps getting worse the more time I spend on this suspension of reality.

Honestly, I don’t even know where we are right now. All I know is that we have a full day here; then we have to catch a plane and start the Asian leg of the tour. I’m just glad that we get to rest. That’s the reason why I go straight to my hotel room as soon as the show is over.

The shower head has horrible pressure so I take as little time in there as possible, just enough to wash all the sweat away and get rid of the traces of makeup. When I walk out of the bathroom, wearing a pajama set that hasn’t seen a washing machine in weeks, I’m shocked to see Katya sitting on the bed.

“Geez, Brian, don’t they know about knocking in Boston?” I roll my eyes as I walk past her. Her. The whole woman that is Katya Zamolodchikova. The use of her actual name, of the man that lives underneath all the layers of hair and makeup, slips out in pure annoyance.

“Okay, enough.” She stands up, anger is visible in her features.

She kicks her heels off and her shoulders square up. Is she going to hit me? This wouldn’t be the first time a woman kicks my ass. I have never been punched by a drag queen before, though.

“Whip it out,” she orders, a long red nail points in the direction of my pants.

“What?” I ask, confused.

Her shoulders drop, and an exasperated sigh leaves her lips. “Take it out. You have been insufferable since you saw me sucking that guy’s dick, whip it out so I can suck yours.”

Out of instinct, my hands go down to cover my crotch. “Wha- No! You are insane.”

“Trix, okay, listen. Everybody has commented how you have been impossible to be around. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad news, but it is the truth, Mary. Now, they don’t know what caused it, but I know you and, bitch, you gotta get a grip!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My hand waves in front of her, dismissing her whole speech.

I try to walk away, put some distance between us.

“You are jealous.” Just like that, she stops me. Not physically, she’s still standing on the other end of the bed, but her words stop me cold.

“You need to leave.” The sentence, laced with anger, escapes me before I can think.

She walks to me, slowly, padded hips swaying with each step. She throws her synthetic hair back in one swift motion. I’m frozen in place, hypnotized by the femenine moves.

Her hand goes up to my chest, she doesn’t do anything, just rests her hand against my racing heart.

“Let me do it,” she whispers. Her face is so close to mine that I can detect the smell of coffee on her breath. “I want to do it. Do you want me to do it?” Her hand slides down, gently, caressing. “Do you want me to do it?” she repeats, in a serious tone this time. She’s actually asking for my permission.

I look deep into her eyes, those endless pools of emotion, framed by fake lashes. “You are a woman,” I blurt out.

A side smile takes over her face. “You have never been with a girl before?” She’s back to playful, a seductress that knows exactly how to play the game.

“I’m gay.” My mouth expels the words without asking my brain’s approval.

This time she laughs, loudly. “Bitch, I know that. And I also know that you need this. We need to do this so the world can have peace again. Please, God.” She makes a pause. Her free hand reaches the hem of her dress. “If you need a reminder of what I really am, I can show you my dick too.”

Once again, faster than my thoughts, my body reacts. I take hold of her wrist and stop her. “No. Don’t. I want Katya. I want Katya to do it.”

She doesn’t need an explanation, she knows exactly what I need, what I’m asking for. She doesn’t have to be told twice. This is the green light she was waiting for. We are doing this. Finally. No matter how hard I’ve tried to deny it. It doesn’t matter for how long I’ve tried to push the fantasy at the very back of my mind; it has always been exactly that, a fantasy. I have dreamed and daydreamed about being with her for a long time. At first it was about him, about Brian. The idea of being with someone so experienced always made me curious. Katya is so sexy, so sensual, that adding her to the mix just made sense.

Her lips land on the corner of my mouth, it’s quick and tender. My hand immediately goes up, to touch the spot. She’s by now kissing my chin, then my neck. The butterfly kisses continue as she makes her way down. No traces of lipstick are left behind. I seriously need to at least know the brand she’s using, it really is not coming off at all.

My thoughts are brought to a halt when her mouth reaches the waistband of my pants. She looks up, dark eyes piercing mine. She’s asking one more time if this is okay, and I can’t do anything but nod.

What happens after that is a blur. I feel the cool air hitting my legs, then I lift one foot at the time under her command as she removes my pants. The blonde wig gets closer and closer to my crotch. I can feel Katya’s hand on me and my eyes roll back. She takes me into her mouth. Her lips are soft, softer than I remember them. They feel so good around me. My head snaps back when I feel them on my pelvis. Like, even when I don’t like talking about it, I know I’m big, and she just took me all in.

My eyes grow wide, my mouth opens and an inhuman sound comes out from the back of my throat. I look down, my face most likely contorted in shock. The complete opposite to hers. She wiggles her eyebrows with her lips around my dick. The bitch knows what she’s doing, she knows her ability is impressive and will brag about it, even if it’s just through her stare. And I’m about to get the whole experience.

Katya’s moves are easy at first. She takes me in and out of her mouth at a slow pace. Her hand holds me by the base as she relaxes her throat and pushes me all the way in. She sucks me hard, before letting me go with a heavy exhale. Her tongue goes around the head a few times, then she’s licking up and down my length. And I’m feeling all of this since my eyes seem unable to remain open. But I want to see her. I want to get the full picture, a picture that will replace the mental images of her I use to jerk off to.

One of her hands goes between my thighs, opening them a bit wider. Next thing I feel is her head moving between my legs, licking my asshole. She releases me for just a second and, just like that, she’s behind me. Her palms land on each of my buttcheeks. “Oh, God,” she sighs against my skin. “I love to eat a clean ass.” I feel her hot breath first, and her tongue second. My senses are overloaded, making me feel everything at once. Her lips, her tongue, her hot mouth on my ass; the blonde hair tickling my legs, her hand still pumping me. It’s all too much.

It takes only a few seconds before I can’t take it anymore. My knees give out and I feel myself falling forward.

“Woah, there,” she lets out as she catches me. Her hands find my stomach as Katya pushes me back, preventing me from falling but, at the same time, pressing her face against my butt.

Without giving me a moment to recollect myself, she’s already back at eating my ass. “Wa-wait.” I try to stop her, but talking and breathing and feeling at the same time seems impossible. “I need to - just… give me a second.” With shaky legs I walk to an armchair and, more than sitting down, I drop myself on the cushion with a heavy sigh.

In the background, I can hear her laughing and the rustling of fabric as she stands up. “That good, huh?”

Mumbling is all I can do to answer her rhetorical question. Because she’s right, she is simply that good. Only a few minutes with her and I’m already at her mercy. I can’t even see straight, the whole room is spinning. I throw my head back as I feel my chest raising and falling. With one arm over my eyes, I try to calm my breathing unsuccessfully. Then I feel her again, her hands caress my thighs and there’s nothing I can do but grunt.

“Ready to finish what we started?”

Every cell on my body comes together to give me the strength that I need. I look down at her and nod. She’s biting her lower lip, trying to suppress a smile. Her lips are stained with red, the lipstick finally smudged. Surprisingly, it only makes her look even sexier.

She wiggles her eyebrows at me as she moves down, taking my entire length into her mouth. Her mouth is wet, and warm, and it feels oh, so good. I see the blonde wig bobbing up and down as she sucks me off. It’s time to turn one of my fantasies into a reality. My fingers run through her hair, luckily, she remembered to glue the wig this time. That’s the reason why I can actually take a hold of her hair and guide her to the pace that I want. With my fingers tangled in her golden locks, I pull and push her head as I please. She moans around me, enjoying how I’m taking control. The speed suddenly increases, as well as the sounds coming from her.

Katya takes me all in, then releases me, just long enough for her to curse out loud, before sucking me back in. Both of my hands are pushing her down by this point. Her eyes go up to look at me while she still has my entire dick in her mouth. Her eyelashes flutter as she lets me go. Then she smiles as she goes down on me again. This fucking bitch smiles! And that is it for me. My eyes roll back and my mouth falls open. There’s a hot wave taking over me as I cum long and hard.

I’m almost spasming, and she doesn’t even flinch. She drinks me all in, then licks me clean of any remaining.

“Welp,” she says getting up. The back of her hand cleans her own mouth, leaving a harsh trace of red across her cheek. “Now that I have sucked the bad mood out of you, the world can have some peace.” She laughs at her own words, and I chuckle right along with her.

“You know?” I get up with a smile on my face, an actual smile. “I had no idea I needed this. Thank you.” I find my pants and put them on, still feeling like I’m floating on air.

She shrugs a shoulder, proud of herself. “I may not have many talents, but I do know how to suck a dick.”

“And eat ass!” I add after her.

She laughs loudly, a hand gripping my arm as she does.

“No, really,” I assure her, stepping right into her space. “That was… amazing. Bad mood who? What? I don’t know her.”

Her laughter fills the air around us. “Not a problem.”

We share a smile, a knowing smile, a bond was just created. I pull her to me. I’m not going to thank her. A hug will have to do. My body feels so light, not a single drop of tension or stress left. I inhale deeply, she smells like sweat, and sex, and… Katya. It’s hot.

“Wanna stay and watch like a movie or something?” I ask, still smiling. “Maybe I could even return the favor.” The suggestion comes out casually. Deep down, though, I’m dying to experience more of her.

She waves a hand in front of my face. “Nah, no need. I actually have a trick coming over, but thanks! Maybe some other time.” She walks around and finds her shoes, putting them under her arm before she walks to me again. “Glad you feel better,” she says before placing a soft kiss on my cheek.

I watch her walk to the door, open it and then disappear behind her, leaving me alone in my hotel room. Wait, was the room always this ugly?

Ugh! I hate it here.

-End Notes-

Massive shout out to the authors on the AQ discord server, who allowed me to pick their brains and annoy the heck out of them so this story could come to life. Thank you so much for reading! See you again soon. -Monkey.

[werevulvi]

Splitting and merging

I've done a lot of inner work to figure myself out, in my detransition and prior to it. I randomly started reflecting over it again, and this is the (really comprehensive) result. When I look at my gender expression as a spectrum from the most masculine I presented as in my trans man days, to the most feminine I presented as in my pre-transition and early detransition days, I feel that both of those extremes are uncomfortable for me. I've lived most of my life through differently gendered personas. It's been three of them: Kazanndra - was the name I created at age 12 for a self image I wanted to become. She's a hyper-feminine version of myself. We're talking long hair, shaven body, no facial hair, big boobs, narrow waist, big butt, heavy makeup, short skirts, tight tops, high heels, painted nails, etc. Personality wise she's melancholic, submissive, self-harming, and hyper-sexual in a way she tries to take back control by never saying no to any man and being very submissive. She is, in fact, a slave to her own pain and a pawn of patriarchy. For many times in my past, I felt like she was the only kind of woman I could possibly want to be, and if I couldn't be her, I'd rather be a man. Everyone kept telling me I shouldn't be like her, which was one of the things that drove me to transition. She is the mental image and tragic manifestation of my internalised misogyny. She's a trauma queen. John - was the name I went by as a trans guy, and thus he was the persona I tried to become in my transition. He's not so different from Kazanndra in his personality, but copes with the same issues through a lens of false masculinity instead. As he's also hyper-sexual in a very similar manner, he's submissive with men in a way to try to erase his femaleness by fucking away the pain. He is more so a manifestation of my internalised lesbophobia, a combination of the misogyny and homophobia I turned towards myself. He attempts to always be the polar opposite of what I actually am, he's the brick wall to my vulnerability, the anger to my fear, and he's the "masc gay man" to the femme lesbian I really am.

These were not actual alters, but rather like roles that I acted out, or different masks that I put on, taken to an extreme. I was never diagnosed with a dissociative disorder, but I highly suspect I had OSDD, cause of my actual alter. I knew I did not meet enough criteria of DID to be diagnosed with it. Just to clarify. Both of those two personas are my most extreme states. I lived through them at different times of my life thinking they were the real me at those times, but they always pushed each other away which created a huge inner conflict. When I first figured I might be transgender at age 15, I was terrified of transitioning and flipped over into playing out and almost becoming Kazanndra, as a response to my fears about transition and my past traumas, until I was 19. During those 4 years, I lived most of my life through the Kazanndra lens, but on rare occasion John peaked through and that messed with me. I used to refer to those 4 years as my "trans denial" period. At age 19 after more abuse I flipped the switch and instead lived through John believing I was him and that Kazanndra had just been a persona and a coping mechanism, which she was, but she was also me. While seeing myself as a trans man and living through my John persona, Kazanndra would pop up on occasion just like it had been before, but in reverse. That too, messed with me. Anna - was my only actual alter, and I didn't live through her but rather side by side with her, as if we were two people sharing one body. She was very different from both Kazanndra and John, she was feminine but not to an extreme and much more natural in her expression. She was happy to be female, but also very dominant and assertive in a way I could described as "masculine" and her trauma showed through a complete lack of sexual interest, bullying and violent tendencies.

I'm no longer split into those three parts, but have become somewhat of a mix between them. But I also have aspects that neither of them had, the aspects they all existed to eliminate: my vulnerability and my lesbianism. Both John and Kazanndra drove me head first into seeking out men sexually, in very self-destructive ways, while Anna attempted to stop me with a trauma-induced asexuality, but neither expressed even the slightest hint of attraction to women or any actual attraction at all. They covered it up, and quite effectively, but my genuine self did shine through every once in a while, as a form of forbidden longing for the warmth of my actual attraction to women. And by the end of the time that I had with Anna as a separate entity alongside me, I for the first time ever noticed she was not against me dating the person I was into: my current girlfriend. She was only ever against me being with men, and now I know, she was trying to protect me.

Now I'm no longer split, but I'm only beginning to realise what kinds of effects that has had on me. Basically, John merged with Kazanndra by the end of last year when I started having a beard as a woman, my lesbianism emerged from my depths, and together they became Laura. And by spring this year Laura merged with Anna, when I started incorporating her style into my own, found more strength in my vulnerability, and I yet again became Sara. Laura was a sort of transition in itself. She was definitely on the right track, my first agonising steps to accepting my femaleness and coming to terms with my transition and my sexuality. She was not a persona, but also not the full me. She was a gateway, or a path, that I much needed to travel through. I was healing through her, but she was not my end goal. Sara is more than just my birth name; it is the name of my whole child self before I split. And I think that's why I've been starting to feel connected to that name again since around spring this year, which was when I fully merged. Perhaps the reasons I could not connect to it before was related to how split up I was as a person. But now, as a whole person again, I realise that all of my personas and alters smacked into one coherent personality, is me, Sara. So to be Sara is my ultimate goal, but that too is a work in progress.

I do not remember much of the child that I was, before the age of 9 when my traumatised mind split into two halves: me and Anna, and then continued to fragment into personas as I grew up. She's too young for me to fully reach within myself. Although I do keep trying, cause I think reaching her is an important puzzle piece in my further healing.

How Anna is connected to why I transitioned is, I think, more indirect than anything. She was never male-identified. In fact she was closer to the genuine me than ever I was myself even (which is a scary thought, but true), and she was the aspect of me that was the most connected to my femaleness and very defensive of it. However, her existence was a direct response to my traumas, and my transitioning was another direct response to my traumas. So they're indirectly connected cause they stem from the same source. They were two different escape mechanisms that clashed. Anna was against me transitioning. She felt it as a direct violation of her autonomy and as me destroying her (our/my) body. It was a huge conflict which even led to her raping me, one desperate night back in early 2011 when I had been self-medicating with testosterone for some 6 or 7 months. My transition created a huge inner conflict within myself, to say the least. I didn't take Anna's existence into account that she was still somehow... me. I wanted to erase her, not merge with her.

Since my detransition now, I can no longer think of myself as "non-binary" but I'm rather just trying to find a healthy balance between my extreme masculinity (John) and my extreme femininity (Kazanndra), to have them co-exist peacefully instead of fighting and switching back and forth, while also taking what once was Anna into account. I've discovered that for me I best express that healthy balance as a bearded, deep-voiced, hairy woman with an affinity for red lipstick, dresses and long hair (yeah I'm saving that fucker out again). It's me being assertive, strong-willed, logical, a realist and not afraid to take space; while also being emotional, dreamy, vulnerable, nurturing and creative. It's me combining dominance with submission in a healthy and playful way that feels enriching and healing, and what it actually is, is me combining familiar comfort with going outside of my comfort zone and finding healthy ways to express my sexuality with another woman as a woman myself. To listen to my boundaries but also dare to explore my desires. Instead of searching for gender labels anymore, I'm finding harmony in my androgyny and coming to peace with my biological female sex, and with my homosexuality. The only labels I do and will wear are woman, detrans, lesbian, femme and I may on occasion describe myself as androgynous or gnc. My healing began in early 2017 when I broke up with my ex and became friends with Anna. I swung to the most masculine extreme of my John-persona I had ever been. During that year I rejected my attraction to women completely and planned on getting SRS to rid myself of the last remaining visible aspects of my femaleness. It was my ultimate denial, a strong reaction to my tapping into my traumas and little by little sorting them out. Then in early 2018 I started vaguely connecting to my body as I began to listen to it. My mind had finally started to let go of its tight grip on my denial. Mid 2018 I swung back to my Kazanndra-persona as I detransitioned. A few months later I merged my Johh-persona and Kazanndra-persona together and discovered my true lesbian sexuality. A few months after that, I merged with Anna and felt a new, stable calm within myself and felt myself grounding more. I started missing my birth name, and eventually took it back. Alongside all that, I've been working hard on my relationship issues in the past and now believe I have the most solid, healthy relationship ever, with my girlfriend. It all started with one idea, two and a half years ago: I'm gonna start listening to myself, allow all and any kinds of thoughts and feelings to exist within me, and not push any of them away. They're not dangerous, and I know I know that. I followed that idea through, made it into a promise. Eventually it led me here, to my utter astonishment. I do not regret that, but it's been a very difficult journey that I was not prepared for at all. I believe it's all connected. Why I transitioned, my personas John and Kazanndra, my alter Anna, my internalised lesbophobia, my intrusive sexual thoughts about men, my traumas, my (birth) name, how I struggle to figure out what is my authentic self, even my style and gender expression, and so on. And detangling that massive heap of psychological wounds for the past couple of years has almost become a bit of a hobby for me by now. It's no longer terrifying, but exciting instead. It's always been rewarding, seeing my true self shine through the cracks and form into a more and more solid and clear image in my mind, slowly over time. I did most of that inner work myself and had very little help from any actual therapy; although my girlfriend has been an immense support and invaluable help in giving me advice, listening to my endless rambles, comforting me in my panic and helping me stay on the right track. For that, and much more, I am forever grateful for her. The rewards I’ve gotten have been a newfound ability to ground myself and finding peace, comfort and love coming from within myself to protect and care for me. It will always be worth it.

[classicalafros67]

On Why I Refuse to Talk to My Grandmother

This is not meant to be educational. This is not meant to slander my grandmother. This is only meant to be therapeutic – a way to organize my thoughts and release my emotions in a healthy way. I want to note, before I begin, that I am talking to my grandmother, but only out of necessity, for logistical and business reasons, until we come up with a recompense or I have to cut her out of my life altogether. I’m not even sure that I am going to share this, but I still wanted to write it, so maybe for a time, my anger, bitterness and disappointment can be placed elsewhere.

Recently, I wrote this piece, didn’t really share, but I didn’t finish it either on an example of how my grandmother has treated me and continues to treats me.

“I feel like I’m a pretty outspoken person when it comes to talking about gender expression, sexuality, gender, feminism and activism, EXCEPT when it comes to my family. Living all as a queer and gender non-conforming African-American, living with ones (loosely) religious, judgmental and controlling family members is anything but easy. In fact, it’s fucking hard as hell, and I’m pretty sure it’s the base of all of my mental illnesses. I’ve grown up to be silent and speak when spoken to. I believe that my guardian (grandmother) believes that she must rule with an iron fist and control and repair me at any cost, so I can be properly digestible for society. As I’ve grown older, I’ve begun to heavily resent her as these repairs and plays for control are disguised as concern and unconditional love. Recently, it has gotten pretty rough between us. I resent having to go home, so I go out as often as possible either spending the night with my friends or my boyfriend in the city.

One of her plans to repair me (and by repair, I mean “masc me up”) was foiled this week when I spent most of it in the city with my boyfriend in order to get away from her. The car that we are currently sharing got a majorly avoidable flat tire. I agreed to help pay for a new tire, but she wanted me to watch the tire get changed?? I could always google, but, hey, what do I know I guess? So, like always, she got upset that I had not come home, (mind you, I am 22 years old, recently graduated from college, and working multiple jobs to move out of there) and had started calling up a storm and MARKING all of the locations I was at. (She forced me to get this app on my phone where she can track me. Again, I am 22 years old.) I eventually went home because she was holding the car hostage and refusing to get it fixed until I came back, knowing that I needed it to get to work.

She tells me that we need to talk, but every time I attempt to talk to her about anything heavy, my sexuality, how I express myself, gender expression, ect., it turns into her talking at me and justifying, for herself, how she feels and why she acts a certain way. I have always been bad at having these conversations with family, but I am tired of the way my grandmother treats me. I haven’t been talking to her for the past couple of days because I refuse to go to business as normal and move on like nothing is going on, and I’ve been making a list of reasons why I’m upset with her which has become… extensive.

This list is disorganized and mostly just the tip of an iceberg talking point that we need to settle. It overall encompasses her disguising her homophobia, embarrassment and desire to control and socialize me (i.e. other toxic behaviors) as concern and unconditional love. Her forcing me to get an app that allows her to track and mark everywhere I go is her ploy to keep me under control, yet she disguises this as a way for her to let me know that she is home when I could careless, and she ignores that I am old enough to go where I damn please, don’t do drugs, don’t smoke, don’t party, but “there is too much going on in the world right now, I just need to know where you are.” Ask me… This will also lead me to my next point on how I express myself. I like, no, I fucking love makeup. My fashion sense, as I’ve mentioned before extends from dad to literal queen mom. If I want to wear a suit, I’ll wear a suit, if I want to wear a dad outfit, I’ll work that. If I want to wear sweats all day, girl yes. If I want to wear high heels and a floral top, I will WORK that. And if I want to wear makeup with any of those outfits, I WILL! Can you guess which one grandma absolutely hates? She’s horrible at addressing things too, so she gets passive aggressive. She always has a snide comment about what I wear or my makeup and “how bad it is for [my] face.” Even today, she looked at my Facebook and demanded me to take down my cover and profile picture because I’m wearing a full face of makeup and a floral shirt and my cover photo is the pride flag with the male, female, and intersex signs. It got to the point where I blocked her because I can’t mentally handle all the controlling.

I don’t know. I think I just want her to admit that she’s embarrassed of me if nothing else, recognize that I’m only living here circumstantially, that I am still an adult that she can’t/shouldn’t try to control, and that we should really learn to live with each other.”

We did eventually sit down in the kitchen one late night as I returned home and attempted to express how I felt. I wanted the conversation to be an eye opener for her that she couldn’t police how a grown person could express themselves be it online or in real life. Instead, it turned into an interrogation about, “who molested you?” “where did we go wrong?” and fake tolerance. I just ended up having to face my grandmother, someone who I had deeply respected and revered, someone who helped me through college and through life when I moved out of my father’s house, express her homophobia and internalized misogyny towards me in words disguised as concern and worry.

“Why are you wearing makeup?”

“Boys don’t wear makeup”

“I thought you were doing it to get back at your daddy”

“I’m getting a handle on the whole gay thing. I’m getting a handle on the fact that one day you’re gonna bring a man home. But, now, this makeup is too much! And the clothes you’re wearing. And you’re growing out your hair…”

These are some of the words that were shared with me on that night. It has been a couple of weeks and the conversation still rings in my head back and forth. There are so many petty rebuttals I both wish, but am glad that I didn’t, say. I understand that you care so much about the products I buy and put on my face. I understand that the rules to this binary society so strongly holds on to and polices how one performs their assigned sex at birth. I understand that with that in mind that anything outside that expectation is therefore repaired, most commonly through violence. I especially understand the fragility of masculinity and how anything that easily breaks that line is met with violence.

But I also wish that my grandmother knew that she was and is inciting the violence that she’s afraid will be inflicted on me. Violence isn’t just physical. She understands that as my grandmother, she has a power of influence over me, but instead of using this power and seemingly unconditional love as a force for good, a force to uplift the grandchild and encourage them to be themselves unapologetically while advocating for a better and more accepting world to others, she uses this power to police, criticize and repair my expression, my sexuality, my identity.

Imagine the mental, emotional and psychological damage that inflicts on someone. Every article of clothing you wear – judged. The shoes you wear – judged. Growing, styling or curling your hair – judged. How you talk – judged. What you talk about – judged. Every little thing about you – judged and threatened with getting kicked out of the residence you live in.

“Well, as long as you live under my roof, I don’t want you wearing makeup or girl’s clothes.”

All of this violence inflicted, while the attacker continues to pretend that there is nothing wrong with the relationship, and sweeps everything under a giant rug. This violence which affects so many other queer youths. To tell you how bad it is, I have contemplated being homeless, even at VERY low times suicide, just to be away from her. This is horrible considering that despite the violence, I will love my grandmother no matter what, I would like to mend our relationship, and I feel so guilty for feeling that way. But I cannot possibly see that happening until she magically addresses her own problems and stop projecting her societal desires onto me and my siblings.

So, for now, until I am in a financial position to move out and never come back, I refuse to talk to her unless absolutely necessary. I refuse to pretend to be her friend. I refuse to pretend I can tolerate her being around me. I refuse to pretend that I’m not purposefully avoiding her as much as I can. I refuse to let her involve herself into my life for her to gossip and disapprove. I refuse to let that toxicity invade my life again, and I shall seek help and refuge where I can in continuing therapy and being with the family and friends who accept me and love me for exactly as I am.

Postscript—

I think in terms of making this a discussion, because I could use advice on how else I can move forward. Am I missing something in this situation? I’ve talked about this several times in real life with friends and family, and I keep getting the same answers — “She’s just worried about” “She’s stuck in her ways” “She’s your grandmother, she’s supposed to act that way” But I call absolute bullshit. People can change at ANY age from ANY era, and this situation, I feel is WAY more nuanced than her being worried about me. I’d rather her not die a bigot, so I want to open up ways that I can have discourse with her and show her tools to learn more about the LGBTQIA community.

[bookfreaky]

IN THE MIDDLE: The Social Transition of a Trans-Woman.

I have lived most of my life as a man, in fact, I still cross by many sectors of my life disguised as a man. Ever since I understood myself as being a transsexual woman; and not a gay man as I presented myself before; and ever I understood my own necessity to transition from one end of the gender spectrum to another (from male to female), I had to learn that two different transitions would have to occur, one that depends solely on myself, and another that depends on me and other people.

If you are homosexual, especially if you are a binary and of heteronormality passability, you can pick and choose who you will come out to, who do you feel comfortable to talk about it, and when you are going to talk about it to them. Of course, I don’t believe that being in the closet as an easy and comfortable experience to anyone, but from where I see it, trans people don’t have the privilege to explore themselves then later get out of the closet as gay men and woman do.    

While living as a gay man, I notice that, circulating in mostly-progressive environments, people will not care who you date or you you’ll have sex with as long as it’s not close to their eye-field, they will show a little curiosity, the straight-women will ask about anal as if you were some kind of sex guru, they will crack a semi-offensive joke what you will awkwardly laugh about, it will happen. It will happen in family dinners, it will happen at work, it will happen in those high-school reunion parties, it will happen and you will be fine. You will be fine until you have to go home and catch the bus after 11p.m., now if you dress “accordingly”, if you are white (especially if you are white), if you have a car and if you live in a place like New York City, bitch you’re fine.  

Trans-women are never fine. We are not fine at work or in family dinners, we are not fine at supermarkets or train-stations, we are not fine in campuses, we are not fine in public spaces, especially, we are not fine on the streets. Because being transgender is about rebuilding your own identity now according to who you are, it’s about finding a way to be comfortable within your own skin, it’s about changing not only the software, but the entire layout and even the hardware. But when you put on a dress, when you do your makeup, you wear some heels, but your body looks somewhat “unmatched” with the expectations of femininity, when your voice is deeper than a girl’s should, when the stubble of your beard shows through the makeup; you don’t get shown curiosity, you get shown strangeness, you don’t get a semi-offensive joke, you get a slur. You are automatically not trusted, not without an explanation. And you still have to be thankful for their giving you a chance to explain.

I refuse to make explanations. We, trans people, don’t need to find a good reason for our existence. We don’t have to debate our own existence. We are not a theory, we are not an ideology, we are not the construction nor the deconstruction of anything. We are human and I refuse to live by anything that stands below it. My transsexuality does not make me less of a woman. I am a woman and I, too, refuse to live by anything that stands below human. Even if I haven’t come out to my entire family yet, even if people at work don’t know and I’m slightly afraid to lose my job for it, even If I mostly look like a man regardless of my increasing gender dysphoria, even if I’m not there yet, if I’m in the middle. I still refuse it.

Maybe I’m just gathering words on the paper to feel better, to feel more empowered. Maybe I have the right to do so. Because when it’s International Woman’s Day, a date that capitalism managed to change meaning from “women deserve equal rights, and we will fight for it”, to “men should appreciate women more”; every woman at my workplace received a flower, but I didn’t. Maybe it’s because it hurt more than it should, maybe exactly because it hurt so much – because in this little gesture I didn’t feel appreciated as woman, as myself. – is the reason why I should never, never condone living by anything that stands below myself, a trans-woman, a woman, myself.

[thelittlestkitsune]

twentytwo // smut.

A;N: So, I want to give a ginormous shout out to my girl Mal aka @mf-despair-queen she gave me the idea for this fic and I kinda maybe got carried away. Also big ol thank you to @redstringlovers for being super supportive and constructive. I love you all and I hope you enjoy xox 

Pairing: AU.

Author: thelittlestkitsune

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Explicit Content.

Word count: 15,246 words. 

Click the links through out the fic, to enjoy it better. 

“Thanks for flying all the way out here for my birthday Ads” You spoke into your low mein, your chopsticks pressing against your lips as your best friend laughed at the other end of your sofa. “You know I'd do anything for you! Especially take time off work.” You gave her a pointed look, your eyes rolling. “Did you actually take time off or did you just leave?” She shrugged her shoulders, her smile widening as she looked away. “Tomato, tomato. I hated that job anyway.” She laughed as you shook your head. “One-day Addie, you’re actually going to have a job that you stay in for more than 3 months.” You spoke, your mouth full of food. “Yeah and one day, you’re going to actually leave your house for any other reason other than work.” She joked as you sighed, stretching your legs out from underneath you as you turned towards her. “I mean I would, but Peter has me working all these weird hours. The middle of the night is not usual business hours unless you’re a hooker or a drug dealer.” You laughed, looking at Addie as she piled noodles onto her chopsticks messily. “Maybe he’s both? To me he sounds like a power-hungry psychopath.” You nodded your head. “Yeah, well he pays well enough, even if I have to sacrifice my actual birthday.” You shrugged your shoulders. “But didn’t you say his nephew bargained that you could get this weekend off at least?” You shot her a look, placing your takeout on the coffee table. “It’s not the weekend, it’s a Wednesday night and if I'm being honest, all I want to do is sleep. Even Derek couldn’t get through to him that I wanted a Friday off” You sighed, resting your head back against the couch.  

“Yeah well, I didn’t travel all the way from Columbus so you could sleep.” Addie laughed, shoving her food down as she grabbed your wrist. “Come with me.” You went slack as she pulled you, your body dead weight as she hoisted you from the couch. “You’re coming out with me tonight, and we’re going to get really drunk and make really bad decisions.” She commanded as you stood reluctantly, dragging your feet as she pulled you through to your room. “Don’t you always make bad decisions? Why do I have to be witness to this?” You scoffed as she glared at you. “Rude, but it’s your birthday?! We should be celebrating!” She whined as you gave her a pitying look. “Actually, my birthday was on Sunday, today is just another day. And can’t we celebrate by watching crappy reality TV in our pyjamas?” You pleaded with her, pulling puppy dog eyes as her blue eyes connected with yours. “No, we’re going to get you looking like a human being and get you laid. What kind of clubs do you have round here?” You shrugged, not knowing much about the town you had just moved to. “I heard there’s a pretty good gay club?” You sat on your bed, pulling your legs up against your chest. “You’re not gonna find a man there Lu.” You gave her a pointed look, your brow arched above your eyes. “I’ll find plenty of men, I just won’t be their type.” She nodded, her lips curled up in a smile. “You’ve got a good point. How about I look for a place to go whilst you shower? You smell like something that died in my fridge.”  

Your mouth hung open as she pushed you towards the bathroom. “Oh, fuck you! Plus, I can’t go, I’m bloated from all that Chinese food.” You cradled your stomach, pulling your t-shirt from your skin. “Well that’s what spanx are for.” Addie retorted as you racked your brain for another excuse. “I haven’t shaved my legs and I don’t have any razors left!” You exclaimed as Addie pointed a finger to the unopened box of razors on your sink. “Fine, you asked for it! I can’t go cause i’m on my period!” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest. “Don’t lie to me Lu, I know fine well you’re not on your period, we’re synced remember? Have been for the past 10 years?!” Addie gave you a pointed look, her finger wagging at you. “I thought you knew better than to try and get out of this. Nothing you say is going to make you stop me dragging you out!” You pulled a face, sticking your tongue out at your best friend. “What if I was pregnant?! You wouldn’t drag me out then?” You raised your eyebrows at her, shaking your head slightly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t drag you out, but you’d actually have to you know, have had sex in the past 2 years?!” She joked as you sighed. “I guess you just don’t care about my unborn child! I’ll go out with you, but you can go fuck yourself if you think I'm wearing heels.” Addie smiled at you as you scowled, closing the bathroom door in her face.  

You surveyed yourself in the mirror, noting the bags under your eyes. You sighed, pulling out the hair tie from your hair as you started the shower. “Do I have to wash my hair?” You whined, knowing that Addie could hear you. “YES! Using dry shampoo for the 3rd day in a row is not a cute look. I’m picking an outfit for you!” She shouted as you heard the doors to your closet open. “Nothing tight?! And No heels!” You shouted, panic on your face as you heard her slamming about. “Yeah okay mom, let’s just put you in the convent now!” She yelled, disappearing out of earshot as you neared the shower. You peeled your sweats from your body, shivering slightly as the cool air touched your skin. I just need to get clean, then maybe I’ll want to go out more. You stepped under the water, the blisteringly hot water trailing over your tired body as you sloughed off the weeks work. You closed your eyes as you leant against the cool tiles, water running into your eyes as you sighed. Maybe going out won’t be such a bad idea. Peter had pretty much run you into the ground, working strange hours most of them after midnight. You’d been living on coffee’s brewed with red bull for the longest time and it was starting to take it’s toll on you. You pulled away from the wall as you heard Addie pound on the door to the bathroom. “Hurry up asshole, we’re gonna miss entry if you don’t get your shit together.” You flipped her off, quickly shaving your legs as you let your hair condition.  

What felt like an eternity passed as you finally stepped out the spray of the water, wrapping a towel around your body as you padded out the bathroom. Steam billowed out behind you, your hair dripping around your shoulders as you saw Addie reach into her suitcase. She produced a towel, walking into the bathroom as you exited. “You better be somewhat ready by the time I get out?” She cocked an eyebrow at you as she closed the door, the water running as you stripped off your towel. You dried your skin, pulling on clean sweats as you sat on your bed. You lost track of time as you sat there, your hair still soaking as it seeped into your sweater. You heard the click of the door, steam slinking into the room as Addie emerged, her face flushed bright red. “How do you even stand in that shower for more than two minutes?” She panted gripping her towel to her chest. “It’s like molten lava, I think I just lost like 10 pounds in sweat.” She gasped, a chuckle leaving her lips. Her expression changed as she looked over you, noting your hair and the sweats. “You’re not even remotely ready.” She scowled, her head shifting to one side as she pointed at your vanity. “Get ready, we’re leaving soon.” She demanded as you pushed yourself from the bed. “Fine, sorry I lost track of time, I’m so tired.” You whined as she disappeared out the room.  

She returned moments later, a bottle of wine in her hand as she sat it on the vanity next to you. “Here, have a drink!” You looked at her, your brows quirked as you noted the lack of a glass. “Addie, you seem to have forgotten something?” You asked her as she nodded slowly. “I had a feeling you were going to say something like that. So I got you this.” She produced a swirly straw from behind her back, a grin on her still red face. “You’re the worst, you know that?” You laughed as she placed the straw into the neck of the bottle. “Yeah but you still love me. Now, get ready!” She scolded again as you grabbed the straw, downing some of the wine. Your eyes scrunched together as she grabbed your TV remote, setting up your old playlists from college as she collected her clothes. Music blared through your apartment as you dried your hair, your wine slowly dwindling in the bottle. You transformed in front of your mirror, your tired skin looking more alive as you swept makeup on, your hair still piled on top of your head. “How long you going to be?” Addie asked from the bed, makeup sprawled around her as she applied mascara. “Well judging by the wine I have left, maybe like half an hour?” You responded, your spirits lifted as the lyrics to your favourite song came on. “Make it 15?” Addie shrugged as you nodded. “Sure, but I gotta tank this then.”  

15 minutes later you were peeling yourself out your sweats for the second time that day. “So, what fresh hell have you selected for me today!” You gave Addie a knowing look as she walked to your closet. “I don’t think I've ever seen you in this? So, this is what you’re wearing, plus you have the cutest pair of flats to go with it?” She produced a dark green velvet wrap dress with ballet flats. “Well I'm kinda glad you chose that, it’s new and I've been looking for an opportunity to wear it.” She chucked the dress to you as you caught it clumsily. “Where did you get it? I’ve been looking for something similar for months.” Addie asked as she pulled on her tights, her body twisting to get into them. “Argent’s, it’s this cute little boutique downtown. Allison and her best friend Lydia own it, they opened a few months back. Everything is super cute. We should go there tomorrow?” You responded, slipping the dress over your head, being careful as not to smudge your makeup. “Yeah if we’re not dying of a hangover. If I go anywhere tomorrow it’ll be McDonald's.” Addie laughed as she pulled the straps of her play suit up. “True, can you chuck me the flats?” You pointed to the shoes on the floor raising your arms as Addie pelted them across the room. “I know you hate flats but can you like not take my eye out?!” You squealed as you lunged to catch the other shoe. “You’re not gonna like how it looks, you know you should be wearing heels.” Addie schooled as you shot her a glance. “You’re not wrong, I look like I’m 15?!” You joked, slipping the flats onto your feet. “Heels it is.”  

You were already regretting your decision as you arrived at the club, Addie linked on your arm for stability. “Where are you taking me? This place doesn’t look legit.” You glanced over the warehouse, a single blaring neon light above the door. “It is legit! I swear! Would I take you to some place that wasn’t?” You gave her a knowing look, her face flushing red. “Don’t even bring up senior year of college. I thought that it was a club!” She defended herself as you suppressed a laugh. You cast your mind back to the night you were put in the back of a cop car, glaring at your best friend as she grinned at you. Addie pulled you back to the present, her grin the same as it was that night. “How was I supposed to know it wasn’t a club? It didn’t really advertise itself as an underground casino!” You shrugged, laughing at the memory. “You know it’s going to be on our permanent records forever.” You reminded her, watching as she shrugged. “It’s one hell of a story though.” You nodded in agreement, walking forwards to join the line of girls trying to get into the club. “Lot’s of girls are out tonight, is that a usual thing?” You wondered out loud as Addie shrugged. “Probably? I don’t know? I don’t live here.” She stood, wobbling on her heels as she leant against the wall. “I haven’t lived here that long either. Maybe we should ask the bouncer?” You asked, popping your head around the long line of people. “Sure, I’m coming with though, all of this estrogen is making my boobs hurt.” Addie chuckled as you grabbed her hand, wandering over to where the bouncer was. “Excuse me? Is it normal for this many people to be out on a weeknight?”  

The bouncer turned to you, his eyes dancing appreciatively over your curves, his lips curling into a smile. “You’re not from here are you?” He asked, his eyes finally snapping up to meet yours. “No sir, just moved here from Columbus, Ohio.” He laughed, the board in his hands seemingly minuscule compared to his giant frame. “My moms from there. Names Boyd.” He reached out a hand to shake yours, his skin warm against yours. “Interesting name Boyd, I’m Lucy and this is Addison.” You pointed to Addie as she smiled, her eyes glancing over the other girls in the line. “Nice to meet you ladies. Seeing as though you’re new to town why don’t you go on in. I won’t tell anyone I swear.” He smiled, his hand releasing yours. “Thank you Boyd, come in when your shift is over and i’ll get you a drink?” He nodded, waving you into the club. “Addie, take note, that’s how you’re nice to people. I know it’s a hard concept for you to master but if you actually try maybe it’ll get you somewhere.” You laughed as you entered through a series of black doorways, the smell of perfume and tequila heavy in the air. “You might wanna save some of those nice things to say once you see where we are.” You heard Addie say as you entered through a jewelled doorway, the music pounding through the buzzing room.  

You cast your eyes over the room, a bar off to your left, illuminated with strip lights featuring topless waiters. You furrowed your brow in confusion, noting the tables that lined a catwalk, a large neon sign above a podium saying ‘Do not touch’. You sighed as you turned to Addie, a sheepish look on her face as she pushed you forwards. “You brought me to a strip club?!” You near shouted, your words barely audible over the bass of the music. “Incorrect. I brought you to Ladies Night-” She said indignantly. “- It just so happens to be at a strip club!” She finished, flashing you an innocent smile. You rolled your eyes as she pulled you to an empty table near the stage. “I can’t believe you. You’re actually insane.” You laughed as you sat down in a chair, looking over the card in the middle of the table. “But are you angry?” She asked, pulling her jacket off as she fixed her hair. “A little bit. If I had known we were coming I would’ve brought more cash.” You chuckled, watching as Addie visibly relaxed. “I still hate you for this though.” You added, her back straightening a little bit. “I thought you needed to know the kind of talent here in Beacon Hills. Sue me.” You gave her a knowing look, figuring there was more to it than that. “Okay, you got me. They have half price drinks all night and no entry fee. Your girls on a budget now she hasn’t got a job!” She threw her hands up in defeat as you pulled your jacket off.  

“Well my girl, you’re getting the first round. I am not nearly buzzed enough and you’re the one who dragged me out kicking and screaming.” She nodded quickly, standing as she looked over at the bar. “I don’t mind going to the bar, I mean have you seen that bartender?” She pointed lewdly at a lanky brunette, his hair glowing almost golden in the dimming light. “He looks like just your type. You know what I mean. Looks corruptible but is probably filthier than you are!” You laughed as she nodded. “Well, I guess I'm getting all the drinks tonight then.” She winked badly, smoothing out her playsuit as she sauntered over to the bar. You watched her wait there before her bartender of choice glanced at her, quickly making his way over to her. Can’t take her anywhere I swear. You smiled to yourself as you glanced around the room again. “Excuse me?” You heard a male voice say from behind you. A stocky guy with spiked blonde hair stood there, a tray in his hands. “Yes?” You asked, your eyes trailing over his abs. “I’m Theo, I’ll be taking care of you tonight, if there is anything you need at all, then just give me a shout.” He smiled, his white teeth bared in an almost predatory way. You can take care of me anyway you want.

“Okay, sure.” You nodded meekly, your lip caught in your teeth as you watched him lean over you placing two drinks on the table. “As it’s your first time in our care, the first round is on the house.” He smirked, staying haunched over you as you felt a blush creep through your skin as he straightened off. “Theo was it?” You asked, your eyes wide as you caught his blue ones. “Yes, but you can call me whatever you like.” He winked as you felt something twinge inside of you. You swallowed thickly, your fingers itching to rake through the scruff on his chin. “But what do I call you?” He asked, his eyes trailing over your neck as you felt shivers run down your spine. “Lucy” You spoke with a dry mouth, reaching for the drink he provided you. “Well Miss Lucy, sit back and enjoy the show.” He winked again as he walked off, his back muscles tensed as he gripped the silver tray.  

Addie swerved through the swarm of people, drinks gripped in each hand as she sat in her seat. She didn’t even take notice of the drinks already on the table as she sipped her cocktail, her brows raised. “You look happier.” She smiled, setting her drink down. “I had an unexpected surprise. You look,-” You surveyed her face, her bright eyes sparkling in the low lighting. “- like the cat that got the cream. Go on, what’s his name?” You asked, settling back in your seat as you watched Theo walk behind a curtain. “Isaac.” she grinned, biting down on her straw. “Biblical.” You added, gripping your glass as you looked around, noting Theo had not yet made a reappearance. “I want to be with him in a way that would be announced as unholy.” She glanced over at him, your eyes following hers watching as Isaac smiled from behind the bar. You turned to her, quirking your brow as you sipped your drink. “You’re unbelievable.” You joked as the music lowered, the bass now shaking the walls. “Guess it’s show time.” You cast your eyes to the stage, confused as the curtains were still drawn. You heard the music start, but there was no sign of anyone. Slowly they pulled back, showing Theo with his back to the audience. He swung his hips to the beat, completely oblivious to the onlooking crowd.  

THIS ONE.

Cheers erupted from the women next to you, choruses of jeers and whoops filling the air as Theo turned around. “I didn’t know I had an audience. Want me to carry on?” You felt yourself screaming a yes, your face flushed as you looked over his body. The single bowtie on his neck came loose as he shrugged off the waistcoat he was wearing when he served you. His eyes locked with yours as he walked down the stage, his fingers at his belt. “I see we have some newbies in the crowd tonight. How about I show them some hospitality?” He smiled a toothy grin as you swallowed, your fingers white knuckling around your glass. Screams surrounded you as girls clambered out of their seats, hands reaching for Theo and his body. All you heard was the music as he reached your table, standing on the seat nearest to you, the spotlight following his every move. You squinted as you looked up, your face level with his abs as he grabbed a drink from your table. “I don’t think you’ll mind if I take this sweetheart?” You shook your head, your mouth dry as you licked over your lips. He winked as he downed the liquid, his body rippling to the beat of the bassy song. “So how’s about it girls? How about I take these off?” You heard Addie screaming in your ear as she reached for your hand, her fingers gripping your own.  

Theo looked out at the crowd, his eyes scanning the crowd before he lowered his gaze, sliding the belt out from his belt loops, his hands graciously running over his already impressive bulge. Girls around you screamed as he rolled his hips, fingers grasping at the material of his trousers. The air was so thick you swear you could cut it with a knife when his fingers pulled the tearaway pants from his skin, revealing the tight black briefs he wore underneath. Your ears rushed with blood as you bit your lip, watching as he jumped down from the seat beside you, pulling your seat out from the table. He reached a hand to you, his hands gripping your wrist as he hoisted you to his body, his cock hard against your core as he ground against you, his muscles flexed as he walked forwards. He paused for a moment, setting you down on the stage as he turned around, running his fingers through his hair, pulling another girl from a different table. He hitched her over his shoulder, stepping onto the stage next to where you lay. His arm gripped around your hips as he pulled you over his other shoulder, not even breaking a sweat as he carried you to the back of the stage. He set you and the other girl down, sliding onto his knees as he made his way down the stage once more. Mounds of money lay at his knees as he thrust into the air, the music trailing off as he panted.  

You panted along with him, your heart hammering in your chest as he wandered over to you again. “Come with me Ladies, I think I owe you both another drink.” You nodded as he took your hand, his almost covering your entire fist. The other girl sat there in awe before she took his hand, him leading you both off the stage. “He’s an Omega right?!” You heard a male call, his voice booming even without a mic. “Welcome to the wolf pack ladies. My name’s Scott and I’ll be your host for tonight. Your alpha if you will!” You turned slightly as Theo led you to the bar, his arms flexing as he signalled for Addie’s favourite bartender Isaac. “Two kanima’s for the ladies.” He winked as Isaac smiled, your eyes falling back on the tanned muscular guy on the stage. His abs literally shone under the lights of the stage, his skin stretched thin over the muscles on his arms. You squinted, barely making out the marks that littered his body, his black leather pants clinging to every inch of his legs. “What’s a kanima?” You asked Theo, your eyes falling on the clear liquid. “Known for it’s venom. It’s lemon and lime infused vodka with crushed ice. It has a special kick to it, but that’s a trade secret.” Theo winked as his hands coasted over your back. “Enjoy ladies, now if you’ll excuse me. I have to go prepare for another set.” He almost purred as he disappeared. Addie was almost vibrating in her seat when you returned, her face lit up as she near screamed.  

“Jesus fucking wept.” She joked as you told her about the free drinks on the table. “So when can I move in, cause if this happens every Wednesday night i’m going to need to be about for it.” She joked as two guys came on the stage, the dark stranger from before long gone. His voice still boomed out as he welcomed the Alpha Twins. They pulled a large frame with them, both of their movements in perfect synchronicity as the music started up once again. THIS ONE. They moved faster than your eyes could track, their movements precise as the bass dropped, their bodies moving into the crowd as they dance atop tables, fingers running over shirts as they ripped them leaving the material in tatters around the club. Bills flew through the air as they bucked their hips against girls, bright red faces and grabbing hands as they tutted, pointing towards the sign above the stage. They both paused, taking a second before flipping off their respective tables, your head pounding as the din in the room became a roar, girls clambering to get nearer to the twins. They took to the stage, returning to the frame, working choreography as they teased over the crowd, hips circling as they lowered the band of the boxers that clung to them. Suddenly the music cut out, their faces turning to the crowd as they shrugged, pulling the frame as the lights cut out as well.  

THIS ONE. 

Addie gasped aloud as all you heard was gunfire, strobe lights illuminating the stage as something was chucked, landing with a clang as smoke filled the room. “Ladies, I have to ask you to remain seated and do not panic.” You heard Scott boom, his voice steady as you saw laser sights hit girls in the crowd. They froze in fear, the beginnings of a track playing as someone moved in the shadows. Lyrics blasted as the lights came up, a guy with his back to the crowd, a gun in his hand. He swayed slowly, ducking into a roll as he came up in the spotlight, his face covered with a helmet, a riot shield in his hands. FBI blazoned on his chest as he chucked the gun to the side, the shield tossed down the catwalk. His hips bucked as he reached for his helmet, long fingers gripping onto the base before pulling it over his head. The crowd went silent as he shook out his hair, brown locks of hair falling over his forehead as he lunged forward, jumping to his feet as he pulled at the tactical vest that strapped over his shoulders. He paused, reaching for his gun as you watched shadows move through the crowd, screams erupting from girls as the guy on stage aimed for them, the shadows falling to the ground as the song continued.  

You watched with rapt attention, your eyes glued to the mystery guys hips, the cargo pants he wore slung low on his hips as you caught glimpse of where his happy trail ended. You reached into your bag, clutching a wad of ones as he passed your table, his hands grazing your skin as he thrust towards you, his fingers running through your hair as he shoved his crotch in your face, Addie’s screams overpowering the music. Your eyes tracked up to meet his as he moved backwards, his utility belt stuffed with bills as he pulled his pants off, revealing a toned set of legs, his body almost completely covered in moles. He jumped back onto the stage, his gun in his hands as he shrugged off his last piece of clothing, his ass tensed as he shot at an unknown figure in the crowd. He dropped to the floor, army crawling before halting, his gun gripped in his finger as machine gun firing sounded, the strobe lights behind him flickering as every girl in the audience roared, their chest emblazoned with red sights. The music cut out as did the lights, the mystery dancer from before disappeared, the smoke finally clearing from the room. “He’s classified, but damn he likes to show off am I right ladies?” You whooped as Scott walked back onto the stage. “How is everyone enjoying tonight?” He shouted, as you heard yourself hollering back at him. “Well how about another show?!” He hyped the crowd as you slammed your fists on the table, sipping on your drink.  

“Well let’s turn up the heat. It’s getting hot in here isn’t it Parrish?” He questioned as you watched a tall guy walk out, a hose dangling between his legs. THIS ONE. The opening bars to Hot in here by Nelly shook the club as you looked at Addie, her eyes wide as she licked over her lips. “I’m gonna go outside for a second. It’s almost too hot in here!” You joked as you pointed to the guy known as Parrish, your eyes lingering on his firemans get up. “Enjoy.” She said as she waved you off, her eyes never leaving the sight of the gyrating fireman. You stood, a little unsure on your feet as the cocktail hit your system, a tingling in your skin. You made your way back to the entrance of the club, flashing your wristband to Boyd as you stood in the parking lot, your skin cooling off almost instantly. Sweat clung to your chest as you reached into your bag, grasping your pack of cigarettes. “Do you have a light?” You heard a guy say as he sidled up to you, his face dark in the dim parking lot. “Yeah, just give me a moment.” You nodded as you dug in your clutch bag once more, producing a lighter. He reached for it, his long fingers latching over yours briefly as he lit his cigarette. “You enjoying the show?” He asked, his voice deep as he moved into the light, his lips pursed around the filter. “Yeah, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I arrived here tonight. It was my best friends idea to come-” You felt yourself babbling, the alcohol hitting you more now you were in the fresh air.  

“Do you wish you didn’t?” He breathed, smoke spilling from his mouth as he exhaled, his eyes trailing over your chest. “I don’t know yet, lemme see the whole show and I’ll let you know.” He wandered next to you, his face illuminated by the neon lights. Your eyes latched with his as you realised who you were talking to. “You’re the FBI guy?” You asked, your lips pursing around your smoke as you took a drag. “Names Stiles.” He smiled, his lips curled up in a lopsided smirk. “You are?” He nodded towards you. “Lucy.” He nodded, fingers grasping at the roll up in his mouth. “Guess I’ll catch you after the show Lucy.” Your name rolled off his tongue as you felt something twinge inside you for the millionth time tonight. “Catch you around Stiles.” You waved him off as he headed back inside, Boyd waving him in as he turned to you. “Enjoy your night Miss Lucy and don’t miss the full moon salute. It’s a real show stopper.” He winked as you discarded your smoke, your skin hotter than it was when you came outside. “Thanks Boyd.” You smiled as you headed back inside, the roar of the audience filling your eardrums even as you were a few doors away from the main room.  

You took a deep breath as you walked through those doors again, the sight before you bringing a smile to your face. Addie was on the stage, bound to a chair with a hose as the guy known as Parrish ground his hips against her, his appropriately named hose hitting against his stomach with every thrust. The song dwindled to an end as Addie laughed, freeing herself from the hose restraints. “Well that was a scorcher huh!” You heard Scott laugh, waltzing on stage. He smiled into the crowd, the light hitting his eyes in a way that made you swear they flashed red. “We still doing good ladies?” The crowd screeched as you downed your drink, realising the glasses on your table were empty. “Addie, how about I get this round?” You nodded towards the bar, signalling her bartender friend was no where to be seen. “Sounds good!” She smiled as she handed you a wad of cash, probably more than the drinks would cost. You sidled through throngs of giggling girls, bachelorettes and sweet 21’s as you approached the bar. You waved to the bartender as he ID’d a pretty young brunette, his eyes lingering on her skin for a fraction too long. “Can I have two Banshee’s?” You asked him, looking for some sort of a name tag. “Sure thing, do you want them flaming or ice cold?” He asked, his blue eyes connecting with yours. “Ice cold.” He chuckled, his lips curling into a smile. “Sounds like the girl they’re named after. I would know.” He laughed, digging into the ice bucket.  

“Well it’s too hot in here and I think I just need something refreshing” You joked, your hair flipping over your shoulder as you flirted. “I get ya, you’re new here aren’t you?” He asked, his eyes flickering up your body almost predatorily. “Yep, not long moved here. You?” You asked, watching as he expertly poured gin into a tall glass. “Originally who knows? I lived here for a long time. Then I moved to London, just needed a change of pace.” He explained. “An American werewolf in London huh!” You joked, his eyes widening as you read the menu, giggling at the cocktail names. “Yeah something like that. Jackson by the way.” He smiled, handing over the drinks as you handed him the cash. “Nice to meet you.” You smiled, weaving your way back through the crowd as Scott continued to host the show, bringing some of the dancers onto the stage for hot seats. “Addie, why aren’t you up there?” She shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want to.” She shrugged, her brows high above her eyes, the same look she always gave you when she was lying. “You’re out of cash aren’t you?” You prodded, giving her a knowing look as she nodded. “There’s an ATM just near the door, it’s no charge to get cash out. I know you, you spent it all on the fireman didn’t you?” She nodded sheepishly, standing to go to the cash machine. “I’m a sucker for a man in a uniform.” She shrugged again, tapping you on the shoulder as she headed for the door, leaving you at the table.  

Theo and Scott were wrestling on the stage, their bodies intertwined as Scott pinned him down, a roar shaking the room as Theo swore he could out dance Scott. “You want to see an Alpha?!” Scott roared as the room applauded. “I said, do you want to see an Alpha?!” He roared again as the crowd screamed, Theo scarpering out from underneath Scott’s grip. “Kira! How about you play my track and I’ll show you a true Alpha!” He signalled to the DJ in the corner, a small Japanese girl that looked as sly as a fox, large headphones perched around her neck. The lights dimmed as the stage cleared, Scott kneeling in the middle of the catwalk. He faced away as the room went pitch black, a growl erupting through the crowd as he turned back, luminescent red eyes glowing in the dark room. The lights came up as he jumped into the crowd, his body moving on all fours as the growling got louder, speakers booming the intro of his track. THIS ONE You laughed as the music droned on, your spine tingling as you watched him crawl onto the stage, his face different from before. Hair had grown on his cheeks, his eyes that blood red you had seen briefly as the light shifted. His nails raked over his chest as he ran across the stage, his body moving almost animalistically. Dedication to his craft huh. You laughed as he crawled along the stage, his back arching to the bass of the song as he ran his fingers through his hair. He howled as the tempo changed a deep house track running through the club.  

You don’t know if it was the smoke or something in your eye but you could swear he changed again in front of your eyes, his teeth bared as he rolled against the floor, pulling girls up from the crowd and laying them in a line on the catwalk. He took to the back of the stage, kneeling in a running position as he hurtled through the air, his muscles stretched as he landed. The crowd applauded as the track continued, his body rolling over the girls on the stage as you chewed on your straw. Addie returned at some point, but you were glued to the stage, your eyes never leaving the tanned so-called alpha. “Earth to Lucy?!” She waved in your face as she unfurled your fist, stuffing a load of bills in your hand. “Go nuts, he’s clearly your favourite.” She laughed as you nodded dumbly, your lips dry as you licked over them. You waited until he passed your table, his body brushing yours as you pushed the money into the band of his briefs, his eyes looking over you as you smiled. You watched him wink, those red eyes piercing into you as he moved through the tables, pressing himself into girls, his cock twitching in his briefs.  

The music ended as he took to the stage again, taking a bow as women littered the stage with bills, his fingers grasping at notes. “Thank you, Ladies. Now are you ready? I heard that someone in the crowd is having a birthday?!” He scanned the crowd as your face went red. Luckily one of the new 21ers yelled, her lithe body jumping out the seat. “Happy Birthday! How old are you today?” Scott asked as he got her up on the stage. “21.” She said shyly, her face bright red. “How’s it been so far?” He asked as she nodded excitedly. “Best birthday I've ever had.” She laughed as he cajoled her. “Who’s your favourite act tonight? I won’t kill you if it wasn’t me.” He pressed the mic into her face, her small voice almost unheard over the speaker system. “The Alpha Twins.” She giggled, hiding her smile. “Well it just so happens they are waiting for you in the Red Room, so if you follow Theo, he’ll direct you to your birthday present.” She looked shocked as she took Theo’s arm, her little legs tottering towards the curtained room. “But I heard she isn’t the only birthday girl in the audience.” He smiled, your face dropping as you watched Addie jumping in her seat pointing towards you. “Lucy in the sky with diamonds, get your cute little ass over here.” You sunk further into your seat as you shook your head at Addie. “I hate you.” You joked, eventually standing up, only to smooth down your dress.  

“Now a little birdy told me that you didn’t know what you thought of the show.” He joked as you remembered the conversation you’d had with the FBI guy outside. Stiles was that it? “He says he’s willing to give you a second chance at witnessing the show first-hand, do we have a deal?” You nodded as Theo appeared again, his arm outstretched, ready to lead you to the other curtained room. You don’t know what washed over you as you spoke, your voice clear as it rang through the chattering room. “What if I want two dancers? Like the other birthday girl?” Scott turned to you, his lips pressed together as he spoke. “And what other dancer would you like?” You swallowed thickly, pressing your legs together as you cleared your throat. “An alpha.” You declared, the room jumping into action with hollering and whooping. “You heard her ladies. Looks like my duties are needed elsewhere. I’ll leave you lovely women in the very capable hands of Theo.” He chucked the mic across the room to Theo, who caught it without looking. “Well look who’s finally the Alpha around here?!” He shouted, the crowd screaming in reaction. “Now Lucy, if you’d like to come with me, your birthday present is waiting just behind that curtain.” Scott whispered in your ear as he led you off stage, pointing to a green veil, the light beside it red. “I’ll be right behind you.” He whispered again, his lips ghosting over your skin as you tried to quell the burning inside of you.

You pulled back the gauzy curtain, your mouth falling slack as you saw how small the room was, the walls blacked out as strip lights illuminated dark corners. Faux candles scattered the sideboards, oils and random liquids decanted into jars. You didn’t pay them much attention as you spotted Stiles on the loveseat in the middle of the room, his back facing you as you wished to run your fingers through his hair. “Birthday girl!” He smiled as he turned around, his face properly visible for the first time all night. He was all cheekbones and lips, moles speckling his pale skin as he stood, his dark honey eyes quickly running over you. “Nice of you to join us, I see you sprung for the premium package.” You furrowed your brow in confusion, walking to sit on the loveseat he not long vacated. “I didn’t get this. Addie must of bought the package when I was outside.” You shook your head, reminding yourself to thank her later. “When you were with me?” Stiles asked as he leant against the wall, waiting for Scott to come through the curtained door. “That would be the time that I was outside.” You chuckled nervously, your eyes trailing over the room as you tried to avoid looking at him for too long.  

You sat in awkward silence, not knowing what to say to Stiles as you waited for Scott. Your eyes caught Stiles’ abs as the neon hi vis vest brushed back as he twiddled something in his fingers. “You seem nervous” He joked, pointing at your jiggling leg as you pointed back at his twiddling fingers. “Right back at you, first night on the job?” You laughed as he shook his head. “Nah, I’m just a different person when I’m here.” He shrugged nonchalantly, your eyes drawn away from his happy trail as Scott stepped through the door. You sighed, your eyes glued to Scott’s oiled chest, your lips caught between your teeth. You sat back against the love seat, your legs crossed as Scott walked in front of you, fist bumping Stiles as he swung around to talk to you. “Hi.” He spoke slowly, his gaze falling over you as he eyed you up, chocolate brown eyes boring into your skin as you breathed a hello back. “Has Stiles explained the rules of the Green Room?” He asked as you shook your head, giving Stiles a small smile. “We haven’t really talked much.” You added as you turned your attention back to Scott, your hair flipping over your shoulders as your eyes caught his. “Usually we can’t shut him up. It’s called the Green Room because nothing is off limits. You can touch, a privilege only a few can afford.” He continued as he moved closer to you. “You get one dance, but it doesn’t have to end there. We’ll have a drink with you after the show. How does that sound Lucy?” He cocked his head as you pressed your legs together, excitement running through your veins.  

“That, sounds like I owe my best friend a drink. At least.” You giggled as Stiles smiled, his eyes crinkling as he moved behind the love seat, his hands resting on your shoulders. He bent down to talk to you, his low voice reverberating over your skin as Scott disappeared into the corner, his fingers flicking at a switch as music began to play. THIS ONE. “Now just sit back, and relax. Enjoy yourself.” You blinked slowly as the lights lowered, Scott’s body precariously close to yours as he ground his hips. Stiles rubbed over your shoulders, his long fingers trailing over the crook of your neck, your nerves raw as you leant back into his touch. Scott reached for your hands as he pulled them to him, your fingertips running over his abs, the skin blazing hot as he straddled your hips, your legs coming uncrossed at his weight. Stiles moved his hands, feather light touches grazing your arms and rib cage as he toyed with the material of your dress. Scott’s body rolled against yours as he ran his fingers over the exposed skin of your thigh. His fingers gripped you closer to him as he hitched your legs over his hips, his cock twitching against you. You watched him through lust blown eyes as he stripped off the vest he wore, ripping it from his body as he planted his feet on the floor. He pulled you up against him, rolling himself against you as he supported you; his hands splayed against your ass. Stiles’ touch left you as Scott stood you on the table in the middle of the room.  

You tracked Scott as he walked the room, your attention otherwise diverted as you felt Stiles’ hands on your body, his hips bucking against your ass as he swayed your hips against his. The beat of the music flowed through your body as he turned you to his chest, your fingers stripping the vest from his body as you unbuttoned his jeans. You lost yourself in the music, the feeling of Stiles’ hands on your waist as Scott appeared behind you, the scratch of his jeans against your legs as he rolled over you. You turned to face them both, stepping wobbly off the table, falling back into the loveseat as you watched them, their hips rolling counter clockwise of one another, the movement hypnotising as jeans were ripped from legs. You bit back a moan, one you didn’t realise was on the top of your tongue as they paused, their fingers in the bands of their briefs before Stiles jumped from the table, sitting in the space next to you. He smirked as his hand brushed your hair from your neck once more, nails raking at your skin as he pulled you atop his hips. You bucked slightly, a growing need building within you as his cock pressed against your inner thigh, the material of your dress bunching at your hips as Scott breathed over your neck.  

Stiles lips were almost on your skin as the music began to lower, the sound of it trailing off as you wished it would never end. They moved from your skin, taking place in the centre of the room as they lowered themselves to the floor, biceps curling under taut skin as they crawled towards you. The music ended as they took places at your knees, their lips pressing to the skin on the back of your hands, each set of eyes piercing your own as they panted. Your fingers released from theirs as you ran your fingers through their hair, something you had wanted to do all night. You panted as they stood, their lips swollen as they reached for your hands, pulling you to your feet. You smoothed over your dress as Scott placed his hands on your shoulders, Stiles ducking down to grab your feet. Together they hoisted you up, both of their grips on your skin sent electricity through your skin as you swallowed thickly. They walked together, carrying you from the green room as they took you back to your seat. “Now we have one more show birthday girl. But we’ll be back.” Stiles spoke first, his eyes hooded as they pushed your seat back in. “It’s the full moon finale, who knows what can happen after that.” Scott winked as you giggled, reaching for one of the drinks on the table.  

The guys disappeared after that, your chest falling heavily as Addie gawked at you. “Shut your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” You joked, downing drink after drink. Your head was spinning as you caught your breath, finally cracking a smile at Addie. “So?!” She squealed excitedly, her eyes wide as she leant forwards. “I owe you way more than a drink.” You breathed, remembering the way they had felt against your body. “You don’t owe me anything, except details when you remember how to get your heart beating again.” She joked standing to get you guys some more drinks. “Addie, don’t bother, it’s the final show, we probably don’t need another drink.” THIS ONE .You pushed her back into her seat as the music started up, each guy taking place behind a screen. You breathed heavily, screams erupting from the crowd as the final countdown screeched out over the sound system. Every girl jumped to their feet as the music shifted. You and Addie exchanged looks as she grabbed her purse, shoving bills into your hands. “Maybe we might need that drink. I’m pretty thirsty.” She joked as you nodded, your mouth agape as each guy took place. The music continued as each shadow moved in perfect synchronicity. Addie disappeared from the table, almost running to the bar as her eyes never left the stage.  

Every guy on the stage froze before they began to dance in canon, moving from behind the screen one by one. The music pumped louder as you screamed, unsure where you should focus. Smoke blew from machines behind you as the bass tripled almost tenfold, your body shaking as each guy made his way down the catwalk, displaying his best dance move at the end. All the girls were clapping along, the lyrics of the song belting from everyone as you cheered, your fingers gripping bills. Stiles walked down the stage, his face slightly covered by his hair as he dropped onto his hands, performing one handed push ups, pulling around so he was doing them backwards, his muscles glistening underneath the lights. Your mouth went dry as you glanced around for Addie, realising she was still at the bar. Stiles was joined by Scott as he made his way down, reaching out a hand to pick his friend up before performing a complicated handshake. Stiles walked away, his shorts low on his hips as your eyes coasted over the muscles of his back. You bit down on your lip as Scott flexed, his body rolling as he took to his knees, ripping his shirt off before rubbing it over his cock, chucking it out into the hungry audience.

Your legs crossed as all boys wandered into a line, every single move choreographed to the T as they all filed behind the screen. Every girl in the audience booed as the music lowered, everyone's hearts dropping as the end of the night rolled around. The final chorus rang out as you watched their silhouettes rip off the shorts they all wore. Hips circling to the lyrics as they moved, your eyes darting over each and everyone of them. The music lowered still, the lyrics repeating as the lights dimmed. They cut out completely as the music came back illuminating the other side of the screen. With one swift movement you watched as the screen dropped, the material cascading around their feet as you got a glimpse of their bare asses, arms crossed over their cocks as they stood in a line. The crowd erupted into screams as confetti canons sparked off, the music blasting as the guys turned around, one hand covering their crotches as they walked forwards to give their final bows. As the music dispersed so did the guys, Scott eventually running back to give one last thanks. “Good night Ladies!” He shouted as he ran off again, the lights coming back up as the crowd chattered excitedly. Addie waved you towards the bar as you collected your coats, heading over to where she chatted to Isaac and Jackson. “So the boys were just telling me that Ladies night runs every Wednesday. So now you have to come here every week.” She laughed as Isaac looked over her, his blue eyes wandering over her exposed chest.  

“Well I’d love to but my bank account would seriously hate me for that!” You chuckled as Jackson side eyed you, his lips curling up into a smile. “We welcome everyone. Tippers or not.” He winked at you as you felt a blush ripple through your skin, Isaac giving Jackson a look of disapproval. “Okay Jackson is a trust fund baby, maybe he doesn’t need the tips but I do!” Isaac joked, clearing off the bar as you guys talked between yourselves. Time passed as you waited for Scott and Stiles to come out from the dressing rooms, watching as Jackson and Isaac bickered behind the bar. The room eventually cleared out, all the excitement draining from the room as your body buzzed, still excited from your birthday dance. Alcohol swam through your veins as you sipped on the neon drink, your mouth still dry as you felt yourself craving fresh air. “- you’re just jealous you can’t pull off a scarf!” You heard Isaac defend himself almost childishly, Addie chewing on her straw. It was always a tell of hers, whenever she liked a guy she’d chew her straw. “Jackson, do you think I have time to nip outside?” Jackson looked over at the door as he saw a blonde enter the room, her red lips pursed in a firm line.  

“Unfortunately, not, you’re gonna have to leave. Don’t worry, you’ll still get your birthday drink. Wait by the staff door and the guys will meet you there.” He winked as your face fell. “So, am I going to see you again?” You heard Isaac asking Addie as she grinned, her cheeks bright red. “Maybe, I mean I have someone who lives in town now, so maybe.” She winked as you pulled her away from the bar. “According to Jackson we have to leave, but he said if we wait by the staff entrance then the guys will meet us there?” Addie nodded, her lips pouting as she looked as Isaac. You clinked your glasses together as you downed the liquid within them, grinning like idiots as you waved goodbye to the handsome bartenders. “Dude, Jackson totally had his eye on you.” Addie slurred happily as you walked out of the club, arms linked. “I don’t think so Addie, besides I’m not his type.” You shrugged, reaching the door as a gust of wind hit you. “Why not? You’re totally gorgeous and you’ve got this amazing figure-” You cut her off, your fingers latching over her mouth. “He’s gay.” You looked her in the eyes as she lowered her brows, realisation kicking in. “How do you know?” She asked as you walked past the bouncer, Boyd long gone as he was replaced with a bitchy looking blonde with riot red lips. “Cause he was practically sweating and panting when the Alpha Twins came on. Plus one of the twins was eye fucking him in the finale.” You added curtly, reaching into your bag to pull out a cigarette. “Well that makes sense.” Addie shrugged nonchalantly, pulling the cigarette from your fingers. “You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you.” She smiled as she placed it between her lips, signalling for a lighter.  

“You’re such a scrounger.” You laughed, reaching in your bag for your lighter. You passed it to her as you leant against the brick wall. “Well let me replace what she took from you?” You heard Stiles’ low voice, his fingers producing a carton from his khaki pockets as he walked to you. “Why thank you!” You smiled, taking it graciously as he placed one between his plump lips, the skin only slightly chapped. “You’re welcome. Sorry about the long wait girls.” He apologised, the light from the lighter illuminating his eyes as he breathed in. “It’s okay!” Addie laughed, the noise of it tinkling through the early morning air. “So you’re the best friend huh? Nice to meet you, names Stiles!” He waved hello to Addie, his head slightly nodding as Addie smiled. “You’re the FBI guy right?” She asked as he nodded again, his hands running through his hair, the strands slightly damp as he grinned. “Among other things of course.” He winked at you as you swallowed, choking slightly on smoke as Scott appeared in the staff doorway. “Scotty! What took you so long?” He jeered, slapping Scott on the back as he lit up a smoke. “No hot water. Had to take a cold shower.” He murmured, his voice stuttering. “Probably for the best. Dude, I’ve told you not to smoke. You have asthma!” Stiles scolded Stiles as Scott looked him in the eyes. “Had. I had asthma.” He reminded Stiles as they looked at both of you. “Hey, so we can’t have a drink here because ladies night is officially over and it goes back to normal club hours.” Addie giggled as she shrugged. “We could’ve stayed. I’m not adverse to a good set of tits.” Stiles gave her an appreciative look. “Amen to that!” They high fived as you all stood in a circle, your hands covering your chest as you shivered.  

“So, what’s the plan then?” You asked, your teeth chattering as you looked over the boys. They looked different with their clothes on, Scott’s hoodie was tight against his skin hugging his muscular frame. You couldn’t hide your attraction for him as your eyes wandered down his chest, taking in his more than generous bulge in his jeans. “We know a bar not too far from here. Our friends Mal and Malia own it.” Stiles added, your eyes flickering over him as you took in his soft brown hair, his checked shirt laying open over a graphic tee. Khakis added to the ensemble as Scott laughed, wiping his chin as he spluttered. “Can you say it’s our friends bar when they’re both your exes?” Stiles shot Scott a look as he smiled. “You just love bringing that up, don’t you?” Scott nodded. “Yeah well, regardless, we’re all still friendly!” He defended himself as you chuckled. “Is it far from here?” You asked, turning towards the street. “About a five-minute walk?” You nodded, wobbling on unsteady feet. “Hold up, just got to get tonight's earnings from Erica and then we can get going.” Scott added, crossing the parking lot to the bitchy blonde as she handed him a ziplocked bag.  

“So, what’s this place called then?” Addie asked, discarding her extinguished smoke. “The Den. It’s more of a bar rather than a club, which is easier if you want to get to know someone.” Stiles winked as he looked over you, his lip caught between his teeth. You breathed shakily, your lips puckered as Scott bound over to you guys. “Let’s go!” He smiled, leading the way away from the strip club. No one talked much on the short walk to the bar, Addie happily singing songs she’d heard throughout the night. You silently thanked the lord as you arrived at the cosy bar, relieved to see booths empty as you slid into one happily. Stiles walked to the bar, awkwardly waving down the leggy brunette as she crossed the small space towards him. You turned to Addie, a smile on your face as Scott excused himself from the booth for a moment. "So how are you enjoying your birthday?" Addie asked, a happy smile on her face.  

"You know it may be my best birthday to date!" You exclaimed happily, the alcohol in your system making the room warmer as you settled into the cushioned seat. "You mean it beats the birthday we had in Mexico?" She asked, her brows furrowed as she looked at you. "Yeah, I mean Mexico was fun, but the bug I got from that certainly was not." You added as she nodded in agreement. "Not to be crude but you thought the world was falling out your ass." You laughed as you covered your mouth, the laugh turning into a cough as Scott returned to the table. "I mean you're not wrong." You agreed, smiling at Scott as he slid in opposite you, his large hands clasped together as he leant in. "What are you two giggling about?" He asked as you shot a look at Addie, her face bright red. "Just talking about a trip we took to Mexico a couple of years ago." You explained, watching as his eyes lit up. "Stiles and I went to Mexico years ago too, met up with a few friends, it was pretty great. Some of it was not so great." He added, his eyes darkening slightly.  

"Yeah well not every holiday is perfect, is it?!" Addie exhaled, looking over at the door, an expectant look on her face. She glanced at her phone, something you hadn't even noticed that she had out. "You expecting someone?" Scott asked as Stiles returned, his long fingers gripping at a small black tray, ladled with shots of amber liquid. "Just someone that works at the bar." She sighed, pocketing her phone again. "But it looks like he's not going to show up." She reached forwards, grabbing two of the shots before downing them in quick succession. "Isaac?" You asked her as she nodded, her face wincing as she slammed the glasses down. "That'd be the one!" She smiled as Stiles and Scott shared a knowing look. "He doesn't finish at the same time as us, he has to prepare the bar for the regular crowd so he might still show up. The night is young and so are we!" Scott roared as he handed you two shots, clinking his glass against yours. You maintained eye contact with him, his eyes tracking your lips as you necked the amber liquid, the cool quickly turning burning hot as it hit your throat. You placed the glasses back on the table, wincing as you swallowed the last of your shots, a current running through your body.  

"So, what brings you to Beacon Hills Lucy?" Stiles pried, his eyes boring into yours as you twiddled your fingers. "I took a job with a self-made millionaire. He's an ass but he pays well." Stiles' eyebrow cocked as he looked at you. "What's his name?" He asked as you explained. "Peter Hale?" You spoke questioning as Stiles' face relaxed. "Of course! Who else would it be?!" He gesticulated wildly, his long limbs flying through the air as he collected himself. "I take it you know him?" You asked as Scott nodded. "Something like that." He spoke quietly, his voice lower than you had heard all night. "He’s an ass, we don’t really talk about him much. Malia’s not too fond of him either. Actually, she’s particularly not fond of him.” Stiles added as you quirked your brow, curious as to why. “Any reason why? Or is it just cause he’s a colossal dickhead?” You slurred slightly, your head spinning as Malia arrived at the table, her hands pressed against her hips. “He’s my dad. Don’t worry about it though, we’re not your typical family. Let’s say if I'm having a crisis I have a family to lean back on.” She winked as Scott gave her a nod. “Hey where’s Parrish? Mals been looking for him all night.” Malia asked as Stiles and Scott shrugged. “Last I heard he was showering at the club. Should be here any moment-” Scott cut himself off, his head nodding towards him. He was lip locked with a pretty brunette, the girl you knew as Mal. “See he found his way to the bar” Addie joked as Stiles smiled. “And back to his girlfriend, well soon to be fiancée but Mal doesn’t know that yet.” He added as Malia smiled.  

“Oh she knows, she found the ring. She’s just waiting for him to get his shit together and actually ask her.” Malia spoke curtly, her eyes sparkling as she smiled a toothy grin. “Well he better hurry up!” Addie laughed, watching as Mal broke lips with Parrish, smiling widely as she filled orders behind the bar. Malia waved goodbye, heading back through the crowd, her tanned limbs stalking as she collected glasses. “Don’t see why she doesn’t just hire Liam and Mason to do that.” Scott joked as Stiles nodded. You didn’t understand who they were talking about but you enjoyed their company. Drinks flowed as did the conversation, all of you getting to know each other better as the music ebbed in the background. A high-pitched squeak interrupted your conversation as Addie jumped up, her face lit up by her phone screen. “BITCH, dance with me!” She yelled, the song changing to one of your favourites. “You know I can’t actually dance though!” You whined, your feet throbbing from the heels. She shot you a look as you stood, pulling at the hem of your dress as you sidled out the booth. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to satisfy her need to become Beyoncé.” You laughed as they both looked over you, your dress clinging to your every curve. “I don’t need to become Beyoncé. I am Beyoncé. She is me. Me is she. Kindred spirits.” Addie giggled, all of her words jumbling into one as she grabbed your hands, dragging you towards the crowded dancefloor.  

You laughed as she ground against you, her arms in the air as she dropped to the floor, your hips circling to the heavy bass of the song playing. You gripped your drink in your hand as you wound, the alcohol in your system making you more carefree. You barely felt eyes on you as you tipped your head back, lights flashing behind closed eyes. Addie pulled your arms, linking her fingers with yours as you both moved, laughs piercing the air as you danced, both of the guys at the booth staring at you as you let your guard down. “I’ll be right back” You shouted to her, pressing over her as she danced. She barely paid attention to your words as she gyrated to the music, her fingers running through her hair. She had a wide grin on her face as she danced, it was one of the only times she truly looked as insane as she was. You wormed your way out of the throng of sweaty bodies, your dress sticking to you uncomfortably as you followed flickering neon signs to the bathroom. You hadn’t surveyed yourself all night and now you knew the boys were looking at you in a certain way, you wanted to make sure they liked what they saw.  

You fixed the bit of eyeliner that had smudged down your cheek, reapplying your lipstick in the mirror as Mal from the bar walked in. “Hi! You must be Lucy?” She asked, her tone chipper as she rinsed her hands off in the sinks. “You’re Mal right? Parrish’s girlfriend?” You responded, slightly unsure of yourself as you leant against the marble countertop. “Yeah, just his girlfriend. I found a ring weeks ago but he hasn’t done anything with it.” She sounded despondent as you reached out a comforting arm. “He’d be stupid not to take you as his wife. I’ve known you for all of what?-” You faked looking at a watch on your wrist as you caught her eyes. “- like three seconds? So I think he should get off his ass.” You joked, watching as her face lit up, her cheeks blushing red as she gave you a warm smile. “You’re really nice, no wonder Scott likes you so much.” She winked as you swallowed. “How do you know that?” You asked her, nervously pushing your hair behind your ears. “Cause you’re just his type. Also Stiles can’t keep his mouth shut for more than three seconds.” She laughed, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Not necessarily a bad thing.” You responded as you chuckled. “Definitely not a bad thing.” She added as you walked out the restroom, your spirits high as you watched Addie dance with a familiar guy. He looked different with his shirt on, but from the scarf you could tell that Isaac had finally found Addie again.  

“How about I buy you a drink on the house? I heard it’s your birthday.” Mal asked as she headed over to the bar. “You really don’t have to!” You thanked her as you made your way back to the booth. Your eyes caught a glimpse of Parrish as he leant against a wall, talking with a few of the other guys from the club. You sighed as you wandered over to him, tapping his arm lightly as you felt emboldened by the spirits flowing through your veins. “Excuse me, you’re Parrish aren’t you?” He nodded, his look confused as his eyes tracked over your face. “You don’t know me but I know your girlfriend. I see the way you look at her. So wife her up.” You prodded his chest, marvelling at the way your finger bent back, almost like it had hit a brick wall. He looked angry for a moment, something catching fire in his eye before he calmed down, his eyes tracking over Mal. “Thanks. I needed the push, even if it was from a person I don’t know.” He chuckled, sipping his drink as you smiled. “Well now you do, i’m the girl that changed your life. YOU’RE WELCOME!” You cheered, waving goodbye to him as you slid back into the booth; Stiles and Scott were in deep conversation.

You sipped on your drink as you watched Addie dance with Isaac, the both of them almost glued together. You smiled, knowing she was happy as you swayed to the music. “Why aren’t you dancing birthday girl?” Scott asked, his intense eyes connecting with yours as you swallowed the drink you’d been swilling in your mouth. “Oh, Addie started dancing with Isaac and I don’t really dance-” You trailed off, shrugging nonchalantly as Scott smiled. “Excuses, you just haven’t found the right partner, come dance with me?” He reached out his hand towards you, as you stood. “Fine but don’t show me up, you know fine well you can dance.” You laughed, referencing the show earlier. “Don’t think he can always dance. It tooks months of intensive choreographing to get him to that stage.” Stiles joked, sipping on his drink as he lowered his eyes to the table. You laughed, running your fingers over the back of your neck, the skin still sensitive from earlier, the ghost of Stiles’ fingers still pressing on you. You waited by the booth as Scott slid out, grabbing your hands as he pulled you to the dance floor. Your skin came alight as he pressed you to his chest, your legs straddling his as he rocked you, his hands pressed against your lower back. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers lacing together as you caught tendrils of his hair between your fingertips.  

His lips pressed against your ear as he hummed to the music, moving your hips against his as the beat slowed. Your heart hammered in your chest as his breath fanned over your hot skin, the material of your dress shifting up your thigh. Your eyes opened as Scott danced with you, your eyes catching Stiles’ as he sat in the booth, his straw wedged between his teeth. You lowered your head to Scott’s shoulders, maintaining eye contact with Stiles as Scott’s hands smoothed over your hips, his fingers splaying against your ass. You swung your hips in figure eights as you turned, your back against Scott's chest. His fingers hovered on your waist, one hand coming up to move the hair to your neck as he kissed over the skin there. Your eyes fluttered closed as you relaxed into Scott’s touch, your head spinning as you lost yourself in the music. You moved instinctively, arching yourself against him, looking through lust blown eyes at Stiles only to find the booth empty. You looked around confused, constantly getting distracted by Scott’s lips, his teeth trailing over the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You licked over your lips, your feet faltering as you slipped on the floor. Cool fingers reached out to catch you as you registered Scott’s hands on your thighs.  

You glimpsed Stiles as he moved towards you, his eyes dark in the smokey bar, lips curled up in a smirk. He inched closer to you, his movements precise as if he would scare you off if you moved too fast. You smiled, nipping at your lips as you wrapped your arms over his shoulders, Scott’s hands firmly pressing your ass to his hips. “I wanted to dance with the birthday girl.” Stiles spoke, his nose pressing against your ear as he smiled. “All you had to do was ask.” You responded, pulling him closer to you as you swayed wedged between both dancers. You turned after a while, every song blurring together as you moved, their bodies against yours as the hour passed. Eventually all things had to come to an end though, Addie’s hands gripped your arms as she pulled you from Scott and Stiles. “Write your address on my hand.” She pointed to her wrist, shoving a sharpie in your face. You looked at her in confusion as Isaac hung around behind her. It was then you saw her lipstick was smudged, her hair slightly out of place. “Okay, be safe.” You rolled your eyes, hugging her before she disappeared out of view. You turned back to Stiles and Scott, apologising for the interruption as they glanced at the bar. You turned around, noticing Malia stood on the bar top, her hands cupped around her mouth.  

“Yo! It’s late, get the fuck out the bar.” She shouted as you heard a screech of joy, Mal’s small body hurtling at Parrish as she latched her body around his. “And unless you want to be privy to some really sappy lovely dovely bullshit I’d leave.” She gestured to Mal, proudly staring at her hand, the light reflecting off a delicate ring on her left hand. “Well, looks like he finally did it. Wonder why that was?!” Stiles joked bumping into you as you walked towards the booth, collecting your jacket and purse. “I had absolutely nothing to do with it I swear!” You joked as Scott gave you a knowing look. “Yeah okay I had something to do about it. I’m impatient.” You shrugged, pulling your hair from the collar of your jacket. You regretted it instantly, shifting it off your shoulders as you headed for the door, Scott and Stiles by your side. The bar emptied as you stood outside, a cigarette between your lips. “So what now? Is there another bar?” You asked them, their eyebrows cocked above their eyes. “It’s like 4am. I know you’re a big city girl but here we are certainly not big city night people.” Stiles laughed as your face dropped. Your body was still buzzing from their touch, your system foggy from the drinks but not as much as it usually would affect you. Something about the guys made your body alive. “We can always continue on back at our place?” Scott suggested, his lips curled into a suggestive smile. You found yourself licking over your lips, your stance shifting slightly as your mind wandered about what would happen back at their apartment.  

“Walking distance or cab?” You asked, secretly desperate to get out of your heels. “Cab, we live on the other side of town.” Stiles smiled, hailing one down as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Ladies first!” Scott held the door of the yellow cab open as your crawled through, making sure to sway your ass giving them ample view of your ass in the skin-tight dress. “So where to?” The cabbie asked as you shrugged, Stiles quickly giving the address, his fingers lightly resting on your bare skin. His light touch pooled heat within you, something that had been building from the second you entered the club. “So, you two live together and work together?” You asked, your fingers absentmindedly stroking over Scott’s thigh. “Yeah, we’re not adverse to sharing.” Stiles whispered as Scott leant over, his arm now resting on top of yours as he brought your hand to rest over your throbbing pussy. You’d yearned for this all night and now it seemed like a reality you had to stop the urge to pinch yourself. “Well that makes for a better friendship I feel.” You spoke, your breath catching in your throat as you sank down in your seat, the cab drivers eyes connecting with yours as he glanced in the back seat. Scott pressed against your cunt, his fingers manipulating yours underneath your dress. You bit back a stifled breath, careful to keep yourself from making it obvious in the back of the car.  

Your fingers traced over Stiles’ thigh, the coarse material of his khakis running underneath your fingertips. Your eyes connected with his as your hands roamed over his growing bulge, his cock twitching at the lightest of touches. Your breathing slowed as your heart hammered, slow and insistent as Scott traced your finger over your clit, dipping back into your entrance as the cab took a sharp turn. Scott moved your hand away quick enough as the cabbie pulled into a parking lot outside a tall apartment complex. “Here you go.” He clicked the overhead light on, your eyes catching the severe expanse of thigh you had on display. The driver turned to you, his eyes wandering down your skin before he took one look at Scott and Stiles. “Have a good night.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, as you smiled awkwardly. “You too!” You sang as you exited the cab, adjusting the hem of your dress once more. Stiles led the way to their apartment.  

You didn’t pay much attention the decor as Scott closed the door, his fingers pulling at the material of his hoodie before you could even blink. “Now Birthday Girl what do you want?” He asked as Stiles pulled your jacket from your shoulders, tossing it onto the couch. “Whatever you’re going to give me.” You responded your voice barely a whisper as he closed the gap between you. “Well I'm not sure about you, but for what I want to give you, you won’t be needing this.” He raked over the soft material of your dress, his fingers leaving a trail of electric running through your skin even through your dress. You watched as Stiles set up some music, stripping off his over shirt and tee, leaving his chest bare to you. Your eyes flickered between his freckles and moles as you nodded towards him, urging him to move closer. “If you want it off, all you have to do is ask.” You murmured as Scott dipped his head to your neck, pushing your hair to one side as he sucked wet hot kisses into the hollows of your collarbones. Your body was on fire as you felt Stiles pull at the spaghetti straps of your dress, his nails lightly catching your skin as he pulled them down your shoulders, his lips pressed on the other side of your neck. You moaned lightly, your body rolling between them both as Scott pulled the tie on your hip, the dress hanging from your frame as you closed your eyes.  

Stiles maneuvered the dress from your body, letting it cascade around your ankles as your fingers wrapped around Scott’s arms, the muscle hard to the touch as you melted between them both. Stiles’ fingers ran over your waist as Scott pulled at the band of your panties, rough pads of his fingertips grazing your tingling skin as you pulled away. “Not here.” You breathed, wanting to feel them on you once more. They led you from the living room, through a hallway into a bedroom before pulling you onto the bed between them. You faced both of them, reaching behind yourself to undo your bra, letting the strapless material fall from your body. You watched through lust blown eyes as their eyes glazed over, each of them lowering themselves to your chest. You wobbled, uneasy on your knees on the mattress, each set of lips tracing over your tits. They licked expertly as you felt your heart stop, the throbbing in your pussy getting stronger as they sucked your nipples between their teeth, rolling the sensitive peaks. Your head threw back, the room going fuzzy as warmth pooled between your legs. You looked down, a mass of hair tickling your skin as they picked you up, ridding you of your panties as they lay you on your back. Scott’s hands roamed over your stomach as he snaked his way down your body, your hips bucking against the contact as he pressed a finger to your clit. He stopped licking over your body, lying next to you as you spread your legs, pressing yourself harder against his agonisingly slow touch.  

He circled over your clit, his lips pulled wide as he smiled watching you squirm. “You sound sexier than I could’ve ever imagined.” He whispered to you, his eyes connecting with the place you two met, his pace quickening slightly as you choked out a moan. “I bet you taste better than I ever imagined too.” He added, lifting his fingers to his mouth as he licked over them, your eyes hooded as you watched him. “I wasn’t wrong.” He chuckled, lowering his head to place kisses on your skin as he brushed over your clit once more. Stiles had raised his head a while ago, moving himself further down the bed to your knees, his nails digging half moons into your thighs as he licked over his lips. He lifted one hand to his face, the long digits scratching over the beginnings of stubble as he slid his hand down your thigh. Your heart stammered as you arched your back as the fire Scott created climbed higher within you. Stiles paused as Scott slowed, before he surged forwards, his long digits teasing over your entrance as you choked on a moan, his fingers sinking into you as you arched from the bed once more. The fire within you climbed higher still, every peak of the flame licking at the nerves in your body. You let out a strangled cry as Stiles curled his fingers, hitting the spot within you that made you forget your own name. “Fu-” You stammered, your toes curling as they moved in sync, Scott’s fingers quickening over your sensitive clit as Stiles pumped his long fingers into your cunt.  

“I can-” You didn’t finish your words as your mouth hung open, your muscles tensing as pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave. Your head spun as you writhed beneath their touch, your body overloaded as Scott’s hair tickled your chest. Your eyes rolled back as you slammed back against the bed, the boys not even stilling as your breath quickened, the fire still raging on inside you. Your orgasm barely subsided as the pushed you to the edge again, your nails raking against Scott’s back as you fisted the sheets. Stiles whispered, barely audible over your moans but you heard him none the less. “Cum for me baby.” You didn’t need him to tell you what to do as you came away from the bed, Stiles’ fingers slowing as you crashed back to the mattress, your head spinning. “Good girl. What do you want now?” You heard Scott ask, your eyes fluttering open as you caught your breath. “I want to see the other side of the full moon show.” You whispered unsure he heard you. “Which one?” He asked, nodding between himself and Stiles. “Both.” You opened your eyes fully, your peripherals fuzzy as you sat up. Your head swam as they moved from the bed, standing at the edge of the bed as they stripped off the last of their clothes. “Jesus-” You found yourself mouthing as they stood proudly, cocks hard as they gazed over your body.  

You leant forward, crawling on your hands and knees as you sat on the edge of the bed, your hands reaching for their cocks in unison. You gripped them both lightly, adjusting yourself as you lowered yourself onto your knees in front of them. “How about I see if I think you’re as good as you taste Scott?” You teased, rolling your thumb over his head as he cantered forwards. You lowered yourself towards him, your other hand stroking over Stiles’ generous length as you wrapped your lips around Scott’s head, a groan leaving his lips. Your hand quickened over Stiles as you sucked Scott into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing as you ran your tongue over him, his cock hitting the back of your throat. He stilled as you took him all the way to his base, your nose diving into the curly dark hair as you pulled back, his cock twitching as you smiled up at him. You licked over your lips, toying with the precum on the tip of your tongue. “What about you Stiles?” You turned your attention to him, looking up at him as his mouth hung open, his hips bucking towards you. “Do you taste delicious too?” You asked, not giving him time to respond as you circled his head, sucking him into your mouth before bobbing your head. He choked on his breath, a moan slipping past his pink lips as he bucked towards you Scott pulling away from your grasp.  

You felt him shift behind you, his hands gripping at your hips as you sucked Stiles further into your mouth, your tongue rolling over the vein on the underside of his cock. You felt Scott palm over your ass as Stiles’ hands knotted into your hair, his arms guiding you to where he wanted you the most. Your pussy throbbed as Scott ran his head over your slick folds, his cock pressing against your sensitive clit as he positioned himself at your entrance. You moaned as he pressed himself inside you, burying himself to the hilt as he bottomed out inside you. Your eyes rolled slightly as he began to thrust, giving you both a moment to adjust to his length as you backed up against him. “You just love fucking his cock whilst choking on mine don’t you baby.” Stiles cooed, moving a tendril from your face as you moaned, Scott’s hips snapping against yours. The embers of the fire within you sparked as you took Stiles’ cock fully in your mouth. Your lips wrapped tight over him as you used your hand to run your nails over his balls, the sound of his moans heaven to your ears.  

Scott growled as you tensed around him, your body slamming against his as Stiles fell from your mouth, a mewl replacing it. “Do that again baby.” Scott asked, his fingers tapping against your hips as you tensed again. Whimpers left your lips as Scott pulled you flush to his chest, your back arched as Stiles knelt in front of you. He licked over his fingers, trailing them down your body leaving a cool path in his wake as he pressed his fingers to your clit. You tensed at his touch, Scott’s fingers digging harder into your skin as Stiles flickered over your clit. Your breathing hitched as you cried out, your body going slack for a moment as Stiles caught you in a kiss, his tongue sloppily running over your lips as you came. He slowed as you deepened the kiss; Scott’s pace faltering as you tensed once more, his own orgasm washing over him as he bottomed out within you. Stiles pulled you from Scott, your legs hooked over his arms as lay on the bed, pulling you atop him. You lowered yourself slowly, all of your muscles shaking as you straddled him.

He sighed as he bottomed out within you, his hips instantly snapping up against yours. He pulled you down to him, kissing over your neck as he rolled you onto your back. He knelt between your thighs, teasing over you before plunging back within you. Your body shook as your eyes swam; every nerve in your body on edge as he placed your legs on his shoulders. Scott disappeared leaving the room as Stiles pounded into you, a cacophony of moans in the large room as his cock slammed against your G-spot. You cried out, the sound strangled as it left your dry throat as you tensed around him, your body spasming as you fisted the sheets. Stiles paused before his hips slammed against you once more, his eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy as his orgasm washed over him. He fell atop you, catching himself on his strong arms before shifting from between your legs. You curled into a ball as Scott entered the room, loose lacrosse shorts hanging from his hips. You looked in his hands noticing the glasses and the bottle tucked in the crook of his arm. “Intermission and Act two?” He asked, a small smile on his lips as you sat up. “Of course.”  

You awoke the next morning, your mouth dry as you read the alarm clock. 11am. Not bad seeing as though you only fell asleep around 8. You pulled the covers off of yourself, looking over the already purpling marks on your skin. You smiled, heading towards the sound of music from the living room. You noticed a clean jersey on the dress, pulling it over your head as you searched for your panties. “Breakfast?” You heard Stiles say as you turned, noticing his just rolled out of bed hair. “If there’s enough to share?” You said hopefully, checking your phone as you grabbed your clutch. A few missed calls from Addie but other than that no damage done after the amount you drank last night. You flicked through your conversations, selecting Addie as you drafted a message.  

Don’t expect me home till later. Best. Birthday. Ever.  

[sapphicscholar]

Literally just Halloween fluff to make up for what I've heard was a shitshow of an episode (though I won't see it until tomorrow night, so please no spoilers!) Pairings: Sanvers, Supercorp, Scholsen, and Lucy/Vasquez (don't know a name for them..) because fuck it, I want all the cute gay pairings

A/N: Happy Halloween! Also, heyyy, I’m back! Thanks for the patience and best wishes for the exam! It…well, it happened. Fun story: walking into the room, I over heard one of the women who was waiting to take the Math GRE Subject Test whisper to her friend, “Oh god, those are the lit kids. They’re the only ones with more of a curve than we get because the test is so hard almost everyone fails.” Cool, cool, cool, thanks for the fun vote of confidence!

I’m still pausing on the new prompts because I want to catch up so I don’t have the queue hanging over my head, but asks on Tumblr are open since I’m more than happy to answer questions/brainstorm ideas that may or may not end up in future fic/generally chat about random shit. This one was not prompted, but I liked the idea, so I ran with it for a short fluffy one-shot. I’ll get a Tumblr post up sometime soon with a master list of all of my Halloween fics, one of which may not go up until later this week…

Chapter Text

“Where’s my gun?” Maggie yelled from the living room.

“You don’t need it tonight!” Alex called back, her voice slightly breathy as she forced her foot into her tall boots.

“Not the real one—the toy one! For my costume!”

“Oh. Uh…I think it’s in the closet.”

“Spent enough time in there to know,” Maggie mumbled, laughing when Alex’s retort came back almost instantly: “I couldn’t hear the specifics, but I’m sure it was rude!”

As Maggie rooted through the closet, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist as Alex’s breath was suddenly hot against her neck. “Need a hand? I’ve been told I have quite the reach.”

Laughing, Maggie spun in Alex’s arms, her breath catching at the sight of Alex’s red and black spandex suit, the telltale yellow “i” emblazoned on her chest. “Well, hello there, Elastigirl.”

“Eyes back in your head, Sawyer. Tonight we have to be appropriate for the kiddos.”

“Only until 9…”

Smiling even as she shook her head, Alex leaned in and kissed Maggie softly. “C’mon, Jessie, let’s find your cowboy hat and your gun and get your cute little butt down to CatCo.”

“My cute little but would definitely prefer to stay here with you and that spandex suit.”

“Wasn’t this whole thing your idea?”

“With Kara, and I’m totally sure should could handle it on her own…”

“Nope. You two are finally getting along well, and I’m not about to jeopardize that for sex.”

“What if I promise to—”

Alex cut her off with a finger to the lips and a stern shake of the head. She might have more self-control than most, but there was only so much she could resist, and when Maggie took it upon herself to verbalize all the things she wanted to do to Alex—well, all bets were off. “I’ll get your gun and the candy. You find your hat and my mask.”

“Roger that, Elastigirl.”

“Is this going to go on all night?”

“You betcha.”

One heated makeout that left the car windows fogged and costumes slightly askew later they finally made their way into CatCo, waving as they caught sight of Kara dashing to and fro in full Supergirl attire as she put the finishing touches on the decorations for their alien-friendly Halloween. When Maggie had mentioned over dinner one night that there was often an uptick in instances of anti-alien attacks on Halloween as too many young off-worlders attempted to go out—gills and tentacles and blue skin on display, assuming it was the one night a year they could be themselves—only to find themselves found out as “real” aliens and subjected to the anti-alien hostilities Cadmus and the like continued to stir up, Kara had been quick to jump into action, intent on finding a safe way for the aliens who, unlike her, didn’t have the privilege of blending in to celebrate the holiday like the other kids their age. After one short meeting with James and Lena and two slightly longer meetings with J’onn and Maggie’s captain about ensuring the support of local law enforcement, Kara was off and running to plan CatCo’s first “All-Inclusive Halloween Extravaganza.”

Kara, Maggie, and M’gann had worked together to find the closest approximation to sweets from all different planets (as well as to mark anything that could be toxic to certain species), to come up with a whole host of games and activities, and to promote the event to local kids. Alex had to admit, she was beyond impressed with the results. The entire first floor of CatCo had been transformed. A string of cubicles was now a row of activity booths, including face painting, bobbing for apples, and painting mini pumpkins, while the entire back section of the floor had become a haunted house run by Winn and Vasquez, who had worked together to rig up animatronic ghouls, sound systems, and motion sensor-activated surprises.

With another half hour until the kids started arriving, Alex carried their candy over to the sweets table where James and Lena were busy sorting and labeling everything—both of them more than a little concerned about potential lawsuits from leaving anything that could be lethal or toxic unlabeled.

“Cute costume,” James commented. “Didn’t want to go the couples route?”

“Nah, she doesn’t quite have the size to pull off a Mr. Incredible costume. And I wasn’t about to dress up as Woody and match her.”

“Buzz Lightyear?” Lena suggested, stifling a laugh at Alex’s unamused expression.

“I prefer a bit of flexibility in my costumes.”

“Ah yes, the DEO catsuit—but now in red!” James teased, earning a glare from Alex.

“You’re talking a big game for a man in spandex himself.”

“You can’t go wrong with the Superman route…”

“Excuse me, I think you could have killed it as Supergirl too,” Lena chimed in, twirling slightly in her skirt, stopping only when she noticed the real Supergirl frozen in place, mouth hanging open. With a wink and a small wave to her girlfriend, Lena turned her attention back to Alex, not missing the protective big sister scowl. “So! The candy.”

Figuring she could be generous for the holiday, Alex indulged the digression and turned her attention back to sorting the sweets.

Across the room, Lucy strolled in with a few of the other DEO agents there to make sure nothing happened to ruin the fun night for the kids.

“What are you, Luce?” Kara asked, assessing the totally unmarked black spandex suit paired with black heels.

Lucy gestured at the furry ears on her headband and rolled her eyes, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a cat. Duh.”

“A very sexy cat,” Vasquez added, wrapping her arms around Lucy and pulling her in for a kiss.

“Don’t get your night of the living dead makeup on me!” Lucy squealed, though her laugh and indulgent smile gave her away.

“C’mon, let your undead zombie bride carry you through the door of the haunted house.”

“I feel like that’s seven years of bad luck…”

“Nah, I won’t break any mirrors.”

Kara chuckled as Vasquez bent at the knees and easily scooped Lucy up into her arms bridal style, whisking her across the room and leaving Kara to direct the DEO agents to different areas of the floor.

---

After a few quiet minutes while Kara anxiously paced around, peering out the door in the hopes that someone would arrive, local families slowly began trickling in, the young aliens mingling with the human children of some of National City’s prominent alien rights advocates as their parents gathered at the cider table to chat. Within half an hour, the floor was crowded, and the sound of laughter and squeals from inside the haunted house filled the air, mingling with the Halloween soundtrack Lucy had prepared for the occasion, letting the occasional Rocky Horror song slip in among the kids tunes.

“You proud of the event?” Alex asked, sidling up next to Maggie and handing over a cup of the cider she’d spiked just a bit.

“Yeah, I think it’s going well,” Maggie offered with a small shrug of her shoulders.

“Ugh, why is it that you’re only a cocky shit at home.”

“Cause you love it when I’m a cocky shit in the bedroom,” Maggie teased.

Blushing slightly, Alex swatted at Maggie’s upper arm. “Just take credit for the damn event, Sawyer. It’s a huge success.”

“Yeah? Yeah, it kind of is.”

“Definitely is.”

---

Across the room, James made his way over to the haunted house, having left the treat table in Kara and Lena’s very capable hands, hoping they wouldn’t distract one another too much. “How’s my little master of ceremonies doing?” James asked, draping an arm across Winn’s shoulders.

“Master of horror, master of gore—c’mon, let me have a cool title.”

“Is Man in the Van not cool enough for you?” James teased. Seeing the small pout on Winn’s face, he pulled out the caramel apple he’d brought over. “Make it better?”

“A little.”

“What if I offered to go through the haunted house with you?”

“It’s not fun when we both know what’s going to happen,” Winn reasoned, though he’d been dying to take James out to the truly creepy warehouse-turned-haunted house in downtown National City since it opened.

“What if I told you that I asked Vasquez to rig up a few horrors that you don’t know about?”

“Well, then, I might just say you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“Only a might?”

“Let’s see how it goes first,” Winn stipulated, though the poorly concealed grin gave him away, and he excitedly grabbed James hand and dragged him over to the entrance as soon as Vasquez was all set up.

By the time they made it out, Winn was in James’ arms and even James looked like he had seen a ghost. “What the hell, Vasquez? I thought we had a deal!”

“The deal was to scare the crap out of Winn. I did that, didn’t I?” Vasquez gestured at the way Winn had wrapped himself around James like a koala bear.

“But I didn’t tell you to scare me too!”

“Who says it was intentional?” Vasquez asked, trying and failing to look innocent.

“Lucy told you, didn’t she?”

“Told her what?” Lucy asked, popping into the conversation.

“About how he’s super scared of mice,” Vasquez announced, drawing a loud laugh from Lucy who nodded gleefully.

“So how’d you get Winn that scared? I thought he was supposed to be all master of horror tonight.”

“Oh, Winn here is terrified of the Joker…just threw in that signature laugh and a few choice holograms and boom—instant koala bear.”

“It’s a perfectly legitimate fear,” Winn pouted as he let himself be lowered to the ground.

“Sure it is.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, I’ve gotta head back over to the music, but I’m about to give a little dance lesson to the grown ups on how to do the Time Warp so I suggest you close your haunted house for the night.” With a small mock salute, Lucy turned and strutted back over to the makeshift dance floor.

“I’m not gonna miss watching you pelvic thrust, babe,” Vasquez called after Lucy, hopping out of the control seat to follow her across the room.

“Sure you already get plenty of that at home…” Winn trailed off, smiling impishly at Vasquez, who had rounded on him.

“You know Danvers isn’t the only one who knows six very painful ways to kill you with her index finger, right, Schott?”

“Psh, you’ll never be as scary as the Joker! Good try!”

“I can project the Joker hologram into your bedroom when you least expect it,” Vasquez threatened.

“Shutting up now.”

“Good idea.”

From across the room, they heard Lucy announce over the microphone: “It’s time for the Time Warp, and if I don’t see Superman, Captain Kirk, Jessie, Elastigirl, Supergirl 1, Supergirl 2, and Zombie Bride out on the dance floor, they’re gonna be joining me on stage to teach you all the dance!”

Within moments, the entire Superfriends crew had materialized on the dance floor, leaving M’gann and J’onn, who had arrived late after a quick patrol as Supergirl, to play the responsible adults at the snack table. As the opening chords rang out through the speakers, Alex felt Maggie’s hand squeezing her own.

“What’s that for?”

“I love you. I love this. I love our weird little family, you know?”

“Yeah, I love you too.”

“I can see you two lovebirds not stepping to the left!” Lucy yelled, her gaze trained on Alex and Maggie. “Would you like to come up here and help me demonstrate the moves?”

With a laugh and a middle finger that Maggie hastily knocked down before any of the kids could see, Alex let herself be pulled into the routine.

[kiraswritten]

Color Me Jealous (Reader x Bucky)

pairings: reader x bucky barnes, past!reader x natasha romanoff warnings: smut, unprotected sex, sorta angry sex, jealousy, semi-public sex a.n: just wanted to write something a little different for a change, plus I’m gay so there’s that. (does anyone else headcanon Natasha as Milla Jovovich cause holy shit??)

“She’s absolutely ridiculous! Fuck,” Bucky lets out, sitting down on the couch next to Natasha. He throws his head back, resting his head onto the back of the couch.

Natasha puts down her phone and shoots a look at Bucky, a smirk on her lips.

“You talking about (Y/N)?”

Bucky looks up at Nat and nods his head. “Fuck, she just gets me so… you know? Teasin’ me, grinding her ass onto my crotch, fuckin’ driving me wild.”

“You know, I can help you out.”

“How so?”

“I can help you make her get jealous.” A smile forms on Natasha’s lips.

Bucky raises his right eyebrow, looking at Natasha with a confused look, “She never gets jealous.”

Natasha shrugs her shoulders, “I’m a unique case. (Y/N) and I had a thing… okay more than a thing but we broke it off cause timing sucked and well… we used fool around a bit before I was with Clint. She gets extremely jealous with me though, dunno why.”

Bucky’s eyes almost popped out of its sockets, “You and (Y/N)?” He sits for a moment nodding his head, “All of Sam’s innuendos make so much more sense now.”

Nat lets out a chuckle, “What can I say? (Y/N) is the one that got away but I think we’re both better off as friends and I have Clint now, so it all worked out in the end.”

“So,” Bucky licks his lips, “What do you suggest I do? And would Clint be okay with this? I-I mean if this backfires I don’t want two Avengers coming for my ass.”

Natasha shakes her head, “I can handle Clint, I help you out with your problem and I get angry sex with my man, so this is a win/win situation.”

Tony’s party was in full swing; everyone was drinking to their hearts content, you decided to grab a drink from the bar.

You looked around to see if Bucky was around and you visibly frowned when the super-soldier was nowhere to be seen. You turn back at the bartender and order a shot, you down it quickly, the sting of the alcohol burning your throat, but you enjoyed it, loving the heat that came afterwards.

You saw Clint and Sam standing at the opposite side of the bar and made your way towards them, wanting to spend time with your fellow teammates.

“Any of you boys seen Bucky?” You asked.

Sam whistled at the sight of you, his eyes looking you up and down.

“Damn Baby, you look fine tonight, you’re gonna give Barnes a heart attack looking like that.”

Clint clicks his tongue, nodding his head in agreement, “Are you trying to kill the guy (Y/N)? This whole week you’ve been teasin’ the man so much, he might snap.”

You smiled proudly, running your hands down your body, it was a simple outfit, a black dress that hugged your body well, showing off your assets. You had on your signature makeup look for occasions like these and had your hair styled to complement your look. You also had on red stilettos that made your legs look phenomenal, it was safe to say that you looked good.

“That’s the plan.” You smirked, resting your hand on Clint’s shoulder to keep you from falling.

“Oh shit.” Sam says, his mouth agape.

Clint follows where Sam looked and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide.

“No fuckin’ way.”

You turn to the direction and you instantly felt your blood boil.

Bucky and Nat were dancing with each other provocatively, her ass grinding on his crotch, both his hands holding her hips firmly. Natasha was holding onto Bucky’s neck, her head resting on his shoulder while her other hand was holding onto Bucky’s hand.

You felt your face heat up with so much jealousy, no fucking way this was happening.

“Guess Barnes and Tasha are both teaming up against you Hun,” Sam states.

It was a weird sensation, to be both jealous and very much turned on at the sight before you.

It was a given that you were very possessive with Natasha, though you trusted Clint, you still felt like that towards her. You knew that the two of you were better off as friends, but it still didn’t settle the jealous monster in your body from feeling this way.

It also didn’t help that it was Bucky who was grinding his crotch against her ass.

Usually you were never jealous, when Bucky would hang out with other women you never batted an eyelash, the two of you weren’t anything, hell, you only shared a kiss so granted you didn’t feel the need to be jealous towards the others but with Natasha, they both stepped over a line.

You asked the bartender for another shot, grabbing it forcefully from the table then finishing the contents quickly.

You start to make your way towards the two when you felt Clint’s hand grab your wrist.

“(Y/N), calm down,” he reasons with you.

You pull your hand away from Clint suddenly, “Barnes is gonna get what’s comin’ for him,”

You make your way towards the two, when Natasha sees you closing in on them, she detaches herself from Bucky, winking at you before making her way to Clint.

Her actions only fueled your anger, you grab Bucky by his wrist, pulling him with you. Normally, you wouldn’t have been this strong to take him with you but he let you drag him along, his eyes taking in your form as the two of you made your way inside of the Avengers tower and into an empty storage closet.

You shove Bucky into the small room, shutting the door behind you as you pushed him against the wall, your chest heaving as you glared at him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game Barnes,” you growled, both your hands pressed against the wall.

You were glad you were wearing heels, though you were still significantly shorter than Bucky, at least you were somewhat eye-level with him.

Bucky licks his bottom lip, “Am I playing a game Dollface? Seems like you’re the one who’s in trouble.” His voice an octave lower, you shuddered involuntarily, feeling yourself grow wet.

“Been teasin’ me this whole fuckin’ week, got me so hard with your ass grinding on my cock,” he runs his hands down your body, settling in your hips, “and wearing this fuckin’ dress, fuck you look amazing,”

He uses his knee to spread your legs apart, “pretty sure you’re all wet for me Doll,” his fingers play around the end of your dress, carefully pushing the clothing upwards to reveal your black lace thong, Bucky lets out a pained groan at the sight.

You place your hands on Bucky’s chest, your fingers trailing towards the buttons of Bucky’s shirt, you forcefully pull it, two buttons pop off revealing his toned chest. You moan at the sight, biting down on your lip as your fingers dance along his naked skin.

“I’m not the only one,” you smirk, your knee rubbing against Bucky’s clothed bulge.

Bucky captures your lips in a heated kiss, his hands cupping your face, pulling you closer to him, your hands held onto Bucky’s shoulders as you did so, reveling in his taste; you’ve never felt this turned on in a long time and you were only kissing him, you felt your pussy drip at the thought of what’s to come.

Bucky breaks the kiss, trailing kisses down your neck, he sucks a hickie onto your collarbone, the mark purple and red for everyone to see.

“You’re mine, you got that Doll? Markin’ you up so you know who you belong to,” he grunts, his metal hand cupping your ass while his flesh hand held onto the back of your neck.

You moan at his touch, feeling your thong absolutely drenched, you sigh, nodding your head at his words.

“Fuck me Bucky, fuck me,” you whine wantonly as he sucks another love mark onto your neck, he grins against your skin.

He pats your thighs, you jump up to wrap your legs across his waist, grinding against his erection. The two of you hiss from the friction needing more.

Bucky pulls you back into another breathtaking kiss, your fingers pulling at his shirt, you mumble ‘off’ onto his lips.

Within seconds Bucky’s pulled off his shirt, you were unbuckling his belt to take off his denim pants, still wrapped around his waist, you push off his boxers, revealing his long and hard cock, the tip dripping with pre-cum.

You moan at the sight, you grab his shaft, pumping it a few times to smear the pre-cum all over.

“Bucky I need you,” you gasp, releasing his cock from your hold, you inch lower, grinding your wet and clothed core onto his dick.

“Fuck Doll, your drenched,” he grunts, pushing the thin fabric to the side.

You sink down onto him, the two of you letting out moans of pleasure, your slick cavern fluttering against Bucky’s harden cock.

“Fuck you feel so good Doll,” he grunts, “milkin’ my cock, squeezin’ me so tight, your pussys so hungry for me,”

You drop your head onto Bucky’s shoulder, your eyes shut as he thrusted into you deeply, never in your life did you feel as full as you did with him, “Oh James,” you gasp, “Fuck my pussy,”

Bucky grins, his pace quickening, “Need my cock to please ‘ya Doll? You love the feel of my dick inside you? You want more?” His hands spreads your asscheeks apart, pulling you up and down onto his cock, the tip instantly hitting your gspot, making you come undone.

You yelled out his name, followed with endless moans, you knew the whole party heard you yet you didn’t care, Bucky made you cum so hard and so fast, even if someone came into the room you’d still continue to ride his cock.

“Fuck you just came didn’t you Doll? That was so hot Baby, screamin’ my name like that, actin’ so jealous earlier got me so hard Doll, fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he never wavers his pace, you hold onto him tightly as he jutted his hips back and forth. He brings his flesh hand between the two of you, his fingers rubbing your clit furiously, making you cum the third time.

“Bucky cum for me,” you whimper into his ear, your hot breath tickling his skin, he lets out a strained groan, “Cum for me Baby, mark me,” you gasp.

Bucky lets out a mangled groan, he growls your name, cumming inside you instantly.

The two of you never stop your pace till Bucky’s flaccid cock slips out of your, the mixture of your cum dripping down, you detach your legs from his waist, feeling wobbly.

Bucky’s metal hand holds onto your waist, keeping you from falling.

“T-thanks,” you mutter under your breath, looking up at Bucky’s blue eyes.

“You know I meant it, I… I want you to be mine and only mine.” Bucky confesses his flesh hand cupping your cheek.

You smile at his words, nodding, “only if you don’t make me jealous like that again. I only saw red when I saw the two of you.”

“It was Nat’s idea, told me you’d get all riled up like that.”

You roll your eyes, “I’ll deal with her later.” You say, adjusting your dress.

Apart from the bass of the music from the balcony, you an Bucky could hear loud grunts and moans from across the hall, you smirk.

“Guess Tasha got what she wanted all along.” Bucky lets out a chuckle.

“I know I did.”

tags: @feelmyroarrrr @thatawkwardtinyperson @mermaidinplaid @softwintersoldier @papi-chulo-bucky @gaybybirth @angryschnauzer @frolicsomefawkes @gallifreyansass @lady-thor-foster

[queercapwriting]

Hey it's the chick from ao3 with the prompt about Sanvers going to maggies high school reunion to face all her homophobic classmates, and the asshole quarterback hits on Alex without knowing she's maggies girlfriend ;)

Maggie splutters helplessly when Alex steps out of herbedroom, taking in the sight of her girlfriend in a tight, low cut black dress,makeup just so, and glasses… glasses very much on.

“Al… Alex, you… you look, um… I don’t know if Blue SpringsHigh quite ready for your… for you.”

“Oh,” Alex pouts, adjusting her glasses and licking her redlips. “Should I change?”

“No, no, nnhnn, no. Not at all, not even a little bit.”

“I think what my daughter is trying to say is that you lookbeautiful, Alexandra,” Maggie’s mom supplies as she passes Maggie’s room, andAlex blushes deeply.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sawyer.”

“Yeah, thanks for being smoother with my girlfriend than Iam, Ma.”

Her mother just laughs and waves them off.

“You’re going to be late for this reunion. Might be nice foryou to show up on time, Margaret: show them all you’ve changed some.”

Maggie groans as she pulls her mom in for a kiss on thecheek, adjusting her suit jacket and offering Alex her arm as she led her downthe stairs.

“Feel like I’m taking you to prom.”

Alex beams. “Who did you take to prom?”

Maggie wilts slightly. “I didn’t go. I was uh… I was datingthis girl, but her dad found out and it uh… wasn’t exactly pretty.”

“Oh, babe.” Alex strokes her cheek and kisses her facegently, lightly, so she doesn’t leave a lipstick stain.

“It’s cool. Look who I get to bring now.”

“Oh, so I’m your trophy girlfriend?” Alex flirts, butMaggie’s eyes grow serious.

“No. Never. You are everything to me, Alex, I’d neverreduce you to – ”

“Oh honey, I was just teasing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Yes. But… trophy girlfriend or not, I am proudto be going with you. Get to see where you grew up.”

Maggie’s smile is back, and she opens the door of her pickupfor Alex and offers her hand to help Alex step inside.

She drives with one hand on the wheel, the other hanging outthe window, regaling Alex with stories of her childhood, pointing out whichdirt roads led to trouble and which led to adventure and which led to both.

She grows quiet as they pull into her high school’s parkinglot, and her eyes grow keen like they do when she’s on a mission. She rattlesoff the names of the owners of some of the cars in the lot, some of the trucksin the lot, because this isn’t a town that changes very much.

“You sure you’re okay to come with me? These people aren’tall gonna be used to… this. Us.”

“I’m not any less sure than I was the first sixteen timesyou asked me, Mags. And anyway, wouldn’t Tommy kill you if we bailed?”

Maggie grins at the mention of her high school best friend,the only other out gay kid in school. In town.

And Tommy is the only reason Maggie leaves Alex’s side evenfor a moment during the night, the gym crowded with memories and old grudgesand old flames and old inside jokes and old traumas and old prides.

Maggie steals off with Tommy, just for a moment, to see if asecret passage they used to take partners to make out in is still there, andMaggie wants to bring Alex but Tommy invokes an old code they had to keep itsacred, to keep it only between them and their high school people, and Ireally like you, Alex, and this one really loves you, but we swore a blood oathand Alex laughs and waves them away because I’ll be fine, babe, you guyshave fun, and it’s only for a moment, but a moment is all it takes.

“Hey beautiful,” a deep voice sounds right on Alex’s neck,and she closes her eyes for a moment to refrain from punching him right away,because Maggie’s told her stories, and odds are she’d love to deck most men inthis room.

Alex turns and Alex just arches an eyebrow and Alex simplyregards the man who still has the lean build of a football star with boredeyes.

“They don’t make ‘em like you in Blue Springs, baby, so I’mguessing you’re someone’s date, but lemme tell you, I came here alone and I canshow you a better time than he can.”

“Oh, no man – and certainly not you – could give me abetter time than she does.”

The man’s brow furrows and his jaw clenches and he barks aharsh laugh. “What, you Sawyer’s girl? Little science freak’s family should’veknown they didn’t belong here, and she should know that a girl like youdeserves a real man. I can give you that.”

Alex puts down her drink and Alex licks her lips and castsher voice low. “A real man?”

He grins and takes a step closer to her, his lips a breathaway from hers.

“Yeah.”

Alex arches a quick eyebrow, and Alex nods, and Alex shifts,and Alex slams his head down into the table behind her.

“Next time you wanna be a racist, misogynist prick, youmight wanna remember that your entire high school class just watched you getslammed down by a woman in five inch heels who’s going to go home to MaggieSawyer’s beautiful family and have far better sex with her than anywoman will ever have with you.”

She tugs him back up by his hairand she picks up her drink and she strolls away, toward Maggie and Tommy’s slackjaws, Tommy’s eyes alight like a five year old on Christmas morning, Maggie’s eyesalight like she’s never seen anyone quite as attractive as Alex fucking Danvers.

Because she hasn’t.

And the slow clap that starts inthe back of the gym and circulates through all the nerds, all the misfits, allthe people of color, all the queers, and eventually spreads even to the populargirls who’d never really liked how the quarterback treated them anyway makesAlex curtsy, makes Alex blush, makes Alex fall into Maggie’s arms and swoon asshe’s kissed like she’s never been kissed before, to a combination of angrysilence and liberated cheers.

And that night, she does havefar better sex with Maggie than any woman’s ever had.

With anyone.

[transparenttriumphzombie]

I Am Woman By D. Cookie Fields as told to Michelle Burford from Essence Magazine November 2006 edition As a man he joined the Marines, married the love of his life and had two children. All the while he struggled with the sense that he was meant to live his life as a woman. One day he decided to make a change. As far back as I can remember, I had felt like a stranger in my own body. As an only child growing up among rambunctious boy cousins and friends in a working class Chicago suburb, I knew I wasn't quite 'right.' I think my mother suspected something, too. When I was 4 she found me coloring my fingernals with crayons. "Little boys don't do that," she whispered as put away the Crayolas and scrubbed my nails clean. Later I would borrow her skirts, earrings and shoes to play dress up. I often told her I that I felt different, not like other boys. "What do you mean," my mother would say. "You fit with our family." I know she had no idea how it felt to me-a girl trapped in a boy's body. Back then my parents could not have conceived that I would one day board a plane to Thailand as their son, D, and return as their daughter Cookie. By the time I reached adolescence, I regularly dressed up as a woman, though I knew enough then to hide it. If Mom discovered my stash of heels, dresses, bras and makeup hidden in the house, she admonish me by saying "You've got to stop this!" But neither she nor my father ever had a direct conversation with me about my cross-dressing. Maybe they thought it was a phase I'd outgrow. I never did. LOVE AND MARRIAGE I wasn't gay. I've never once been drawn to a man, nor have I ever had sex with a man. I am only attracted to women. At 17 I had intercourse for the first time. What I recall most was the feeling of intimacy-the kissing, the caressing, the closeness. The only part I didn't enjoy was the penetration. When I was still living in a man's body a girlfriend once told me, "Making love to you is like making love to a woman." And yet I did everything possible I could to seem as manly as possible. After graduating from high school in 1977, I joined the Marines and moved to South Carolina. Within months, I had worked my way up to the head of uniform inspections. I still felt a compulsion to cross-dress sometimes, but I'd sneak off the base to do it. Then in 1980, when I was 20, the military relocated me to Los Angeles. There for the first time I met other cross-dressers like me. And I met transsexuals-those who'd had sex-change surgery. Though we all fell under the acronym LGBT(lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender), I discovered that even in this group I was atypical, in that most male cross-dressers are attracted to other men. Still for the first time in my life I felt understood. It was such a relief to know I wasn't alone. In Los Angeles I also met the woman I would marry. I saw her sitting with her sisters at a military social and asked her to dance. She turned me down, but her sisters, both military wives, urged her to give me a chance. I must have seemed perfectly respectable with my short Marine Corps fade. We exchanged phone numbers, and soon I was seeing this woman with the unforgettable smile every weekend. Eventually moved in together on the military base. That's when she found my women's clothing. "Whose are these?" she asked me. Nervously I told her the truth-that I liked to dress up as a woman. The obvious questions followed: "What do you get out of it?" "Are you gay?" I tried to reassure her that I simply felt most comfortable when I cross-dressed, and that I'd never had sex with a man or been unfaithful to our relationship. She was confused and disturbed by my desire, but our relationship was so good in every other way that she stayed, and in 1982 we got married. We had a son soon after, and two years later a daughter. I would sneak off to Hollywood at least one weekend each month dressed as a woman. In the first few years of our marriage, my wife stumbled across more and more of my women's clothes, and with each discovery, the strife between us intensified. "Just don't bring your life into our house," she'd tell me. I began keeping my wigs, heels, purses, earrings, nail polish and lipstick in the garage. I understood why she and almost every other person in the world would never get it, but I felt so compelled to cross-dress that I couldn't give it up. The most I could do was promise my wife that I wasn't sleeping around. Even with my secret hovering over us, we enjoyed a fulfilling sex life. So we each did what we had learned how to do: live in the space of denial. DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL Then came the night that my 11-year old daughter saw me dressed up as a woman. I'd come home late to find the garage door locked, so I'd gone to another door. When I passed my daughter's bedroom, she woke just in time to glimpse her father in a skirt, wig and red lipstick. The next day she said, "You we're dressed as a woman last night." She didn't seem upset, but I insisted she was mistaken. I felt so guilty about lying to my child, but I was convinced she would find my behavior confusing. I told myself I was protecting her. In the months that followed, I escaped to Hollywood with increasing frequency. Somehow I felt more myself with my transgender friends than I did anywhere else. One Sunday, sitting in church with my family, listening to the minister preach about living an authentic life, I felt as if my heart would shatter from the pain of living such a lie. I knew then that I would never be happy as a man. That was the day I began to think about becoming a woman. Though I still loved my my wife deeply, our marriage, undermined for so many years by my secret excursions, finally collapsed under the weight of them. I'll never forget the night we told our children we were separating. "Does this have anything to do with that night I saw you dressed up?" my daughter, then 12, asked me. I confessed that it did. My son, who was 14, looked at me in stunned silence. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for him to grasp that I didn't want to be a man. Even now, though we have a pleasant relationship, he won't discuss it. I wish I knew how to explain it to him. By the time we got divorced, I had started taking hormones (progesterone and estrogen pills) to grow breasts. The hormones also made my voice higher, and I underwent electrolysis to remove my facial hair. After four months, my C-cup breasts were definitely noticeable. Since I was still in the military, I wore a sports bra to flatten my chest and used a stall when forced to change clothes at the base. But the strain of hiding was getting to me, so after 15 years of active service, I joined the reserves and applied for a job as a police officer with the LAPD. During my required physical I had to take off my shirt for an EKG. The technician was shocked to see my full breasts! But after an awkward moment she never said a word. I still don't know why she never told my supervisor. After that, I wore bulletproof vests on duty, so my secret remained safe. MY NEW BODY I decided to go ahead with a sex change in 2001. I told my wife ex-wife and my children first. At the time my son was 19 and living with his mother, and my daughter was 17 and living with me. Maybe because she'd seen me all those years ago, she supported my choice to have a sex change. My ex-wife and son were a little more distant, but they, too, promised to be there for me. Next I wrote a letter to my parents explaining what I'm sure they had expected: I was living as a woman everywhere, except at work. After my marriage ended, all my relationships had been with lesbian or bisexual women. I was so exhausted with my double life. I wanted to align my exterior with who I'd always been inside. The news must have roked my parents to the core, but when I telephoned them later, my mother simply said "I always knew," while my father was characteristically silent. I didn't expect either of them to understand or accept my choice. I'm just grateful that they heard me. I know there are many who would call my lifestyle a moral abomination. But at my church, Unity Fellowship, I've been taught that we're each here for a unique purpose. God could have created me as a woman, but for some reason didn't. That's why I'm so sure I was put on Earth to take this journey. It's not as if I heard God speak through parted clouds, but in my heart I just knew a sex change was the right path for me. My surgery lasted five hours and cost $5,000. I chose to have it done in Bangkok, Thailand, because one of the pioneers of transgender surgery operates there, and his price is half of what I thought I would pay in the United States. My friend Stephanie came with me. Together we boarded a plane and landed halfway around the world so that I could become a woman. If this isn't the journey you want me to take, I whispered to God during the 26-hour flight, then please just let me die on the operating table. The doctor explained the procedure. They would remove my testicles, scrotum and half my penis using a laser, then invert the remaining skin to create a vaginal cavity. I signed the waiver and checked into the hospital early the next day. Five hours later, I awakened on a gurney with a row of bandages across my pelvic area and no pain. I stayed in the hospital a week, marveling at the possibilities of my new life. The afternoon I was released, Stephanie and I went shopping. I know it's hard to believe, but the only soreness I experienced was when the doctor pulled off the bandages. What I saw in the mirror amazed me, a vagina so perfect it looked like I'd been born with it. I've since retired from the LAPD and now work as a security guard. I date women exclusively, and I alwys tell them about my surgery. Sensation has returned to the tissue used to create my vagina, and sex with my new body is exponentially more satisfying. I feel blessed because I have the most any transsexual can hope for: a family that stands by me. When people see me in my uniform now, I let them refer to me as whatever gender they believe I am. Most suspect that I used to be a man, but how they see me doesn't really matter. What matters is that at last I am a woman at home in her body. D. Cookie Fields lives in Los Angeles. She told her story to Michelle Burford, a writer who lives in New York