#but ‘it doesn’t give you a flat chest it gives you a masculine chest :)’ is finally actually true. thank you T

[isdalinarhot]

looking at me in a mirror with a binder on and then looking at my pile of Dalinar Sexy Hotttt No Shirts and then looking back at me in the mirror with a binder on and going. Aw shit I got tricked into loving myself didn’t I

[wakeup01]

Theft Of A Bro

Uffh. Yeah, that’s good. Just like I thought…tight. We’ll see how long that lasts. No need to talk bro, I know what you want to say. You’re sorry for reacting that way, that me being gay shouldn’t have changed anything. That you shouldn’t have used that slur, or called me a bitch.

Hindsight is 20/20 though, especially when you’re getting fucked by a bro who’s stealing your muscles. Dude, don’t look away. Look me in the eyes, I want you to watch your legs dangle hopelessly above you as I take your masculinity. Take the body you worked so hard for. And I want to see your expression when you begin to love it.

I can already see your arms deflating down there, becoming dainty twigs. You won’t be able to lift a thing with those. That’s okay bro, you can give that bulk to me. I’ll put it to good use. Fuck. See them balloon, so fucking good man. Rrrrww! My biceps feel so much stronger, check out these guns. Check out YOUR guns on my body. Haha. What? Come on bro, you can forgive me for a bit of flexing. Okay maybe a lot of flexing, but I can’t help it. You were always such a egocentric showoff - puffing out your chest like a territorial beast. A textbook, self obsessed fuckboy, now I understand why.

And just look at my expanding pecs. So fucking thick and juicy. Bouncing in time with my th—thrusts! Those used to be yours. You always hated how guys used to eye them up, but now you’ll be the one salivating at them. No need to try and deny it my dude, soon enough your body will have new…needs. Wow bro, you’re already looking real flat down there. Those endless hours spent at the gym to boost your fragile ego, only for me to steal it within seconds. All that definition just fading into your tiny, slimming stomach. Those grab-able hips. Fuck, me on the other hand, I’ve never felt stronger. You could break rocks on here! I’ll take good care of these abs, they look better on me anyway.

Aww, your square jaw is rounding out to a cute little pouty face. Squirm all you want. You look so adorable when trying to seem angry bro. Hard to take you seriously when you’re blushing so intensely. You did always tease my boyish features and now my head is like chiselled marble. And you? That button nose and those freckles, guys are just gonna love you. Say goodbye to being a manly jock. Hello twinky boitoi! I think your waist is now thinner than your girlfriend… or is that ex girlfriend now? That’s a body designed to be fucked brah. So just let me fuck it. Take it like a BITCH! Like the BITCH you thought I was.

Uff. I can feel my cock expanding inside you. The veins pulsing, flowing with blood. Can you feel it too bitch? Yeah, by your expression I know you can. Stretching your hole wide, filling you to the limit. Feels good, doesn’t it. Don’t look now but your dick is shrinking. I’m stealing all that length, all that girth; pushing mine deeper and deeper inside you. Pounding that prostate. There you go. A tiny nub. My churning balls are dropping lower and swelling as yours shrivel up. Mmmff. Fuck that’s sick bro.

Yeah, it’s okay to moan. Your breathy voice getting higher and higher, as mine gets deeper. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s normal for slutty bitches in heat like you. It’s in your nature. Especially when in the presence of an alpha god like me. Whew, my pits are sweating like mad, just smell that intense musk. Smells just like you used to, bet that fact makes you real hard. Smelling your scent dripping from another man as it’s stolen from you.. Sniff and moan. Sniff, moan and give everything to me.

Holy shit, even your skinny legs are hairless now bro. Just like the rest of your smooth, svelte physique. How does it feel? How does it feel to be the ideal gay bottom slut, the very thing you abhorred.

Why so quiet broski? Oh that’s right, we’re trading that pigheaded ego for an eagerness to please. You had enough confidence to share, so I’m taking it. Taking all of it. Fuck. Yes. Your outspoken nature is draining into me, leaving a timid little mouse in it’s place. A stark difference from that rude, puffed-up dick you prided yourself on being. Even now I bet part of you wants to talk back, be a brat. Hm, but that shy smile betrays what you really are. A well behaved boy who knows his manners. Isn’t that fucking right? Heh, good boy.

Look at me and see what you used to be. Marvel at me, marvel at what you’ve lost. Starstruck at your own well deserved comeuppance. Feel your nub twitch at the sight of the perfect man fucking your jock-hood into nothingness. That strength being sapped away. It makes you feel so small and weak. But you can’t tear your eyes away.

Your head? Sorry bro, I got bored of being the dumb one, so yeah, I’m taking your smarts too. Even if you did waste it and let your cock make most of the decisions. Maybe if you hadn’t held it over me, looked down at me. Well…who’s looking down now? Don’t worry, being air-headed has it’s benefits. That empty look in your eyes, the open drooling mouth. Blissful ignorance. The cute way you’ll get confused at the simplest of things. The ‘ummms’ and ‘huhs’ as you bite your lip and push out your rear. Talking like the complete basic bitch gay you once hated. The constant state of mind melting hornyiness. Dumb as a rock. A complete ditz. You’ll get by doing ‘favours’.

I’m not a jackass though. Not like you were. It’s only fair you get something of mine bro, you can have what’s left of my body fat. Unf. Straight to your rear. Let it plump up your butt to a perfect round bubble. A wobbly shelf. A big bouncy booty. Woof. Yeah just like that. The perfect entrance to your endlessly usable fuck hole. Damn, it’s tight. Let’s conquer it.

Bruh, your masculinity is truly delicious, surrender the rest up to me. To my new hulking, godlike form. Purge every trace of manliness from your puny effeminate body with abject glee. Lisp, smile and giggle like a silly little girl. Like the Femboy you were destined to become.

Like a BITCH.

Say again? Bthweed? Oh, you want me to BREED you. Way ahead of you bro. When I cum with my monster cock, your pretty little head will become stuffed with thick, cummy cotton candy. And bro, it’s never gonna clear up again. I have a new adorable outfit already picked out for you. Thigh high socks, booty shorts, a tiny thong and a nice thick collar with your name on the tag. BITCH.

I’m gonna enjoy parading you out in front of all our fraternity bros. You’ll pretend to be all timid and ashamed but I’ll know you’re actually loving the sense of humiliation. Loving your new place as my emasculated gay fucktoy. If you beg enough I might even let the rest of the frat borrow you. I’ll be sure to let ‘your’ girl know that you were a good hole after being passed around. Maybe she’ll even give you tips, you’ll be besties in no time.

Hm? That’s ‘thank you sir’ to you. That’s better. Let’s be clear, we’re not ‘bros’ anymore. I’m a fuckmachine and you’re a glorified fleshlight. We need to make sure you don’t forget your role. A simple tag will suffice. I’ll even let you choose where your ‘BITCH’ tattoo goes. Forehead or rear, it’s up to you. Yeah boi, I think it’ll look good there too.

Now open wide BITCH and be ready to swallow. I’m about to fucking blow.

———-

Whew! That was a good fuck. Clean up boy, the other bros will be here soon and I…woah. Damn, I feel lightheaded. It’s like my brain is overstuffed. With…stuff. And my cock, uughhh. It won’t soften. Maybe I took a bit too much from you, but fuck, I couldn’t help myself. You deserved it after all. But bruh, I need to lift! Huhuh! Oh shit. I don’t want to be exactly like you were! But dude. Like bruh! My head! Gotta lift! Gotta flex! Gotta get to the gym and be the blockheaded fuckboy muscle jock this body deserves!

Pass me your old jockstrap, yerhh, my huge cock gonna do the thinking for the both of us brooo!

[on-leatheredwings]

Dress Up 18+

Tim Drake / GN! Reader

romantic, 18+ summary: You put Tim in a maid outfit. He doesn't think much of it... at first. tw/cw: handjobs, crossdressing word count: 888 a/n: something short and sweet to celebrate 400 follows!

A week ago you said you wanted to try dressing up. While this wasn’t what Tim had in mind, he is not complaining. 

Thirty minutes ago you had shyly traced circles on his chest, asking if he was in the mood tonight. Honestly, forgoing any Gotham-typical imminent disasters, Tim was rarely not in the mood, especially if you were going to act as cute as that. He had just started to lean in, smirking, when you slipped out of his grip effortlessly, flew into your shared closet, and came out with two maid dresses in hand. And cat ears.

And a bell.

Tim honestly had felt neutral about it all. He’s done worse. Weirder. This was actually kind of whatever, but if you liked it, then sure, he was down.

He was neutral about it all until you both were dressed. Until both of you were fitted, you choosing to finish your outfit with gloves and him slipping into the thigh-high stockings you threw at him with puppy-dog eyes.

Now you stalk around him in a circle, admiring your handiwork. Your fingers drift along his body as you appraise him. His cock twitches. Tim shifts the weight on his feet, assured it was from the appeal of imminent sex.

“You look so pretty, Tim,” you say from behind him. A small jingle chimes from below his chin – you just poked his bell. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the velvety ribbon keeping it around his neck. 

“Um... You do too,” he says, mind suddenly sparse. He didn’t know what else to say to your compliment. Oh, perhaps he should’ve said thank you. Tim swallows again – why is his mouth so dry? And why is he feeling shy?

“Not as good as you,” you return, voice still low with awe. Your hands land on his frilly-sleeved shoulders, run down his firm arms. They sweep to brush against his nipples through the fabric, and he flinches with a sharp inhale. The dress fits perfectly, conforming to his flat chest. It’s identical to yours, likely part of a matching set. A couple’s set.

You move him in front of the bedroom mirror, bidding him forward as he awkwardly obeys. Once he’s in place to your liking, Tim stiffens at the sight of his reflection. His cheeks are red. It’s unmistakable, with his paleness. His eyes peek through his lashes because his head is dipping down. Though more lean than muscled, Tim’s body is quite masculine. It contrasts pleasantly with the softness of the costume that is entirely frills, lace, and ribbons. Tim’s eyes wander down. The white stockings really make him appreciate the silhouette of his legs, too. He blinks, wetting his lips.

… He really likes how he looks.

Belatedly he registers that you stand behind him, looking like an utter vision yourself. He doesn’t get much time to admire you when your hands slip under his dress, glancing past his naked thighs to wrap around his building erection. 

He lets out a gasp, head turning to the side to make eye contact with you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” you scold sweetly. You peck a chaste kiss on his lips, before gesturing to the mirror. “Eyes there.”

Tim obeys, hands fisted now that you’re slowly jerking him to a full erection. Over the next few minutes, he watches you pump him. It’s such a lewd sight. Peeking from under the frilled hem of a very short maid’s outfit is his flushed cock weeping pearls of cum over your gloved hand. Anytime Tim reaches back to touch you, give you any sort of pleasure, you simply guide his hand away with your remaining one, kissing at his neck and his ears. 

Tim can feel the coil of heat inside him build. “I’m going to… I’m gonna… mmf,” he pants. He’s fully squirming in your embrace, shifting weight from foot to foot. He looks like his legs are going to give out, but they never do. He bites his lip and can’t manage to keep staring at his blushing, whimpering reflection.

“Cum for me, Tim,” you breathe, more than just a little turned on. 

Tim does, his head thrown back as he gasps for breath through an orgasm. He sprays a few ropes of cum onto the mirror, to your delight. Three deep breaths, plenty of shudders later, and he dazedly returns to planet Earth, your hand still at the base of his cock.

“That… that was…” he says, breathless.

“Titillating? Fulfilling? Enlightening?” you offer, giddy. 

You knew he’d like it. You knew there was a submissive and breedable man somewhere in there, as the youth say. You would just have to coax it out.

Tim’s lips quirk. He turns around, gripping you by the wrists and playfully tossing you onto your bed. He pins you down, on all fours above you.

“Hm. Maybe,” he says cheekily, as if you hadn’t just made him finish thirty seconds ago. His face is still red and his temples are damp with a fine layer of sweat. “But now it’s my turn.”

You pause, blink at him cutely, and look at him with a pitiful smile. ‘Oh, you sweet summer child,’ your expression says. “Aw,” you say. Your hands sneak around him, hiking up his skirt to palm his bare ass. “Baby, we’re far from done.”

[lovelybucky1]

Unbreakable (Tommy Shelby x reader)

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, cheating, sub!tommy, AFAB reader, degradation, riding, brat taming, extended metaphors, floor sex, misogyny

masterlist

Despite dating Arthur for some time now, you did not know his family very well. Of course, you knew them by reputation, who didn’t? But personally, Arthur’s brothers and aunt were mostly a mystery to you.

You expressed to Arthur how you’d like to meet them formally, and after a bit of grumbling from him about how he doesn’t want them to scare you off, he agrees. You set a date: Saturday night at the Garrison.

The rest of the week went quickly, and by Saturday evening, you’re sitting in front of your vanity getting ready. You apply your makeup, doing a bit more than usual, knowing Arthur’s family has a taste for nice things. You wear the delicate gold necklace Arthur had gifted you after only your second date. You loved it, of course, but that was when you realized just how intense the Shelby men are.

“Almost ready, love?” Arthur asks, coming into the room and standing behind you to straighten out his collar in the mirror.

“Yes, I just need my coat,” you say, making eye contact with him in the reflection.

Arthur leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek before leaving the room to get your coat. You put away your jewelry box and makeup, then stand to meet Arthur by the front door.

Ever the gentleman, Arthur holds out your coat and you slip your arms into the sleeves. He then wraps his arms around your waist to kiss you deeply. His chest feels solid against your back and you smile into the kiss, loving how good he is to you.

You break the kiss and look up into Arthur’s eyes. “Ready?”

He takes your hand and presses a kiss to the ring on your finger before opening the door.

“Lead the way, miss,” he smiles.

It isn’t a far walk from your flat to the Garrison. You’ve been there before, of course, but only with Arthur alone. He prefers to spend his time at your place, something about liking the peace. You know about the noise in his head, the constant battle behind his eyes, and you’re glad that you can be somewhat of a reprieve from it.

You walk across the wet cobbles of the street, hand in hand with Arthur. As masculine and manly as Arthur is, and with the amount that he exaggerates to compensate for his insecurities, it’s ironic that he is following behind you as you walk. You feel like you’re walking a dog with him trailing just slightly behind you as if he’s relying on you to direct him. Like he turns off his brain when he’s with you and lets you be in charge.

Soon you find yourself standing outside the pub, faces lit with the golden glow from inside. Arthur gives you a smile as he opens the door for you, and you step inside. The pub is loud, like every pub, but it’s not the commotion of a bar fight you’re hearing. It’s a joyous sound, like a celebration.

“Arthur!” you hear a man shout.

You look over and see your boyfriend embracing his brother John. When they part, John looks over at you.

“You must be the missus,” he jokes, making Arthur roll his eyes.

“Don’t put that idea in her head, John,” Arthur laughs.

“It’s already in my head, love. Now I just need a ring,” you tell Arthur.

The three of you laugh, and when it subsides, John ushers you over to the bar to get you both drinks.

A crystal glass of whiskey is shoved into Arthur’s hand, while a gin and tonic is handed to you. You thank John for the drinks and excuse yourself, holding onto Arthur’s arm and leading him away from the counter.

You walk around the room, searching for familiar faces. The men in the pub look like a rough crowd, but they’re all dressed nice enough and everyone is seemingly in high spirits, so you don’t worry.

Arthur finds his aunt and introduces you. Polly shakes your hand and you notice all of the rings that decorate her delicate hand.

“What beautiful jewelry,” you say.

Polly tips her chin up and smiles at you, obviously pleased with your compliment.

“Only the finest for us Shelby women,” she winks.

You smile back at her, then look over to Arthur who is watching with a smile of his own.

You figure Arthur must have talked about you at length to his family, because they all seem to know who you are, and from what you’ve heard about Aunt Polly, she doesn’t take kindly to strangers.

“Is Tommy ‘round?” Arthur asks Polly.

“He was. In a sour mood, he is. He wandered off a bit ago but I’m sure he’ll turn up,” she says before taking a sip of the drink in her hand.

“Right, well I’d like to show her off to the others, so if you don’t mind,” he puts his hand on your waist and brings you to the corner of the room where a group of men stand.

Arthur introduces you and they all shower you with compliments, but after that, you keep quiet and let the men talk about their business. After a while, you begin to grow bored with their conversation and you excuse yourself.

You take a lap of the pub, taking in your surroundings. Everyone seemed to fit in here; you were the only lone person in the room. It must be nice, you thought, to have such a strong sense of family. Even though most of these people aren’t related by blood, they’re loyal and trust each other, and what more do you need from a family?

You smile to yourself, imagining your future with Arthur. His infatuation with you makes you feel like a queen, and you want nothing more than to be with him. Of course, you know about the family business and the risks that entails, but you know Arthur will do whatever it takes to protect you. He’s like a guard dog, in a sense.

You look towards the bar at the drink choices, searching for something a bit more exciting than your usual, and while you are momentarily distracted, you don’t see the man you are about to bump into.

As soon as your shoulder hit his, he whipped his head around to glare at you. You look up at the man and your stomach drops when you realize who it is. Tommy Shelby is staring angrily back at you with a wet spot from his splashed drink on the front of his light gray vest.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” you apologize quickly.

You look around for a napkin or rag, but your attention is brought back to Tommy when he exhales sharply out of his nose and places his glass on the nearest table. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down the bridge of his nose at you.

“You’re Arthur’s woman, right?” he asks instead of responding to your apology.

“That’s right,” you respond. You don’t like how he referred to you like you’re Arthur’s property, but you figure now is not the right time to correct him.

“Hm,” he hums, looking over your body judgingly. His icy eyes make you feel like he’s staring right through you, and it makes your skin crawl. “Are you a whore?”

The scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. “I beg your pardon?” you ask, incredulous.

“With the way you’re dressed, I would’ve thought you were advertising,” Tommy says. “I wouldn’t put it past Arthur.”

“No, I’m not.”

“How much do you charge? Mustn’t be very expensive. The good ones know how to mind their manners,” he continues like he hadn’t heard you deny his accusation.

“I’m not a fucking whore,” you say with a huff.

“Such crass language for a young lady. You’re a sailor, then?”

You furrow your brows in a mix of anger and confusion. You cannot understand why Tommy is being so rude to you, especially when you’ve never met before this moment. Arthur always said Tommy was the best, but that is certainly not the impression you’re getting.

“Forgive me if I’ve caught you at a bad time, Tommy, but I will not be talked to in such a way.”

Tommy leans back slightly and raises his eyebrow at you.

“I will talk to you any way I please.”

Tommy’s dismissive, almost bored tone digs under your skin. How dare he treat you like this? Especially when his brother loves you so much.

“I’ll be telling Arthur about this,” you tell him, trying to keep the flare of anger in your chest at bay.

“And I’ll be sure to tell Arthur to keep you on a tighter leash.”

You make a noise that’s a mix between a scoff and a laugh. “If either of us are on a leash, it’s him.”

Tommy looks a little surprised at your response but says nothing. He watches as you turn and make your way back to Arthur. You pull him away from the conversation and he follows blindly. Your anger is evident in your walk and your tight grip on Arthur’s bicep.

You drag him towards the snug, and Arthur scrambles in front of you to open the door to the room. There, you explain your interaction with Arthur’s miserable younger brother. Arthur assures you that he will talk to Tommy and convince him to give you another chance, and maybe even an apology.

“Tommy doesn’t like strong women. Feels intimidated or something,” Arthur explains to you, arm around your shoulder as you sit on the cushioned bench.

“Hard to believe you two are related,” you tease, rubbing your hand up Arthur’s thigh. Whatever smart response that was on his tongue died as you palm over his crotch. Arthur’s eyes flick between your face and your hand, waiting patiently for you to make your next move. “You’re going to take me home and apologize on your brother’s behalf.”

A grin splits Arthur’s face and he stands up, grabbing your hand and tugging you to your feet. You escape out of the front doors of the pub without saying goodbye, but neither of you cares. You’re not in a partying mood after Tommy insulted you, and Arthur’s only desire in the world is to make you happy.

-

Unfortunately, the clock on your relationship ran out before you were able to reconcile with Tommy, to no fault of your own. You decided to surprise Arthur at his house with a basket of his favorite baked goods when you caught him in bed with another woman.

You didn’t cry, didn’t yell, didn’t curse at him and damn him to hell. You turned on your heel and left as quickly as you came, never looking back.

Once you got back to your flat, you allowed yourself to process your emotions. Arthur had used you, that much was obvious. You made him feel better, feel good about himself, and he wanted to keep you around. He acted like he loved you; maybe he truly did but his head is just that fucked up. Either way, he betrayed your trust, and you were heartbroken.

Two weeks passed and you almost forgot about the lost relationship. You no longer dwelled on it, overanalyzing every action that could have made Arthur do what he did. You accepted that it was his mistake, his loss and that you’ll be just fine.

You continued working, grateful for your inherited flat because your meager income as a typist did not stretch very far. Life was back to normal, and you could almost forget about the whirlwind months spent with Arthur that left you with a broken heart. You almost did forget, until a reminder was standing on your doorstep late at night.

You had just finished your supper for one and were washing the dishes when you heard a knock at your door. You weren’t expecting a visitor, especially not at this hour. You open the door to reveal the last man you ever expected to see: Tommy Shelby. He doesn’t greet you, he just stands in your doorway with his hands deep in his pockets, looking at you expectantly.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, making a point to block the entrance of your home so he couldn’t barge in.

“I want to apologize,” Tommy said with a sigh, like this is a great burden to him.

You furrow your brows and stare back at him. “If you’re apologizing for your treatment of me at the party, I'm afraid you’re too late,” you say, not attempting to keep the bitterness from your voice.

“I want to apologize for what Arthur did,” he corrects.

“Why?” you ask.

“Let me inside and I’ll explain.”

You roll your eyes at his sense of entitlement to your time but step aside to allow him in. He walks into your flat and looks around, taking in the room. It’s nothing much; a small couple of rooms decorated eclectically with all of your favorite things. Tommy makes a bit of a face, but you’re not surprised. You bet his home is decorated with knives and guns and severed body parts from his enemies.

Tommy turns around to look at you. “You’re not going to offer me a drink?”

“You came here to apologize, not for a drink,” you counter.

“Fair enough.”

You lead him over to the sitting area. He sits in the plush leather chair while you sit in the center of the sofa.

“On with this apology,” you say.

“Right,” Tommy clears his throat. “I’m sorry for what Arthur did. You seemed like you were good to him, but Arthur isn’t meant for that kind of life.”

“What kind of life?”

“Domesticated.” Tommy leans back in his chair and rests his ankle on his knee. “See, Arthur is a fucking animal. He doesn’t think like a man, he acts on instinct.”

You hum and nod your head in faux agreement. “I already knew that. I spent a month house-training him, and I thought I did a fine job.”

“An animal like him can’t be broken.”

“I see. But wouldn’t that make you an animal as well? Seeing as you’re from the same litter and all,” you reply with a slight smirk.

“The distinction between man and beast comes down to intelligence. I am no animal.”

“I disagree. Man is just an animal that walks upright and can speak. If anything, I’d prefer an animal that acts on its base desires than a man who succumbs to vices and needless violence.”

It’s a direct jab, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Tommy. He raises his eyebrow at you and watches you intently.

“I am not an animal,” Tommy says again. His insistence makes you want to doubt him even more.

“Maybe not, but men are even easier to break.” Tommy is silent after that. His blue eyes stare into you like they did when you first met, but now instead of anger burning behind them, you sense something different. “A few cigarettes, some booze, and some cunt would be enough for you, right?”

Tommy nods his head once. “Perceptive.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To be broken?”

“Arthur talks when he’s drunk. Can you blame me for being curious?”

A flutter of excitement appears in your chest against your wishes. Luckily, this isn’t your first time. You’re able to school your expression into something of disinterest, mirroring his.

“You can be curious all you want. I don’t understand why you think anything would come from your visit.”

For the first time tonight, Tommy lets his stoic expression crack into a smirk. “Because you’re heartbroken and lonely and angry enough at Arthur that you want to get back at him.”

You swallow thickly. He’s not wrong, but you’d rather die right here on the couch than admit that.

“Quite presumptuous, Tommy. What if I promised myself to God, gone and became a nun in the past two weeks?”

“Nuns don’t wear dresses cut like that,” he smirks.

“What do you want?” you ask instead of responding to his jibe.

“I think that much is obvious,” he says before looking over your body.

“That’s not how this works. If we do this, you have to tell me what you want, or you’re not going to get it.”

“I see. So I have to humiliate myself and explain to you all the perverted things I want you to do to me just for the chance of you agreeing?”

“Yes,” you smirk.

He nods and reaches into his coat for his cigarette case and matchbook. A comfort, you think.

“Shall we start?” he asks, and when you nod, he continues. “I want you to take off your dress. Go slow and put on a show for me. Then I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock and get it nice and wet so I can fuck you.”

You listen, nodding as he talks. “Very good telling me what you want, but I’m afraid I don’t do things like that.” Tommy looks taken aback. “I don’t put on shows, I don’t get on my knees, and I certainly don’t let you fuck me.”

“Very well. Why don’t you tell me what it is you do then, eh?” Tommy says, a smirk still on his lips. God, you can’t wait for that expression to fall.

“If you insist,” you start. “I’ll put you on your knees, I’ll let you get me wet so I can fuck you. I’ll make you put on a show for me, nice and slow. Do you get the picture, Tommy?”

“I think I do,” he says, blowing smoke out of his nose and mouth.

“Are you interested?”

“I am.” You chuckle to yourself. “Does that surprise you?”

“Oh, not at all,” you smile. “Men like you are typically the ones who enjoy this most.”

“Men like me?”

“The ones who insist they aren’t animals, yet they beg to be treated like one. Wealthy, powerful, important men who carry so much stress that they just want to let it all go. Poor boys just need to let someone else do the thinking while they just feel.” Tommy’s lips part as he watches you. The words seemingly have an effect on him if the fidgeting of his legs is anything to go by. “Do you want that, Tommy? Do you want to let go?”

Tommy doesn’t answer you at first. He stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table next to the chair and clasps his hands over his chest.

“I’d like to give it a try.”

You smile at him and lean back against the couch cushion. For a moment, it’s a stare-off. Tommy is waiting for you to make a move, while you’re doing the same to him. You raise your eyebrows and pat the couch cushion next to you. Surprisingly, Tommy gets up from the chair and moves to sit beside you.

“There we go,” you grin. “Now why don’t we start by taking off your jacket?”

Tommy nods and tugs his arms out of the sleeves, not breaking your gaze the whole time. He drapes the jacket over the back of the couch and now he’s left in his white shirt, vest, and gun holster. You look questioning at the gun strapped to his side.

“Planning to kill me or giving me something to use against you?” you ask.

“You know how to use it?” he asks instead of answering.

“It can’t be that hard. Any animal can manage it,” you whisper, leaning closer to him. His eyes narrow as he looks at you, but otherwise he has no reaction. “You know, your brother told me that you don’t fancy women like me. Strong women, ones who don’t roll over for you. That’s why you were so rude to me at the party, right? Because I spilled your drink and I didn’t immediately drop to my knees to suck your cock.”

“I like nice girls,” he says, licking his lips.

“You like nice girls to hang off your arm and to parade around to one-up your associates. But I think you do fancy women like me. You’re intimidated, sure, but I think you like that. Does it get you hot when a lady bosses you around, Tommy?”

He swallows audibly, but you don’t let it show that you heard. You just look at him, waiting for an answer. Never one to admit his weaknesses, he stays silent. You place your hand on his thigh, just above his knee, fingers digging into his muscle slightly. He looks down at your hand, watching, waiting for you to put it where he wants it. Unfortunately for him, you stay still.

“Answer me,” you say.

“Yes,” he says, frustration evident in his voice.

“Yes, what?” you ask, just to make him suffer.

“Yes, it gets me hot.”

Tommy’s jaw is clenched tight, clearly unhappy he isn’t getting his way. Finally relenting, you slide your hand up his leg and press the heel of it into his crotch. His breath hitches and you just barely contain your laughter.

You remove your hand just as quickly as you put it there. Tommy makes a slight whine but quiets up when you swing your leg over his thighs and straddle his lap. Your skirt bunches at your sides, resting on his legs and hiding you from his view. He looks up at you, eyes with only a ring of blue, obstructed by his lust-blown pupils. You grab his shoulders, fingers digging into the tense muscles, prodding the painful knots.

Your eyes trace his plush lips and you wonder what it’d be like to kiss them. Would he submit and let you explore him, or would he try to resist and dominate the kiss, just so he could have some semblance of power? As intrigued as you are to find out, you don’t want to give Tommy the satisfaction of making the first move.

Hesitantly, Tommy puts his hands on your hips, and when you don’t bat them away, he grips tighter and begins to rock you back and forth on his lap. His breath hitches and his eyes flutter shut when your core rubs over the bulge in his slacks. You look down at him, unimpressed, but he cannot see your expression. You let him continue a bit longer, building up the pleasure so it’s more satisfying when you rip it away.

You thread your fingers through the hair and yank, pulling his head back and eliciting a pathetic moan from his lips. His eyes fly open to glare at you, but you don’t even put on the guise of an apologetic expression.

“Y’know, Tommy,” you start, not letting up on your grip on his hair. “Your bother’s like a dog, but you’re a fucking horse. A fucking stubborn one at that. You don’t need a soft hand and scratches behind your ear, you need a whip and some goddamn discipline.” Tommy tries to shake your hand out of his hair, but his attempt is futile. “You’re just a horse that needs to be broken.”

“And you suppose you’re able to do that?” he asks, still far too cocky for the position he finds himself in.

“Yes,” you answer plainly, and he quirks an eyebrow at your confidence.

You reach down between your legs and firmly grab the bulge in his pants. Your grip is tight, just on the right side of painful. Tommy whines and curls in on himself as much as he can, which isn’t very much due to you being on his lap.

“Has getting talked down to like an animal really done it for you?” you ask teasingly.

You know he won’t answer, but the glare he gives you is enough. You let up on your hold and begin to drag your fingernails over his hard cock, alternating between too much pressure and not enough, just to make his head spin.

“Take your cock out,” you order, but he doesn’t immediately react. “What are you waiting for?”

“You’re so crass. You could at least ask me nicely,” he responds, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

“Do you ask your horses to pull your carts full of guns and drugs?” you ask. “No, you give an order. You are just a stubborn workhorse, Tommy. I owe you no more kindness than the shit on the cobble.”

“Why would Arthur ever let you go,” Tommy says sarcastically as he moves to undo his trousers. You choose not to respond to his jibe and instead watch him take himself out of his slacks.

His cock is nothing spectacular. It’s a cock, a toy for you to use to get yourself off with, and something to lead him around by. And by the looks of the leaking pink tip, it doesn’t seem like it will be too difficult to control him.

Tommy wraps a hand around himself and begins to stroke it. He’s very clearly putting on a show for you, and it makes you want to roll your eyes. All men think they’re God’s gift to the Earth when they have their cocks out.

“I’m not here to watch you wank,” you say.

“What are you here for, then?”

You reach down and grab his wrist, stopping his movement. “Do not act like I asked you here. You came to my doorstep in the middle of the night so I could fuck you. Stop pretending like you don’t want me to show you the animal you truly are.”

Tommy bites his lip to hide what almost looks like a smile. “Then show me.”

You feel the two of you have finally reached an understanding of how the rest of the night was going to go. Tommy lets go of his cock and you replace his hand with yours. You stroke him slowly, but your grip is tight. The sensation is torturing him, the evidence is written all over his face. His lips are parted and his eyebrows are pinched with pleasure.

You wonder how much of this slow, unsatisfying attention he can take before he begs for more. His hands twitch at his sides, clearly resisting the urge to take over and fuck his hand to completion. The other hand not around his leaking cock trails up his chest, feeling the firm muscle underneath his shirt. You undo a few buttons to get a glimpse of the creamy skin underneath the crisp shirt.

Tommy usually looks so put together but like this, with his pants undone, cock out, and shirt mussed, he looks like a wet dream. Your free hand continues to travel up and stops at the base of his throat. You push just slightly, not enough to cut off any kind of air or blood flow, but enough to get his attention. He looks up at you and nods once, a simple gesture but sufficient. You tighten your hold on his throat and he keens, hips thrusting up into your hand, searching for more friction. You wouldn’t have thought choking would be something that did it for Tommy Shelby, but he’s shown himself full of surprises so far.

“Fuck me,” Tommy whines. You chuckle to yourself at his desperate tone.

“What was that?”

“Please fuck me,” he pants.

“Well, what’s the point in having a horse if you don’t ride it, eh?”

You climb off of his lap and stand in front of him. You unbutton the waist of your skirt and let it fall to the ground, leaving you in only your top and panties. Tommy’s eyes drink in the sight of you hungrily, taking in every inch of your bare legs.

“Would you do me a favor, dear?” you ask him sweetly. He nods and moves forward so he’s sitting on the edge of the couch. “Could you take my knickers off for me?”

You step closer and Tommy reaches out to grab ahold of the elastic waistband. He looks up at you once more before pulling them down and letting them fall around your ankles. He’s now at eye level with your pussy and staring intently.

“You’re drooling, Tom,” you chuckle, which seems to snap him out of his trance. “Do you want a taste?” Tommy seems to have trouble with that question. He does want a taste, but if he waits any longer to get his dick inside you, he might go insane. “What’ll it be?”

“I want to fuck you,” he says, grabbing your hips and looking up at you pleadingly.

Beneath you like this, he looks as if he was praying to you. Like you’re his God, his master, and you suppose in this moment, his fate does lie in your hands.

“Greedy boy,” you say, grabbing his hair again. “After I stroked your fucking cock and let you rut against me like an animal, you can’t even return the favor?”

“Fine, fine, let me lick your cunt then,” he says, voice desperate.

“No,” you huff, putting on a show. “If you need to get your cock wet so badly that you can’t think about anything else…” You snap your fingers and point at the floor by your feet. “Lay down.”

Tommy obeys, pointedly ignoring how the order makes him feel like a dog and how hot he finds it. He lays down on his back and looks up at you, waiting for you to join him on the ground. You step over him, a foot on either side of his hips, and lower yourself so you’re hovering above his thighs.

You grasp his cock and point the tip at your entrance, rubbing it through your wet folds. Tommy’s breath hitches at the contact, but he doesn’t have time to recover before you’re sinking down on him. You go slow, easing yourself into it as his thick cock stretches you, making room for him inside.

Tommy’s hands grip your waist, but he doesn’t push you further down or try to direct you anywhere. Good boy, you think. When you bottom out, you let out a sigh of relief. You allow yourself to wait there, sitting on his thighs with his cock inside you as you relax your muscles. Yes, you’re doing it to prep yourself to ride him, but the look on his face as he tries to restrain himself from fucking into you is priceless.

“Talk to me, Tommy.”

“Fucking move,” he grits out between his teeth.

“Is that how you talk to me?”

“I’ve got my cock in you, eh? I don’t think I have to do much more charming.”

You roll your eyes, then your hips. It was a quick motion, over as soon as it began, and it only served to frustrate Tommy more.

“I want you to tell me how it feels, not give me orders,” you say.

“It’s not fucking enough.”

“So why don’t you ask for more?”

You know you’re being frustrating, and you can tell Tommy is nearing the end of his rope. His fingers dig into your skin a little more, and you wonder if he’s going to leave bruises behind.

“Please ride me before I go fuckin’ insane,” he huffs.

You smile sweetly and start to rock your hips, quickly finding a rhythm that begins to light up your nerve endings. Tommy groans in pleasure, the deep sound spurring you on to give him a little bit more.

“So fucking tight,” he moans. “Wanna see your tits.”

You look down at him and smirk. “So crass, Tommy. You could at least ask me nicely.”

He narrows his eyes and reaches up to grab the low neckline of your blouse. He pulls it down, making your breasts spill out. You gasp and bat his hands away, but make no effort to cover yourself up.

“You don’t like nice,” he says. “You want someone just as terrible as you are.” You lean down and brace yourself on his chest to move your hips faster. There is no doubt that you are fucking him, and he can do little more than touch you.

“And you are as terrible as they come, Thomas.”

Tommy grins, albeit a lazy, fucked out grin. He palms at your tits as you bounce on his cock, not caring about being nice or gentle with him. He’s an animal, he wants it rough and he is more than capable of taking it.

Your fingers curl into his shirt and you pull at it like the reins of a horse. You both move with each thrust, finding a rhythm and working together to fuck each other to completion.

“Good fucking cunt for a whore,” Tommy says between panting breaths.

You glare down at him. You would have thought by this point he’d be too fucked out to back talk, but this horse is hard to tame. You release your hold on his shirt with one hand and clamp it down over his mouth. Tommy’s lip hits his teeth and he tastes blood, but a bit of violence has always done it for him.

“I am not a fucking whore. You’re the one who begged me to fuck you,” you huff. You know he’s baiting you, but there’s something about his smug, condescending tone that’s ever-present that irritates you. “You’re the fucking whore, Tommy. Needy, desperate, pathetic. I bet you’re close, eh?”

Tommy takes your hand off his mouth and grins lazily up at you. “Yeah, I am.”

“You have to have permission for that.”

“Then give it to me.”

“Beg for it.”

You know this game can’t go on forever. You won’t give in and he’ll refuse to beg, but eventually one of you will come. Never let it be said that Tommy Shelby isn’t full of surprises.

Tommy drops his chin and makes his eyes wide, trying to appear as innocent as possible. “Please let me come, madam. I promise I’ll return the favor. I need you.” He is playing it up, playing the role you want him to just to get his way, but it works.

“Fuck, come for me,” you gasp as you bounce faster.

“Where-?” his question is cut off with a whine when you stand up, leaving his cock wet and exposed in the cold air. Immediately, his hand is around it and he’s jerking himself off to keep up the pleasure, but this time you don’t stop him. You kneel between his spread legs and wrap your hand around his.

“Make a mess of yourself, Tommy,” you order.

Before he could argue, hot come spurts out of his cock and lands on your hand, shirt, and trousers. You watch as his pants turn dark and his shirt becomes transparent with awe, reveling in the sight of Tommy Shelby turning into a wreck before you.

You wipe your hand off on his pants and move it between your own legs to rub yourself to completion. His fucked-out expression, whimpers of pleasure, and occasional twitches of the aftershocks of his orgasm combined with the friction on your cunt send you over the edge. Your pussy flutters and your body sags with the relief of the loss of tension.

Panting, you lay on the floor next to Tommy. You both stay there, not talking, not touching, not moving for a good while. You’re content like that, having gotten some Shelby-related frustration out of your system. You feel better than you have since Arthur cheated, and everything is good again. That is until the man beside you opens his mouth again.

“How much do I owe you for the fuck?” he asks.

You don’t bother to pick your head up. You simply smack his chest, making a hollow thud and a laugh come from the man.

“I should be paying you,” you respond.

“Was it really that good?” he teases again.

“You’re insufferable, Tommy.”

Tommy rolls onto his side to look at you, but you do not mirror his actions.

“And you’re a horrible wench. A wicked, evil woman who takes pleasure in seeing others suffer.” There’s no heat behind his words, and you feel a smile forming on your face.

“And you’re a stubborn fucking ass that kicks his owner.”

Tommy sits up and reaches for his jacket, taking the pack of cigarettes and matchbook out of the pocket. He puts one of them in his mouth, tucked in the corner.

“I’d say we’re a good match, eh?” he says before striking the match and lighting the end of the cigarette.

You scoff. “I’d rather die than be involved with another Shelby.”

Tommy turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “I’d say we’re already involved, but if it’s so important to you,” Tommy pauses for a moment. “I’ll take your name.”

You blink at him. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“You know, since you’re so adamant about being in charge. I’ll take your surname, then I’d really be yours.” That smirk and teasing tone that drives you insane is back.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Tom.”

Tommy stands up and grabs his jacket and hat, then puts them both on without breaking eye contact with you.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says as he turns around, walking towards the door.

“No, you won’t!”

Tommy shoots you a wink over his shoulder before slipping out the door and back into the night where he came from. You know that tomorrow night he will show up on your doorstep, and you know that you’ll invite him in. Damn, those Shelby men.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I Want You Only - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note:Whatever costume designer put Jensen Ackles in that Giants jersey in S3 you're a hero this one's for you.

Title from Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary/Warnings: You and Ben go shopping. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, pre-established relationship, smut (fingering, mirror sex, semi-public sex)

“I’m not fucking wearing that.”

You sigh, turning the fabric of the shirt between your fingers. “It’s a nice shirt, Ben, and it’s good quality, so it won’t tear-“

“I don’t give a fuck about it tearing.” Ben grumbles, half hanging around your body as his chin rests on the top of your head, glowering at the shirt. “It’s pink.”

“It’s light red-“

“It’s fucking pink, Sunshine.”

You try again, angling your head back to press a kiss to his jaw. “Stained white-“

“Pink.”

“Fine, pink. But,” you lean to the side, holding Ben’s glare with your sweetest, most innocent expression. “Why is that bad?”

He narrows his eyes, like he knows it’s a trap but isn’t quite sure how yet. He’s right, it is a trap—Ben’s not dumb, he’s just old and paranoid and grumpy—but, if he listens to you, it could result in an excellent new shirt, some ice cream, and a reward blowjob.

You’re not worried. Ben always listens to you.

“Girl color.” He grunts, and you wrinkle your nose at him.

“Girl color.”

“That’s what I damn said-“

“And why,” you drawl, leaning your head back onto his shoulder as you give a look of mock thought. “Is a girl color bad?”

“It’s not bad-“

“But you won’t wear it.”

“I’m not a fucking girl!” Ben snaps, and you can feel the sore, hot feeling of something like embarrassment covering his skin.

You let out a long, slow breath, tapping your fingers on his arm as you figure out how to work with this. You know Ben isn’t opposed to women as whole anymore—you being a stronger supe than he is and the tenth half-lecture half-joke about real gentlemen respecting that women are better at things sometimes had gotten the message through—but there are still these small remnants of the past stuck in his head. Small reminders that he is indeed a dinosaur, and the change is slow and long, but effective. And you know how to move with these ideas, how to point out that they’re, logically, kind of fucking stupid in a way he’ll understand, but it takes gentle words, an unmoving will, and a flat expression. 

Luckily, you have all three.

“It’s a color, my love.” You say, holding his gaze. “And if I’m trying to buy it for you, do you really think you’ll be any less of a man to me because you’re wearing it?”

He scowls, muttering, “No.”

“And are you going to look bad in it?“

“I look good in damn everything,” he grumbles, and you can’t stop your small giggle.

“You do, you grumpy old ass. And do you think anyone,” you reach your free hand up, tracing your fingers over his beard. “Is going to look at you and think you’re not an overly masculine testosterone factory-“

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks-“

“You give a fuck what I think-“

“That’s not the same, I fucking love you-“

“Well I,” you give him a soft, adoring smile. “Think you’ll look very handsome and strong in pink. I think I love you because you’re you, not because you’re a man. I think you should wear the pink shirt, dumb dumb, because it’s just a color.”

Ben frowns, his jaw clenched, but you can feel his concrete resolve fading and crumbling, rebuilding back into pure care and rough affection as his hands start to rub on your hips.

“Fine.”

Your smile grows wide and bright, and you grab one of his hands in yours, moving it to the shirt. “Look, it’s soft, feel it-“

Ben doesn’t get to feel the shirt, because he rips his hand from yours, grabs your jaw, and tilts your head full back for a kiss. It’s long, and hungry, and leaves you dizzy as he holds you against his chest.

I’ll get the fucking shirt, brat. For you. Stop trying to damn convince me.

You nod, a little stupidly. Yeah. Okay.

Ben pulls back with a smirk, and scans over your open features, the pride and love glowing in his body as he swipes a little bit of drool away with his thumb. You’re hungry.

As if on his command, your stomach growls, and you just groan, closing your eyes as he chuckles.

“Stop doing that, Ben-“

“I’m not doing a damn thing, beautiful.” Ben nips at your nose, his grin growing. “Not my fault I know my fucking wi- woman. Let’s get you some food.”

You hum, and grab the shirt to add to your small basket of Ben clothes. Mostly jeans and solid color t-shirts, as well as one Hawaiian shirt to rub in Butcher’s stupid face and a pair of gray sweatpants that you’d been incredibly adamant be added to the collection. It all fits in one bag, adding to the collection of lingerie that’s all going be ripped off your body before the week is over, boring men’s boxers, and the makeup you don’t need but had fun explaining to Ben.

He’s carrying the rest of it—your clothing—because there’s more of them. The lingerie and makeup fit in tiny paper bags barely bigger than your forearms, and Ben’s boxers get stuffed in his still-small bag of clothing, but you have at least five bags of mostly cheap, poor-quality shirts and shorts and pants and skirts. It’s by design—clothing tends to be the most frequent victim of the fire aspect of your powers—but you still don’t love it. You don’t love how nothing in those bags feels like you. You don’t really need anything expensive or permanent, but you’d like to feel like you, at least a little.

You always feel like you with Ben. Under his attention or trading teasing words or tucked into his side. He guides you out of the shop, and you let him lead you through the mall, find a place that serves what he deems to be acceptable food—even if there are no burgers—and sit you down at a small, fancy table. He keeps some part of himself on your body the whole time, whether it’s a hand on your waist, or an arm over your shoulders, or a knee pressed a little between your legs. It’s a little intoxicating, and does absolutely nothing to help you focus on anything but Ben.

But you don’t need to focus on anything but Ben right now. This week is just for you both to do stupid things like shop and touch each other and eat. All you need to spare thought to is Ben, big and warm around you, certain and attentive across from you, so fucking handsome and strong and always good. Grumpy and old, but good.

All yours, and good.

“I’m proud of you,” you hum, watching him all but inhale the restaurant’s largest available pizza. “You managed to get through all the underwear shopping without fucking me.”

“You didn’t fucking wear any of them.” He grumbles, a large glob of sauce falling onto his chin. “All you’re wearing right now is my boxers, and that’s fucking-“ Ben cuts himself off, his love and hunger starting to pound at your chest. “That’s fucking hot. Let’s find a bathroom-“

“You are not fucking me in a public bathroom, Benjamin-“

“I’ve already fucked you in a public bathroom, Sunshine.” He winks at you, and you flush. “And it doesn’t have to be a bathroom, we can find a changing room-“

“No. No public sex, you horny cunt.” You glare at him, but your voice has lost a lot of its authority, because Ben’s grinning at you, and his knee is pressed to yours, and he’s swiped away the sauce from his beard and he’s licking his fingers clean just like he does after you cum on them-

“Seems like someone,” Ben drawls, and you can’t really think outside of his deep, teasing voice or handsome, insufferable, smug grin. “Has a real damn horny cunt, and might need me to fuck it before she starts drooling again-“

“Shut up.” You mutter, glaring at your plate of meatballs as Ben laughs. “You're such an asshole.”

He shrugs. “You love it.”

You sigh. “I do.”

Ben’s smile turns wide and smug, and you can feel something glowing and devout glowing along his ribs as he gives a satisfied nod and returns his attention to the pizza.

“I can call the taxi when we’re done.” You hum, poking at your plate with a fork. “It might take a minute to get here, so I can do it now-“

Ben freezes, frowning at you. “Why.”

“To go home? I mean we could walk, but it’s really far and we have a lot of bags-“

“I understand the fucking taxi,” Ben drawls your name, still frowning. “Why the fuck would you call it now.”

You blink at him, tilting your head. “So we can get home sooner-“

“We’re not done here.”

“I mean we’ll pay the bill-“

“No, Sunshine, the mall. We’re not done at the fucking mall.” 

“Oh.” Your brows draw together as you try to figure out why his words are so firm, why there’s no ache or soreness in his body, but still stone-like care wrapped over your skin. “What?”

“You need more clothing.”

You look between the large bags—spilling out from under the table—and Ben, your voice becoming dry. “I really don’t think I do, Pretty Boy.”

“You hate all that shit.” He snaps, waving his hand to the same bags. “We’re getting you something you like. And don’t,” he raises one finger, pointing at you with a stern glare that makes your gut warm. “Try to fucking tell me you’re fine, or it doesn’t matter. I can fucking feel you, darling, and you hate it.”

You swallow, forcing words out as your whole world dissolves to Ben. “I don’t, I don’t love it, but it’s not worth getting more, I just burn through everything so it would be a waste of money-“

“If it makes you happy, it’s not a waste of fucking money.” Ben grunts, holding your gaze in that way that makes you feel entirely vulnerable and stripped apart for him to care and adore, and yet so incredibly safe. “We’re not leaving the mall until you get one damn thing you like. Got it?”

You don’t really have anywhere to be, or anything to do. You still have a disgusting amount of arguably stolen CIA money. Ben’s knee has somehow wedged itself fully between your legs, and you can feel his ardor roaring in his chest as he pays your bill, as heat starts to grow in your core, where Ben is just too far to touch.

“Got it,” you whisper, and Ben nods, grabbing your hand as he stands and helping you out of your seat.

“Good.” He kisses the side of your head, grabbing all the bags before you can protest or insist on carrying at least a few of them. “Let’s go.”

It takes two hours and four shops to find something. Ben is, predictably, incredibly unhelpful in making choices, because while the man is full of countless opinions about what he’ll wear, he has next to no thoughts on what you should wear.

“What about this?” You extend what might be the fiftieth dress from the rack for his to survey, and Ben—the dickhead—just shrugs.

“Get that.”

“Well, I don’t know if I want it-“

“Why the fuck not.”

“I don’t know if it would look good on me-“

“Everything looks fucking good on you, beautiful.” Ben grunts, and you sigh.

“That’s not helpful, Benjamin-“

“It’s the damn truth-“

“It’s your truth.” You lean your head on his shoulder, continuing to frown at the dress. It’s a nice dress, and it is a color that usually looks good on you, but it’s revealing and expensive and fancy, and you haven’t worn anything like it in four years. “You’re incredibly bias in my favor, my love. Other people who aren’t in love with me might think I look bad in this.”

“Nobody with fucking eyes is going to think you look bad,” Ben says your name in the shell of your ear, and you might have whimpered. “Get the damn dress.”

“But I might not-“

“You’re going to look fucking hot.” Ben doesn’t waver, moving to cage your path away from the dress. “You like it?”

You swallow, and nod. “I do, but-“

“If you try it on,” Ben mutters. “And prove me fucking right, will you buy the damn dress?”

“Yes-“

Ben’s moving before you can protest any further, somehow holding every bag on one arm so he can grab the dress, shove it into your hands, and guide you to the dressing room.

You’ve never seen him pout more than when the saleswoman hands you a key and tells him he can’t go in with you. You can feel it, sour and soft around his heart, and it would make you sad if you didn’t know he just really wanted to see you naked.

I’ll be right back. You lean down to where he’s dropped on a bench, kissing over his beard with a gentle smile. I love you.

I love you too, Ben mutters, pulling his violent glower away from the saleswoman to kiss you fully, tangling his hand in your hair and almost making you collapse onto his lap. Be fast.

You try to be. You don’t really love leaving Ben out there anymore than he likes it, mostly because he’s either going to start interrogating anyone else who tries to enter the changing rooms—where you are, where he can’t go, which to his overprotective, paranoid head, means where you’re in danger—but a little bit because this place is cold, and Ben is warm, and this is his stupid idea so he should have to help you.

Are you almost done.

It’s been three minutes, Pretty Boy. You frown at the mirror, readjusting the fabric and turning at awkward angles to try and see yourself better. Give me a minute.

There’s a pause, and then, Do you look hot.

I don’t know, Ben, I’m not the best judge of my own appearance-

Let me see it.

You roll your eyes at your own reflection. How.

I don’t fucking know, come out here.

You flush, glancing at your discarded clothing on the bench. I, um, I can’t.

Why the fuck-

I had to take off your boxers. They were too long.

Ben doesn’t respond, but a wave of hunger so powerful it almost knocks you off your feet crashed through your body, and suddenly the instinct of Ben, Ben, Ben starts to grow in your body. Everything feels sharper, and smells like pine, and there’s a feverish glow rioting in your chest only moments before the door to your changing room bursts open. Ben stomps in, his eyes on yours almost feral and blown out with lust, and he kicks to door closed without sparing a look behind him.

He scans you up and down, nostrils flaring as his throat bobs, and you feel the hunger grow insatiable as he gives a short, rough nod. Before you can open your mouth, ask how the hell he got in or remind him of the no public sex again rule, he’s moving, and you don’t really care about anything else anymore. Ben’s walked you backward, pressing you against the mirror and caging you between his arms, and when his mouth crashes into yours he’s ravenous. The kiss is brutal and long, stealing your breath in barely a moment and ruining you with just bruising lips and a tongue down your throat.

Ben-

Fucking Christ. He groans, and the sound rolls through your body, making you whimper. You’re so fucking perfect.

Please, Ben, fuck, please. You’re not sure exactly what you’re begging for, but you know you need Ben. That he’s big and strong and warm around you, and his mouth has dropped to suck and bite on your neck, and you’re grinding down onto his thigh but it’s not enough, it’s never enough, you need Ben and you’ll never have enough-

He spins you around without warning, wrapping an arm around your waist, trailing a warm hand down your stomach until it’s under your dress, and starting to rub your clit with two expert, broad fingers.

You’re a goddamn marvel, he mutters in your head, grabbing your chin with his free hand and forcing your gaze onto the mirror. Prettiest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, darling, so fucking wet and good for me.

Ben-

Look at you. His mouth starts to trial over your collarbone, smirking at your breathless, needy sound as you squirm in his hold. So fucking beautiful, all the damn time. When you’re getting smart with me, he nips at your shoulder, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. Bossing me around, his fingers leave your clit, but before you can moan in protest they’re shoved deep inside you, pumping and scissoring as his thumb continues to play with that bundle of nerves. Getting fucking wrecked on my hand. Always so perfect, Sunshine.

God, you let out a loud moan, unable to care who might hear you as Ben’s fingers crook against the sweet, spongy spot inside of you. Benjamin, fuck, please-

Want to cum, darling?

Yes, yes please-

His fingers are gone in a second, and you make a desperate noise of protest that turns into a half-scream as his cock shoves into you from behind. You’d have fallen over if Ben hadn’t pinned your body upright, and fuck this is everything, Ben is everything, he’s splitting you open and groaning and kissing over your shoulders and throat and jaw, and Ben-

Fuck, he grunts your name in your head, setting a brutal, skin slapping pace that makes your eyes roll back in your head. You’re fucking perfect, strangling my fucking cock, taking me so good, so fucking pretty, Sunshine, so fucking wet and good for me-

Please, you reach behind you, trying to angle his face to yours. Ben, fuck- Please-

Ben’s hand trails back up your stomach, pulling one tit out of the dress and rolling your nipple between his fingers. Cum for me, beautiful, soak my fucking cock-

You spasm around him, shivering and shaking and making lewd, needy sounds as Ben fucks you through your orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic as he watches you in the mirror.

Good girl, so fucking good, fuck- He pinches your nipple as you grow slack in his arms, taking everything he gives you as your body grows sensitive. Fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect-

Ben, you whimper, your body already overloading as he drags you back to the edge, his cock hitting every right spot in your cunt. Ben-

He buries his face in your neck as he cums, muffling his groan on your skin as he spills into your body. It sends you over the edge with him—everything hazy and your vision blurred with the pure, blissful feel of Ben—and when you both come down you’re panting and flushed and squeezing around Ben’s softening cock, still twitching inside you.

“Buy the stupid dress, Sunshine.” Ben mutters, kissing your neck and holding your gaze in the mirror. “You look like a fucking work of art.”

You’re going to have to buy the dress now, because Ben’s fucked you in it and it smells like his salty, heady cum. But he’s also not lying, because you look a little wild and dazed, but you are beautiful. It’s easy to believe that when Ben says it, because his voice is always borderline stern, and he doesn’t lie. Ben could tell you anything about yourself, about how good and perfect and beautiful you are, and as long as he’s like that—his release dripping down your thighs, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his hands tracing patterns on your hips—you’d believe him.

And you think there are worse fates than that, so you smile, and nod, and give in.

Ben makes it so impossibly simple to smile, and nod, and give in.

End Note: She crumbled under 0 pressure to have sex in public (again). Same.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask! (Separate from main taglist)

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd @ej13928

@deansbbyx

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

15 and 19 for Thewo for the soft ship prompts.... Please, I beg you....

cw (prompt 15): Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Ketchup Not Being Used Correctly, Horseplay, Use of Masculine-Gendered Nicknames, Gender-Neutral Reader.

cw (prompt 19): Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Mention of the French (tm), Use of Masculine-Gendered Nicknames, One Spicy Joke, Gender-Neutral Reader.

author's note: I really hope that you like these! I had a lot of fun writing for Sero. Hopefully these prompts are to your liking—Sero is a pretty silly guy. These were prompts from the "Soft OTP or Self Ship Prompts" list and can be found here . Prompt 15 will be under the break, and Prompt 19 will be under the other Sero photo. REQUESTS ARE OPEN—CHECK PINNED POST FOR CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR. Please only request one or two from this specific prompt list just to make it easier for me! Thank you.

PROMPT: 15 (Write about your ship spending a lazy afternoon together).

PROMPT: 19 (Write about your ship going on a casual date).

word count (prompt 15): Approximately 1.1k words.

word count (prompt 19): Approximately 1.7k words.

“Pass me one of those ketchup packets, will ya?” 

There’s a soft thwack to the ground whenever your head rolls to the side. Hanta lays on his back on the bed, but his arm now dangles from its edge, fingers brushing the floor ever so slightly. Both of his eyes are closed, and that goofy grin’s luster is a little dull. Napkins cover his chest, a few dark smudges against the paper from where he had previously wiped his fingers. One of your eyebrows cock, your vision ever so slooooooowly glancing down to where the tiny pile of ketchup packets sit, only mere whiskers away from his hand.  

You blink. 

“Bro. They’re literally… right there. By your hand. Why don’t you grab one yourself?” 

Hanta’s head seems to creak like a rusty door desperately clinging to its hinges. That grin starts to spread a little, but it’s by a mere fraction, and his eyes slit open just a smidge. He snorts. 

“That’s no fun. Can’t a guy want to be spoiled?” 

A sigh so heavy and dreary spills from your lips, tumbling out with the weight of the world. Amusement dances across Hanta’s face, and you pointedly squint at him before turning yourself to rest against your side, arms flopped outwards. 

“I think you just want to make me be your errand boy. Look, your nails are touching one of the packets. Just. Take one.” 

Hanta shakes his head slightly. 

“Nah. Too much work. I need my lovely, lovely, loooooovely sweetheart to hand it to me.” 

You’re not frustrated, no, not at all. However, that look smearing across Hanta’s face is getting to be a little too smarmy and you’re starting to feel the need to really give him something to smirk about. Your eyes bounce between the pile of ketchup packets and Hanta’s face a few times, slowly, deliberately, and you swear that his eyes open wider and his fingers curl further with each glance. Oh, he’s so getting it. 

“If I hand you one of those packets, you’re not going to like what I’ll do.” 

A shrug of shoulders, a wide smile. 

“Eh. I’m not too worried as long as I get that ketchup packet.” 

The fires in your eyes ignite, and something sinister paints your expression. Hanta misses it because you swerve your hips fast enough so that your body basically slides across the ground, hand outstretched from a packet. You manage to snag one between your middle and pointer fingers, and another spin of your hips has your knees and palms flat on the ground. The sounds you’re making seem to awaken Hanta, and shock pops into his eyes like confetti and both of his eyebrows explode up his forehead, those bangs loosely scooting to the side. You’re pushing yourself up with a gust of wind, and once your feet bend at the right angles, you’re pouncing. 

Hanta releases an anguished yell, but it doesn’t stop your evil ways. He flails his limbs, but you’re dodging every swipe, napkins flying everywhere. One of your knees thunders against the bed of Hanta’s opposite side, and you use that momentum to fling yourself atop of his body. He groans before his limbs turn to jelly and he goes limp, the surprise draining from his face before he deadpans. He stares at you, a look of disbelief now staring right at you. 

“Did’ja really have to do that? It seemed a little excessive to me, man.” 

Devilish thoughts, a set of horns beginning to poke out of the crown of your head, a pointy tail with an arrow tip starts to curl into a heart shape. 

“Well, I just thought I’d spoil you, ya know.” 

Hanta blinks. 

“Ohhh, no. Oh, no. I don’t like what you’re implying.” 

A few giggles escape you, bubbling like fruit and nectar in the back of your throat. You start to carefully sit up, gentle and easy with your movements. Hanta follows your every move like a pointer, paw bent and honed in on prey. Once you’re balanced as best as you can against Hanta’s stomach, you reveal the ketchup packet. You smile sweetly before your fingers start to gingerly tear off a corner. 

“What exactly am I implying?” 

Hanta hums out of discomfort. 

“Mmm, I think you’re about to terrorize me.” 

You gasp, totally in offense. 

“I can’t believe you think I’d do something like that to you, dawg! Don’t you truuuuuust me?” 

Hanta grimaces. 

“No.” 

A flutter of your eyelashes, butterfly wings, and that sweet smile of yours gets even more saccharine. 

“Good.” 

Hanta opens his mouth to question your response, but it’s too late. The corner of the ketchup packet is off, flung into the horizon, and you're leaning forth to that agape mouth. You’re too quick for Hanta, so all he can do is wail in agony whenever you flip the packet upside down and shove it into his mouth, right between his teeth. You start forcefully squeezing the packet, draining its contents into his mouth, and Hanta’s words come out as gurgles and distraught howls. His hands are flying around, and you notice he shoots out a few strips of tape, but you’re sly and slick, so you just snake your body around his projectiles. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Hanta? Where’s the fun in this now, huh? Don’t you like being spoiled?”

There’s mirth lacing your tone, but it’s cynical and sarcastic, and Hanta starts to sink into a mush the more ketchup spills. Two streams start to leak down the corners of his mouth, and he’s closed his eyes in acceptance and defeat. 

Once you’ve completely wrung the packet dry, you withdraw it and sit back, satisfied. 

Hanta swallows, and swallows, and he does it a couple more times even though there’s no more ketchup. Then he smacks his lips. Then a line creases between his brows.

“Oh, yeah. Love being spoiled. But… do you want to know what I love even more?” 

There’s something owlish to Hanta’s tone, something that makes you wonder if you should even entertain his inquiry, but the simp in you caves. You thoughtfully tilt your head to the side, lips pursed. 

“And what’s that?” 

Suddenly, Hanta’s eyes are wide and filled with flames of vengeance. Fear grips your heart, and you realize that you’ve made a huge mistake whenever his hands grasp your waist, the tips of his fingers touching the small of your back. It’s all over whenever Hanta starts to launch himself off of the bed, a victory cry revving in his chest, and the both of you cast aside onto the floor with one broad scream from Hanta—

“I think you’re looking a little hungry. Here, lemme feeeeed you!” 

And the last thing you see before it all goes dark is that ominously looming pile of ketchup packs.

“You’re kidding me.” 

Hanta shakes his head. 

“Nope. I’m totally serious.” 

You glance down the busy street, bustling with hundreds of people, swarming shops, crowds shoved against one another. Hot weather beats down on your back, sizzling it, warming your skin, glistening with sweat. Loud cacophonies of people speaking, children screaming, honking cars, screeching tires, serenading music—so many things, too many things happening at once, and your head is spinning whenever you lock eyes with Hanta again. 

“Dude. I’m not going to do that.” 

A faux expression of hurt crosses Hanta’s face and he pouts slightly, but it’s all a ploy to make you give into his dastardly whims. 

“C’mon! It’ll be a great adventure, an amazing bonding experience, and it’ll be sooooo romantic.” 

You squint. 

“For you. I don’t feel like going on a wild goose chase. Can’t we just go to the little café and skip this nonsense altogether?” 

A set of arms fling into the air, and Hanta releases a groan. 

“It’ll be boring! Look at us: we’re all dressed up, wearing our Sunday best—” 

“You’re literally wearing baggy pants with a shirt that’s so white that I can see each line of your abs. Do you really think you’ve got it in you to look French?” 

Hanta hums, crossing his arms, and then he shrugs. 

“Sure, why not? Anyone can throw on a beret and put one of those long candlestick cigarette tubes in their mouth.” 

“I think you’re looking for the words opera cigarette holders.” 

“Man, who actually cares to know the correct terminology? We just need it for the aesthetic.” 

You blink, eyes wider than the moon before you slice both of your hands out, appalled. 

“You want to look French, and yet you don’t even know the official name of one of the objects you’re looking for!” 

Hanta pivots around on his heel, loosely  shaking his head, choppy black locks swaying in the stiff summer breeze. He stalks off, leaving you to follow his cues, which make you groan, but you begrudgingly follow after his disappearing figure. 

“Fine. But if I suddenly have a baguette in my hand—” 

—

The dinky little store is tucked away in the corner of an alleyway. If you didn’t turn your head at the right angle, you would have completely missed it. It looks odd, very rustic and rundown, but Hanta doesn’t seem bothered by it. A curved staircase of three steps arches into the cylinder shaped entrance, and a hollow thump follows after Hanta’s every tread whenever he ascends and grasps the round doorknob. The door screeches whenever it opens, which makes you wince. Hanta’s thousand yard stare and everlasting wide grin doesn’t flinch, and he just enthusiastically bounds into the threshold. You emit a soft sound of displeasure whenever you enter, and your body completely stiffens whenever the door swings back harshly and slams shut behind you—the jingling of bells finally registers. 

Now that you’re inside, you can’t help whenever your eyes turn further and further into saucers, shiny and glossy with wonder and confusion. It’s dim in here, and the lighting is yellow-orange, like the dying rays of sunshine. It’s homely, and it’s full and hard to navigate through. But Hanta doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, he keeps walking, whistling softly and swinging his hips around casually. 

“This seems like a great spot to look for French cosplay. Keep your eyes peeled and we’ll be ready to drink free complimentary water at a pretentious café in no time.” 

You shake your head, a sigh. 

“Sure. I’m positive that…” 

You quickly survey your immediate vicinity before you keep speaking. 

“Puppy dog figurines with equally miserable puppy dog eyes and… used… traffic signs… will supply us with all we need.” 

Hanta chuckles softly, shoulders bouncing. 

“Have some faith! Just follow me, I can feel it. I know we’re going to score.” 

He’s not stopping, so you know there’s no use in trying to talk him out of his dastardly schemes. Another glance at your surroundings spurs you forward, and you’re slightly spinning your body while you look around, watching carefully where you put your feet. 

There’s almost too many things to keep track of what all you’re seeing, but it doesn’t take long for Hanta to stop. You thump into his back and emit a sound of confusion, but Hanta’s gesturing to the side and grimacing. 

“Oh, God. I can’t believe they have a corner dedicated to that.” 

When you look, it’s a corner filled to the brim with creepy clown figurines. There’s dolls, plushies, puppets, and everything clown related. They look old, like something out of the early Industrial Revolution Era, and dirty with grime. All of the fabric, thread, and porcelain are smudged against the lights on the ceiling, and you make a noise of discomfort. 

“Bro. I feel like if you got too close, you’d end up breathing in some toxic chemicals. Like pesticides.” 

Hanta’s eyes widen by a fraction, and they shoot back and forth quickly before he mumbles. 

“Well, shit, we’ve gotta get out of here. I’m not dying from some mystical gas curse.” 

Hanta turns fast, and you follow, and the both of you are still walking away from the corner. As you walk, you can swear you feel their eyes on you, following, and you shudder. 

“I’m surprised they’re not levitating after us to drag us back to their evil dimension. Like. That one Goosebumps episode, uh, The Haunted Mask?” 

“Why would I know what you’re talking about? Do you think I’m in for a scaaaaaare? I’m thinking more Cabal.” 

You shake your head, 

“The Nightbreed weren’t all evil! All of those clowns were definitely evil.” 

Hanta goes to retort, but his mouth falls agape and he flails his body a bit. His hands fly out to you, and he’s tapping his palms against your arms and shoulders. 

“Look! Look! Dude!” 

You’re trying to twist your head around to see what Hanta’s freaking out about, but he’s grasping your hand and spinning you around faster than the speed of light. A strangled choke leaves your lips, and a heavy case of whiplash smacks your temples whenever Hanta starts dragging you along. Whenever you’re finally able to see what Hanta’s enamored by, you notice it’s… 

“Spiderman?” 

Hanta flings his arms into the air. 

“Not just any Spiderman. This is the old stuff, the real deal, the bee’s-knees.”

“Hmm. All I can ever think about whenever I see classic Spiderman is that one game where you awkwardly walk around in sewers for a long ass time before you manage to squirt webs onto that lizard guy.” 

“The Spiderman Plug-N-Play: Escape From the Sewers level? You’re no fun. I know you know more than that.” 

You’re staring at the collection of Spiderman again.

“Yes, I can totally see more than the plug-n-play. Like… the really. Uncomfortable. Hyper-realistic painting of Andrew Garfield… caressing a… is that a self-insert?” 

You and Hanta stare at the painting for a solid moment. 

“Holy shit. It is a self-insert.” 

Hanta immediately begins cackling, and you’re giggling before you shove into him, attempting to push him away from the Spiderman collection. You’re stumbling on your toes, and Hanta’s eyes are blown out while he cackles through the reality of the painting. If you don’t keep Hanta moving, the painting flashes in your mind and you nearly wither from it. 

“Nope. Corner just lost all of its validity at that. We run now. I’m not really wanting to accidentally come across smut in there. How did no one notice what that painting was?” 

Hanta tries to strike a sexy pose, rubbing his fingers across his collar bones while he smears a stupid smirk across his face. 

“I don’t know… Andrew Garfield’s not really my type, but… Doctor O’Hara…” 

You wail. 

“No more Spiderman for now! Let’s focus on our French cosplay!” 

The laughter hasn’t quite died within your chests, and that’s when it happens. Hanta’s head angles in just the right way, and his face melts into something sincere and surprised. He pauses, and you lean into him, and then you follow his trail of sight. And there, in the distance, surrounded by a halo of glowing light from the Heavens above, is exactly what you’re looking for. 

You bob your head in a rhythm, both eyebrows bouncing along. 

“Huh. What are the chances that we’d find two matching monochrome striped shirts with deep maroon berets right next to each other?” 

“Who cares? C’mon, let’s get ‘em before someone else swooces us.” 

Hanta’s holding your hand again, fingers laced, and pulling you with him. This time, you’re not as stiff and confused, and you’re happily skipping behind him, light on your feet and flouncing. Excitement is vibrating off of Hanta, the rays tickle your mood and you can’t help but feel adoration whenever you observe his features. Even if you didn’t really want to do all of this extra work, and even if it felt short-lived given the circumstances, Hanta was all worth it in the end. And whenever the destination is crossed and the both of you are standing directly in front of the French cosplays, you watch his grin for a few more fleeting seconds before you stretch your hand out for the long-sleeve dangling from its hanger. 

“This is so epic. I can’t believe it actually worked.” 

Hanta blows a puff of air from between his teeth. 

“Pffft. I knew it would. You’ve gotta trust in the Sero more often, babe.” 

You hum. 

“Perhaps. Here, let’s just get these.” 

The hanger is within your clutches, and you’re reaching for the beret next. Hanta’s already swooped up both of his items, but it feels like time is beginning to slip into slow motion. It’s so strange, and eccentric, and you can’t help but feel your brows pinch together whenever the pads of your fingers brush against the faux wool fabric. Hanta’s watching you, and the anticipation builds before you wiggle your fingers beneath its inner brim and lift. 

And there, hidden beneath its depths, a 

baguette. 

Silence. 

“Oh, come on! Hanta, I told you that if I had a baguette—” 

But Hanta’s laughing brashly before you can finish, the baguette glittering underneath the light. 

[butchpeace]

hi there! thank you so much for you're response to my anon ask- i was honestly expecting you to mock me and then tell me im in a cult and am bringing down other women- which is the response i usually get when trying to ask radfem blogs things- i understand why they would say this but i am asking questions genuinely. I've looked through the medical articles linked in your page, I'll be honest it is concerning but currently I am enjoying the physical and mental changes on testosterone and dont want that to stop- obviously while paying attention to my body and working with my doctor if any issues occur. i think i'll talk about doses with my doctor to understand what options i have when i want to taper off or vaguely slow down, i hope my approach to medical transition isnt seen as aggravating or flippant this is just my general philosophy about things :) i dont know i kinda feel like crying this is kinda the first radfem space i have felt safe in?

i enjoy having a deep voice- being hairy, being flat chested and these are all things women can do-- i feel that my decisions to get a mastectomy and be on hormones to achieve this shouldnt be used to kick me out of butch spaces but maybe im just being naive 🤷

A lot of radfems have that knee jerk reaction to trans identified women. Those are the kinds of people who pushed me away from radical feminism before I transitioned, so I know how that feels!

There aren’t a lot of people who both identify with radical feminism and also have the empathy and understanding needed to help us work through our gender issues. My goal is to be the person I needed back then.

My viewpoint is that people have a wide variety of different feelings about their gender, but at its core it all comes down to the same thing: The inability to accept our bodies as they are.

That’s something butch women particularly have been dealing with for a very long time. Of course butches want to be more masculine. Why wouldn’t we? We live in a patriarchy, and physical masculinity and androgyny is considered attractive in butches.

But my opinion is that accepting our bodies as they are should be the ultimate goal, and that messing with our hormonal systems and having cosmetic surgeries is objectively a negative thing. Not just because of health risks, but also because it’s a way of rejecting femaleness. I believe that all forms of rejecting the female aspects of our bodies come from misogyny. Because of that, giving in to the pressure to change our bodies isn’t a positive thing in the big picture, even if it makes us feel subjectively better about ourselves.

But I feel that way about all cosmetic surgery, including botox and all the other things women do to alter themselves. I don’t think that the way we’ve altered ourselves is any different from what they’re doing. I’m against all of it, but I don’t see us as the problem, I see patriarchy as the problem.

Whether radfems agree with it or not, the fact is that many butch women have taken hormones and have had mastectomies, and we are still women. Testosterone and mastectomies are so widespread among butch women these days that it’s kinda just part of who we are at this point. That doesn’t mean it’s a good thing or that it should be encouraged, and people have the right to criticize it. But we should be accepted.

Our appearances are altered but that doesn’t change who we are, and it doesn’t change the fact that we need community and a sense of belonging.

[detransition]

from missmastectomy

A mastectomy has physical AND social repercussions. A therapist or a surgeon might tell you the obvious, like that you can’t breastfeed and that your breasts won’t grow back post-mastectomy, but they won’t tell you about what the mastectomy *feels* like. They can’t. They have never experienced it.

I can tell you, though.

I am 3 years post double mastectomy (top surgery, not cancer related). It is nothing like having a naturally flat chest. Even without my incision scars, my chest doesn’t have the same fat distribution on either side, though it’s small enough to be noticeable to me and not anyone else. I have sensation, but it’s very much dulled, especially on my nipples. I’ve seen it described as the chest feeling like a black hole and I have to agree.

I don’t look like I have a “male chest,” and a big part of that is because I have curves. Males and females FUNDAMENTALLY have very different chests and removing your breasts WILL NOT give you a flat, girly look or a male look. That is highly unlikely. You are much more likely to look like a woman with scars and just a generally “off” chest.

There’s so much trans art out there that just doesn’t represent what a double mastectomy looks like in real life. It is highly romanticized and often portrayed as ✨ cutesy scars ✨ on an otherwise masculine body. No. No no no, that is not what this procedure does! I promise you that when you look up trans mastectomy results, you are going to end up seeing the “best ones,” the most successful ones, often on transmen who pass quite well and already have pretty masculine body types.

You are far less likely to hear about the botched surgeries, which thankfully mine is not. The surgeries where people need multiple revisions, the surgeries where people lose ALL sensation, the surgeries where people develop chronic pain.

When you get a mastectomy, you are removing a body part full stop. There are going to be side effects because this procedure is no joke, and mine are comparatively mild. I get itching on my scars sometimes and a mild burning sensation, which can be triggered by stress. Even if it’s elective and you think you want this, your body will remember it has lost a piece of itself. It doesn’t matter how dysphoric you are. There used to be something on your chest and now it is gone forever and nothing will bring it back, barre more surgery that is nothing but an imitation of the real thing.

I cannot express to people considering this surgery how difficult recovery is and living with it afterwards, even if you’re happy at first. I was happy at first. But then I detransitioned and realized I had been taken advantage of by a sociopathic, money hungry surgeon as a teenager. Even if I had persisted as trans, I would still deal with the fact that my flatness was not natural, but surgically constructed. My body could never forget the physical trauma of being sliced into like that, no matter how much I thought I wanted it.

You are not a Mr. Potato head. These are serious surgeries and they have serious, life long repercussions. Your breasts are not baby feeders or male attractors - they are a part of your body, your temple. And your body will feel the loss, even if (at first) you do not.

Do not get this as an elective procedure. These surgeons are lying to you. They don’t care about you. All they care about is money. The next time your dysphoria acts up and you’re considering a mastectomy, don’t think about the fantasy you’ve constructed in your mind where you’re just a male with chest scars. Instead, think about the fact that I’m order to achieve this “look,” you literally need to maim yourself. Think about the total loss of sensation, the dangers of the surgery itself, the feeling of complete and utter violation you will live with permanently if you ever regret your decision.

And then make your choice.

thinking of detransition? you are not alone

[2000sangel]

Hi! I was curious if you were open to writing a little bit of angst/fluff with Angel Dust who is with a transmasc reader who is having a really hard time with his gender dysphoria bc of how many people have told him things like "you'll never be a real man" among other bad transphobic things, and the reader is just in a really bad headspace since Angel is gay and he thinks he doesn't really like him since he's not a "real man" and it ends with Angel comforting him and reassuring him? (totally not projecting at alllllllll. Please don't feel pressured to write anything on this if it makes you uncomfortable though!)

Hello! Of course I came up with something for you, as I am transmasc myself so I could really throw all of my thoughts in there and make this somewhat realistic, ahah!

WARNING for : transphobia and heavy dysphoria - Angel is here to the rescue though :)

*･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺�� 💘 ✧.* *･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.* *･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.*

Heart to Heart

A date.

Your lovely boyfriend, Angel, had invited you on a little intimate date in his room for Valentine’s day; just you, him, cosy clothes, a sappy movie playing on TV and a few snacks to chew on during the evening. Usually you wouldn’t be against this at all, it actually sounds like a wonderful night, throw in there a couple kisses and one might even call it perfect – but as of right now, everything you’re trying on looks wrong.

The first shirt you try on looks wrong, your favourite sweater looks wrong, the overly comfortable sweater Angel himself gifted you for your first year anniversary looks and feels wrong. Actually, the right words for it would be that none of these make you look flat on the chest enough.

No matter how much you tuck the top part of your outfit into your pants, or how much you try to adjust your chest into your already uncomfortable binder – just like those assholes had said under the pictures you posted on your social media earlier in the day, you will never look like nor be a real man.

It’s okay though, because there’s at least one person who would never doubt your identity in this Hell of a place, and that person is your boyfriend, Angel.

...right?

With a deep breath, you open your wardrobe for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, and carefully scan your options. You have your mind set on changing your whole outfit, not just the top part, now.

The pair of pants Charlie gifted you a while ago, hoping they’d be the right size since she only asked you about it once: while you manage to wear them on most days, they’re too much on the skinny side today, they show your hips’ shape and you don’t like it. Are they even masculine enough?

That one sweatshirt you just got, the one that’s your favourite color: it’s just too tight, it’s going to show your binder bump. As if there’s a way to fully hide that.

You could wear comfortable shorts – no, they’d reveal too much, show the shapes that a real man shouldn’t have. And that your boyfriend especially would not want to see tonight.

While rummaging through your wardrobe even more you try to keep your mind away from any thought of Angel not accepting you for who you are; it wouldn’t make sense, you’ve been dating for a while now, and surely he wouldn’t be so dumb to keep the relationship going if he didn’t like his partner.

He has also expressed how much he loves you many times in the past, showed signs of affection he denies others, accepted your affection countless times.

And yet, something in your brain just isn’t right today. All because of a few rude comments. How stupid can you be?

You give one last glimpse at the mirror on your right, eyeing the body you’ve grown accustomed to hate. But tonight it seems like your hatred is even more persistent than usual.

You love Angel so much, there’s no denying that. You wish you could just dress up and get out of your room. It’s probably too late anyways at this point, you’ve spent an eternity looking for the perfect outfit that doesn’t exist without even looking at the time, and now it’s too late to even try to show up in front of his room.

Three distinct knocks at your door distract you from your negative thoughts;

“Sugar? Are you still in there?”

It’s Angel’s voice, it holds a preoccupied tone. With a quick look at the clock you realize it’s been past half an hour since the original time for your date.

You reply, meek and defeated; “Yes, sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay, can I open the door?”

You can’t help but notice how gentle and careful he sounds when he talks to you, in comparison to how he talks to others; it gives you the courage to answer his question, though you still hide your body with your arms as much as you can before doing so.

“Yes, come in.”

Anthony carefully steps inside, his brows furrowed in concern though he manages a soft smiles as soon as he spots you sitting on your bed.

“Hey Toots, I was worried you know? You’re still choosing your outfit? Ha-“

Before he can finish his sentence you blurt out yours without thinking about it twice, your eyes barely holding in tears;

“Anthony, I know this is stupid because you literally just invited me on a date but- do you actually like me? I was just thinking...”

There’s a pause as you’re struggling to find the right words. Your boyfriend knows to wait until you’ve found them, so he gives you a few seconds to formulate your sentence.

“...This.” you gesture at yourself, your body; “Are you okay with this? I’m not a real man, can’t even get top surgery yet. I’m sorry, it’s just...hard to believe that you would see me as one sometimes, especially today.”

You struggle to look into his eyes, fearing his response, but once you find the guts to do so you’re met with nothing but love in them. Anthony pulls you closer with one of his arms, and you immediately find comfort into the warmth his body emanates, letting your tears finally roll down your cheeks.

“Baby, I’ve got to say,” he chuckles, “That is a bit silly, of course I’m okay with you being trans. We’ve been dating for what, a year? And almost three months, I’m so good at remembering – I wouldn’t be with you for this much if I wasn’t okay with it. The only thing I would be is a huge dick actually.”

With the arm that’s lovingly draped across your back he lightly shakes you around at the end of his sentence, which makes you smile.

“So...” you trail off, shyness suddenly taking over.

“Yes, I love you and I think you’re very handsome. Kiss?”

You’re a little surprised by the question in such a moment, but you’d never deny your lover a kiss especially after he comforted you on a subject you feel very vulnerable on. Once you nod though, you’re surprised to find out that Anthony’s little kisses end up landing on your tear stained cheeks, as if this was his way of drying them up.

“I love you too!” you return between giggles and kisses.

He pulls you into a hug, enveloping you with all his four arms, and you bury your face into his chest – he’s wearing what you consider to be his softest sweater, a pink chenille one he always wears when he wants to be both comfortable and cute.

“You still wanna watch something together? You can take some time to pick something comfortable, darlin’.” He reassures you after a while, and you accept his proposal.

You decide to let him stay as you look through your wardrobe with a clearer mind now, even though sometimes you still let an occasional ‘this would make me look less masculine’ slip out. But Anthony always has the right remark to make you feel sliiightly better;

“See, I didn’t pick this because it’s too... tight. Too bad since it’s one of my favourites.”

“Don’t let that stop ya handsome, you’ve got me drooling and looking at you with heart eyes whenever you wear it.”

You can’t help but laugh at that one, though.

“Hey! I’m serious!!”

“Shush Tony! Don’t make me laugh when the rest of the hotel is sleeping!”

You do settle on something warm after a while, and with your boyfriend offering you encouraging words and looks it takes you half the time. He reassures you once again that he loves you before you two leave your room to go relax in his – it’s much more equipped for this kind of thing, being filled with plushies and fuzzy blankets -.

You spend a lovely little Valentine’s Day together, with your limbs intertwined and exchanging little kisses once in a while. Anthony has the cute habit of giving you one on the forehead every single time the characters on screen share one, you find this and many other things about him very endearing... just as he does with you and your habits.

[kaycode1999]

Hi, I hope you are doing well. 

I’d like to have a JJK matchup haha

Pronouns: they/them and she/her

Sexuality: Biromantic Asexual (but I prefer men)

Height: 150cm (I’m travel size, but I’m an athlete. I throw hands)

Visual info: I’m Southeast Asian with short straight black hair, somewhat pale skin, and black almond shaped eyes. I have a boyish appearance: flat chested, masculine mannerisms, and slim swimmer body. I rock a suit with sunglasses. Seriously I dressed like that for a presentation and got the best compliments. I don’t wear makeup, not because I’m poor but because don’t have time and I have sensitive skin. 

Personality: ISFJ, introverted but very affectionate/teasing with friends, been described as a cat (skittish around people I don’t know well but all over my favorite people), very professional but I laugh when I’m too nervous or struggle to tell a joke, a lot of profanity when I’m confident (example of something I actually said: I am dressed good. Therefore I have no fucks to give. I ignored his ass. I ignored his hair still recovering from his bad dye job when he tried to look like Yung Gravy last year. Just kidding I noticed and I still laugh at it.) 

Likes: I love feeling confident in masculine clothing but I don’t have the money :(. I like singing while doing chores. Sometimes I sing like I’m tipsy. I love krnb, Korean dream pop, sometimes Kpop for working out, Japanese city pop, Mitski, and wave to earth. I love science, mainly biology stuff (best place I went to with a friend was a natural science museum that had a live butterfly exhibit). As for food, I love seafood, meat, fruit, and coffee gelato. 

Hobbies: I’m a swimmer. I like to write (working on a short story for young adults and I like making essay on things I like). I like anime and manga obviously, mainly ones that are sad or psychological, sometimes romance. This taste also applies to the books I read. I’m a bookworm that loves depressing contemporary fiction and classics. I used to be in a dance class so now I know how to dance like an idol (poorly). 

Dislikes: Disrespect, people not taking me seriously, the obvious racism and homophobia, people who try to push their beliefs onto me, spicy food, obnoxiousness

My type: Glasses (๑^ω^๑)

Extra: I’ve never been in a relationship before, but if I were dating someone I’d be very committed. I would make them food and wrap them in a fluffy blanket as we sleep or cuddle. I know ASL and Vietnamese so I’d like to teach my partner if they want to learn, especially Vietnamese (it’s not my first language but it’s important to my culture). I’m a mess but I try to be organized. I’m pretty smart and often help my friends with work. I’m aiming to be in the medical field but if that fails I’m gonna be a writer. Because I’m interested in the medical field, I put health and happiness as the top priority for my partner, but I am likely to forget that for myself. And lastly, I often cry after getting yelled at. 

Thank you for reading this 

Hope you have a great life ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

JJK

I match you with

Kento Nanami

He is also introverted

He is more so the type to just stand there and watch you sing while you’re doing chores and he has a fond smile on his face

Will never be disrespectful to you but maybe sometimes to Gojo because you know Gojo likes to mess with him

Demon Slayer/ Kimetsu No Yaiba

I match you with

Kyojuro Rengoku

Your introverted makes a nice balance to his extroverted nature

Will both join in on the singing while you’re both doing chores and stand there watching you with a big smile

Rengoku loves all food so he’s always down for whatever you want to eat

He doesn’t mind if you curse but he doesn’t do it at least not in front of other people

Combined

Both appreciate your affectionate and teasing side and love to see that you truly trust them

They both think it’s really adorable that you’re short

They both appreciate that you have some professionalism to you, but also find it funny and cute if you do a nervous laugh

They both would spoil you with whatever clothes you wanted

Both enjoy learning about all types of things along with you

Both are so supportive and enthusiastic of your hobbies and are your #1 cheerleaders

Both of them also dislike disrespect and are respectful

They both definitely enjoy being brought into your music taste

They both would love to learn ASL and Vietnamese not only because it’s important to you but because it helps them communicate with more people

They both make sure to have their home stocked with favorite foods and drinks

Being in the medical field would work well with both of their professions

They both really appreciate that you’re concerned about their health and happiness and just that you dote on them in general

However, they both make an effort to be as doting and caring as you are because you deserve someone who will put just as much effort and care into you as you do them

Sorry this took so long, I started my new job last week and unfortunately I caught a bad cold almost immediately so I haven’t felt the greatest🤦🏼‍♀️

I hope you enjoy though!

[oscconfessions]

1). Why are y’all so pissed when someone portrays two as feminine, it’s not like there’s a specific gender norm that applies to being non-binary that excludes being feminine or masculine. I get getting mad at people for purposefully using the wrong pronouns for two, such as she/her or he/him; but what do you have against two having a non-flat chest 😵‍💫 — a non-binary person

2). Why do people get mad when someone humanises an object and gives them a skin colour that the fandom doesn’t interpret them with, yk personal interpretations exist and not everyone has the same artistic views? Oh boo-hoo, I’m so sorry for drawing a tennisball dark skinned, time for my public execution 😖😖😖

/gen

.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Now, my family is very controlling and all, and I want to buy a binder. I can tell a friend, who is supportive, and she would buy if I pay her it's okay but.

I still live with my parents, (I am 17) and if they find out it wouldn't be nice. For example I had to give half of my books to said friend bc of gay things -it wasn't smut or anything inappropriate, just the song of Achilles or the midnight library for example.

They don't even approve of the world classics (I should read our culture first) they don't approve of teen novels (dating is a bad thing) or romance (god forbid a grown ass woman from kissing his husband wow) is mad I don't have authors from our country (they didn't let me read an author who was in my country bc there was a rumor she was Jewish) I can't go to a cafe alone (we are talking about a cafe in the mall, not somewhere bad.)

So they suck. Sorry I wasn't planning to vent but honestly they piss me off. What do you mean sitting in a cafe drinking coffee is a bad thing???

Anyway so if they caught me with binder it would be a scene. (Y'know, 'gay people are disgusting and sick, I wouldn't even say hello to them' type of parents.)

So what to do, rn sometimes I do masculine makeup and layer but dunno. I did bandages before, and I know it's not good, I don't now but I dunno. Anyway, I can buy it and it can stay in my closet, they don't look at my clothes, and I can use it rarely. It's a solution, when I collect money for it. I am pretty flat anyway (help, it's so sad when I am feminine, but at least it works?) (I am genderfluid btw so I don't need to look masc everyday.)

It is no issue hiding and wearing, they won't notice, but I can't wash it. If I buy, my ma does the laundry so, I dunno how to wash it without them noticing.

🩶

Hi!

First off, I’m so sorry that you’re in this situation. It absolutely sucks ❤️

Second, please don’t bind unsafely. It can lead to huge health issues. I know it’s horrible to not be able to bind, but landing yourself in the hospital with a cracked rib will be painful and lead to questions you don’t want.

Third, I’m so sorry to say that it doesn’t sound like it’s safe to have a binder right now. The fact that your parents could react very poorly if they find out and you wouldn’t be able to wash it (could cause skin irritation and rashes) makes me think that it’s not a good idea. I know it’s really upsetting, but that might not be the best solution.

Have you considered trans tape? Another person suggested it on a similar post and it’s a great idea if you have someone to order it for you, esp if you have a smaller chest. It’s disposable so no need to have your parents wash it, and you can say it’s tape for sore muscles if anyone finds and asks. Just please make sure to follow the guidelines for removal, as it can lead to bleeding and irritation if you don’t (I found this out the hard way)

Sending love!

[robexp03]

Horse Whispers - Chapter 6

All my own body hair was in the process of falling out, giving me a chemotherapish look. There was a strip of long blond hair beginning at my forehead which narrowed and arrowed over my head (which had a pink and naked look) and down my back to the top of my stubby tailbone. My ears were high up and to the rear of my head.  My lips were thicker, wider and much more moveable. My shoulder and chest were hairless and very white in contrast to the girdle of chocolate brown short fur that wrapped my trunk from my sternum down to my mid thighs. Of course, there was the new tool case and family jewels, in sharp contrast since they were dressed in a creamy beige fur. My legs were too short in the thigh, and too long in the calf and foot, adding a good 8 inches to my height. And then those ludicrous feet. “My God” I breathed and shook my head. “I hope to hell it doesn’t stop here. I look like something He forgot on the workbench” I said in a low voice.

            “You haven’t stopped yet” Jerrod said softly coming up behind me. "Your legs have adjusted more since just this morning. And your fur” he touched my sides with both hands and looked in the mirror with me from behind my arm “has spread down your legs.” He ran his hands down my sides, and a thrill of pleasure shocked through me. It ran down my back, through my tail stump, under my crotch, and into my dick, which immediately started to lengthen. We all noticed it and I forgot everything as a strong need overtook my mind; the need demanded release. He quickly withdrew his hands.

And just as quickly I turned and took them in mine. I looked down into his wet face and I actually smiled and felt sorry for him. I drew his arms back to my sides and tried to look encouraging, not really sure how my face would register it. He shook his head sadly.

The doctor looked between us both and sighed, “Jerrod, this is where you come in again. When you took this position, I warned you it might be difficult. Well, Cody <shudder> has formed a bond with you. We all know it to be true. And as his trainer,” he paused, “you may be required to help him in some unexpected ways.”

I blushed. “Jerrod, I need a release right now. I don’t know why, but I sense that its important” I said quietly. “Would you stay with me please? I don’t want to be alone with myself.” He was struggling. Part of him expelled sorrow. But another part exuded raw musky masculine desire. On detecting that, my body reacted swiftly, adding a note of powerful sweaty sweetness to the air. I lowered my chin to look him more directly in his beautiful dark eyes, and slowly, powerfully, I drew his body close to me.

I stooped a little, and wrapped my arms under his and around his back. I stood back up and lifted him to my face with little effort. My mind was thinking of a kiss. But what I did was lick.  My flat wide tongue came out and I ran it up his neck, across his cheek, onto his nose and up his forehead, oh so slowly.  My nose wrinkled. No, it was my upper lip I realized, and as a result I discovered how to focus my olfactory senses. The flehmen behavior was a natural part of me now. I focused on his desire. I had never smelled anything like it before! And it had a profound effect on me.

My dick powerfully and unstoppably climbed up its slick pipe, and forced open the roseate door at the top. We both looked down in amazement to watch it emerge and extend, inch after inch. The head had changed shape and color, from a pink arrow to a dark brown mushroom.  It stiffened and widened as it slithered straight up my chest in the space between us. I looked upwards and pulled Jerrod close to me, squeezing my slippery horse cock tightly between us. My heart started beating faster, and every pulse could be felt in that shaft. 

“Cody <I shivered and whickered> put me down for a moment” Jerrod said softly. I didn’t. “Cody, <I shuddered> put me down!” he said in a firm command. My arms complied with his authority, but some part of my mind objected wildly. He smiled hesitantly up at me as he began to undress.

I stood there, opening and closing my hands, struggling against an urge I had never felt before, let alone acted upon. This man was mine. I was going to own him. Every part of him was my property, and nothing was going to get between us. He would be my mate and nothing could stop me. Refusal was not an option, only acceptance would be allowed.  He would take my seed, and he would give me a foal.  He would be happy and fulfilled. I would be doing her an honor, and favoring her with my protection.  She would take her place in my herd, and become my first mare. 

            Jerrod stood before me, soft and furless, pink and pretty, and the air around us tasted like power! I threw back my head and shouted my challenge to all in earshot; This one is mine! Now and forever! Come not between us for your rank shall surely suffer! She tasted fearful, as though not quite at her cusp of readiness. Well, a little encouragement was in order.  I pranced over to her, and bent down to inhale her readiness.  I licked her tiny rear end with my long flat tongue and snorted under her tail. The signs were not there. There was no visible motion, but I was not to be denied. She would mate with me regardless of readiness. I grabbed her from behind and bent her forward into a more correct position. She protested loudly with noise and struggle, but there would be no coy nay-saying this day.

(((((((((((((((((((( -------------------- ))))))))))))))))))))

To be continued.

[mithliya]

"a lesbian wouldnt be into a male just bc said male has an estrogenised chest but could be into a woman who does not have breasts for whatever reason."

a lesbian wouldn't be into a male period because it's a male duh. but a lesbian wouldn't be into a woman on testosterone or who got top surgery because secondary sexual characteristics actually do matter unlike what the bi populace will try to convince you. it's irrelevant for bi people because they swing both ways, so of course they'll downplay the importance of secondary sex characteristics. but real lesbians don't like masculinized women and that's the truth. yes masculinized women are still women but their pheromones are not attractive to lesbians who are attracted to natural females with breasts, normal sweat, (not exaggerated disgusting male smell by testosterone). and if they are attractive to her, then that woman is bisexual. period. lesbians are not masculinists by nature. we are the only sexuality devoid of the masculine entirely.

1. the evidence of pheromones being a real thing in humans is very limited, and it is unclear whether it actually exists for us

2. there a women born with the same traits women who took testosterone have. a woman with higher levels of testosterone is still a woman and women can be attracted to her without it somehow meaning they’re bisexual. y’all are one step away from arguing that a woman dating women with levels of testosterone naturally higher than avg are bi.. or that lesbians dating women with PCOS w hyperandrogenism are bi. are y’all gonna start asking women how much estrogen and testosterone their gfs produce to determine whether they’re lesbians bc ~pheromones~ or sth. secondary sex characteristics matter but they’re not a make or break for sexual orientation. narrowing down the definition of lesbian to the point where it would only include 0.001% of the population is only bound to hurt us while isolating many lesbians simultaneously. maybe just like everyone else, lesbians have various tastes and dealbreakers and someone being female in a way u don’t find appealing doesn’t mean no lesbian can find her appealing.

3. a lot of effects of testosterone reverse after some time and even if not… taking hormones does not change your sex.

4. it’s a deal-breaker for some lesbians, but not all. breast size or smell or body shape are preferences. u might be attracted to a woman i don’t see the appeal in… doesn’t mean one of us must have a different sexuality. also again.. there’s women who naturally exist with deeper voices, that are more hairy, flat chests, etc… and she still may find lesbians interested in her.

5. lesbianism isn’t about femininity. our sexuality is exclusive to the same-sex. i’m tired of people dismissing other lesbians and giving so many conditions to lesbianism when all other sexualities don’t face the same.

[neotrances]

“shoulders too wide hips to round jaw too strong legs too hairy face too feminine” and yet presenting authentic urself regardless of how society expects u to dress is an act of revolution, this applies to all trans ppl ofcourse but relating to trans girls who present feminine whether or not they “pass” their decision to dress how they desire will always be helping the fight against misogyny and the patriarchy, if she is not safe to wear this and that because her body looks a certain way what protects the cis women who has the same features? if the cis woman is not safe to dress “masculine” and cut her hair short and not be identifiable as a “real woman” what protects the trans woman with those same features? when women in general r free to dress how they please, regardless of their body type, regardless of what people expect of them, when they r free of ridicule as a whole, when it no longer matters if she’s too tall to wear this or if she’s too muscular to go here or she’s to flat chested to do this and that, when there is no repercussion to being a woman, in whatever way u choose, everyone wins, “she doesn’t pass” “she’s clockable” ask ur self why a woman or anyone really should have to do work for you to respect there humanity and give them respect, ask urself why does someone’s physical appearance determine whether or not you treat them like a person

[wearequeer-andwearehere]

I feel a bit ridiculous/awkward asking this but I have to know because I'm unsure- are those signs I could be non binary or are these just normal/me overthinking things?

- I don't think I feel dysphoria but it makes me very happy when my button-up falls in a way that makes it seem I am flat chested

- I feel like my secondary sex attributes should just not be there. Not like they are wrong per see or they don't fit me or make me unconformable but like i'd like it better if they weren't there ?

- I love neopronouns for me (Fae/Faer) but I don't care about the adjectives or else. In English, I like when people use masculine-leaning words on me (dapper/handsome) but in my native language French, it feels weird when I don't add the feminine mark to words because they feel naked without the -e.

I don't know my gender, except that I am 1) not a boy 2) not a demi-girl 3) not agender 4)not genderqueer. Which like ? Feels super specific in what I'm not and yet nothing on what I am but I'm getting off topic- sorry for the long ask this is really stressing me out

Hey!! Don’t worry about it mate Im here to help out!! There’s no need to apologise Im happy to listen and reply

That could count as gender euphoria! It could mean you just like having a flat chest, or it could be related to gender.

Dysphoria doesn’t necessarily mean extreme hatred of your body—it can manifest as apathy and discomfort in a lot of more indirect, subtle ways.

I’d suggest giving this a read: https://wearequeer-andwearehere.tumblr.com/post/668447098141802497/to-everyone-questioning-if-theyre-transhave

Honestly, here’s my advice. Stop worry about like, what gender you are. Stressing out over little details and labels is just gonna make you more stressed.

Just. Do what makes you happy. If binding/wearing button downs makes you happy, do it! If using certain pronouns makes you happy, go ahead! The pieces will fall into place eventually, but for now, just do what feels Right. There’s no pressure to go on HRT or change your name Tomorrow or like, ever.

Just go with what feels right, explore and try new things, see what feels good for you and what doesn’t. You come first, then the labels, not the other way ‘round.

Hope I could help out! Sending love <3 Feel free to send me any other asks!