#but like maybe the transit is exactly what i mean

[ritualcaster]

100% honest, yes, but listen to me fully, maybe im falsely equating the term "hermaphrodite" with intersex? Do you feel that they are notably different? If so how?

Would a person who spontaneously shifted traits later in life be intersex?

Would it be the same if they decided too themselves?

Maybe intersex as a term includes gender dysphoria, or some other sort of inherent discomfort and/or removal of choice, so transitioning to have more intersex like traits later in life would be their choice, and therefore not fufill the "requirements" to be intersex?

These are all just hypotheticals so i can better nail down exactly what you mean.

And its not that i see intersex as something to be sought after, but knowing what i know about gender dysphoria it doesn't feel out of the question for it to not be kink driven.

In case anyone needs a reminder…

Being transgender does not make you intersex.

Going through HRT does not make you intersex. Surgery cannot make you intersex.

Intersex people are born with atypical variations of physical, biological sex characteristics. That is what makes someone intersex.

Perisex trans people (especially on Reddit) have been recently insisting that just being transgender makes you intersex, and therefore able to speak over intersex people on issues that specifically affect us, especially when it comes to dangerous and offensive terminology. This is not true.

Also the idea that you can somehow “make yourself intersex” is untrue. You can make your body more androgynous through things like hormone treatment and surgery, but that does not make you intersex.

Falsely claiming intersex identity based on these things isn’t *always* malicious (though it is often done to speak over us) but it is always harmful.

[redheadedfailgirl]

From 'Dream of a woman' By Cacey Plett.

This sums up exactly how I feel about most transition timelines. As much as they reflect people's experiences, they are also a narrative. And the narratives that get shared the most tell a lot about what our values are. The timelines that get the most attention are the ones where people go from sad, loser, nothing boys into beautiful women.

But if you go to /r/transitiontimelines or a similar place, and sort by controversial or look at what has the least likes, its people who made timelines when they still don't 'pass' yet. Even if they're happy as can be, that's not what people are looking for.

I think it says a lot about what people expect from trans women, that they only want to see us be beautiful. In some cases, that they want to believe they can be beautiful. So there is no value in trans life if you're not beautiful.

[dracolizardlars]

Actually so fucked up being a trans person who sincerely and genuinely doesn't want to transition. Like, not for practical reasons, I mean that if I could magically transition instantly and everyone would be 100% accepting about it I would still not want to. Isn't that fucked? I don't even have issues with "what if I'm just cis" much, I'm nonbinary as hell and HATE thinking about the fact that I'm generally perceived as female.

But all the fucking masc stuff sucks and I don't want it!!!

[mimir97477906]

im so sosry for ranting abour this again but auhgufhgh im making a ref sheet of my ocs for myself beacse EVERYTIME I DRAW THEM THEY LOOK SOOOSK DIFFERENT os i thoguht maybe this can help me memorize their faces but EVEN THO IM USING GUIDELINES THE SAME CHARACTER LOOKS LIKE DIFFERENT PEOPLE ITS JUST A HEAD TURN AROUND I CANT DO THIS I FEEL SO VIOLENT WHY IS MY ART STYLE HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS HOWWWWWWW DO I FIX THIS

[moe-broey]

YOU'RE SO RIGHT. YOU'RE SO RIGHT!!!!!!! The thing about Alfonse is that he should be a reflection of everyone he has ever loved, admired, or otherwise is important/had an impact on him.

LIKE MAYBE WHAT HAPPENS IS. He goes from being a reflection to what he thinks people want to see/a reflection of an Ideal Image, to being a reflection of his loved ones. But in there, somewhere in there. He also finds something that Isn't just a direct reflection of something else? It's SUUUUUCH a tricky balance to strike.

.... Full disclosure I jotted that down immediately and that's as far as I got. I got too excited. I just kinda combusted. Been kinda locked up about it ever since. Help.

I do really wanna say though, I love how you world build and factor in Everyone. I kinda get tunnel vision about it! 😅 I feel like you do an amazing job at filling in the blindspots I have. Which is to say, I am just absorbing everything you just said LMFAOOO

I ESPPP ADORE WHAT YOU'VE DONE W SHARENA'S CONCEPTS...... SO REAL SO TRUE........ I am taking notes while sobbing. I need to incorporate that like YESTERDAY. And the progression of it all in general is soooo good! Like, reading it through I'm just saying to myself "YEAH! YEAH!!! That's EXACTLY how it is....!!!!"

Especially, actually -- there are very specific circumstances where it feels like you have to speedrun a second puberty, in a way. Most obvious example is transition (hi. LMFAO), but I think the core idea behind it can be applied more broadly, too. When you said that Alfonse's fashion choices end up feeling juvenile at first, and it takes time for his fashion taste to mature... that's exactly it. This is something that you usually would parse out, during your tweens/teenage years. But due to being brought up in a restrictive environment and feeling a need to carefully curate An Image as a means for protection...... Alfonse never got that, at least not at that age. AND ESP ESP the DRASTIC swing in the opposite direction. THAT'S JUST HOW IT IS..........

Also as a side it will NEVER NOT be hilarious to me, this sort of rivalry Veronica has with Alfonse. The stakes are way higher in canon ofc, but. This specific case is the funniest shit to me. Local teenage girl PISSED that the grown ass man she's decided she has beef with is Suddenly Really Fucking Cool. No. No, he's NOT. He's still annoying as fuck AND a loser. I have to outdo him. Or straight up kill him. Or BOTH.

ALSO. THE KIRAN THOUGHTS. YEEESS... and that's so much of what I think IS really compelling about parsing all this out, actually. The variety of ways different characters may hide in plain sight. By curating a very specific image, by misdirection/distraction, or by literally being buried under there. LIKE getting INTO the characters heads about it... and the extra fun of comparing/contrasting, when you've got two or a handful of guys Doing This. Examining the methodology/mentalities behind it.

Ehhh fuck it I'll post this one too -- I wanted to color it first, but. I'm actually split on redoing Alfonse's outfit completely, or at least making adjustments.

Like, in my head, I think I was doing two separate things between the Askr siblings and it just doesn't feel cohesive to me now.

What, you ask? Well, the first thought behind this, was this is a visit. So, Sharena is straight up wearing Moe's old clothes it never could seem to let go of. I think I got mixed up around Alfonse, though. Literally half and half. He's wearing some of Moe's clothes (esp the flannel, green, band merch), but the idea here is they did have to go out and get stuff that actually fits right.

Which... works. It does work. But I think in the back of my head I was also wanting to design an outfit that's more AU coded. Going from argyle sweater vest ass to mmmmaybe trying to develop his own sense of style. Which kind of directly clashes w the idea that he's wearing some of Moe's clothes. But also. So. SO BADLY. ESP IN THIS CONTEXT. I would LOVE for Moe to have direct influence in the process of that. Another detail you don't even get to see here is Alfonse is wearing a studded belt. Courtesy of Moe.

Lack of direction too many ideas at once. Maybe if it's an AU, the dress could have been a hand-me-down? If you like it, and it fits. You can have it. If you want... (Moe completely dodging just how deeply meaningful this gesture is when doing this). But also, could go REALLY crazy if Moe (previous life) had fashion taste that was close enough to Sharena's that, like. At different points of time, each ended up picking out the same dress. It's such a funny line to balance, actually. Because despite all the parallels I may draw between them, Moe was NEVER what Peony was, to Sharena. Not even close.

Idk idk there's a possibility that I'll get too frustrated w all the details not matching up here that I scrap it completely. Just know that the dress Sharena is wearing is pink and white. Very Princess Peach core. The style of it, though... it's pretty close to something else... a certain Something Else... just enough to scare ya. Which is ALSO WHY this might work better as a visit and unique psychological damage for Alfonse but I DIGRESS. WHAT YHE FUCK EVER. TOO MUCH GOING ON HERE JUST THROW IT ALL OUT‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[vamptastic]

like honestly the poor souls that think intersex means you have 'both sets' but think that that's cool and chill and that readily accept the concept of a 'third sex' or being part man/part woman or whatever are more tolerable than idiots who refuse to accept that anybody could be both male and female by plugging their ears and going lalala xyz condition is rare and made rarer by involuntary sex reassignment so i can pretend it doesn't exist and nobody voluntarily would want to be both male and female they all want to fix themselves. like at least the first person will just casually ask me if i have a penis and take my explanation peacefully instead of telling me i need a regular menstrual cycle and conventionally female appearance to be a human being.

[nowendil]

i should be getting out of bed but i keep thinking about the cursed fact that I'm trapped to be seen either as a man or a woman by the general public for the rest of my stupid baka life

[whatudottu]

I have a question what were Annie's og parents like(i mean she was willing to run away with five aliens to be her fathers instead so I don't think they might have been the best😬) or maybe they're dead and were good people idk

A lot of the lore is actually written by @sweetpeaches666, who may be tagged under sugarbutterfly432, thanks to Annie technically being a 3 way OC lmao. There has been nothing solidly concrete about Annie's OG parents beyond the fact that she doesn't know her ancestry and she's had many foster homes AND orphanages to live in (plus it'd also be easier legal wise for the Andromeda 5 to adopt her if she isn't officially someone else's kid at the time)

It's actually why she does ballet, one of her foster mothers wanted to recreate her failed dream, turns out it breeds resentment and a lot of running away :P

What can be said is that Annie's been many different homes and in a constant state of transitioning between them, a prime example of being a refunded kid and all that, something something No Roots by Alice Merton yada yada 'oh no that's relatable'. Her birth parents one way or another have never been in her life, though regardless of what actually happened Annie will always believe that they left her behind like like everyone else did :P

[muu-kun]

"I've been.. thinking on all the day, and.. I've made my pick to be going forward with.. socially transitioning into being a woman Muu."

[kuromi-hoemie]

fictional or not, dragon lore is always so interesting.

[swappermanent]

Gym Crush (Part 2)

Read Part 1 by @exploratorytfs.

It’s been a year and a half since the swap, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about how crazy it all was. You might be wondering—why would I trade the life I had? I mean, I had it pretty damn good.

Before all this, I was hot. Not just passable, but the kind of hot that turned heads. I had worked my ass off to look the way I did—hours at the gym, eating clean, all of it. And then there was Edgar. God, Edgar. This dude was a walking Greek statue: broad shoulders, a thick chest, veins for days. I mean, it wasn’t just the muscles; it was the way he carried himself. Confidence, swagger, like he knew he could get whatever he wanted. And yeah, I guess at the time, he was my boyfriend.

But even with all of that—being hot, dating a hunk like Edgar—I just couldn’t do it anymore.

You’re probably thinking I’m nuts. I mean, guys like Edgar don’t come around often, especially not for guys like me. Let’s be real, most dudes who look like him wouldn’t even give a trans guy like me the time of day. So, yeah, I was lucky. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I should’ve been happy, but the truth is... I wasn’t.

Why? Well, Edgar. He wanted me to be this perfect, submissive, fem bottom. And look, I’ve got nothing against that. There are guys out there who rock that vibe, who own it, and good for them. That’s just not who I am.

I know, I know—saying this out loud would probably get me canceled in half the gay bars across the country. But I really am masc for masc. Always have been. I’m not saying it to be some sort of gatekeeper or anything; it’s just... that’s what I’ve always wanted for myself.

And it’s not just about who I’m attracted to—it’s about me, too. My whole life, I’ve been trying to prove I’m man enough. To the world. To other guys. Hell, even to myself.

Transitioning was the first step, obviously. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted to look the part, you know? That’s why I inked myself up. And the gym was my second home, but even after countless hours of sweat and dedication, I could never quite bulk up. No matter how much protein I shoved down or how hard I lifted, my frame stayed twinky.

Don’t get me wrong—there were plenty of guys who loved me for it. I mean, twinks are kind of a whole thing, right? A lot of guys would’ve killed to look like I did, but that wasn’t the point. It didn’t feel like me. I didn’t just want to be a guy; I wanted to be a man. The kind of man Edgar was.

And Edgar... he didn’t see me that way. Sure, he’d call me hot, touch me like he couldn’t get enough, but then he’d taunt me. He’d weaponize my body. Every time he called me “pussy boy” or made some comment about how he was more of a man than I was, it chipped away at me. He might’ve thought it was playful, but to me it was cruel. And I couldn’t take it anymore.

Initially, I thought if I just stuck it out, maybe things would change. Maybe he’d see me differently, respect me more. He didn’t. My self-esteem tanked. I started dreading the time we spent together, and eventually, I just... stopped putting out.

And of course, that’s when things really fell apart. Edgar doesn’t do well with rejection—big shocker, right? So yeah, I wasn’t exactly surprised when Edgar came sliding back into my DMs after. But honestly, I wasn’t planning on responding. I’d already been down that road, and I’d told myself after the last time—no more.

Still, when I saw what he was pitching, I couldn’t help but be curious. Swapping bodies with a cis guy? At first, I rolled my eyes. Like, thats even possible. But the more I thought about it, the more curious I got.

The guy Edgar had in mind? Not exactly a stunner. When Edgar sent me his photo, I remember staring at it for way longer than I should’ve, trying to pick out anything redeeming. The dude was... average. A little too soft in the face, a little too plain. But, to be fair, there was some potential there. Barely.

His eyes were nice, though—kind of soulful, in a way that made you think he might be a good guy deep down. And the kicker? He was taller than me by a good 6  inches. That alone had my interest. But let’s not kid ourselves; the real selling point was the fact that he had a cock.

That was the dream, wasn’t it? My own cock. I’d spent years dealing with the disappointment of not being able to fully live out the life I wanted. Transitioning had given me so much, but this? This was the missing piece. In this kid’s body, I could finally live out the fantasy that had been sitting in the back of my mind for years.

I could be the top I’d always wanted to be. I could take guys home, pin them down, and breed them with my own cock and fill them with my own cum. No more strap-ons, no more awkward positioning—just me, fully in charge, giving them EVERY. SINGLE. INCH.

Maybe with a little muscle here, a little polish there, I could make it something great.

So I said yes.

I’m not gonna lie—the first year in this body wasn’t easy. Adjusting to a new frame, new habits, new... everything? Yeah, it was a grind. But if there’s one thing I’ve always had, it’s work ethic. Between that and this body’s naturally high testosterone—and okay, yeah, I might’ve dipped into some steroids here and there—I’d say I built myself up pretty damn good.

Look at me now. I run my own training service. I mean, it’s not like I’m the most skilled coach out there or anything. But honestly? That doesn’t seem to matter much. Guys line up for my programs, and we all know why. They don’t just want my advice—they want to look like me. I’m walking inspiration. Living proof that the dream is achievable, or at least that’s how they see it.

And man, the way people treat me now? Everyone’s calling me “bro” or “dude” every other sentence. Not that they didn’t before—I’ve always leaned into that vibe—but there’s something about hearing it now that hits different. Maybe it’s the weight of my cock swinging in my shorts as they say it. It’s like the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Everything just feels... right.

And the best part? This manhood of mine? Oh, it’s gotten around.

I mean, come on. Looking like this, how could it not? Guys want me. They crave me. They crave my fleshy, thick, no kidding, natural, beer can of a cock throbbing inside of them.They’ll do whatever it takes to get a night with me, and honestly, who could blame them?

[dontbesoweirdkira]

howdyyy, what do u think of plat yan! dick grayson (or platonic yan father bruce wayne up to u) with a batsis who is very disinterested with him primarily bc when she was younger she idolised him a lot but now not so much. there are comics where grayson has cheated on his partners before so imagine batsis coming to realise as she aged and matured that her doting brother is a bit of a playboy…. a lot like a playboy actually—

You know, this is actually extremely realistic. There's nothing like the rose color glasses falling off and realizing just how messed up your family truly is.

I'd like to think that there was plenty of jokes and mentions about Dick being a playboy but Batsis would just be absolutely clueless. You probably just thought it was a reference to his charming appearance or the way he gets hit on at least once whenever he goes out. Not really that he was an notorious heart breaker.

Like i don't think the other batkids had serious talks about it in front of you because of your (then) age or maybe it was a request by Dick so he could keep on his perfect mask with you?

Ironically, he wouldn't want any man to treat his little sister (or any of them) the way he does to other women but he has a problem. I will say though, it makes absolute sense that Dick or even the others would have issues keeping relationships or even have sex addictions. I mean it's a real issue that many people are struggling with right now. But can you imagine your father constantly bringing home women and cheating your entire childhood? Like Bruce introduces some of these women to them, they get attached to this potential mother then it's ripped away to be discarded for the new catch. I think that definitely warped Dick's view of women and romance stems from that. *intense mommy issues* But also i mentioned before that it's hard for him to maintain relationships while taking on the fatherly role in the family. His obsession with making sure all of his siblings are cared for and protected(mixed with being nightwing), makes it all the more difficult. Maybe that leads him to just hooking up with and being sloppy in his relationships. Maybe its just a means of stress relief and that causes him to almost dehumanize/objectify the women he "romances".

I'm not saying this is justifiable, cheating is disgusting and his behaviors are something that needs to be corrected regardless of mommy issues but for headcanon sake we are entertaining the concept

I'm not sure how you'd exactly find out about it. Maybe one of the kids let it slip and didn't bother to do damage control because you're old enough now? Maybe you spoke to one of his exes that is still friendly with the batfam? Or maybe your brain started to develop and you realized he wasn't hanging out with that new super model as just friends all night...it was something more and his girlfriend definitely didn't know about it.

Regardless, I think when you finally found out about everything, your world crushed. I don't think you'd hate him but you just feel yucky about the whole thing. Now when you look at him something in your stomach just sinks. You might even wonder if you can trust him. I mean if he's got that much of a problem to be dishonest with his lovers, then why would it be so left field to suggest he lied to you too when he said he loves you or that you were his favorite? The transition from you idolizing him to being standoff-ish would be extremely noticeable to him. I mean it's hard to ignore when you were his mini me. Even as you got older you followed him around and never skipped an opportunity to be near.

He wouldn't think that it was because of the playboy thing, maybe just you needing some space as a teen. Everyone has gone through that phase before but when he notices your shift is only directed towards him, he's a little upset about it. He doesn't understand what he did wrong? One day you guys are eating ice cream together while having a sleepover in his room to you treating him like a disease.

Eventually your big brother corners you and makes you to confess whats bothering you. He apologizes if something he said rubbed you the wrong way but you couldn't keep treating him this way.

"uhm..i dunno, dick? I found out how you've been treating you partners and i think it's kinda gross. I guess i just don't really wanna be around someone who treats women like that right now..."

I think Dick's reaction would be complete shock....who tf told you?! He has no defense but he tries to muster up one before realizing this is just making him look worse when EVERYBODY knows how much of a whore he is lol. He'd back off of you and maybe even mutter an apology before walking away to go collect himself.

He's furious as well...whoever told you will be getting an earful because they just ruined something precious to him. (yeah they did. totally not his OWN actions) If it was one of his brothers, he will be throwing hands.

Dick does very much care about others perception of him, i've said this before. He knew he had a problem and his other siblings have spoken to him about it and it affected him but never enough to change. It's just a far deeper issue than wanting a quick fuck in the expense of his partners...But seeing his baby sister look at him with just so much disgust and disappointment was enough to cause him to spiral. He's not proud of his actions and knows he's hurt and discarded of many, many women for his own satisfaction. It's deplorable. I can imagine him taking maybe a few days to himself, he's just in his head while being overtaken by heavy guilt.

I'm not sure if Dick would actually change for you though? I think he is even debating it. Yeah he's a yandere for his batsis but is his obsession with you enough to kick the other one to the curb? That's up to you. A hopeful person would say, yes he would. Anything for his babybat! He's going to do whatever it takes to prove himself again, anything to make you proud. This habit isn't worth it if hes loosing you.

My opinion? No, he won't change after his guilt wears off. He'll just pretend like he's reborn. Dick would try for like a week and then go right back to doing his habits. He's a manipulative piece of work and yeah, lying to you is bad but he wants his cake and to eat it too. He's not willing to give up anything that gives him a euphoric boost. Shh...what you don't know, won't kill you.

[p0orbaby]

All This Money, Darling, What Else Is Left to Do?

summary: you’ve moved to barca for work, you meet alexia

warnings: SMUT 18+, strap use, bathroom sex, how original

a/n: based on this request !

word count: 1.1k

other parts found here

-

You’ve never been good with Spanish, which is unfortunate considering you’ve just moved to Barcelona to film a series that’s supposed to be your “dark, gritty” transition from Hollywood darling to Oscar-worthy actress. A role that will, in your words, “finally earn me that little golden bastard.” The director had only sighed in response, muttering something about Brits and their insatiable thirst for awards, before handing you a script written entirely in Spanish.

You’ve got all the superficial things down: tousled hair that looks like you just rolled out of bed in a sultry way (when in reality, it took your stylist an hour to perfect), designer sunglasses that scream “I’m too famous to be bothered,” and a wardrobe carefully curated to say, “I’m an artist, but I could still outdress you at a red carpet event.”

The language, though, remains your Everest.

Which is how you find yourself at a party hosted by some up-and-coming director who might actually be a waiter – it’s hard to tell when everyone here looks like they stepped out of an indie film. The only reason you’re here is because your agent insists you need to “immerse yourself in the culture.” Apparently, the key to embodying a brooding Spanish detective is to drink sangria and eat patatas bravas at a rooftop party with people who don’t recognise you. Or worse, pretend not to recognise you.

You’ve been nursing the same glass of wine for an hour, half-watching as a group of women discuss something with intense, dramatic flair. You’re only half-listening until one of them catches your eye.

You don’t know her name. Not yet. But you know she’s trouble from the way she moves. She’s all sharp edges and grace, the kind of woman who makes every hair on your body stand on end before you’ve even exchanged a word. When she looks at you, it’s like she already knows you – all of you – even the parts you try to keep hidden behind layers of well-crafted mystique.

You make a mental note to stay away from her. Which, naturally, means you’ll be making out in the bathroom with her within the hour.

And that’s exactly how it happens. One moment, you’re trying to figure out what the hell “Tarjeta amarilla” means, and the next, she’s pressed up against you, lips smashing into yours like she’s been waiting her entire life to taste you. It’s heady, intoxicating, the way she devours you like you’re something she plans to enjoy slowly – but not yet.

The bathroom is one of those annoyingly chic setups with a waterfall tap and hand towels that look like they should be in a palace. It’s also incredibly small, which is fine because she’s pressed up against you, and suddenly there’s no need for space.

You don’t know who makes the first move. It’s all a blur of hands and lips, and somewhere between her tongue tracing the line of your jaw and your fingers digging into her hips, you figure out you don’t actually care.

Her name’s Alexia. You learned that somewhere between her pushing you against the wall and slipping her hand under your bra. Alexia, whispered like a prayer. Or maybe it was a curse. She’s too good at this. Too good at the way she takes control, the way she knows exactly where to touch you to make you gasp, arch, and cling to her like she’s your lifeline.

And then she’s guiding you to the sink, bending you over like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It probably is for her – something about the way she holds you down with one massive hand and undoes her jeans with the other tells you this is far from her first time.

You glance up at the mirror, and there you are – tousled hair now a genuine mess, eyes blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and desperate. You look every bit the part of a woman who’s about to get absolutely wrecked.

Which is exactly what happens.

Alexia’s behind you, and then something cool and smooth is pressing against your entrance – a strap, because of course, she’d have one at the ready. You bite your lip, half to stifle a moan and half because you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of hearing you already coming undone. You’re an actress, after all, and the best performances are always the ones where you keep the audience guessing.

Not that it matters. The second she pushes in, you’re a mess, nails scraping against the sink’s surface as you try – and fail – to keep yourself together. She’s ruthless, setting a pace that leaves no room for pretense. It’s rough, raw, the kind of fucking that makes you forget your name and what you’re supposed to be doing here in Spain in the first place.

“Te gusta, ¿verdad?” she murmurs in your ear, voice low and teasing. And by her tone you just about make out she’s asked you a question.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp, any attempt at playing it cool flying out the window as she thrusts harder, deeper. The sound of skin against skin fills the small bathroom, along with your increasingly loud moans. There’s no point in being quiet now – everyone out there either knows what’s happening or will by the time she’s done with you.

It’s filthy, the way she fucks you – no pretense, no gentleness, just pure, unbridled lust. You’re half-certain you’ll have bruises tomorrow, and the thought only turns you on more.

“Mírate,” she breathes, voice laced with dark amusement. “Miss Hollywood, siendo follada como una vulgar zorra"

You whimper in response, because you don’t know what else to do. You don’t understand a word she’s saying. Yet you’re still reduced to nothing but pure pleasure, body trembling as she drives you closer and closer to the precipice.

And then she does something with her hips – some angle that has you seeing stars, and you’re gone, crying out her name as you come harder than you’ve ever come in your life. The kind of orgasm that leaves you breathless, boneless, clinging to the sink like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

But she doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking, overstimulated and begging her to – not until she’s milked every last bit of pleasure from you, until you’re nothing but a panting, sweaty mess in her extremely toned arms.

When she finally pulls out, you collapse against the sink, legs barely holding you up. Alexia’s still behind you, hands sliding up your sides in a way that’s almost affectionate. Almost.

“That was…” You try to find words, but they’re lost somewhere between the haze of lust and the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Sí,” she agrees, smirking as she steps back, giving you just enough space to turn around and face her.

There’s something in her eyes, something that says she’s not done with you yet. And despite the fact that you should probably get back to the party, should probably straighten yourself up and pretend like you haven’t just been fucked within an inch of your life, you can’t bring yourself to care.

[chainmail-butch]

i was talking to a friend who's a trans woman about this. she used to be really weird about butch trans women, but ended up being butch herself. she told me she was adverse to it because "it was like watching someone leave their house completely naked. you feel maybe a little embarrassed for them but you're mostly scared for how other people are going to treat them too. [she] thought "well, [she'd] be embarrassed doing the same and maybe they were having a hard time passing. but then finding out they're doing it on purpose, [she] thought that they were making a joke of being trans, like they were enforcing the stereotype of just saying you were a woman despite not making any effort to look like one. [she] was confused as to why anyone would do that, especially when she'd been having a hard time being treated well even though she did everything to make herself like a cis girl." she hated having to put in so much effort into looking feminine but did it because she was sure that's just what you had to do. obviously, probably regardless of how she looked, she was going to be treated like shit on the principal of being trans and after actually talking to butches and thinking about it more, she decided to just dress how she felt comfortable and still be proud of being a woman.

That's very interesting to hear. That is the consistent impression I've gotten from well meaning trans women.

I had to wrestle with the whole, "declaring myself a woman without making the effort," thing. When I first transitioned I put on dresses, tried on makeup, and got cute jackets. None of it felt right. I knew, entirely, that I was a woman. But doing all of the things women were supposed to be doing made me feel even worse than when I had lived as a man, which is saying something.

I eventually figured out that there is plenty of effort to being a butch woman. There are still styles, there are still pieces of gendered clothing, there are still gendered actions, they're just hidden in plain sight. They're all the things I wanted to do and all the ways that I wanted to be perceived that I couldn't understand until someone (Leslie Feinberg) held a mirror to my face (SBB) and said Butch. Then it all clicked.

I've been doing HRT for three full years now. I've been socially transitioned for three full years now. It is work. It is a challenge. It is walking out of the house with nothing but your soul and what you choose to armor it with. For some women the armor is a dress and a full face of makeup. For me its leather and boots.

I love my sisters deeply. I love women deeply. I love womanhood deeply. But my womanhood is also deliberately not womanhood. My selfish desire is a world where I can be exactly who I am without having to justify it to every woman, trans or cis, that crosses my path. But that's not gonna happen any time soon.

As so many butches, cis and trans, have said, It is a difficult road to walk and I have no choice but to walk it.

[reiderwriter]

Happily Ever After

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You have a big fat crush on Spencer Reid. And now you have to share his clothes, his hotel room and his bed for one special night.

Warnings: Day 31 of Kinktober - The End, vanilla sex, love confessions, p in v, pretty softcore compared to the other stuff. Fluff.

A/N: We did it! It's literally halfway to December, but I finally finished all of the kinktober fics! Thank you, everyone, for coning with me on this amazing journey. Thank you for all your support for thesr 31 fics, I literally wouldn't have done it without you 💖

It was hard being hopelessly in love with your coworker. This was a fact that you'd learnt upon entering the BAU and meeting Doctor Spencer Reid. 

You'd never believed in love at first sight  and to be truthful, you were still a sceptic, but there was something about him that had you leaning in, eyes sparkling as you hung on his every word. 

If you were asked what exactly it was about him that you liked so much, you'd probably tie your tongue up trying to answer. 

Maybe it was his intelligence. Maybe it was the complete obliviousness that went along with it. 

It could have been the way he made sure to check in on you regularly, made sure you were managing the transition to the BAU well, and let you know that he'd be there to support you. 

It was probably also because of how goddamn attractive he was. You swore that he was walking around like the female lead in a 00s rom com - he just didn't know how hot he was. In fact, he was so oblivious that he still didn't reconcile the fact that ‘Pretty Boy’ was less an insulting nickname and more the cold, hard truth. 

You'd accidentally reminded him of that fact about a month into being deliriously into him. 

“Pretty Boy…? Hey, Spencer? Doctor Reid? Nothing…” Morgan sat on the edge of your desk as he called over to the man just opposite him, sitting completely still bar his hand that was racing across a page as he read furiously. 

“He's busy, Morgan. I'm sure if you just call his name Louder, he'll answer.” You sighed. Watching the two men quibble had become an interesting pastime, to say the least. 

“Spencer, the office is on fire. Spencer, Hotchner, is naked in his office right now. Spencer, Rossi is naked in his office right now. Spencer, Y/N is-” 

“Okay, that's enough,” you said, standing up from your desk and clearing your throat. You thought you'd just stand up and get Spencer’s attention the same way Derek had, projecting your voice just a little bit more.

“Pretty Boy.” As soon as the words fell from your lips, the man in question bolted upright, hitting his knee on the desk as he rose, locking eyes with you. 

“Yes, Y/N?” Almost as soon as he was upright, Morgan was in fits on the floor, partly from the reaction, partly from Spencer's self injury. When he turned back to you and noticed your red face, the laughing fit only doubled. 

Spencer joined you in perpetual embarrassment as Morgan slipped off, still laughing  but seemingly no longer interested in whatever it was he wanted Spencer for in the first place. 

“Y/N, did you need something?” He asked, clearing his throat as he sat down once again. 

“No! No, actually, Morgan… it doesn't matter.” You smiled politely and sat back down, quickly pulling some paperwork together to make yourself look busy. 

“Usually only Morgan calls me pretty boy.” He murmured from the other side of the desk  

“That's because it's the truth.” 

“What?” His eyes locked with yours as you suddenly realised he'd been talking to himself, not engaging you in further conversation. 

“I… well, I mean, he wouldn't say it if you weren't actually pretty, Spencer.” He looked at you for a second, then relaxed, smiling softly as he continued his reading. 

You could've sworn you heard a tiny thank you under his breath  but you just continued your work and tried to calm your heart rate down. 

After that, you made it your mission to out an arm's length between yourself and Spencer Reid. You were polite about it, of course, but you felt an awful lot like a teenager with a crush. Or maybe a pre-teen with a crush. Sometimes, to be honest, you were probably acting like a complete child. 

Fate, or Aaron Hotchner, had other plans for you, though. 

“If you can't make it, that's okay, but it's regulation to send two agents because of some prior interviews that have turned particularly violent.” He explained after he called you into his office. 

“JJ has Henry to take care of, same for Kate and her niece. Morgan has a trial tomorrow, so he's unavailable as well, so I really only have you and Reid to ask. Can you do it?” 

You weren't sure if it was some need to please the man in front of you as if you were his child who had scored badly on a pop quiz, or his perpetual state of exhaustion that had you giving in and nodding to the man, agreeing to five hours in a car with Spencer. But you did. 

The ride wasn't all that bad, to be honest. In typical Spencer fashion, he'd bought along a few audiobooks to listen to, so most of the time was filled with The Faerie Queene and the sleep that you'd fallen into after listening to The Faerie Queene. 

You couldn't fully escape conversation, though, and in between changing tapes, he started asking questions. 

“How are you liking the unit?" He asked casually, his eyes on the road as you turned to stare at him. 

“It's been good. The only downside is all of those field work fitness tests, though.” 

“Be glad that you had to do those before you joined us. Morgan decided to be helpful and train me and Penelope.” 

“That doesn't sound too bad,” you laughed at him as an honest frown coated his face.

“Have you seen the guy? He's like a walking weightlifting advertisement, I think he could bench press me. And it turned out that we didn't even need the training anyway.” 

“Wow, and you fell for it? I thought you were a super genius, Doctor Reid.” 

“Hey, that's discrimination. I can be very stupid, too. I contain multitudes.” You laughed and relaxed into the seat some more, memorising each detail of his face as you looked at him. There was a small awkward pause as he waited for you to say something else. Just as he made to turn and look at you, you straightened again and looked away before he could catch you. 

“I'd love to see those multitudes some day.” 

“I'd love to show you them.” 

After that, you'd sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out of the window so he couldn't see the effect his words had on you. 

You were thankful that the actual interview finished shortly, the death row inmate becoming rather chatty in his final days and gracious in the details he was willing to give out. The prison still put you on edge, though, so you were glad to have your gun back on your hip and fresh air in your lungs as you moved towards the car. 

You were just waiting for Spencer to get off the phone so you could get back on the road and into your comfy bed. 

“That was Hotch,” Spencer said, walking over. “We've got a case. We're closer than they are, so they want us to drive there and stay in the hotel for the night, and they'll see us tomorrow.” He smiled in sympathy as he watched your face fall. 

The stuttering of your heart was so loud that you almost couldn't hear his words. Surely, that didn't mean you had to spend the night with Spencer Reid? You didn't know if you'd actually survive that. 

“I-I don't have my overnight bag.” You said. 

“Hotch said JJ is picking it up. She'll pass it to you tomorrow.” 

“But it's winter, what am I going to wear tonight?” You practically whispered the words as your brain finished functioning once again. 

“I have something you can change into. Of that's okay with you, of course!” You didn't trust yourself to talk, so you just nodded at the man and climbed into the car, ready for him to take you to your home for the night. 

Fate didn't stop there, though. 

“There's been some kind of mistake,” you heard Spencer mumble as you walked up to the front desk behind him. You'd been sat on a sofa in the foyer waiting for him to return with your key and his when you realised he'd been taking too long. 

“What's the problem?” You asked as he turned around to look at you, running his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“They only booked one room.” 

“Sir, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to take up the issue with your company. But there's only one room here in your name, and we're otherwise fully booked for the night. We had two weddings and an academic gathering this weekend. Guests are still trickling in and out.” 

“Okay, what about my name? Can you see if there's anything under Y/L/N?” 

“I already tried that. They have Hotchner down, but only from tomorrow.” His jaw tensed again as he turned to you. If you knew him better, you'd probably be able to recognise his nervousness. God, how you wished you knew him better. 

“It's one night?” You nodded and took the keys from the receptionist as you and Spencer walked towards the room you'd be sharing for the evening.

“Derek says I talk in my sleep, but that claim has never been substantiated with any real evidence. Also I prefer to sleep on the bed nearest to the window, is that okay?” Spencer rambled slightly awkwardly as you approached your new hotel room. 

You smiled at him and flexed your hand slightly, trying to reach out to comfort him but holding yourself back from the casual physical contact. 

“It's okay,” you said, grabbing the key card. “Let's go in.” 

If that day had taught you anything, it was to expect something else to go wrong. 

The room was wonderful, with a large window, a competent bathroom, surprisingly spacious for the usual FBI budget. There was, of course, only one bed.

“I'll take the sofa. It's right next to the window anyway.” 

“Spencer it's not a pull-out. You're never going to get any sleep on that thing.” You stood your ground, dumping Spencer’s bag and your own small purse on the sofa so he couldn't take up permanent residence there. 

You weren't sure why you were fighting so hard to get him in the same bed as you, knowing what effect it would have on you, but you didn't care to think about that right this second. 

“Okay, let's just get ready to sleep, and we can talk about it again.” He said, digging you out an old pair of sweatpants and a caltech jumper and gesturing for you to use the bathroom first. 

You quickly showered up and changed into the warm clothes. It was strange to be able to feel how much bigger than you he was since you'd never really considered it. 

Spencer was tall, but you weren't exactly petites, and yet here you were, getting swamped by his college sweatshirt. And you knew for a fact that he'd been practically a child still when he'd last graduated. 

“All yours, Spencer,” you said, walking from the bathroom and over to the bed where you'd left your phone on charge. 

He didn't say anything, but you noticed he'd stayed stuck to the spot and sat at the opposite end of the sofa reading a book. 

“Spencer? Did you hear me?” That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and he finally diverted his eyes away from you. 

“No pretty boy this time?” He pouted under his breath, but you laughed all the same, watching him grab similar garments from his bag again and travel to the bathroom.

You must've drifted off slightly between him going in and coming out, because when you woke, there he was again on the sofa. 

“Spencer? What are you doing? Get into bed.” You blinked your eyes a few times, rubbing away the sleep in them as you sat up. Spencer had sat up on the sofa, reading his book again, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. 

“I said I'm fine here, Y/N. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” Sighing, you pushed yourself out of bed and walked around it to where Spencer was. 

“Spencer, you're like 6’4. This sofa couldn't even sleep a five year old comfortably, let alone all of you.” You slipped the book from his hand, shutting it and placing it on the side table. 

“I'm assuming you don't need a bookmark?” When he shook his head with a resigned sigh, you grabbed his hand and pulled him up. 

“Y/N, are you sure?” 

“Spencer, you already gave up your clothes for me, I'm not letting you give up the bed, too.” 

“It's okay, I enjoyed giving up the clothes.” You couldn't really help the nervous goggle that slipped from your mouth at that statement. 

“Sorry, I just meant I'd-” 

“I know what you meant, Spencer. Let's just go to sleep now.” Grabbing his hand once again, you turned the main lights off, lamps lighting your way to the bed. 

Turning Spencer around, you gently shoved him onto the bed. Though, expecting him to let go of your hand, you'd planned that only he would land there. 

Instead, he doubled down on his grasp of your hand, and you fell with him, landing directly on top of him on the bed, mouths inches from each other. 

You paused there for a few moments, not sure what move was the right one to make. His hips shifted upward slightly, but that was all the movement you needed for you to settle over his crotch rather than his legs. 

“I'm sorry,” you whispered breathlessly as you felt every inch of him harden underneath you. 

“I'm not,” he said, eyes searching your face for god knows what. 

When he found it, though, he didn't hold back. His free hand slid up to the back of your head, slamming it down so your lips could lock together, a passionate joining that rid you of all the oxygen in your body. 

“Spencer,” you gasped between kisses as he worked his hand lower, both hands free to wrap tightly around your waist as he continued kissing you with a passion. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered as he finally pulled away again, holding you as close as he could before capturing your lips one more time.

Your head swam through the sensations blindly, both confused and considerably fused to him at the same time.

Spencer's lips, Spencer's hands, Spencer's everything pressed up against you as you sighed contentedly at his ministrations.

“Spencer… what are we doing?” 

“I don't know. I don't want to stop, though.” His lips matched yours furiously as he pushed his sweater off your body, whining slightly when he had to break contact to get it over your head.

His hands were instantly exploring your chest, grasping your body like it was his lifeline, as your hips rocked against his own. 

You knew you needed to stop this, and soon. Your body didn't agree. If you had sex with Spencer Reid right now, you knew there was no way in hell any other man would ever match up. 

“Spencer, stop.” 

To his credit, he did, hands dropping instantly as he created space between the two of you. Or as much as you'd allow, still sitting on top of him. 

“I'm sorry, I took advantage, I shouldn't have kissed you like th-” 

“I love you.” You blurted out, so desperate for him to shut up and listen to you. Which  again, to his credit, he did. 

“What?” He whispered, stars shining in his eyes.

“I told you to stop because I love you. If you don't feel the same way, that's okay, but I don't think I can do this if you don't.”

“You love me?” 

“Yes, I just said that. Aren't you supposed to have an eidetic memory?” 

“Individuals with eidetic memories often struggle with short-term memories, hanging onto older memories more vividly and recalling them faster.”

“So you want me to say it again?” 

“Over and over, preferably.” He said with a grin, flipping you over so your back was on the bed as he hovered over you. 

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your cheek. 

“Again.”

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your neck. 

“One more time,” he whispered, stroking your hair as he finally looked into your eyes. 

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your lips once again, holding nothing back as he poured all his joy into you. 

“I love you, too.” 

Your legs tangled together in a blur after that, both hopelessly breathing each other's oxygen. You were giggles and moans, whimpers, and confessions as you found yourself pushing down the covers and your pants so you could slide into bed. 

Neither of you stopped your confessions, still professing your love in each scrape of a nail, each lick, each bite. 

When he finally entered you, your eyes rolled back in pleasure, drunk on him and every reaction he was giving you. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he moaned. “I love how you feel wrapped around me.” His hips snapped softly into you, but he went deep, pushing in the entire way before even letting himself think of drawing himself out of that beautiful heat. 

“I love how reactive you are for me. I love seeing each of your emotions cross your face. I love how you called me pretty. I love how intelligent you are. I love you.” You were overcome with emotions as you finally felt pleasure wash over you, tingling through your body in ripples as he grunted into your ear, close as well. 

Wrapping your legs around him, you nuzzled into his neck and held him tight as he finally finished inside of you. 

You fell asleep like that in each others arms, clinging to each other for dear life. 

When you woke the next morning, it was with a start as you realised the sun was already awake. 

Spencer, however, wasn't, and you jolted up in a panic as you rolled him off of you. 

“Spencer, wake up, the others are going to be here any minute, it's 8:45.” 

“No, they're not,” he said, pulling you right back into his chest. 

“You said yesterday that they're coming today ready for the new case.”

“They started driving at 7am. Driving is going to take them 5 hours 34 minutes, give or take half an hour if there's an accident on the roads. We have plenty of time.”

You relaxed slightly into his hold, then feeling his warmth against you as he stirred slightly again. 

“Of course, we could always do something else to pass the time.” You opened one eye and turned back to face him as his hand traced down to the parting of your legs.

“Nice try, lover boy. If you're awake enough for that, you're awake enough to get started on the case.” 

“I preferred pretty boy,” he groaned but rolled away from you, as you both started getting ready for the day. 

Within half an hour, the two of you were up and ready to answer an incoming video call from Penelope Garcia. 

“Hello beautiful, how is upstate treating you?” She said as you picked up and beamed at her, somehow unable to control the happiness rolling off of you.

“It's been good,” you practically giggled, wiping a hand across your face as you attempted to clear away the grin there.

Spencer approached the laptop screen, too, greeting Penelope with a small squint as he looked down. 

“Hey, Penelope. Do you have the case details for us?” 

“I sent through the files to your emails, Hotch has a paper copy for you too, Reid, when he gets there. We've got a copycat or a resurfaced killer from the 80s. Rossi says the details are familiar to him, but he was going to ask you when he found you.” You both nodded and thanked her, but still, she didn't hang up. 

“So, one hotel room, how was that?” Penelope asked from the other side of the screen, eyes dancing between the both of you. 

“How did you…?” You squinted as Spencer hurriedly closed the laptop to the sounds of her laughing victoriously. Spencer's face flushed again as he brushed his hair out of his face, trying to discuss the files with you as he changed the topic almost expertly. 

“Stop. Spencer, how did she know about the hotel room?”

“Penelope books most of our hotel rooms.”

“Spencer, what aren't you telling me?” He shifted uncomfortably and looked at you in the eyes. 

“I may have asked her to book only one room.” 

“What? But the receptionist said-” 

“I slipped her a twenty before you came up.” 

“Why?” 

“I wanted to be closer to you. When Hotch said he had this interview, and he said he was sending you too, I was so excited to spend time with you, because you've been avoiding me, and I wanted to know what I did wrong so I could make it better, but I guess I didn't do anything wrong because you love me somehow, so I must have done something very very right to deserve that.” He was rambling, but you didn't stop him, smile spreading as you listened to his accidental declarations of love. 

“And then I had to beg Hotch to take this case next, because then we'd have an excuse to be alone longer if we were so close.” 

You tried to catch his attention then by calling his name, but he didn't listen, too intent on his confession. 

“I was going to tell you later today, once we were off work, I didn't want to say something in the middle of the case because that would've been unprofessional  and honestly I didn't want the others to hear because I want you all to myself.”

“I'm rambling, aren't I?” 

“Yes, God  just shut up and kiss me.” 

“You're not mad?” 

“I might have been if I weren't so damn in love with you. But lucky for you, I'm crazy for you.” He smiled at you again, pulling you in close for one more kiss. 

[kinopio-writes]

Hi! Would you be willing to write something for Adam with a sensitive reader?

Everyone knows that he is loud-mouthed jerk, even reader, and she loves him regardless, but one day he crosses the line and says something particularly mean that makes her cry. Like REAL mean. To the point that he pauses because he did not think before speaking (or, well, less than usual lol)

I'm happy with whatever format you feel like using! Thank you!

A/N: I will be more than delighted to write that for you. But would you excuse me for a moment? AHHHHHHDISJDIOEOFJSKXJND—I’m sorry; I love this idea so much. Reading ‘Adam with a sensitive reader’ got me hooked instantly. But I’ll go over that in the headcanons, along with the general stuff. And I’ll add a oneshot at the end that plays the exact scenario of Adam taking it too far.

Holy sh!t. I made it so that the reader being sensitive is their greatest but also weakest point and it turned out pretty angsty. Has a bit of hurt/comfort, though. Did I go overboard? Maybe. That’s why it took so long. Sorry, anon.

Words: 2,328 (edited)

Warnings: Sex is mentioned (only a bit, surprisingly), Angst, Adam being Adam

———

Adam w/ a Sensitive!Reader

• ha, this man is also sensitive himself

• well, sensitive about himself

• he feels his own emotions strongly, so he’s not the caring, easily able to pick up on other’s feelings and empathize type of sensitive

• you, on the other hand, are on the opposite end of the spectrum compared to Adam

• so you experience other people’s emotions just as strongly as yours

• you easily know what makes someone tick

• you’re selfless

• you’re able to admit your mistakes and apologize

• you’re respectful and actively listen to people when they talk about themselves

• you don’t push people down to make yourself seem better

• you try to make everyone feel good and comfortable

• you’re everything he isn’t

• because you fit in Heaven perfectly

• you deserve to be there

• and Adam knows that he doesn’t belong (subconsciously at least)

• you’re able to draw people in just for being yourself

• and he’s envious of it

• so he demeans you and is snarky about everything you do, and every time people give you praise or affection, he tries to divert the attention to himself or just stares at you with utter hatred from afar

• although all of that is just when he hasn’t even had a conversation with you

• after a while of being around you, he’ll cling to you because you give him the reassurance and validation he oh-so craves (he acts as if he didn’t hate you before. What do you mean? You two were always buddy-buddy!)

• you acknowledge all of the things he puts his worth to

• heck, you hang out with him—you sometimes even initiate it—willingly, and you’re genuinely interested in everything he has to say

• but he‘ll only hang out with you where no one recognizes you (so you don’t get all the attention)

• terrible transition here, but he notices that you mimic people’s expressions often

• he definitely makes fun of you for it

• and also mocks you

• up until he realizes that you do the same thing to him, too

• which is fine and all, if only you didn’t do that when he’s upset

• well, you mimic him when he’s joyous as well, but he (already subconsciously) expects you to. I mean, why wouldn’t you? He’s fucking hilarious!

• so you copying his negative emotions just stands out more

• and he…doesn’t like it

• that’s only really what he doesn’t like about you

• and the fact that you hog all the attention

• and the fact that people see you as perfect…

• buuut what happens when he gets to see a new side of you that isn’t exactly upholding that image?

———

Your phone lit up from your bedside table, brightening your otherwise dark room along with the soft glow of your halo. You only moved your eyes to the light, not wanting your tears to spill and dampen your pillows.

You had an inkling as to who was texting you this late—if the fact that your phone lighting up several times in the span of 5 minutes had anything to say.

When the texts stopped pouring in after a few seconds, you heavily sighed, wings ruffling. You resisted the urge to rub your face as you went to grab your phone.

HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) ARE YOU UP? (2:35) I’M BORED (2:35) GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE (2:36) IF YOU’RE UP (2:37) ARE YOU? (2:38) DID I TELL YOU THAT BITCH WITH THE HUGE TITS GOT FIRED TODAY? (2:39)

Figured. Of course, it was Adam. He was the only person you knew who’d be awake at this ungodly hour. And the only person you knew who’d disturb your peace if it meant curing anything that ailed him. Which was now about boredom, it seemed.

You read a few of his texts displayed on your lock screen before tapping one of the notifications and opening the app, scanning the rest of the unread messages.

Adam was going on about ‘that bitch with the huge tits’—her name was Tiffany, you were sure—and how she was rumored to have slept with an archangel to assume higher authority. He also went on to complain about how he didn’t have the chance to bed her anymore since she was basically deemed an outcast and that he couldn’t be seen with someone like her.

You frowned, not believing any of it, but you didn’t have time to think about it enough when he began typing again.

SO YOU’RE AWAKE (2:43)

You barely finished reading the new message when another one popped up.

DON’T IGNORE ME BITCH (2:43)

You frowned deeper, quick to type out a reply.

i’m not (2:43) i was just reading your texts (2:43) don’t worry (2:43) i’ll be there soon (2:44)

When he stopped typing, you placed your phone back on the nightstand, sitting up on your bed as you carefully wiped away your teary eyes. You hugged yourself for a moment, wings functioning as a cocoon while a hand tugged on your hair.

Today had been draining—both mentally and emotionally. Just like the day before, and the day before that. But you didn’t want to think about it, lest you start to cry some more and smear your face with tears this time. What mattered was that everyone was back on their feet again.

Since you didn’t bother changing into your sleepwear when you got home, you only checked your face in the mirror to see if your eyes were puffy or not. You then took in deep breaths, holding up your drooping wings before putting up a charming smile.

You couldn’t stay in the bathroom for long, quickly leaving to tread the path to Adam’s.

•••

“BOO!” Adam’s masked face suddenly peeked from the corner of his hallway, earning an indescribable scream from you as you jerked back. He burst out laughing, brows creased in confusion but also amusement. He couldn’t even make fun of you for getting scared. “What the—what the fuck was that scream?”

Recovering rather quickly as you blinked, you only smiled at him. You were expecting him to wait for you on his couch as his front door was left unlocked, but you weren’t complaining; his action took away any drowsiness you just had.

When Adam didn’t hear you laugh with him, his laughter subsided as he opened his eyes to look at your face. He raised his brows and placed the back of his hands on his hips. “What’s up with you?”

Shit. There was no way Adam was seeing through you.

“Nothing; I just love hearing you laugh.” You heard a tiny squeak in response. “Anyway, what did you make me come over for? Surely not just to scare me.” You moved past Adam and tightly crossed your arms, entering his spacious living room.

“Pshh, fuck no. You’re so easy to spook. Though that was a first. Didn’t know you could hit high notes, (Name).”

You didn’t know what to say to his…compliment? And sort of insult? Was it really either of them? Should you thank him? But in a sarcastic way? No, you weren’t known for being sarcastic, so he might think you were being genuine and look at you weirdly. And it would also seem highly egotistical.

Not as if Adam had much to say about that…

You tugged at your hair when you caught yourself with those thoughts. Shit, that’s so rude! You can’t think that! You shouldn’t think that!

You settled on an awkward chuckle, making yourself appear smaller as you averted your eyes to his TV space.

It was different, certainly. The modular couch pieces were rearranged into a pit sectional. And it looked as though he had chucked a bunch of pillows and one large blanket as an afterthought. It appeared messy, but at least it looked cozy.

“What’s this?”

“Hm? Oh, well, since you were taking your sweet ass time coming here, I thought to switch things up a bit.” You flinched when his head appeared right on your shoulder. “What’d ya think?”

“It looks super comfy.” Adam wore a goofy grin behind you as you walked closer to the area and noticed that he already prepared snacks on the low table. “Is this a way to say you wanna do a movie marathon?”

“You know it, baby.” He flew past you and landed on the sofa, patting the space beside him with a smile you just couldn’t reject.

•••

Heaven’s natural light beginning to peek through the open windows indicated that it was already dawn. Thank goodness you didn’t have work today.

You two—or rather, Adam—had settled on watching the film series, Die Hard. Every single one. You didn’t mind, but you didn’t understand why Adam invited you over if you two were just going to rewatch the film series for the eighth time.

He had also been pretty immersed in the large screen in front of him, so he hadn’t attempted to converse with you ever since the first movie started. In all honesty, he could have just watched them all by himself.

But you didn’t question it. This time was the same as the last seven, after all. You always concluded that maybe he just wanted someone to watch movies with, no talking necessary. Even if the no-talking part sounded a bit out of character.

Was it though? Because he did that quite often. For instance, he constantly brought you along to whatever mundane errands he had to do during the weekdays and never really talked with you unless he found something cool and pointed it out.

Although, the earlier times you tagged along with him on his errands, he kept yapping his mouth off about the ‘totally awesome’ things he does. He talked about music, his own albums, his band, women, sex, and himself as the first-ever man.

As time went on, however, the talking was replaced with silence. You wondered if he just ran out of things to say or if he found it unnecessary to talk anymore.

You also sometimes wondered what was going through his head when he thought you didn’t see him glancing at you while he was doing something he believed was boring.

The sound of Adam’s stomach rumbling broke you out of your train of thought.

You both looked at each other blankly as if either of you were to blame.

He blinked to break the eye contact between you. “(Name), I’m hungry.”

You snorted, facing ahead. “You ate all of our snacks before the first movie even finished.”

“Don’t blame me.” He hugged the pillow he held tighter. “I’m still fuckin’ hungry, though.”

You hummed as you reached for your pocket. “Do you want me to—oh. I…I forgot my phone.” You frowned. You never forget to bring your belongings.

Adam merely stared at you, unblinking.

You averted your eyes and held your legs tighter. “Uhm, We could get delivery if you want. Can you lend me your phone?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He casually tossed you the device before laying on his back and looking up at you. “I’m down for anything.”

His phone hit your knee before you could catch it, silently landing on the cushions. “Are you sure?” You picked it up, opened his unlocked phone, and stared at his basic home screen.

He didn’t really use his phone that often to know that it could be changed. He only really used it to fetch one-night stands or occasional dates, text, play music aloud, look at outdated memes, take random blurry photos, and right now, order delivery.

“Totally.” His crow’s feet displayed on his mask as he puffed out his cheeks.

“Because last time you said that, you didn’t like what I had to pick.”

“That’s because the 5 ʼn 2 is so fucking overrated!” he suddenly started to complain. Your wings ruffled. “Jeez, I swear, every fuckin’ time I take a chick out and ask her what her favorite eatery is, basic bitches always go, ‘Oh, bREaD & fIsH, ceRTAinLy’ or ‘bReAD & FiSh’S a cLAsSIC’” He used his hand as a puppet to imitate their words before waving it. “Like, helloooo? Can’t you see the joint that’s literally on the other side of the street’s a hundred times superior? It’s cheaper, too, unlike Bread & Fish. Overpriced ass. You get me, right—?”

“Then you pick!” Adam jumped at your volume, and your eyes widened upon noticing yourself. You quickly gave back his phone as you turned your face away from him, and he slowly took it with a weird look.

“Shit, chill, (Name). The fuck’s up your ass?” He kept his gaze on you before turning to his phone.

While he was serious about his opinions of your bland tastes, he didn’t think it was that personal. Your preferences were the same as everyone else and that was boring. He was just being honest. And you usually didn’t take the things he said that seriously.

“Adam, I’m sorry,” you spoke up after a moment of silence and ran a hand through your hair. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“ʼs not a problem.” He was still a bit weirded out, but he was willing to shrug it off.

You insisted, however, “I mean it. I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay…?” he muttered when he saw a notification pop up from Lute. Her message consisted of how some of the exterminators got into a quarrel during roll call and the ones involved got injured in the process. She said she was going to discipline them.

Adam did not want to know what she meant by that and was most likely not going to stop by their place today.

“Really. I’m not. Sorry. It’s just that yesterday’s been…”

“Uh-huh…” At this point, Adam was not listening to anything you were saying. But when he still heard the static noise that was your words, he groaned. “Look, sweetie, I really don’t give a fuckin’ shit about your fuckin’ apology, ʼkay? I don’t fuckin’ care. Now what do you want?”

You saw Adam’s confused yet concerned expression after he looked up from his phone and immediately noticed that you were starting to cry. You instantly turned your face away as you carefully wiped your eyes.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m not crying because of you.” You didn’t know if that was true. You didn’t know if you were crying because of his words or were crying because of everything else.

That was the first time he ever used a sweet petname for you in a long time. He only ever used that to demean or mock other people.

Shit. Stop thinking—you were going to cry more. But even after carefully wiping your eyes away, new tears kept flowing. You couldn’t stop. This was humiliating. You wanted to disappear. You didn’t want anyone to witness you in this state. It was mortifying.

“Shit.” Adam’s voice came out panicky as he held his hands out towards you, but he hesitated. Hesitated in what, he didn’t even know.

He…didn’t think you could cry.

Adam didn’t know what to do; this emotional shit wasn’t his thing. He couldn’t ask you to leave, he knew that much, but he didn’t want to leave himself. This was his place. Why should he leave?

So, he did the only thing he could do in this situation.

You suddenly felt something warm envelop you.

You didn’t look up, but you knew it was Adam. You could feel the texture of his robe on your hands and the side of your face. You could feel his hands on your shoulder blade, but you couldn’t quite feel his arms on you.

You stopped wiping your eyes for a moment.

No one had ever hugged you before when you were sad.

No one had ever let you be sad.

Adam heard you sob.

Fucking great. He made it worse. What the fuck was he supposed to do then?

But when he went to unwrap his arms, he felt yours slip around his midsection, pulling him closer than before as he grunted from your firm hold.

So you wanted to be hugged? Alright. Whatever.

Adam slowly hugged you back after you muttered a ‘sorry’ and loosened your grip.

The next seconds were silent, so when he heard muffled words coming from you, he looked down. You also looked up moments later when he didn’t respond, realizing he must’ve not heard you.

Your gaze softened as you two held eye contact, and with teary eyes, you smiled. “Thank you, Adam.”

Something about his expression changed, but before you could stare any longer, you felt a hand behind your head push you back to his chest as the arm on your back held you tight.

“Yeah, whatever…”