#in other words I started testosterone today

[buysomecheese]

It’s funny to me that my t-shot day, today, is Leap Day. Like that’s kinda funny I think. I also like that Leap Year is the year I graduate high school + start college. Wouldn’t it be fun to see if I could get my top surgery on Feb. 29, 2028 I think that would be So cool actually

[supernova-stardust]

No One Has To Know What We Do

jegulus | 18+ | 5,602 words | kinktober submission

@jeguluskinktoberr day 26 - mirror sex

Regulus has worked his entire life to earn a spot at Juilliard in their ballet program, but one day he's late to class and is forced to teach the Columbia football team their monthly ballet lesson. Enter James Potter: handsome, cocky, and annoying. Obviously, Regulus hates him immediately and can't resist his charm.

OR

Regulus and James hook up in the ballet studio after class and make a mess of the mirror (and each other).

This fic was written specifically for Jegulus Kinktober 2024 and contains the following prompts:

cunnilingus/deep throating, marking, impact play, semi-public sex, punishments, praise kink, mirror sex, breathplay

entire fic after the break or read on ao3, minors: dni

Regulus had never been late to class in his entire life. In fact, he typically showed up at least a half hour early to warm up, stretch, and make sure that he always got his favorite spot at the barre. Ballet was a wonderful discipline and he prided himself on being the most disciplined. He was never, ever late. That’s part of what had earned him his spot here in the first place. Very few people made it to the college level for ballet, let alone men. Nevermind Juilliard. He had goals, namely to be a part of the NYC Ballet Company and perform until he physically couldn’t anymore.

And so, the fact that he was running late today felt so unreal, it was like an out-of-body experience. Of course every single thing that could have gone wrong did go wrong and as he entered the room huffing out of breath with everyone staring at him, he knew that he was in for the worst class of his life.

“Lovely of you to join us, Regulus. I was just telling everyone who arrived on time that the studio will be closed to private practices this evening to allow the Columbia football team to have their monthly lesson,” his instructor explained as he set his belongings down on the floor in the corner and made his way to the barre. Thankfully, his spot was empty. Dancers were creatures of habit after all. “I was going to ask for a volunteer to stay tonight and teach their lesson, but since you’re late, I believe you should have the energy to stay late today.”

Fuck. Of course the only time he was late he would get saddled with teaching the football jocks. It was well known that none of them took their lessons seriously.

“Of course, I’d be happy to stay,” he said instead of voicing his honest thoughts. He’d rather drown himself than stay late for people who didn’t even respect the work they did, but saying no wasn’t exactly an option if he wanted to maintain his instructor's respect.

***

As the football team filed into the studio, Regulus felt more nervous and exposed than he expected. Growing up, he always knew he was a man. He started testosterone the moment he turned eighteen, despite his parents disowning him for it and in his everyday life he never thought about ‘passing’ anymore. He rarely, if ever, experienced dysphoria anymore. No one he knew before transitioning went to university with him and really the only person who knew and he saw regularly was his older brother, Sirius. Despite all of that, being surrounded by muscular and extremely masculine men had him questioning his ability to 'pass' for the first time in a long time. Every guy who walked in made him feel more and more self conscious. His body was toned and muscular, he couldn’t dance for hours on end if he wasn’t fit, but where he was all lithe limbs and grace, these men were bulky muscles, sharp jawlines, and reminded him of the picture-perfect portrayal of masculinity. 

“Please spread yourselves out on the barre along the wall and stretch while we wait for everyone to arrive,” Regulus announced. He heard murmurings of jokes and complaints but didn't deign them important enough to respond. He scrolled through the music app on his phone, searching for his preferred playlist that he listened to for warmups when he was alone. He hoped that it worked well enough for the class today, but figured that the jocks in the room wouldn’t notice if it didn’t anyway. As he connected his phone to the bluetooth speaker in the studio, a man with dark, messy hair and richly tanned skin ambled into the studio. The man’s warm brown eyes crinkled behind golden framed glasses as he laughed loudly at something one of his teammates said as they came into the studio together, not caring about the etiquette of staying quiet in the studio to avoid disruptions.

Regulus hated him immediately.

The two men shoved at each other a bit before Regulus cleared his throat. The two of them froze and looked at him, the one wearing glasses raking his eyes up and down Regulus’ body. “There’s a time and place for… whatever it is you’re doing,” Regulus snapped at them. “This is neither. Please, take a spot at the barre so we can get class started. Might I remind you that this is a requirement for your training and your coach relies on my feedback to know whether or not you're participating properly.”

They went completely stone-faced and found their ways to the barre at Regulus' scolding, clearly wanting to make sure that they didn't need to repeat this lesson in order to continue to be a part of the team. Regulus went through the motions of showing the team a very basic combination to start and pressed play on the music. “Five, six, seven, eight,” he counted out and led the class into their warmup. Once he was sure that they had the basic combination down, he began making his rounds down the barre, offering subtle corrections and moving their bodies as needed. When Regulus made his way to the man with the golden skin and messy hair, he placed his hands on his hips and adjusted him properly.

“At least ask my name first, love,” the man joked, his eyes crinkling in that annoyingly cute way as he smiled wide. 

“Does it matter? Neither of us wants to be here,” Regulus retorted.

“Aw, c’mon. You don’t know that.” He tilted his hips again and Regulus swore it was intentional. “My name’s James, by the way.”

“James, you know what I want you to do?” Regulus asked as he corrected his hips again.

“What’s that, love?”

“Shut up and hold your hips properly.”

James hummed and looked as though he’s deep in thought for a moment before he replied. “I’d prefer if you held them, I think.” 

His teammate behind him at the barre stifled a laugh and looked away quickly when Regulus glared at him. Regulus groaned in annoyance and walked away, figuring that ignoring him was the better option for class to be able to continue with as few disruptions as possible.

After what Regulus swore was the longest hour of his life, he dismissed the class and informed them that he would be emailing their coach to confirm that they all completed the class and to schedule their time for the following month. The men all nodded and said their thanks as they grabbed their belongings and shuffled out the door. All except for one. When only Regulus and James remained in the studio, Regulus walked over to his bag on the floor and pulled on his oversized sweater and baggy sweatpants. He sat on the floor and peeled his black ballet shoes off his feet while watching James standing in the middle of the studio. His entire life he’d been under a microscope, having his body analyzed and critiqued for every slight imperfection, but he’d never felt more heavily scrutinized than while James was staring at him alone in this space. 

“You can leave now,” Regulus snapped. After ten hours in the studio, he was ready to leave and he didn’t want to entertain this immature man any longer than he had to.

“I just— You never told me your name.”

“That was intentional.”

James stepped closer to him and while normally being alone with a man like this might make him uncomfortable, Regulus couldn’t help but feel drawn to everything about him, his casual confidence pulling him in. If they were in different circumstances and had met in a more controlled setting where Regulus could make sure that he was cool with the fact that he was trans before any flirting happened, Regulus might have even wanted to date this annoying man. Or at least fuck him. He hated James for it.

“Are you really gonna make me beg? I’m not above getting on my knees, you know.”

Fucking hell, this guy.

“Regulus.”

The corner of James’ mouth quirked up in a smirk and he took another step closer. “Regulus,” he said in a way that made his name sound like sin. “I’ve never met anyone named Regulus before. A unique name for a unique beauty.”

Regulus scoffed as he stood, grabbing his bag and slipping on his slides as he tried to step around James. “Thanks. Picked it out myself. Are you done? I’d like to go home now.”

“Picked it out— oh, that’s cool.” James stepped into his path and walked backwards as Regulus continued walking towards the door as if James wasn't even there. When they reached the door, James pressed his back to it and smiled down at him. “Look, I’m gonna be really honest with you, I think you’re hot.”

Regulus glared at him in response, crossing his arms and pushing his weight into one hip. He said nothing while James seemed to squirm under his cold eyes before continuing on.

“I, uh, I don’t date,” James explained. “Too busy between football, school, friends, and work. Feels rude to demand someone’s attention when I can’t give them mine.”

“I have a hard time believing you care about being rude.”

“Says the meanest guy I’ve ever met, I mean, fuck. You didn’t even give me a chance to— anyway, you’re hot. For some reason, I think I’m into the whole mean thing. We’re here all alone and I’m sure you’re the one with the keys to lock up.”

“Are you trying to hook up with me?” Regulus raised an eyebrow in question.

“Are you flattered?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” James whined as he banged his head on the door behind him. “Have you ever had a hot quarterback want to fuck you in the dance studio? You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t think about it at all during that class. You had us all bent over, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is a learning environment,” Regulus replied. “I’m a professional, you know.” He refused to admit that he absolutely was staring at James’ ass every time he passed by, but now he wondered if the man had seen him in the mirrors lining the walls.

“Please, you’re not as subtle as you think.”

Regulus’ cheeks turned pink at that and he felt the blush all the way to his ears.

“I’ll move so we can both go home if you can honestly tell me that you don’t want to hook up. But I have a feeling that you want this as badly as I do.”

The silence that stretched between them was charged with desire. As much as he hated the guy, Regulus wanted James so badly it hurt. But he was also terrified of, well, everything. Being a gay trans man came with a lot of disclaimers beforehand, in his experience. He tried to hint at the fact that he was trans earlier and James said he was cool, but did he really know what he was getting himself into by continuing to hit on Regulus? If he told James outright, would he be safe here alone with him? 

Regulus let out a shaky breath before he spoke again. “I— I don’t usually hook up like this.”

“It’s fine, it can stay between us.”

Oh, why did that hurt? Why didn’t he want to be kept as a dirty little secret? What was it about James that made him… want? He’d never wanted anyone like this before. 

“It’s not that, It’s— I’m trans.”

“Okay?” James’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure why that matters?”

Regulus gaped at him, unsure how to even respond to the confusing man before him.

“I think you’re hot,” James continued, saving Regulus from having to formulate a response. “I’m pretty sure you think I’m hot, though you haven’t admitted it. If I was a more self conscious man, I might feel a bit inadequate if I’m honest. We’re young and we have this place to ourselves for the night. I’m clean too, if you were wondering.”

“I’m clean,” Regulus responded without processing the rest of what James just said. 

James smiled at that. “So?”

“So?”

“You want to go home or can I kiss you already?”

Regulus dropped his bag on the floor next to him with a loud thud and crashed his lips onto James’, crowding his body against the door. Their first kiss was a cruel thing, the building energy between them finally boiling over into something physical. James’ arms wrapped around Regulus, one snaking down to his lower back and the other gripping the nape of his neck. When Regulus brushed his tongue along the seam of James’ lips, he opened for him and Regulus allowed himself to indulge in exploring James’ mouth.

Regulus reached a hand down towards the knob of the studio door near James’ hip and clicked the lock in place while they continued kissing. He felt James smirk against his mouth and pulled back, glaring at the taller man he had pinned against the wall with his body.

“What?” Regulus snapped. He would never admit it outloud, but really wasn’t sure why this man’s cocky attitude was so attractive. That smirk on his face made him melt and Regulus knew that he was in for a world of hurt after this was all over and James wanted nothing to do with him again.

“Planning on more than a kiss?”

“You were the one who—”

“I know, shh, I’m just teasing.” James placed a quick peck on Regulus’ lips. “I feel like I’m pushing my luck here by asking, but do you have a condom?”

Regulus felt his face heat. He normally wasn’t embarrassed by sex, honestly. There was just something about this Adonis of a man trapped against the door in front of him asking him for a condom that felt like an out-of-body experience. “Uh, I think so, let me check.” He dropped down to his knees and rifled through his bag, trying to ignore the heavy weight of James’ gaze on him. When he found the condom, he grabbed it and looked up, holding the condom up like a prize. James’ eyes were heavy with desire and when Regulus went to stand up, James buried a hand into his hair to hold him in place. 

“You look so pretty on your knees, Regulus.”

“I’d look prettier with your cock in my mouth.”

“Oh,” James tightened his grip in his hair and Regulus let out a wanton moan at the feeling. “You are a good boy, aren’t you?”

Regulus hummed in response and reached for the waistband of James’ shorts, tugging them and his boxers down just low enough to free his hard cock. Regulus leaned forward against the resistance of the hand buried in his hair and lapped at the precum beading at the tip. James groaned at the feeling and pumped himself a couple of times in front of Regulus’ face. Regulus raised himself up higher on his knees and dragged his hands up under James’ shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen and back before he licked at a vein along the underside of his cock and then sucked him into the back of his throat, taking as much of him in his mouth as possible. 

He bobbed his head a few times, relishing at the feeling of James’ hand threaded in his dark curls guiding his movements, then pulled back and ran his tongue up his entire length. He swirled his tongue around the tip once, twice, then pushed his tongue at the slit, moaning at the unique salty taste that was James. When he looked up under hooded eyes, they locked eyes and James gave him a pleased smile.

“Fuck,” James breathed. “You’re so good for me, you do look so pretty just like this, I knew you would. Can you be such a good boy and let me fuck your throat, hm?”

Regulus squirmed as he opened his mouth with his tongue flat, feeling hot wetness pooling between his legs. When he felt James slide his cock back into his mouth, he relaxed his throat and surrendered completely to the pace that James set. He felt James shift so he had one hand on both sides of his head and Regulus adjusted so that both of his hands gripped James' hips. He was slow at first, unsure of how Regulus would handle his size, but grew more confident when Regulus moaned around his cock. Soon, the pace was unrelenting and Regulus felt his eyes watering, tears streaming down his face. Spit ran down his chin and he found that he didn't care at all. He dug his fingers into James' hips, hoping to leave bruises. Evidence that he had James, if only for a little while. He barely had any room to breathe between the strokes as James continued to thrust into him, focused entirely on his own pleasure.

Before he knew it, James pulled himself out of Regulus’ mouth. He bent down to wipe the spit off of Regulus' chin with his thumb then languidly sucked at it before pressing the pad of his thumb against Regulus' bottom lip. Regulus swiped his tongue out and caught James' thumb in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the digit. James smirked, pulling his thumb away and wiped at the tracks of tears on Regulus' face with his thumbs. Regulus whined a needy sound at feeling so empty, rubbing his thighs together in hopes that any form of friction would bring him relief. James leaned in to kiss him before pulling Regulus to his feet as he tucked his erection back into his shorts.

“Shh,” James soothed, pushing his hair away from his face and placing soft kisses on his cheeks. “Let me return the favor, c’mon.”

James grabbed his hand and dragged a boneless Regulus to the center of the room. When he got there, he held up one finger, signaling for Regulus to wait a moment. Regulus wanted to pout, but watched as James went to the corner of the room where a stack of folding chairs leaned against the wall. He grabbed one and carried it back to where Regulus stood, opened it up, then pushed Regulus into the seat facing the mirror covered wall. 

Regulus reached his hands out towards James’ hips and tugged him closer, hoping to return to having that beautiful cock in his mouth before James clicked his tongue softly. “I said I was going to return the favor, baby.” James knelt down and looped his fingers under the waistband of Regulus’ sweatpants. “Can I?”

“In front of the mirror?”

“Why not?” James shrugged. “It’s hot. Plus it’s not like there’s anywhere in this room without a mirror. Might as well make good use of it.” James playfully tugged at Regulus' waistband with one hand again as he removed his glasses with the other and set them to the side on the floor. “Are you gonna make me beg or can we continue?”

Regulus nodded as he shifted his hips so James could pull at his baggy sweatpants, then he heard James laugh as he pulled at the baggy shorts underneath his sweatpants revealing yet another pair of shorts, these ones much tighter and shorter. “So many layers,” James huffed. “Why do you need so many layers?” He pulled down the shorts and finally got to Regulus’ underwear. Pulling those down, he unbunched all of the layers of pants from around his ankles and threw them to the side. The cold metal of the folding chair bit into Regulus’ skin as he sat there in just his baggy sweater feeling extremely exposed.

“Keeps the muscles warm in between—” All thoughts of the logistics in layering clothing during ballet were lost as he felt James spreading his legs apart. James bit down on the soft skin of his innermost thigh as he slid his hands up to Regulus’ hips. He allowed James to pull him towards the edge of the seat, tilting his hips up to give James better access. 

Regulus writhed at the first feeling of James’ tongue on him and he let out a shameless moan that echoed around the room. He tilted his head back and allowed his legs to fall open in pure pleasure. James grabbed under his thighs to hike his legs up over his shoulders, giving himself more access as he continued devouring Regulus, licking and sucking at him. When Regulus glanced up, he looked at the two of them in the mirror. Watching James on his knees worshiping his body, he understood immediately why James said it would be hot. He had never seen a sight quite so erotic and between the feeling of James sucking on his most sensitive nerves and the reflection before him, he climaxed hard and fast. His orgasm rippled through him and James reacted by moaning as he pushed his tongue inside him, lapping at his release. 

As he came down from the orgasm, James slowed down and started kissing down his thighs, sucking small bruises along the way. Normally, Regulus would ask his lovers to avoid leaving marks like that, especially since they were so visible in classes, but something about James made him want to be claimed. He wanted people to know they were together, and for a time, be able to say that he belonged to James.

Just when he felt like he was coming back into his body, James pushed two fingers inside him and curled them up at the perfect angle, hitting the sensitive walls inside his body. Regulus felt his entire body jolt with pleasure as James’ tongue returned to between his thighs, circling the sensitive nerves and flicking in time with his fingers. 

“Fuck,” Regulus whined, feeling his body climbing rapidly towards another orgasm.

James pulled back to gaze up at him, his fingers continuing at a punishing pace. “I know you can cum for me again, baby. Show me what a pretty boy you are while you cum on my fingers.” He bit into his leg just above his knee and sucked a bruise, watching his fingers pumping in and out of Regulus’ body. His orgasm crashed through his body again and James moaned at the sight, dipping his head between his legs again and giving him one languid lick before pulling back and smiling up at Regulus. He sucked on his fingers and made a show of licking off every drop, giving Regulus a visual reminder of how skilled he was with that tongue.

“Think you can go again?” James asked from between his legs. Regulus had no doubt in his mind that if he said yes, the man would sit between his thighs all night long, and maybe if they hooked up again he’d get the opportunity to experience it, but for now he really wanted to know what he felt like buried deep inside him.

Regulus shook his head and pulled off his oversized sweater, then the white tee underneath until he was sitting in the middle of the room, fully exposed. “Your turn, you have a criminal amount of clothing on your body.”

James barked a laugh and practically ripped off his clothes as he stood. He grabbed Regulus’ hand and hoisted him to his feet, pulling him in close to his naked body. The feeling of their bare skin brushing against each other was enough to set Regulus’ overstimulated nerves alight. He moaned as he leaned in for a kiss, tasting a heady combination of the two of them on James’ lips.

“I’m going to grab the condom,” James said against Regulus’ lips, his breath hot. He kissed down Regulus’ jaw and neck before he continued. “Go stand facing the mirror for me.”

“I—”

“If you don’t want me to take control, tell me now sweetheart.” James said softly. He placed a quick peck against his lips. “Otherwise, I’m going to get a little bossy from here on out.”

Regulus nodded, then moved to stand facing the mirror while James dug through their discarded clothes for the condom Regulus had found earlier. When he returned, James stood behind him and gently grasped at his jaw, ensuring they made eye contact through the mirror.

“Familiar with the traffic light color system?”

Regulus nodded again and James clicked his tongue. “I’m going to need verbal confirmation here, baby.”

“Yes.” 

“Good, so if you want me to stop immediately you say?”

“Red,” Regulus answered without hesitation.

“And if I check in and you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Green.”

“Good boy. Last one, then we can continue. If you need to pause or something doesn’t feel right?”

“Yellow.”

James kissed his neck from where he stood behind him and smiled. “Very good. Now, hands against the glass for me. And they’re not allowed to move at all. Your pretty little ass will get a beating if they do. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes… Sir?”

James clicked his tongue and Regulus could tell that he was disappointed. "Come now, you can do better than that."

Regulus wracked his brain searching for whatever it was that James was asking. Finally, it came to him after he reflected on all the times James had called him 'baby' and a 'good boy.'

"Yes, Daddy."

James let out a groan at that, moving his hand down from Regulus’ jaw to his throat and squeezing slightly. Regulus keened and pushed his hips back towards James, searching for friction. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” James said as he pulled back and ripped at the condom wrapper. Regulus whined at the loss of the hand around his throat and turned around. He draped his arms around James' shoulders and sought out his lips for a kiss.

With the condom not fully unwrapped, James froze and gripped Regulus’ throat, stopping him from the kiss he was seeking. “What did I say, baby?”

“Oh, please.” Regulus scoffed when James loosened his grip just enough to allow him to reply. “We hadn’t even started yet.”

James’ eyes darkened at that. “Did I or did I not tell you that if you moved your hands from the mirror, you’d be punished?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Do you want to push me to find out how serious I am?” At the silence hanging between them, James smirked. “Now, turn around. Hands on the mirror. I’m going to spank you five times and you’re going to count out each one, thanking me for every one. If you stop counting or lose your manners, you’ll earn five more. Understand?”

“Yes.” Regulus followed his instructions, placing his hands on the cold mirror and breathing as evenly as he could.

“Yes what?” James kneaded his ass, making him even more sensitive to the touch.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy. Color?”

“Green.”

James hummed in acknowledgement before his hand slapped Regulus’ ass. Regulus let out a surprised yelp. 

“Count, baby. I won’t remind you again.”

“One,” Regulus cried out. “Thank you, Daddy.”

James’ hand smacked down again, the sound echoing in the room, and Regulus gasped at the shock of pain that rippled through his body. “Two. Thank you, Daddy.” Regulus looked up into the mirror, taking in James’ hungry face. 

“Maybe you can be trained, baby. Three more. You’re doing so good.”

With each slap to his ass, Regulus became more sensitive and felt himself slipping into a hazy headspace where everything felt like pure pleasure shooting to every nerve in his body. When he finally reached number five, James dropped to his knees behind him and rubbed at his cheeks before pulling them apart and licking all the way from his sensitive nerves to his ass. He circled the ring of muscle with his tongue and pushed in slightly.

“Fuck,” James breathed hot against him. “You did so good, baby. You’re fucking dripping for me. Have you learned your lesson? Will you be a good boy and let me fuck you now?”

Regulus nodded, a whine escaping his throat that he would normally feel embarrassed about.

“Words, baby.”

“Yeah— Yes, please. Please fuck me, Daddy. I need your cock inside me.”

James bit into one cheek of his ass before he stood up, grabbing the condom and rolling it on. “Anything for you,” James murmured as he lined himself up with Regulus’ entrance. They made eye contact in the mirror as James pushed in slowly, using both hands to grip onto Regulus’ hips and position him perfectly. “Color?”

“Green. Fuck, so fucking green.”

Finally, James moved his hips. Regulus had never been a religious man, but he swore that he found a new religion at the feeling of James inside him. James moved his hips in purposeful, deep thrusts, making Regulus see stars with each shift inside him. Regulus’ eyes closed and his head tilted back as he relished in the sensation until he felt a strong hand on his jaw. The grip was unyielding and Regulus knew that he’d do whatever the man this hand belonged to said.

“Eyes on me, baby,” James purred. “I want you to watch me ruin you for anyone else.”

Regulus cried out a moan and opened his eyes, taking in their bodies in the mirror. His hot breath fogged the mirror in front of him as James pounded into him from behind, both of them glistening with sweat. James’ face was smug as he continued to hold onto Regulus’ jaw, not offering him any way of avoiding watching their bodies. 

James’ pace started to slow, but he somehow managed to make it feel like he was impossibly deeper inside Regulus’ body. He snaked a hand down towards the bundle of nerves between Regulus’ legs and rubbed in confident circles, pushing Regulus closer and closer to the edge. Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly experience more pleasure than he was already tasting, James’ hand slid down from his jaw to his throat and squeezed. The restriction of blood flow to his brain made Regulus feel fuzzy as he dissolved into pure pleasure. His knees buckled and he arched his back, pushing his ass into James’ hips as his orgasm washed over him. A moment later, James let out a moan and Regulus felt him pulsing inside of him as he followed him over the edge.

James ghosted his fingers along the side of Regulus’ neck as they rode out the last of their orgasms and he kissed his shoulder. When he pulled out, he took off the condom and tied it off, then walked over to toss it in the trash can next to the door. Regulus turned to lean against the mirror, watching James stride back towards him. Regulus gave him a weak, hazy smile.

“You okay?” James asked. He placed a quick peck on Regulus’ lips and rubbed soothing circles on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I—” James interrupted him by kissing him again. “I thought you said this was a one-time thing?” Regulus questioned.

“That doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated like shit, Regulus.”

Regulus gave him a flat look before he pushed off the mirror and walked to where his clothes were piled on the ground. He started pulling on his many layers and by the time he was fully dressed again, he glanced over to see James standing watching him, still completely nude. Regulus bent over to grab his glasses on the floor and handed them to him. “What?” Regulus asked.

James pushed his glasses on his face and for the first time, Regulus witnessed a flustered James. “Look, I know what I said, but can I have your number anyway?”

“I won’t be your late night, drunk booty call, James.”

“I just…this was a lot of fun. It’d be nice to do it again sometime, that’s all.”

“So, a sober booty call?”

“No, I—”

“Listen, how about you give me your number? If I’m ever feeling like having you boss me around again, I’ll give you a call. How’s that?” Regulus raised an eyebrow as he pulled his cell out of his sweatpants pocket and held it out to James in offering.

James hesitated to take the phone from his hand, clearly playing a game of mental chess on how to obtain Regulus’ number, but Regulus refused to be a pawn in his games. “This is my only offer, it expires once your pants are on. Take it or leave it.”

Sighing, James grabbed his phone and created a new contact with his phone number, then handed it back to Regulus.

“‘Daddy,’ really? You seriously put your name as ‘Daddy’ in my phone?”

James smirked, then began dressing himself. “I figured you’d remember me that way.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but internally he might as well have been giggling and kicking his feet. He stepped forward and placed a chaste kiss on James’ cheek. “I’ll consider calling you, Daddy,” he said and then he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Clean the mirror and take that trash bag out with you, yeah? I can’t have my teacher finding out about this.”

“You got it, baby.”

As Regulus walked out of the studio, he thought to himself that he should absolutely not call James again. He made a bargain with himself anyway that if he was still thinking about him in a few months, he’d gladly fall back into that man’s arms again.

[targaryen-dynasty]

CHOPPERS.

Part 1 of The Devil You Know

Biker!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Today felt like the first calm shift you had in weeks… or at least that‘s what you thought until two unexpected guests stepped into Choppers.

WORDS: 3.3 K

WARNINGS: There's just too much testosterone in this chapter, mentions of injuries (cut lip), a bit of swearing, otherwise it‘s harmless

NOTES: Aemond seems a bit soft in this, BUT I can tell that’s not how he’s going to be all the time. Credit for the photo of Tommy with tatts goes to @/eatheruniverse. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics.

King’s Landing was the sort of place where you either had two houses or two jobs, and since you were currently wiping down the counter of Choppers and had no fancy–and ridiculously expensive–motorcycle parked in front of the bar, you clearly belonged to the latter. 

The venue was busier than usual with several members of the Savage Dragons filling the tables and bar, and the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and leather hung thick in the air. Old school rock boomed off the jukebox in the corner, and the atmosphere was relaxed, making the shift one of the easiest you had in weeks. 

At least that was what you thought until raised voices drew attention to one of the tables closest to the door, a familiar mop of brown hair involved and two other men you hadn’t seen that often before. In times like these, you were grateful to work with Cregan, because wherever that hunk of a man went, every turmoil was smothered within seconds. 

When you turned around to meet his eyes from where he was drawing some beers, you merely had to wrinkle your nose with a ‘pretty please?’ leaving your lips to coax him from behind the counter. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he sighed, and nodded towards the tap, “Need two more for Alyn and Addam. Could you, please?” Making a swift change, you took his place behind the tap, while he dried off his hands and threw the rag over his broad shoulder, walking around the counter. 

“Cole! Lannister!” his deep voice rang out, perfectly audible despite the music still playing, “You fuckin’ know not to start shit on my shift. Get your asses outta here before they meet my foot.“ There had been a few encounters with them before, and each one had been won by Cregan. 

Thanks to you working at the bar for quite some time now, your eyes managed to flicker between the scene unfolding in front of you and the tap, making sure not one drop of beer got spilled and the foam head was evenly and neither too thick nor too thin. 

Even before Cregan reached their table, the men held their hands up in defeat, getting up to head towards the door. 

“What are they even doing here? The posh lifestyle getting too boring?” you looked from Cregan and Jace to your friend Baela. She leaned over the counter, fishing for one of the beers you’d poured. You swatted her hand away, pulling the pints towards the edge of the counter, before crouching down to pull the first aid kit from the cabinet below. 

“Well, technically, your father hasn’t banned them from entering the bar,” you noted, raising one eyebrow at her as you slid the kit across the counter toward Cregan so he could tend to the cut on Jace’s lip. 

She slumped into the bar stool while you hurried around the counter with both beers in hand, sighing in an exaggerated manner, “Fuck, I know, I’ve been telling him for months now, but he’s not doing it.”

You meandered through the crowd of people and placed the pints in front of the silver haired brothers, walking back to get behind the counter again. “I don’t know what has happened between you, and I really don’t care, but just because your cousins left the gang and started their own doesn’t mean they should be banned,” you said, grabbing a rag to wipe off the tap. “They’re still your family, and the few members of Dracarys that come here have been nothing short of calm–unless they’re provoked by a certain someone.” You shamelessly glanced over to Jace, who just shrugged his shoulders. 

“We don’t wanna have them here, and if that’s the only way to make it clear to them, I’ll keep going until they understand. They’re nothing but a bunch of elitist assholes,” the president retorted. 

You’re just as elitist as they are, was the comeback you wanted to say but stifled by biting your tongue, because they were the ones kind of taking you in and accepting you in their gang, even though you didn’t own a motorcycle and weren’t a member of their tribe. You enjoyed the company of the Savage Dragons, and you’d been around Baela even before your first shift at Choppers, but they had no idea what it meant to grow up in King’s Landing’s lower class and to work for your money. 

You handed Baela a freshly poured beer, throwing the rag over your shoulder in the same manner Cregan did before, who was already nursing a bourbon. 

“Didn’t you come by motorcycle?” 

“One does no harm,” he said, “besides, there's at least six hours left ‘till closing time.”

“How did I end up here?” you asked rhetorically, and pinched the bridge of your nose. Because you were looking for a new job, and Baela’s father was looking for a waitress. 

Cregan smiled in a teasing manner, “Don’t you enjoy being a Dragon, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head to the side as you met his brown eyes, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Just because I work here with you,” you nod in his direction, referring to the cut-off that hung on the knob of the cabinet with various patches of flames and dragons sewn onto it, and their gang’s logo patched on the back, “and occasionally ride shotgun doesn’t mean I’m part of your gang. I don’t own a bike and never will.”

The bull of a man just raised his hands as if he didn’t mean to offend you, though the cheeky smirk he held on his lips made it clear he didn’t hold it against you. “Just teasin’, sugar, we know you aren’t.” Sometimes the nicknames he gave you came so random that they really made you blush, and totally not because you had a little crush on him. Cregan was barely three years older than you, but he somehow had upped his flirting game to the point he just radiated daddy vibes. And you didn’t want to know what he was up to when he wasn’t working or taking his Triumph out for a ride with the Dragons. 

Hearing his name being called in the distance, you both looked up to meet the violet eyes of Alyn, who was holding up two fingers while pointing towards the two empty pints standing in front of them. Sometimes you wondered if they just chugged it the second the drinks were served. 

“After you,” you mirrored his cheeky grin and extended your arm, pointing towards the tap. 

The brunette scoffed and shook his head, but not in a derogatory manner. He trailed past you, while you seized the opportunity to clean some of the glasses that piled up on the countertop. 

Jace went back to where some of his men were playing pool, the cut on his lip obvious enough you could still spot it even in the dim light of the bar. 

“So, the flame between you two dying out already?” you asked Baela with a softer voice, not wanting to catch Cregan’s attention, lifting your head to look at her. When there didn’t come an answer right away, you pressed on. “Just surprised Creg had to patch him up, that’s all.”

She took a swig of her beer, putting the pint down and slightly bending over the counter to come closer toward you. “He’s just been acting so weird lately. I get that it’s not easy when your parents get a divorce, but everyone saw it coming… even Luke handles it better than he does.” 

“Speaking of, where’s he anyways? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s in Driftmark with Rhae. Gramps needed some help in his workshop, and since dad’s busy with the new bar, Luke offered to drive her and stay there. They should be back by Saturday.”

You had to give it to Rhaena. Even though she didn’t own a motorcycle herself, she was mechanically inclined. Growing up with a father like Daemon, who was obsessed with motorcycles himself, she received all the support she needed on her way, and he taught her most of the things he knew, despite taking a step back from motorcycles and all things involved after their mother Laena got into an accident that nearly killed her. 

At this point you just waited for the day she’d storm into Choppers and proclaim that Corlys Velaryon had bequeathed the workshop to her. You hoped for it to happen. 

“Does he,” you nodded toward the Savage Dragon’s president, “want to stay with Rhaenrya or does he leave with Harwin?” You stored the glasses away and threw the rag aside, leaning back against the cabinet with your arms folded in front of your chest. 

“I’m not sure, to be honest. He plans on buying an apartment in the city,” you raised your eyebrows at that, considering renting an apartment in King’s Landing already was expensive as hell, so, buying one was a whole other level. “And I can totally see Luke moving in with him, though.”

You nodded, and scoffed at the thought of the brothers sharing an apartment, considering Jace more often than not complained about his younger brother getting on his nerves. Perhaps moving out was his chance to get a taste of freedom and independence.  

Your response was seized short when the loud chatter of the customers drowned into silence. Having got used to the background noise a long time ago, you picked up on it lacking the second it ceased. 

There was a slight commotion at the front door, caused by the crowd of people parting to make place for whoever entered. It was a weird reaction, to say the least. The customers stepped aside when two silver haired men, clad in black jeans and matching leather jackets with a few patches covering the fronts and arms, stepped through the door and headed towards the counter. 

You didn’t have to squint your eyes to make out that it was Aegon Targaryen, self proclaimed prince of the city and president of Dracarys. And though everyone kept a respectful distance from them, you knew it wasn’t because of him, but rather because of the much taller man that trailed behind him like his personal bodyguard, his serious expression seeming both domineering and threatening. You hadn’t heard much about Aemond Targaryen before, a total enigma to you, and while the brothers seemed like the epitome of the golden retriever and the black cat personalities, you knew better than to trust the first impression. 

Aegon Targaryen was nothing short of ruthless and deceitful, the goofy and gullible demeanor only a mask he put on to fool people until he decided to show his true colors. The only thing that matched was his loyalty and protectiveness, always going the extra mile for his brothers and sister. 

The only things you knew about Aemond were that he supposedly wore a sapphire in place of his left eye after he’d lost it in an accident, though the how and when was unknown and his left eye concealed with a black eyepatch, and that he was in no way inferior to Aegon, just as ruthless and if not even hot-tempered and fierce. 

At least that’s what you had heard. You still had to experience their outbursts first hand yourself, most of the stories you��d heard told by members of the Savage Dragons, or rather Jace, Luke and Creg. And sometimes even Baela told one or two stories, however, they never were as derogatory as the ones the others told. 

“Now this is a rare visit,” your friend mumbled, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow as she noticed your attention was solely fixed on them. Not even Jace’s ‘Look who has decided to bless us with their presence’ was able to reclaim your focus.

With every step the pair took toward you, you felt the air being knocked straight out of your lungs, your throat becoming incredibly tight, whereas another sensation built in the pit of your stomach–perhaps even at the apex between your legs. Only when you felt Baela’s hand under your chin, as if she meant to close your mouth–even though it wasn't opened–you figured you had been staring at them a bit too long and a bit too obvious, but something about his striking eye, chiseled jaw and intimidating aura felt alluring to you. 

“Cousin,” Aegon’s gravelly voice rang out, acknowledging Baela. 

“Aeg,” she said before looking over to the taller Targaryen, nodding. “Aemond.”

The air between them was thick with tension, and it almost made you cringe to the point you had to interfere. “What can I get you?” your voice was a tad more high pitched than usual, and from the corner of your eye you were able to spot the way your friend’s eyebrow raised in a manner that made clear she was judging you.  

You tried your best to focus on Aegon, his blonde stubble, the loose curls and lavender eyes dreamy enough to get lost in but not at all enticing enough to outshine his younger brother. 

For a split second, you glanced over to Aemond, looming over his brother and Baela, and you were certain you’d caught the hint of a blush covering his pale skin, running down his cheeks and getting lost under his neck tattoos. 

“Daemon’s here, sweets?” he drawled, the pet name only topped by the flirty wink he shot you. Goosebumps prickled on your skin, though it had a completely different meaning and got an entirely different reaction from you than it did whenever Cregan called you something similar.

Speaking of, he had abandoned his place at Addam’s table–that man couldn’t do anything else than drinking and chatting while at work, and occasionally threw someone out of the bar–and trailed around the counter to stand behind you, towering over your small frame just like Aemond did with Aegon. “No,” he said coldly. Very unusual for him, you thought. 

Instead of looking at the man behind you, Aegon kept his eyes neatly trained on you, a smile on his lips that seemed eerily faked, “Then we’ll have two of his special. Neat.” Daemon’s special, you raised your brows, that meant you had to open one of the ridiculously expensive bottles of Elijah Craig’s 18 year single barrel that were stored in the back just for this occasion. 

“I’ll bring it to you, guys,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at Cregan, whose jaw was set to the point you feared for his teeth. Both men nodded and left to occupy one of the tables in the back–the one where two of their men had been expelled from before, to be precise. 

“Leave it to me,” you warned, putting a hand on the expanse of his broad chest to make it clear it wasn’t even up to debate. “They haven’t done anything at all and you guys can’t think straight right now.”

While you fetched two tumblers and retrieved the bottle from the back, Baela had left her spot in front of the counter, walking over to the pool table to approach Jace. You supposed it had something to do with the way he held his hands balled to fists at his sides and his eyes all but burning through his uncle’s bodies. If looks could kill, Aegon and Aemond certainly would have perished straight away. 

Perhaps she would finally manage to keep his rage at bay and stop him from doing anything stupid. Yet again. 

Grabbing a tray, you served the drinks to them before cleaning their table from the remnants of their clan’s escapades, several empty pints and tumblers stacked upon it. It was difficult to keep your cool with both their eyes watching your every move, though the younger one seemed to not be able to tear his eye off your body instead, watching the way your black attire clung to your curves, the hem of your skirt high enough to expose most of your thighs and accentuate your legs. 

“Need a hand?” It was Aemond speaking, catching you by surprise as you’d judged him to be more quiet-natured. His voice was just as gravelly as his brother’s, but at the same time smoother, if that even made sense. It crawled under your skin, but this time it was more pleasant. 

You flashed him a sheepish smile, and weren’t able to meet his eye for long. “It’s alright,” you said, “I’ve carried a lot more than that.” The nod he returned made him appear just as sheepish as you were, and you were certain that if you’d stay just a minute longer, you wouldn’t be able to leave their table at all. 

You were completely oblivious that Aegon’s and Aemond’s eyes weren’t the only ones watching even the slightest move you made, though they all captured a different motive behind them. If it was up to Jace, you would’ve perished with his uncle’s in that moment, and if it was up to the Targaryen brother’s, they would’ve kept you at their table just a bit longer–one wanting your company out of self-interest, while the other one just enjoyed to mess with the other side of the family. 

You balanced the tray back to the bar, placing it on the countertop and allowing Cregan to clean the glasses this time around. 

He looked utterly ridiculous. A hunk of a man, hunching his shoulders while cleaning a bunch of glasses and staring at the men they loathed with all their hearts for reasons you didn’t even know in the first place. 

“You’re still aware I’m leaving early tonight, right?” you asked him, trying to get his mind off the matter at hand. “Or do you want me to stay to make sure everything goes well? Don’t want y’all to rip each other to shreds. It’d suck to clean that up tomorrow.” The chuckle you released was meant to ease the tension, though Cregan wasn’t really having any of it. 

“No, it’s fine,” he eventually replied. “Take your time off, you’ve earned it. Need someone to bring you home?”

He half turned to look at you, the slight tilt of his head indicating he’d help you out and probably drive you home himself. “Came by car today,” you retrieved your keys from the back pocket of your denim skirt, dangling them in front of his face. “So, no worries.”

“Alright, have a nice evening,” he hummed, and moved to tend to another customer. 

You walked around the corner but stopped once you passed it, turning to face him one last time. “And Cregan?” you asked, catching his attention, “Behave.” 

“You know us, Y/N.”

“Exactly.”

Raising his hands in defeat, silently indicating that he’d try to keep his hands clean for the remainder of the night, you moved to approach Baela at the pool table. “I’m done for the night, Bae. See you tomorrow?”

She embraced you in a tight hug. “I’ll hit you up.“

“You’ll hear from me once I’ve cleaned up after you guys… again,” you teased and waved goodbye to everyone standing around the table. 

As you passed the table with two of the most attractive men you’ve ever spotted before, a shiver ran up your spine, feeling like liquid fire. You tried to keep your eyes on the ground, not able to get lost in the piercing gaze of Aemond once again, but were forced to take notice of them when Aegon’s voice rang out. “Leaving already, sweets?” You nearly missed the way Aemond elbowed his brother at the mention of the irritating pet name. 

Unable to speak, you merely bobbed your head once, heading toward the door. Aemond’s ‘What a shame’ could hardly be heard by anyone other than you and his brother, and it forced a blush onto your cheeks before you hurried out of the bar. 

Unbeknownst to you, this wasn’t the last you’ve heard and seen of the seemingly notorious devil. 

These are my face-claims for the other (kinda important) characters appearing in this series. Cregan, Baela, Jace and Aegon.

TDYK Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @sophie-looks-at-stuff @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @janejenny666 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @rhaenyrarp

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens

Bold means I couldn't tag you.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

I LITERALLY ONLY FINISHED EP 1 OF TLOU BEFORE WRITING THIS 😭 this man just has me going fucking insane rn i had to word vomit. spent my whole day on this bc im delulu

warning: homophobia and transphobia, trans fetishization, degradation/humiliation, slurs, vaginal sex, rough oral sex, NASTY daddy kink (like… borderline incest rp and ddlb maybe idk i just work here), hanky code, spit kink, breeding kink, gags, drug dealing (weed and opioids), reader is a sex worker/weed dealer with clit piercings

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/kitty, clit/(t-)dick

It started as a drug deal. A bad habit picked up after top surgery. A rumor that this guy sold opioids. A wink and a nod of the head from across the plaza during a hanging. A few hankies tucked in your jeans, two shades of blue on the right, light green and a flag on the left. You were never sure if he knew what they meant. You’d never had the chance to ask. Until today, you happened to have a favor to ask him.

“Look, you know I’m usually reliable, right? If you could just gimme more time, I promise I’ll get you an ounce on Monday, on me.” That was a pretty decent offer. You usually gave him a quarter of bud every trade, so an ounce for the same price was surely nothing to sneeze at.

“If you’re not ready today, you ain’t gettin’ shit today. Sorry, kid.” Fuck. Ah, well. At least he wasn’t mad at you. Plus, he always called you ‘kid’. It made sense, since he was definitely old enough to be your dad. Maybe he had a soft spot for you. And he certainly met the diagnostic criteria for DILF, but goddamnit, your gaydar couldn’t get a reading on him. You figured the best way to find out for sure would be to offer up your other goods and services and see if he takes the bait.

“Well, uh… maybe there’s…” You took a step closer to him, putting all your weight into your hips hoping they’d jump out at him, “…something else I can offer you?”

They didn’t. His stare never shifted from your face. “Like what?” Joel asked unclockably.

You took the tips of your hankies between your fingers and held them out to him, spreading your wings, a display for attracting mates not unlike that of a peacock. “You know what these mean?” You asked with a quirk in the brow and some devious faggotry in your voice.

Joel crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, a cocky, almost sort of try me type stance. “What do they mean?”

You named your hankies, one-by-one. Green, “This one means I’m a sex worker,” Trans, “This one means I have a pussy,” Navy, “This one means I get fucked,” and Cyan, “This one means I suck co-“

“I’m sorry, that one means what?” Joel interrupted, and pointed at your trans flag. He wasn’t just gonna let you gloss over that, just as you’d hoped.

“Oh, this one?” You pinched the tail of the trans flag and let the rest fall to your sides. A cheeky, cherubic, chaotic smile on your face as you taunted him. “It means I have a pussy. I’m trans.”

Joel’s face contorted in a few spasms of different emotions. A blink of shock, a blip of disgust, a second of intrigue, ‘til he landed on confusion. “So, uh…” His eyes crawled downwards to your crotch, then back up to you. “…how’s that work?”

Sure, you could give him the polite conversation explanation of the transmasculine identity, gender dysphoria and its treatments. Or, you could give the simplest and sexiest possible definition that would appeal to Schrödinger’s Straight Man over here. “Was born a girl, cut my tits off, shot up testosterone, and now I’m a man, but I kept my cunt.”

“Fuckin’ Christ…” He grunted, then cleared his throat, trying his damndest to remain calm and bloodbend his newfound erection away. Today was the wrong day for the light wash jeans. His growing bulge was the visual feedback of your influence on him.

A by-the-book boypussy sales pitch. Testing well with the focus group. You took another step with a sway of the hips, encroaching on his personal space but not penetrating it just yet. “Well? Whaddaya think?”

Joel bit his lip and said nothing for a moment. It seemed he was taking his time to figure out what exactly he did think about your revelation. “…Just 2 pills?”

“Just 2 pills…” You nodded, “Just enough to last me the weekend…” and took another step closer, then one more, until you could reach out and rub his bicep. “I’ll bump you up to an ounce, get it to you on Monday…” Your curious fingers started to trail down his arms and over to his delightfully soft dad-bod tummy. “And I’ll show you a good time today… Show you something you’ve never seen before…”

To say you were coming on pretty strong would be a massive understatement. And, hell, touching him? You were coming on like you had a death wish. Your hand slid downward, down to the heat he was packing in his pants, and stroking his rifle in your game of tactile Russian Roulette.

You loaded the chamber…

“All for just two little pills. So?”

Spun the barrel…

“What do you say?”

And pulled the trigger.

“Please, Daddy?”

And with those two whorish words, he snapped. Joel grabbed you by the wrist and slammed you into the brick wall behind him. You gasped in shock and winced in pain. It happened so fast, you barely had any time to think about the mistake you’d just made, but before you could choke out an I’m sorry, his lips were on yours. You moaned into the kiss and he snarled into it, slobbering all over each other in a fit of lust.

“Bratty little fuckin’ queer. So you’re saying you have a cunt, huh, boy? No bullshit?” Joel sneered as he shoved his hand between your legs. He grabbed your crotch and squeezed it tight, delighted to find no bulge, nothing in his way but a few layers of clothing. “Ooh, damn, kiddo, guess you’re right. Ain’t you fuckin’ special…” He let your wrist fall so he could grab your jaw. “Open,” he commanded, and your lips obliged. He spat into your open mouth, and then his lips were back on you.

Your hands scrambled for purchase on his back, eventually clutching his hair and his shirt for lifelines. The second you’d laid eyes on this guy, you knew he’d be a good fuck, and you couldn’t believe your luck. That monumental gamble you took just now had won you the jackpot, and now it was time to bask in your victory.

Joel grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you out of the kiss. “You want your fuckin’ pills, cuntboy?”

“Yeees…” That was why you originally came to him, yes, but now you wanted a whole lot more.

“You want those fuckin’ pills?”

“Yeees, yes, I wan-em…”

“Say please.”

“Pleeease…”

“Please, what?”

“Pleeease, Daddyyy… P-Please, Daddy, I wan- I wan’ the pills…”

“You gonna suck your Daddy’s cock for ‘em?”

“Y-Yeees, Daddyyy…”

“So do it.”

Joel dropped you and let you stumble onto your knees in front of him. You rocked back and forth impatiently as he undid his belt and fished his cock out of his jeans. As you suspected, it was massive, flushed an angry shade of red, and throbbing painfully. He gave it a tantalizing stroke, peeling back the foreskin and pulling it taut on the rebound. You licked your lips at the precum leaking from its slit, waiting for his instruction.

“Open,” He demanded once more. You acquiesced, opening your mouth wide enough for him to stuff his cock in your throat. He let out a deep, husky, growl as he slid down your airway. “Yeahhh, that’s it… That’s it, kiddo…”

Even in your dickdrunk, cockgagged haze, you could guess what was coming next. In preparation, you braced yourself with your hands on his hips, and relaxed your throat as best you could for him to fuck it. Turns out, your intuition was right.

“Fuck, yeah, fuckin’… Fuckin’ choke on it, whore… Choke on Daddy’s cock.” He grunted, grabbed your hair, and held you still while he thrusted into your mouth unforgivably. Tears, snot, and drool were running down your face in no time, and Joel was loving it. “Aw, look at that, yeah, good boy…”

You whined reflexively at the praise, accidentally sucking some spit into your windpipe and choking you in a less sexy and more dangerous manner than intended. Your eyes bulged open and you slapped his thigh twice, tapping out. Thankfully, he got the hint and let you go.

You coughed up the spit and smacked your own chest to clear your airway. “Sorry… Wrong pipe…”

“Take your time.” Joel replied, “Not try’na kill ya.”

Once you could regulate your breathing and you were sure you weren’t at risk of death by blowjob, you got back to work, at your own pace this time. You had the chance to explore him. Stroking and squeezing his shaft and his sack, fluttering your tongue underneath his tip, licking long stripes from the balls to the head. Less force, but no less intensity.

“Ngh, little faggot sure knows his way around a cock, don’t he?” Joel snickered and ruffled your hair. “So good at this, I would’a never believed you don’t got one yourself.”

True, you may not have been blessed with a cock attached to you, but you’d gotten plenty inside you. Not exactly your hometown, but familiar terrain nonetheless. When you felt like you could, you swallowed his length whole, swiping your tongue along his balls as you gagged. Joel threw his head back and moaned into the air, and then, you rode him with your throat again.

“Fu-u-uck, oh, shit, yeah… Yeah, you suck Daddy’s cock… Suck your old man’s cock for pills, and you’ll get ‘em, son... You’ll get ‘em, you fuckin’ junkie.”

You’d honestly forgotten this was about pills. You just got so caught up in the love of the sport, it had totally slipped your mind. Though dangling the carrot of oxies in front of your spit-drenched face was as good an incentive as any, and despite the burning in your windpipe, you sucked him with more power, more speed, more emotion, and more determination. You could taste victory leaking and throbbing on your tongue.

“F-Fuck… I-… I can’t…” Joel’s face was a picture of overwhelming pleasure. He had to pull you off. His wet, pulsating cock popped out of your mouth, and he huffed and puffed wiping sweat from his brow. “As much as I’d like to dump a load in your stomach…” He nudged his boot in between your legs, right up against your burning cunt. “I need to see your specialty, first.” He extended a hand to help you off your knees, then when you stood, hugged you to him and spanked each of your ass cheeks, jiggling them both as he gave his next order. “Take off your pants and bend over. Let Daddy see that pretty kitty of yours.”

You giggled, a goofy, stupid slutty smile on your face, and nodded. “Hehehe, okay… Okay…” You unbuckled your pants and let your jeans drop to the dirt. You stepped out of them and kicked them aside. You turned 90 degrees, put your hands on the brick wall, and stuck your ass out to Joel. He took his place behind you, grabbed your ass, and spread you open to take a peek at your holes. You shivered as the cool breeze ran over your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time I saw a cunt like this…” Two of his fingers traced your slit then spread your lips, exposing yourself even more to him. He chuckled when he saw your dick piercing. “‘Specially not one with these fancy hood ornaments.” He couldn’t resist the urge to tug on the jewelry.

Naturally, your knees buckled beneath you and you slid down the wall. “A-Ah!” You squeaked, “F-Fuck! S-Sen-Sensitive!” You tried to warn him, but really you were showing off your weak point with the conspicuousness of a video game boss fight.

“Oh, yeah?” Joel scoffed and supplemented it with a smack on the ass. You could feel him kneel down behind you, and he said, “Good.”

And then his lips were on your t-dick and sucking it like a leech.

You had to scream, bad, but it was broad fucking daylight and FEDRA could show up at any second. Instead, you bit down on your hand, sinking all the energy into your teeth as your body collapsed in on itself. Before long, your cunt was dripping down into his mouth, so much so, that there was an audible splash when his lips let you go.

“Christ, you’re a mess. Gonna ruin my fuckin jeans, ‘f I don’t take ‘em off.” Joel stood up and out of his own pants then tossed them beside yours. You heard some more rustling of clothing, felt a swipe up your pussy, then a tap on your lips with wet fingertips. “Open,” he instructed yet again.

You opened your mouth to lick and suck at his fingers, or so you thought. Instead, they pulled away and gagged you with one of your own hankies. Judging purely by the texture, you deduced that it was the trans flag. You relaxed and let him tie the gag more comfortably.

“There.” Joel said, patting you on the ass affirmatively. “Now I don’t gotta worry ‘bout you bein’ a fuckin’ screamer.” Two strong hands took your hips and lined him up with his target. You could feel his head prodding, but not breaching your hole. “Ready?”

You bit down on the gag and nodded feverishly at him. He poked your hole once, then twice, then started to push in and ohmyfuckinggodhe’shugeimeanyouknewthatalreadybutfuckitfeelsbetterthanyouthoughtitwould.

Without the ability to articulate any of those words, you whimpered through the gag and clawed at the wall like a cat trying to get in the bathroom.

“Biiig stretch, kiddo, that’s it…” Joel groaned, “That’s a good boy… Daddy’s almost in…”

Almost in? What the fuck did he mean by-ohshitthatswhatthefuckhemeantbyalmostin… He was so fucking thick that the stretch nearly burned, and long enough to feel like he was excavating your pussy to make room for himself. It was mind-numbing how big he was. He took up not only all the space in your cunt but in your brain as well. You’d never had someone dig so fucking deep.

“There you go, nice and full.” He leaned down to kiss your neck and pin your wrists together above your head. “Daddy’s perfect little cocksleeve…”

He withdrew his hips, practically taking your cunt with him on the way out since it refused to let go, and then speared his cock back into you. His thrust was a shockwave that rocked through your whole body. You let out a garbled moan into the spit-drenched fabric each time he did it. Eventually, he had a steady tempo going.

“Nghhh, so fucking tight… Real fuckin’ tight for a whore. And you’re fuckin’ soaked…” He gave your ass another swat, then stopped moving for a moment. “C’mon, slut, fuck yourself back on your Daddy’s dick. Ride your Daddy’s dick, now-yeahhh, that’s it…” He purred as you started to bounce your ass on him. For a little extra encouragement, he reached out to pet your hair. And for some guidance and a little extra oomph, he slammed his hips forward in time with yours, making his cock hit you twice as hard. “That’s a good boy…”

It was unbelievable, almost intolerable how good he felt. You almost couldn’t bear the thought of fucking any of your regular clients ever again. This was a Flowers for Algernon-type dicking, the absolute pinnacle of nasty sex for just a little while, and you’ll spend the rest of your sex life downhill from here. You’d like to hope that wouldn’t be the case, but none of the other dick you’d gotten in the past could even compare.

And it all stemmed from asking for a front on some oxies.

Joel reminded you of that when he said, “Next time you’re needing a front, I’ll-ngh… I’ll make you work for it, whore… Take you home and fuck you in the ass instead… Let you scream as loud as you need to… Let that little pussy weep for me and it’s gettin’ nothin’… You want some painkillers, then you gon’ hurt for ‘em, son…”

Honestly, the idea of a ‘next time’ had you excited regardless of what hole he wanted to bust open. If you were lucky, maybe it’d be out of mutual enjoyment rather than an exchange. Soon, he struck that special spot inside you, that inner button that has you seeing stars and screaming obscenities into the flag gag. Your hands balled into fists and pounded at the wall. It was getting to be too much to bear. Of course, with your flag in the way, your cries of Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna come! sounded as, “Auck! Auck! Ah gah-ah cah!”

Luckily, Joel spoke fluent slut. “You’re gonna cum? Gonna cum for your daddy?” He knotted his fingers in your hair and yanked you up against his chest. He shoved you both forward until you hit brick, and without an inch of space for you to squirm, he rutted into you relentlessly. “Then do it, slut. Cum on your daddy’s cock. Daddy wants to feel his little man cum all over him.”

God, how could a sentence be so nurturing and so nasty at the same time? So sweet and yet so fucking sick? Regardless of Sigmund Freud screaming ‘I told you so’ somewhere in your head, you came buckets, splashing Joel’s thighs with pussy juice on his every thrust. Your legs gave out around the fourth or fifth gush, and Joel had to hold you up for him to finish.

“Fuck, yeah, keep coming, keep coming, baby, Daddy’s close…” Joel groaned. Every word he said grew more vile and more primal than the last. His only need was to breed. “Daddy’s gonna knock you up, son… Gonna dump some brothers and sisters into ya… ‘N’ you’re gonna fuckin’ take it… Ngh, gonna take my fuckin’ load in ya ‘cause you’re a little cumdump pussyboy whore… ‘S what you’re meant for-shit… Shit!”

He squeezed your body tight and growled into your ear. Hot spurts of his cum flooded your battered cunt. On any other occasion, you’d cringe at some rando calling his load your siblings, but it just felt so good. You couldn’t give less of a fuck what he called it. And it’s not like he was your actual father. He was committing to the bit, a bit that had you mewing and sobbing with pleasure and repressed emotion, but that was a problem for your therapist later.

The world went still as you both came down from orbit. The rest of the QZ didn’t exist in that moment. It was just you and your “daddy”, a man twice your age that you trade drugs with and who just busted a nut in you. Honestly, still a better father figure than most. Closest thing to a dad you had for damn sure.

You felt that paternal vibe from him as he kissed the side of your neck. “You okay, little guy?” Joel asked tenderly. He untied the gag and tossed the flag by your jeans, letting you answer him.

“Mm… Mhm… I’m okay…” You stuttered, still counting on his grip to keep you standing.

“Good boy.” A few quick pecks to your neck and he slipped out, a few drops of his kids pooling in the dirt below you. “Now get dressed. I got shit to do.” He demanded with a final slap on your ass.

You stumbled over to your pants, leaning onto the wall to guide yourself. Even after dressing himself, Joel got to them first, and held them out for you to step into.

“Yeah, there you go, kid. You’re okay.” He cooed, and then clapped you on the shoulders to get your attention. Your head snapped up to see him reach into his pocket and pull out a plastic bag wrapped in tinfoil. He fished out two white pills and gave them to you, just as you agreed to.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” You gave him a shy smile, feeling grateful for the front and the frenzied faux-father-son fucking he just bestowed upon you. “Oh, and, uh… I… I had a good time, s-so if you ever wanna-“

“I’ll see you Monday, kid.”

[squishmallowo]

EDIT: TME/TMA ARE NOT INTERSEXIST TERMS PLS STOP INTERACTING WITH ME IF YOU BELIEVE THIS THANK YOU - sincerely, an intersex person who actually listens to transfems (including intersex transfems) (no not tme people with pcos/ncah/whatever, you know what i mean)

anyways.. here's the original post:

i regularly see people talk about whether pcos should be considered an intersex condition or not.. and tbh, regardless of what you think, pcos (specifically the symptoms they call virilisation) is treated like an intersex condition in practice anyway

even if they don't actually use the word intersex, so many of the symptoms are completely harmless and instead they're defined by the fact that they're "male" characteristics on a "female", if that isn't intersex then idk what is! having the "wrong" sex characteristics according to society is how intersex is (or at least should be) defined

like hell even the term hirsutism on its own literally only exists because of intersexism, the literal definition of it is "male pattern hair growth"... that's literally just it, the only thing that makes it a "symptom" is being the wrong person to have this kind of hair growth

while intersexness does centre around physical traits, imo it's the way society treats us and reacts to our bodies that actually makes us intersex (as an identity and community), if i wasn't treated this way growing up (and still treated this way today!!), i would probably not have identified as intersex, i think it's important to keep this in mind when looking at how people decide what an intersex condition even is

so with that logic, it makes perfect sense for hyperandrogenic pcos to be considered intersex, the only reason why it isn't is because society benefits from having a large group of women to put below other women while still telling them they have a chance to be "normal" like other women, as long as they put the effort into it.. (by making them spend thousands on stuff like hair removal, weight loss, fertility treatments, anti-androgens, surgery, etc!)

them identifying as intersex in any way completely breaks the illusion, it separates the "male" features from the actually bad symptoms, people would start to question why they have to put themselves through so much effort rejecting their bodies just to be seen as normal, and ofc society does not want that, especially because it makes a lot of money to keep things this way

even the way pcos is diagnosed reeks of this, you could easily be diagnosed with it even if your only problem is high androgens and nothing else (i've been told to get checked for pcos for the crime of: simply having more testosterone than average)

if you tell someone their perfectly harmless features are actually part of this scary disorder that needs treatment then it suddenly becomes a lot easier to manipulate them into finding a "cure" for these harmless features, the pathologisation of intersex features is a huge part of what makes intersex an identity in the first place..

not only that, but ncah (a condition that's more commonly accepted as intersex) is almost always misdiagnosed as pcos, if pcos can look almost exactly like an intersex condition, it is probably intersex. i most likely have ncah, not pcos, and it's treated as almost the same especially before it's actually diagnosed as ncah

and if nothing else, if the intersex "symptoms" of pcos could somehow be found out at birth, and could be "fixed" by a surgery, they absolutely would do it (something that so many intersex children have to suffer through), the only reason why they don't is because they can't, if that isn't enough proof on its own that pcos can be intersex then idk what is!!

the experience of being pathologised for having the "wrong" sex characteristics (both primary and secondary) is what makes intersex a community and grouping these "symptoms" in with actually bad symptoms under one syndrome is not by accident!

[tiredofthehumanlife]

So we’re all trans?

Barbie dolls: t4t!Jegulus x genderfluid!reader

Word: 3.3k ish

Summary: James and Regulus are nervy to tell you they’re trans while you are nervy to tell them you’re genderfluid and hilarity ensues

Warnings: Lightning McQueen, Shrek, Spiderman, and Peter Pettigrew mentioned, James is a kale freak, I talked like a lot most of which was not necessary, mentions: shots (testosterone), getting vaccinations, cheating, domestic homicide, medieval torture, your experience with genderfluidity(it’s going to be a word for today) might not align with mine but i kept it as vague as possible, a bit of a Disney channel moment but just like ignore the cringe baby it's fine it adds character, you place your hands on your hips but it's not like “you place your tiny baby girl hands on your voluptuous hips in girly frustration” yk so it works for whatever gender you're feeling🩷, insecure feelings in gender identity, everybody is worried the other is going to break up with them bc they’re trans so it's like hypothetical transphobia, you wear pants, jamie used once, yeah i think thats it please read the author’s note i want to cover all my bases to make sure this doesn’t have unintended messages right okay cool

A/n: I'm going to use the small text bc I'm going to be yapping a lot so I apologize to all the bad vision freaks(I can't see two inches in front of my face) right so I just wanted to say that both James and Regulus had medically assisted transitions (that feels like a right phrasing) reg had top surgery, James takes puberty blockers, and they both take T I just wanted to say that you do not have to take anything or do anything to be valid in your trans identity some people can’t afford surgeries and some people don't want them and everybody is valid (except for those people who are like “me when the trans guy with triple d’s gets mad I mess up their pronouns” they can suck my 12-foot long dick) I just wanted to say this because I didn’t want someone to read this and feel like they don’t count because they didn’t follow these two rich boys’ paths okay awesome

request: right here dickhead

James and Regulus have been dating for years. Strangely enough, they had been taking care of each other since day one. It was truly simple, once they moved in together their acts of service quadrupled. Suddenly James was sitting with Regulus on the edge of the bathtub, gently removing his chest tape. Regulus decided chest tape wasn’t enough, and James was reaching the shelves over Regulus’ elbow height for him. James became a supreme master at making soup while Regulus was in recovery from his top surgery. Eventually, Regulus was healed and extremely joyous. He was wandering around the house with his shirt off just for the hell of it. Regulus was prancing down the porch stairs to get the mail in only his James’ plaid pajama pants and cat slippers.

James was lucky enough to have loving accepting parents. He started puberty blockers early on and eventually, he swapped them out for testosterone so he neglected the want and or perceived need for a top surgery. James, after having years of practice, lost his uneasiness towards the injections. Regulus, however, was extremely terrified of needles. As a kid, he was practically breaking Sirius’ hand from his grip when he needed to get his vaccinations. Before he met James, Sirius would do them for him. Now, Regulus would stand in the kitchen covering his eyes with his forearm and turning away as far as he could. James would inject the shot as fast as possible, rewarding Regulus’ bravery with 80 kisses on his cheek and ice cream.

They were out to their friends, but it wasn’t exactly something mentioned frequently. It didn’t really matter all that much. Barty would call you a dickhead no matter what was in your pants. Marlene was similar but her go-to insult was ‘ bitchey-bitch-bitch-stupid-face’, friends only of course. You can’t have that insane unfiltered language out with strangers. Lily loved everyone, closing off every single phone call with ‘I love you’ even if it was customer service.

Peter was similar although instead he thanked people by saying ‘I appreciate you’. He once mentioned how he was working at a restaurant having a horrible day. He was yelled at more than thrice in a row, and he was certain if someone called him one more bad name he’d burst into tears. Then this woman came in, who appeared to have met the first dinosaur, and she was so kind to him. When she left she said ‘Thanks, baby. I appreciate you.’ And he sobbed in the freezer. Peter immediately engraved it into his dictionary. All their friends knew, but it was like knowing their favorite letter; it’s nice to know but that information doesn’t really come into play very frequently.

Then they met you. Regulus had dragged James to the bookstore. James loved going to the bookstore with Regulus. Regulus liked wandering for hours. He liked scanning the backs and summaries inside the front cover. James liked the bookstore mainly because Regulus liked it. He also liked looking through the cookbooks and workout guides. Sometimes when the story was empty he’d head towards the kid section, squeeze himself into one of the tiny plastic chairs, and do the puzzles. Eventually when Regulus would finish looking, a hefty stack in his arms, he’d find James. Usually, James would brag about how ‘those dumbasses’ had nothing on him. He finished eight puzzles in under a minute. Regulus would remind him the puzzles had six pieces each.

That time was different though. James had looked through all the cookbooks, finding one he liked. James looked at a few of the workout books, getting bored when they said something he didn’t agree with. He finished all the puzzles made for toddlers, and yet his boyfriend still wasn’t done. It was odd. So James went on a search for Regulus. He checked the poetry section first, no Regulus. He went to the fantasy next, no dice. James stalked up and down every aisle. His ears perched up at the sound of Regulus’ voice. It was a bit strange, Regulus didn’t usually volunteer to socially interact with anyone. James assumed he got trapped into small talk, rushing to his boyfriend’s rescue.

James found Regulus actually grinning with a stranger. James didn’t even know he could do that. Regulus was holding a book open, letting you lean to look over his shoulder. You both looked more than excited to finally meet somebody you could talk to about your favorite book. The more James looked at you, the more he understood why Regulus was so happy to talk to you. Delectable was a nasty word to use to describe a person so James opted instead for extremely stunning. Eventually with Regulus’ book opinions and James’ cheesy flirting, their couple grew into a throuple.

Your relationship is a little fresh now. In the way that you had no idea what either of their pajamas looked like but you knew exactly where their spoons were. James and Regulus weren’t entirely sure if you would accept them with open arms if they shared every part of them, including their favorite letter. They stayed silent for the most part, letting you stay ignorant just this once.

You were harboring your own skeleton in the closet. You haven’t told them you are genderfluid, and you haven’t told them how many frustrations that caused. You love who you are but for fucks sake could it be just a smidge easier? Your secret was weighing on you. It was all you could think about while you were out with your two amazing boyfriends. If you told them they could disprove and break up with you on the spot. They could also accept you but an overthinking mind never seems to be optimistic.

Your boyfriends seemed to notice your mood change, worried now you might’ve put together a couple of context clues and realized maybe they aren’t cis. What if now you were disgusted by them? James squashed that idea when Regulus voiced it, though it still lingered with him. Regulus knew James was just trying to relieve him of his worries but Regulus still appreciated his attempt.

Finally, the camel’s back broke and you were heading straight to their shared home. It was edging towards their bedtime the sun had set a couple of hours ago, fully relying on their warm lamps. They both had changed into their matching pajamas; plaid pants and Spiderman t-shirts. Regulus had slippers with tiny cat ears on the top and little cat faces on them. James however had Lighting McQueen slippers that lit up when he took a step. They were cute when he first got them but the novelty wore off rather quickly and now Regulus complains that James’ shoes give him a headache. Regulus settled into the barstool behind the kitchen counter with his reward ice cream. James leaned against the counter across from him, slurping very loudly on his smoothie. James jutted it out to Regulus.

“Want some?” Regulus looked up at James with a raised eyebrow.

“James, if I ever say I want some of your kale and banana smoothie, I give you full permission to assassinate me. Preferably quickly.” James pouted, pointing the lip of his glass back towards himself. Regulus rolled his eyes and took another bite of his ice cream.

“You could’ve just said no, also what did we say about suicide jokes?” James said, pointing over his shoulder at the small whiteboard on the fridge that said ‘6 days without a suicide joke’ in James’ handwriting. Regulus dropped his spoon back into his bowl, feeling particularly peeved at the unjust accusation.

“No, no. That’s not suicide, that's homicide. Two entirely different things. You can’t dock my streak just because you didn’t find the joke funny.” Regulus stuck his finger at James. James pushed Regulus’ finger away, leaning forward to steal a kiss from him. James pulled away, taking another sip of his smoothie as Regulus took another spoonful.

“No offense, babe, but I’m not sure if I know anyone who would find domestic homicide funny,” James added, with his straw still in his mouth. Regulus scoffed.

“That’s because you have lame friends,” James’ jaw dropped in offense at Regulus’ words. “Barty would find it hilarious, and Dorcas would find it mildly amusing.” Regulus retorted, grinning like he won their game. James pressed his lips together in disapproval. As he was opening his mouth to continue the verbal play fight, a knock on their door interrupted him. They both shared a look of confusion. James shrugged, leaving his smoothie on the counter to get to the door.

“See but Barty finds The Pear of Anguish funny,” James argued, his slippers lighting up on his way to the door.

“Barty’s a masochist, I’m not sure what you were expecting when you took him to that museum,” Regulus muttered into his bowl as James peered out the peephole. James hummed in a confused tone, opening the door to find you. You were not in pajamas and you looked rather stressed.

“Hey sweetheart, you okay?” James asked, worry lacing his words. He moved back letting you step into their foyer. Regulus looked up at James’ words. He doesn’t usually greet the door-to-door salesman like that. Regulus quietly joined you two at the door, he understood James’ greeting now but didn’t understand why you were visiting them looking so frazzled. You looked them both up and down, slightly pausing at James’ shoes. You shrugged your coat off, placing it on their coat rack. James found it at a thrift store and Regulus repainted it.

“You two look dashing.” You muttered as you straightened your shirt. Regulus glanced down at his pajamas, suddenly feeling slightly judged. He crossed his arms over the very large print of Spiderman.

“James picked it out,” Regulus whispered, trying to ignore the stinging on his cheeks. James’ chest puffed out, taking a wider stance and pulling at the end of his shirt so you can see the picture better.

“Aren’t we cute?” James said, confidence making him smile brighter. You nodded.

“Yeah, gotta love Spiderman.” You squished your lips together. Even with your words seeming relaxed your nerves were spreading to Regulus. James seemed to taste the uneasiness in the air.

“Are you alright? If this was planned I would’ve gotten you a shirt.” James reached over, rubbing Regulus’ shoulder to give him silent support. You nodded, staring at the ground to take in a deep breath.

“Right yeah. Sorry to drop in on you guys, but I think we need to talk.” You said, giving yourself a breath to steady yourself. Regulus felt his stomach jump into his throat. It felt tighter now, his heartbeat reaching his ears. Regulus glanced over to James, finding he was already looking. James gave him a tiny smile that Regulus could tell was forced.

“Yeah absolutely.” James brightly said, gesturing towards the living room. You lead the way. Regulus moved his hands to the back of his neck, trying to soothe himself. James noticed, grabbing both of Regulus’ shoulders to rub them, waddling behind Regulus. James kissed Regulus on his temple. Regulus reminded himself that even if what he thought was happening was happening, he’d still have James in the end.

Regulus and James settled on the couch, holding onto each other for emotional support. You started pacing in front of them, walking from one end of James’ favorite rug to the other. James intertwined his fingers with Regulus’, letting Regulus fiddle with them in his lap. It was better than biting his nails. ‘I should get a whiteboard for nail biting’ James thought to himself before zoning back in on your rapid pacing. Regulus’ eyes were following you with panic behind his head movements. Your anxiety was dripping out through your hands, slapping them together over and over again. James was starting to worry that Regulus would get hypnotized moving his eyes back and forth like that.

“You know, darling. I learned the hard way that anxious thoughts are like burps; better out than in.” James offered, hoping it would soothe you a little. You paused your pacing behind the coffee table, turning to face James.

“Did you just quote Shrek?” James clenched his jaw, feeling caught. James saw Regulus turning his head slowly to look at him out of the corner of his eye. James let out a nervous and breathy chuckle.

“It’s good advice,” James muttered, slipping further down the couch. You sighed and faced them both. You held your hands behind your back. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Right okay so I need to come clean to you two, I’ve been hiding something for a while now. It’s been stressing me out a lot and I think I would rather risk our relationship than have to go through this alone.” Regulus squeezed James’ hands tighter. James had flashbacks to Regulus getting a shot at the doctor's office.

“Is there another person?” Regulus abruptly said, cutting into your steady breathing time. You looked up at him shocked, quickly shaking your head.

“Oh, no, no, no. No. I would never do that. I would never cheat on you guys.” You quickly rushed out, like Regulus might implode if you didn’t get it out fast enough. James moved to make a fast joke, pushing a small bit of the thick tension out the door with a broom.

“I haven’t been cheating. Have you, Reg?” James asked with a pained grin. Regulus knew his tactics, joining in to shove some of his anxiety behind a potted plant.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Regulus felt himself let out a strained laugh that came out more like a cat hacking up a hairball. You looked at them both with a worried look. Regulus wanted to settle your nerves, giving you his shining smile. Which was just him showing his teeth with dead eyes. You took a step back, holding both your hands up.

“Okay well don’t do that.” You whispered. Regulus relaxed his face. You shivered, shaking out your worries through your hands.

“I’m just going to say it. It’s a lot of words so maybe just sit quietly and let me spill.” You looked up at them both for their agreement. James sat up straighter, giving you all of his attention. Regulus kept his wide, slightly unsettling, eyes on you. You gave them both an awkward smile.

“I’m genderfluid. Which if you don’t know means my gender kind of flows through like all of them. I’m kind of worried about telling you this because I’m not entirely sure if you’ll still think of me the same.” Your voice cracked. You let out a breathy chuckle wagging your finger towards the ground.

“Oh you cheeky mother fucker, pull it together.” You whispered to yourself. You pushed your shoulders back, speaking again. “And it’s just a little frustrating and confusing because the whole time I’m just second-guessing myself. I just feel like no matter what I do I’m never a hundred percent confident in myself. It’s like I’m sitting there wondering-“

“wondering if you’re valid or if you made it all up?” Regulus asked, somehow making his eyes wider. You looked away from your fiddling hands to stare at him quizzically. You whispered the tiniest agreeance, James was shocked he still heard it. James decided to speak up and comfort your frustrations.

“It’s alright that you feel that way, darling. You’re entirely valid. We’ll love you no matter what, unless it’s murder-“

“Well-“

”No matter what. I want you to be your happiest, whether that be doing naked cartwheels in the backyard or making a fort under the kitchen table. Man, woman, something else, a nice mixture of both, I’m here for you. Confusion and frustration happen all the time it's alright. I think it’s important to just make sure you do whatever makes you happiest for that moment or day.” James explained. As he talked Regulus watched your shoulders sink with relaxation. Your anxious eyebrows slowly retreated back to their resting place, the worry lines on your forehead dissapeared again. James let out his own sigh, glad he got to relax his partner again.

“And on a different note, I’m trans myself so I support you on extreme levels,” James added, giving you a bright smile. Regulus scoffed next to him.

“Oh, you’re trans? Not we’re trans?” James clutched his pearls, reeling back to look at Regulus.

“Well, I’m not going to come out for you. I don’t know if you’re comfortable doing that. It’s not my story to tell.” James said, shaking his head at Regulus. Regulus muttered a few choice words at James under his breath as he turned back to you. You looked to have a million math problems in your head.

“So if we could just wrap back around, you’re both trans?” Regulus and James nodded at your question in sync. You sighed, looking around the living room. You placed your hands on your hips in exasperation.

“Just to clear everything up for those at home, I’ve walking around for weeks anxious up the wazoo for absolutely no reason?” Regulus and James glanced at each other.

“yeah.”

“it appears that way, yes.” Regulus watched you groan and drop your head in your hands.

“To throw my two cents in, it’s totally valid to feel a little discombobulated. Gender is hard and often it’s difficult to figure out what you’re truly feeling, it took me years to realize I wasn't nonbinary. It’s entirely okay that you feel like this.” Regulus said, releasing James’ hand from his grip. James’ shook his hand out, finally getting feeling back in his fingers. You gave Regulus a small smile.

“Regulus, love of my life, can I please eat your face?” Regulus smiled at you, nodding his head. You quickly made your way around the coffee table to lightly peck Regulus’ lips. You moved past Regulus to kiss James as well. You squeezed yourself between the two of them. Regulus rested his head on your shoulder, moving your hand to play with in his lap. James pressed himself against you, smushing his cheek against yours.

“I'm the love of your life too, right?” James asked, his words rolling onto your cheek. You hummed.

“Yes, Jamie.” Regulus interrupted your sweet moment.

“James, do me a favor and go get my ice cream.” James let out a loud gasp, jumping out of his seat and jogging towards the kitchen.

“My smoothie!” You wrapped your arms around Regulus, kissing his temple.

“I wasn’t insulting your shirt before, by the way.” You whispered into his hair. Regulus nodded against your arm.

“Is his smoothie worthy of stealing?” You muttered as quietly as you could so James didn’t hear you. Regulus let out a snort.

“Oh fuck no.” Regulus said before adding “I’ll give you a few bites of my ice cream.” You gasped, smacking a kiss to the apple of his cheek.

“You’re so kind.” Regulus groaned at your words.

“Not really being kind. It’s my reward for being brave, as James said. And I know that was probably scary for you so technically speaking you do deserve some of it. It has nothing to do with me it's just like the rules.” Regulus said, trying to cover up that he might actually have a heart.

“Right, the rules.” Regulus hummed. James soon returned with his smoothie and shockingly two bowls of ice cream. He handed one to you and one to Regulus. You three sat on the couch as you finished your sweet treats and smoothie. Even though technically speaking your reward was already given to you, Regulus’ spoon would randomly stick out toward you. You thanked Regulus with a peck on his cheek after each spoonful. Eventually, when his bowl was empty your spoon would jut out towards him, he was quite brave coming out to you today. James seemed to notice the food sharing, offering up a sip of his smoothie. You and Regulus both grimaced at him in sync before turning back to your bowl.

[crippled-peeper]

how did you manage to get testosterone when you were 16? In my experience even having parents who are ok with me socially transitioning, they are still very very wary of medical transition ("its experimental") even though they're not transphobic otherwise

This was all ten years ago but I will tell you what I remember. My parents had just gotten divorced and neither of them were necessarily transphobic. My father didn’t want me to start T until 18 but my mom was on my side in wanting it sooner. In the state I was in back then (California) the informed consent process was to get a letter from a licensed therapist, have a physical & meet the prescribing doctor in person & the consent of one parent

My mom drove us 2.5 hour a direction to get to the nearest prescribing doctor who could do it, which was at a health clinic in a distant city, and the process took 2-3 months. But i did my first shot at 16 and I was pretty happy about the changes almost immediately

once I was first prescribed it, I also had to move away to New Mexico. Thankfully they had similar laws there, and coincidentally my dad is diabetic so his endocrinologist took over prescribing it for me for the next few years. He wasn’t happy about me starting T at first and got angry at my mom for letting me start T but he got over it pretty quickly and today is a pretty good ally to not only me but other trans people also

My mom unfortunately isn’t around anymore but she supported my transition until the very end and some of her last words were about her children, her two daughters and one son. We didn’t always get along and had troubled history but she was never transphobic thankfully and I’ll always be grateful for that

[loverhymeswith]

Let's Be Alone Together || Part Three

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: After being rejected by Tommy, your attempt at avoiding him fails miserably

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death, smoking, angst, Tommy being Tommy

A/N: When I originally planned this chapter, it was going to be much longer, but I ran out of time before going on vacation and I didn’t want to leave you all hanging. Thank you so much for all the love and support for this story. There are at least 2 more chapters on the way. Shout out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta-read and invaluable suggestions as always 💖

Masterlist

The bookmakers on Watery Lane is eerily quiet. Silent in fact, which is a rare occasion indeed. The building is usually a hive of activity, the air full of cigarette smoke and testosterone, of quick tempers and over-inflated egos. 

But today, it’s just you.

Today, the Shelbys are at the races. 

Despite invitations from both Polly and Arthur, you had been firm in your decision to stay behind after taking the morning’s bets. As far as the family is concerned, you have a migraine. However, the truth is that after Tommy’s behaviour the other night, you have been mindful to stay out of his way. 

Spending the afternoon taking stock in the betting shop seemed like a far safer option than being in the vicinity of Tommy Shelby and his expensive suit on race day. The longer you go without seeing him, the easier it is to convince yourself that his rejection - his dismissal - doesn’t hurt. That you’re not ashamed and embarrassed for suggesting that you might have wanted him to come home with you. Even if at the time it had been true.

The longer you go without seeing Tommy Shelby, the easier it is to convince yourself that you don’t want him.

Hearing the telltale sound of the front door unlocking, you look up from your desk, a jolt of panic nudging you out of boredom. With the exception of Finn and the handful of loyal foot soldiers tasked with keeping watch over the Shelby empire, everyone else is at Cheltenham.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear”, you mutter under your breath when a pair of piercing blue eyes meet yours across the room.

Missing either the irritation in your voice or the comment altogether, Tommy strides into the room, a cigarette resting between his plump lips as he surveys his surroundings. “Any trouble this morning?” he asks around the cigarette.

You shake your head. As far as race days go, today has been particularly quiet. By now, the local gambling men know better than to cause trouble on Shelby soil.

Tommy hums under his breath, starting to remove his dark woollen coat and jacket. You ignore the lump forming in your throat as you realise this isn’t a flying visit. Something or someone has brought him back to Small Heath. 

It proves a struggle to return your attention to the ledger before you. Your eyes are unwillingly drawn away from the small handwritten numbers, focusing instead on Tommy as he sinks into the chair opposite. An expensive suit indeed, judging by how perfectly the clothes are cut to his powerful body. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Tommy observes, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray between you. When you don’t reply, he adds, “And now you’re ignoring me, eh?”

Rising to the bait, you level him with your best attempt at a Shelby glare. “What do you want, Tommy? Haven’t you got someplace better to be? I thought your horse was racing today.”

As usual, Tommy doesn’t respond immediately. A heavy silence stretches out as he watches you intently, his lips ever so slightly parted as he carefully considers his next words. 

Slowly, he blinks. “We need to have a talk.”

“Sounds serious,” you scoff. But the humour is a front. In reality, your heart is pounding, your fingers clenching the folds of your skirt beneath the desk as you wait for him to continue.

After another beat of silence, Tommy reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a roll of notes. You follow his hands, calloused and scar-flecked, as he stretches across the table, placing the money in front of you.

“What’s this?” You raise a brow, discomfort rapidly spreading through your stomach as you try to make sense of the gesture. “You know I’m not one of your whores. The other night…”

You trail off when a burst of white-hot anger flashes through Tommy’s blue eyes. Then it’s gone just as quickly and he clears his throat. “That’s why I want you to take the money.” When it becomes obvious he’s not making any sense, he elaborates. “You don’t belong here.”

Your heart sinks as his words register, recognising this for the familiar Tommy Shelby ploy that it is: throw money at a problem until it goes away.

“You’re trying to get rid of me.” 

Tommy blinks again, his mouth a thin line neither confirming nor denying the accusation.  It’s a struggle, but you manage to temper down the hurt, matching his stoic expression. “Why?” 

Tommy lights another cigarette before replying. It gives you time to run through the myriad of reasons why he wouldn’t want you around. Eventually, you settle on the most obvious explanation: the other night, you overstepped the mark. He simply doesn’t want you.

A cloud of smoke escapes his parted lips as he leans forward in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours. “Birmingham isn’t safe.”

“Oh come on, you think I don’t know that?” You shake your head, fighting the sting of angry tears. “It’s been two years since you brought me here. For my safety, if I recall. A promise to a dying man… Do you intend to break that promise now?”

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticks, the only indication your words have any effect on him. “Times are changing. We have more enemies now. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“You’ve always had enemies, Tommy. So why now? Who are you really trying to protect me from?”

Yourself?

The unspoken answer hangs in the air between you, the heaviness an indication of its truth. Tommy blinks rapidly, his mouth closing firmly as he inclines his head. You’ve hit a nerve. “I hear Sheffield is nice.”

“Sheffield?” You laugh bitterly. “You’re not even going to give me a choice, are you? Let me guess, you have a family lined up for me to go and stay with. People - friends - who will keep an eye on me and report back when the guilt becomes too much for you to bear. You’ve probably arranged a husband for me while you’re at it.”

“You’ve got me all figured out, eh?” He leans back in his chair and takes a long drag of the cigarette. 

The haze of white smoke obscures him from view just long enough for you to compose yourself. “You really are a piece of work, Thomas. Did it ever cross your mind to consider what I might want?”

As his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, you force yourself to maintain eye contact. Looking away would be a sign of weakness and you can’t afford to let your guard down around him. Not again. 

“And what is it that you want?” he asks, too patiently.

At the end of your tether, you push back your chair and rise to your feet, fists clenched. “You want to know what I want?”

Tommy nods slowly, his sharp gaze following you as you round the table and come to stand before him. 

“I want to know what’s really going on inside your head. I want to know what changed since we left the restaurant the other night. I want to know why you-”

“You deserve someone better.”

His abrupt admission startles you into silence and you stagger backwards, desperately trying to make sense of his words. You heard them the other night when he was referring to Lewis Powell, but now…

You wanted the truth but you hadn’t really expected him to offer it so willingly. And now that you have it, you’re not sure what to do with it.

Tommy stubs out his cigarette and rises smoothly. He’s standing before you, mere inches separating the two of you as his eyes rapidly dart across your face. Whatever semblance of control he had earlier is quickly slipping away. “You talk of being alone. Well, I feel the same way. And sometimes, I think that maybe we could be alone together.”

You let out a quiet breath, your head continuing to spin with every new revelation. “So what’s the problem?”

“You know what the problem is.” Tommy's eyes shutter, as if the thought alone causes him pain. “I made a promise to your husband.”

“Who is dead,” you snap, despising the harsh words even as they rush from your mouth. “He left me. And now you’re going to do the same thing. Don’t think for one minute that you’re being an honorable man by sending me away, Thomas Shelby. You’re just a coward. You’re a -”

Before you can finish, Tommy reaches out, cupping your jaw with his large, warm hands. Firm but gentle, he forces you to look into his eyes, the action so intimate, so unlike the Tommy you have come to know. 

“You’re right.” He smooths his thumbs over the tears now freely running down your cheeks. “You're right. But only when it comes to you.”

Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Unbound

Part 8 - Take Me To Church

Series Summary - Not having a mating bond didn't stop the love Azriel and Celeste have for each other or their commitment. When an unknown magic lingering from Celeste's past causes her to lose all memories of the last century, will they be able to rebuild their life without a bond tethering them together?

Word Count - 5k

Warnings - references to injuries, references to past abuse/imprisonment, suicidal thoughts, memory loss, all of the angst

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Through a tug on her mating bond, Nesta was informed that Cassian and Azriel were outside the bounds of Velaris but would return within the hour. Seeing as they needed the Illyrian’s assistance in getting up to the House of Wind, they returned to Celeste’s townhouse to wait for their arrival. After changing her work worn clothes and splashing some cold water on her face, Celeste made her way downstairs to the living room to join Nesta. 

“Don’t you get tired of having to rely on Cassian to get you in and out of your house?” 

“Not really. I honestly spend more time there than anywhere else. I have a sentient house and a full library. Why would I want to leave?” She laughed softly.

Nesta had previously told her all about the wonders of the House of Wind. Celeste was actually very interested in exploring the library located there, although that wasn’t the reason for her request today.

The sound of the front door latch being pushed open grabbed her attention as Nesta stood to meet the males as they walked through the door.

“Nes, my love,” Cassian greeted her with open arms attempting to pull her into an embrace, but she placed a hand firmly against his chest and held him at a distance.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Ugh, you stink. Like males and testosterone.”

“Normally that would elicit a different reaction,” he laughed with a wink and wiggling his eyebrows.

Celeste came to stand directly before the door they had just entered, her eyes flaring wide for a moment taking in the sight. Half of Cassian’s face was taken up with a swollen bruise, from eye to jawline. Spots of blood had been half heartedly cleaned from around his nose and lip. Nesta didn’t seem to be surprised in any way at the state of her mate. Scanning her eyes over to the other side of the doorframe Celeste observed that Azriel was sporting a few injuries himself. 

“Don’t look so shocked sweetheart,” Cassian said to Celeste, grabbing her attention again. “Just some males having a little bonding time that’s all. No hard feelings, right brother?”

Cassian reached around Nesta to tap Az’s shoulder with the back of his hand. Az’s stoic face shifted into a forced half smile. “Yeah,” he responded.

Celeste took them both in, darting her eyes from male to male. It appeared they did this on purpose to each other.

Was there an argument? What were they fighting over? Who started it?

The revelation from just a short while ago began to wash away as that uneasy suspicious feeling began bubbling up again in her gut. 

“Normally you’d play my nurse maid,” Cassian directed at Celeste. Her thoughts fizzled before she could let them run loose. “But no worries, Nes can take care of me even if the healing part looks a little different than what you normally do.” 

“Seriously Cas, enough.” Nesta chided with a swat to his shoulder. “Celeste wants to visit the library temple. I told her we would go this afternoon.”

“Yeah, sure.” Bending down to scoop Nesta up in his arms, he smiled. “Hold on tight love.”

Maybe it was the information overload of the day or the shock at seeing both males walk through her door injured, but Celeste hadn’t even considered what getting to the House of Wind entailed until now. Realizing she would have to be carried in flight had her frozen in place and it wasn’t the flying that worried her. 

Realizing her hesitance, Nesta elbowed Cas to let her down. “We don’t have to go if you aren’t comfortable. We can do this another time.”

“No,” Celeste said before thinking. The need that had cropped up at the apartment building persisted. “No, I want to. Just –” she took in a shaky breath.

Azriel hadn’t moved to assist her in preparation for departure. He hadn’t even moved from his position by the door since arriving back home. Glancing at Cassian again she decided he was the preferable option.

“Could I fly with you?” She asked timidly.

“Yeah.” Cas answered soothingly. “Yeah. Of course.”

There was something easy about Cassian that appealed to her sense of security. Quick with his humor and always teasing his loved ones had done wonders in comforting some small part of Celeste’s worry in this new-to-her world. The brief flash of hurt that crossed Azriel’s gaze went unnoticed by everyone but Nesta. As they all prepared to leave, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder with a consoling look of her own.

The act of allowing Cas to handle her body to carry her for flight already had her teeth on edge, but it was the jolt of kickoff that nearly shattered her already fragile nervous system. Celeste squeezed the arms around his neck involuntarily as she screwed her eyes shut tightly.

“Don’t worry. I won’t drop you, I promise.” Cas said with a chuckle in his voice.

“I’m not afraid of heights.” Celeste responded firmly, still refusing to open her eyes.

He allowed the chuckle to leave his throat this time. “I know.”

Easing open one eye and then the other, Celeste allowed herself to take in the view from their still ascending position. It really was a magnificent view, the city spreading out behind them as they veered towards the hillside. This time when she closed her eyes, it was only to focus her senses on the feel of the wind against her face. 

“I used to fly, you know,” she spoke softly into the wind, barely enough to be heard. “Before my wings were – taken.”

“I know,” Cas answered, nearly as inaudible as her. If anyone could imagine the horror of losing their wings, it was him. This time it was his grip that tightened slightly against her. 

Moments passed in quiet before she spoke again. “Did Azriel do that to you?” She nodded towards his face as she turned to face him. 

“To be fair, I did bait him into it,” he answered matter of factly.

Her brows pinched together in a look of disgust. “Why? Why would you want someone to do that to you?”

“I didn’t exactly want to do it. I don’t normally desire to have my beautiful face rearranged.” Cassian smiled as he spoke before his face turned serious again. “But it was for the best. He needed to get out of his head for a while.”

Celeste knew the feeling of being wrapped up inside her own head a little too well. The desire for escape from her thoughts was always a tempting one but violence had never crossed her mind as the answer. 

“And taking it out on his friend like a punching bag was the best way to go about that?” Her remark was snide with disbelief.

“We are Illyrian, Celeste. Born and bred to be warriors and soldiers. Pushing our bodies to the limits is what we know. Sometimes it’s the only way to get those thoughts to calm long enough to sort them out rationally.” Cas watched her face carefully as he noticed her revulsion. “We know our limits though. We know when it's needed and also when it's undeserved. None of us here would ever initiate something like that without knowing the other was willing or able to take it. I’d rather Az take it out on me than himself.”

“And that’s what he would have done? Take it out on himself?” Her eyes were searing straight into his, the answer she expected lingering between them.

“Yes. That’s exactly what he would have done. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Az tends to be a pretty private male. He would have retreated into himself and let those thoughts eat him from the inside. I didn’t want to watch that happen again. He’s been through a lot. But he would never hurt you, Celeste.”

A sudden pang of guilt hit her. Of course this last week or so had been hard for him too. It wasn’t just her life that had been completely upended, but his as well. The life he shared with her – as her husband. 

“It has been a hell of a week,” she admitted meekly as she cast her gaze toward her knees.

“It certainly has. I meant he’s been through a lot in general though. In his life. Before now, like in his past.”

Celeste met his stare once more as he continued. “He’s been through a lot of terrible stuff. Like you.”

The pause before those last two words told Celeste exactly what he meant. Cassian’s tender knowing look at her made her squirm a bit in his arms as she looked away again, her thumb beginning their familiar anxious path between her fingers. The silence lengthened between them as she felt them begin their descent. 

“Is that what happened to his hands?” 

She didn’t need to see the look on his face or hear the words that didn’t come as they touched down to know the answer. They landed on the wide terrace of the House of Wind without the answer ever coming. 

Nesta and Azriel quickly followed suit, landing just a few feet away. The mates fell into step side by side as they made their way to lead them into the house. With a sideways glance at the remaining male, Celeste measured her distance and followed behind. Az took the cue and left a wingspan of distance between them as he too followed. 

Nesta rambled on animatedly as they walked through the winding halls that carried them lower into the house, pointing out interesting things along the way. Celeste wasn’t really listening, focused instead on the measured steps beside her as she stole glances here and there. Azriel’s face was still stoic, but also looked measuredly more tired than it had at the townhouse. She briefly wondered at the conversation that must have taken place on his flight over here with Nesta. Deciding she would pester her friend about it later, she focused her attention on the doors they were approaching. 

The library was buried deep under the house proper, carved into a spiraling hollow from the mountain itself. The enormous stone doors that stood before them were obviously much too heavy for even the Illyrian’s that accompanied them but they slid open of their own accord, no doubt controlled by that mysterious magic the house carried.

Inside Celeste could see the beginning layers of the massive shelves before they dipped into a curving spiral further below them. The sheer amount of volumes fascinated her and she very much wanted to spend hours exploring them. Not today though, today had already been long enough and the task she had set herself to complete still weighed heavy on her mind. 

The group stopped short of the hewn desk situated at the library entrance where every visitor had to pass before entering. A tall slim figure, clad in pale blue robes and adorned with a hood stood sentry behind it. As they lingered, Cassian excused himself and headed back the way they came while Nesta slipped next to Celeste with a hand to her elbow.

“We just need to get Clotho’s permission before heading down to the temple.” She relayed as Azriel stepped forward towards the desk.

“But isn’t it your house?” Celeste asked curiously.

“The library belongs to the priestesses. I have no say in who comes and who goes from here. Only Clotho decides. It’s for their safety.”

She watched as Azriel gave a demure nod to Clotho. His voice carried as a low murmur to her ears, the words indistinguishable. Nesta had given her the history of how the library came to be and the reason why all the priestesses were here.That was part of the reason Celeste had requested to come to this temple instead of one of the others within the streets of Velaris. It felt like the right place to be for what she felt she needed to do. 

Clotho’s answer came from a self writing pen as she slid the slip of paper over the desktop to Azriel. Picking it up to read, that stoic face crumpled for a fraction of a second. Clotho reached out from the sleeves of her robe and placed one gnarled hand on top of a scarred one of his own. With another nod he turned and stepped toward the two of them waiting.

“What did she say?” Celeste said, eyeing the paper still in his hand. 

He didn’t voice an answer. Instead he reached out, handing the note to her as his body slipped into the spot Nesta had slyly vacated. Taking the note in her own fingers she read it. 

She has always been welcome here. As have you.

Our prayers are with you both daily. 

The burning sting of tears hit her eyes immediately. The thoughts she had been holding at bay for the past hours, crashed inside her like a wave. Knowing why the priestesses were secluded her, why she herself had come to find sanctuary here rolled through her as she held back a sob. The flash of her conversation with Cassian appeared like lightning in her mind. 

He’s been through a lot. Like you.

Celeste whipped her head towards Azriel as the thought materialized, his eyes landing on hers briefly before staring down at the floor. Something akin to reverence, something sacred in nature seemed to settle within her before her thoughts ran away with her. The priestesses, Azriel, herself. They had all endured something no one should ever have to endure and yet they all ended up here in the same place. They had all found sanctuary and some form of peace within the bounds of Velaris. The feeling that it had to mean something was nearly overwhelming as the memory of those woods raced through her again. She swore she could almost smell that night again before Nesta broke the moment.

“I’ll show you down before I head back upstairs. Maybe stay for dinner after?”

Celeste just gave a non committal shrug as she smiled weakly and fell into step next to Nesta. It didn't take long before they reached the temple set outside the bounds of the library walls but still deep within the mountain itself. 

“Take as much time as you need.” Nesta said as she led them all down the middle aisle toward the dais. “You’ll have privacy as long as you want it. You know where to find me.” Her last comment directed towards Azriel with a nod as she left them to themselves. 

Celeste took in the simple space as she settled into the end of a short pew in the front row. 

“I’ll wait outside so you can have some privacy.” Azriel’s deep voice, even lowered, echoed in the small space. 

“No. No, it's fine. Really.” Celeste stammered. “I have a feeling we could both use some time here today.”

The small smile, though timid, nearly broke his heart. Casting a glance over her, Azriel noticed the fidgeting motion of her hand in her lap. Slowly, he lowered himself into the pew across the aisle shifting his wings nervously, still close but allowing her distance. If they reached out their arms across the aisle, their hands would have met in the middle. The picture that his mind created caused that godforsaken chasm in his chest to twitch. 

“I just don’t really know what to do here,” she went on, staring at her hand but continuing the motion. “I wanted to come today but the only times I’ve been in a temple before I was alone then too. I’ve never been to a service.”

“I’m sure Clotho would be happy to have you attend one if you’d like,” he offered.

She only nodded before falling silent for a long minute. 

“The only prayer I know is the one I heard at my mother’s funeral. It doesn’t really feel appropriate now,” her voice was soft and low, sending chills over Az’s skin. He pulled harder on the hold of his shadows as they attempted to cross the space between them.

With a shuddering shift of his wings, he whispered. “I’m sure whatever gods are listening won’t mind.”

“Are you religious?” she asked, lifting her head to meet his eye.

“In my own way,” he answered after a beat of measured thought.

Celeste dipped her chin before bringing her face forward scanning the relics of the temple upon the dias before her. None of them had any familiarity to her but they felt sacred all the same. 

“Where I was born, it was the practice to worship many different gods and goddesses. There was a different one for whatever prayer you wanted answered,” she paused briefly in thought. “I’m not sure which one I should be asking. I don’t really know exactly what I’m asking for, you know?”

Azriel stared at the strong outline of her profile against the background of the candles lighting the wall behind her. The slope of her nose, the rise of her cheekbones, the soft way her dark hair curled at her temple. “I’ve only ever worshipped one goddess myself,” he began slowly. “I think a prayer said to one is as good as a prayer said to many.” 

Celeste sat silently for a minute digesting his words before staring at her hands once more. As she dropped her head in assumed prayer, Azriel’s gaze slid to the floor in front of him, taking in the silence. He thought for a moment that maybe he should offer a prayer of his own before suddenly, the soft tones of Celeste’s voice rose. 

Gods above me, grant me serenity

In this the darkest hour of my journey home.

I appeal to you.

Mother maiden, grant me safety 

In your endearing arms that granted me life.

I appeal to you.

Gods on high, guide me to the river

In the slakes of my thirst for life

So that I may drink everlasting from its shores.

Mother holy, appeal for me

On behalf of my weary soul

So that I may find solace in your embrace

Forevermore.

The air around Az felt like it was crackling against his skin as he sat stone still, listening. His focus honed on the words just as much as on how she spoke them. The hitch of her voice that caught as she neared the end nearly stopped his pulse. 

Finishing her prayer, Celeste felt an odd sort of peace settle over her. The task she had come to complete, to find some sort of answer within the web of confusion in her mind, felt closer than it had been since waking from her seizure. The pull of desire that had carried her to this sacred place felt like it was the right choice, the first thing to feel right in this life she couldn’t remember.

“My mother’s funeral was one of the last times Tyrik allowed me outside,” she spoke up after a moment of silence. “Shortly after that he began locking me away.”

Azriel cleared his throat with a pained noise and turned to look at her. He remained quiet, knowing inherently this was something she needed. Her dark eyes met his across the aisle.

“He still allowed me out to go to the temple on his estate. I don’t really know why and it was only ever alone under heavy guard. Maybe he still had some twisted sense of morality. Or maybe he thought through piety would come obedience.” 

Az’s face twisted slowly into a tight pinch and his eyes glistened in the candlelight..

“Mostly I just sat in silence,” Celeste pulled in a shuddering breath as she stared into her lap once more. Her hand had stilled but now her thumb was trapped in her clenched fist. “But eventually I would repeat that prayer over and over, hoping maybe one day it would be answered. That maybe some benevolent god would hear me and grant an end to my misery.”

Azriel of course knew of the horrors that she had endured and the trauma it had caused, but this was the first time she had so clearly voiced her desire for death. He practically jumped from the pew in a bid to release some of the pent up energy building within him.

“Celeste,” he choked out past a sob as he paced and scrubbed a hand down his face, the tears flowing freely now.

“I know I don’t remember any of my life that came after,” she hiccuped on a choked sob of her own. “But I am here. I escaped. So maybe my prayer was answered after all.”

She was free. She had been shown nothing but kindness and comfort since waking up in this strange existence. Although she had often prayed for death thinking it was the only answer, she had been given a different option. 

What a waste it would be to spoil it. She thought.

But such a large part of that option she had been granted involved the male standing across the aisle from her and that still gave her pause.

“I just – I don’t really know what to do with myself in this life. To wake up with no memories of it and everyone around me knows more about myself than I do and then to find out that I have a husband.” Celeste brought her line of sight back to those golden hazel eyes that were still lined with tears. “It’s a lot to take in.”

The urge to comfort her was overbearing, his shadows pulsing outward in a bid to reach her. Instead he just nodded, afraid to make a move toward her in fear of startling her. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to behave around anyone. I don’t know how to behave around you.”

Azriel’s brows rose as his eyes widened. “You don’t need to behave a certain way,” his voice came out gravelly.

“I just meant that I don’t know what’s expected of me,” she stated.

“I don’t have expectations of you, Celeste. You don’t have to do anything to please me,” he said as his voice evened out. “You are the one in control here.”

The moment of quiet as she considered his words felt like an eternity.

“If it makes you feel better, I can leave,” Az offered solemnly. “I can come stay here with Cas –”

“Leave?” Celeste’s brows rose now. “Why would you leave?”

“I would do anything you asked me to do.” His stare was focused so intently upon her and a small flicker of some feeling licked at her gut.

His earlier words rang through her head. You are the one in control here. The idea was so foreign in her mind that she couldn’t believe it to be true. The desire to prove him wrong felt like danger but the need to know how far his words carried was stronger. 

“Anything?” 

“Yes.” 

“You would leave if I asked you to?” She asked, testing. 

“Yes.”

Celeste pushed a bit harder. “Even if I told you to never come back?”

Azriel’s face pinched once more as he swallowed. “Even then.”

“If I asked you to kill someone for me, would you do it?”

“Yes.”

Celeste felt herself rock back, the pew meeting her spine, as the bolt of shock shot through her. It wasn’t just his answer that did it but the speed at which he gave it. He hadn’t even hesitated to think about it. 

Noting the creep of fear blooming across her features, Azriel continued. “I also know that is something you would never ask of me without a damn good reason. You have never failed to find the good in everyone.”

Even in me. The thought finished silently in his mind. 

She swallowed hard before speaking again. “But would you still do it, even then? If I asked you to.”

“Yes,” he said in a rasping whisper. “If you asked me to do it then I know it is warranted.” 

Celeste sat there rigidly, shock still evident on her face, as she rolled everything around in her mind like a ball of wet clay she wanted to form. The flicker she felt from before had returned. It was something she couldn’t name and it made her feel strange and unsettled. It wasn’t fear. That would make more sense to her. Fear was familiar to her. Too familiar. This was something altogether different. This felt like – power. It sent a thrill straight to her bones. 

His willingness to commit these acts for her made her feel powerful. The moment however was brief before the doubt started creeping in.

If he would do that for me then what does he expect in return?

Azriel had remained quiet as she sat there. The stillness made his skin itch but he dared not move. His anxiety that he had scared her with his answers ate away at him. The urge to rush into defending himself was overwhelming as the shadows began a slow swarm trying to hide him. 

“Have you ever struck me in anger?” She had to know what the price of this power was. She knew he could lie straight to her face but there was something deep inside her that told her she would know. Something that power had touched and sparked to life. 

Even though the shock of her question lined his face, he didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed in a hardened stare. “Surely in a hundred years you’ve been angry at me at some point.”

“I have been frustrated with you, yes,” Azriel declared firmly. “But never truly angry.” 

Her next question followed quickly. “Not even when I disobey you?”

Azriel flinched. He knew why she was asking these questions. She needed certainty. She craved the reassurance that even if she pushed him she would be safe. He understood, but the thought still caused a sickening feeling in his gut.

“I have never required your obedience, Celeste.” His voice was thick with emotion. “You are free to make whatever choices you desire. And I have never once desired to harm you.” The thought of causing her pain, of bruising her body or causing blood to bloom across her skin, made that sickening feeling boil nearly to eruption.

Celeste remained silent but her eyes never left him, monitoring the emotions as they played across his face. He couldn’t read anything behind her stony expression. That wiggle of doubt at their lack of a mating bond made his gut roll with a different kind of sadness this time. If only he could feel her along that nonexistent thread between them, then he would know what to say or do.

She stood there contemplating, staring fixedly into the strikingly beautiful face before her. He had answered every question with words she wanted to hear. No part of her had given her pause to indicate that he was lying to her. But they were still just words. There was nothing tangible before her that showed her he would do everything he said. A thought rose to life in her mind along with a shred of fear. 

What if this is what pushed him too far? 

But she was tired of the fear sapping every ounce of her energy, so before it could take a winding hold, she shoved.

“You would do anything I asked?”

“Yes.”

“So if I asked you to kneel before –”

The hard crack of bone upon the floor cut off her words, the vibration coursing up her legs from under her feet. Azriel had taken one long stride forward before he slammed to the ground, not in the graceful kneel of a gentle male, but in a desperate plea. There before her he stayed perfectly still, eyes searing into her own, hands hanging limply at his sides. She stared back at him in wide eyed wonder, mouth agape. She couldn’t pull forth a single thought but shock. 

“The only goddess I have ever worshipped is you,” his voice broke the silence, the knot of held back tears audible in his voice. His large scarred hand moved deftly to his thigh without breaking his stare. Unsheathing Truth Teller, he laid it across his palms. “And if you asked me to sharpen my own dagger so that you could sacrifice me upon your altar, I would do that too.” He bent slightly, laying the shining dagger at her feet. “I would tear myself apart if I knew that it would bring you peace.”

Her mouth hung open as she continued staring. That thrill from before was now a roaring blaze inside her. Power. Never in her life had she felt powerful in any regard. Everything that she had been through seemed destined to beat her spirit down and defeat her. The inferno this power created stole her breath away. The lack of air started to make her head spin and with a shake she brought herself back to reality.

“Don’t leave,” she managed to eke out. 

Azriel’s head gave a confused shudder in response.

“It’s your home too. Don’t leave. I need to get used to sharing it with you.”

“You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, Celeste.” Azriel pleaded. “That’s what I’ve been try–”

“I want to,” she burst out. “I want to try.”

Azriel’s posture seemed to sag slightly in relief and his shadows broke their hold, but on his knees he remained. “I don’t know how to behave around you either,’ a soft pleading in his eyes. “I don’t want to frighten you.”

The shadows worked their way up her arms in a winding circuit and Celeste couldn’t help the small sob of a laugh that passed her lips. “Then we will try together.”

Just before they exited the doors of the temple to leave, Celeste couldn’t help but to pause one last time. Turning to look towards the dais once more she threw up one final prayer. It wasn’t elegant or practiced but it was earnest. 

Please, keep me safe. 

@mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @chairofchaos @pit-and-the-pen @prythianpages

@weekendlusting @sarawritestories @ceoofyearning @i-am-infinite @tothestarsandwhateverend

[cumulo-stratus]

Trypanophobia

Request- yes/no

Pairing- Spencer Reid x FtM!reader

Summary- spencer helps you with your T shots because your fear of needles is getting in the way <3

Warnings- Needles, discussions of fear of needles, Spencer being a pookie bear 🫶

A/N- thank you so much for the request lovie!! We love a good ftm reader ☺️🫶 and thank you everybody for all the love recently, I've had a lot of fun writing more often!!

wc- 1.1k

This wasn't supposed to happen. 

It wasn't supposed to go like this. 

Spencer was supposed to be there with you. 

The needle shook between your fingers, you could barely hold it with how intense your hands trembled. You tried to ground yourself by focusing on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, the perpetual sound of the whirring fan above you. But the shaking wouldn't stop, you even tried your other grounding strategies, recommended by Spencer's bubbly coworker, penelope. But you couldn't get the needle straight- and you probably wouldn’t. But you had to try. 

Ill tell you, trying didn't work- you couldn't stop spiraling at the idea of a sharp object piercing your skin. And now you were left with a still full of testosterone needle on the floor next to you, tear stained cheeks, and a boyfriend who wasn’t supposed to be home for at least another four or five hours. It was a sticky situation and you were left reeling at the fact that this would have to be done at some point. You didn't want the little testosterone you could afford to go to waste, after all, the FBI is not as lucrative of a career as one might think, and you don't get paid to go to university.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, and doubts to hear the sound of the door to your apartment opening and closing again. 

Spencer. 

Your saving grace Spencer, as he always was and always would be found you sitting on the floor of the tiny bathroom, leaning against the toilet and crying with a needle in your hand. Spencer's mind immediately went to the worst, his own fears and experiences flooding his memory- but then he saw the little bottle labeled ‘Testosterone’, and lots of other little labels he couldn't read. 

“Oh darling what happened? come ’ere.”

Spencer opened his arms and invited you to lean into him, just as you often did. but today you needed it more than most days. 

“I- I i’m sorry- i shou-“

“don’t apologize- we all have hard days, just tell me what happened okay love?”

you nodded, knowing there was no arguing when he shuts down your apologies like that. his hands started rubbing up and down your back in a soothing motion, trying to calm the occasional sob that still bubbled up. You took a breath before responding, trying not to let your voice crack when you spoke. 

“i tried spencer- i tried so hard to do it on my own- but I can't. And I know I should, it's just a needle it's not that big a deal! but- but-“

Words tumbled from your lips so fast that your brain could barely keep up, but you were interrupted again by Spencer pressing his lips to yours, effectively stopping you from rambling any further. When he pulled away there was a smile on his face, and you couldn't stop the small, sorrowful smile that slipped onto your lips when he kissed you. Spencer's kisses always did that, they always made you smile.

“slow down handsome, i'll do it for you it's okay,”

Spencer's tone was soft and caring, his voice never failed to quiet your thoughts. But you still couldn't bring yourself to look in his eyes- old habits die hard and accepting help from others, especially when you were vulnerable like this was a hard drug to kick.

“Are you sure? you don’t have to if you don't want to- don’t feel like you have to,”

Spencer just chuckled and picked up the needle from its fallen place on the white tile, his encyclopedic knowledge coming in handy, allowing him to know how to properly clean and handle the needle.

Spencer decided to lead you from the bathroom and onto the large, plush couch which offered much more comfort than the bathroom floor. He made sure your left leg was hanging off the couch and that your shorts were pushed up so he had access to it your upper, outer, thigh. All his motions were gentle and intentional, carefully trying to make the experience as comfortable as possible despite your fear of needles. 

Spencer could still sense the doubt in your eyes at the notion of him doing so much for you, but he put that to rest by taking your hand in his and placing a kiss on the knuckles and reassuring you, “You know i don't mind taking care of you, you know- i actually enjoy it. You're my prince, I'm gonna treat you like it-” Spencer had an almost bashful smile on his lips when he spoke, causing you to blush.

“i know- i just dont think im ever gonna get used to it,”

Your comment made Spencer chuckle as he did the final preparations for your injection, he was honestly more giddy then you were for your first shot. But Spencer had always been one of your biggest supporters in your transition.

“Alright I'm gonna count to three, and do the shot on three, ready?”

You nodded and steeled yourself, turning your head the other direction so you wouldn't have to look at it. With everything set, spencer began to count.

“1…2…3…”

Spencer poked you with the needle on two.

You yelped and turned to Spencer with an incredulous look on your face, mouth agape at his perceived betrayal. Your boyfriend smirked, leaving a peck on your cheek before saying, “ baby your muscles were gonna be tensed and it would’ve hurt more if I did it on three- I did it all out of love,”. The playful tone of Spencer's voice matched his expression, and you mirrored it- all notions of betrayal forgotten for Spencer's soft touch as he pulled you into his arms for a bone crushing hug. 

“I'm proud of you, you know. Trypanophobia affects 1 in 4 adults, and you have to do this everyday now! you’re so strong, even if you need some help sometimes..”

Spencer punctuates his statement with a meaningful kiss to your lips, holding your hands as he does. His palms radiate heat into your own slightly chilly extremities. Spencer was practically a human heater, and you always took advantage of it in times like this. 

You eventually pulled away for air with a smile, but it fell again and you leaned your head back with a groan. Immediately spencer was worried he’d done something wrong, but his worries dissipated when you spoke again,

“I'm gonna have to do this everyday! for the next who knows how long,”

You punctuated your complaint with a groan, your head flopping back forward to smush your face into your boyfriend's shoulder, muffling the groan. Spencer just chuckled and placed a small kiss on your scalp, and mumbling,

“And i'll be there for every one of them.”

The End

[theforesteldritch]

my ramblings on transness, intersex-ness, childhood and growing up

i'm four. somewhere around there. i tell my mom i hate my name. i want to change it to robin, i say. she tells me i can when i'm an adult. i tell her i want my name to be robin now, today. not later. i don't get to change my name. eventually i forget wanting to be robin, or drop it, or stop talking about it. either way, i don't ever get to be robin.

i'm five. i feel wrong. i feel out of place in my own skin, i think. i feel like a poor shadow of a girl. i decide i want to be a princess when i'm older. in my mind, to be a princess, i need to wear a dress every day, even when it snows and i have to stuff the skirt into my snowpants to play outside. princesses must feel like real girls. if i was a princess, i would stop feeling like a snake writhing around in my own skin, desperate to shed. i tell myself that. at recess, we play some running game. i don't remember which one. boys vs girls. i don't want to play anymore.

i'm six or seven. i still feel wrong. i've stopped trying to be a princess. i'm off in my own world a lot of the time. i use the classroom scissors to cut tiny holes in the sleeves of my long sleeve shirts or to clip off a tiny chunk of my hair. during carpet time, i try to touch the hair of the people in front of me without them noticing. my best friend tells me she's a tomboy. i say i want to be one too. she tells me im too girly.

i'm nine. i've sworn off dresses. i reject pink clothes and sequins. i'm wearing a hat that covers my hair and the school custodian calls me young man in the hallway. i don't know why i like that so much. i try to fit in with the boys. i play grounders with them every day after school. i don't know why, but they don't like me. they make fun of me. i still play grounders with them every day.

i'm twelve. the girls around me have started growing breasts and getting their periods. they start getting acne and thicker hair on their legs that they shave off. none of these things are happening to me. i ask my mom for a bra. i don't want to be the odd one out. i feel a mix of relief and shame when i get one. now, i can pretend i'm like them. now, i can try to hide the growing feeling gnawing inside me that something's wrong, that i'm a freak.

i'm thirteen. i still haven't gotten a period. my mom is convinced it'll come any day now. she got hers at eleven, i must be a late bloomer. she makes me bring pads to summer camp. they lie unused in my bags. she does this next year, too, and the next. i try to feel normal. i sneak and use my mom's razor to shave the baby hairs on my legs that still haven't darkened and grown thicker like anyone else. i want to feel normal.

i'm fourteen. the girls in the locker room stare at me with funny expressions on their faces when i say i haven't gotten a period after they badger that information out of me. i ask my parents for deodorant, like the other kids. they tell me no, i don't smell enough to need it. i steal my dad's old spice amber deodorant. it smells like how i want to be seen, i think. i read magnus chase. i see myself in alex, how his gender shifts and changes. for the first time, i have a word, maybe, to describe myself. i'm like her, i think. i'm genderfluid, maybe, like alex fierro. i test the waters and come out to some friends as genderfluid, and then a boy. but i find myself still feeling the same itch under my skin. i'm not just a man, or just a woman, maybe i'm both. i go back in the closet.

i'm fifteen. my doctor is starting to get concerned that i haven't gotten a period yet. he orders blood tests. they think the results are a mistake when they see the testosterone levels. i don't have the symptoms that should come with those levels. i should be going through a male puberty with those levels of t, but i'm not. they do them again. it comes back the same. i'm diagnosed with complete androgen insensitivity syndrome. i feel alone, and like a freak. my doctors want me to get a gonadectomy. i push away how i feel like a snake ready to shed my own skin for a moment. i can't search myself for my gender when i'm trying, i'm trying so hard to get through this. knowing that going on testosterone hrt wouldn't work on me, it would break me right now to admit to myself the truth i already know.

i'm sixteen. i'm sexually assaulted by my doctor while under anesthesia for a biopsy of my gonads. without any hint of remorse or even knowledge of what she did to me she tells my mom that my vagina is still very short, but not as short as she thought on an earlier examination. i will continue to see this doctor. i push her assault down. i push this down. i feel like a freak. i feel so alone. god, i feel alone.

i'm seventeen, i'm eighteen. i know now why i feel like a snake trying to shed a skin. i'm not just a woman, i'm not just a man. i'm both and something in between. but i'm too male to be a girl and too female to be a man. i'm not allowed to be either. i cry sometimes. over how unfair this feels. over how i'll never look in the mirror and see myself staring back. i don't know how i'll get through this. i have to get through this. i have to live for the kid who wanted to change his name to robin. the need to live for her weighs me down like atlas holding up the sky. i know that one day, my grip will slip and the sky will fall. but i'm trying desperately to make that day not today.

[hiskillingjar]

could we get some t4t law w a transmasc mc? I'm absolutely feral for any t4t btd content but ur transfem law portrayal has me in a chokehold I need that girl so bad

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!! YES WE CAN!!!!!!!!!!!!

1200+ words, t4t love is divine <3 love your local transfem today <3

You took in a low hiss through your teeth as the skinny needle slid into your skin, sinking deep into your flesh.

"That okay?" Law mumbled lowly from where she was kneeling at your feet, her hand (big, lovely, a little bony) on your soft hip as the other held the syringe tight and pressed the plunger down, injecting the testosterone fluid into you.

There was something phallic about the gesture, and had you pointed it out, she probably would have agreed with you (though might have chided you afterwards).

"Yeah. I just never get used to the sting, you know?" You mumbled quietly, biting your lip to hide your coy smile as she rubbed a soothing circle into your skin, shaking her head (shaking out her blonde hair, she had cut it yesterday with a razor and made her bangs too short) with a little chuckle.

She laughed a lot more these days. She blamed therapy. You blamed yourself.

"Mm, I know," She nodded and drew back the needle, giving your hip a quick kiss as she stood to her feet, her willowy height putting her almost a head taller than you. Not like you ever minded that, though, you certainly made up for her height advantage in other respects (when she let you). "You're a big boy though, you can handle it. It's not so bad."

"No, it's not so bad…" You murmured as she started to prep her own needle (after disposing of yours in a trash can under her sink, never properly), admiring the harsh slope of her crooked spine, her broad shoulders, her slim waist, clad in nothing more than a cropped vest and a pair of sleep shorts.

She was beautiful, you thought, as you slipped behind her and rested your chin on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her freckled skin against yours, but a beauty that was strange and personal. You liked that more than conventional beauty, though.

"Needy," She mumbled softly, a smile on her delicate features.

"Mmhmm…want me to do you?" You replied, watching attentively as she drew in her own hormone fluid with the new syringe and glanced up at you through the mirror, those once lifeless grey eyes filled with sweet fondness (in spite of how dead they remained).

"Yes, please…" Law whispered, her voice raspy and low, not the higher tone that she usually took these days.

She was honest with you. She used her true voice, and showed her true self, even if it had the potential of being scary or dangerous.

You were never scared of her.

It was an equivalent exchange of submission, you thought, as your hips pressed tightly together and your arms circled her skinny waist (too skinny, she should eat more, she should eat better), taking the needle in hand.

The willingness to be penetrated, to be the vulnerable one, to be the one taken…she submitted to you as you did, so often, to her.

She was trembling slightly from the anticipation, maybe the cool air of the bathroom too, but managed to keep her voice as level and calm as she could, like she didn't want to show you how much she wanted you, how much she wanted this.

"Ready…" She mumbled softly, though the word trailed off into a low moan as you pressed the tip of the syringe into her flesh, almost to the very hilt of the needle. Too deep, you knew that, you'd been injecting yourselves for months now, but...it felt right to do it like this now.

"How are you feeling, baby?" You asked quietly, pushing the plunger down and emptying the contents of the syringe into her.

"Mmm…mmh," She moaned again, tipping her head back against your shoulder (her blonde hair tickling your collarbone as she did so), her hands trembling as they went down to your hand on her thigh.

Her cock was stirring to attention in the loose sleep shorts, and you could see it gently twitch and jump beneath the gusset of the thin cotton.

"Ah, someone's getting excited," You murmured with a coy smile, as your other hand slid to her hip and trailed along the harsh V-line of her pelvis, to squeeze and grope at her cock and stroke it into full arousal.

"Hahhh…" She breathed out shallowly, her chest rising up and down as the last of the estrogen was emptied into her body. She gripped your wrist tightly, her underlying strength still clear as she dug bit nails into the delicate lines of your veins.

"So hot," You murmured, taking the needle out of her thigh and planting your now free hand on her hips, pinning her still against the bathroom sink.

Her body pressed tightly against yours, and you wanted nothing more than to merge into her, melt into her, feel your skin graft with hers and your bodies become one. But you couldn't do that, at least not physically, so you held her hips tighter and forced her to turn, seeing her flushed face up close, her backside hitting the edge of the sink.

"You make me feel like a God, Law," You rasped lowly (your voice had sunk a couple of octaves in the months of doing this together), pressing a hungry kiss against her neck, running your tongue over her throat.

She stifled a weak cry as her arms wrapped around your shoulders and clutched onto you tight, her bitten nails digging into your skin, threatening to tear into you.

You wanted nothing more than for her to do that.

"And you feel like Heaven…" You gasped, running your tongue over her sharp collarbone (so sharp, you wondered how it hadn't punctured her skin), before erratically shoving her tank top up her chest, still groping her hard cock through her shorts. "I hope every angel in Heaven looks just like you…"

"Mh…" Law shivered as you tongued her skin, running her own tongue over her lips as you kissed and nipped down her sternum. "I'm…mm, I'm no angel." She whispered with a shy smile, her pale skin flushed.

"Yeah, you are…" You replied in a tone as close to awe as you could manage, reaching up to grope her tiny chest, the growing swell of her breast filling your palm, and pinching at her sensitive nipple. "I hope all the angels are girls like you…sharp noses and broad shoulders and perfect tits, just like yours."

"Ngh-!" She gasped, her body tensing up and her grey eyes fluttering shut as you toyed with and stimulated each of her most sensitive spots, the gradual squeezing of her cock turning into subtle jerks, up and down the impressive length. "Ah…g-god…"

"Mm, you can call me-" You growled your name with a grin as you dipped your head and suckled her nipple, pressing your body even closer to hers.

She wheezed out a husky giggle at your bad joke, her trembling hands reaching up to cradle your head against her breast, like a baby to its mother, fingers pushing into your hair and pushing her chest outward, as if presenting herself to you.

"Mm, you're my God," She mumbled, reaching down with her free hand to rub against the damp patch gathering in your boxers, making you moan and bite down on her nipple. "You shape me, you mould me into a proper woman, a proper girl…an angel, that's what makes you my God…"

"You too, baby…" You whispered, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips to her breast. "You make me more of a man…"

"You are…you're my man," She smiled, holding you even tighter. "And I'm your God…"

[happilyhertale]

Finding the courage – Tom Bennett x female!reader, Part 2

Summary: You spent a sheltered childhood in Brighton. Until the time when your father died. Your mother is overwhelmed with the role of caring mother, which eventually leads you to leave home and seek happiness elsewhere. But you have not in the least anticipated what or who awaits you in your new adopted home.

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Warnings: In some parts Smut as well as Violence. There will be an extra warning for the respective parts.

Author’s note: Hey you (:

This short Tom Bennett story is based on the request that was sent to me.

The story takes place before the first season of World on fire. I hope you will enjoy the story! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.2k

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You have slept amazingly well. When you open your eyes, the sun is shining through the window. The torn curtain only slightly blocks the sun's rays. You slowly sit up on the sofa. You don't want to waste too much time and go to your backpack. You gather your toothbrush and toothpaste and head for the stream. You don't want to know how clean the water really is near a factory.

After you have freshened up a bit, you go back to the cottage and pack up your things. With your backpack on your back and a roll in your hand, you set off for the city centre. After all, you want to find a job today. You pass the factory again, but this time there are no flyers being handed out. As you continue walking, you pass a market place. You dream a little and look at the small shops. Just as you spot the sign "Help wanted" in the window of a small clothing shop, you are jolted out of your thoughts. As you were about to enter the shop, you are handed a leaflet.

You look up a little startled and see the older man from yesterday.

He smiles warmly at you, but still he looks a little uncertain. The smile does not reach his eyes and his deep wrinkles reveal that he must have already experienced a lot of suffering.

"Here, young lady... An alternative to war"

"Oh?" escapes you as you take the flyer.

"Is there a war coming?"

The man is not used to anyone even accepting his leaflet, let alone starting a conversation. It seems as if he has to think about his next words.

"Well... it seems so. Germany keeps arming and as soon as Germany decides to arm... Well, nothing good has ever come out of it. The last time they rearmed, it plunged the whole of Europe into a terrible war..."

You nod in agreement, "So you're a pacifist?"

"Yea... There are plenty of other ways than fighting wars! No innocent people have to die... No country must let its people die in and through war... No mothers would have to say goodbye to their sons forever... I witnessed the last great war, it's not worth it," he almost whispers the last part of the sentence.

You smile at him, "That's probably true... but I have the feeling that when it comes to negotiations, be it about whether or why wars should be waged, it is predominantly men who are involved in these talks. It seems there is no other way than to indulge in pure testosterone intoxication and let it degenerate into pure violence."

His eyes almost sparkle at your statement, "So you think there might be less conflict if women were involved in such negotiations?"

You shrug your shoulders slightly, "Well, it's at least a possibility. Women are not out to prove their strength through murder and manslaughter. We like to use words. Because sometimes it shows a lot more strength to talk, maybe admit mistakes and maybe even take a step back."

He nods at you animatedly, "Those are really interesting lines of thought ,...?"

You smile, "Y/n Parrington."

He smiles too, "I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Parrington. My name is Douglas Bennett." He holds out his large hand to you and you shake it. His hand is quite rough, unlike your soft hands.

Your conversation is getting out of hand. Mr Bennett has stopped handing out his leaflets and you are now sitting on a bench talking animatedly. He is pleasant to talk to, even if he sometimes contradicts you. But he never loses his politeness and tries to develop your thoughts.

When suddenly you notice that the sun is setting.

"Oh shit!" you say and Mr. Bennett looks at you a little startled.

"I completely forgot about the time! I was going to look for a job today. Well, that's not going to happen today."

You stand up and turn to Mr. Bennett, "It's been a pleasure Mr Bennett," but as you hold out your hand to him he makes no move to accept this farewell. He only now notices that you have a fully packed backpack with you.

"Don't you have a job here?"

You shake your head slightly.

"Do you have anywhere to eat?"

"Well... I would buy a little something to eat..."

He shakes his head, "No way! Come to my house. There you can eat something"

Now you look at him a little startled. Suddenly you remember how he left with the young lady yesterday. Is he now trying the same trick on you?

He laughs as he notices your worried look, "Sorry! Don't worry, my daughter and son will be there too. But I would be happy if you would eat with us today."

You are reassured that it is probably not a trick on his part, but you still hesitate. On the other hand, it would be a warm house and a warm meal, so you agree.

You continue your conversation on the way. When you enter the house, you are alone.

Mr. Bennett leads you through the small hallway into the kitchen. You wonder a little whether it was right to go with him as the front door opens, "Hey Dad! It's me! Sorry I'm late!"

The pretty lady from yesterday enters the hallway and comes into the kitchen.

"Oh hello?", now she stands in front of you smiling.

"Hey, I'm y/n Parrington," you extend your hand to her.

"Hey, I'm Lois Bennett," and she gently shakes your hand.

Mr. Bennett sits down at the kitchen table and starts reading a newspaper

"And Tom brought you...?", she looks around briefly, as if looking for someone.

You look at her in irritation.

"No. Don't be silly. We chatted a bit in the marketplace today and lost track of time. And then I offered her to have dinner with us", you hear Mr. Bennett suddenly say.

Lois nods, "So you're a pacifist and not another conquest of my brother," she winks at you.

You blush slightly, "Yeah something like that I am."

As Mr. Bennett interjects, "Lois, please behave… Do you actually know where Tom is?"

She shrugs, "Well, he'll probably be at his favourite pub."

Douglas looks back down at his newspaper and shakes his head slightly.

"Will you help me cook?" Lois asks you with a smile.

You nod happily at her, "I'd love to"

When you start peeling the potatoes, you get curious, "So Tom is your brother?"

She smiles, " Yea... He can be a bit... Difficult? But he is actually a kind-hearted person."

You smile at her.

You talk animatedly while you prepare the food, and that is something you have rarely experienced before. You meet two people in one day who are so nice and helpful and with whom you have a lot of animated conversation. You eat together and the conversations and laughter never let up. You simply feel good. For the first time in a long time, you just feel good.

After dinner, Mr. Bennett wants to show Lois something on the first floor.

Meanwhile, you make yourself useful and start doing the dishes. When the two come back downstairs, Lois sees that most of the washing up has already been done.

"Oooh y/n! You're a darling! You didn't have to do that!"

But you nod, "Yes I do! You're so nice to me and invited me to dinner... the least I can do is wash up."

Lois smiles at you, "Actually, that's not a bad idea..."

You look at her questioningly.

"Dad told me that you're going to get a job today... maybe you could help me around the house instead?"

Mr. Bennett nods slightly, "Actually, it's not such a bad idea. Then you would have less stress with the household."

You look at them both, "I don't even know what to say to that..."

"How about a yes?", Lois smiles at you.

As Mr. Bennett speaks up again, "But I won't be able to pay you much... But you can always eat with us!"

"No way! You don't have to pay me anything! That I can be here and eat with you, that's quite enough," you almost laugh with joy.

In the evening you are on your way back to the industrial area when you pass a pub.

Loud music and laughter permeate the street and you immediately feel reminded of your old job. You smile slightly and suddenly feel like having a beer.

You slowly enter the pub. You make your way through the dancing people and are walking towards the bar when you spot it. You order a beer, sit down on a bar stool and watch the hustle and bustle of the pub. There is good music playing and the more beer you drink, the more your leg bobs to the rhythm of the music.

Some people dance to the music, and that just fits in with the exuberant mood in the pub. Suddenly you notice a man next to you staring at you. He has medium-length brown hair that could do with a wash. He is not bad looking, but something about him gives you an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"Hey, pretty mouse! How about... you and me? Do you want to dance?" he almost shouts to drown out the music.

"Mmhm, no… but thanks for the tempting offer anyway"

He smiles at you, "Oh come on... There's no harm in rubbing our hips together a bit."

"I think I'll pass."

"Then not," he grunts and continues walking.

You look after him and shake your head.

As you finish your beer, you want to go to the toilet before you leave.

After you have been to the toilet, you look in the mirror again and smile. Today was simply a beautiful day. You run your fingers through your hair again and leave the toilet.

But when you come out, the man is suddenly standing in front of you.

"Hey, beautiful... Is it a coincidence that we meet again?", a cloud of beer is breathed towards you.

"Well, if you were just going to the toilet, I don't think so. Excuse me please"

You want to push past him, but he leans his arm against the wall and blocks your way.

"Oh, sweetheart... Why are you like this? We could have some fun..."

"I don't want to have fun with you. "

He tries to brush the strand of hair from your face, but you turn your head away.

"Hey! Peter! I don't think the girl wants to feel your little worm today!"

Your gaze falls on the man who is suddenly standing behind the disgusting guy. Steel-blue eyes stare back at you and his blond hair looks seductively soft. Almost relaxed, he takes a drag from his cigarette.

"Yo Bennett... what do you want?", the guy doesn't even turn his head towards your saviour.

"That you leave the girl alone", provocatively, he blows his cigarette smoke at Peter as he turns his head in his direction.

You don't catch much of the conversation as you have to concentrate hard on breathing normally. The blue eyes have somehow captivated you.

Peter sighs, "Well, nothing seems to be going on with her anyway. You can try your luck."

You look after him, startled, as he finally walks away.

The two guys look into each other's eyes for a moment, but the unpleasant guy just keeps walking.

And then the blue eyes fall on you again. You were not aware that you were holding your breath, so you exhale deeply. You clear your throat and you adjust your dress and walk towards your saviour, "Mhmm, I guess I should thank you."

He smiles at you and you feel yourself suddenly getting warm. The warmth spreads pleasantly through your body and reaches its peak on your cheeks. It's either you or the beer you drank that he has such an effect on you.

"No problem, love," he replies, still smiling.

You can't help but return the smile. You nod at him and want to walk past him.

"Ey... Do you want me to take you home?"

But you shake your head, "No, that's alright, I don't live far from here".

You smile at him again and he just nods. He looks after you as you leave the pub.

Tom stands there for a while. He doesn't know what the feeling is inside him, but when you entered the pub, all he saw was you. Everything else was no longer visible to him. The way you cautiously entered the pub, looking around almost shyly, taking it all in with your big eyes. Your long hair braided into a pigtail that fell over your shoulders and your light dress that clung perfectly to your body. He could not take his eyes off you. But at the same time, he didn't dare talk to you. Usually he is never shy when it comes to talk to a woman, but somehow he was afraid that he might embarrass himself. For whatever reason...

Even though he has not yet exchanged a real sentence with you and does not know your name, he knows that he has to see you again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list

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[random-imagines-blog]

All of the Feelings {Charlie Walker x FTM!Reader NSFW Oneshot}              

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 5064 Summary: You've always had a crush on the long haired nerd. When you get invited to a party at Kirby's, you have the chance to get more than a little close. Warnings: Some bullying, Transphobia, kissing, handjob, I think that's it?

Charlie had been one of the few people who never seemed to judge you for the transition that you started to make during your younger teen years. Woodsboro was a small town, so everyone seemed to know everyone. Most of the people that you went to school with now, you had gone to school with when you were Mommy’s little princess, being forced to wear the pretty dresses to school and to wear your hair long, no matter how uncomfortable it had made you. You got a lot of flak from your classmates. They didn’t understand, or they just thought it was a waste, or they thought it was disgusting. You learned how to tell just from the way that their eyes flickered at you. But Charlie’s? Never once did he seem to give you anything other than a curious look.  

When you were grouped together for class assignments, he never tried to complain to the teacher about needing another partner. He didn’t just dump all the work on you so that he didn’t have to spend any time with you. And to you, someone who felt lost and confused in their own skin until you started to take the testosterone and started growing into features that you had always wanted - appreciated that more than you could ever know. Not friends, exactly, even though you had joined his Film Club. But something a little kinder than just acquaintances.  

Developing a crush on the long-haired, shy boy was easier than expected. As you transitioned from a straight female into a gay male, your feelings and hormones were all over the place but the way that your heart started beating faster and how your words seemed to come out so awkwardly when you were around him, that never once changed. But unfortunately, one other thing that never changed was the fact that his blue eyes were almost always focused on Kirby Reed. 

Of course, he was a straight guy, so he was never going to look at you that way. But you could dream, couldn’t you? You can imagine that he was looking at you while talking about movies during the Film Club. Or that you were sitting beside him on a couch during the club nights at Kirby’s house, holding hands underneath the blanket. Or that you and he were sharing the same hot and heavy scenes that couples do in the movies before they usually get slaughtered by some slasher. You could dream and imagine. But it didn’t come without a little bit of hurt when you were snapped back to reality. 

And reality was crashing down hard today. The Film Club was having a party, not just a movie watching night. It was Kirby and Jill’s idea, and they were the ones that had put it together at Kirby’s large, and usually empty, house. You really debated going or not, standing in front of your mirror and trying on different outfits. This was totally different from the usual thing. Movie nights, you were all sitting in the dark, in different places on the couch or on the floor, usually wrapped in blankets. There wasn’t much talking until after the movies were done and that’s when you’d just see yourself out, no one really stopping you. But a party? With drinking and talking and dancing and who knows what else. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be discouraging me from parties?” You asked your mom, who was helping you to put together your outfit. Despite taking a little time to come around to your transition, she has become your biggest supporter. She was unrolling the collar from your shirt where it had gone into the neckline. “Teenage drinking, bad? Drugs bad? All of that sleazy sexy stuff, bad?” 

“You need a healthy dose of rebellion,” Your mother said, looking you over and then shook her head, going back to your closet. “Just don’t get alcohol poisoning, and don’t try anything harder than weed.” 

“Mom!” You groaned, taking off the shirt that you had just put on.  

“And remember, I put those condoms in your wallet. Don’t nag at me about not needing them either. I didn’t think that I needed one and look at what happened,” She hummed, and looked over her shoulder at you while tugging out one of your favorite shirts. “What about this one?” 

“Anything to get me out of here,” you said, snatching it from her and put it over your head. With your binder on to press in what little you had on your chest, it sat rather well, looking flat against your body. That and a comfortable pair of pants, and you guessed that you were ready to party. “Should I ... really go? What if they don’t want me there?” 

“They invited you, didn’t they?” 

“Maybe they meant everyone in the film club except for me. It’s not like I’m friends with them or anything, exactly.” 

“Isn’t this a good place to start?” Your mother said softly. “You can even borrow the car if you promise me that you won’t drink. That way you can leave when you like.” 

You sighed and let her give you the keys. She really was your number one supporter - and sometimes, MAYBE, on OCCASION, she made good points. Maybe you’ll finally be able to talk to Charlie tonight. It seemed unlikely given your promise not to drink but - it was possible. 

-- 

Music could be heard as soon as you got out of the car. You parked on the street since the long driveway was filled up to the brim. You put your hands in your pockets as you started to walk up towards the brightly lit house, pausing near the front door. What was party etiquette? You had never been here without knocking before. The music was so loud, there was no way that it would be heard if you did it now.  

Tentatively, you opened the door, and the music grew louder. There were a couple of people milling around the living room but most of the noise, and the action, seemed to be coming from the kitchen. You nodded towards the people that you knew and followed the sounds of the cheering.  

“CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG!” 

It was louder than the beat coming from the speakers, like a song of its own. A chant. A ritualistic calling out.  

It was Robbie that was doing the chugging. For some odd reason, this group had poured a bunch of beers into a juice pitcher, and he was drinking it right from the spout. The froth was all over his upper lip, coating the end of the nose, but he kept on going. Your own nose curled at how that must have smelt. Beer always gave you this feeling of going to sneeze.  

“Oh hey!” Kirby said, coming up beside you. From the smell of her, she had just been chugging too. “Did you - drive here?” She paused to hiccup. 

“Uhh - yeah,” you said with an uncertain nod. 

“Nooo,” She pouted. “I wanted you to chug too. Do you want to stay over? You can totally sleep over here, then we can really party tonight.” 

Now that was an invitation that you certainly had not been expecting. “Umm - my mom needs the car in the morning, I’d better not,” You lied quickly. 

“Come on Kirby, stop trying to pressure him,” Olivia said, saving your butt in that moment. And the way that she had just casually called you him ... it brought on a sort of fluttering feeling in your stomach. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Besides, that means more booze for us!” 

“True!” Kirby said, lighting back up. “There are some sodas in the fridge if you get thirsty, I guess. Help yourself?” 

“Thanks Kirby,” you said with a light smile. You were going to do that, making your way to the large fridge and opening it up. The contents of it proved how rich Kirby’s family was. There was so much produce in there, good stuff from the farmers markets too, all packed up in neat containers. Not like the thin plastic bags from the grocery store that your own family used. Another wave of jealousy towards the blonde girl came over you and you took a can of your favorite soda down from the shelf.  

“Hey, can I get one?” 

The voice made you jump. You had just been closing the door to the fridge when it seemed like Charlie had popped up out of nowhere, right behind it. He chuckled a little at scaring you, running his hands through his extremely soft-looking, fluffy long hair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, sheepishly. 

“It’s okay,” you said slowly, and grabbed another can before letting the door close completely. “Here.” 

“Thanks y/n,” he said, holding up the soda like he was giving a cheer, and then walked off to cheer on Robbie. You watched him go, that butterfly feeling from earlier increasing inside of your stomach. You quickly took a drink to try to drown those butterflies so you could act like ... well, a normal person. A normal guy at a party.  

Robbie finished chugging, and looked like he was going to blow chunks at any second. You winced as he opened up his mouth, expecting him to gag, but he let out a huge belch instead and patted his stomach. It was nearly as disgusting as you thought it was going to be. But everyone was cheering him on, like not barfing was something to be totally proud of. 

“Let’s play some games,” Kirby said with excitement, starting to pull people into the living room. You followed along, holding onto your can of soda, curious to see what kind of games she would be pulling out. “Everyone sit in a circle! Come on, everyone!” 

It seemed a little juvenile but ... you just wanted to be part of the group, so you sat down next to Olivia, who gave you a friendly smile. You returned it back, and watched as Kirby put a beer bottle down in the middle of the circle, making people groan, 

“Spin the bottle? We’re not in junior high,” Jill said, nudging the pretty blonde. 

“That’s why it’s a mix of Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Kirby said with a big grin. “Come on, I’ve wanted to play this since we cleaned out that closet over there,” She motioned to what you had just assumed to be a broom closet. Oh god. Spin the Bottle was one thing but Seven Minutes in Heaven? Being stuck in a closet with someone. You made the moves to start getting up, already thinking about excuses but someone beat you to it. 

Trevor Sheldon. He never really liked you. And he had always made it perfectly clear. While most people at least tried to go along with your pronouns, or simply just forgot, he made sure to use ‘she/her’ while looking right into your eyes, making sure that it would hurt. He’d tell you that your ‘jugs were too good’ to be wasted on becoming a guy. Once, while drunk, he even offered to ‘treat you like a woman so good, you’ll forget all this boy nonsense’. Out of everyone here, he was the one that you disliked the most, but it was an avoidant sort of hate. Not a ‘mess with him’ sort of hate.  

“Oh, if that thing is playing, I’m out,” Trevor said, pointing directly at you, making your cheeks start to feel warm from the shame of being called out like this.  

“Oh, shut up Trevor,” Jill said to her ex-boyfriend.  

“Yeah, are you scared you’d like it if he was in the closet with you?” Jenny Randall said. There was drama between that boy and those two girls, so you’ve heard, so you figured that they weren’t actually sticking up for you. They just wanted to kick him down. 

“It’s okay, I can go,” you said, not wanting to cause a scene.  

“No, come on y/n, stay,” Kirby said, reaching out for you with grabby arms. “I want you to play with us. You never come out to these things. Trevor can fuck off; we don’t care about him.” 

Trevor scoffed, looking offended as the girls ganged up on him. You hesitantly sat back down with a little smile, mouthing a thank you to Kirby. She just gave you the biggest and brightest smile. She was really hard to dislike, but so easy to feel jealous of. She just had it all. She was perfect. You could completely understand why someone like her would keep Charlie’s head turned.  

“Fuck you guys,” Trevor said, shooting the middle finger. “I wouldn’t want to end up with any of you in the closet anyway.” 

“Thank god for that,” Jill retorted back. “Now that he’s gone, I’m going first.” 

She spun the bottle in the middle of the circle. To your relief, it didn’t land on yourself - nor did it land on Charlie. It landed on Robbie who turned beet red - which wasn’t that far off from the color that the alcohol had turned him, and they disappeared inside of the closet. 

“What are we supposed to do while they’re in there?” Olivia asked.  

“Now, we play truth or dare,” Kirby said, setting up a timer on her phone so she’ll know when to get them out of the closet. 

Truth or Dare was just as juvenile as it sounded. You picked truth, since you didn’t know what kind of dares they would come up with. The ‘truths’ were bad enough.  

“Are you a virgin?” - Yes. 

“What’s something you never told anyone?” “I actually like the sandwiches they serve in the cafeteria.” 

“Are you ticklish?” “Only when caught off-guard. 

Jill and Robbie finally get to come out of the closet after that. Robbie is still blushing, looking super bashful while Jill is trying to hold back a smile of some sorts. Something happened in that closet - but you felt you were probably better off not knowing. 

“I’ll go,” Charlie volunteered, a little eagerly. Almost everyone in the circle cheered. You just smiled a little uneasily, your heart starting to beat fast in your chest. It was just as likely to land on Kirby, his dream girl, as it was to land on you. Could also land on someone pretty, like Olivia. Or even Jenny. The perfect, pretty blondes. You balanced your elbow on your knee and leaned your head against your palm, trying to look unbothered. Trying to look bored. 

Until it lands on you. 

Everyone was looking at you strangely now, as if you had been the one who chose for it to land on you. Probably figuring out how something like this would work. 

“You can spin again if you want, Charlie,” Jill said, which made your heart fall right down into your stomach. The fact that she even suggested that out loud.  

“No, it’s alright,” Charlie shrugged, and held out his hand to you. “C’mon, let’s play this stupid game.” 

To tell the truth, the way that he said that didn’t make you feel much better. But you took the opportunity to grab onto his hand and get yourself up off of the ground.  

And he didn’t let go once you were up. That was the most noticeable thing. He was still holding your hand while you walked a couple of feet towards the closet.  

“Starting the timer!” Kirby said, grinning as Charlie closed the doors, leaving the both of you in darkness. It was still rather cramped, despite the fact that it was cleaned out. You could feel his presence in front of you, and you were still holding his hand. You just became hyperaware of everything that was around you, from the warmth of his body to the single coat that was hanging on the rack, a fake fur monstrosity.  

“Sorry you got stuck with me,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. You certainly didn’t want to be the first one to let go of his hand. You didn’t want to make him realize that he was still holding yours too.  

“I’m not stuck,” Charlie said, the slight raise in his hand telling you that he was shrugging. “I - uhh - I was kind of ... hoping for this. Actually.” 

Oh. Oh lord. You were glad that you were in the dark now because the look on your face must have been hilarious. “You were hoping for this?” You prodded, hoping that he would continue. 

“Yeah,” Charlie said. His own voice sounded nervous. A bit shaky. “I wanted to umm ... talk to you, for a while now. There’s something that’s been on my mind.” 

“What’s that Charlie?” You asked, attempting to keep your voice somewhat level. 

“You’re ... a guy, right? Sorry, that sounds so stupid. But that’s what you identify as right, that’s what ... you are?" 

“Uh, yeah. That is what I identify as so ... that’s how I prefer to be ... perceived.”  

“So technically if I were to ... uh, like you, I would be gay?”  

This had to be the most awkward, and yet heart-pounding conversation that you ever had in your life. You weren’t even sure what to do, what to say. And his hand was still holding yours and you were sweating, and he was sweating and - 

“Uhh yeah - or bisexual, since you ... like girls too. Or pansexual? There’s like this whole spectrum thing, I ... have some books about it?" 

“No, that’s okay, I don’t want to read a book,” Charlie said quickly. His fingers fiddled with your hand, rubbing the back of it, before he pulled you in slightly closer. Your chest was against his. You could just barely make out his figure through the thin watery light coming through the gaps in the door. Mostly, what you saw was hair. “Are you gay, or bi, or the other thing you said?” 

Your words got caught in your throat, and you had to calm yourself for a couple of seconds before you answered. You had never been so close to your crush before. “I’m - gay. I like guys.”  

“Like - me?” He asked. It was definitely a question, not a statement, not at all cocky but curious, delicate.  

“Oh god, um -” You mumbled. “Yeah. Like ... you. Sorry, this is such a weird place to tell you thaa-” 

You were cut off, your words turning into a muffle by lips upon your own. Charlie’s lips. He tasted of the cola that he had drank earlier, still slightly fizzy almost. Smooth. Your eyes close, not that it makes a difference since you can’t see very much anyway, and you squeeze his hand as you kiss him back. As he pulls away, you can hear his breath getting heavier, and realize yours has joined him in that. 

The dark made Charlie feel brave. It always had. It’s when he could forget the mousiness of his appearance and act like the man that he knew he was inside. The more assertive one who took risks. The one who could do what needed to be done. The MAN. Not the boy.  

So he wrapped his other arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. “This okay?” He asked into your ear. You nodded the affirmative and he went in for another kiss. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, this was your first make out session ... ever. Your thoughts were racing - did you put your arm around him too, or would that be too weird? No, you decided to go for the hand in the hair, pushing it away from his face, holding it back so it didn’t tickle your cheeks as you kissed him back.  

He kept surprising you. He moaned into the kiss, his hand wandering down slightly. Grabbing your ass. You gasped into the next kiss and he then he pulled away chuckling. “I don’t think I’m totally gay but - I think you changed my mind about some things.” 

“It’s ... good to be open-minded?” You said, struggling for words, the smile on your face so wide your cheeks are sore. 

His hand was so warm against your hip, so aware were you of it. And then he kissed you again - which told you a lot. He didn’t have regrets. He knew what he was doing. the closer seemed to warm up by a couple of degrees or was that just you? His lips were so completely soft, much like the rest of his appearance, much like his hair.  

And he was good at showing what he wants. He moved towards your neck, kissing it, making you moan slightly yourself, hiding it behind clenched teeth because you didn’t want anyone else to find out what was happening in here. You could hear laughter outside of the door - someone had done a funny dare. You were safe for now. But oh, his lips on your neck was starting to drive you crazy. “I don’t want to stop,” Charlie mumbled into your neck. 

“We still have at least five minutes,” You countered, your voice not shaking or trembling, actually sounding ... confident. You felt more than accepted. You were feeling invited. Wanted. Valid. 

His hand started to go underneath your shirt, and you froze only for a second. He felt something tight on your torso, which made him break away with confusion. “What’s that?”  

“My binder, to uh - make me look more masculine,” you told him. “Sorry, maybe I should have said something-” 

“No, that’s fine,” he said, laughing a little. “You could touch me instead?” 

You hesitated but only for a second. Fuck it right? This chance might not come again, and it was only a bit of touching. Your hands went to the hem of his light shirt, and then your fingertips pressed onto the pale, soft skin beneath. A shiver went through Charlie’s body, big enough for you to feel. It excited you in return, that you were having this effect on the boy that you liked. It made you feel bolder, hands slipping upward, the skin soft, hairless. And there were hints of muscle there too, which you wouldn’t have expected, and it wasn’t just skinny boy muscle either - he was more fit than you thought. His hand tightened back around your hip, thumb skimming over the bone. He went back to kissing your neck, your jaw, sloppy kisses but you weren’t complaining. Up your hands went, feeling small nipples which made you smile to yourself. There was just something funny about that. But then you realized that his body was trembling ever so slightly. 

Charlie was very reactive. 

“More,” He pleaded with you, his lips meeting your own once more, in an all-encompassing desperate kiss. So you acquiesced. You gave in, moving your hands to his back and let your short nails scrape down the skin there, making his tremor even worse, a breathy moan exiting his mouth and erupting into yours. His tongue then entered along with it, and you got a real taste of him for the first time. 

“More?” You asked him, during a slight breathing break, moving to kiss his neck now, giving him the treatment that he had been giving you. He let out a deep breath and nodded, unable to say anything more. You felt around his hips, those jutting hipbones from his thin frame and then lingered over the waistband of your jeans. You had come this far. Why not go all in? You unbuttoned him, slid the zipper down slowly. That was all that it took for him to push his hips further and you felt his arousal against your hand. “Whoa,” you said, feeling how hard he was already.  

“Come on,” He whimpered. “Been thinking of this forever.” 

“Me in a closet with you?” You asked, unable to hide the surprise. 

“Just you -” he said, and then started to stutter as you palmed him through his boxers. Your first time ever holding an actual dick. You both were aroused by it ... and jealous of it. It felt like the absolute perfect size. “P-p-please don’t t-tease me - need m-more.” 

“And you think four minutes is going to be enough?” You asked him, stroking the thin and soft fabric that was surrounding him. 

“Only gonna need one with you - please,” He pleaded. And if that wasn’t just the sexiest thing that you ever heard. You went back to kissing his neck, being careful not to suck on it though you wanted to. There was still a small part of you that didn’t want Charlie to get teased over being any sort of intimate with you. You were used to being the butt of a joke - he didn’t deserve it. But you did run your tongue over his Adam’s apple as you slipped your hand inside of those boxers and felt him entirely. He was so warm, so smooth. There was a bit of hair down there, but it wasn’t uncontrollable. It actually added to it, bringing out some contrast in the textures. A moan overtook him then, another shiver from head to toe. A very quiet “fuck” came out of him in a whisper. And a wetness against your fingers - pre-cum. You slid it across the head of his cock with your thumb, and then started to pump the way that you had seen in porn. You weren’t COMPLETELY innocent, after all. Just because you had never done this before didn’t mean you didn’t have some idea of what to do. 

And he was putty in your hands. His head leaned back, exposing more of that beautiful neck to your lips as you jacked him off inside of the closet. He was muttering your name over and over, which made your heart race. He knew it was you. Despite all of the darkness, where he could have been thinking or imagining someone else, he was sticking with the reality that it was you. His hands then suddenly, almost brutally, held your hips hard, hands clenching maybe leaving slight bruises, but you didn’t care. His mouth found yours again, and he used your lips to stifle the moans that came out of him as he came right into your hands. It was hot, sticky, thicker than you had imagined it to be. He thrusted up into your palm a couple of times with each squirt before he let his head down onto your shoulder, forehead digging into the bone. “Fuck y/n,” He whispered. “Your hands are so good.” 

“Thanks,” You breathed, still feeling his kiss upon your lips. “From what I felt of yours, they’re good too.” 

“Thanks,” he said, his tone shyer this time. You released your hand from him and put it down to your own side. You held onto the handful of sperm, suddenly realizing that you didn’t know what to do with it. As you heard him do his zipper back up, you tried to figure it out. The game wasn’t over so if you just ... let it drip onto the ground or wipe it on the only coat in here, it could be found. It would be weird if you just licked it off right? Plus, you weren’t even sure if you would like it. What if it tasted rancid? It certainly didn’t smell the most appealing. So, despite the awkwardness, you just sort of held it. Put your hands together behind your back, one under the other to make sure that it didn’t spill. 

“Fuck, I still can’t believe we did that,” Charlie said. You couldn’t see him much in the darkness, just an outline of movement, but you could imagine him pushing his hair out of his face now, his cheeks pink. “Do you think we could do this again sometime? But maybe not in a closet, with all of our friends outside. But a place where we could ... you know, not have to muffle everything?” 

Another round of laughter outside. As if they knew what was going on in here. And now all you could think about was what he would sound like without restraint. Those moans. Those whispered curses. All in that sweet and soft voice of his - you would be the one shaking like a leaf if that was to happen. And he wanted to hear you too. He wanted to bring out your own sounds.  

“It would be kind of nice to see you the next time too,” you said, chuckling lightly.  

“Yeah, definitely. So, is that a yes?” 

The door opened and bright light made you squint as you clutched your fingers together behind you. Charlie still looked a little bit red in the cheeks but apart from that, there wasn’t much that gave away that anything had happened in here. “Hickey check!” Kirby joked, moving Charlie’s hair to peek at his neck. You held your breath as she checked yours too and then pouted. “God, you two are boring.”  

“You would think you wouldn’t want people to hook up in your closet,” Charlie joked as he motioned for you to leave first. You did, hoping that the position of your hands wasn’t too suspicious. But no one really said anything about it.  

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you said, eager to wash this off of your hands so you could use them like a normal person. But before you left, you caught Charlie’s eye, and you nodded as an answer to his question. He smiled back widely, and looked away from you before he would start to blush, but his eyes returned to your ass as you walked away and hoped that you would sit next to him when you came back.  

You did. And everyone else was exchanging looks throughout the rest of the night, knowing how it felt like you two were at a party totally separate from theirs. Kirby was already taking pride in being a matchmaker, just because it happened in her house, taking all the credit - especially when a week later, you and Charlie went public. 

[old-school-butch]

Thank you for having anon on, you must get a lot of hate, but i'm a hidden recently deprogrammed ex-TIF and i appreciate being able to... confess to being a woman without being hung for it. i know that when i come out with this i will lose most of my friends because my detransition will "invalidate" them all. they will push me out so they can remain "gay men".

i wanted to ask what you think about ex-TIFs? and if you've seen how it plays out when we (re)integrate into womanhood, from the side of women. i've only seen it from the side of TRAs and it's an excommunication and violent rejection. i'm going to lose my community, and i have (since i started looking into it) fully agreed with most radfem core beliefs you see here on tumblr.

i took testosterone for years, but i also stopped in 2019 because it made me so angry. i have no breasts and a deepened voice. i wonder how radfems might see me. will i seem like a returned traitor?

will other women be interested in me still? i'm bisexual, but was pushed to mainly date men as a TIF because those relationships were "gay" and dating women was hetero and "lesser" love. i don't want to center men anymore. but i have no breasts, and i have no woman's voice. do women care? i don't know.

i ask you because you are older and maybe you would know. my best wishes to you. thank you.

I keep anon on for just this reason, because I remember how insane I felt when I found the courage to stop pushing aside those thoughts that, surely, everyone knows we're making all this up and just being nice, right?

It's an unfortunate part of human nature that it's easier to con someone than persuade them they've been conned. Once the con is taken up, it's agonizing to admit it and pull away from it. You have to live with the harms you've done along the way, which I admit to and which will eventually weigh on you as well. It's not easy, especially when your immediate friends will be harsh with you. If they don't cast you out, you might find yourself self-isolating to pre-emptively remove yourself and spare yourself the pain.

I'm not going to lie, you will encounter women who regard you as a traitor because they, themselves, have not come to terms with the harms they've done, or they've been lucky enough to not have been tested on this crucible and can't believe that anyone can be turned so upside down as we have.

However, you're not alone. I have no statistics but in meeting younger lesbians I'd guess at least 1 in 3 of them are detransitioners from varying stages of identifying as trans. If you are same-sex attracted or gender non-conforming in any way, today's society will digest that as 'trans?' and without saying a word you will find yourself being they/them without ever asking, and transition will be suggested if you suffer from so much as a bad period cramp or any frustration with your body. As women and as lesbians, we experience so much pain that society ignores, and the most powerful articulation of that anguish in our time is 'this can't be the body I'm meant to be in.' Like anorexia, dissociative identities, cutting and other expressions of female despair, we are permitted to lash out destructively as long as we bring down that rage on our own bodies. We continue to inhabit these scarred battlefields long after the fighting has moved on.

I guess the main thing to know is that you are not alone. In fact, I suspect that the 'part of my story where I was convinced I was trans' is going to be part of the coming-out pantheon for lesbians in the future that is as common as having a crush on a straight friend and have the talk with your parents. I don't think having breasts or a deeper voice will condemn you to loneliness, I don't think anyone can blame you for what's happening or being swept up in it. If they do, you can ask them why they didn't stop you, why their voices didn't reach you when you needed it most, and why - now that you've found your own way home with very little help from anyone around you - they aren't appreciating the courage and effort it took for you to find your way.

Welcome home, sister.

[benjis-journey]

10.18.24 (Day 8)

Today I propped my phone up on my bookshelf and recorded myself taking testosterone as I've normally done these past few days, but I couldn't stop crying in my recording. I'd just gotten word that a very dear friend of mine has the chance of moving halfway across the globe. At first, I was thrilled because I knew how happy they'd be in the country they'd find themselves in. They seemed to have a blast on their vacation over the summer after all. But I felt alarmingly sad immediately after. I came to the realization that them moving away meant I won't know when I'll get the chance to see them again. They assured me that if that was the case, they'd come back to the US and visit every couple years. That only made me cry more.

When we first met in person, we'd been chatting for a little over a year. A lot has happened in that time. We made some great friends and fond memories together. I remember the day we finally met in person they sprinted at the sight of me and practically lunged at me for a hug. Their happiness was infectious and we had one of the greatest days of our lives. I'm not sure I can do once every couple years. I could barely do once after an entire year, doubling or even tripling that would drive me insane. It's been almost a month since the day we met in person and I still miss them just as terribly as I did the moment we parted ways and went home.

I was a bit awkward during our conversation this morning. I wanted to tell them I'd be devastated if they left, but I didn't want to sound selfish. So I said nothing. If I'd known this was a possibility, I would've come back to visit the very second I was able to. Even now I'm considering rescheduling and rearranging future plans just to go see them. No, that seems desperate. I can't disappoint anyone else I'd been planning to see this month. I'm still very much looking forward to all that. But I'm scared. I know all this about them moving is still up in the air and nothing has been confirmed, but I'm still scared.

Let's say, for the sake of argument, that my friend did move away. Would we still be friends in two years' time? A lot can happen then. Anything, really. I'm scared that something might happen and we won't be friends anymore. I'm scared that if they move away, they won't ever come back. They're my best friend, one of my biggest support systems. They were ecstatic to hear I started transitioning. They've supported me long before I started and know just how much I struggled to get where I am right now. I'm scared to lose that, to lose them. I should speak up and say something. I really should, but I'm just so afraid of sounding selfish and weak. I know that if they leave they'd be happy, I couldn't possibly deny that. Whatever happens, I hope we'll still be friends.

In other news, today marks an entire week since I've started taking testosterone. I thought if I were to cry today, it'd be because of that. I'm sure I'll have plenty of tears for the next milestone, though. After all, I've been awfully emotional lately. The journey continues!

—Benjiꕤ