#the transmasc urge to wear a dress

[metrixnos]

So we have techno in a suit... But how about techno in a dress? (Pretty please with a cherry on top)

Here you go anon :D

[enbyenvy666]

personal pornstar part 3/? trans!ver

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

after a little spending spree courtesy of your pro-hero sugar daddies, you send the pair some pictures of your new clothes, as well as a couple other outfits, leading to a late-night sleepover.

established!kiribaku x masc!reader part 1 | part 2 cis!ver trans!ver | part 3 cis!ver

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, transmasc!reader, afab anatomy but using masculine terms, reader wears lingerie, threesome, anal sex, top!kirishima, switch!bakugo, bottom!reader, semi-rough sex, mating press, sexting/sending nudes, aftercare, cuck chair lol, no beta we die like men w/c - 3.2k

a/n - I figure out how to add the song this fic is named after!!

The payments you were receiving for spending time with Kirishima and Katsuki were relieving some of your financial stresses. You had bought new nice clothes with the money Katsuki gave you earlier that week, even sending him pictures of the clothes you tried on to get his opinions.

Once home, you wanted to use the rest of your day off to do housework, but as you went to put away your new clothes, you couldn’t resist the urge to try them on again, posing in front of your thin, floor-length mirror. A form-fitting blazer on top of a black button-down that had a rose pattern sewn into it in a kind of thread that looked black until in the right light it would shimmer silver. A classic silver wallet chain added a bit of spice to your new black slacks, all of which not only looked good together but also looked good on you.

Unbuttoning some buttons here and there, and rolling up a sleeve or two made you feel like a kid playing dress-up again. Sitting down on the edge of your bed, still in view of the mirror, you looked over your reflection one more time, grateful for Katsuki’s help. You also realised he hadn’t seen you in the completed outfit yet.

Holding up your phone, you posed in front of the mirror. A couple of buttons undone on the shirt, showing off your collar bones, legs crossed at the knees and leaning your weight on one hand planted on the bed beside you. Holding your phone up beside your face, you were looking at it as you took the photo, making sure it was in focus.

After sending it to the group chat with the two heroes, you started to strip off the nice clothes, hanging them up in your closet to avoid creases. Your phone buzzed on the bed, and you giddily picked it up, excited to see their reactions. What you had received back surprised you, but it didn’t disappoint.

It was a mirror picture of the both of them, similarly in a floor-length mirror, but you could tell theirs was wider as you could see what looked to be a significant portion of their shared bedroom. Both were in their base hero costumes, bare of the extra things like gauntlets and masks.

Katsuki was taking the picture, with the phone held up to his chest while he was looking down at it. Kirishima stood behind him, his muscular arms wrapped around Katsuki’s thinner waist, his bare chest against the blonde’s back. Kirishima had his lips pressed to Katsuki’s temple, but his sparkling jewel eyes were staring directly into the camera. As you were admiring the picture, you received another text from Katsuki, saying how he wanted to see you in that outfit in person.

With an almost childlike excitement, you continued to carefully put away the new clothes, wanting them to stay pristine until you saw the heroes again. As you put on some comfier clothes, your foot knocked on a cardboard box that sat on the floor of the closet, gathering dust. That procrastination curiosity got the better of you and you opened it, wondering what you could have put in there.

Oh…

Lacy underwear, thigh highs, garter belts. Impulse buys you got when you were feeling good about yourself but never had a reason to wear. Underwear that was made purely of leather straps around the crotch, waist and thighs, meant to mimic the look of shibari. A lace garter-jock strap-thigh high combo, leather harnesses, classic lacy thongs, all gone to waste.

But the giddiness and excitement from Kirishima and Katsuki gave you an idea.

The sun was setting by the time you were ready to send them a collection of pictures. Trying on the different pieces and trying to find the perfect angle and pose for the pictures. Showing your supple body in scantily clad underwear that barely covered your most intimate parts. Eventually, you had a nice collection on your hands, and without hesitation, you hit the send button.

But then the realisation hit. Here you were, sending them risqué pictures out of nowhere, when there wasn’t much of a build-up other than you sending a nice, somewhat sexy picture of yourself, and the two of them sending one back that you may have taken out of context. They had just gotten off work, they were probably tired and just wanting to relax, and you were sending them borderline nudes. Oh god, where’s the unsend button?!

Before you could even try to delete them, you saw the three little dots of Katsuki typing. They disappeared and reappeared a couple of times, making you chew on your bottom lip nervously. The dots disappeared, and you waited for them to reappear, but they didn’t return. With a sigh of defeat, you limply fell back on your bed.

Your phone began buzzing in your hand, the ringtone singing louder than you expected. Fumbling the device between your hands as you sat up, trying to recover from your freight before you answered. Katsuki’s contact name was on your screen, and it only served to make your already frightened heart beat faster.

“Hello?” You answered meekly, phone to your ear, cringing at the way the metal piercings scraped against the screen from you placing it there too fast.

“Oi! Do you know what ya doin’ t’me?” He shouted into the phone, but you swear you could hear the twinge of a smirk.

“S-sorry, I was just-” Your cheeks were warm, unable to hold down your cheeky smile.

“You know exactly what you were doin’. I’m callin’ you a cab.” In the background, you could hear Kirishima playfully scolding Katsuki.

“Really?” You gawked into the phone.

“Uh-huh, and you better wear one of those outfits f’me.” Looking around your bed at the various sets of lingerie and sexy underwear, you bit your lip.

“Which ones?” You asked, feeling a tingle between your thighs as your mind started to wander to dirtier thoughts.

“Dealers choice,” he huffed.

“Get here fast.”

———

Katsuki was waiting by the door, ripping it open the second he heard you shut the cab door. He dragged you inside as soon as you were within reach, slamming the front door closed before slamming his lips onto yours. Backing you up against the wall, his hands groped your hips, desperately grinding his own against you.

“Katsuki,” came Kirishima’s warning voice. He was standing on the nearby staircase with stern yet playful eyes, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. Katsuki pulled away, your lips popping, as he glared at his partner with a low grumble.

“Katsuki,” he mocked. Kirishima could only chuckle and shake his head, slowly descending a few more steps.

“Be gentle.”

“He said he likes it rough,” the blonde smirked, pulling you off the wall by your hips, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep yourself steady.

“Dontcha baby?”

You smiled meekly and nodded, fingers fiddling with the baby hairs at the back of his neck. With a smirk and a huff, he stepped back and took your hand, leading you towards the stairs. Kirishima ended up leading the way to the bedroom, and it was just as nice as it looked in their picture.

The bed was made, ready to be tussled and disturbed. A couple of candles on the bedside tables created a soft glow around the room, and a rattan chair sat in the corner, facing the bed. You weren’t able to admire the room any longer as Katsuki pushed you down onto the bed, standing over you with a smirk.

With a knee between your thighs, he slipped his hands under your shirt, pushing it up until he revealed the lace garter belt around your waist. His tongue ran over his lip, quickly pulling down your pants to reveal the sheer thigh highs clipped onto the garter belt with thin straps. Kirishima stood behind Katsuki, watching his partner rush to undress you.

Finally, bare of clothes except for the lingerie you had hidden underneath. Kirishima had his arms slinked around Katsuki’s waist, both of them staring down at you. It was like the picture, but now the two pairs of red eyes on you felt even more intense. Like two predators watching their prey. But you weren’t scared, you trusted them. As a silent signal, Kirishima stepped back, leaving a lingering hold on Katsuki’s hips until he finally let go, letting the blonde do as he pleased with you. 

Katsuki began to tug on his belt, aggressively undoing it as his almost glowing eyes wandered over your body. Your thighs pressed together, feeling vulnerable under his intimidating gaze. You watched him undress, leaning back on your elbows as button after button came undone. You hadn’t even realised Kirishima disappeared from your sight until the drawer beside the bed slid open. Finally breaking your glare from Katsuki, you turned your attention to Kirishima, who was digging through the top drawer of the nightstand. 

A bottle of lube and wet wipes were placed on the tabletop, Kirishima smiling softly at you as you watched him, his lips parting to show the pointed tips of his teeth. It was comforting, if only for a moment. While you were distracted, Katsuki had completely stripped off his clothes and swooped down, trapping you between his arms. With your neck craned to watch Kirishima, Katsuki used the opportunity to place a hot kiss on your neck, teeth dragging against your skin. You gasped and moaned as you grabbed onto his shoulders, back arching up until your torso was flat against his abs. 

His cock felt hot and heavy against your thigh, yours creating a tent in the lacy panties you wore. With your attention back on him, his lips travelled up your neck until they met yours, his hands running over your bare skin, stopping for brief moments over the garter belt and thigh highs, until his fingertips slipped under the elastic of your panties. Featherlight touches against your cock were accidental, his focus on the underwear itself, but they still sent tingles to your fingertips. 

He broke the kiss to retrieve the lube, squirting some on his fingers. His dry hand pushed your thighs apart and pulled your underwear to the side. You were already slick, but he didn’t want to risk hurting you as he slowly but firmly started to finger you open. Katsuki bit his lip as you mewled below him, rolling your hips in hopes of the digits slipping in further. You had almost forgotten about Kirishima until you heard the chair in the corner creak as he shifted himself on it to get a better view of Katsuki prepping you for him. 

After fitting three fingers inside you, Katsuki pulled them out and slicked up his cock with lube, pressing the tip to your wet hole. With little resistance, he penetrated you, cock stretching your walls. Moans and curses flowed from your lips, twisting the bed sheets in your fists. He was quick to set a fast and rough pace, hips slapping against your thighs. Each thrust had his cock brushing against your sensitive spot, sending pleasureful shocks through your nerves like electricity. 

His strong hips made the bed creak, his grip shifting to your thighs to push your knees towards your shoulders. Without Kirishima’s calm and grounding touches, your body felt electric and like you were in another world. Eyes rolling back, back arching and moans turning to mindless babbles as each thrust against your g-spot brought you closer to coming. 

But Katsuki’s hips began to slow, your orgasm falling with it. Your eyes snapped to him, and through blurry vision, you could see Kirishima behind Katsuki, guiding him to lean forward. As he leaned over you, pushing your knees further against your shoulders and his cock slowly thrusting at a new angle, Kirishima held a strong grip on the blonde’s hip, lining up his cock to his husband’s hole. He could barely hold Katsuki still long enough to insert himself, but once he did Katsuki started to thrust even faster inside you, fucking himself on Kirishima’s cock. 

Kirishima stared lovingly at the back of Katsuki’s head before he aggressively grabbed his hair, yanking Katsuki upwards. The blonde’s face was twisted in pleasure, Kirishima nibbling at his neck as his powerful hips set the pace. He had taken control of the whole situation, his staunch hold on Katsuki reigning him in, and he seemed to like it too, maybe even love it by the way he grinned. 

“Fu-uck!” Katsuki groaned, his raspy voice sending a throb to your core. He still had your knees against your shoulders, so as much as you wanted to run your nails across the muscular landscape of his body, you could only clench the bed sheets. Each forceful thrust from Kirishima was felt inside you, your underwear growing dark as your boycunt grew wetter, soaking the lace fabric. Drool dripped from the corner of your lips as you let out a chorus of moans, Katsuki’s grip on the underside of your thighs growing tighter, leaving crescent moons to dot your skin. 

“Ka-Kats-ki,” you stuttered, eyes clenching shut as your peak grew closer, toes curling. Katsuki moaned at you calling his name, biting his lip to muffle the sound. A couple more muffled moans from him had you peaking your eyes open, catching the two heroes locked in a passionate kiss. When they broke apart, they stared deeply into each other’s eyes as Kirishima finally let go of Katsuki’s spiked locks. It was as if they were silently communicating with each other as Katsuki pulled your calves against his shoulders before leaning down, his chest almost against yours if your legs weren’t in the way. 

Kirishima started thrusting intensely, forcing Katsuki’s cock deeper inside you. It felt like he was rearranging your guts with each stroke, his pelvis rubbing against your t-dick until the coil snapped and you soaked your underwear. Clenching around Katsuki brought him closer to coming, Kirishima feeling the way his partner’s hips stuttered as he tried to match the pace of his hips. With a Herculean grip, he held Katsuki’s hips in place and started pounding him. Each thrust from Kirishima caused Katsuki’s cock to stimulate your G-spot as it pressed against the sensitive spot perfectly at that angle. 

With your lips parted as you whined and moaned, Katsuki kissed you, his tongue against the back of your teeth. Another orgasm started to build, barely coming down from the high from the first one, as you started clenching down on Katsuki’s cock once more. This combined with Kirishima’s superhuman speed brought Katsuki to cum, the feeling of his seed filling you bringing you to cum again. Katsuki’s hole tightened around Kirishima and with a few more staggering thrusts, he came. 

The combined panting of Katsuki, Kirishima and yourself harmonised in the room, everyone slowly coming back down to earth after being sent to cloud nine. Kirishima pulled out of Katsuki with a shiver, which allowed the blonde to pull out of you, just in time as your legs started to ache. Katsuki lazily rolled down beside you, sweaty back hitting the cooler sheets. Kirishima retrieved the wet wipes he left out earlier, cleaning himself off first before nudging Katsuki’s thighs apart to clean him. 

In response, Katsuki pulled the red-headed hero down to kiss him once more. You looked away, feeling almost as if you were intruding. Your underwear being pulled down had you looking between your legs, where Kirishima was attempting to remove the soaked garment. You sat up, reaching down to take them off yourself.

“You don’t have to-” You were silenced by his hand cupping your cheek delicately, his smile just as soft. 

“It’s okay, just relax,” he spoke, waiting for you to lay back down before he continued to remove the lingerie. Most of it had been stained by cum and lube, and most likely couldn’t be salvaged. Katsuki must’ve caught your frown, as he playfully squeezed your thigh before he climbed off the bed. 

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he said as he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. The wet wipe felt cold against your abused hole, but it was better than feeling slick and sticky. 

“What time is it?” you asked once Kirishima was done cleaning you, looking around for a clock. From the bathroom you heard a tap squeak before the water hit the tiled floor, the rhythm broken up by Katsuki cleaning himself up under the stream.

“Don’t worry about it,” Katsuki called over the water. 

“I have work in the morning,” you replied as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, searching the room for your discarded clothes. Kirishima was fluffing about around you, stripping off the pillowcases and tossing them aside. Before you could ask him why, Katsuki peered out of the bathroom, scowling at you but the threatening look was diminished by his wet hair and water droplets running over his rippling biceps. 

“Shitty Hair has late patrols, he can take you,” he explained shortly. With your brow furrowed and head tilted in confusion, he sighed. 

“You’re staying the night, get in the shower.”

You blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing before Kirishima’s large hand found your back, leading you to stand up. Deciding not to fight it, you let the redhead lead you into the ensuite, where the shower was running, steam clouding the air. 

“Kats likes it a little hot, turn it down if you need to,” Kirishima whispered to you before leaving you to bathe. The caddy hanging from the base of the tall showerhead was stocked with various skin care products like scrubs, moisturisers, and shampoo that, when you squirted it onto your palm, smelt like Katsuki’s hair. There was also a bottle of 5-in-1 body, hair, face, shave and moisturiser which you correctly assumed to be Kirishima’s. When you were done, the redhead was waiting and gave you a fluffy towel, pressing a chaste kiss to your wet hair as you passed him. 

The bed sheets had been changed, candles blown out and only a lamp lit the room. Katsuki was now dressed in only his underwear as he carried the soiled sheets away. By the time you had dried yourself off, Katsuki had returned, now holding some folded clothes, which he handed to you. It was an old shirt and sleep shorts, both baggy on you, but smelt like the explosive hero. He dragged you to the bed, pulling you close on the crisp, clean sheets. You tried to ignore the fact that he was barely clothed, but you still felt your cheeks grow warm.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he smirked as he pulled you to his bare chest. “Red is a human heater.” 

Speak of the devil, Kirishima exited the bathroom, a towel hung low on his hips as he used a separate towel to dry his red locks. He strutted through the room, displaying his gorgeous body decorated with scars from his years on the hero scene. Digging through a dresser, he found a pair of sweats and a faded t-shirt, slipping them on before climbing into the bed. He pulled Katsuki until his back met his chest, Katsuki pulling you along with him. After switching off the light and snuggling into the bed, Kirishima sighed, all the tense knots in his muscles slipping away. 

“Goodnight Kats, goodnight baby,” he called into the dark room. 

“Night Ei,” Katsuki replied, words slurred as sleep quickly took him. 

“G’night,” you whispered into his chest, melting into his arms as your eyes drifted shut, the soft hum of the washing machine down the hall lulling you to sleep.

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

Hesitant Affection (Bowser x TransMasc/Male Reader)

Some feel good fluff with everyone’s favorite Koopa <3 This is kinda just ramblings since I couldn’t nail down a solid plot so forgive me if it’s a little chaotic. It’s a bit short and scattered so if you’d like something more specific just send me a request! The more specific the better.

Note: For things like this, I imagine Bowser a little more humanoid than his in-game model so this may come across in my writing but I do my best to kinda leave it up to interpretation. He’s still very tall and large, but more proportionate to human standards and lizardy in my mind. Also, unrelated because it doesn’t come up here but chubby Bowser > ripped Bowser, I will take no arguments.

CW: The level of transition for this reader character is unspecified. He/him pronouns are used here and there, but it's mostly a second person POV. A small part mentions the reader’s aversion to dresses and wearing them as a child, but is never forced to wear one in the present.

Requested by: anonymous

Word count: 615

Bowser. Praised by some, feared by many, and loved by a select few that he allows. Up until recently that list included only the Koopalings and on a good day, Kamek. But then this human, how curious he’s not afraid of the cruel King of the Koopas, wanders into his life and soon, he can't imagine his castle without him.

There’s a touch more life to the place, his subjects are happier with him around. He often helps in the kitchen or tidying up a mess. He hates to admit it, but this strange human may be changing Bowser too. He feels less of an inclination to cause random havoc knowing it would upset you, both to see him hurt but also others too (curse that large, kind heart you have).

He’s quite the textbook gentleman, holding doors and pulling out your chair. But get him to engage in romance outside of what he was taught to provide and he becomes a mess. A small kiss on the nose seemed to make his fiery hair steam while his face burned with uncharacteristic sheepishness. Insist on holding his hand and he won’t even turn your way, to hide his embarrassed face of course, all while extending his grasp to your much, much smaller hand because how could he say no to his beloved? Not when he asked so sweetly, too. You’d be the death of him, he always thought to himself, but he’d die happy at least.

On one occasion, an unexpected invite to the Mushroom Kingdom for a banquet found its way to your hands, Bowser insisting it must be a mistake because why would they invite him to such a thing?

The invitation was vague. Peach’s large cursive writing, in pink pen of course, simply invited ‘The King of the Koopas and one guest to attend a banquet at my castle in the Mushroom Kingdom.’ The date and dress code were detailed at the bottom. You hadn’t been to a party like this since you were very young, forced into an itchy dress that you didn’t particularly like for many reasons, more being added on as you discovered yourself further. While you had faith Bowser wouldn’t urge any sort of similar clothing on you, he still insisted on letting you know that wasn’t happening if you wished to go and you were grateful.

That night, all eyes were on the Koopa King and the human hanging off his arm. The princess greeted you cheerfully, inviting you both in and explaining the banquet’s purpose as a celebration of peace. She was grateful to Bowser for his change in behavior, and later to you when in conversation over drinks you explained you may have been the reason for it. You were introduced to the ever famous Mario Brothers, delightful duo they were, and found amusement when you caught your date for the evening glaring daggers at the mustachioed plumber in red.

I see you helping him with the Koopalings, Bowser Jr. namely, and him swooning. Watching you hold his hand in a crowd so you don’t separate from him makes his heart flutter, letting them help you in the kitchen to make his birthday breakfast and smiling (and almost crying but he’d never admit it) when he passes the cracked kitchen door.

He sleeps on his front due to his shell and sometimes, you like to stick cotton balls on his spikes while he dozes for no real reason other than the human fascination of having the ability to do so. It entertains you and when Bowser discovers it, he finds it cute. He also can’t get them off himself so be a dear and help him, won’t you?

[queer-advice-hotline]

Hello Queer-Advice-Hotline,

Thanks for all that you do! Just found this blog and it’s been really educating and helping.

I have a question. I’m nearly 34. Last year I started on a journey of getting to know myself and what I liked, as I spent a lot of my adult life dealing with trauma and resulting codependency issues. I was very femme, the last thing I thought I’d be questioning when I started this was my gender.

I always wondered to wear male clothing and decided one day to explore that urge. (The men’s aisle at old navy is a gateway drug.) I started using they/them and a different name. (The name was to cut ties to my trauma as well as express my gender.) I kept wearing more and more men’s clothing, and that’s all I wear at work and my home. It feels right to me. I am out as non-binary with people, but friends in my life have no clue I dress like a man, sometimes use the “he” pronoun and bind.

I now use he/they. I don’t define myself as a trans man though. I thought for a little while I might be, but have no interest in hormones or surgery. I bind my chest mostly in private and love how it looks and feels, but I think I’d feel more dysphoric without my top half then with them. I like my top half and it’d feel weird to be without it. I also love my bottom half and wouldn’t want to get rid of that either. I look at myself in the mirror sometimes and think “fuck I love my body”. About the only thing I’m super dysphoric about is my voice. I wish it were much lower.

I like the way I see physically look now with just the outside appearance alteration: the masc clothing, short hair, etc. I do often have anxiety about being out to people about my gender. I’m out to my friends as non-binary, but most of they think I’m still femme. At work I dress masc, at home alone, and at one comic store I go to. Most others don’t know. I’m slowly being more open about who I am (and feel great joy in that) but am not fully out. I know that this is because I have a lot of internalized transphobia because of my evangelical upbringing and I’m working through it. I fear rejection. I fear judgement. I worry my change in my identity is because of my trauma, or some head injuries I had in recent years. I don’t feel secure in my place at the queer table. How do you work through those fears? I identify currently as genderqueer trans-masc. I am not sure if I’m allowed to use the terms “transmasc” or the pronoun he”. But I have no interest in HRT or surgery. I worry I’m misappropriating an identity. Is is ok to define myself as genderqueer transmasc and not want to physically transition? Am I trans enough, I suppose is ultimately the question.

Thank you for the help. I’m a really shy person, don’t know anyone in the queer community, and wasn’t sure who to ask.

Surgery, hormones, and any other sort of physical transition are not required to be trans. You can absolutely define yourself as trans masc, genderqueer, or even as a trans man if you wanted to. It’s not misusing the label at all.

You would be trans enough even if you wore dresses, had long hair, and used she/her pronouns. You are trans enough as you are, always.

[sunnyscript]

The urge to write a superboy and lilo & stitch crossover (with minor yj crossover) then explore all the f-up parts of Kon's "childhood"

Like exploring the grooming that child stars go through, sexual grooming( 23?yo woman dating a 16 uo expy, supervillain Knockout grooming him and calling him a "jail bait"), also the capitalistic need of the industry that doesn't give a flying f about kids dying (remember what happened to the superboy copycat?) , body image, Kon's desire to comform to people's expectation and the way he just REPRESS things, and tourism in Hawaii does to the locals, how capitalism and western colonization affect the life of of those who don't want to live the life™️ ( working 8 to 4 five day a week forever, buying a house where you put all these things you feel like you don't need ).... etc

THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS TO EXPLORE.

I want stitch and Kon to be friend. I want ”on to go full on Gemsworld around Stitch and Lilo and get introspective as hell. I want him to hate his brain.

I want the two neurodivergent icons to meet ( Lilo and Bart )

Likely, the story will be set in the late 90's or early 2010's.

Also, yj will have a poly in it.

And Hal Jordan will be Greta hayes' mentor as the spectre.

Also Cassie will be transmasc (and confused AS FUCK. Be like "I'm a straight but I feel weird about femininity" then go "wait I'm a lesbiab" "No, shit, actually I'm a bi girl" "Not a girl" "But like am I really a boy?" "Yes" "No" "Yesn't" "Maybe" "who gives a shit" "I do 😭" "Is my attraction to boy real????" "Wait maybe I'll feel less weird if I pass?" "But what if I don't?!" "Boy at least I know I love girls... But do they love me back tho?" "Kon I can't tell if I want to be you or fuck you to oblivion" "I kind of wanna make out with Bart or Cissie..." "How do I dress?" "I would wear a dress, if I looked masculine enough" "God do I have to change my superhero name?" "Wonderboy already exist..." "Bart what do you mean wonderman is available since he doesn't exist in that universe???" ....etc)

[ghostsoapgirl]

Thinkin’ Bout You

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ghost x Transmasc!Reader

Word Count: 3600

A/N: I hope i did this fic justice. I haven’t written smut in years and as i am not a transmasc person I just hope i portrayed it okay. 

MINORS DNI!!!

Simon’s finger hovered over the call button. It’s been months, if not a year, since he’d heard from you last. What does he say? With out giving it another thought, he presses the button. It rings for only a second before it’s answered.

“Simon!” your voice exclaims loudly. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the pure joy in your voice was definitely not it. “How are you? God, its been forever.” He allowed you to ramble a bit before he spoke.

“I was just thinking about you, about us, from before.” The soft sigh that leaves your lips has him breathless. God, he’d give anything to have you with him right now.

“Simon,” you speak softly, not sure where he’s going with this. “I always think about you too.” and it’s true. There’s not a day that goes by without him crossing your mind. Your lives were just too different, opposite sides of the spectrum. Your job keeps you in one place while his has him all over the world for indeterminate amounts of time. “How have you been?” He isn’t sure how to answer that so he just does.

“Stressed,” he lets out through a small laugh and your heart soars at the sound. God, you’d give anything to be next to him right now. “I’ve got a few weeks of downtime.” He let that hang in the air. He didn’t want to flat out ask to see you, hoping you’d take the bait and invite him.

“Don’t wanna spend time alone?” You knew Simon, you knew this. It’s how your situationship started in the first place. Simon wasn’t one to ask for things he wanted. Especially if that thing was you. “I’m sure Soap wouldn’t mind the company,” you teased. You’d heard plenty of stories about the duo back when you and Simon could have been considered something. Now though, it had been over a year since you’d even spoke.

“Don’t wanna spend time with Johnny,” he grumbled through the phone.

“What do you want, Simon?” You knew you were pushing your luck and after a long moment of silence, you had to check the phone to make sure he hadn’t hung up. When you saw the call was still connected, you made a humming noise in your throat, hoping it would urge his honesty. Honestly, you weren’t expecting an answer, so you almost missed the mumbled you when he said it. You hesitated briefly, unsure if he’d expand on it. When he didn’t you spoke up again. “Simon.” Spoken so softly he could have missed it but he didn’t. Spoken as an affirmation, an answer in just his name.

“When,” came his gruff reply. You knew you’d pushed him to his limit now so you took pity on him.

“Are you in the states?” When he confirmed he was in fact in the states, you went on the schedule a time for him to come out. You laughed when he told you he was already in your state, because of course he knew you couldn’t say no to him. You were still in the same apartment you’d been in the last time he’d seen you so you told him he could just head on over. After a quick goodbye you started the shower, trying to calm the nerves coursing through you. The last time you had seen Simon was prior to your top surgery. You admired the scars in the mirror before turning and hopping in. Your shower was methodical and quick, and when you emerged you headed to your bedroom to decide on what to wear.

Deciding on a nice tank top and some loose shorts, because hey, this was your apartment and you absolutely refused to get dressed up, you headed to the kitchen to try and decide on something to make. But as soon as you left your bedroom, there was a knock at your door. All the nerves you’d been holding back up until this point released a flurry in your belly. Before you could change your mind or doubt your choice of clothes, you walked to the door and flung it open.

Simon just sood there appraising you. You watched as his eyes took you in, from head to toe. His gaze passed over your chest quickly before finding your eyes again and you could see the crinkle of a smile through the balaclava he wore. You stepped back, allowing him entrance into your apartment. As soon as the door shut though you were pulled into a hug, Simon tucking his face into your neck, breathing you in.

“I missed you, too,” you said, because you did. You knew this was Simon’s way of saying the things he couldn’t so you allowed yourself to melt into the hug, smiling when you were chest to chest. There was nothing between you now, no uncomfortable mounds of flesh to hide behind big sweaters or side arm hugs.

“You did it,” was whispered against your neck and he didn’t have to specify for you to know what he’d meant. Your entire time with Simon, he knew how much you hated your chest and how you’d done everything you could to hide it. At his words, you melted further into him, tucking your face into his jacket.

“I did,” you laughed as he pulled away to look at you again. As his gaze raked over your form, you tried to fight the blush rising on your skin. Of course, that only made Simon grin even harder. God, how you’d missed that smile. You reached up and placed your hand on the bottom of his mask, asking a silent permission. When he nodded, you lifted the mask in one swift motion, needing to have his beautiful face bared to you. Your breath caught in your throat. Gods he was gorgeous. He wasn’t wearing his normal black eye paint under the mask so you got to see him in all his glory.

“Look at you,” you said through a smile. “Just as pretty as always.” It was Simon’s turn to blush now as he ducked his head. A finger under the chin and he was looking into your eyes again. “Why me?”

“You know why,” he spoke as he pulled away from you to drop his duffel on the way to your living room. You didn’t know, you hoped but there was a niggling of doubt in the back of your head so you needed to hear him say it. When you didn’t move to follow him he turned around and sighed. “I dreamt of this, you know. Having you to come home to after missions.” That shook you to your core. You’d had those same dreams of him coming home to you, of making a home with him. But things didn’t work like that. He refused to give up his home in the UK and you had refused to leave the job you’d worked so hard for. Every now and then, he’d visit and you’d enjoy your time together but both knew it could never be anything more.

That’s why a year ago, you’d been forced to end things for good. Your heart couldn’t take being with him but not being able to have him. You never labeled what you had and you never, ever dared to tell him how you truly felt about him. So you’d let him go. You’d fought the urge every day to call him, leave a message and beg him to come back to you. It had hurt but you knew it was the only way you’d heal. You didn’t though. You never got over him but you maintained your strength and never reached out.

And then he called you.

“I can’t leave my home, Si.” He visibly shivered at the use of the nickname you’d given him. “If you came here just to tell me I can’t have you, then I'm sorry but I can’t go through that again. I won’t recover this time.” HIs eyes widened at that.

“This time? WE ended things amicably.” You could hear the question in his voice. “There never was an us.” His voice broke at that but it broke you even more. You knew that, had always known that, but hearing him say that? You fought the tears back down, because you were not going to cry in front of him and you were about to ask him to leave when he continued. “Was there?”

“Of course there was! “ Your voice was louder than you intended so you took a deep breath to compose yourself. “You were my everything. But our lives were so different, in different countries, there wasn’t a way for this to work.” You gestured between the two of you, finally meeting his eyes. The sadness in them mirrored your own but you had to keep going. “I loved you. I still do, Si.”

He closed the distance between the two of you so fast your head spun. It was his turn to put a finger on your chin and force you to look him in the eyes. “What?” The disbelief in his voice was evident and it brought back a memory from so long ago. There’s nothing he to love, he’d told you once. You’d already loved him then but there was no way you’d ever tell him that. At least not then.

“Simon, don’t play dumb. I’ve loved you for a while now. I wasn’t going to say anything because you made it clear what we were doing wasn’t about love.” You managed not to spit the last word but you could feel your anger rising. As you were about to continue on your rant, Simon interrupted.

“I sold my place.” The absurdity of what he’d said forced a laugh from you. You stared at him trying to make sense of what he’d said. “About three weeks before I was granted leave, I sold it. It’s never been a home. I don’t have a home unless I have you.”

“What are you saying,” you managed to breathe out. Tears were threatening to spill. Home. You were Simon’s home. That means?

“I love you.” Simon stated it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I want to be here. With you. I want to come home to you.” His hands had moved to your waist now, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against the skin of your hips. When had his thumbs moved under your tank top? You couldn’t remember as his words washed over you again and again.

The tears were flowing freely now and you didn’t even try to stop them. You had so much you wanted to say, needed him to know but instead of speaking, you pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and crashed your lips into his. It took only a second before Simon was kissing you back, nudging you backwards until you were pressed against the wall. HIs tongue teased your lips and you melted, opening for him. He kissed you breathless for several minutes before parting for air, Both your chests were heaving, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’m saying,” he spoke between pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead, “that if you’ll have me, I’d like to come home to you. Here.”

“In the states?” you asked between panting breaths. Simon laughed, his mouth now on your neck.

“Where ever you are.” And yeah, okay you could work with that. Before you could answer, your tank top was pulled to the side and Simon nibbled on the space between your neck and shoulder. A moan was pulled from your throat and your hands found their way into his hair. His thumbs were still rubbing circles into your hips and between his mouth and fingers, you were going crazy, You didn’t know what you wanted, just that you needed more.

Tugging on his hair, he got the hint before releasing your neck and lifting his head to look at you. The adoration in his eyes made your knees weak. You pushed against his chest and he stepped back from you, eyeing you curiously. What you were about to do had your skin tingling with nerves but if anyone was going to see you like this, it was going to be him.

Simon watched, enraptured, as you hands went to the base of your tank top and lifted it. It was over your head and on the floor in a moment, and you stood there bare before him. Even without breasts, this was intimate for you. Sharing your bare chest with someone in this way was something you were never sure you’d get to do. HIs eyes raked over your now flat chest and the fire in his eyes lit a fire in your core.

“Can I?” he asked as his hand reached for you, seemingly of its own accord. He stopped, waiting for your answer. You simply nodded and that was all the permission he needed. He ran his thumb softly over your scars and a sigh left your throat. “Do they hurt?”

“No,” you laughed breathlessly, “just sensitive.” “In a good way?” His eyes were alight and your heart melted a little more at the thought.

“I don’t know. No ones ever.” you allowed your voice to trail off and the look on his face had you pause.

“No one else has seen you like this?” The possessive tone in his voice caused a shiver to run down your spine. Instead of answering you shook your head no. “You’re mine, you hear me,” he practically growled out as both hands came to squeeze your pecs. “Lets find out how sensitive these are?” Before you could question what he meant by that he was ducking his head and licking a wet stripe over your left scar.

Your knees went weak at the sensation but one of Simon’s hands were on your hip, helping to hold you steady. He proceeded to lick and kiss every inch of your scar from one side to the other before taking your nipple between his teeth. You knew from others that sometimes sensation took a long time to come back but thank fuck that wasn’t the case for you. Your hips bucked, looking to get any sort of friction and Simon slotted his thigh between your legs, giving you something to grind against.

He rolled your nipple between his teeth, switching between biting and licking, before moving on and paying the same attention to the other nipple. When he finally has mercy on you and releases your nipple from his teeth, his lips find yours again. Its you who breaks away this time, begging or pleading, you’re not sure, but Simon seems to get the hint as the next thing you know he’s guiding you to your couch.

He lays you down upon it gently before his hands find the waist band of your shorts. You nod, giving permission without him having to ask, and he pulls your shorts and boxers off in one fell swoop. He takes a moment to just step back and admire you before you make a hand motion telling him to get on with it. He laughs, a breathless laugh that makes your head spin, before pulling his hoodie and shirt off in one go.

It’s your turn to stare now. As Simon undoes his pants, you watch the muscles in his stomach ripple from the movement, cataloguing the new scars that weren’t there the last time you guys were in this situation. There’s a new one on his hip your eyes trace and as it reaches his thigh you realize he's completely bare before you, his cock hanging heavy and red between his legs.

“Gods’ I’ve missed you.” Its out of your mouth before you even know your saying it and you blush again. It seems to be the right thing to say because Simon is crawling onto the couch with you, slotting his lips with yours before grinding against you. Every drag of him has your cunt throbbing, his head catching your clit on every thrust.

“I would love to take my time with you,” you say when you break the kiss. Simon just kisses your neck and collarbone, not seeming to be able to keep his mouth off of you, “but please for the love of god, fuck me.” He laughs into your neck before leaning back to look in your eyes.

“Condom,” he asks, just as breathless as you feel.

“No, there's been no one since you.” That fuels the possessiveness in him and he leans back in for a kiss as he lines himself up with your entrance. “Just go slow, Si, you’re not a small man.” He laughs against your mouth and pushes forward the smallest bit. You groan together as his head breaches your cunt, the stretch causing your head to spin. He allows you to adjust for just a moment before he’s pushing himself further into you.

You can tell he’s holding back, only moving an inch or so at a time and your patience is wearing thin. You wrap your legs around him, lifting your hips at the same time, taking him all the way to the hilt in one go. A moan rips from your throat, a groan leaving him at the same time. Gods, you forgot how big he was. He allows you a moment to adjust to the full size of him before pulling out just a bit and rocking back into you.

You moan together at the fullness, the feeling of him and you plead for him to just move already. With a light nip to your collarbone, he listens, pulling all the way out before slamming back into you. Your eyes close as he sets a slow and steady pace, pulling all the way out before fucking back into you, the rhythm not enough to push either of you over the edge, just enough to let you feel all of him.

You allow him this, the slow fucking for a few minutes before your grabbing at his shoulders, begging for faster or harder, you’re not sure, probably both. With a nip to your collar bone, he leans his weight back onto his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulder before slamming back into you. The change of position, the speed and the depth at which he's fucking you pull a moan from your throat. Simon laughs, that beautiful noise, before it breaks off in a choked grown as you squeeze your walls around him.

“Please,” you beg, needing to be touched. Simon understand your pleas, running his hands all over your stomach, your chest, fingers lovingly tracing your scars, before his hands rub down your sides, one holding your hip firmly as the other reaches between you too. The first flick of his thumb over your swollen clit forces a hiss from you. “Just like that,” and so he continues to fuck you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. You can feel the heat building in your core, that familiar tingle in your limbs letting you know your close. You tell him as much and he redoubles his efforts, applying just a bit more pressure to your aching clit.

“Tell me where love, I’ll pull out,” before he can even finish his sentence, your answering him.

“Inside, please, I wanna feel you.” With that, your orgasm rips through you pulling a shout from your throat. You feel his hips begin to falter before you feel him twitching inside of you, and the feeling of him flooding your insides pulls a few more twitches from your body before he collapses on top of you, bracing his weight on his elbows.

It takes you both a few minutes to catch your breath and you open your eyes, not even sure when you closed them, to see Simon watching you. You want to say something, anything to let him know that you want this forever and he seems to read your mind, because he speaks up first.

“I know we have a lot to discuss, but please tell me to stay.” The question in his voice causes your heart to break just a little. Simon, ever the doubter, still thinks you're going to turn him away.

“Forever,” you whisper against his lips as both of your hands find his cheeks. You kiss like that for a few moments, before he slips out of you and climbs off the couch. He returns a moment latter with a warm washcloth. After he cleans you up, he hands you a shirt and your boxers from the ground. You slip on your boxers and as you slide the shirt over your head your realize its his.

“Staking your claim, are you?” He laughs before pulling his own boxers on, slipping the shirt over your head and rejoining you on the couch.

“I’d like to think I already did that.” You laugh together before finding a blanket to pull over both of you, finding your remote and turning on the tv for some background noise. Before you know it, Simon is drifting off into your side and you feel your own eyelids get heavy. You fall asleep just like that, curled into Simon’s side before you allow your own eyes to close.

For the first time in a year, you feel content. Safe. Loved. And you’ll do anything to keep this feeling for the rest of your life.

[prettygirlfever]

slutty transmasc urge to wear dresses around him so all he has to do is push them up over my thighs and go to town

[kalux-sims]

I've started referring to myself as transmasc sometimes. I'm still a nonbinary demi-man, but I'm investigating leaning in on the man part of that. I've been doing it for over a year, but my life used to mostly just be my ex.

They wanted me to be more of a man than I was comfortable with, in a way that felt pushy and controlling at times. In their way too early outloud daydreams about our future wedding (thank fuck that never happened), I wore a suit. I'm not a suit guy. I would absolutely not miss the chance to swear a fabulous dress. Not white, but unquestionably, I would wear a dress if I had a wedding. There were other things too. I wasn't comfortable being called their boyfriend when it was their idea.

But now I'm dating again, and I've had gender conversations with both people I've gone out with. They're both cis, but allies with trans people in their lives. They're not critical at all of my feminine appearance "mismatch" with my masculine being. I'm really pleased and feel very affirmed.

I can be a man who looks like a woman and has a feminine name. It doesn't change who I am inside.

My comfort level with telling people I'm a demi-man wobbled more than it probably should have after meeting some of my ex's friends this past summer. A young trans man and I had a quick conversation about whether I'd switch to using a masculine or neutral name. I told him I consider a neutral one sometimes, but that Kate is a name I'm very comfortable with. We didn't get to talk about it much deeper than that, but it's bugged me enough that I considered trying to find him on FB for a continuation of the conversation.

My basic feeling is that a name is just a sound people make to get my attention. My deadname has painful associations for me, but this name doesn't. If I'm not transitioning, and I don't have a strong urge to, I don't see the point in having a name that's completely novel to me. Kate is still part of the name my parents gave me. It's short for Katherine, my legal middle name. My best friend's name is Katharine, and we bonded over almost matching. I'm not ready to lose that, and I may never be.

I do wish I could grow a beard though, without other changes to my body and voice.

Shoutout to all my fat transmascs, my long haired transmascs, my short transmascs, and all my transmascs who get misgendered from behind and on the phone.

All my transmascs with "feminine" hobbies, "feminine" gestures, "feminine" ways of talking. My transmascs who don't voice train, who still wear clothes from the women's section.

Every transmasc experience is unique and amazing. You're all so wonderful and handsome and bring something that's just you into this world. Don't stop breaking boundaries and rules, reshape them and force the world to conform to you.

[cxparadisi]

i feel like a lot of transmascs feel on some level that admitting that they are fundamentally different than cis men is an invalidation of their masculinity and it makes them go to bat for cis dudes as if they face the same pressures and societal expectations as trans men which ends up in them being very stupid and transmisogynistic because they come into conversations where transfems are talking about transfem eggs and the way that amab people interact with masculinity and transmascs join the conversation with "let men be masculine".

because trans men do in fact face transphobia for being masculine. masculine transmascs are constantly scrutinized and attacked for being ruined women who will never truly be men, with our masculinity being held up as a prize we will never earn no matter what we do and which we are arrogant and destructive of our natural female bodies in our urge to reach. that joke about how if bathrooms are enforced by agab the trans dudes who look like kratos are gonna have to be in the ladies' room ends before the punchline which is that those trans men either piss at home or are forced to invade womens' spaces which has very real social consequences including threats to their safety. trans men with full beards and male pattern baldness cannot pass as women to most people, so to anyone who knows or finds out your agab immediately knows that you're transgender, which means that situations where a trans person might closet themselves for their safety(visiting transphobic relatives, not having to come out to people who knew you pre-transition, trying to access gender-locked healthcare) are unavailable to you, so the non-op ftm with a lumberjack beard still has that while he's trying to get a pap smear and that joke about mom insisting that the trans guy wear a dress to the family reunion only for him to show up looking like hulk hogan ends before they tell you what happens after that. chasers who expect every transmasc to be an androgynous twink happy to perform femininity for their sexual gratification absolutely punish trans men who don't fit that standard, and your current partner preventing you from transitioning because you won't be their girl on command anymore is a well-known issue. masculine transmascs also get a lot of shit from other afab queer people, often even other transmascs, who also expect trans men to fall neatly under "women and trans men who i consider women" so they consider you a bad ending for a cute tboy who transitions too much, which makes swimming in a toxic pit lake preferable to existing in some transmasc communities as everyone politely informs you that they wish you didn't exist.

so like yeah, trans men do face discrimination for being masculine. that discrimination is called transphobia, and is why it is politically necessary for them to advocate for themselves in a way that cis men do not need to.

so why do so many annoying transmasc people add "and cis men!" into any posts they make about transphobia? why attribute this to an attack on masculinity generally as if cis men are also told by their boyfriends that getting bottom surgery would render them sexual pariahs? probably most of it is extending "trans men, being men, are closer to cis men than cis women", which is true, past its logical limit into "therefore cis and trans mens' experiences are interchangeable", which is not true, and they know it's not true because when they're called out for being misogynistic a lot of them will suddenly understand that they're a politically separate category from cis men. i am sympathetic to the overextending thing because spending your entire life being told that you will always be a woman often leads to an urge to frantically dig your claws into the only men you've been told are Real men and associate yourself entirely with them. wanting to be cis is a form of internalized transphobia almost every trans person experiences and not examining that can make you say some real dumb shit. i am not so sympathetic to them derailing transfem conversations that operate with the correct assumption that some "cis men" are actually women because, having staked the validity of their masculinity on being just like cis men, the idea that they might actually be women and especially the idea of having someone try to convince them to be a woman is painful and triggering.

counterarguments:

some trans men consider themselves closer to cis women than cis men or find the idea of forcefem hot: yeah that's why i said "a lot of transmascs" and not "every transmasc in existence", but also trans people can have complicated or contradictory feelings on their assigned gender which is why transandro bros who talk about androphobia like they're considered cis men will still understand that many trans men are considered women outside of just failing to beat the transmisogyny allegations.

a lot of that sounds similar to transmisogyny: that's because transphobia is a part of transmisogyny! tma people are also simultaneously held to the standards of masculinity and femininity and punished for a percieved failure to achieve either, and of course some of this is misdirected transmisogyny from percieving masculine trans men as trans women who don't pass. this is misdirected both because what works for trans women often is not helpful to trans men and vice versa so analyzing it as the same issue leads to suggesting solutions that only work for one group and are useless or harmful to the other, and because even if you're attacked for being a dude who looks like a chick, a lot of that transphobia can be avoided by proving you're not a trans woman. if an afab person gets accused of being a trans woman the main thing people do to defend them is cite their assigned gender, not argue that trans women shouldn't be barred from the olympics. this doesn't mean that transphobia against trans men, masculine trans men included, isn't real, traumatizing, dangerous, and often life-threatening.

medically transitioning doesn't automatically make a trans man masculine and is not interchangeable with passing: yeah i know but "transmascs who present as and are generally percieved as male" is really long to type and a lot of stigma against medical transition is based on its masculinizing effects. this is itself transphobic because it relies on the assumption that beards and penises are masculine while boobs and vaginas are feminine, but that is unfortunately what is systemically accepted and enforced.

are you saying that being forced to closet yourself is a privilege: not in any systemic sense or outside of the most general definition of "being beneficial in some specific circumstances with heavy caveats and downsides". like yeah being able to get into a women's shelter is better than not having that option but also being forced into the closet makes people kill themselves so it evens out.

feminine trans men experience a lot of this too: yeah "feminine" and "masculine" are socially constructed categories that in practice no transmasc 100% falls into one binary side of, and transphobia against trans men affects all trans men.

what about the assumption that transmascs face less oppression than transfems?: dude trans girls aren't saying that oppression is a quantifiable resource you are allotted a measurable amount of they're just saying that there is an extra axis of oppression you're not experiencing. a disabled trans man living in bhutan experiences more axes of oppression than an abled trans woman living in canada but that doesn't mean either of their oppressions aren't real, just that in comparison to a disabled trans woman living in bhutan they are systemically less oppressed. it's also possible that despite belonging to more or less systemically oppressed groups they as individuals could have any range of experiences from a pretty good life with a supportive social network to being killed in a hate crime at age 14. nobody in existence is on every axis of oppression, and TME means that you aren't on this particular exact one and nothing else.

but cis men shouldn't be forced to be trans women if they don't want to: and people who like astronomy shouldn't be forced to become astronauts, a trans girl asking a cis guy if he's ever thought about why he's more comfortable playing games as a girl applies exactly as much societal pressure to transition as asking a kid who's obsessed with space if they want to be an astronaut when they grow up. most of the time feminine cis guys aren't going to end up transitioning, as most people into space aren't going to become astronauts, but just posing the hypothetical isn't harmful and at absolute worst might be a little annoying if you get that question a lot.

[cebwrites]

n/sfw headcannons (law)

transmasc reader word count: 0.7k

He isn’t prone to going home with someone for the night - whenever his urges flare up he’ll simply repress it until he can find a nice secluded spot on the Tang to take care of his business, typically once a week in his room, but on occasion, maybe once or twice over a span of three months, he will

It’s more effort than he’d care to exert and he’s very reluctant to do it, but for the sake of his libido? He’ll begrudgingly acquiesce 

Sex either takes him out like a light afterwards or gets his blood pumping to run for another 10 sleepless hours - so be prepared to have him draped over you, dead to the world for some five or so hours, or cold, and so cruelly uncuddled! as Law gets up return to his workspace

If you’ve been dating him for a while, casual nudges and subtle gestures towards “taking care” of this will be commonplace

You’d notice Law casting long looks at you across the meeting room as Penguin explained the crew’s chores for the week, only getting the odd hum of affirmation every now again from his captain to signify that Law was still vaguely paying attention, even as the doctor dressed you down with nothing but his eyes beneath the shadows of his hat’s fuzzy brim

After everyone was dismissed your captain would get you to hang back for a tick, making up some excuse to hold you back until the last of his crew filed out of the meeting room to mill about their duties It’s not long until he has you on your knees, gently carding his fingers through your hair as he watches you work his cock through hooded eyes, paying painstaking attention to detail at every sigh, gulp, and bob of your throat to accommodate his throbbing want. “Fffuuuck, that’s a good boy. So good to me, (y/n), so good.” Law throws his head back with the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard, it makes the sting in the back of your throat well worth it. He hoists you onto the boardroom table, murmuring into the crook of your neck about how much he’d been yearning for you all day, how the thought of your pretty little mouth doing unspeakable things to him underneath this very table had plagued him so, and how he’d like his beloved to kindly take responsibility for these salacious thoughts. You scoff but the witty response you had in mind dissipates as Law grinds against the clothed bundle of sensitive nerves between your legs, not nearly enough friction as you needed now. His hands blaze a searing trail as Law too makes quick work of the boiler suit he sees you in every day, something clicks into place when he sees you donning his own jolly roger, something primal, possessive, and makes him capture your lips in a breathless kiss. Law makes sure each and every action is reciprocated, sucking on your engorged tip with the same fervor you’d shown his cock until your knees trembled against his shoulders and the digits he’d used to open you up were positively drenched. He’d shambles the both of you into your shared room with him, wasting no time in discarding the rest of his and your garments. No, he needed to feel all of you against him now, anything between that would be too restrictive. The surgeon lowers you onto his cock, relishing in every sweet little noise you make while also reminding you to keep the volume low since everyone was still awake, wearing that infuriating smug smile as the hypocrite himself struggles to hold back the moans threatening to spill from his lips. Law decides to silence himself against your mouth instead, lapping up each delicious moan he elicits from you as skilled doctor’s hands work their magic on your body. Law takes his time with you, dragging out relief as long as possible - you don’t remember but at some point you’d ended up on your back, knees behind the ears. At this point he doesn’t bother holding back, Law pounds stroke after heavy stroke into you, until your vision blurs and your mind reaches the highest of planes, until all you can feel is the comfortable heat of his seed deep inside you and your captain’s ragged breath in your ear as he rides out every last drop, coming down from his high dazed and a little disoriented, but pleased.

[himbolover777]

IKRRRRR AAAAAAA A A A A A A A AIQUWI>!<+>×<×&&×

I just realized there's a kind of dress named midi dress...

[ratking-whump]

An Unpleasent Gathering (1/2)

Contains: Collars, choking, creepy whumper, physical abuse, yelling, sort-of drowning, forced alcohol consumption, referenced amputation, referenced/implied torture, implied public humiliation, brief mention of feminization of a transmasc character, general whump stuff

Saide stood in front of the cracked bathroom mirror, awkwardly tugging at his button-down. It was too stiff, too tight around his collar, too formal and stifling and professional. But Washington required it, and so there would be no negotiation this way or that. Saide felt rather silly, to be honest, like a little kid playing dress-up. At least the right sleeve covered his stump of an arm, which had been a growing insecurity of his. He was still adjusting to the loss of it six months later- he had never believed in phantom pain until he felt it, awful stabbing agony that woke him in the middle of the night screaming into the pillow, soaked in sweat. Washington, naturally, pretended he didn't hear.

"I hate this," Saide mumbled. It felt good to get out that anger where he could. He had his journals, of course, but no time to write before the god-forsaken 'party.' "I hate this so much."

His bottoms were a bit more bearable, a soft dark-brown skirt that fell to his ankles. Saide had always been impartial to feminine clothing, but he imagined that Washington bought him this to fulfill one of his many awful fantasies, and for that he found himself resenting it. He would feel rather pretty in any other circumstance, but now he just felt like a pet. A small blessing, though: his clothes seemed fairly modest, kept his scars and bruises covered as if the partygoers didn’t know. As if that isn’t what they came for. 

Saide sighed, turning his attention to the counter: where upon it sat a thick band of brown leather, adorned with bronze metal loops, buckles, and clasps. A collar. Tangible proof, besides the wounds littering his body and his missing arm, that he was owned. That Washington had claimed him, as if that was something one person had any right to do to another. Not that this ownership meant he was off-limits for Washington's friends, of course. If anything, it gave Washington the right to pass him around like a bottle of whiskey. 

He also found that couldn't get the damned collar on himself, which meant he'd have to stoop down and ask Washington for help. He supposed that was the intended effect of his mutilation, so he would be weaker and even more at the mercy of his captor than he already was. Staring at the collar, he considered destroying it, or hiding it, or swallowing the damn thing. But he didn’t have access to anything resembling a weapon, and Washington would probably beat him half to death for an infraction like that. So he would have to suck it up and wear it. 

Before he could consider it further, the bathroom door swung open. No lock. Right. Washington stood in the doorframe, looking exactly as he always did, messy hair, dark eyes, hoodie and jeans. 

“Hello,” Washington smiled, looking him up and down. “You look perfect, dear heart.” 

“Whatever,” Saide barely resisted the urge to punch him. “I need help with the collar.” He gestured to his missing arm. 

“Of course,” Washington agreed pleasantly, picking it off the counter and admiring it. “I should have you wear this more often. It’s custom-made, you know? That’s very special. It was quite expensive to order, and you should be more grateful for the things you have, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t like it,” Saide snapped, but still turned obediently to face the wall. “I’m not a dog.” 

Washington settled firm hands on his shoulders, squeezing just enough into nearly-healed bruises that Saide squirmed, pain wracking down his arms. He leaned in, pressing himself into Saide’s back. 

“You’re not a dog, no. You’re lower. You’re nothing, Saide. And I’m going to fucking ruin you tonight.” 

He pulled back, looping the collar around his captive’s neck and fastening it in the back. He tugged it tight, until Saide began to have difficulty breathing, wheezing for air until he made awful choking noises. It was only then Washington released him, loosening the collar and snapping it into place. 

"Guests will be here soon," Washington spun him around, inspecting his dress. Despite his insistence that Saide dress formally, he was entirely denied hair products, and as such his hair had become matted and tangled, much longer than he was used to. "Are you excited?"

"No." His stomach flipped and he looked at the ground while Washington turned his face side to side. "Are you sure I can't just stay in my room? I'm really tired after- after last night and-"

Washington backhanded him across the face, hard enough that his cheek stung awfully and his vision went askew for a second. Startled, he stumbled back, catching himself on the counter.

"What-" Washington grabbed his face, and the trembling captive blinked his watery eyes open. "Do you think?"

"'m sorry-" Saide managed, trying to keep from crying. "Please."

"Good boy," Washington patted his already-swelling cheek. "Come now, you ought to help prepare refreshments."

Saide poured drinks into ugly little glass cups, garnishing them with little umbrellas and lemon slices, all while Washington watched, to assure the quality. He didn’t understand why people drank. The smell alone made him gag. 

“Will there be…” Saide cleared his throat. “Erm, more people than last time?” Washington shrugged. “No. It’s more… exclusive. Only the people I can trust not to run their mouths, you see. Expecting an audience, huh?” 

Saide shook his head frantically. “No!” He slid another lemon slice onto the rim of the glass. “Just… wondering. There are a lot of drinks here.” “Yes, well, I assume some people will want more than one, and you won’t exactly be available for refills.” 

Saide bit back the instinctive urge to apologize. For what, his own public torment? “Of course.” He agreed. “Uhm… do you, uh, think I can have some water when I’m done?” He continued to accessorize the drinks, which he found far easier than trying to lift the heavy pitcher with one hand. Asking for things from Washington tended to be a hit-or-miss, and he usually didn’t risk it unless he felt he needed it. Now was one such time, his throat was sore and standing made him lightheaded. It probably wasn’t just the dehydration to blame, but some water certainly wouldn’t hurt. 

“Hm,” Washington paused, pursing his lips. “Do you think you’ve earned it?” 

Had he? He had been… good, hadn’t he? He sat still and let Washington hurt and hurt and hurt him all yesterday, and he may have screamed and cried but he did not fight back despite the knife dragging lines into his back and the biting sting of those awful needles. “...yes.” He finally agreed. “I’ll… have better performance if I’m properly hydrated.”

Washington nodded. “Fair point. Alright, you may have a drink.” 

Saide smiled. It was the small victories. 

He topped off the last of the glasses and set the pitcher in the sink, adjusted the striped pink umbrellas, and washed his hands. Washington had wandered into another room, so he hesitantly filled a glass and began to sip. God, it was good. It soothed his raw throat and dribbled down his mouth, and he closed his eyes and chugged it. He didn’t know when he’d be allowed to have more- it was better to get down as much as he can. He used to be very particular about his drinks, rarely even touching water for weeks on end but… well, his perspective had changed over the past few years. When he opened his eyes, Washington was standing in front of him. 

“Hi,” Saide mumbled, out of breath. He wiped the water off his reddening face. “Sorry.” 

Washington fixed him with an awful, neutral glare, and before he even said anything, before Saide had gotten any hints that he had fucked up, he was shoved to the tile floor. His head slammed into the ground, and the glass followed soon after, shattering across the kitchen floor and spilling water. Pain flared through his skull, blurring his already-poor vision and sending a harsh wave of nausea down his throat. Saide gasped, trying to curl in on himself. What had he done? What had he done? He raised his hand to cover his face, trying not to panic. Sometimes Washington just acted for no reason- he could clean up the glass and be fine, he could be fine- 

“You little SHIT!” Washington yelled. “Do you know how much that was worth? You piece of shit. I swear to fucking god, I will kill you for this!” He slammed his fist into the wall, making the whole kitchen shake. 

“Sorry-” He pleaded. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-” Washington was on him then, grabbing his collar and forcing him to make eye contact. Saide’s face was adorned with tiny cuts, and the blood mingled with the water that dripped onto his shirt. His lips parted in a gasp, and his hands weakly shoved at Washington. 

“Please-” Saide begged, and Washington seized the opportunity to shove something in his mouth. He gagged, trying to scramble back, but he was pressed harshly against the cabinets. The foul, bitter taste of whiskey hit the back of his throat, and he nearly sobbed. He shook his head in protest, but Washington just tipped the bottle further, pouring more and more of the amber liquid into his mouth, even as he choked and sputtered, throat burning. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He could barely think beyond the pain and discomfort, and Washington’s awful hand pressing him down. It hurt it hurt it hurt, and he needed it to stop. He wasn’t religious, but he found his fractured thoughts drifting to god. If there was a god, why weren’t they helping him?!

“You’re thirsty, huh? Greedy fucking pig. I’ll let you drink, then! Pathetic. You’re so fucking-” Washington shoved the bottle further. “Pathetic.” 

Saide’s vision began to darken, the burning in his lungs subsiding. His scrabbling hands fell still. Was this how he died? Drowning in fucking whiskey, straddled by his kidnapper, dressed in a really ugly shirt? 

Just as his thoughts began to fade, Washington dragged the bottle away, discarding it to the side. The anger had drained from his face, replaced with a cold, cold smile.  Saide blinked the darkness away and sobbed, chest heaving for air, hands shaking.

“Our guests are here.” 

[thechangeling]

Fae omg look at these dresses-

ASGJDFHFSGG I LOVEEEEEE OMGGGG

The femmine urge to wear this but in a transmasc way.

[pentanguine]

Observations on my new haircut:

I didn’t realize the short bits would still go in a direction, and they very much want to swirl to the left

I have not stopped shedding, I’m just finding little bristles lying around instead of long curls

So far my head hasn’t felt cold at all, but my ears are now susceptible to wind

Mercifully, my hats still fit! (Well, my bowler hat doesn’t, but I never wear that one out of the house anyway) I was especially worried about the XL cap I stole from my grandfather, but even that actually fits better

I do look like my dad, or rather, like my dad looked in his high school year book

After years of looking for my cheekbones, I finally found them! I’m still not sure why just putting my hair in a ponytail didn’t elicit this discovery earlier, but oh well.

The weirdest thing about it all is that my hair has instantly made my sense of style seem like a sense of style. I have changed nothing about how I dress, but I’ve gone from feeling like I’m an unkempt gremlin slouching around in hoodies and slightly oversized button downs to a person who’s deliberately cultivating an aesthetic, and that aesthetic is decidedly masculine. Before I feel like my head and my clothes belonged to two different people, but now they match and work together. See previous complicated feelings about being happier the more coherent(ish) I get about gender.

I’ve also anticlimactically stopped feeling conflicted and imposter-y about calling myself masc-of-center/transmasculine, because that is actually what I look like. (Numerous complications lurk under the surface here, like whose bodies are able to look instantly more masculine just by getting a haircut and what society defines as legibly masculine, etc, but this is my personal blog and it’s 11:30 pm, sorry) I am still not Masculine™ in a cis male sense whatsoever, but I no longer have the urge to masochistically declare that I’m some kind of feminine pretty boy. Turns out my hair was the only voluntarily feminine thing about my gender presentation, and I’m just a guy in a T shirt and a hoodie. Disappointed in my lack of flamboyant transmasc fashion, but deeply happy

[sourb0i]

Friendly reminder that whatever you identify as, that doesn’t dictate what you can and can’t do.

Transmasc person? You can still wear dresses and makeup!

Transfemme? It’s okay to still sometimes just do jeans and a t-shit. You don’t have to doll-up if you don’t want to!

I personally identify really strongly as butch (as a part of a larger mess that is my gender, or lack thereof). 99.9% of the time, I will not wear a shred of makeup, and I’m most comfortable in cut-offs and muscle shirts. But I also love shaving my legs, despite it being a generally “feminine” thing; I just think the motion is soothing, and I love how soft they feel when I get out of the shower. Sometimes I’ll throw on some lipstick, or my favorite pair of shorts with roses embroidered on them. And sometimes the urge to wear flowery wrap skirts and blouses is irresistible! And I look bomb-ass! (And sometimes that dysphoria hits even when I want to look more “feminine” but again, that’s a whole nother mess).

Anyway. My point is that society is a construct, gender is largely a construct, presentation is a performance so give us an Oscar winner, baby, and don’t think you ever have to conform to anyone’s rules but your own. And then break yours, too.

[stressedandsleepdeprived]

The transmasc urge to cry because I don’t own any dresses because I threw them all away during my last bad hit of dysphoria but I want to wear one