#trans masc x cis

[azutara-lover]

Listen to me

The dynamics of trans man/woman x cis person are INFINITELY superior to your enemies to lovers fav

[a-roguish-gambit]

More trans masc rogue bs.

Someone giving rogue shit early in transition "you can't choose your pronouns"

And Gambit jumping in like "He didn't. I stole his old pronouns and left mine in its place. Refer to me as she/her because I am his male wife."

...

Rogue then punches the person's lights out if they make a further comment on the subject.

[wouteke]

t4t van der pog

well yes!

[ouijamonstrr]

THE!!!!!!!! MMMM!!!!!!!!!

[princeinsomniavoid]

For the love of fuck please make more gender neutral/masc x reader head canons/fics please I'm fucking tired of seeing like 5 million fem/afab fics when there's little to no gn/amab/masc content for my f/os im fucking starving over here for the love of god! :]

[offbeat-manga-ships]

KANOJO NI NARITAI KIMI TO BOKU (カノジョになりたい君と僕)

The Woman You Are and Me; I Wanna Be Your Girl / Takase Umi

Complete, with 50 chapters / 4 volumes

F/M; Seinen, Drama + queer & ambqueer, queer character, cross dressing, genderbender, gb: ftm, masc f, gb stops, masc f stops

SUMMARY: Hime Sakuragaike has secretly been in love with her childhood friend Akira Yonezawa since they were kids, but Hime only recently found out that Akira identifies as female. Although surprised, Hime offers her full support, and this is initially kept a ​secret between them for a few years, but Akira decides to start living as a girl full-time upon starting high school with Hime. However, since Akira garners a certain amount of attention, Hime takes it upon herself to aggressively stick up for Akira whenever necessary. Not wanting Akira to be singled out as an object of ridicule, Hime decides that her only option is to put herself in Akira's shoes.

MAL score: 7.50 AL mean score: 74% MU average: 7.2

PERSONAL SCORE: 5 out of 10

[chr0n1c-ag0ny]

More Sigzai HC's - [nsfw below]

•°•°•°•

Dazai likes to suck on Sigma's titties. a lot. It starts as just kissing his breasts and around his chest, and he slowly gets more intense, until he's sucking on them.

He's shameless about it too.

it tends to be after they have sex, like, as they're coming down from it, as they're cuddling, but before aftercare.

Dazai's laying his head on Sigma's chest, getting the last of his worshipping kisses in (cause he's down horrendous) and slowly starts gravitating to their breasts.

by the time they've fully settled into cuddling, Dazai's latched on, breaking off only now and then to switch breasts or to kiss Sigma some more. He's listening to the thrum of Sigma's heart as he does so, as his ear pressed up to Sigma's chest. Sigma has a hand in Dazai's hair, gently scratching at his scalp. Somtimes they hum to him, or praise him and tell him how good he is. Other times its just comfortable silence.

He finds it all very soothing.

Sometimes they don't even have sex, sometimes they're just cuddling and Dazai gets a little handsy, a little (lot)... needy... and Sigma just knows to pull off his top and let Dazai go to town, doesn't even get a chance to take their bralette off cause Dazai's hand are already pulling it down himself and getting himself situated (he likes when its left on, he plays with the fabric). Sigma just waits for him to settle and pets at his hair and tells him he's being a good boy.

Sigma always has love bites on their chest at this point.

[tom-yarrow-horny-writer]

This piece contains mlm smut, discussions of transphobia, reads on the queer scene.

"I'm going to piss," Erik slurred. "But I'll think of you, when I'm holding my cock." Tom felt himself involuntarily shudder, and felt annoyed with himself. He could feel the ghost of Erik's breath on his ear, and the rush of cold air on his side after he left. Later, they were kissing sloppily in an alleyway on the way back to Tom's flat. Erik's mouth had the peppery taste of cigarettes and chewing gum, and he pressed all of the points of his angular body into Tom. Tom felt sure he was prepared to suck Erik off there, in this alleyway, but he wanted this cocky little fuck to get on his knees and deliver.

[theberetdog]

after a conversation i had last night around abuse and violence, i am so over cis men!!!!! i’m so over them!!!! i poured my heart out about my own shit and for what?????

[skys-archive]

I think in honor of pride month and also in general forever we should stop trying fit queer people into the identities we think they should call themselves.

And I know no one is going to see this because no one ever does but I'm going to talk about it anyway because this is important.

Bisexual doesn't mean you don't date trans people, it doesn't mean you like men and women, it doesn't mean you can't have a preference. Someone can identify as polysexual or bisexual or omnisexual and have no preference and you don't get to say that that means they're pansexual. Because no, if they don't identify as pansexual then they're not pansexual.

Transmasc doesn't mean you use he/him pronouns. It doesn't mean you identify as a man. Transfem doesn't mean you use she/her pronouns. It doesn't mean you identify as a woman. You can be nonbinary or genderqueer or agender or any gender that isn't binary and not use they/them pronouns. You can use any of those labels and still identify as a man or a woman. You can use different pronouns than is typically used for your birth sex and not consider yourself transgender. People can be gender non conforming and not he trans. People can be trans and not gender non conforming.

A trans man can be fem. A trans woman can be masc. Nonbinary people don't owe you androgyny. Intersex people don't owe you androgyny. Intersex people are people, they deserve way more attention than a way to one up transphobes. Intersex people face discrimination and body altering surgeries without their consent and then are only ever talked about to say "some cis women have penises" or "some people have an extra x chromosome" and then we never talk about the struggle they face as part of the queer community.

Asexuality and aromanticism is a spectrum. Some aces like sex, some aces are repulsed, some aces only experience sexual attraction to one person or once in their life, some aces need a deep emotional bond, some aces their attraction changes. Some aros change identities. Some aros are repulsed by romance unless it's a fictional character. Some aros have romantic feelings until they get to know someone. Some aros crave a romantic relationship but never have romantic feelings. You don't get to say someone isn't asexual or aromantic enough.

Asexuality and aromanticism is having a unique relationship with romance or sexual feelings and impulses. Someone who is transgender has a unique experience with gender. You don't get to decide that they don't have a unique experience. But guess what? You don't get to decide if they do either. Someone can have a unique experience and still not identify as asexual aromantic or transgender. You can cross dress and still fully feel like a man. You can use he/him pronouns as a cis women. You can have trauma around sex and not identify as asexual. You can never have a romantic relationship and not identify as aromantic.

You can have "contradicting" labels. I don't know as many of these because I don't personally identify as any but please fell welcome to add in reblogs. There are trans men lesbians and gay women. There are sex loving asexuals. I know there are others I just genuinely am not educated enough.

YOU DONT GET TO CHOOSE SOMEONES LABELS

ANYONE CAN EITHER IDENTIFY OR NOT IDENTIFY AS QUEER

Please feel welcome to add anything in reblogs. I'm sure there's things I've missed. I haven't talked about neopronouns I haven't talked enough about "contradicting" labels. I haven't talked about queer platonic relationships or kink or polyamory or enough about intersex people or pronouns vs gender. There's so much important things but at the end of the day it's just so important to not choose other people's labels.

[prickly-paprikash]

Whoever you ship Mizu with, it is ultimately gay as fuck.

Mizu and Akemi? That's just two angry wlw's haunted by the image of one another who have been pushed into different but mirroring paths that will one day intertwine, and their anger and regret will balloon into a terrifying clash. Violent? Yes. Passionate? Extremely. Sexual Tension? Nuclear-level.

Mizu and Taigen? Mizu didn't really mind the other acts of sex in Madame Kaji's brothel until she got to the dudes fuckin, and her immediate thought was how close Taigen and his lips were during their tumble in their duel. It's very clear Mizu sees her relationship with Taigen as homoerotic, and has shown some interest in it. That's just trans masc x bottom bi, baby.

Mizu, Taigen and Akemi?

So. Fucking. G A Y.

There ain't no cis-het reading of Blue Eye Samurai, bucko. This shit's the purest crystal queer in the market. It ain't cloudy. It ain't distilled.

This show is raw, uncut Mizumphetamine. Mizu is the chemicals injected into the water that's making the freaking fags frogs gay.

Mizu's the baddest bitch around. Be in awe of this undying fuck's energy. She is 2023's top bitch magnet. She doesn't get bitches. She pins them down, strikes the fear of her in them, and wields a fucking sword made to slaughter the heavens.

[doberbutts]

The disk horse about "x person makes me uncomfortable" reminds me of an encounter i had in a public bathroom last week, where a bunch of cis women were loudly discussing how Uncomfortable and Fucked Up it would be if there was a Trans woman in there with them. Like, if there were, would it be her job to make those women more comfortable? (Obviously not, but it's exactly that kind of thinking that leads to all kinds of -phobias and -isms)

You know it's interesting because on my post a whole bunch of:

>trans women and trans fems

>trans men and trans mascs

>intersex people of all stripes

>black people of all stripes

>nonblack marginalized races of a wide assortment

All commented on that post stating that they have seen these parallels too and that it has always bothered them, but the pushback they get when they mentioned it has always exceeded the worth of continuing to bother trying. The trans people and especially the trans women all stated that these parallels were a significant contributing factor to delaying their eggs cracking and then pursuing transition and coming out, and a few mentioned this is why they are not out irl.

Which was my point. People think that stating "your presence makes me uncomfortable and I should be allowed to not be near you as a result, so you need to leave/not be in here" is a neutral and justifiable thing to say... and they refuse to listen when those who have had this directly stated to their face have been harmed by this logic.

[enbyenvy666]

personal pornstar part 2/? - cis!ver

After your first date with the Pro Hero pair, they invite you to their home, where things get a little spicy and not just from the food.

established!kiribaku x masc!reader part 1 | trans!ver word count - 2.6k

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, eating food, sex work, reader has nipple piercings lol, anal sex, kirishima doesn't have sex but he's there lmao, swearing, slight size kink themes, possessiveness from bakugo, murder mentioned (characters watch a horror movie), no beta we die like men

The giddiness from the date didn’t wear off for days, making work a little more tolerable. But the threat of impending bills had you eager to set up another meeting with the heroes. And they seemed to reciprocate that feeling. 

Kirishima would text you daily, having conversations with you that lasted all day, with some input from Bakugo when he felt like chiming in. Sometimes he would send you a selfie of the two of them, Kirishima with his signature bright smile and Bakugo with a scowl. Getting to know both of them made meeting up with them a little less intimidating, so when they invited you out for dinner again, you felt less nervous than last time.

This time dinner would be at their place, which was a nice, two-story home in the suburbs away from the bustling city you were used to listening to at night. Standing at their front door, you took a shaking breath before pressing the doorbell button. You could hear it softly chiming inside the home before the door swung open, revealing Bakugo who scowled when he saw you.

“Don’t you have any other clothes?” He barked. You had worn the same button-up and slacks again because, well, they were your only nice clothes. He dragged you inside and gestured to a pair of slippers by the door. He marched past you to the thin grey wood table near the coat rack which had a bowl for their keys and other little knickknacks. He grabbed the pristine leather wallet that sat upon it and pulled out some more dollar bills, stuffing them into your hands.

“Here, get yourself something else to wear.”

“I can’t-“ you argued, trying to give him back the money. He shook his head and tried to practically shove it into your pocket. You reached into your other pocket to pull out your wallet which had the change from the taxi money from the last time you saw them.

“I still have this.”

Bakugo took the money he was trying to give you and put it in your wallet before putting it back in your pocket. It was slight but you still noticed the way his hand slid a little further back as if to reach around your thigh to your rear.

“The whole point of this ‘service’ is that we pay you for being with us,” he grumbled as he took your hand, leading you through his home and into the kitchen. The smell of herbs and spices filled the air, making your stomach rumbled and mouth water. Kirishima was standing by the stove, idly stirring whatever was in the frypan so it wouldn’t burn. The redhead smiled when he saw you, quickly moving out of the way as Bakugo stomped to the stove, grumbling about his husband ‘doing it wrong’.

Kirishima retrieved some glasses and a bottle of wine before exiting the cooking area, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he passed, walking over to the nearby dining room table. He popped the cork off the wine bottle, making you jump at the sound. He chuckled and apologised as he poured the wine into the glasses. He placed a glass in front of a chair and gestured for you to sit. You quickly complied, taking a sip from the glass. He sat down at the head on the table beside you and once again held your hand on your table, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

He made some small talk, asking how the trip over was and how you had been since you last saw him. You asked him about his work and what being a hero was like, but when you could see the tiredness in his eyes while he answered, you couldn’t help the guilty feeling bubbling up. Just as you felt like the conversation was dying, Bakugo marched over and (somewhat aggressively) placed down three plates of food on the table.

“Hope you like spice,” he smirked, sitting down across from you. Just the scent of spice from your plate was making your throat burn. You could handle spice but this… this seemed extreme. The first bite was bearable, the next a little less so, the third had you sweating. The wine didn’t help to cool your mouth, and eventually, you had to admit you needed some water.

“Aw, can’t handle it?” Bakugo teased but still stood from the table to retrieve a drink for you. He came back with a glass of milk, which you thankfully gulped down. Kirishima’s ruby eyes were trained on your lips and the white, creamy liquid. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze as his cheeks grew pink.

“It took me a while to get used to his cooking,” he chuckled, trying to distract himself. Thanks to several glasses of water and milk, you managed to get through the meal. It was very tasty, you couldn’t deny that, but the heat that came with it was almost unbearable. You attempted to help clean up, but the two heroes wouldn’t let you lift a finger. Even when you argued you were here to provide a service for them, they would just chuckle and tell you to sit down.

After the dishes were cleaned, Kirishima took you by the hand and led you to their lounge room, guiding you to sit on the couch. A movie had already been queued up, some kind of horror movie from the 80s, possibly indie as you didn’t recognise the title. With a hero sat either side of you, the movie began, the soft light from a floor lamp in the corner casting a soft, warm glow through the room.

The movie had a bit of a slower pace, and soon you found Bakugo’s muscular arm around your shoulders, and Kirishima’s large hand on your thigh just above your knee. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, the same smell of cologne intoxicating your senses,

“Y’know, Kats tried this same trick on me when we started dating. Played a scary movie so I would get scared and he would protect me.”

“But you’re a lot braver than I expected,” Bakugo smirked, playing with the baby hairs at the back of your neck, goosebumps rising across your arms. As the movie progressed, it came to the classic sex scene while the masked killer stalked the young couple. The scene was more sensual than what you expected, with lingering shots of beads of sweat running across the mounds and valleys of lean, tan bodies. Sexy music accompanied moans and whimpers, hands groping thighs and breasts.

You had to adjust the collar of your shirt, your whole body growing warm as you watched the scene unfold. A shot of the woman’s face twisted in bliss had you glancing away. To the shelves around the TV, and some of the arty paintings on the wall, until you spotted Bakugo beside you, particularly the rise in his pants between his legs. It appeared that the scene was affecting him too, and maybe the wine made those feelings stronger. Seeing how much enjoyment he was getting from the movie reminded you of why you were here in the first place.

Your palm slid over his thigh, fingertips brushing against the hardness of his crotch. His head snapped down, searching for the source of the soft feeling. Finding you were the source of the gentle touches, he smirked, his arm falling from your shoulders to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. Your gaze flickered between your hand and his face, watching for any reactions that told you to stop. Every time you would palm his cock harder, his eyes would flutter close, and you could just hear the sighs he let out over the increasingly tense music from the movie.

His head lolled back onto the backrest of the couch with a hum, his fingers occasionally twitching against your side. After twisting around to face him, you started to unzip his pants. But he could feel how your hand shook and hesitated, lifting his head to meet your uncertain eyes.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”

“This is what I’m here for, isn’t it?” With his pants unzipped, you wrapped your hand around his cock, the fabric of his underwear still in the way. He cursed under his breath, thighs tensing. He reached over to cup your cheek, pulling you even closer against him so your chest met his.

“Fuck you’re cute,” he muttered before finally kissing you. His lips were softer than you expected, and you could still taste the spice from dinner on his tongue. His cock became impossibly harder in your hand, his underwear growing darker over his tip as you stroked him. He reached down, his hand roughly groping your ass, hand perfectly fitting the fatty globe. You gasped into his lips, drawing out a chuckle from Kirishima.

“Don’t play too rough Kats,” he warned light-heartedly, his larger hand stroking your back as if trying to soothe you. Bakugo parted his lips from you, and stared at you with hooded eyes, waiting for a response.

“I don’t mind,” you whispered, receiving a toothy smirk from him. With a rough push, he had you on your back on your couch, your head on Kirishima’s lap. Bakugo started to unbutton his shirt, and you quickly did the same, albeit with shaking hands. The cooler air made goosebumps rise on your now bare torso. Bakugo’s crimson eyes stared down at your chest, his tongue running over his lip.

“That’s fuckin’ hot.” He reached down, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your nipple before gently playing with the metal balls at either end of the bar piercing the bud. Little sparks of pleasure shot through your veins from the touches, biting your lips to silence your mewls. 

With your legs around his hips, Bakugo helped you remove your pants and underwear, pushing his own down enough to reveal his cock to your prying eyes. Feeling it was one thing, but seeing it was another, and it looked way bigger than you were expecting. Long, with veins running along the sides, pearls of precum glinting in the light of the TV.

Stroking your cock in his soft hand forced gasps and whimpers out of you, gripping the couch cushion in one hand and Kirishima’s knee in the other to ground yourself. Your toes curled as he stroked you, precum slowly pearling at your tip.

“You like that baby?” He teased, smearing your precum with his thumb as it circled your reddening tip. You could feel Kirishima shifting, and the sound of a draw opening, but you were in too much bliss to care.

“Mhm,” you moaned, lip pinned between your teeth as your back arched. Over your head, Kirishima handed Bakugo a small bottle, which you correctly assumed to be lube. The whine that left your lips when he let go of your cock was needy and desperate. Watching him with hooded eyes, he squirted some of the lube onto his hand and wrapped it around your hard cock.

You couldn’t stop the flurry of moans he pulled out of you with each slick stroke of your cock, scooping up some of the clear liquid that dripped down to your sack in his other hand. Two fingers circled your hole, slowly making the muscle relax until he was able to push the digits inside. Your gasp was like music to his ears, scissoring his fingers inside you to stretch you enough to fit his cock. Kirishima laid his hand on your cheek, thumb soothingly rubbing over the warm skin to keep soothe you through the bliss Bakugo was giving you. 

With the lube still coating his palm, he let go of your cock (much to your disappointment) to stroke his own, coating it in lube. After fitting a third finger inside you, he removed them as well, lining up his tip to your entrance. But he hesitated, one hand holding your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Even with his pupils blown wide with lust, there was a seriousness in his eyes, like he was ready to stop at a moment's notice.

“Yes,” you whispered while nodding. With your consent, he slowly thrust himself inside you. Feeling his head pop inside of you made you flinch, he was a lot bigger than you were used to. He stretched you to fit him perfectly, slowly pulling his hips away before thrusting back in quickly. It hurt, a slight soreness accompanying each thrust but it was quickly overtaken by pleasure that made your body tingle.

“Bakugo~” you whimpered when he gripped the underside of your thighs, pushing them further apart so he could thrust his cock deeper inside.

“Katsuki,” he corrected, thrusting faster and harder till your eyes were rolling back.

“Call me Katsuki or I’ll fuck you till you forget your name.”

“Katsuki,” you moaned, even though his threat sounded intriguing. Kirishima continued to gently stroke your face and play with your hair, softly cooing down at you while his husband fucked you like he couldn’t resist. Even as your fingernails dug into his leg, he still touched you calmly. Katsuki was balls deep inside you with every thrust, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass and thighs echoing through the room, drowning out the screams of the people being murdered in the movie.

He moaned unabashedly, your back arching as you felt a coil start to tighten in your stomach, your hole tightening around his cock at the same time.

“Gonna cum pretty boy?”

With hearts in your eyes, you nodded quickly, unlatching your death grip on the couch cushion to stroke your dick, bringing you that much closer to bliss. Katsuki’s brow was knitted as his thrusts grew erratic, hips barely falling into a rhythm as he chased his high. Tighter and tighter, the coil finally snapped, making you call his name in pleasure, white ropes of cum coating your stomach and chest in streaks. The way your hole clamped down around him brought him to his orgasm, painting your insides white. His shallow thrusts pushed his seed deeper inside you as if to claim you as his.

Curses flew from his gritted teeth, hips finally stilling, balls deep inside you. Releasing the grip on your thighs, he steadied himself on the couch as he panted, leaning down to press a passion-fueled kiss to your lips. Kirishima’s hand finally left your face, instead gently pushing Katsuki’s hair back from his damp forehead. The blonde sat back up, sitting on his shins as he gripped your hip to keep you still. With gently coaxing, Kirishima got you to let go of his leg so he could stand up, lifting your head off his lap. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, Katsuki already breathing normally. Damn, that pro-hero stamina.

Kirishima returned, and upon seeing him, Katsuki slowly pulled his softening cock out of your stuffed hole, dragging a whimper from you with it. Kirishima handed a wet cloth to Katsuki, which he used to clean himself with. A second cloth was swiped over your torso, the coldness making you gasp and flinch.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Kirishima said with a pouty smile, quickly but gently cleaning you.

“Cold,” you whimpered, mind still in a haze. He chuckled, removing the rag once he was done. Katsuki stood from the couch, pulling up his pants and underwear, retrieving your tossed-aside clothes. Sitting up, you started buttoning your shirt as you were handed your underwear and pants. The movie had ended long ago, left on the title screen as it had been forgotten. Pulling your pants up and finding your phone still in your pocket, you pulled it out and checked the time. Shit, it was late. With hurried goodbyes, you left their warm, comforting home to go back to your dingy apartment. ------

a/n - first smut ahhhhh, please tell me if there's any ways i can improve! also the fic name is a bludnymph song, hopefully i'll figure out how to link it eventually lol

[gonzo-rella]

Headcanons: Being Wallace Wells' Trans Boyfriend

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

EDIT: Although this fic was written with a more binary trans reader in mind, I'm hoping this fic will also be suitable for AFAB nonbinary people who are masc or male adjacent, which is where I might be at. I'm currently working dating hcs for Wallace with a nonbinary reader (which will be suitable for both AFAB and AMAB readers).

Relationship(s): Wallace Wells x transmasc!reader (romantic)

Warnings/info: Trans typical stuff, like dysphoria, transphobia etc. etc., sexual remarks, he/him pronouns for reader, headcanons were written in one sitting, when I was feeling not great. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: I've been reading a lot of Succession fics over the last few days. Last night I read a Roman Roy fic and for some reason it gave me this overpowering wave of dysphoria that I still have yet to fully recover from. Annoyingly, I have yet to actually watch Succession so this could have been avoided; I just think Kieran Culkin's hot and very gender so I couldn't resist pretending that someone with his face was my boyfriend. Reading about Roman made me think 'oh shit. Maybe I'm a flawed and pathetic little guy on the inside. But I just look like a woman who likes to kiss women and everyone treats me like a girl and uses my girl name and girl pronouns and that feels super gross and makes me want to live in a hole. Now I'm going to feel bad about that for the next few days.' So, yeah, I'm having another transmasc crisis that I'm using fanfiction to get me through. I figured Kieran Culkin started this, so I might as well write something featuring a character of his that I can actually write for. This is a self-indulgent and self-explorative treat for myself, but I hope that transmasc readers can enjoy this, too. If you'd like more Wallace stuff, trans stuff or Wallace AND trans stuff, feel free to send in a request. I really want to provide more fics for transmasc readers because you guys are super underrepresented (and, y'know, Papa Gonzo-rella wants to explore his gender a little more). Also, I swear that I will get around to watching Succession, and I more than likely will end up writing for it when I do.)

Respectfully, Wallace does not give a shit that you’re trans.

Of course, he doesn’t flat-out ignore it, because it’s part of who you are, but it isn’t an obstacle in your relationship by any means, and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

If you’re feeling dysphoric and/or otherwise insecure about yourself, he’ll pinch your cheeks and tell you how handsome and sexy you are.

If you’re feeling especially bad, like ‘not getting out of bed and hiding from the world’ bad, he’ll keep you company and say what he can to reassure you.

Being mushy and sincere truly isn’t his thing, so whatever he says will sound either slightly insensitive (but still pretty sensitive as far as Wallace goes), facetious or like he wants you to get over how you’re feeling so he can fuck you.

But, he genuinely doesn’t want you to feel bad and you can tell he cares, because otherwise he wouldn’t be there for you when you're feeling your worst.

Wallace is very affirming, but in his own Wallace way.

He lovingly refers to you as his lameass boyfriend.

If Scott ever compliments you about anything, Wallace will call him gay.

He will shout ‘gay’, like the Senor Chang meme.

"Hey, man, I like your shirt-"

"Ha, Scott's gay!"

"I-I'm not gay! I just like his shirt."

"What's wrong with being gay, Scott?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with being gay!"

"You really need to work on your internalised homophobia, Scott. To think, my gay lover and I share a bed with a bigot."

If you’re doing anything that he knows will make you dysphoric or exacerbate your dysphoria (for example, scrolling through social media and looking at cis dudes that give you gender envy) he’ll shut it down.

Using the aforementioned example, he’ll snatch your phone off you and close the app, saying: “Nope. Make better decisions.”

And, while you’d initially be annoyed at him for grabbing your phone, you will appreciate it in the long run.

If you have testosterone shots but you’re not a fan of doing them yourself, he’ll begrudgingly help you with them.

He will make a very Wallace comment, though

“Stabbing? I didn’t know you were that kinky.”

If anyone’s a dick to you about being trans, Wallace is always ready to go with a snide remark about the other person, because of all the things you could possibly mock his lameass boyfriend for, being trans is at the bottom of that list.

(He should know, as the person who makes fun of you the most.)

Also, he cares about you very, very much and he doesn't want people being transphobic to his boyfriend.

If you’re cool with it, he will make trans jokes, but nothing ‘attack helicopter’ or ‘attack helicopter’ adjacent, because he’s too clever for that and he can come up with better material that isn’t just derivative, transphobic garbage.

If you get your period and it makes you at all dysphoric, be prepared for this exchange:

“Don’t worry. Scott pissed blood last month and cried about it and he’s still a man.”

“Did-did he go to the doctor?”

“I don’t know. He seems fine now, though.”

If you still have boobs and don’t mind them being touched or otherwise acknowledged, he will use them like a pillow.

If you decide to get top surgery, he will make the following request:

“Well, if you’re not using them, can I have them? I need a pillow that Scott won’t steal. And, he wouldn’t steal your tits, because he knows I’d call him gay for it.”

“Why are you like this, Wallace?”

“Selfish.”

Being trans doesn’t make your relationship much different from any of Wallace’s other relationships.

You’re just, for better or worse, another one of Wallace’s boyfriends.

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Shut Down

Jschlatt x trans masc!reader Summary: Reader feels insecure about his top surgery scars and turns down Schlatt's advances. Anxieties boil over when both are convinced their boyfriend doesn't want them. Warnings: Body image issues, OCD behaviour, self harm/self injury behaviour, skin scratching/picking, body dysmorphia, anxiety, bad communication, fluffy ending A/N: Based on this request by @gavin-isstupid 🫶 I usually don't write and have never written a trans or male reader, given I'm a cis girl, so feedback is very much welcome

His soft, delicate lips leave yours, a breathy laugh hitting your face when his hand comes up to gently swipe the string of spit connecting you. You smile up at him as your eyes flutter open, trailing a delicate hand through his hair as you watch his eyes dart lovingly across your face. "Love you," he murmurs softly as his grip on your upper waist tightens slightly, humming happily when he feels your fingers card through his hair.

You whisper back into the dark room, soft orange glow of the lamp illuminating your boyfriend's features, "I love you too."

Your lips collide again, gentle as you hold each other close, his arms snaking around your frame, yours pulling him closer by his shoulders as you melt against each other. His soft lips drift, breaking away from yours to pepper kisses across your jaw, down your neck, his hold on you tightening when you squirm beneath him. He keeps his lips soft and gentle against your skin, warmth filling his stomach as he fails to fight another breathy chuckle.

His lips trail down, lower, soft and gentle, down your neck, down to your collarbone, gently pulling the collar of your shirt down to reveal more skin to him. You force yourself to stay present, tilting your head back up to the ceiling as you breathe deeply, focusing on the soft warmth of his lips on your skin and trying to ignore their location.

You feel the cool air hit your stomach as your shirt slides up your body, large hands following as the rough pads of Schlatt's fingers explore your skin. You feel the goosebumps that raise on your skin, feeling the dread that settles in below it more, deep in your bones.

He sits up surprised when he feels you scramble under him, furrowed eyes watching you as you wiggle free from his grasp. He lets go of his grip on you, placing his hands limply at his sides as he watches you flop off the bed and dart for the bathroom, "where you going handsome?"

You hear his calls of surprise but don't reply, taking in cool air through your nose as you try to suppress the bile that builds in the back of your throat, your skin burning violently where his hands were. "I'll be back," you manage to force out, shutting the bathroom door behind you as you collapse back against it, covering your face with your hands as you silently scream into them.

Your shirt hangs loose on your shoulders, swallowing you as the fabric seems to grow heavier and heavier, as you become more away of the feeling of it against your skin. You rip it over your head, breath faltering as you throw it across the room and have to come face to face with your bare skin, blunt nails scratching at it as you fight against your feet that walk you over to the mirror.

Your eyes immediately catch on the raised skin under your pecs, wide and long, stretching along to the sides of your body. Your skin feels hot as you stare at them, willing them to vanish before your eyes if you stare hard enough. The more you look the more they pop out, harsh against your skin as your nails again scratch anxious marks against your chest. Maybe if you scratch hard enough your skin will morph to your will, if you press hard enough your firm hands will shape your body the way you want it. Make you broader, flatter, squarer.

The heat of the shower drenches your body as you clasp your hands aggressively together in front of you, forcing yourself to keep them accounted for so they don't start scratching and prodding at your skin again. You force yourself to stay under the hot water, not even washing yourself, just letting the water rinse you, the heat on your skin blossoming to match the anxious heat burning under it's surface.

You look down with a shaky sigh, watching as the hot water turns your chest a red colour, the scars blending in slightly. You let yourself breath out in relief as for a fleeting moment you're able to forget about the lines on your chest you hate so much.

You don't talk about last night the next morning, Schlatt doesn't seemed fazed by it and you'd rather die than bring it up, so you let it rest, going about your day as normal. Until again, it happens in the kitchen at lunch time, the car that evening, the following day on the couch. His lips seek yours out, like a moth to a flame, anytime he sees the opportunity arise, and every time you slink away from him at the first feeling of his firm hands on your bare skin. Escaping from under him and shying away to the bathroom where you can scrub the anxiety off your body.

Until eventually he stops.

He's fairly persistent. He never pressures you into anything, he just lets you out from under him every time you get uncomfortable and doesn't bring it up again. But he is persistent. He doesn't let it faze him for a long while, each rejection, each de-escalation, just seems to fuel him further the next time he lays you down gently in bed and attaches himself to you wherever you'll let him. Until it slowly stops. Kisses become chaste, touches become friendly, the urgency and need vanishing in his touch. He can only handle so much.

He hadn't been doing it intentionally, he hadn't meant to retreat into himself around you, it just seemed to become the norm when he knew what the outcome would be otherwise. He'd release his hold on you and watch you walk off into the bathroom, left to stew in his own anxiety when he'd hear the shower turn on. He didn't wanna push you, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you at all, but this is what boyfriends were meant to do? Love each other like this?

You just mustn't want him.

He couldn't seem to shake that thought loose from his brain, feeling it bounce around violently each time he'd watch you retreat from him. He was trying hard to not let it get to him, not let it effect the way he was around you, but now, every lingering touch or gentle kiss you'd try to return just felt forced. He tried harder for a while, convinced he just wasn't serving you in the way you wanted, he just hadn't figured out yet what made you melt. But each time he'd hear your breath hitch he'd hope he was doing something right, instead watching your face morph with anxiety as you ran away.

He felt like a monster, overwhelming you with affection until you had no choice but to return it until it clearly got too much for you. It made him feel sick, thinking that you were putting on this façade for him, to dull the pain that was bound to rip him apart when you told him you didn't find him attractive, that you just didn't want him. He just couldn't bare it.

So instead, you settled into your new routine. Visiting each other after work, sitting on opposite sides of the couch and watching a movie in silence. Going out on the weekend and getting lunch, chatting casually as you walked around, hands stuffed in your pockets to prevent you from holding hands. Taking separate cars when you'd go see friends, arriving and leaving alone just like everyone else. Both of you destroying yourselves from the inside out with your anxieties.

You both missed each other desperately. A milion miles apart in the same room.

It had been a particularly bad day at work, one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. It seemed like every atom in the universe was telling you to pack it in and go home, traffic, customers, managers, even the way your clothes fit, it was all just wrong. It left you completely exhausted.

You trudge up the stairs to Schlatt's apartment, shutting and locking the door behind you with a content sigh when you kick your boots off. "Hey Jay," you call to your boyfriend, watching him pause his game and turn you with a wide smile as he stands.

"Who's this handsome man huh?" he says with a goofy smile as he opens his arms for you to collapse into, planting a kiss on your head as he placing his hands loosely on your biceps, "breaking into my house?"

You pinch his side playfully as you laugh into his chest, trying to shake off the way you feel him stiffen slightly under you, hands awkwardly on your arms. You focus on just enjoying the feeling of him against you, "work was hell, I just wanted to see you."

He hums softly against your head as he guides you over to the couch, removing his arms from you as he settles you down on it, sitting down with about a person's length in between. He goes to speak, but the words die in his throat when he feels the couch shift as you flop over, your head resting on his lap as you lie down.

"You wanna watch a movie?" he says nervously, hiding the shake of his voice through his thick accent as he gently lifts your head and pushes you to sit up again, reaching for the remote. He can feel your shocked stare on the side of his head as he sits back, crossing one leg over the other in an attempt to guard himself from your touch.

You just stare. Watching as your boyfriend so casually shrugs you off, like he doesn't care about how exhausted you are, how badly you just want him to hold you. Did he really find it that impossible to even pretend to want to touch you?

"Y/N?" he asks when he doesn't get a response, keeping his eyes locked on the TV.

That's when it starts, the trickle of tears that turns to a flood as you push off the couch and stumble to the bathroom. You can hear him calling your name behind you, but they fall on deaf ears as you stumble blindly to the bathroom, tears clouding your vision.

The second the door shuts behind you you're ripping off your clothes, throwing them away as if the fabric itself is burning you. You ignore the knock on the door, breath stuttering as Schlatt calls your name on the other side as you drown it out with the sound of the shower.

He waits patiently for you to answer, concern washing over him as he hears you sobbing inside the bathroom. He keeps knocking, even when he hears the sound of the shower start, wanting desperately to know what's going on.

He lets you have your space for a while, standing guard at the door, heart heavy with anxiety. When he hears your cries turn to all out sobs of pain he can't take it, pushing the door open. "Y/N?" he asks gently, blinking through the cloud of hot steam that's filling the bathroom, "Y/N what's wrong?"

He watches you ignore him, hands aggressively scrubbing your bare body as the water falls around you. He watches as your skin turns an angry red as you scrub it, heart aching as he sees you sob out in pain. Without a second thought he steps into the shower alongside you, still fully clothed, pulling you tightly against him and holding your palms in his as he rocks you.

"You're ok," he coos softly into your hair, turning the temperature of the water down slightly so it's not burning your skin, "you're ok I promise, I've got you."

He stands there and sways with you for a long while, warming your skin with his body instead of the nearly boiling water from the shower, whispering soft words into your hair as he attempts to sooth you.

Your nails dig into your palms as you fight the urge to keep scrubbing at your skin, focusing on the feeling of Schlatt behind you and trying to ignore the need to morph your body to your desire, the fear of being seen like this. He calms you down eventually, moving your exhausted body out of the shower and wrapping you in a towel, helping you slip on some new clothes, doing the same to his own, when you make your way to the bedroom.

His eyes stay locked on the aggressive scratch marks and prints from your fingers along the skin he can see, stomach dropping at the visual sight of your struggles he had no idea about, "do wanna talk about it?"

"I'm sorry I look like this," you blurt out as soon as the question leaves his lips, feeling the barrier of your anxiety break as he opens the floor to let you talk, "I'm sorry I don't look like how I should and that you don't want me, I wish it wasn't like this but I tried to change it and now I have these scars that won't go away and there's nothing I can do about it," you heave out, eyes staying locked on his as he stares at you in surprise. He lets you speak, letting you spout all your anxious thoughts as he listens and tries to take in everything he can.

"That's what you're worried about?" he asks gently when you stop, watching you struggle for a second to catch your breath, "your body?"

You just nod silently as you stare down at the floor embarrassed.

"Your body doesn't make you a man," he reminds you as he reaches out gently to lay his hand on the side of your neck, reading you like a book, "it doesn't make you any less of an incredible friend and brother... and boyfriend."

"I don't wanna feel like this though," you exclaim as you bring your hands up to tug your hair, "I- I wanna like myself-"

"And you will," Schlatt says firmly, pulling you against his chest as his thighs sandwich your body between them, "it just takes time. For everyone, let alone someone who's had to work so hard."

You let out a shaky breath at his words, leaning back against him "they're not some trophy I can wear with pride, they're proof that I have to try so hard to be who I am."

He frowns as he holds you tighter, planting a soft kiss to your head as he rocks with you gently, "they're proof of how hard you've worked. Proof that you're tougher than anything."

"But I'm not tough- I don't feel tough," you stutter out.

"But you will be, I promise you will be."

You sit together for a long while in silence as he holds you, swaying gently as you lean into his body. "Y/N?" he asks gently and you hum, "can I take this off?" He gives you a gentle tug to your shirt and with a shaky breath you nod, preparing yourself for that burning feeling to settle under your skin.

He moves to sit next to you on the bed, gently pulling your shirt over your arms and feeling his breath catch when he gets a good look at you. He was never a sentimental guy, but you, right now, shirtless in the soft glow of the lamp in his bedroom, this was the kinda stuff they write poems about.

“Jesus Christ,” he finally said, his voice rougher than he intended. You flinch away from his gaze, and he curses himself, reaching out a comforting hand before you could shut down. His hands landed warm and firm on your sides, thumbs tracing slow, careful circles over your skin. “I mean—fuck, come on... you’re just perfect.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his compliment, unable to stop the smile that breaks out on your face. "Like seriously," he says, his thumb shifting up to trace the scars on your chest, "this is what you were worried about? Scared you were too attractive?"

That has a laugh bubbling from your throat as you scoff and nudge him away, mumbling a small shut up as he tackles you to the bed in a hug. He wraps his warm arms around you, lips meeting the newly exposed skin as he peppers soft kisses along anything he can find, "like it kinda makes me sick how good lookin' you are."

You just lay together, wrapped up in each other, laughing together, as the anxiety from the past weeks melts away with each soft kiss he plants on your skin. "I'm sorry," you mumble softly as you thread a finger through his hair, "I didn't mean to push you away."

"I didn't mean to either, I just got in my own head," he mumbles as he settles himself on top of you, head resting gently on your chest as he wraps his arms around you, "we gotta talk to each other next time."

You hum in agreement as you card a hand through his hair, feeling the butterflies erupt in your stomach as his eyes droop shut sleepily, warmth blossoming as he plants a gentle kiss to your scar.

"I don't expect you to go parading around the streets topless if that's not what you want," he says softly against your skin, "but they're nothing to be ashamed of," he shifts slightly so he can look up at you "they don't make me think any less of you, or think you're any less handsome than you are."

You lean down and plant a gentle loving kiss on his lips, pulling away as he speaks again, "even if you're not proud of them," he says, thumb tracing your scar gently, "I am. I'm proud of you."

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

Scar Tissue (Price x Trans Masc! Reader)

Contains: Tooth-rotting fluff, completely SFW, FTM reader intended but should be safe for masc leaning enbies too, 2nd person POV, reader has a singular double mastectomy scar as is very self conscious about it, ambiguous warm drink cuz I don’t like tea or coffee lol, \obnoxiously self indulgent in my opinion but I hope it resonates with others

A/n: Woof I’m nervous but I do really like how this turned out. It’s cute and it even made my partner blush despite him being cis lol also Price is your husband because it’s cute and I said so. Be gentle with this one, yeah?

Although this is safe for all ages, I ask minors please refrain from interacting with me and this post, and any other posts. This is a space for adults.

The night always made things tougher. Something about the quiet, the darkness, the otherwise calm atmosphere made it harder to chase away the more negative thoughts. Insecurities burned hot in the cold of night as you stood outside on the small veranda of your little English apartment in the crisp wintry air to try and chase them away. The rain had only just stopped pouring down in torrents. The sound of wet tires driving below you accompanied the familiar, gentle smell of rain. It was comforting. Not enough to dull the pain, unfortunately, but comforting still.

You didn’t pay attention to the time, doing so usually just stressed you out during these moments, so you hadn’t noticed how late it was until your husband had sidled up behind you with a warm mug he’d made just for you. He handed it to you silently. He learned a long time ago what being outside this long this late at night usually meant. He wrapped a warm arm around your chilled shoulders and gently pulled you against him. Finally, you started to slowly pull away from your negative thinking just long enough to quietly speak.

“Thank you,” was all you could manage, but Price didn’t mind. He knew that for you, your words carried more weight than they seemed on the surface.

He hummed in response, giving your shoulders a small squeeze to say ‘you’re welcome.’

“Doin’ alright?”

A playful glare was all your husband got in return. He was happy to see you at least still had the heart to joke a bit with him.

“Right. Stupid question. Sorry, love.”

Eventually, you’d take a sip from your mug. He always prepared your drinks to your preferences. It made your chest warm.

“Wanna talk about it?” He was looking at you now. That gentle expression always comforted you.

You shook your head and took another slow sip, “Just insecurities again. Nothing major, I’m fine.”

“That why you've been out here on the veranda staring out at nothing the past couple hours?”

You took another sip, electing to say nothing. You did make it extra noisy though, pulling a rumbling chuckle from Price’s chest in the process.

Eventually, he guided you inside. You were as cold as the dead when he’d gotten to you. He wanted to warm you up and, if you’d talk, he wanted to know what was wrong. Knowing it was an insecurity of yours narrowed it down, but not enough to pin it. He needed to know a bit more.

You sat on your small couch, Price quickly following you. He took your hand in his. The callouses that littered his palm and fingers were always grounding. You were certain if you were blindfolded and told to guess which hand belonged to him, you’d guess correctly without fail. You knew every dip and ridge in his skin like your own.

You’d finished your drink after a while. You sighed, leaning into your husband’s chest. His heartbeat never failed to help your mind quiet down a bit.

“Just my scar again…” you mumbled, lacing your fingers in with his.

He kissed his teeth, the clicking noise it made bringing you out of the beginning of another spiral, “What did I tell you ‘bout that, love? You know I think it’s perfect.”

“I know,” you said, tucking your head under his chin, “‘Fraid I don’t think the same way, is all.”

His free hand rose up to hold your head and he pressed a soft lingering kiss into your hair, “That’s why I’m here. To think that way for you. C’mon, then, on your back.”

You groaned, pretending your melancholy face hadn’t broken out into a small grin, as you were guided onto your back. Price hovered above you and lifted your shirt up to your collarbone, kissing slowly up your belly as he did so. His kisses finally reached the part of your chest you couldn’t feel anymore. The scar tissue had faded quite a bit, but it was still clearly visible. One straight line stretched across your ribcage. It was uneven, thicker in some places than others. When your clothes were on, you often forgot about it. But when they weren’t…

You couldn’t feel much of the kisses that your husband trailed across the scar. His beard would drag across the area around it, your body unsure if it tickled or itched, but you could only feel the pressure of his lips through the numb skin. Still, you looked down and watched as he worshiped the ugly line that ripped through your skin. It wasn’t neat, wasn’t typical, wasn’t the ideal, but Price always showed he never cared about that.

”It made you happy, yeah? All that matters, then,” is what he’d always say.

All those mean thoughts finally started to melt away as he continued to kiss along your chest, further up to your collarbone. He pulled your shirt down so he could kiss up your neck, across your jaw, and finally up to your mouth. You felt him grin against your lips. You suppressed an annoyed whine as he pulled away to look at you.

“Better?”

“A bit.”

“I can keep going.”

“Would you?”

You fell asleep on the couch with your shirt pulled up to your shoulders and Price’s lips against your scar.