#the testosterone finally kicked in

[leonsbodyguard]

and i call this, ✨a blessing✨

[saturnniidae]

1 vs 5 years on T

[biteapple]

if i took a shower had a change of clothes took my T shot and ate a sandwich i would be a new man rn

[so-i-did-this-thing]

How it's going as a trans person in Florida: Planned Parenthood, 26Health, and Spektrum Health have announced they have paused all gender affirming care.

To recap, DeSantis signed several anti-trans bills into law this week. Care is banned for minors, care is all but banned for adults, Don't Say Gay has been extended, children can be kidnapped from affirming parents by non-affirming family, and there is a bathroom bill that subjects trans folks to arrest for using government owned facilities, such as those in courthouses, airports, many stadiums and parks.

The adult effective ban was felt immediately. The main elements are:

signing at every visit an in-person informed consent form created by the state

all care come from physicians instead of nurse practitioners

no telemed for gender-affirming care

Currently, it is unknown if existing HRT prescriptions written by NPs will be honored by pharmacies. I personally know one person who was able to pick up testosterone yesterday, but I have also read many reports of folks being denied. I myself don't have a refill ready for another 10 days and will report back after I try my own pickup.

What's additionally dangerous is those of us, myself included, who get non-HRT prescriptions from our gender clinics now face the uncertainty of continuing of *all* of our medical care. Our health clinics are at risk of shuttering permanently as they lose major income, and many of us will lose STD meds, depression meds, heart meds, etc, etc.

When we say "this will kill us," it goes beyond suicide risk from forced detransition.

"But you can still get HRT from a physician."

So many suck or are outright hostile and the demand outstrips the supply. Before I found my NP-run clinic, one physician just decided to not call in my Rx, another was so shit at reading lab results, he thought I had hepatitis, and the third I had to threaten to kick in the teeth for trying to force too large a speculum in me.

Also, the state-required consent form has not been finalized and distributed yet, so at this point, everything has pretty much ground to a halt.

It was estimated that 80% of trans adults would lose their healthcare because of how many use providers like Planned Parenthood, but the impact seems even greater now.

"You can get your non-gender care elsewhere still."

DeSantis recently signed a bill that allows healthcare professionals to discriminate against trans people.

Sure, we can try to find care elsewhere, but it will be a slow and expensive process, with no guarantees. It took me over 20 years to get my heart condition treated because of transphobic doctors.

What can I do as a trans Floridian?

Stay in communication with your clinic - many are working on getting physicians added to the roster to prescribe HRT. Lawsuits are being filed and it's possible the changes to adult care can be rolled back.

Continue to try to pick up your meds, but begin looking for care elsewhere, though. Inside and outside the state.

Remember that while telemed for gender affirming care has been banned, you can still cross state lines for care. See Erin's map of informed consent clinics.

Many people will turn to DIY, but be sure you are aware of the risks here, especially if on testosterone, which is a controlled substance.

What should I be worried about next as a trans Floridian?

I worry about the following next steps towards genocide:

Banning getting care out of state. This is from the anti-abortion playbook. They will likely start with kids again, but we've seen how quickly adult care gets axed.

Being declared mentally incompetent or a risk in some way. This could be anything from being barred from gun ownership to not being allowed to work for the government.

Being declared a de facto predator. This has already happened with the latest bathroom law (cis people can eject trans people from government owned single-gender facilities, with arrest as a penalty), so watch out for it being applied to privately-owned facilities. Watch for discussions of official lists of trans people.

Gender presentation enforcement laws, essentially banning "cross dressing". Laws that block or rollback documentation changes.

These all have historic precedence and are huge "I'm in danger" red flags.

What can I do as a cis person?

Amplify all this news. Talk frankly about how this is genocide. And donate what you can to trans mutual aid campaigns so people can travel to get healthcare or even leave the state.

Here's some articles to get started on building awareness:

Take care, everyone, of yourself and each other.

[ovaryacted]

Me writing for DI! Leon means I get to make him as hairy as I fucking want because I absolutely, positively, 200% believe that he has a nice happy trail and leg hair.

The manly hair testosterone hormones didn’t really kick in for Leon until he was 29 cause of stress and trauma, so when he could finally grow out that stubble it never left his face. But DI! Leon is a whole different ballgame. He’s not hairy like a werewolf (that’s more Carlos for sure), but he definitely has more body hair in that era cause he just kinda stopped focusing on it as time goes by.

You’d just like to watch him trim the stubble or shape it up, maybe even shave it off and let it grow back a bit. But you constantly tell him to keep it, that you like the way it feels when he kisses you or when he nuzzles into your neck. You enjoy the sensation of having his cheeks rubbing against your inner thighs as he eats you out, grabbing on to his head and pulling him in closer. Sometimes you’ll squeeze your legs around his head on purpose so you can feel the friction of the prickly hairs on his jaw scratching at your skin, only heightening the sensations for you.

Imagine riding him on his thick thighs and he has leg hair, feeling it against your skin every time your hips came back down on to his body. Think about the fact that he has a happy trail and trims his pubes a bit but doesn’t fully remove it CAUSE HES GROWN! So whenever you suck his dick so messy in the way he likes, the spit just spills all over and builds into a small puddle at the base of his pelvis. His favorite thing to do is watch you slurp it back up, how your nose nuzzles into his skin whenever you deep throat him. Don’t even mention the way he moans when you put his balls in your mouth, slurping on them like no tomorrow.

But the best part of it all? He loves it when he gets the white ring surrounding his cock when he fucks you. He wants to see the way you clench and cum around him, how your fluids stain his skin and pelvis, like your own personal way of marking him. He wants to smell like you, hell even taste like you. Probably enjoys putting you in a chokehold so you can feel his bicep curling around your neck, having your hands grab at his forearm and caressing the hair on his skin. If he’s not able to still feel the remnants of your release on his top lip, he’ll make sure it sticks elsewhere.

Petition to make him more hairy? Everyone raise your hands. I SAID FUCKING RAISE THEM! I KNOW Y’ALL ARE OUT THERE! Don’t be shy this is a safe space.

[starry622]

Please Help Out a Homeless and Disabled Trans Man (URGENT)

unfortunately, i, too have to extend my paw for money. at the ripe age of 19.

i have been functionally homeless for over a year, but ive managed to stay off the streets due to who i once thought was a kind and caring family member, but he has finally said the quiet part out loud:"im sick and tired of you being here, im gonna have to kick your ass out". hes given me a very rough estimate of just longer than a week, though i think i can extend my stay a little longer than that.

once im out, ill have no money, no shelter, and ill be stuck in the middle of nowhere. i cannot work a normal job due to disability, so i cant make money in that way. Anything at all helps.

i am unable to make a gofundme, as i dont own a phone, and he will not provide me with one, but i accept donations via paypal <-link if youll notice, it is a business account, and this is because i take commissions. if youd rather pay me in exchange for art, you can message me.

for visibility, here is the full link:

more info under cut:

even if i were allowed to stay, this family member has not been the best person to live with, put lightly. He does seem to really care, but hes old-fashioned. hes also once taken advantage of me and has also forced me to conform to my agab, which includes forcing me to shave and pressuring me to stop taking my testosterone, to the point where he wont pay for it if i dont promise to wean off of it. i would much rather be anywhere else, if i had the choice. and soon, i wont have a choice on the matter.

i dont have a specific amount of money in mind, there is no specified goal. i will have to go back to my mother, and i will have to live with her on the streets, as she is also homeless, though shes seemingly on the brink of getting an apartment that i will be allowed to live in, if she can get it before someone else does or before the process has to be renewed.

i will mainly use the money for my healthcare needs (testosterone) as well as for food and hopefully housing, if i make enough to help with that.

its okay if you cant donate, but please share if possible. i dont want to be back on the street, alone, and in a city im not familiar with. even just a little bit could help me cover the cost of going back to the city i once lived in and reuniting with my mother, who will undoubtedly help me more than anyone will ever know.

[jd07201990]

One might think I went a little overboard when I used my talents, to give my old college buddy Charles Wentworth II, the son he'd always wanted. Life threw him a curveball when his little boy just, stayed little. It took only 8 months to change that.

At 19, he was almost fae. 5'4" 110lbs soaking wet, the 3rd Charles in the line was thin, lithe, soft-tempered and good mannered. Clean and neat, always top of his class, the boy was head of the Student Council in High School, when his Father hoped he'd have excelled in Football, the same as his old man.

Charles II knew I'd gone into psychiatry out of college, majoring in Behavioral Studies with a minor in biochemistry. He'd seen what I could do to a person with just 10 minutes of talking. Out like a light, I'd fill their heads with all sorts of triggers, innocent fun to make the guys in the dorms laugh.

But Charles II knew where my interests really were. Behavioral Modification. He'd only seen this one time during our school days, when I tranced Jimmy Palter, the school's most annoying nerd, and by graduation, he'd packed on 50lbs, mostly in his belly, dressed like a hick, and went off to drive Big-Rigs across the country, adding notches to his creaking belt as he screwed his way across country, bedding pretty Diner girls as he hauled goods for my Dad's transport company. Last I'd checked, he was still trucking, with a wife and 5 kids somewhere out west.

Anyway, the strapping young stud you see here, with absolutely no intelligent thought behind those handsome eyes, is Charles Wentworth III. Or, as he preffers now, Chett. Sometimes his football buddies call him Chetworth, but one headlock with their faces pressed to his sweaty pits is enough to stop even the strongest of them, at least for a while. He's an aggressive, hot-blooded powerhouse, and doesn't let anyone forget it.

It had only taken an hour to wriggle my influence into his good natured, innocent mind. His father had asked him to come see me, and an hour later, the boy was thrilled to have sessions with me every day for the foreseeable future. I'd given him a perscription for what he was convinced were vitamins, but were really prototype HGH and Testosterone boosters a friend at a Pharma-Lab in Serbia gives to, well, select clientelle, with the agreement that we send the results asap. Some of this stuff may as well be nuclear Hormone-bombs, its no wonder the FDA refuses to even look at it!

So, A month in, and the boy was a nervous wreck. Trembling with excess energy, his feet tapped anciously during the first sessions, the supplements and my trances sending his body into overdrive. He said he felt like he was on fire, all the time, hot and clammy, and that his body tingled, pent up, wound tight like a spring. I let him suffer with this for a few weeks, I watched as the confusion led to annoyance, and he finally came to my office in the middle of the day, skipping class for the first time in his life, asking me for help. I tried to hid the wicked smirk on my face, and really got down to it. It was easy to drop him down into trance, and from there, My work really began.

4 months in, Chett had gotten a bit of weight on him, his body now tight and toned, working out alone when the gym was empty. The supplements really kicked his body into overdrive, sweat poured from him, soaking his shirts and shorts. He'd complained about it for only a short time, until I convinced him that was the smell of Effort. Of athletic Prowess. Of well-worked Male. As usual, anything I said became the truth, and I soon found him taking sniffs of himself after working out, flexing absentmindedly as he noticed the changes to his body.

By the 6th month, the supplements had shot through his body, setting it into a second puberty of sorts. He grew taller, hitting 6', his legs long with a solid densness that rivaled some of the soccer players. His torso was like a marble statue, each muscle easily traced, as he had very little bodyfat. The Chett was stuffing himself with pritein and calories at my suggestion, really pushing for some size, but his pesky metabolism just wouldn't let him bulk. His father decided that, "Behemoth" as the original plan had intended, wasn't necessary, and we went with "Classic All American Boy" instead. What began as a shrimpy welp, turned into a marble stature, then the beginnings of a diamond-cut stud.

His shoulders widened, giving him that perfect masculine taper, while his face lost its boyish softness, replaced with sharper, more intensly sharp features. His size 7s grew quickly, his feet ruinding sneakers left and right, until he'd leveled off at a wide size 13. His chest began to grow a smattering of hair, his pits were thick, dense wiry bushes. He had that Pretty-Boy look. Fuzzy in all the right places. Sure, he reeked like a Varsity Locker room, but hey, Charles II wanted an athletic son, he knows from our own college days what that entials.

I could see the Sorority Girls and cheerleaders beginning to take notice, but for now, I'd kept Chett firmly away from women. That would come later. I recieved several new prototype supplements, each targeting a different system of the body. By the time he'd finished taking these, he was 6'2" 170, a tall, well built stallion, with nothing but the gym and my trances to quell the neverending storm of energy and hormones flooding his system. He was pent up, on edge, ready to go off anytime. And I knew just what I had to do.

I'd had him on edge for the last 8 monnths. his grades slipped until he nearly got ckicked from school. Luckily, I miraculously had a place for him on the Football team. And he eagerly joined, wanting nothing more than to try and burn off all the aggression on the field. He was a beast from his first practice, I'd programmed everything he'd ever need to know about the game into his mind for months. He absolutley plowed through opponents. It was incredible to see.

I finally let the damn break after a hard-fought summer Game. he'd performed just as I expected. Like a perfectly trained, expert player. Nobody would ever guess Chett had ever been a weedy little boy. Expecially not after I'd set him loose, allowing him to notice the girls all over the field, cheering and buoncing about from player to player. when Sandra Rinaldi, heir to an immense national Grocer's fortune slid up to him, pushing the sweaty hair from his eyes, he couldn't help it. One look at her, and he pounced, kissing her hard right there in the field. 8 months of hormones and denial had been released.

From what I learned through locker room talk in the days following, Chett had given Sandra quite the workout that night, and every day since. Although the two weren't exclusive, Chett tending to get his dick wet anytime, anywhere, with anyone just as programmed, Chett seemed to have a natural incling toward her, and ended up asking her to marry him just after graduation, his father thrilled at the possibility of grandkids and Sandra's inheritence bolstering their own family's fortune.

From tiny waif of a boy, to a true blue American Stud, Charles Wentworth III was now both satisfied and thrilled with his family's future. His strapping, handsome Jock of a son made him proud, cleaning up well for his father to parade him around Gala's and business events, other big-wigs taking notice of the Wentworth's "good genes", not knowing what it took to build the boy up as you see here.

[roosterbruiser]

Hi, please could I request a super fluffy, adorable and sickeningly sweet blurb for Bradley Bradshaw??

Sweet Rooster has a ridiculously tight hold on my heart right now

🐓

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

Rooster didn't realize how touch deprived he was until he met you. It's silly, really, because how could he not know? He was almost always alone and--more often than not--on a carrier in the middle of an ocean surrounded by testosterone. Maybe he didn't notice for so long because he didn't really care--or he thought he didn't care.

But then one night, only a month into what would become a very serious relationship, he was blinking himself awake as the two of you tried to get through Kill Bill: Volume 2 for the third time that week. He couldn't help that he was so tired, really. He got up at the crack of fucking dawn (which you thought was endlessly funny given his call-sign) and pushed his body to its limit all day on base in the hot sun. You didn't mind, really, and only teased him lightly about it. He obviously wanted to spend time with you, which was why you were sitting in his dark living room despite his desire to just sleep.

You're pretending not to notice him blinking himself awake and his big, brown eyes that are cartoonishly drooping. He's slumped over on the couch with his arm wrapped lazily around your waist.

In the middle of the movie, just after he dozes off for the third time, you turn to look at him. He's so dazed with exhaustion that he doesn't even feel your gaze, his thumb stroking long and complete circles over your bicep in a repetition that is surely aiding in lulling him to sleep.

"Roos," you whisper.

He slowly turns to look at you, raising his eyebrows, giving you a pathetic excuse of a smile. For a moment, he's worried you're mad at him. He really doesn't want to give you the wrong impression by watching the same movie three times in one week because he keeps fucking falling asleep while you're here. But when he sees your face, partly made up of shadows and partly made up of the flashing TV lights, he sees how open and gentle you look. Your eyes are soft and wide, lips tugging upwards, eyebrows blanched. You're not mad at all and he knows that immediately.

"M'so sorry," he says despite knowing you're not angry. He still wants to kick himself for not being able to just stay the fuck awake. "I really want you to know that I like you so much--like so, so, so much and you aren't, like, boring me or anything it's just that--!"

You don't know exactly why you do it, but you're glad you do. You have delicately tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and it has rendered him entirely speechless--sentence coming to a screeching halt. It literally takes his breath away when you begin to very lightly scratch his scalp.

"Found your off button," you whisper, a grin creeping up your lips.

He wants to say something back, something witty and sharp, but he is so overcome with the desire to lean into your touch that he can do nothing but. His head grows heavy in your hands and you accept it with grace, laughing softly. It's a laugh that tells him for once in his life, he shouldn't be worried about imposing himself on others. He should just let you play with his hair.

"That's...that's real nice," he whispers finally, his voice thin.

You love seeing him like this: his lips parted, his eyes slipped shut, his Adam's apple bobbing thickly, his eyebrows pinched just so. He looks even more beautiful to you now than he did before--and it's because he's letting you get closer to him.

"Why don't you lay on my lap?"

Any other time, he'd have some sort of retort. But he just complies in silence, reeling at the loss of contact when you situate yourself so your lap is open and free for his head to lay upon.

But just before he lays down, a fear grips every nerve in his body. He hasn't laid on anyone's lap in years--fuck, he can't even remember the last time he laid in anyone's lap. Surely it was his mother's all those years ago--before she got sick, before he grew up, maybe even before his dad died. He feels, suddenly, like he's giving into something he didn't even know was tugging him.

But then he sees your eyes gleaming in the dim light. And maybe it's because you have the most beautiful face he's ever seen and maybe it's because he's lonely and maybe it's because he really does likely and maybe it's because he's so dead-tired, but as soon as you nod towards your lap, he complies.

Really, it's the closest you two have been before. You've had your fair share of over-the-shoulder cuddles and some polite goodnight hugs and quick kisses. But this--his cheek pressed against your thighs with one of your hands tangled in his hair and the other laying peacefully in the middle of his back--it's the most intimate thing you've done.

"People could pay you to do this," he mumbles, slurring against the material of your yoga pants.

You have to bite a grin as you gaze down at his profile; his features have all gone slack and you know he's on borrowed time now, slipping easily and restfully into dreamland.

"First one's on the house," you mumble, delicately outlining the scar across his throat. His long eyelashes flutter against his smooth skin and his mustache twitches very lightly when his mouth parts. "You're a very beautiful man, Bradley."

Heat gathers in his cheeks. You've rendered him speechless again.

In response, he wraps his arm around your leg, the one he's laying on. The crook of his elbow rests flush against the backside of your knee and he draws a careful line down the line of your calf. And then, very gently and with quivering lips, he turns and presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your knee.

And that's when you know. Really, that's when you both know: you're it for each other. Everyone else can go home.

here is my tag list!!

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!

[bagopucks]

T. Zegras - It’s An Off Day

✄————————————

Trevor Zegras x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Itsy bitsy fighting, jokes and implication of sex

I rewatched the Sandbaggers video today with Zig and Coley, and I swear it kills me every time. Biz is a national treasure. Nothing beats his missed swing in the vid with Sid and Nate tho. Quinn Hughes request is getting posted tomorrow too!

—————————————

Everybody talks about the female menstrual cycle. Everybody knows it’s not always the most delectable, and how the hormones affect your mood and body in many ways.

Nobody discusses the male hormonal cycle though. The twenty four hour rise and fall of testosterone, that can dictate how a man handles their day. For most guys, it’s not really an issue. It’s nothing compared to a woman’s monthly schedule, but that isn’t to say things don’t go off track every once in a while.

The Ducks have hit a losing streak. I’ve seen it before, it’s not the first one, but this one seems to bother Trevor the most. I can’t tell why, I just know it has. He stresses a lot when he’s in these bad times, and that stress has always messed with his head, but now it seems he’s all over the place. He’s skipped out on workouts scheduled, slept in more, and his appetite is barely existent. When he does eat, it’s a shit ton, but it’s usually only once a day. His body going from a strict routine to an absolute mess has taken a toll, but it’s also made those hormonal cycles incredibly out of tune. It makes him irritable in the mornings if I text him too early, and careless in the evenings if something gets too difficult to do.

And the worst part is that he’s not the only one in the midst of a ‘cycle.’ We’re both moody, and we’re both out of tune. It’s hard for him to say something I don’t get mad at, and even harder for me to not yell at him when he’s being difficult. I knew the rubber band was going to snap, I just didn’t think it would be so soon.

It’s the middle of the day when Trevor shows up at my place. I’d asked him to come over for a bit, hopeful that we could try and work in a night of relaxation, but the lack of communication of our own issues was making it extremely hard.

“Hey, babe.” He sounded so exhausted when he stepped through the front door. I don’t know why it made me so angry.

“You didn’t have to show up if you didn’t want to.” I called from the dining room table, assuming he’d come and find me. My face was down in a computer screen anyway, working on a college essay.

“Who told you I didn’t want to come?” His tone is defensive. I couldn’t blame him. We’re both going through our own things. But in the moment? In the moment it pisses me off that he doesn’t hear how he sounds.

“Trevor you sound like I’ve been hounding you all day to be here. I only asked you once.” I snapped right back, finally hearing the sound of shoes being kicked off and the front door being harshly shut.

“You asked me once and I came. Why would I not want to be here? I’ll tell you what makes me want to leave,” Trevor stomped right into the dining room. He stopped in the doorway. “That attitude right there.” He pointed at me, and god if he didn’t sound like a chastising mother in that moment.

“God- Trevor!” The exhaustion laced in my own tone outweighed the anger. I dropped my head into my hands before lifting it to look at him. I stopped. He looked about as shitty as I did.

His hair was a mess, and he had bags under his eyes. I noticed a red spot on his cheek I knew would turn into a pimple soon, but I had a few on my forehead anyway. It seemed Trevor noticed my own state as well. We were both wearing sweats and t-shirts. I had on one of his Ducks shirts, and he wore a plain black one. We both looked like we needed to be baptized in sleep and energy drinks.

My expression softened. Silence overtook the room. I sighed. “Off day?” My question caught Trevor off guard, but the tension seemed to melt away from his body in an instant. We weren’t fighting, we just weren’t communicating.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his gaze falling to the floor. I shut my laptop and slowly got up, crossing the room to meet him in the doorway.

“Me too.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and Trevor snaked his own around my hips.

“We’re both having shitty days.” Trevor managed a somber smile. “Imagine that.”

“How about a bath? Then maybe some face masks?” I reached up to smooth my finger over the red bump on his cheek, causing him to pull his head back and mumble an ‘ow.’ Sure, the skin could be sore when a pimple was first forming, but not /that/ bad.

“Don’t be a baby.” The irritation was evident in my tone. Trevor smiled again.

“I love it when you’re moody.” A minute ago, I could have sworn he did not love it. “Here.. let me carry you.” I didn’t bother to argue, instead I jumped when he asked me to, and allowed him to carry me bridal-like down the hall to my bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Trevor your hand is digging into my side,” I complained softly before he put me down.

“Chill out.. I just didn’t want to drop you.” He turned away to grab towels before he could see the daggers I was glaring in his direction.

I gently pushed him out of the way to grab my own towel, shaking my head at his behavior.

“Alrighty then..” Trevor muttered, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the floor.

“You know where the hamper is.”

“Goddamn. I’ll pick it up after.” He was tense again, I could tell.

“No, Trevor. Pick it up now. You always say after and then you forget.” I turned to look at him, tossing the towel I had down on the counter.

“Well I won’t forget this time!” He raised his voice slightly, defensive once again.

“Yes you will! Just like Jamie gets on you about leaving your car keys everywhere!” I matched his tone, resting one of my hands on the counter to lean on it.

“That’s different!”

“Alright, then what about the towels? And bowls right beside the kitchen sink? What about all the times you pull my books off my shelves and never put them back? Is all that different too?” I snapped, awaiting a good excuse that I had yet to hear.

Usually I wasn’t this hard on Trevor. I didn’t know what all went on in his mind, but he did try his best not to leave things around. He’d improved since we first met, but sometimes things simply distracted him, and he always apologized and felt sorry when I pointed it out to him.

Trevor wasn’t having it this time though. This was a fight now.

“You’re so bitchy!” He leaned over to grab his shirt, storming out of the bathroom after and pulling it back on.

“Yeah? I’m not the one throwing a tantrum right now, Zegras!” He paused to turn and look at me, uncertain of the implications behind his last name. His brow was furrowed, silently asking where I got the audacity.

“You don’t even listen. Forget this.” I followed him all the way back down the hall and to the front door. I watched as he put his shoes on, an overwhelming sadness eating away at my heart.

Trevor turned to look at me, hopeful to get one last dig in. He stopped when he noticed the tears in my eyes.

“Just fucking leave, Trevor.”

I didn’t want him around any more. It was clear we couldn’t coexist when we both had our own issues going on. He looked defeated, and even guilty, but he left nonetheless.

I retreated back to my bedroom after, crying silently all while telling myself it was my fault, and angrily blaming him. I drove him away, but he put the nails in his own coffin. Who knew when he’d text or call, or ask to see me again. He may never. I didn’t expect him to return at any point that day. And I certainly didn’t expect it to be within a few hours.

By the time the sun began to set, the tears had slowed, and I was able to make myself dinner. I sat on the couch, my laptop on the coffee table with a plate full of dumplings in my lap. Scream was playing on the tv, somehow ironically managing to calm me. I heard a soft knock on the door, but I was hopeful whoever was there would leave. My hopes however, were unfulfilled. I heard the lock jingle before the door opened. I looked up to see Trevor standing there, two grocery bags in hand and an innocent look on his face as he froze.

We stared at each other for a moment, uncertain of the other’s feelings, before he finished walking inside and shut the door.

“You just keep doing your thing. I won’t bother you.” Trevor spoke. It was all I needed to go back to my laptop and my work. Trevor ventured off into my dining room, and I heard him settle at the table before silence filled my apartment again.

Five minutes passed before I heard a clicking noise. I paid no mind. I spotted Trevor in the corner of my eye, entering the room at a slow pace. A sneaky pace. It pissed me off just knowing he was up to something.

He sat in the arm chair across the room by the window, dropping a stack of paper on the floor and two pens, as well as the grocery bag. I was still unaware of what was in it. He pulled his phone out, and eventually I stopped paying any attention to him. I just got through the end of a paragraph on my essay, moving my plate to the coffee table when I heard a pop. Then I felt something hit me in the chest and land in my lap.

My brow pulled together in confusion as I looked down to see a little blue dart with an orange tip. Oh my god I’m gonna kill him

“Trevor.” I looked up at him, brow furrowed. He gestured toward the dart. I looked back down, rolling it in my hand to see a white piece of paper taped to it. I looked back up for a moment, questioning his antics, then I made quick work of peeling the tape and paper off the dart.

I flipped the paper over, noticing Trevor’s handwriting immediately.

I’m really sorry about today

My heart fluttered, I heard the rustle of the grocery bag, and when I looked up, Trevor presented me with a second gun, and a few darts of my own. We met in the middle of the floor to make the exchange before retreating to our opposite ‘trenches’. He even provided me with a few pieces of paper and the tape to make my own message.

I jotted one down quickly, taped it to my own dart, and loaded my gun before firing. Reluctant smiles painted both our lips as Trevor grabbed the dart. He paused for a moment, turning to glare up at me when he noticed the copious amount of tape I used. He wasn’t going to be forgiven without a little hassle.

Once he got the note off, and all the tape off his fingers, I watched his expression contort from frustration to relief.

That’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so mean either

Trevor got a piece of paper to write another note, and I tossed the tape over to him. He seemed to be wrapped up in a long message, and I smirked when an idea came to mind. I loaded a blank dart into my gun and aimed, firing and trying to hide my snickers when the foam bullet popped him right in the forehead.

Trevor immediately looked up at me, laughing out a soft, “hey!” Seeing him smile again made me sigh. We’d be okay.

“Took too long,” I responded sheepishly, setting my gun down on the couch. “I want you to talk to me, Trev. Come over here.” He set his own gun down, quickly coming to my side and sitting on the couch next to me.

“What were you busy writing over there?”

“I uhm..” he paused, leaning back against the couch. “That I love you.. and I don’t want you to be mad at me for the way I treated you. I know it was shitty, but there’s a lot going on right now and.. I guess I just forgot to leave the anger at work.” He sounded so disappointed in himself. I reached out to grab his hand.

“It’s okay, Trevor. Really. I didn’t mean to get so short with you today either. Just seems like we’re both having our own issues right now. But we should be each other’s lifelines, yeah? We can’t go taking everything out on one another.” Trevor nodded in agreement, looking up to meet my eyes. “I love you too.. I know things have been hard. Just please talk to me when you’re frustrated, okay?”

“I will.” I reached up to brush a few of his Sandy locks out of his face. “But you have to talk to me too,” he added, wanting me to know he was always there as well.

“You never really gave me a chance today.” I responded, watching the guilt return to his features as he swallowed thickly. “It’s okay,” I assured. “I don’t think I gave you much of a chance either.” I squeezed Trevor’s hand.

“Okay.. so.. so tell me what’s wrong.”

“School. I’m behind on this essay. My period just started.. and my boyfriend’s moody.” I made sure to tease, hoping to lighten the mood as a shy smile overtook my face. Trevor scoffed, but I could tell it wasn’t a mean one.

“Your turn.”

“Alright… well.. the Ducks suck,” always one to tell it like it is. “I feel like I can’t feel a single emotion for more than two seconds.. and my girlfriend’s on her period,” he paused, leaning forward with a cheeky smile. “And I’ve done nothing to help her all day.” I knew he was only trying to flatter me, but it worked. He pressed his lips to mine for a moment before pulling back.

I rested my hands on Trevor’s shoulders and leaned back onto the couch, our smiles widening as he climbed on top of me.

“We’re just a couple of moody adults then, aren’t we?” I teased, humming as Trevor reconnected our lips.

“Can we be horny adults too?” He asked as he pulled back, causing me to swat his shoulder with a laugh.

“That was cycle day one, bud. I’m afraid you missed it.”

“Aw, damn.. really?” Trevor sounded as bummed as I would have expected him to be. It made me laugh. “Can you reschedule? Talk to your body and let it know I’ll be back to try again tomorrow.”

I laughed once again, squeezing Trevor’s shoulders and shaking my head.

“That’s not how it works, hun.” I let him down easy, giggling at his playful frustration.

“Alright, well when’s the next one?”

“If it stays on schedule, you’ll be on the road for the next one.” I tried to hold in my laughter, knowing he wouldn’t be too thrilled about it.

“Seriously?” His voice raised, and I snickered. “I mean- a guy can’t even catch a break! You think you’ll be in the mood sometime in between?”

“Trevor,” I laughed at the way he spoke about it, so formal. “I’ll know when I know.”

“Nope. I have to know three to four business days in advance. Does anything speed up the process of getting you excited?” He was asking as if we haven’t done it a million times before.

“Shut up, Trevor.” I moved a hand from his shoulder to gently push his head. He laughed, that breathy awkward laugh that always made me smile. Trevor leaned in for another kiss, this one a bit more passionate than the first. He nipped at my bottom lip before I gently pressed a hand to his cheek, pushing his head back.

“I can do one minute in advance…”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter three

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 3,2k

❱ summary: distractions over distractions..

❱ warnings: none

❱ an: i may or may not have giggled a lot while writing and imagining this. This scene was the reason i started this fic in the first place :)

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER THREE: PAINTING

As the night progressed, the alcoholic drinks slowly but surely turned into water or coffee for your own good. None of you wanted to sit in Professor Sauron's class in the early morning with a hangover.

The man was obnoxious on his own, adding headaches and fatigue and you had practically dug your own grave and you could be sure the professor would take it upon himself to kick you in it, face towards the dirt– no questions asked.

You continued to play for a while until, as the others had predicted and taunted you with, you were the first to hand over your last bill. That and your last street went to Aragorn, and taking it like a true champion you gave up with a "No more monopoly! Never again!"

After all these hours you weren't even disappointed with this loss, it gave you a reason to finally get up from the chair and stretch your back.

On slightly asleep feet, you wandered through the lowest floor, craning your head and neck, popping the aching bones for some sweet relief.

The Oropherion family home had become a familiar place to you over the past few months, a retreat of peace and quiet that your dorm couldn't provide.

While you had initially counted how many evenings you had spent in this house, with your friends in the kitchen cooking or on the couch watching a movie and the constant hope to meet Thranduil to even have the smallest chance to strike up a conversation, these experiences, as well as conversations had accumulated to a frequency that wasn't worth counting.

The floor under your sock-clad feet was pleasantly cool, your body had grown far too warm at the table where the boys' testosterone had skyrocketed when you left.

The whole house radiated a pleasant coolness, something you appreciated after spending a few nights in Legolas' far too warm room. Legolas was a running radiator and although you were very grateful for the fact and his warm hands in the winter, you often preferred to walk around the rest of the house whenever you woke up with him pressed to your side.

Perhaps because that comfortable cold reminded you of Thranduil, of the light and sporadic touches of his cool hands sometimes in your back, sometimes on your shoulder, and very rarely the brush of his fingertips over your hands.

You collected the memories, those feelings of his skin against yours, locked them deep in your heart. They were yours, no matter how public or private they had been in the first place, now they belonged to you.

Your gaze wandered along the bright wall as it lingered on a particular spot of the hung paintings, your feet automatically following.

It was inevitable that you stopped in front of this painting during your visits for it was by far your favorite.

It was framed behind a thin glass pane, most likely because Thranduil knew about the sock races you held in the long hallway with fantastically smooth floors, and although there was a real Monet hanging among the others, it was this unassuming-looking painting that captivated you.

A forest had been painted in rather dark tones, with massive tree trunks and broad branches stretching skyward, interwoven into a dense green blanket through which little light seemed to fall. And in places where the fine rays of a warm sun were nevertheless drawn, the leaves glowed a glittering gold. On the ground, thin wisps of mist drifted over the moss-covered ground glistening with morning dew, entwining themselves around the roots that had broken out of the ground.

Unlike all the other paintings, it had no signature, no artist. Just a name; 'Mirkwood'.

You had looked at this picture so many times that you saw the individual brush strokes in your brain drawing this magical forest, and often you wondered if such a place actually existed.

How you would love to immerse yourself in this image, to bury your toes in the earth and moss, to listen to the rustle of the many leaves in the wind. Breathing deeply, you tried to conjure yourself to the trees and froze when you noticed the smell of pine needles and a slight puff of air on the back of your neck.

"You're pretty bad at sneaking up on people," you spoke forward, without turning away from the painting, to which you were almost glued with your forehead.

You knew who was behind you even so; only one person evoked this state of absolute chaos in you.

"Oh, I'm not?" Thranduil's voice wore an amused smirk. "Those shivers on you seem to be clear evidence of the contrary."

"Whatever you think you're talking about, you're wrong."

"Are you absolutely certain? Someone who flashes a grin at a good hand of cards in poker shouldn't be so quick to boast."

You were about to protest – granted, your poker face wasn't the best, but who could resist grinning when winning against Legolas?

However, before you could say anything, Thranduil beat you to it, "Speaking of games, it seems your strategy of passing 'Go' and collecting money didn't quite pan out, did it?"

Now you turned around and looked up at Thranduil.

The shirt was gone, in its place a green sweatshirt hugged a torso that shouldn't look that fit for a middle aged man, and he looked directly much more... homely. You liked that sweatshirt on him, it accentuated his eyes, the crinkles around them and his ice-blond hair stood out against the rich green like the shining moonlight. His lips were pulled into a teasing smile and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"It wasn't my strategy's fault. It would've secured my victory if it weren't for the incessant whining from the boys. 'Spose they couldn't handle watching me systematically take over. Soo I did the only sensible thing and gracefully bowed out of that power struggle," you explained with a playful glint in your eye.

"What a noble deed," Thranduil smirked, looking at you through long lashes. Then he took a step toward you. "However, I must disagree with your words again. I believe you had no choice but to lose."

Your eyebrows rose challengingly and you pushed your shoulders through to appear more confident. Yet you were the complete opposite under Thranduil's gaze, behind which a thought seemed to be forming that would surely cost you some nerves.

"Is that so?" you asked, itching to find out what was going on inside him, and at the same time, a little afraid.

Thranduil could say the most boring thing in the world and still make it sound like flirting.

Well okay, flirting was a little wide of the mark and a little inappropriate for a man in his 40s, it made it seem a little juvenile and what he was saying was anything but a stupid pickup line you'd hear in the bars.

It was mostly just as teasing and at the same time charming as the grin that spread across his face.

"I think," Thranduil started and you suddenly regretted investigating "No, I'm sure you weren't completely focused on the game"

Of course, you hadn't been focused on the game, at least not ever since he'd come home and messed with your mind, strolling around the goddamn kitchen with his effortless good looks as if he didn't know how much he could dominate and take over a room.

But you would never tell him that, as much as it burned on your tongue. You swallowed the words, tried to swallow the lump that formed in your throat, but it had become too big.

"I'm.. I'm not sure what you're referring to," you attempted to deflect the conversation and focused on the painting again, hoping to divert your attention from him.

A moment of silence passed between you, charged with unspoken feelings. You heard him approach and felt the cool touch of his slender fingers slowly wrap around your wrist. His fingers easily met his thumb, essentially cuffing you to himself and your knees nearly buckled.

"Am I distracting you?" Thranduil asked nonchalantly, although the question was loaded with meaning.

"No, it's just–"

"I am," His thumb traced gentle circles on your skin, causing you to clench your fist, and paused just above your pulse. "I can feel that I'm distracting you… or else your pulse is extraordinarily fast because of some painting," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear.

"I already said you're–"

"Distracting you. I know," he interrupted.

With a gentle pull, Thranduil turned you around until your back was pressed against the glass of the long-forgotten painting. He was so close that his long hair draped over your shoulders.

That one movement sent your brain into overdrive, eradicating doubt, smushing reality and fantasy until all that was left was the pure enthusiasm of being this close to the sole reason your heart felt like it was bursting out of your chest any moment now.

You looked up at him, probably spending way too much time staring at his face, from his cheekbones to his lips, rosy and pulling up in a smirk as he followed your eyes.

"Something the matter?" he asked, slightly putting some pressure on your pulse point, "Cat got your tongue? C'mon, bite back. Don't get shy suddenly."

You pressed your body back against the glass as far as it would allow it, and let the heat of his touch rush over you, savoring the contrast of hot and cold.

"Ugh. You can be soo annoying," you uttered, and although a year ago it had been unthinkable for you to call Legolas' father annoying, it was one of Thranduil's qualities that you had to remind him of again and again.

He laughed, a short chuckle deep from his chest, which you felt first before you heard it, and dimples and laugh lines of age bored into his otherwise smooth cheeks. The playful smile didn't disappear when he leaned closer to you.

You had slightly tipped your head back, for he towered above you, one large hand of his still around yours while the other spread across your lower back, nudging you against him.

Thranduil's lips moved and you had to pull yourself together to listen to him and not just stare at him and wonder if this was really happening.

Which you did.

Because, what the fuck was happening?

"I get that quite often. Comes with the job as well as raising a thick-headed son, but," –he paused and his baritone voice dropped even lower, the rumble curling around the words that twisted around your heart like roots– "dare I say that when it rolls off your tongue, it sounds dangerously close to a compliment."

This newfound closeness with him was both exhilarating and unnerving. Up until now, you had danced around each other, exchanging subtle remarks that defined the boundaries.

Yet, in this moment, those boundaries seemed to dissolve, swallowed by the intensity of the lingering eye contact you were hesitant to break.

His gaze felt like it was burrowing under your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and pulsing blood.

You were sure of what was about to happen, you felt it in his hand on your back, leading you toward him, his shallower breathing and suddenly..

All the pressure fell off you, all the worries tumbled away and only the anticipation of finally being able to be as close to him as you've been wishing for months now remained in your chest next to your strongly pounding heart.

He was close, so very close.

"Little one-"

That's when you heard Legolas yell your name.

At first, you hoped you were imagining it.

Thranduil lingered for a breath, leaning against you. His pausing left the decision of how to proceed to you and though everything in you wanted nothing more than to bury your hands in his hair and kiss the smirk off his face, you drew your eyebrows together apologetically.

"I'm so sorry," you said softly. "I.. I can't. Not now, even if I wished–"

Immediately, Thranduil took a step back, putting a distance between you that tore a sigh out of your chest.

Even though you could see the disappointment of being interrupted in his expression, a gentle smile quickly settled on his lips. "No need to apologize."

You waited for a second though the moment had passed and even if it left you on the edge and unraveled like a ball of yarn rolling into an abyss, the end never to be found again now that you'd thrown yourself over the cliffs.

Thranduil nodded and took another step back.

And as you set off down the hallway back to the dining room, Thranduil remained back at the painting, his gaze still on you, as you couldn't help but look back at him again.

You didn't want to leave, not from him, not from his touches, his teasing words, which without this interruption would have led to the highlight of your sneaking around each other, even if until today you had believed it was nothing more than a fantasy of yours.

Yet the way Thranduil had looked at you, blue eyes full of curiosity and desire and longing, the way he had held you as if he would never want to let go of you again, if you would allow him to, no longer made you doubt the one-sidedness of your feelings.

There had to be something and while you couldn't explain why a man his age and status would go for you of all people, that wasn't what you wanted to concentrate on.

In the kitchen, the Monopoly game still seemed to be in full frenzy, just like your friends.

Aragorn had even tied his hair into a braid and was counting his money intently. You had to give most of your cards to Gimli, he had already built his first houses in the fifth round and now owned streets, with so many red hotels that even Vegas would turn green with envy.

Legolas, well, Legolas was Legolas in the sense that Gimli and he went all out for another bet because when you entered he was leaning against the wall.

Upside down.

And counting backward.

"Please. Someone tell me what I missed?" you asked, and the disappointment of being interrupted by Legolas went up in smoke at the sight, or rather in a laughing gasp. Your body automatically relaxed, no matter how electrically charged you felt by Thranduil, your little group could always bring you back.

Aragorn looked up at you, eyeing you for just a single second before one of his eyebrows lifted. "What did we miss?" he turned the question around and you knew full well you'd been seen through. "Red cheeks, tousled hair.." his eyes widened before he opened his mouth in disbelief.

Quickly you shook your head, lifting a finger to end that assumption that was forming in his mind.

At the same moment, Legolas shouted "Zero!" and landed elegantly (how he managed that with the amount of alcohol in his blood was a mystery to you) on his feet again.

Grinning triumphantly, he came back to the table, smacking his hands on his leggings and pointing to your cell phone, which you had left on the table

"Rang several times, your roommate seems to have locked herself out somehow," and turning to Gimli he said, "You said if I do a handstand for two minutes I don't have to pay my rent, so hand over the dice."

Even as you unlocked your screen, the last text message lit up at you, a 'where r u??? its cold' paired with 8 missed calls.

You rolled your eyes. Receiving such messages was nothing novel for you; your roommate had a recurring tendency to leave her keys in your shared room despite your daily reminders. The prospect of her learning from this habit seemed increasingly unlikely.

Yet, she consistently chose the most inconvenient moments to pester you about it.

Swiftly, you texted her, falsely claiming that you were en route, a dramatic exaggeration considering you weren't even certain if the bus was coming or not.

"Just leave the lass out in the cold," grumbled Gimli "Pretend you lost your phone and then we can watch that one movie later."

"The offer sounds tempting, but I think I should start getting some sleep anyway. Instead of sleeping in like you idiots, I'm going to talk to Professor Baggins again." You were sure these were two valid arguments, but at the determined look on Legolas' face, you prepared yourself for a discussion.

"C'mon, just sleep here. Tough luck for your roommate, she can sleep somewhere else," he began.

Tempting, especially when you thought back to that moment with Thranduil.

As nice as the idea of sneaking around at night sounded, and maybe more, depending on how serious Thranduil was about his flirting, you groaned. "My materials are in the dorm. I don't feel like getting up in the morning to pick everything up first and then drive to the university"

"We'll go with you," Legolas shot off another argument, though the other two didn't seem thrilled with it.

"Sure, because that's sooo realistic," you drew out "I can see it coming; I'm the only one who gets up because you'd rather sleep in. No thanks, as much as I appreciate your breakfast cereal, I don't want to put myself through that stress. Two more days and we're free for the weekend. Let's watch the movie then."

The latter was like an olive branch of peace. Although it was your turn to clean the dorm tomorrow, Legolas' pout indicated a never-ending fuss if you left early and without completing his "pep up plan".

You decided that you'd just ask your roommate to cover your shift as a way of saying thanks for letting her in tonight.

"Alright," Legolas relented "We will watch that new horror movie though."

You stuck your tongue out at him. "Bribery. I hate horror"

"And I hate it when you leave," he said, and you conceded defeat.

The smile was back on his face in an instant.

Opening the bus app, however, dramatically lowered your spirits. "Shit. The bus in 10 minutes is canceled, due to a shortage of staff at short notice, and the one after that won't arrive for another two hours. Fuck."

"And the night bus? It's a ten-minute walk to the station, we can bring you," Aragorn's face wore a frown as he stepped beside you, scrutinizing the app as well.

"No," you sighed and leaned against his side, "No.. they canceled the line as well because, wait.. Here; they say it's some roadwork."

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, rubbing it comforting. "Stay the night, please," he asked in a lowered voice, "I won't be able to sleep when you're out there this late. If it's our comments from earlier that hold you back I deeply apologize."

You shook your head, falling into the embrace even more. "Don't worry about that, that's not the problem. I kinda need to sleep in my own bed tonight, y'know? I love you guys but my energy reserves won't fill up if I have Legolas snoring next to me all night."

Aragorn waited, holding your gaze until your nod convinced him that you weren't lying to him about the teasing. "Alright, we'll get you home," he whispered and softly kissed your forehead.

"Can't you call a cab? Way faster and safer."

As sweetly as Legolas' suggestion was meant, a bitter taste spread in your mouth.

As a student, you didn't always have it easy, not with the costs of the university, which only allowed you a room in the dormitory even if you didn't have to live on instant noodles every day and somehow made ends meet with a small part-time job.

Legolas had grown up without money problems because of Thranduil and his father, which he was well aware of, but sometimes you had to remind him that not everyone could take a cab through half the city in the middle of the night.

Just as you were about to tell him this, another voice joined in the conversation:

"Come on, I'll give you a ride."

taglist [still open]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris, @finallyforgotten, @123forgottherest,

[ggggggfft]

Have you ever helped detransition someone before, if not outright forced their detransition?

That depends on your definition of “forced.” I would say I have coerced girls into detransitioning, but the ones I’ve toyed with have always wanted to be stripped of their faux masculinity in the most humiliating ways. I give them plenty of opportunities to walk away. To say no and try to abandon this particular kink. But they always - Always come crawling back telling me how drippy are for transphobic porn. How they need Daddy to fuck their little girly pussy and turn them straight. They can’t help it. Craving dominate male seed and obeying their biological urge to reproduce is literally hardwired into their smaller brains. They will always be female first and fakeboys second.

My first experience with detransing was with my ftm girlfriend of several years. He was a she when we first met and started dating and when he finally worked up the courage to transition he only did so socially. I continued fucking his soft, womanly body and playing with his massive tits like nothing had changed, because aside from a few key words and a new name, there was nothing different about her. We were still having straight sex with my cock buried deep inside her slutty testosterone free pussy. She still loved to have her nipples teased and played with and it made her so wet. She was still fertile and could get pregnant at any time. She wasn’t on birth control.

After about two years of being out and still no HRT we began to play with her gender in the bedroom. She liked when I told her to take it like a girl. That I was raping her like a girl. That she would be a good girl for Daddy’s cock and let me use her pussy. In her mind, it was all pretend, playing into her fantasies of being a femboy. For me it was the perfect way to subconsciously train her to enjoy her body as it was. For her to come to terms with her birth sex and accept her womanhood. To go back to being my girlfriend. We broke up and to this day she is still going by he/him pronouns, but she has had no surgeries and while she did recently start hormone therapy she is taking the lowest dose possible. She has a very cute little mustache and gets misgendered every day by strangers, coworkers, and even supportive family members who are fully aware she is trans and has been for years.

We fuck now and then and when we do she asks me to fuck her cunt instead of her ass and get her pregnant. She calls her clitoris her babydick or even her boyclit and the last time we fucked I was testing the waters and called it her clitoris and she said nothing in her defense. Every time I pull her pants off she’s wearing panties and she will “cross dress” if I tell her too. I’ve never come out and told her about my fetish but I feel like part of her must know or at least suspect the truth, and yet she still can’t keep her legs closed around me. She’s my long term project and I hope as her biological clock starts counting down she finally cracks and gives in to what she obviously needs.

What really kicked off my hunt for fakeboys was a girl here on tumblr. I liked her blog description, she was 18, and she had reblogged so many posts begging for transphobic asks and rape threats. I sent her what I now think was a pretty mid dm describing how I’d fix her if she was my daughter and I found her blog. She responded by sending me pics of her shaved teen pussy and begging for more filth. I was hooked after that. She’s now fully addicted to misogyny and incest porn. She’s my good little zoomer slut who I can always hit up for pussy inspections or to make her drink her own piss. She fully accepts that she is a woman in mind, body, and soul, but we agree she should continue hormone treatment because it makes her even more horny and depraved.

She has gone out in a wig and breast forms and dresses in public for me and will sit in cafes with her legs spread and her big red cherry and drooling slick cunt on display for the world to see. She’s terrified of being clocked and actually hate crimed every time, but she just makes such a convincing cis girl that nobody ever notices. As soon as she gets home she gets on cam with me and rubs her clitoris while thanking me for showing her what a dumb tranny she is. I have her crouch in front of the camera and finger herself until she squirts onto her gym clothes for tomorrow. I have her chant that she is not a man. She will never be a man. She is her cunt and cunts are slaves to cock. I have her endlessly repeat that she wants to be a girl because girls are stupid and inferior and get to be dumb, brainless cumrags eating ass and getting fisted all day long while she jackhammers a dildo into her sweaty cunt.

She started out wanting to be misgendered and feminized, but I’m proud to say I broke her. If it doesn’t involve detrans and misogyny, she can’t get off any more. We’ve discussed it and if we were to move in together, with her coming to a new city in a new state where nobody knows her she would definitely detrans for real.

Right now I’m working on a girl who hasn’t come to terms with the reality of her desires. She is also a filthy sex slave but she insists on using those annoying he/they pronouns. She’s entertained the idea of becoming my good girl all the way, but is still reluctant. I get so turned on watching her try to resist her desires but knowing it’s futile in the end. if I want her to be a girl, she will be a girl. End of story.

Last night I had a great session with another ftm who started out being unsure and using he/him, but by 4 in the morning I had her telling me how she wanted my big fat cock to fuck a baby into her in front of her family. How she wants her dad to see his grandson being made. She fell completely in love with her vagina and the pleasure it can bring real men by the end of the night.

I’m waiting to sniff out the perfect gold-star tomboy faildyke to forcibly detrans. I want her to be defiant and tough and mean as hell so that when she’s a fucked out set of holes who only lives to worship men and get pregnant and give birth and has an IQ of 50 and giant plastic tits that victory will feel all the more glorious.

There are others but this post is already so long. If you’d like to make it longer, you can always dm me or send anons if you’re nervous. I love knowing there’s a shy girl behind the screen somewhere frantically rubbing her clit to these asks.

[princeyfelix]

Part of the Pack

I'm a newly out trans girl, and it's my first night out since I came out. I've finally worked up the courage to go to my local gay bar, all dolled up in makeup and girl clothes, but only when I arrive do I realise it's their monthly Bear Night. I turn to leave, but the smell of musky, hairy men and leather entices me to stay...

As I order my first drink, a pack of big, hairy, musky men descends on me, introducing themselves, asking me personal questions, and ordering me more drinks. They encourage me to drink more, work up a sweat dancing with them, take off my clothes, loosen up my carefully trained voice...I'm having the perfect night. While I have my face buried in an extra-large bear's bulge, I feel clippers run over my head, as my carefully-grown shoulder-length hair is buzzed off, but I'm too blissed out on beer and man musk to care, as the rest of the night blurs in my mind.

I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, in clothes that aren't my own. I stumble, bleary-eyed and confused, to the bathroom, and am shocked by my reflection. My stubbly face, my fresh buzzcut, unfamiliar to me. I wander into the kitchen and see a man, no, not a man, a BEAR, a 6'6" mountain of hair and fat, frying up a big, hearty breakfast. "Hey cub," he says, joy in his voice, "I'm so glad you found us last night, it's time we saved you, isn't that right?" My mind is still hazy, but I decide being saved sounds good, as I wolf down the first course of a five-course breakfast, gazing lovingly at my Daddy Bear.

The next month is...divine. My Daddy Bear helps me in every way. He cooks big, hearty, fatty meals for me every day, helping me pile on the pounds. He helps me kick my nasty addiction to shaving, giving me testosterone supplements to help my fur grow in. He helps me fix my voice, bringing it a whole new bassy, deep resonance. He gives me a new wardrobe; leather, leather and more leather. As my belly swells, my mind dims, only able to focus on getting hairier, eating delicious food, and, of course, being Daddy's eager bearslut in the bedroom. We spend lots of time with his pack, in saunas and gyms, hanging out, sweating and, of course, fucking like animals in heat. I never thought I could be this happy, until I accepted my inner man.

My first month of true bearhood is over now, and it's Bear Night at the pack's favourite gay bar, and I find myself hoping, deeply and truely, that a confused fakegirl will wander in, so I can save him the way I was saved...

[absolutelynotromealone]

okok so ohmgod I'm in love with your blog and fics wahhh- it's so hard to find trans ftm reader fics of any kind I'm sooooooo freaking happy to have found your blog bshdbajsjshdbnsnsd the representation is so lovely pllleeeaaaase keep doing what you do :)

aannnd secondly could I request a hurt/comfort Mikey x reader where the reader is triggered by something their family/close friend says to them and it makes him really dysphoric, but he tries to bottle it up throughout the day, having it eat at him until he can't take it anymore and breaks down hyperventilating and crying to the point he can barely even speak? I think that the break down could happen outside somewhere while hanging out with a few of the tokyo manji gang members and they get all worried when reader starts to become visibly upset before he cries, and while he starts to panic and sob, so call Mikey to have him be reader's knight in shining armour on that bike of his- Mikey's all worried when he arrives to see him but doesn't show it on his face, a reader who just wants to be held while they cry and eventually ends up falling asleep in Mikey's arms feeling comforted and loved, Mikey playing with his hair and being a bit affectionate to try and comfort reader (that's probably a bit ooc for mikey but pshhhh) and then after reader is asleep he takes reader home on his bike, setting his sleeping self on the bed and laying next to you just to make sure when you wake up the first thing reader sees is something they love and makes him happy :')

(this is a reallyyyyy long request, I just like to exhaust all of my ideas for it, sorry if it's hard to read 😭 I'm a writer myself so I just wanted to make it a bit easier on ya, do whatever you like with this idm if you change anything to make it easier for you if you end up writing it-)

thank you so much!!!!

It's been forever but I finally wrote this

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Pairing: Mikey x male reader

Warnings: ftm, trans, trans reader, trans masc reader

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

(name) knew he wasn't the most masculine guy, he couldn't start testosterone yet but he tried his best to make himself look more masculine with clothes and a binder, to many he just looked like a pretty boy with a slight baby face.

"But you're like not really a guy" his so called best friend said "you haven't done anything so you're not really a guy, so why are you so pressed that they called you she?" (Name) was silent as she continued and 0pher justification on why she was in the right for continuously misgendering him "ya know-- where are you going?"

"Toman meeting"

"They still let you go to those things... Since you're... You know"

And that's when the friendship ended.

(Name) walked to the shrine, he had plenty of time as he just wanted to get out of there.

Away from her.

Fuck... What was he doing? He barely passed, he looked like a child playing dress-up!

(Name) bullied himself in his thoughts, his dysphoria at an all time high, beginning to question everything to the point of his relationship with his boyfriend.

The shrine was the meetup spot but they had plans to hang out at the diner but (name) could barely hear what his friends were saying.

"(Name), dude are you ok?" Chifuyu asked, snapping (name) from his thoughts, the teen looking visibly upset and the question and mitsuya gently touching his shoulder... He let out a heartbreaking sob as tears rolled down his face, sinking to his knees.

You see to most of Toman, (name) was like their brother in law, their beloved little brother (even if he was older than a few members) in a way as he was dating their leader and close friend. "Hey... What happened?"

"Whose ass do I gotta kick?!"

Toman began panicking and freaking out as (name) cried harder, (name) was tough-- he didn't really cry and he knew how to kick ass and take a hit so seeing him cry was-- it was strange.

"Are you dealing with the fucking-- distopia thing again?!" Baji panicked and Mitsuya looks to Hakkai who nods and goes to make a call.

Not even ten minutes later do they hear a motorcycle barrel down the street "damn he moves fast..." Pah mumbled as Mikey hopped off his bike and rushed towards his boyfriend, it was barely a blink of an eye as (name) was scooped up into Mikey's arms as the blond ran back to his bike and set him on and drove off.

"The fuck just happened"

(Name) was silent, Mikey was silent, the ride to wherever they were going was silent.

Was Mikey mad?

Was he upset (name) made a fool of himself infront of Toman?!

(Name) soaked the back of Mikey's jacket by time they got to Mikey's room, the blond setting him in the bed before wrapping his blanket around him, holding him close as (name) passed out from crying.

When (name) woke, he heard the sound of plastic bags being set "hm? You up?" Mikey asked as he set the food bags down "I had Emma get us some take out, you alright baby?"

Mikey was always gentle...ish with (name), the blond treating him like he would Draken but with kissing and such so seeing him so gentle with (name) was new "you good?" Mikey asked and (name) shook his head "what happened?" The blond pulled (name) close and intertwined their fingers "tell me"

And (name) did... And Mikey felt his blood boil.

"I don't want you hanging with them, my hot sexy boyfriend deserves better!" Mikey pouted and (name) felt a bit flustered "they're just mad that they look manlier than most guys!"

(Name) snort giggled and Mikey smiled "I'll make the big bucks baby, get you a big ol' dick that isn't your personality!" Mikey cackled as (name) threw a pillow at him "shut up you!"

[masked-tornado]

All about Allen Alagona

Overview:

Basics

Allen's backstory

Allen's personality

Allen's relationships

Allen's relationship with Deuce

Allen & blot

Allen's previous life

Allen's magic

Fun facts

1. Basics

Allen is a Ramshackle freshman who comes from another world (¾ Italian, ¼ Japanese) and "has no magic".

He's an aspiring illustrator and musician who doesn't seem to have success no matter how hard he tries. Whenever he attempted to gain attention on the internet before, all he ever received was ignorance and hate. Nowadays, he's too scared to try again.

2. Allen's backstory

Allen is an intersex boy and was born with lower testosterone levels as well as a mostly "female" outward anatomy.

Having suffered from a genetic anxiety disorder since his childhood, Allen was never really able to enjoy things. Once he got into school, he was mostly used for his good grades and ignored otherwise.

However, things got much worse when puberty started: Allen's body was feminine and muscular at the same time, and he towered over his classmates. His resting bitch face didn't help with people finding him intimidating and scary... and soon, he was not only ignored, but actively avoided and made fun of. He got pushed around, insulted, and told that "a freak like him" could never be loved. Nobody invited him to hang out, people pretended to have crushes on him in order to fool him, and all the "friends" he ever had badmouthed him behind his back.

Allen couldn't tell anyone about how hurt he was — boys weren't supposed to cry and act all whiny, and he would prove that he was indeed a boy by being all tough.

Trying to escape from the bullying at school, Allen put all of his feelings into art instead — a thing he was told he was "gifted" at — and started sharing it on social media. However, as he watched other artists blow up and build entire fanbases, absolutely nothing happened to him; he was either ignored or insulted for his art, seemingly never being good enough to earn compliments. Combined with the fact that Allen compared himself with other artists a lot, he slowly started losing confidence in the one thing he enjoyed and thought he was skilled at.

That wasn't the only thing Allen "wasn't good enough" for. As he got older, the topics at school progressively got harder, and the model student started struggling with them a little. His grades dropped from As to As and Bs, and that was somehow already enough for his teachers to blame him. "What's wrong?", "I expected better from you" and "stop slacking" were just some of the things Allen had to hear from them. He began studying even more in an attempt to satisfy them and prove his worth to himself, but nothing seemed to work out, and instead, it all led to Allen having a burnout.

At this point, Allen started believing that he was possessed. How could one single person have so much bad luck and be hated this much solely for trying to live his life...?

...and why was he even trying when he was never good enough for anyone anyway?

It was then that Allen decided to give up on everything. His grades never satisfied his teachers no matter how well he did, so why should he work for them at all? His gentle personality was never appreciated, so why should he be kind? Fights hurt him, so why shouldn't he fight back?

Allen slowly became a delinquent. He started skipping class almost every day, finally dared to cuss, and got into lots of verbal fights with the people who formerly bullied him. Those who already feared Allen before were now absolutely terrified of him, and soon, rumors about an actual possession started spreading.

The headmaster couldn't stand watching the process of one of her most valuable honor students turning into a delinquent and eventually kicked Allen out of school for his shenanigans.

Allen knew he wouldn't attend a school ever again due to what it had done to his health, but at the same time, he was in desperate need of that graduation if he ever wanted to have a proper job. He tried to blackmail the headmaster into giving him his graduation by threatening to expose the school for how they covered bullying and even allowed teachers to be bullies, but ultimately, Allen got nothing out of it.

He had nothing but his parents now. He had no friends, no confidence, no future. He was likely possessed, doomed by the universe.

Allen lost the sparkle in his eye; he wanted nothing more than to disappear. But the thought of his parents' grief forced him to stay alive. Every day was torture and reminded Allen of how much of a failure he was, and he progressively grew angrier...

...until he started imagining himself in music videos every time he listened to songs.

That was when Allen had an idea. He couldn't be violent, so why not channel all of his hatred and wrath into lyrics and make his own music? This time, he wouldn't post anything online in a long time, instead taking things slow.

Things slowly got a little better — Allen was able to start a hormone therapy, dyed his hair, changed his overall appearance, disassociated himself from his old self, and learned to control his anger through writing and other methods he figured out for himself. However, the emptiness, anxiety and hopelessness remained, and Allen was stuck with depression.

Just the day when Allen wanted to finally buy a software to produce music with, he woke up in a coffin in a strange world...

3. Allen's personality

Allen is widely known to be friendly, lowkey, mature, calm and helpful. People admire him for his good looks and determination, and some even consider him to be perfect due to the fact that he is additionally "good at everything". He also avoids fights and more heated discussions and instead serves as a mediator most of the time, earning him a fair amount of respect at NRC.

The truth: this is a mask.

Allen is an extremely flawed person but skilled at hiding it. He doesn't do anything he's bad at in public, only voices reasonable opinions, uses white lies in order to not accidentally hurt people, and hides all of his mental struggles as much as possible.

Not only does the real Allen envy everyone who is in some way more successful or "better" at something than him, but he has also developed a superiority complex to cope with his insecurities. He even feels this way towards some of his friends, yet doesn't dare to speak up on it out of fear of ending up all alone again.

The real Allen writes aggressive songs, has violent thoughts, and hates himself with a burning passion. His trauma and insecurities always get the better of him, and Allen still believes that he's ugly, worthless and not deserving of love despite being one of the most popular people at NRC.

The real Allen also doesn't care about the problems of people and gets impatient extremely quickly (Deuce is an exception — Allen cares about him a lot and is patient with him). His true motivation for helping with bigger issues around the school is to draw attention to himself and finally receive praise.

Allen's biggest fear is to be lonely, abandoned and ignored, which is why he does his best to hide all of his flaws and true opinions on people — he doesn't want to risk being disliked now that he's finally appreciated somewhere.

The only person who knows the real Allen (and who he is 100% honest to) is Deuce, who doesn't judge him at all and instead understands him.

4. Allen's relationships

5. Allen's relationship with Deuce

Ever since day one, they've been best friends who always know what the other is thinking/feeling and do almost everything together.

Having the same experiences in a mirrored way, Allen and Deuce are able to understand each other better than anyone else could and naturally help each other because of it. Allen is able to assist Deuce with studying while making sure that he doesn't overwork himself and provides him with healthy outlets for his delinquent tendencies, which helps Deuce mature and grow calmer. Instead of trying to change Deuce, Allen helps him see the good in his flaws and use them to Deuce's advantage while fully supporting his goals and making sure that Deuce doesn't lose himself. Deuce, on the other hand, simply loves and admires Allen the way he is, which helps Allen slowly accept himself more. Being around someone who's so similar to himself and genuinely supports, understands and adores him also manages to fill the void in Allen's heart at least a bit.

Due to Allen's tough vibes, determined personality, intelligence and pretty appearance, Deuce fell for him extremely quickly (it was basically love at first sight for him). Allen fell for Deuce during book 4 when he realized just how much he missed the boy. After hesitating with a confession for a long time due to how it could possibly affect their friendship, Allen and Deuce eventually start dating some time after book 7.

Before I go on an eternal ramble about these two, here are some posts from my Deuce x Allen blog explaining their relationship further:

How they help each other

Why I ship them

Relationship timeline

Facts about them

6. Allen & blot

Allen feels his body get weaker and is somewhat out of touch with it in Twisted Wonderland. At first, he isn't aware of what the reason might be, but things resolve themselves... in the worst way possible.

During every breakdown occuring after these symptoms, a part of Allen's body changes. At first, he merely cries black tears, but then his hair turns another color, followed by another body part every time... until Allen is fully convinced that his demon is slowly taking over.

These occurrences are, in fact, mini overblots building up to Allen's first proper overblot, in which he assumes the form of a demon prince with fire-based magic and massive claws.

Due to his overall physical and mental weakness as well as the fact that he's not from Twisted Wonderland, blot affects Allen extremely easily and in a different way than with mages.

But why can he accumulate blot if he's not a mage himself? Well...

7. Allen's previous life

Unbeknownst to everyone, Allen is the reincarnation of Asterope, an infamous mage from Twisted Wonderland.

Asterope was an exceptional mage said to have been blessed who had weather-based powers but couldn't fully control them due to his impulsive personality. As a result, he accidentally slaughtered a village through a tornado in a fit of rage caused by being excluded and bullied, and became a wanted criminal as a result. He ran away, assumed the identity of "Alan" and joined the Silver Owls, only to be caught when he found out about his sole friend's death and accidentally caused another tornado. Asterope then got executed, and to this day, he's known as nothing but a villain.

Nobody is aware that Allen is Asterope's reincarnation and supposed to fix his legacy until Allen dies after being stabbed during a friend's overblot. A storm is raging outside the school during the entirety of Allen being in a critical state and eventually dying. While his body is already dead, Allen's mind intensely relives the moments from both his current life and the one he had as Asterope. Ironically, his strong blot accumulation and Asterope's desire for wanting his legacy to be fixed through his "successor" eventually bring Allen back to life, leaving him with mere permanent tattoos... and the ability to use magic.

Shortly before Allen awakens, Asterope speaks through him, talking about his legacy. Later on, Allen and his friends do their best to figure out what exactly happened.

8. Allen's magic

Allen has fairly little control over his everyday magic due to both his mood swings and the fact that he's entirely new to this kind of thing. However, he is eager to learn and improve so he can hopefully reach an average skill level.

On the other hand, Allen's Unique Magic is incredibly powerful and can only be countered by the strongest of mages when they're concentrated. "The Calm Before the Storm" traps a being in a tornado that drains them of all their physical and mental energy, often causing the person in question to pass out. It can be used on living creatures from all worlds.

Fun fact: Allen discovers his Unique Magic before he can use normal magic at all.

9. Fun facts

Allen is three days older than Ace.

Allen is good with animals and children.

Allen's natural hair color is black.

Allen is considered to be one of the prettiest people at NRC, but isn't aware of this.

Allen collects plushies and Deuce gifts them to him regularly.

Allen loves Shiba Inus.

Allen likes motorcycles and blastcycles.

Allen is an only child.

Allen loves his parents but is distant from the rest of his family.

Allen has photographic memory.

Allen eats instant noodles a lot.

Allen can't cook, but is willing to learn how to cook egg dishes for Deuce.

Allen doesn't have a lot of stamina.

Allen has problems falling asleep.

Allen is generally bad at sports, but can run fastly and dance very well. He does, however, suck at ballroom dance.

Allen is often called a twink, and he's very curvy for a skinny guy.

Allen has long eyelashes.

Allen received chest surgery during book 5 and now has scars.

Allen prefers coffee over tea.

Allen dislikes pastries.

[autoandro-meda]

toy with him

Within a few months time of living here, you've begun to dress more like me. Within those same few months I have gone into your closet and made some of your blouses and v-neck low cut shirts "disappear" a couple of times. They're in a box in the corner of the basement, but you don't know that. You're hardly starting to notice the shift, you just think the sizing metrics on boys jeans makes more sense, and that your mahogany high heels are just misplaced.

Half a year in, our roles in the bedroom changed. It wasn't like we were playing out in depth roleplay scenarios all the time, but you started to shoe a preference for control. Not domination, but to hold my reigns as you steer. This was a good sign, I believed you wanted something more for yourself, as you made coy jokes about not being able to put it in me.

At eight months I did something a bit devious. I added a very small amount of gel treatment into your body lotion. I didn't think it would work, but after a few weeks you came to me moping and upset. When I asked what was wrong, you lifted your shirt and showed me the peach fuzz on your tummy was now an, albeit very thin, coat of hair. Your head was in your hands as you bemoaned the idea of being caught like this, but I was there to comfort you. Love, we all have body hair, it was okay, I showed you my own then. Now, I've been on the hormones for awhile, I am a lot fluffier than you, that is true. I think the contrast made that clear, as you stared at my midriff with a great fixation, and all of a sudden felt better.

By the end of the year, you could not figure out why everyone said your voice was getting deeper. You smoked now and again, maybe that was it, and maybe you should not. Again, you brought it up with me because I understand you; maybe more than you realized but I do understand you. We talked about smoking for a bit, I told you I started when I got kicked out to deal with the stress. Though, we both did agree there was something hot about it, me shuffling a cigarette out of the box and lighting it at the end of our conversation. We sat in silence for a moment, and you told on yourself.

You asked me "why must us men look so beautiful when were destroying ourselves?" I don't think you heard the "us" portion.

After a year, you finally came out and told me you wanted to be on HRT. I was able to help you with the appointments and everything, and promised to help you keep very close track of your treatment. And honestly, you've been doing so much better since you got on shots. There was only one thing you were unhappy about...

On the ride home from the clinic, we drove home in an awkward silence. You testosterone levels came back far too high, I forgot they would check before prescribing you. Things were only awkward due to what happened, when the nurse brought it up with you, you said "well, I've been trying testosterone gel in small dosages over the past few months."

I was cooked, I thought I was gonna lose my boyfriend as soon as I finally got him. We drove home in silence though, you didn't speak up one bit. The guilt got to me, when we pulled into the drive way I grabbed your arm so you did not leave the car and said I was sorry, I shouldn't have toyed with you and I was sorry.

Laughter is how I was greeted. You looked at me giggling, "I was a bit mad at first, but I'm over it now." To my surprise, you even seemed happy, "I think this was gonna happen anyways, you just expedited the process."

You leaned over the cars console and kissed me, I felt like I've set you free. You lean into my ear and whisper, and goosebumps prickle up me again.

"This said I want my clothes back," you told me. "I don't want to wear them but some of those dresses were very expensive."

"S-Sorry, they're in the basement," I finally admitted to you. You pet my head as you opened your car door:

"Good boy," you called me; I somehow don't think I was ever in control here.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: some mildly embarrassing things that have happened to you while a certain black army member was pining for you.

WARNINGS: none!! :D

COMMENTS: currently meowing as i format this. man i wish i had a cat

ray finds himself showing off a lot more when he spars, pulling moves he wouldn’t normally pull and talking a lot more smack. when you cheer for him, his ego gets so high he starts really getting into it. the testosterone kicks in as he puffs his chest and totally destroys his opponent. he’s looking forward to that victory kiss, he’ll be even more smug about it.

luka thinks it’s embarrassing that he can think of nothing but you when he’s preparing meals. he makes your favorites far too often for it to be a coincidence, and of all the people who had to catch on first, it's seth. he won’t stop bugging luka whenever he’s in the kitchen, whether you're there or not, and he’s just about had enough of it.

fenrir is very proud of his skills with firearms, but those aren’t his only guns. he wishes you would notice him more when he flexes in front of you, rolling up his sleeves on the regular and lifting heavy things. it takes him pouting at you for you to finally look his way and offer up that sweet smile, telling him that of course he’s strong and that he never needed to prove that to you.

sirius isn’t used to being clumsy. in his defense, he also isn’t used to you coming up behind him and hugging him so sweetly, arms wrapping around his neck as you laugh in his ear. The watering can he was holding drops right on his foot and soaks his shoes, but he doesn’t hear your apologies over the ringing in his ears caused by his embarrassment over you.

most would argue that seth is usually embarrassing and that there’s no way he could sink lower. however, the entire army is proven wrong when he finds himself enraptured by you. he’s winking more than he ever has in his life, opening doors for you and pulling out chairs. you look so incredibly flustered and mildly uncomfortable with all the pampering and attention, but no matter how often sirius tells him to back off, he still manages to smother you.