#how do you say it when you’re a stone butch but not in the sex sense in the feeling sense

[stonebutchstories]

Tell Me More

Stone butch submissive top/ Dom butch bottom

Mathilda and Annie have been seeing each other for a while, but Annie has yet to make Mathilda cum. Since she’s never been with a stone before, Annie decides wants to learn about stone pleasure, specifically HER stone’s pleasure, and discover the kind of touch that does the trick.

Cw: penetration with fingers, oral stimulation, degradation, dominance, use of titles (sir/puppy), sexual language, overstimulation

“What are you thinking about?” I ask. Annie looks distant, staring out the second story window at the intersection below. This late at night, I know the streets get dead, so she must just be staring at empty asphalt. She’s been lost in thought the past few times I came over, and I’m starting to worry.

“Hm? Nothing.” She comes to sit next to me on my bed. I’m lying down, relaxing in between rounds. We’ve been at it like rabbits since that campfire, and I always end up taking a breather. I card a hand through her hair.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, I wanna know! what have you been thinking about?”

She scoots in beside me, curling herself against my chest. She slipped back into her clothes for a smoke a few minutes ago, and, of course, I never got out of mine. Our hoodie strings tangle together. She smells like Mavericks.

“Just-“ she chews her bottom lip. “Worrying.”

“Why?” I draw her head in closer to my chest, stroking her hair. She has such soft hair, and it calms the both of us.

“I feel like you don’t… like this. As much as me, anyway.”

My brow furrows. “Why would you think that?”

She shrugs. “I dunno, you just don’t… I don’t know.” She rubs her forehead. “Maybe I just don’t understand how you… work?”

“I’m not following.”

“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever made you cum.” She looks to the side, a little ashamed.

It’s a fair assessment, I haven’t cum during our hookups yet. But that means something totally different to me than it would to someone else.

“Oh, that’s not a big deal! I don’t cum with partners very often. It’s sort of part of the whole stone thing, y’know? It doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it.”

“I guess, I only have my own frame of reference. If I had been dating someone as long as we-“

My eyes go wide.

“I mean. Seeing. Seeing someone.”

“Right. Right.” I smirk.

Annie’s been insisting we aren’t dating, but she lets it slip every so often. I wonder what she tells our friends about this relationship. I wonder if she uses that word when I’m not there. She may act like she’s too cool for romance, but late at night when I get up to go to the bathroom, she grabs my hand half asleep and says, ‘baby love, please stay.’ It feels decidedly non-platonic. I guess butches have to protect our hearts, but I’m dedicated to finding my way in, however long that takes me.

She clears her throat. “If I’d been seeing someone as long as you have and they never made me cum, I’d probably… I dunno, think less of them.”

“Oh, so, you’re just worried it reflects on you?”

She shrugs.

“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried you were gonna say you found me less attractive because I’m stone.” I kiss the top of her head and sigh. It really is a huge relief.

“What, do people say that?”

I prop myself up on my elbow. “Oh, yes. Very often. I’ve been dumped for being stone more times than I can count.”

“That really sucks, baby. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t dump you like that.” She kisses me on the cheek.

“Well, you couldn’t.” I smirk.

She looks quizzically at me, then it hits her. “Right, because we’re not- right. Got it.”

“Keep forgetting, huh?”

She rolls her eyes and shoves me. “Fuck you, I’m trying to go slow!”

I squeeze her waist tight to me. “Oh, but you just can’t HELP wanting to U-haul with me, you silly lesbo lover boy, you!” I ruffle her hair and she sighs contentedly. “Look at it this way- you’re absolutely my dream butch. I enjoy sex with you more than I’ve ever enjoyed sex with anyone else in my life. I just don’t cum easily. Not your fault. Nobody’s fault, really. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love having sex with you.”

She thinks for a minute. “But… do you want to?”

“What?”

“You said it’s hard to cum, not that you don’t want to. Do you want to, and I’m just not good at making you feel good enough to?”

“I-“ I stutter. I don’t really think of it that way. “I dunno. I guess I’ve never… I mean, I barely ever came even with other people. I got good at faking it though, once I knew they’d break up with me otherwise.”

She holds my face in her palms. “I don’t want you to fake it. I want you to feel good. If that doesn’t include cumming, that’s fine. If it does, though, I want to know how to do it. And just in general, I want to do things that bring you pleasure at whatever level you’re able to feel it.”

I pause. “I don’t know. You make me cum when I’m by myself pretty often.”

“By yourself?”

I look to the side, embarrassed. “When I’m touching myself, I cum from thinking about you.”

Her breath hitches and she tugs me in closer. “What have you been thinking about, puppy?” The change of name strikes me in my gut. We’re revving up, now.

I squirm. “You.”

“What about me?”

She sits up into my lap and I lean towards her, posture just like the night we first kissed. The memory of it tugs at my heartstrings and makes me throb in the same breath. She weaves the bridges of our noses together, gazing down at my lips. I know she’s thinking about kissing me, but I don’t have permission to lean in on her behalf. I can feel her breath on the nerves of my lower lip. I steel myself.

“How my fingers would feel inside you.”

“Oh?” She leans back, tugging my right arm into her hands. “How would it feel?”

“Um.” I stammer. “Really good.” I’m not as natural at this kind of talk as Annie, but I have my ideas.

“Yeah? You sensitive in your hands?”

I nod. “Very.“

She exhales her question, one eyebrow quirked. I can tell she’s thought of something. “Are you-“ she draws my right hand up parallel to her eyes, holding on by my wrist. “-Ok with this kind of touching?”

My heart hammers in my chest. I nod.

The corners of her mouth twitch up subtly, not giving me the satisfaction of a smile. Annie keeps holding my wrist still with her right hand, but traces with her left pointer from my elbow to my palm. She presses and splays my fingers apart with her own.

“Do you ever cum from the stuff you do? Like, from stuff that isn’t direct?”

I swallow. “You mean my strap?”

Annie lowers my wrist to lean into me closer. She drags her nose up the crook of my neck, chuckling.

“I mean your hands. Can you cum from your hands?”

I shiver. “I- I dunno. I haven’t tried.”

“Tried?”

I stammer. “Yeah, um. Cumming from stone stuff is different. It doesn’t just happen on accident. You have to be immersed, I guess.”

“Immersed.” She hums. Her lips graze the shell of my ear. “What does it feel like? Being immersed?”

I feel myself throb. Like that, I wish I could say.

“I have to go slower, but it feels really good. I focus on the touch and somehow I can move the place I feel it. Then it’s like my hand is - mmh-“ Annie is dragging her bottom teeth against my earlobe, firmness making me squirm.

She pauses when I stop speaking.

“Go on, puppy.”

“S-sorry. It makes it feel like my hand is my strap. Or, my dick. It’s all one feeling. And that can make me cum.”

She pulls away. “So, if I touch you like this-“ she drags a finger against my heart line, tracing the deep creases of my palm. My breath hitches, just enough to be noticed, but subtle enough that it’s clear I’m not faking.

“Wow.” Annie’s tonguing her molars, eyes alive with thrill. “That’s what you like, huh puppy?”

My eyes fall to the side. “Yeah.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t mean to embarrass you.” She pauses. “Well, that’s not entirely true. But I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just…” Annie touches between the pads of my pointer finger, featherlight and ticklish. I startle in my seat and suppress a moan. “Fascinated. I’ve never been with a stone before. Your body works in such interesting ways.”

I try to laugh. “I don’t know if I’m a good barometer for the standard stone experience.”

“Mmm, I don’t imagine you are. Not that that’s bad.” She traces the pad of her middle finger up my forearm.

“Palms up.” My hands tremble as I right them. Annie sighs. “Oh, very good, puppy.”

I bite back a whine. Annie traces the lengths of my forearms, stopping before the sensitive tendons on my wrist. My thighs tense and relax in a way that makes her bounce on my packer. Every feeling she gives me is a good one. She taps gently and works up and down, making the hairs there stand on end. “How is that?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and chuckle. “Hah. That’s- it’s stupidly good.”

She hums. “You’re so easy to work up.” Annie leans in and kisses my neck softly. My knees part on their own, letting her hips sink down further into my bulge. “Do you like being easy? Does it turn you on to be such a whore?”

“Annie, please.”

“Tell me more about how I’d make your fingers feel. When you’re inside.” As she speaks she brushes up the length of my pointer and ring fingers. Her touch travels up the nerves, along the veins. Proximal, middle, distal. One and then the next. With my eyes closed, I feel it in my cock.

“I don’t know how to describe it, it’s um. It’s soft. You-“ I pant. “You like to talk a lot. And make me talk.”

Annie hums, patting smooth my lapels. “Keeps us where were supposed to be. Do you not like it?”

“I don’t mind it, I just sound stupid when I try to talk dirty.”

Annie smiles into my skin. “Yeah, kinda. You ever consider that’s what I like about it? Hearing you mindlessly stumble over your words, trying to explain how good it feels to be fucking me?”

She rocks herself down into my hips. I want my hands inside her so badly.

“It’s soft.” I offer my best.

She draws my wrists towards her mouth, leaning in close. I can feel the heat of her cheek in my skin, and she parts her lips to whisper into the flat of my palm.

“Soft?” Her sibilance resonates across the nerves of my hand. I can feel the warmth of her breath. I gasp and pant.

“And warm.”

“Mmm.” She drags her lower lip up my heart line, breathing into me. Her teeth don’t touch my skin, but I’m orbited by my awareness of them, and of the soft wet fullness of her lips dragging up my splayed palm- fuck, she is so hot. “How warm?”

“Like, I can feel the blood rushing to it. And I can feel your pulse getting faster in it, too.”

“Faster where?” I can see the fingers of Annie’s free hand stroking over the fly if her jeans. “Here?”

I bite my lip. Her ring finger makes slow circles.

“Do those words embarrass you, puppy? I want to hear you say them.” I can feel the tip of her nose drag down my open palm as she speaks, hot breath continuously alarming the sensitive nerves in my hands.

I stumble in my confidence. Part of it is that there are a lot of words to use, and butches are always particular. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and upset Annie. And also, maybe she’s right, I’m a little embarrassed to say this out loud. But it is an exercise in her control- she puts fingers and objects and gags in my mouth as she sees fit, so why not a word too? She returns my attention to her movement, pressing a breath into the crease of my ring and pointer fingers.

“Which words would you like me to use?”

She traces the horseshoe of my jawline back and forth, scratching the patchy hairs on my chin. “Funny boy. I know you like the taste of cunt in your mouth. Say it. Where do you feel my pulse?”

I swallow. “I- like feeling your pulse in your cunt, sir.”

She tuts and shakes her head. “I don’t know here you keep getting this ‘Sir’ thing from, but it’s growing on me. I don’t know if I’d have more fun letting you say it or trying to break your habit.”

I whine and tilt back my head. Motherfuck.

She takes my diverted attention as a chance to drag her tongue up my forearm. Neither of us expects my reaction to be so intense. I nearly buck her off my lap. The shock of it overwhelms me, and I feel all the muscles in my body contract and glitter with tactile aftershocks. I moan so hard it comes out as almost a scream. She shushes me reassuringly and I try to pant my way back down to even breath. My hips buck into her in arhythmatic pathetic thrusts.

“Aww, puppy, too much? Is it too sensitive?”

It kind of is, but I don’t want her to stop. I wrap my free arm feebly around her waist.

“Jesus Christ.” I sob, pressing my forehead into hers.

“Did I hurt you? It kinda of sounded like it hurt.” She wipes tears from my cheek that I hadn’t noticed falling.

I shake my head, sweat plastering us together. My breathing has returned enough to string together a semblance of a sentence.

“Just- feels so. Fucking. Much.” I heave. “ ‘needa minute.”

“Aww.” She scratches my shaved sides affectionately. “You’re so sensitive, it’s adorable, puppy.” She caresses my face in her hands.

I lean the two of us back on the bed, my ab strength stuttering as we lower. I can feel the corners of the room tilting us in all directions. Sometimes, when it’s really good, I get this kind of vertigo, but it’s never happened from just touch like this. She lies down on my chest, stroking my hair.

We take a little break, and Annie does her best only to touch me where I have clothes on. Just my skin on hers feels a little too electric, and every time she brushes up against my arms by mistake my whole body contracts and I bury my face into her collarbone.

“Hah. Sorry.” I chuckle embarrassedly when my thoughts start to return.

“No, baby, I just wanna make sure you feel good. You don’t have to be sorry.” She kisses me on the cheek, just under my eye, and wraps her arms around me.

I sigh, still a little floaty, but not so overwhelmed.

“Can I- um. Have some more?” I feel my face go flush, and I extend my hand towards her mouth. She eyes me up and down and grins deviously.

“Say ‘please, sir.’”

I clear my throat. “Please, sir. Can I h-“

Annie cackles. “Oh my god. You actually said it. You little homosexual Oliver Twist.” She punctuates each sentence with a deep tongue kiss.

I get even redder, somehow. I wrap an arm under Annie’s waist and flip her under me, kissing back even harder and laughing. “Oh, fuck you. You made me so horny I forgot about Oliver Twist.”

“Who could forget! Who could forget that tragic little orphan twink?”

I swallow her laughter with our tongues and mouths pressed close together, and feel it kindling the fire between us. She crosses her ankles over my back and tugs me in, switching off between giggles and moans. I feel so soft and silly and sweet with Annie- vulnerable in a way I’ve never been able to be before. Being butch is sometimes a matter of projecting a persona. Only she has ever made me feel safe to drop that persona, and put the trust of my life and my body in her hands. For some reason, the fact that she doesn’t take that deathly seriously makes me feel at ease. We can be lighthearted and funny. We can take breaks when it’s too much. I love being here with her and letting her take the reins, knowing full well she’ll only ever lead me where we both can feel free and fulfilled. She pulls away, hips still gyrating into me as she speaks.

“I can’t lie, puppy, it really turns me on that I can fuck you so hard you cry.” She smiles darkly.

I bite my lip. “Mmh. Me too.”

“And I think I like this, if this is how I make you cum. We can definitely do this more often.”

I throb. “I’d like that, sir.”

Annie doesn’t correct me. She takes my hand in hers, gently, looking to me for approval. I nod, and she returns to her work, exhaling hot breath up and down my forearm where her wet tongue left a mark.

“Mm- I want you inside, puppy. I wanna make you cum while you’re inside.” She whispers in a sultry voice as her mouth travels up my forearm.

“Fuck. Fuck, I wanna cum inside you, too. Please.”

She presses the flat of her tongue at my wrist, just to feel my body bear down into hers. As my muscles tense and thighs clench, I feel her hips rutting into me.

“You get so- so worked up when I touch you.” She’s stammering her way through moans, speaking into the skin of my hand as she licks and sucks it. “Do you even realize you’re grinding your cock against me?”

“Annie.” I grip her waist hard into mine, rocking my hips back and forth. “Let me. Please.”

“I bet you don’t. I bet you’re too empty and horny from being touched, and you can’t even tell how good you’re fucking me.” She’s right. I’m so fucking empty and I don’t care how my body moves or voice trembles, I want my fingers inside of her. I wanna cum. I wanna make her mine.

She keeps on task, half-praising-half-mocking me even as my hips grind into hers faster and faster. I start to find a rhythm with my thrusts, imagining I was lining up my oversensitive fingers with her dripping cunt, breaching her one at a time and feeling that hot tightness surrounding each nerve. I could feel her pulse, her wetness, her softness, everything I love. The way her body contracts around mine. She’d murmur instructions in my ear, telling me I’m a good worthless little puppy boy. How I’m hers. How my hips would press my own wrist further and further in, back of my hand and front of my packer between us for me to helplessly rut against. God, I would cum in her so deep.

She coils a hand through my hair, tugging my head up to inspect it. I let her observe her full of me, sweating, stammering, and moaning. Brows knit as I concentrate on holding back my orgasm. I have to wait. I need to feel her inside. I have to feel it.

“Please.” I barely make a sound, shaking from exertion.

She roughly grabs my wrist, ignoring the hypersensitivity and licks up my palm with the broad end of her tongue.

My body reacts explosively. I sob and moan, legs clenching together and trembling fiercely. She was smart to grab my wrist so roughly, because my body tries to retract it away on its own, trying desperately to restrain myself from cumming. She keeps going, as my fingers seize and curl, sucking and flicking her tongue over my pointer and ring fingers. In this backwards stone way that only we understand, she’s go giving me head. And I can barely hold on as she edges me.

“Oh, god- oh, god, Annie- Fuck-“ I stammer. My abdominal muscles are contracting so tightly it feels like they’re going to pop. I can feel my boxers getting soaked through, my soft packer sliding up and down the length of me with each stuttering thrust.

She pauses, voice breathy and deep. “Getting your cock nice and wet for me. You ready?”

I can’t even answer with words, and I don’t try. I just moan for her.

“Go ahead, then.” She yanks me by the hair close to her, face to face. She revels in the tears and the flush and the panting. “Fuck me.”

I throw myself from her grasp and yank her by the belt loops ferociously to meet our waists. I cant wait any more, I have to fuck her. And I have my instructions now. I waste no time taking her jeans and boxers off and sliding my fingers in.

I growl when I’m all the way in. It feels like I’ve been imagining, like I’ve begged to get the chance to feel. God. Annie is so good. I press my hand further with my waist, the way I learned to fuck with my hips before I got a strap. It feels basic, primal- the kind of fucking you do when you weren’t planning and packing. The kind of fucking you do when harness be damned, you need to be inside her. Her cunt makes a squelching noise as her back arches completely off the bed. Sometimes it’s nice to see your sexy dom top butch at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the sensation you give. Pride in that look overwhelms me. I know I’m fucking her good, so I fuck harder.

“O-oh my god-“ she grabs my belt loops, pulling me as deep as my hands can possibly go. I curl my fingers gently against her g spot and her mouth flies open. She gasps so beautifully. For as much as she likes to whisper dirty talk into my ear, when I’m fucking her she just wants to moan.

I plant myself face first into her dripping needy cunt, because it’s not enough to just touch her. I need to taste and feel and hear her too. I need to be overwhelmed by the sensation of her.

“Fuck- Mattie-“

She never uses my name. I kind of love it. I pull her down further on my fingers by her shoulder. I may be a bottom, but I spent enough years stone topping to be incredibly gifted in this arena.

She whines and moans. “God, you’re fucking me so good, yes- yes-“ she wraps an arm around the base of my wrist and pumps it up and down, stroking my sensitive forearm in a way that makes my brain short circuit. With focus I can change where I feel sensation in my body, but I have no focus right now. I feel it fucking everywhere. Every nerve in my body is a s tender and electric as my cock right now, and the way she grabs me, pulls me, coats my tongue, clenches down on me- it all feels like I’m being fucked.

I flutter my two fingers, the tip of my ring finger grazing the back of her cervix. God, I’m in so fucking deep. She pulls my hair and whines.

“God, yes- fuck-“

I suck on her clit hard, tasting that tart and almost metallic wetness dripping from her. It tastes different from the rest of her cunt, tastes like getting closer and closer. Fuck, I get lost in the feeling of her on my mouth, now, too. A little stiff and so velvety and soft, she wants it so bad. Her thighs clamp against the sides of my head, smooth soft hairs brushing my neck and shoulders. Every nerve in my body is alive. I can feel it all. The room spins faster ever second.

“Fuck- baby- Ah-“ She pants, voice high and breathy in that way she only is when she’s at her limit. God she sounds so fucking hot.

I press my forehead into her soft belly, feeling the thump of my fingers inside her and the wetness drip from my mouth. “I’m gonna cum inside you baby.”

She goes rhapsodic, screaming please-please-please as she throws back her head and thrashes her spent body around me. I brace down against her hard, feeling her walls contract and throb as her orgasm overtakes her. Fuck. Fuck-

I wrap my arm around her back and pull her even further into me. I need to cum inside her so fucking deep. Oh my god. My body trembles. I’m full of electricity. My body is glittering at every touch and noise and- fuck. My hips and my packer and my fingers and my mouth, all of it cums at once.

The room is all the way upside down when I hear her voice again, gently cooing “Breathe, puppy.”

I try, unaware I had stopped. I’m gulping down shallow breaths of cool air. When did the room get so cold? Why is it spinning around the axis of the beautiful, wonderful butch who just made cum so hard I cried?

Annie is stroking my hair. I had finished with my face down at her hips, so I look up at her from where I’m lying.

“Hi.” She smiles. “You okay?”

I give a limp thumbs up. I’m still passed out on her bare skin, but way too out of it to move on my own. She drips off my chin.

She scratches my cropped hair just behind my ear. “You’re so cute. You get so stupid when you cum.”

“Uh-uh” I shake my head, bonking her bare thigh. “M’ stupid before I cum, too.”

Annie laughs, dragging my towards her for lots of little kisses. I flip myself over onto my back. I prefer my partner to be lying on me, the pressure of their body just feels nice that way. She snakes our legs together.

“You’re so haaandsome. You got cum all over you but you’re still so haaaaansome.” She nuzzles her forehead into my shoulder. Such a sap, this guy. Would never have guessed from all the academic posturing and tough butch persona.

I roll my eyes. I’ve never been good at taking compliments. “You too.”

“Hey, um. Matt.” She hides the bottom of her face in our mess of arms and hair and body.

“Hmm?”

“Can we be dating now?” She looks away, embarrassed.

“Aw, we’re you waiting to make me cum to ask me?” I kiss the bridge of her nose. “We have been. I was waiting for you to notice.”

She buries her face completely in my chest. “So are you my boyfriend, then?”

“Woah! Whatever happened to taking it slow? That skips like, two steps in one!” I kiss her forehead, grinning.

“I meant what word do you prefer.”

“Still, though. That’s a bigger commitment than dating.”

“Well maybe I’m tired of not being committed to you. Maybe I just like you a whole stupid lot. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or partner I guess. As long as you’re not anybody else’s.”

“Boyfriend.” I smile. “Boyfriend works for me.”

We fall asleep there, and when I get up later in the night she doesn’t have to pretend to be asleep when’s he says ‘baby love, please stay.’ And so I stay.

#stone butch #stone lesbian #butch4butch #lesbian nsft #butch nsft #nonbinary lesbian #transmasc lesbian #my text #butch lesbian #spent smoke…. 2! #seriously I love these chars and their whole dynamic #also wanted to write something about stones having different ways of feeling pleasure #I feel like we forget that there’s other parts of the body that can be stimulated besides genitals #and for some stones it feels way better than genital stimulation ever could #anyway. hope u enjoyed. I’ll be back with more soon so give me recs pls

[profoundbondfanfic]

Do you have any fics that a very gender? Very confronts toxic masculinity in a moving way? Bonus points for 🏳️‍⚧️

I have to say it was a bit of a challenge to decode this ask so we've decided to do something general and hopefully some of these are what you were asking for. Here are some recs with fics that feature trans!characters in a meaningful way or focus on gender roles.

Fem in a Black Leather Jacket by bleuzombie [Mature, 5k words] #trans!dean

Dean has done the work to be comfortable with who himself but some reassurance from his boyfriend Castiel goes a long way as they head to a concert. Dean never dreamed he would be so lucky to find someone who could love him for all of him, panties and all.

love in the time of quarantine by sharkfish [Explicit, 6k words] #trans!castiel

Dean says, “We should have sex.” Cas chokes and looks up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.” “We should have sex,” Dean repeats, carefully enunciating each word. Cas keeps staring at him blankly. “It’s fun and you’re hot. Perfect quarantivity.”

Made Manifest by schmerzerling [Mature, 6k words] #trans!dean

Wherein Castiel defied God for Dean before Dean even knew his name.

Mira Mira by vipjuly [Teen, 22k words] #gender fluidity

Castiel is forced to retire from being the world's most prolific and successful hired gun. He gets dropped off at Winchester B&B with a vague notion to 'find himself', but he's having a hard time understanding first of all: what that means, and secondly: how to even do that. The proprietor of Winchester B&B, Dean, a retired ex Fed, seems to have some ideas of his own.

Novaks, Rebooted by violue [Explicit, 57k words] #trans!claire

A single father, his trans daughter, a whole new life in The Golden State.

Sometimes You Have to Lose to Win by zeppazariel [Explicit, 55k words] #trans!dean

The thing is, Dean is okay with being bisexual. He’s come to terms with it, ya know? He’s got eyes, and he can see that men are hot sometimes; whatever, not a big deal. He’s perfectly fine with it. In theory. Not so much in practice. Dudes are a no-no, outside of looking. He’s not budging on this one, so it’s with confidence that he announces, “There ain’t a guy in the world who’s going to change my mind, Sam.” “You’re tempting the universe to make fun of you again,” Sam sing-songs. “The universe doesn’t have shit to do with this,” Dean argues. Sam hums. “Whatever you say, man.” But, as it turns out, the universe has a lot to do with this, and it never really misses a chance to mock him, drag him down, kick him while he’s curled into a fetal position, then take him out back and shoot him while laughing cruelly at his misery. Meeting Cas is precisely what that feels like.

BONUS: a/b/o fics that focus on gender roles

Aromatic Adjectives Need Not Apply by JessJesstheBest [Teen, 4k words]

Castiel was an Alpha, despite what everyone always guessed upon meeting him. He was tall, and he had the stern and imposing profile, but, to most people, those Alpha traits were where it ended. He had a lithe, runner’s frame, with trim waist and thick thighs. “Child-bearing hips” he’d been told. Though, obviously, no children would be born of him. This scuffling man, though. He was... round. Potentially child-bearing. And Castiel was sure his true mate wasn’t either of the other two men. Or Castiel is an Alpha that doesn't believe in true mates but sniffs one out anyway.

Butch by tiamatv [Explicit, 54k words]

When the flower shop owner sweeps his fingers through his hair, he nearly knocks the flowers tucked behind his left ear off; he spends a fussy moment readjusting them with both hands. “I don’t need to be rescued. Especially not by a stranger.” Sheesh. Touchy. But since Dean would have flashed fangs if anyone had thought he couldn’t take care of his own damned self, he can’t be throwing any stones. He shrugs—big and exaggerated, both hands up. "Not sayin’ you did. Look, not your fault that God put alpha brains at the base of their dicks." The lowered blue eyes snap back to his. Flower Boy inhales with his lips parted, all pretense at not sniffing Dean out gone, and his eyes go wider. Dean might not dress or act or look like any kind of sweet little omega, but he knows just what he smells like: really fucking inviting.

Oddly Shaped Empty by jemariel [Explicit, 65k words]

Dean grew up thinking -- knowing -- he'd be an alpha. Until he failed to present. As a beta, he has no mating cycle, no noticeable pheromones, none of the physical markers that are so important in a world of alphas and omegas. He's out of place. How is he supposed to navigate his relationships and find love when he doesn't fit into the neatly-defined boxes he's used to? By the time he meets his new roommate, Castiel, he's more or less given up on finding a mate. He wears his secondary gender like a chip on his shoulder. But you never know what the future holds, who will come into your life, and how they might change it forever..... Queer themes, finding identity, reconciling the past, and a whole lot of smut.

#asks #trans!dean #trans!castiel #alpha/beta/omega dynamics

[concretepuppy]

Hey, I wanted to ask if you'd recommend phallo to someone without dysphoria who's like 90% cis? I just kind of want a dick from time to time, but it doesn't affect my sex life or distress me that I don't. I'd also like a cis-looking and feeling dick (idk why but I would probably get dysphoria from a dick that was obviously made with phallo) so idk. Transphobes fearmonger a lot so it kind of scares me to make the jump. And idk if major surgery is worth it to satisfy something I'd live my life perfectly fine without doing...

i’m a huge proponent of cis people getting bottom surgery if it makes them happy. i talk quite a lot about how i think a lot of cis stone butches in particular would probably be a lot happier of they had a sensate penis to use for sex, bc i have had quite a few stones complain to me about how they wish they could feel it when they use a strap. it’s ok to get bottom surgery just for sex.

why exactly do you want a dick? what do you want out of it? do you want it for sex? do you think you would have better self image if you had one? do you want to be able to pee from it? do you want balls? do you want to keep your current genitals? there are a lot of considerations to make. i’d start by making a list of all the things that make you want a dick, and then all the potential cons.

i would encourage you to examine why you think you would feel dysphoric about having a phallo dick—what about them is so different from a natal penis? what are the aspects of a natal penis that you feel you’d miss with a phallo penis? have you seen a long-healed phallo dick w medical tattooing? have you ever interacted w a phallo dick irl? i’d also ask you to check your beliefs about what phallo dicks look like. these both have a lot of layers of transphobia and body shaming to unpack.

phalloplasty is a major surgery. it’s permanent in that you’d have to find a surgeon willing to do penectomy on a phallo patient to get it removed, which would likely be very difficult. but it’s not the huge, scary thing people make it out to be. most people just have 6-8wks of recovery (and maybe even shorter for later stages depending on what you’re getting done) and that’s it. the hardest part for me was stage 1 movement restriction, but that was 5 years ago and it’s over with now. if you think you’d be happier getting phallo, then by all means pursue it. it’s not like it’s a fast process, so even if you started contacting surgeons today you’d still have at least 12-18mo to think about it.

also keep in mind that navigating the process will be much more difficult unless you lie and say you’re a trans guy (or in the states at least most of the big name phallo surgeons are familiar enough w nonbinary people that they dont bat an eye abt it, so you could use that). i cant imagine most reputable phallo surgeons here would agree to do surgery for a person who openly IDed as cis (tho i could be wrong, i dont have direct experience w any team other than OHSU so it’s just me guessing based on other ppls anecdotes) and i have even less confidence that insurance would cover it. but it’s fine to lie and say you’re a trans dude if that’s what it takes to get the surgery or hormones or whatever you need. i didnt tell my surgical team i was bigender until stage 3, and i specifically told them to just list me as a trans man in claims. the OHSU team is really great about stuff like that, but other teams might not be.

#concrete talks #answered

[blushedfemme]

I just love getting your thoughts! I second the 🌼 anon. The way you speak about butches makes my heart flutter!

Thoughts on butches who have a little more to grab on to? A little bit of a tummy, a bigger chest.

Thoughts on genderqueer butches who like to pretend their strap is their own and they can really feel it all?

Thoughts on inexperienced butches who are eager to please?

(These things may or may not describe myself 😬)

-🌻

my thoughts on butches with a little extra to grab onto: 😍😍🥰🥴🤭🤭💞😚💓💞💗💖💘❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

okay but seriously butches with a tummy (whether it’s a bit of a tummy or a LOT of a tummy or somewhere in between) are my preference, that’s peak butch physique imo. and a bigger chest?? ooof yes. butches with bigger chests, whether they bind or not, have this way of carrying them that makes them so butch. like it looks so natural and handsome and sexy i can’t explain it

genderqueer butches? YES. butches who treat the strap like it’s their own dick: YES YES YES!!!!!

as a stone/high femme that’s my M.O. for sex. if i’m with a partner who uses a strap, i’m treating it like the real, integrated dick that it is! i’m sucking it, i’m giving you a lil handjob when i lube you up, i’m saying dumb shit like “looks like someone’s happy to see me” when you’re hard packing. i’ve never had sex any other way than this and i can’t imagine doing it differently. like, that is your dick and i know you can feel it, whether it’s a more mental/visual pleasure of seeing how i interact with it and desire it, or actual physical pleasure (there’s a variety of ribbed base straps or things you can put on the base to enhance pleasure for the person wearing it)

from a domme perspective, inexperienced butches who are eager to please make my pussy purr 🥰 like c’mere honey, lemme talk you through it, let me show you how, let me give you clear and detailed instructions and sing your praises when you make me feel good.

from a regular perspective, my honest opinion is that experience is nice, but not important. if you think about it, any time you’re with a new partner you’re “inexperienced” because you don’t know how that particular person likes to have sex, you don’t know the kind of sex you’ll have together, you get to talk about it and see what works and have fun!! 💓

#clarke answers #🌻 anon #this got soooo long rip i just have a lot to say on these topics

[radkindoffeminist]

I have a lot of issues with your pinned post and if you are willing to have a respectful discussion in dm's or whatever I will gladly explain my rationale on several of the points you made but I think you are really missing the point of inclusive language.

Yes, there are people who attack individual women for calling themselves "pregnant women" instead of "pregnant people." The reality is that there is always someone out there arguing for the stupidest possible version of any belief in existence. But that isn't the point of inclusive language.

The reason it's actually important isn't about validating people, it's about people getting access to the healthcare they need. If you, as a woman, go to a gynecologist looking for help with birth control, or pregnancy, or menstrual issues, etc etc you're not going to be turned away because "you're a woman, not a person." (This is NOT the same as not being taken seriously btw. Before you bring up that argument.) But trans men can and have been turned away from those procedures because "this treatment is for women/you can't possibly have [insert issue here], you're a man." Basically, read Stone Butch Blues I am begging.

Individual women can call themselves women as much as they want, but in medical settings it's important to use inclusive (and accurate!) language. "People who can get pregnant" acknowledges that there are women who are too young or old to get pregnant, or lack certain organs necessary for it, while including people who aren't women that can. And by the way, there are plenty of trans people who do encourage the use of inclusive language when it comes to male healthcare and are frustrated by terms like "womxn" being popularized.

You say you don't hate trans people or want us to come to harm? Help us protect our access to basic healthcare.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Medical inclusivity? Really? What makes you think that just turning from ‘pregnant women’ to ‘pregnant people’ is going to make people recognise that there are female people who don’t identify as women who can still get pregnant? Like, is that really going to be such a big problem in the medical community that actually we need to change all of our language because that alone will make doctors recognise that trans men can also get pregnant?

Moreover, even if I accept the above -that the language needs to change to accommodate trans people, especially as it seems like disagreeing with you about this makes you think that I want trans people to be harmed but I’ll deal with that later- why should it mean that I’m not allowed to be offended by this language change when it forces me to address myself and other women by our organs? This is especially offensive towards women who have a long history of being treated as a walking baby-maker/uterus/vagina. You only picked pregnant person in your example, but there are so many other terms I’ve seen: uterus owner, vagina haver, menstruator, etc. Why is my offence taken as hate on trans people? There are so many other terms which could be used which are significantly less offensive but those ones aren’t chosen, just the ones where we’re forced to refer to ourselves by our organs. Women, AFAB non-binary people, and trans men, for one.

Finally, if the actual argument that you’re going with is because it’s necessary for medical reasons then why is it only women who are targeted with this language? I literally don’t care that some people are encouraging the male equivalents because the reality of the situation is that these terms are directed almost exclusively towards women. There are so many examples of sites which use this language for women while men are still male! It just goes to show how deeply misogynistic this all is and how it was always meant to dehumanise women and separate us from our sex and our sex class.

You’ve basically just said ‘it’s better and more inclusive to trans people so shut up about being offended about it because if you disagree then you want harm to come to trans people’. You’re never going to care about my arguments or my feelings on this subject because all you’re going to do is say that I just hate trans people and want them to be hurt if I disagree. You don’t care about the fact that this language is deeply misogynistic and targets women. You just want us to shut up, accept it, and feel bad for being offended.

[perfectlyripeclementine]

oh also totally forgot to respond to something you said a while ago - it's so funny to me that your experience of people with dicks has been "selfish and focused on their own pleasure." I feel like that says like... a LOT more about the person than the equipment. i'm basically a stone butch so my priority is always "make my femme cum until her eyes cross," THEN i'll have some fun and get myself off. maybe it's different with cis guys though? idk who you've slept with obviously in short: skill issue tbh....... -💙 (their skill issue, not yours, obviously)

yeah that’s definitely the case, that’s a very hetero sex thing. the majority of ppl i’ve had sex with who have penises were cis. i think it’s a skill issue and i also often felt rushed by them to like, enjoy myself before they come? i always find it really hot when a partner comes but with cis dudes that tends to be The End, where even if they’re like “is there anything more i can do for you” they’re typically kinda knocked out lol and can’t do much even if they want to. this has happened with a transfem partner but the large majority of it applies to cis dudes for sureee. I have not had this experience with straps 👀

Tangentially related: I was telling my (ostensibly) straight friend about strap-ons and I was like, well they’re great bc you can switch shapes and sizes for different positions, the strap wearer can come and still keep going, and talked about like how you get really connected to someone when you’re using the strap. And she was like 👀👀👀👀👀. I foresee a plot twist for her.

#💙 anon #ask roo

[kiefbowl]

respectfully, it is not always disrespectful to never reciprocate sexually. there is such a thing as stone butches and pillow princesses. not every relationship needs to be or should be 50-50. 50-50 as a bare minimum is helpful when navigating relationships with males.

you guys are so…like…online. respectfully, I didn’t say anything about 50/50. respectfully, sex is more than sexual acts. respectfully, reciprocation in the context of what that particular anon was discussing I think should be clear without me making 80 caveats about how of course I mean that you shouldn’t feel forced to do any sexual act you’re never comfortable with blah blah blah can I be given a little credit here can my reputation proceed me a little bit. respectfully, someone being a “pillow princess” is not innate and maybe there’s some stuff in that identity that can be unpacked a little bit if she so wishes. respectifllklyyyyyyyytty, if someone comes to me asking if she’s maybe gay despite not wanting to eat pussy but thinking Keira Knightly is hot, my response isn’t going to be “maybe you’re a pillow princess!” that’s some shit advice that is essentially useless, she’s gotta either try to date women or realize that not wanting to do that probably means she’s super heterosexual, and that will continue to be my only advice I give on the matter. this is respectfully typed up and I’m not crazy & hyped up on espresso right now I’m very normal and chill

[that-stone-butch]

What's a febfem? I tried searching the tag but got too many conflicting and/or incomprehensible posts to be able to make sense of it

hey, so going into this topic in-depth is going to involve a discussion of TERFs, transphobia, and transmisogynistic subject matter in general and specific. so, you know, heads-up on what is going to be a very unpleasant topic.

as is often the case with portmanteaus, there's some differing ways people spell things out. some people use 'febfem' to mean Female-Exclusive Bisexual FEMinist, but the majory of what i see is specifically a portmanteau of Female-Exclusive Bisexual FEMale. however, there's going to be some significant overlap between the two which i will bring up later on.

the general premise of Female-Exclusive Bisexual Females is, just that, bisexual women who, while identifying as bisexual, make the conscious decision to be exclusively into women, exclusively date women, etc. right off the bat, the practical conflation between the gendered terminology 'woman' and the sex-binary-dependant terminology 'female' in a space is, well, troubling to hear as a trans person. very frequently trans individuals might choose to use sex-binary-dependant terminology to describe *their own experiences* but the use of sex-binary-dependant terminology to label entire groups and/or others is...a red flag.

additionally, it's important to note that almost always the impetus for someone going 'female-exclusive' is as the result of mistreatment, often including sexual misconduct, perpetrated by men. i do not in any way wish to diminish the reality of these experiences. gendered violence, especially sexual violence, is a real and pervasive issue. no part of what i have to say on this topic should be construed as disregarding the severity of survivors' experiences.

however, it's important to look critically at the status of febfem as what at first appears to be a relatively innocuous premise (provided that you don't look too closely at the emphasis on gender essentialism. spoiler alert! gender essentialism is a huge component of this whole phenomenon :/). as we all know, personal sexual boundaries are fine and ought to be relatively inoffensive in a vacuum.

very frequently, when coupled with gender essentialism, the concept of sexual boundaries is politically weaponized. we've been over this a shitzillion times with TERFs acting irate that transgender lesbians....exist at all, frequently framing the passive existence of transgender lesbians as an attack (frequently throwing around the word 'rape,' 'rapist,' etc) on their personal sexual boundaries. by rhetorically coupling the concept of trans people existing with the concept of violating personal sexual boundaries, it becomes difficult to deal with this flavor of TERF rhetoric because you must first disentangle the concepts before you can argue with them (you shouldn't by the way, just block them and move on) people who have no interest in disentangling these disparate concepts will see a defense of trans people, especially trans women, as an attack on TERFs and lesbian sexuality as a whole, and are further radicalized against what they see to be a threat. this rhetoric validates the unfortunately widespread willingness to read trans people (especially trans women) in the worst faith interpretation possible.

(this phenomenon can be seen with Peak Trans rhetoric, which frames the moment a TERF became anti-trans as a result of trans people being icky and indefensible, making the impetus for being trans-exclusionary The Fault Of Trans People Actually, and further validating transphobic people's willingness to read anything trans people do or say with the worst possible intentions; validating what is widespread transphobia by blaming the victim of transphobia. it's wild just what will be used as peaktrans 'fuel;' one time a pretty mild post i made about frustration over how difficult it is for LGBTQ+ couples to adopt, made it onto a peaktrans compilation blog, because apparently if i, a trans person, have anything to say about wanting kids one day, it must be because i am Gross and Icky and a threat to Real Women lmao. honestly it's embarrassing and shitty behavior and if you need a compilation of literally any straws you can grasp at to prove a group of people deserves pervasive harassment, legal disenfranchisement, and physical harm, you're a hate group plain and simple)

now, you might be saying to yourself, 'wow, the topic of TERFs came up, why is that?' and it's because, dollars to donuts, you look at a febfem blog and you're going to find TERFs, reblogs/content from TERFs, and TERF rhetoric.

as it turns out, the group of people with a vested interest in defining all 'males' as having an essential gender, alligning that essentialism with a built-in moral negative, and basing their *political advocacy* on the premise of politicizing personal sexual boundaries, are often self-proclaimed TERFs/radfems. well if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, even straight-up says it's a duck sometimes, it's a fucking duck.

seriously, you don't have to scroll down far on most febfem blogs before you see shit about 'genderqueer identity taking away our butches' and 'can't a woman be masculine AND proudly feeeeeeeeeeemale for once?' like it's textbook.

now i will say again, since tumblr is NOT a hub of reading comprehension, that personal sexual boundaries are not a moral negative, nor are they transphobic. shit, i should hope that as a stone butch, you understand that i do not think personal sexual boundaries are inherently bad. but the politicization of personal sexual boundaries, and the use of personal sexual boundaries to define and condemn others, is a different matter entirely.

there may be people hopping onto the notes of this post, my inbox, etc. bringing up evidence of febfems who have nothing negative to say about trans people, never publicly making claims about trans people, etc. but that's a fucking deflection. gender-essentialism is baked into 'febfem' as a concept, and there's no deflecting that. ask a febfem what their definition of 'male' is, and who that includes. you're going to find transmisogyny.

#ask #anonymous #transphobia

[stonebutchstories]

Spent Smoke

Submissive stone butch service top/ Dominant butch bottom

Mathilda is the OFOS tough guy of the group. Or, that’s what her butch friends assume, anyways. There are some long-needed revelations at the last bonfire party of the season that leads to an unexpected new experience for Matt and the grouchy butch who she just can’t seem to get along with.

cw: characters get into a verbal argument, discussion of gender dysphoria and homophobia/transphobia within the lgbt community, spitting, smoking, D/S, use of petnames (puppy, sir), degradation, humiliation, face slapping, oral sex, non-stone character is partially unclothed, stone character is clothed/only touched on their packer, outdoors.

“Straight people always talk like strapping is a selfless act, and I don’t wanna speak for everybody, but to me, that’s bullshit. I get way into it.”

Ryan is ranting about strapons again. This is pretty regular at this point, if he gets even one drink in him he can’t shut up about it.

“Here he goes.” Maya rolls their eyes.

“I’m like, I mean- I hope we can be real here - I’m like closing my eyes and-“ he presses finger to temple, miming a telepathic gesture, humming like a ufo.

The guys break into percussive little hisses, not quite laughter- the kind you only make at rude jokes. We all came out this weekend to Ryan’s for a bonfire, probably the last one of the season. It’s starting to get chilly and everyone is compensating with layers, except for Ryan, who is drinking the glow into his cheeks and thoroughly making a fool of himself. We’re all entertained, though. But my attention isn’t on him.

Annie shoves his shoulder.

“Man, cmon-“ she doesn’t enjoy the drunken carrying on. She doesn’t really enjoy much of anything, as far as I can tell. She’s the designated hater, an up-and-down contrarian.

“It’s like the fucking drift!” Ryan interjects. “You feel it! If you’re cool and gay enough. I mean, I know I do.”

Scattered nods to that. I can definitely relate.

“It’s not like- God, Ryan, you can’t be comparing sex to Pacific Rim and expecting us to believe you’ve had any.” Annie laughs.

“Fuck you!” Ryan grins. He reaches for his coozy, intent on overdoing it tonight. “What’s it like, then?”

Annie’s jaw snaps closed just a little too suddenly, and she hesitates just a second with the stuttering response. That’s all it really takes- we know what we know, and we know Annie doesn’t.

“You’ve never-?” Maya asks in hushed tones.

“I have!” She’s red. “I have many times.” She says it under her breath, the kinda way where it’s pitiful how obvious the lie is.

“What!!? Annie, I thought you were a dom. You’ve never strapped?” Ryan’s a little too gone for subtlety.

She rolls her eyes. “Domming and strapping aren’t synonyms, dumbass. Don’t you know the difference?”

I chime in for the first time all evening. “I don’t.” I do know, but I’m being purposefully obtuse- I wanna know more.

Annie’s jaw sets on edge a little, tension straining her face. She squints a little when she has to make eye contact with me, like it stings her to do it. “I mean like… I’m the dominant one, but I’m also the one...”

The air goes stale as her thought trails off. The boys are not jeering and laughing- we are intent listeners with eyes fixated on her. Everybody’s heard about Annie being a dom, but we’re eager to satisfy the curiousity about how exactly she does it.

She clears her throat, dispelling the dizzy atmosphere. “Whatever. I’m not giving you guys free tips. Keep being boring and cishet-adjacent and conflating shit.”

“Annie, we all took gender studies. We know.” Ryan tries breaking the tension with some banter. There’s no laughter, though.

“What about old school over here. They said they don’t.” Annie jabs a thumb at me. She doesn’t even deign to look my way or say my name.

Listen, I get it- I’ve always gone for the 50’s type dyke look. I tend toward the archetype, and I’m proud of that. The rest of the guys are up and down modern butches- pin jackets, basement stick and pokes, all sporting the infamous at-home clipper mullet. I do stick out from the rest of my guys- I tend to get handed the check. I know it upsets them, the way that even in a group of butch dykes there is a hierarchy of boyhood- and I know that they have assumptions about me because of that. But I’m happy to dispel them.

“I just wanted to know. But I’m submissive, actually.” I take a long pull of my cigarette, letting that one simmer.

Annie fractures, unable to contain her surprise.

I nod, exhaling in her direction. I shift my posture a little more upright. I’m the tallest in the group- and I know when I cross my arms I look imposing. Maybe it’s because I just told all my beloved and respected butch friends that I’m a sub, but I’m feeling a little nervous. It’s easiest to compensate by looking tough.

Annie’s shock transforms into a scowl. “I don’t believe you.”

“Annie!” Ryan scolds. “You literally JUST said we’re being open minded about this.”

“I don’t believe them, because I know, and we ALL know, they top. I know people they’ve topped. They’re not serious, they’re fucking with me. Because they think it’s funny.” Annie is indignant, copying my posture with acerbic sarcasm. “Because they don’t think I can be dominant, so they’re being fucking condescending and making a joke.”

I ash into my empty can. “You gotta stop assuming everybody’s out to get you, babe.” I lean back, spreading my knees apart. Peering over the bonfire, I can see how livid Annie is. She’s actually meeting my eyes now, and it makes my stomach drop. I think the nonchalant response was a misstep, because that look says I am dead meat.

“You know exactly why we assume people are out to get us, BABE. It’s how we stay alive. You know how it feels. That’s why I’m disappointed in this bullshit coming from you.”

Ryan looks at his shoes. Maya takes an extra big swig from her drink. I’ve incited Annie’s righteous homosexual fury.

“It’s immature to inflict that same shit onto your own community because you think butches have to be some greaser stereotype to be allowed in. I’m sorry you feel like the definition of butch is changing and it makes you mad, but I don’t apologize for pissing you off. Get over yourself.”

My face doesn’t shift. Too late to back down. “Annie, I think that’d be a profound criticism of me if I weren’t dead fucking serious.”

She guffaws. “So, what, you’re topping all these people just for shits and giggles? And you’ve secretly hated it all along?”

I shrug. “Hate is a strong word, but yeah. Essentially, yeah.”

Annie seems surprised. “But you…” She trails off, but then course corrects. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been such a dick to me.”

Now, that throws me. “Excuse me??”

“Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice. You treat the butches who don’t fit your ‘masculinity quota’ like dirt. You’ve been hanging out with us for years now and I’m the only person here you don’t make an attempt to be kind to, or even SPEAK to. You make it obvious you have a problem with the way I present.”

Now I’m bewildered. “I… have no problem with you.”

“Unbelievable!”

Ryan steps in again. “She’s not wrong, Matt. We all have kind of noticed it.”

“Oh, so you guys have KNOWN she was being this way and said nothing? Thanks a lot, guys. Fuck solidarity, I guess!”

“Seriously, Annie, I have no problem with you whatsoever-“

“You know, this is why I fucking HATE city queers. You act all collectivist and holier than thou and shit but completely abide by your friends treating each oth-“

“Annie, I’m genuinely lost. What is all this about?”

“The fucking staring! You stare me down everywhere you see me. When I wear nail polish and jewelry and skirts and shit, you look at my outfits with this just-“ she gestures. “Face of disgust and contempt. You act like you can’t stand to be near me. When I walk in the room you leave. And when you’re not running from me, you’re staring and judging and-“

“That’s not why I’ve been staring at you.”

She’s silent. Everybody is, actually.

I have been avoiding her, she’s right. Just not because I hate her. I take another pull, making any excuse to look away.

“Didn’t know you thought it was like that. That’s on me, I guess.”

Annie clears her throat. “What?”

I’m still staring squarely opposite her. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just didn’t know how to make a move. So I tried to give you space. To be a gentleman about it. Seems like it didn’t work.”

Everybody sits in an uneasy stunned silence. Annies mouth is open in shock. I haven’t been aware of it till now, but evidently this is a major revelation to a group of people who thought I was a masc dom top with a personal vendetta against any butch who didn’t perform perfect androgyny. I guess if that was my view of things, I’d be surprised too.

The awkwardness is broken (or maybe elevated) by Ryan keeling over to puke behind a tree.

“Fucking lightweight.” Maya mutters. She rushes to hold his hair back.

A few minutes pass as we tend to him, trying to get him back upright. I try not to look over at Annie. She’s standing and watching us from right where she was, still reeling.

Maya speaks on both of their accounts. “I’m gonna take him to bed, you two can talk it out.” They shuffle to collect shoes and bags. Ryan staggers to his feet, being assisted back on the trail from the backyard fire pit to his place. Between Maya and his partner inside in bed, I’m sure they’ve got it handled. I sit back down.

We avoid looking any particular way as the scuffling sounds of keyrings fade into the distance. They recede into the general chorus of the late season cicadas, right next to the hammering pulse in my ears.

I clear my throat. “You, um. You good?”

Annie blinks back to focus. “Sorry, yeah. I was just um. Re-evaluating the last four-ish years of my life with completely new eyes.”

I laugh uneasily. “Well, y’know. Now you know.”

She sits. “When did this start?” Her voice is small and unsure.

“Pretty much when I met you.” I decide to roll her a cigarette, I know she smokes and I need to keep my hands busy. I get out my canister and papers.

“Why?”

I shrug. “You’re my type. Passionate, intelligent. Little bit rude, especially to me. Not bad looking, either.”

Annie is a lot shorter than me, and abstains from the baggy cuts and concealing shapewear most transmascs in our group favor. She doesn’t flinch from her body and its femininity or its masculinity, and she’s read more books about both subjects than anybody else in the group combined. She wears bright colors and strange jewelry, and although she’s not what you’d call traditionally dykey, she has a distinct look and a boldness that is simply unmistakable. She’s a butch.

And that’s saying nothing about her face, which is something else entirely. Not masculine, feminine, pretty or ugly. Nothing else works- the only word for her is Annie. You’d have to meet her to know.

She chuckles. “Thought you hated the way I look.”

My nervous smile flattens. There’s a pit in my stomach, because I know I’m about to say something really dumb.

“I used to watch you at the bar, outside smoking. When you were talking to other people, smart people who could keep up with you- you’d smile without thinking about it. And if I was lucky and sitting on the right side, if that other person was funny enough, you’d show your broken tooth.”

She scoffs, embarrassed. She chipped a tooth skating last year and started calling herself a vampire. She’s a good sport about it, but I’ve kinda brought it up in out of nowhere.

“Gee. And I was about to give you credit for being nicer than you seemed.”

“Not like that! Sorry. I just mean that. You don’t let your insecurity get in the way of your joy. Like, ‘fuck anybody who tells me I’m not butch enough!’ That. You’re totally guided by your passions in spite of the world and judgement. I mean, you don’t always bind, that kind of stuff. I wish I could be like that! I dunno, maybe I WAS insecure around you at first, but I never hated you. Maybe I was jealous. Ive never laughed so hard that I forgot my chipped tooth. I’ve never been so happy I forgot to hate my body. And you have that all the time. You’re probably the coolest person I know. Why wouldn’t I f- or, Why wouldn’t I have feelings for you?”

After I embarrass myself with that pointless blathering, I lick the papers and slot them into the canister. I cant hand roll right now, I’m far too shaky.

“You should be. Secure, I mean. You look the part. Tough guy dyke with big biceps and a white tee. People look at you and see butch. You pass. I don’t. I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of why I resented YOU.”

I chuckle at her. “I don’t roll out of bed and pass. It’s a lot of work. Uncomfortable work, sometimes. And I’m never sure if the work is me being more true to myself or just overcompensating. I don’t know if I would have changed my diet, or my physique, or any of that shit if I wasnt If I wasn’t terrified of being perceived as a woman. I once threw away slippers because I was afraid someone at home might see them and think I was too feminine for wearing them.”

She laughs. “We’ve all been there, I think.”

I shrug. “That’s being butch, sometimes. It is how it is. Smart people, like you, get over it in time. But for me… the level of hysteric self policing I do for no good reason at all… If I were at all secure, wouldn’t I be allowing myself any margin for femininity?”

She considers. “I guess I just assumed those things didn’t appeal to you.”

I shrug. “Honestly, most of it doesn’t. Like, I’m not dealing with internalized misogyny when I say I would never EVER wear heels or makeup. But some of it does! There’s some stuff I always wanted to try but I’d just be terrified that people would use it as ‘proof’ to say I’m not ‘man’ enough. As if man even means anything. But, still, you know?”

Annie is quiet for a moment before she asks to clarify.

“Like what kind of stuff?”

I fidget. “Like… like submission, I guess.”

Silence again. My ears are hot.

“Have you never…?”

“Not since I was a ‘straight girl’. If you’d even count that. And by the time I came out I was too afraid of being seen as feminine by my partners to risk it. But I always wondered if it was bad just because it was men. Like, maybe I’d like it if it were someone…”

I trail off, incapable of finishing this thought. It’d be too real if I said it out loud.

“Someone-” Annie resets. “ who wasn’t a man?”

I clear my throat. I have to say it.

“Someone like you.”

Annie stares me down. It’s obvious by now, as if it hadn’t been for like three years. Annie isn’t exactly private about her desires, and all of us in our little queer group in town know the rumors of what kind of stuff she gets up to. (Some of my luckier friends have experienced it firsthand.) The truth is, I didn’t just want to be bossed around by some random lesbian in the typical way. If that were the case I would have had many opportunities already. I wanted her.

I am still stone, or, at least I think so. It’s been a reckoning with what I want for a few years now. Some parts of it feel incompatible. Some times I used to wonder if the way I like it is even something that exists. It’s been easier to just be a stone top, and I certainly don’t dislike it, but it’s not the entire truth. Then I met Annie. I had privately fantasized about dom bottoms, especially the pretty twinkish transmasc ones before. But putting a face to that daydream, thinking about giving her everything she wants, doing everything she tells me to… Of course, she hated me right away, and I’d never overstep, so I just admired from a distance. Which apparently only made her hate me more.

She stands from her little fold out chair and approaches me, closing the distance. She props a knee up on my lap, leaning into my space.

“You sure you want someone LIKE me…” she tips my chin up for us to meet eyes. “Or just me?”

Heat shimmers across my face and ears, and I know I’m bright red.

“Annie.” My hand rests at her jawline, trembling.

She takes the lumpy hand rolled cigarette from my hand.

“Light.” It’s not quite a question, not yet a command. But I obey.

She tips her head back as she takes a long drag, holding the breath for a moment too long, and then blows it in my face. My eyes water and eyelids flutter against the smoke. I bite my lip to contain a subtle whimper.

“I can’t believe you’ve been right under my nose.”

I sense a movement in her tone, a tautness and pull. Like she’s lacing up. She takes another pull, drawing me in by the chin to shotgun. Annie leans toward me, foreheads together and lips only barely apart. I try to lean into her mouth, but she stills me and tuts.

“No, no. Just take it.”

Christ alive. She holds me right where I am and lets me take her breath without kissing her lips. I try to slow my open-mouthed panting enough to inhale it. My eyes shut and I pray with everything I’ve got that she’ll let me kiss her tonight, if I behave. I want to behave.

Annie takes a seat in my lap, straining the little camper chair’s one person capacity. She takes turns switching off the cigarette between herself and shotgunning me. I know better than to speak unless spoken to, so the minutes pass by with only the sound of my breathing to fill them. As we hit the end, she leans back over herself to stub it out on the back of her hiking boot, and says something I completely miss. I was too focused on the curve of her neck into her collarbone, licked gently by flame and shadow.

“What?” I mumble.

She laughs. “I said you’re hard.”

I look aside, fists clenched at my sides. I guess at this angle, she can feel what she’s sitting on.

Annie runs her fingers through my hair. “If you want this, I mean like right now, tell me.”

I’m already ready. My body isn’t moving, but my mind is at its knees. I want it right now.

“Yes.” I nod, trembling fingers latching onto her belt loops.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” I’m slightly panting as she traces fingertips up my neck. “Please.”

Annie thumbs over my bottom lip, all confidence. She knows just how bad I want it, and that it’s all up to her when or if I get it.

“Please?” Annie’s holding back, maybe to tease. It’s working.

I don’t know what she’s trying to prompt me to say, but I’d say it a hundred times if she’d let me kiss her. I feel stupid and desperate and out of my body completely. I could give a shit if all my teeth are chipped and everybody knows. Annie’s in my lap.

She can see it on me now, the response she wanted. The feeling of control lids her eyes. She looks me up and down, and gives me what I asked so nicely for.

Annie’s lips are soft and full, and she kisses sweeter than I’d imagined. I know I’m shaking, and I hope she’ll chalk it up to the cold. She doesn’t open her mouth into mine much, just lets me enjoy this moment I’ve been waiting for without thinking about anything that might come next. She trails little incendiary touches up my torso and lets her arms rest at my shoulders, wrapping me in thick wool and flannel. Forgetting my hesitation, I wrap my arms around her too.

We both taste like campfire coals and ash and the river on the fifth of July. Spent smoke. The aftermath of the release of our grand romantic kinetic energy. All this waiting, and that explosive moment. After it all, it’s just me and the butch of my dreams. Annie pulls away first.

“Tell me how. Tell me clearly. I don’t fuck people who don’t know their own boundaries.”

I pause. “Nothing under the boxers. Chest is okay I think. No biting. I’m not into most pain stuff, but like, hair pulling and face slapping is appealing I guess. I like it because it’s degrading, not really because it hurts. And I really like… uh-“

This is almost too embarrassing to admit to someone who knows my full name and address and all my friends. I really hope I stay away from her bad side after today.

“I really like, um. Being called puppy.”

She leans back and her eyes go big. This has surprised her immensely and pleasantly. “Oh, you’re so sweet!” She peppers kisses to my neck, very soft. I think she’s trying to make sure I’m not self conscious about it. “I never get to play with puppies. This is gonna be so fun.”

I stutter. “Do I need like, a safeword or something?”

“Not unless saying ‘stop’ is gonna be a difficult for you in the moment. I never ever do any ‘no means yes’ kind of play though, so if I get the sense you’re uncomfortable I’ll stop. Though I’d really appreciate it if it’s more verbal. I don’t know your body yet, and I can’t always tell.”

“I can tell you. I don’t think I’m- I don’t think I’ll go quiet.”

“No?” She combs back my curls teasingly. “You loud, puppy?”

I’m stunned beyond reaction. She chuckles.

“Wonder if I can make you bark.”

I feel like I need to take a lap from that one. That crazy rollercoaster sinking feeling drops from my throat straight to my cunt. I would like that very much.

“Aww, weren’t you just saying you don’t get shy? That’s alright. Maybe better to save that for later, we don’t wanna wake up Ryan and them.”

I nod, a little lightheaded. “So there’s gonna be a later?”

Annie muses. “Depends. You gonna be a good boy?”

“Yes.”

She draws me in for another long, soft kiss.

“Good. For today, you’re not touching me unless I tell you to. Feel free to beg anyways, though. I like the way you say ‘please’. Got it?”

“Yes.”

She seems content with that. My hands return to my sides. Annie starts to grind her hips into mine. My eyes slam shut and I try to restrain my helpless sounds. Through the wincing and whimpering I can hear Annie’s smile start to darken.

“Y’know I really DID think you were kidding, puppy.” She traces a finger down my collarbone. “Looks can be deceiving.”

She rolls her waist down into me, concentric circles getting smaller and faster each time she grinds.

“Open your mouth?” She asks it like a question, testing the waters. I obey on instinct, and she marvels. “Good puppy!”

Fuck. Fuck. A needy noise escapes my open mouth, and she gently wraps her thumb and first finger around the base of my jaw, keeping me open for her. She makes no move to spit or shove fingers inside, just stares as drool beads at the end of my tongue, ready to drip all over myself. She tilts my head in different directions for better views, reveling in my useless tears and moans.

“Ohhh, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me all this time.” She reaches down to the fly of her pants, using her unoccupied hand to touch herself. She gasps lightly, finding a comfortable rhythm.

I whine, open mouthed and jealous. I wanna touch it so bad. Thank god I’m allowed to beg.

“S-sir-“

She grasps my neck slightly.

“No, no, no puppy- you’re gonna call me my NAME.” She snakes a hand through my hair, tugging my head firmly to the side. She whispers into my neck- “People get names. But you aren’t a person right now, are you?”

I pinch my eyes shut and hold back a deep moan.

“Answer me.” She yanks my hair, hard.

“No.” I can’t say any more than that. I’m trying to keep it together.

“No, you’re not. What are you?”

I was hoping to hold out longer, not to get too worked up too fast. I have a little bit of dignity, don’t I?

She slides her hips up and down in a torturously slow pattern, and I can just barely hear how wet she is while her fingers pump in and out.

“Y-your puppy. I’m your puppy, Annie.”

She rewards me with a deep kiss, her tongue slipping all the way in and brushing across the roof of my mouth, making me yelp in surprise. When she wants to, she can kiss rough. I don’t usually get to let the person I’m kissing lead me like this. It’s a thrilling inversion, this thing I’ve been waiting and wishing for. I let her take control however she likes. She pulls away and laughs, all my collected spit stringing the two of us together. She did that on purpose.

“That’s right. Pathetic little puppy. You love to do what I say.”

I swallow. “Yes.”

“And you acted so tough, too! How embarrassing for you to end up like this.”

She unfastens my belt and pants and silently mouths ‘can I?’ to me, an aside in her dominance. I nod, hesitantly. I want her to use me however she likes, but I didn’t expect I’d need to hardpack today. It’s just my everyday soft packer, not really for anything besides alleviating dysphoria, much less penetration. But if she wants it, then by all means it’s hers to use.

“That must have been so hard for you, huh? Acting tough. Acting like you’re not just a worthless desperate toy.”

She strokes the back of her hand over my jeans, giving only the lightest sensation.

“Annie, please. I-“

She stuffs her fingers into my mouth, the ones she just had inside her. I’m not even mad she’s keeping me quiet, she just tastes so good.

“I’m so glad I get to see you like this. Aren’t you?”

I nod, but she does it for me anyways, dragging my head up and down with the fingers in my mouth. I feel so used, and I want more.

“Dumb little butch puppy. My favorite type of whore to use.”

Jesus Christ. My vision is starting to tilt and spin as I whimper. Annie is doing a number on me.

“Do you like that? You like when I degrade you?”

I nod shyly. She kisses my forehead.

“I’m gonna use your cock now, sweetheart, and you’re going to keep still and take it.”

Through the haze of my dizziness, I shake my head. Annie removes my fingers, pausing with concern.

“Y-you can’t.” I sputter.

“No?” She softens, worried she’s overdone it. I hold her spit-slick hand in reassurance.

“I’m not… uh, packing hard.”

“Ohh, I see.” The gears turn in her head. “You CAN’T get hard for me, can you? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Sweet puppy.” She presses a kiss under my chin.

She breaks for a moment and peppers me with gentle kisses and insisting squeezes to my packer. It’s nice, and it makes my head get even fuzzier. Then she gets mean again.

“You know, I feel sorry for you-“ she reaches under my jeans to the fly of my packing shorts, fingers gently stretching the soft elastic. My back arches as she touches me, even indirectly. I groan. “You want it so bad, but you can’t get hard. Poor thing.”

She brushes over the silicone of my packer with an almost condescending air, patting it like the hood of a car. I swear to god I can feel every fingertip. I can’t get hard for her, no matter what she does or how completely and totally I want to submit to her. Annie knows this, of course. That’s what she’s mocking me for. She’s on the money, though, because this is definitely my sort of my thing.

“Please, Annie, can you use my fingers?”

She glares. “No.”

“I wanna please you, however I’m allowed to. I want-“

She grasps my chin firmly, tugging my jaw open and spitting into my open mouth. She laughs as I accept my humiliation.

“What would you do for it, puppy?”

“What?”

“What would you do for the chance to fuck me?”

I keep fists at my sides, squirming as she traces fingertips along my packer. She’s stroking up the shaft, and I feel a parallel ache under my boxers. Every movement she makes on my packer mirrors itself in my body, phantom sensation. My legs pinch together and I try to get my heaving breaths to slow. I cant focus enough for a specific answer, so I beg.

“I would do anything. Anything you tell me.”

Annie smirks. “Woooow, anything? How obedient. You must really like that, huh babe?”

God, hearing Annie call me babe is too much. I’ve been wanting this forever. It’s more enticing to be ‘babe’ than to be her puppy. Makes me think about what it’d be like to be with her full time.

“Mmmh, I can feel how desperate you are right now. It’s a shame you can’t get hard for me.”

I close my eyes again. It’s kind of a habit when I’m feeling too much too fast. Between our hips, I can feel the pressure of her movements, just barely enough to torment. She rights my shoulders insistently, commanding me not to look away. Annie whispers in a husky tone.

“Bet you’d like it if I was all bent over and submissive. Bet that’s what you’re used to. Tough guy like you, probably seen a hundred pretty bois and girls faking it for you, calling you daddy. Good for your ego, right?”

“Annie-“ I whimper. She’s grinding down hard against me, and I feel it all.

“You always get to be the big power dyke. But that’s not what you WANT, huh, puppy?”

“No.” I don’t feel myself speak, but I hear it. “No, it’s not.” I moan.

“Noooo, it isn’t, is it?” She pats my head condescendingly. “You wanna be someone’s toy. You wanna be an obedient little puppy.”

“F-fuck-“ I stammer.

She slaps me, quick and hot across my jawline. Her face has turned stony. “Language.”

“S-sorry, sir- Um. Annie.” I said sir again. I know not to make that mistake twice, or I’ll be in trouble. It thrills me knowing that I’m probably going to anyway.

Her sternness recedes. “Listen to yourself. Can’t remember the rules.” She traces fingers over my collarbone, making me flinch. “So hard to think straight like this. You feeing dizzy yet, puppy?”

My body stutters under hers, trying fruitlessly to buck my packer into her. My head feels warm and kinda buzzy. It’s hard to think, the way she moves over me and hangs onto the last syllable of every word for just a breath too long. I really am getting dizzy.

“You keep saying ‘sir’. You ever had a Sir before, puppy?”

I shake my head, a little to stupid to speak. Not too stupid to moan.

“Where’d you pick that up then, I wonder? That little habit, how did that creep its way in?”

Annie carries on asking me embarrassing questions. As she continues, she reaches back to her zipper. Annie ruts down on my packer, and I feel her two fingers stroking away from between layers of fabric and silicone. I can feel all the movement as it presses into me- I’ve been extra sensitive to even the slightest touch on T. Since starting I’ve also lost all my endurance. I used to be able to top for hours on end and never even get close to cumming, but now all it takes is a sexy butch in my lap and I’m having to count to ten and breathe slow to hold on.

I feel the pressure and Annie’s own growing need to cum instead of seeing it; I can’t look away from her eyes. When my focus wanes, or I try to look aside, she firmly corrects me. The looking is intense and uninterrupted. It gives me this deepening feeling, like I’m going outside my body. At some point, I lost concentration on her words, but an errant moan punctuates her and snaps me back.

“Ahhh. Do you-“ she reorients her focus from touching herself back on her little submission speech. “Do you think about Sirs a lot? Do you fantasize about being bossed around?”

I don’t answer because I can’t focus on what she’s saying right now. But for the record, the answer is yes.

“Sweet puppy. I can do that for you. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take good care of you. Would you like that?”

I nod, the movements of my head getting lazy and loopy. Annie kisses my forehead.

“Good boy.”

She guides me to my knees. It feels so right. Damp leaves crunch under the palms of my hands. I look up at Annie, emptyheaded as she pulls her jeans partways down. She’s got a full thicket of dark curly hair that wraps up to her stomach and down to her calves, collecting into cute little curls in front. She has more hair here than on her head. That’s the way I like my dykes.

“Gonna put that mouth of yours to work.”

I grin stupidly, and get to it. Annie props her knee on the seat of the camping chair, tucking me head in tight into her wetness. I don’t wanna think. I just wanna be good and take it.

Annie is dripping down her thighs, coating my chin the moment I make contact. I don’t waste time with the typical tender thigh kisses and teasing, I just dive in. I think she likes the roughness from the way she yanks my hair sharply. My tongue brushes the underside of her clit.

“Fuuuck.” She grunts. “Good boy.”

Her hips open wider, reflexively responding to the touch. I’m definitely not unfamiliar with giving head- I’ve done it more than my fair share of times, but this feels different. Annie is right when she says there’s a difference between topping and dominated. I could be strapping or fingering or fucking her any way in this moment -and I would be lucky to- but it wouldn’t be dominant just because it’s penetrative. Every rock of her hips reminds me who is in charge, and I can’t pretend for a second that I’d prefer if it was me. Her wetness rolls off my tongue, all other thoughts faint and twinkling in the vast emptiness of my awareness.

My tongue drags up her slit tentatively, still warming her up. Annie is very responsive, guiding my mouth with forceful shoves and tugs to my hair. She mutters curses and little encouragements that make my thoughts melt and vanish. I switch between movements every so often, reveling in the sensation of her body in my mouth. Some things make her shake, others make her grunt. Each reaction and bit of praise makes my chest warm and my brain fuzzy. The tip of my tongue grazing her clit makes her moan and arch involuntary.

“G-god, you’re so fucking good at that.” She trembles, a bit too preoccupied to be rough.

I suck lightly, massaging her inner labia with my tongue. She tastes salty, a little sour too. It’s musky and warm in a way that makes me wild. My lower lip strokes her up and down and I switch to gentle flicks over the head of her clit with my tongue. Her hips rock into me.

“Jesus, ahh- Right there.” She whines.

She pulls in my chin, angling me how she likes. I feel used and controlled and thrilled at every unspoken instruction. The way she fills my mouth with smoke and spit and dripping cunt and whatever else she could possibly want to. The way empties my head. I dive my tongue into her and suck her stiff clit.

Annie braces a hand on the back of the chair. “Fuck. Fuck. Keep going, puppy, I’m gonna come.”

I keep sucking right there, faster and harder. Annie thrusts into my face and yanks on my hair so hard it feels like it’s gonna rip out. Each pitch of her hips pushes my shoulders into the seat of the chair. I feel so good being pushed between her body and the ground, it feels like where I’m supposed to be. I just wanna be good.

Annie cums, screaming out and gushing into my open mouth. I can taste her pulse on my tongue.

“Good boy.” She pants. “Good boy.”

Her knees are shaking too hard to keep thrusting, so I grab her by the belt loops and guide her hips to ride it out.

“O-oh my fucking- Damn, babe-“ she throws her head back and laughs, a little delirious. “Damn.”

She holds onto my forearms with grasping, shaking fingers. She’s so wet and pulsating against my tongue, the taste is entrancing.

“Jesus, you’re strong.” She chuckles between overstimulated moans. “Fuck. Good boy.”

I keep going, enjoying the aching throbs and feelings of her body against mine. It’s not hard for me to basically pick her up to rut against my mouth at this angle. She seems to enjoy it a lot, tugging big fistfuls of my hair and laughing in that raspy devious tone. Annie tells me to keep going, and I listen like a good boy. A big part of me just really likes being so close to her. I really hope we get to do this again. When it starts to feel like too much, Annie steps back shakily.

“Aw, you- ah- you liked it that much.” Annie pulls me to look in her eyes with a firm tug on my fringe. “Say thank you.”

My eyes flutter open a little deliriously. I grin like an idiot, cum running down my chin.

“Thank you.”

Annie smiles too, taking a big breath. She wipes some wetness from the corner of my mouth with her thumb. She exhales slow, blinking herself to reality.

“Wow. Sorry, just- that wasn’t what I thought was gonna happen tonight.” She shimmies back all the way into her jeans, not enjoying the sudden realization that her bare ass is out in the woods.

“Me neither.” I shrug, still giddily smiling.

She looks at me in a different way than I’ve ever seen her look at anything. It’s sincere and gentle, not preemptively scathing in the way she has to be most of the time. She sits on the ground beside me and leans into my chest.

“Are you cold?”

I hum. “Little bit. You?”

“Yeah.”

She nods. We lie still together and catch our breaths for a minute.

“So, what now?” I stare into the fire. It’s on its last legs, the last logs burnt down into splintering coals.

“What do you mean? Like right now?”

“Just” I gesture vaguely. “In general.”

Annie thinks for a moment, curled into my chest. “I just wanna make sure you’re ok for a second.” She sits up a bit. “You’re feeing okay about all that, right? It was kind of a lot. It’s okay to feel weird, if-“

I grab her hands, reassuring. “I’m okay. It was a lot, but… yeah. It was really good.” I kiss her palm.

She nods and relaxes back into me. “That was your first time being, uh, submissive?”

“Mhm.” I rest my chin on the top of her head. “Big fan so far.”

She laughs. “You’re pretty good at it for a first timer.”

We both sigh.

“Is it… gonna be a regular occurrence now? Semi-regular?” She asks nervously.

I try to mask my eagerness. Hell yes. Annie has my full attention from now on. I mean, she did before, too. I’ve been pining for longer than I care to say.

“It can be. I would like it to be. Would you..?”

Annie squeezes my hand. “Yeah. I’m just surprised. But not unhappy. Very happy with it, actually.

I think for a moment before I decide to be stupid. It’s not a very long moment, though.

“I know you wanna do this, and I want to too, I’m very excited for that- but I do wanna also say that, um. I really like you, Annie. I have for a long time. And I don’t just wanna have sex, you know? I will, if that’s what you want, but I also wanna like, have a chance with you. If that’s also what you want.”

She thinks. “That’s… a bigger question. Hm.” Annie ribs a thumb over our clasped hands. “How about… you take me out on a date. I cant make promises about anything. I literally only just realized you don’t hate my guts. But um, you’re sweet. I wanna see where this goes. And I don’t wanna ruin that by being stupid and going too fast. So let’s just do one date. For now.”

I nod, fake suave. Im barely restraining my excitement. “Yeah. That works for me.”

She chuckles. “You don’t have to play it cool, dude. My head’s on your chest, I can hear your heartbeat going fuckin nuts. You’re not fooling me.”

I burst out laughing. “I’m trying to be the tough guy here!”

“Yeah, well, I see through your whole thing now. You’re really just a corny romantic.”

She kisses under my chin, and it’s so fucking disarming, I really stand no chance. She has me where she wants me, and wherever she wants me is where I wanna be too.

#stone butch #stone lesbian #butch4butch #my text #lesbian nsft #butch lesbian #nonbinary lesbian #butch nsft #transmasc lesbian #nsft text #OFOS butch getting dommed by twink butch is my new sexuality #this one is long to make up for the last one but I hope you like it

[vvienne]

SANGCHENG FIC RECS

flight of a one-winged dove by bloodletter

Talking at someone is only fun for so long. That's all being a sect leader is: talking and talking to people bound by courtesy to listen to you. It's so fucking dull. A relief, then, to face one’s equal, and no less an old friend who is inclined to interrupt you whenever you ramble. He likes it. It’s one of Jiang Cheng’s best qualities.

In the years after Guanyin Temple, Nie Huaisang attends to unfinished business.

whipped by reindeercolin

Jiang Cheng blinks. “Dammit, they do think you’re dating one of us! I hate it when Wei Wuxian is right.” “Excuse me?” Nie Huaisang gives him an incredulous look. “First of all, they think I’m dating you, and if anything, they’re getting more aggressive!”

(or, the one in which Jiang Cheng has too many relatives, not enough patience, goes through a brother-divorce and finds out he has a boyfriend - in that order, more or less.)

Ponder the Manner of Things by Pip (Moirail)

It's not that Jiang Cheng can't do a quadruple flip followed by a triple toeloop. It's that his mother seems to think that's still not good enough.

Jiang Cheng is grateful that Huaisang doesn’t have the same kind of family life that he does, all - messy with expectations and cravings for closeness and nothing but vague filial piety where love is meant to be.

a matter of time and organ donation by nev_longbottom

This is it. The call he’s been waiting for. His brother had ‘an accident’ or ‘died in his sleep’ or some other lie to cover up the murder.

“Please, Mingjue is missing. He got into one of his moods and he was gone when I came back from grocery shopping. He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know if he left or was kidnapped or if something else happened. Huaisang, please, if you’ve heard anything,” Meng Yao begs.

Nie Huaisang hunts his brother's killer.

no tip necessary by tattletold

With all the nervousness of a virgin in a whorehouse, Jiang Cheng closes the door behind himself and enters, sitting on the low seat across from the escort. The pretty young man keeps his face hidden behind the delicate fan, and Jiang Cheng thinks for a moment that he recognizes the design painted onto it now that he’s closer.

It’s only when he lowers the fan and opens his eyes, wide, does Jiang Cheng paralyze with realization.

They speak at the same time in equally horrified tones.

“Jiang Cheng?”

“Nie Huaisang?”

Your Place in the Family of Things by raisedbyhyenas

No matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, Wei Wuxian will always leave and Jiang Cheng will always get stuck trying to rebuild from whatever’s left.

*************

In which Jiang Cheng makes friends; gets a cat; begins to rebuild a relationship; and maybe, possibly, potentially, learns a little bit how to be happy.

sigh yourself to sleep by merthurlin

“Let me take care of you, A-Cheng.”

No one—no one has ever said that, not to Jiang Cheng. He wasn’t a very sickly child, true, but the few times he remembered being sick it was never—he had a-jie, and later on he had Wei Wuxian, for what it was worth, but he never—

halcyon days by serein

They're in a forest, it seems just the two of them.

"You have to be patient," Nie Huaisang says, "I once waited for three days to catch a sparrow."

"Three days?" Jiang Cheng replies, sceptical. He can't imagine Nie Huaisang having the attention span for that.

"It's not that hard," Nie Huaisang says, "if you know what they want, and find a way to get it for them."

[JC stumbles across an array and gets physically de-aged to be 16/17. NHS kindly offers his help to an old friend, but things... escalate.]

To Distraction by isozyme

It’s the third night of Yunmeng’s kite festival celebrations. Nie Huaisang has come visiting, eager to partake in the food, the arts, and Jiang Cheng.

-

Jiang Cheng wants to forget. Nie Huaisang has some new lube and wants to see if he can put his whole fist in somebody’s ass.

Lights, Camera, Kiss by MissMagus

When Nie Huaisang gets paired with straight porn star Jiang Cheng for a five-part series, he’s sure it will be an utter disaster. Until the cameras start rolling and their chemistry alights like wildfire.

(Or, the five times Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng have sex for their job, and the first time they have sex outside of it.)

Only the Shallow by hamburglar

When Nie Huaisang gets bored and convinces Jiang Cheng to make out with him, he’s probably not expecting to still be dealing with the guy 16 years later.

OR the story where Jiang Cheng goes into: the Cloud Recesses, denial, some bushes, the private porn library at the Unclean Realm, and subspace.

Blind for Love by manamune

Jiang Cheng is poisoned with an aphrodisiac and needs to orgasm repeatedly in order to flush it from his system.

The first person he thinks of going to for help is Nie Huaisang, who does what any good friend would do: he shoves his three decades worth of feelings for Jiang Cheng deep into the recesses of his mind, locks them up so he can pretend they don’t exist, and then fucks him so hard that he passes out.

Descending by lightningwaltz

“I want to… to not be embarrassed.”

“To not be embarrassed during what?”

“During sex.” There. Jiang Cheng can say it. “In general. Also with you right now.”

“Very good.”

“When did you become so authoritative?” Jiang Cheng wants to sound irked, but can’t quite manage anything beyond nervous curiosity.

dark water by Morgan (duckwhatduck)

There are words, somewhere, for this. Words that would put a shape to the thing that sits between them, would seal their understanding. There are words for sympathy, for friendship, for understanding, for that touch, for this feeling.

Jiang Cheng can feel them, somewhere, fluttering formless at the back of his throat, squirming under his ribcage, but he cannot grasp them. They swim beneath the surface, fish in muddy water - and like fish, they will dart away if he grabs for them incautiously, and leave him nothing but cold splashes and grit.

Or: Why talk about things when you could fuck about it instead?

never knew i was a dancer by isozyme

“What’s a stone butch and why aren’t they real?” Jiang Cheng asks, too buzzed to care too much about not being up on lesbian culture.

Huaisang pats Jiang Cheng on the no-man’s-land between her boobs and her shoulder. “You’re so useless, Jiang Cheng. A stone butch is a fictional hottie who doesn’t make you do any work at all, just wants to give head and fuck you stupid on her strap.”

“Fictional?” Jiang Cheng echoes, having - not a moment, per se, but sort of a problem where her thoughts are going too fast for her poor drunken brain to keep up with.

“Nobody actually wants to fuck a chick who’s too lazy to eat you out after,” Huaisang mumbles.

-

After leaving Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s bachelorette party, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang decide to experiment with some outdated stereotypical lesbian sex roles.

lights out by rynleaf

“Nie-zongzhu makes the most sense,” Sect Leader Yao nods sagely, to murmurs of assent across the Jin Sect’s gold gilded banquet hall. Jin Ling, clad in opulent robes that look somewhat comical on a boy of sixteen, inclines his head as his scribe makes a notation, and the noise rises as sect leaders pat themselves and each other on the back for a decision well made.

Jiang Cheng groans and downs his cup of wine in one go.

-

In which the Sect Leaders elect a new Chief Cultivator.

shadow eternal by rynleaf

“You want me to distract the Chief Cultivator from the Annual Cultivation Conference, so you and other sect leaders can… what. Sign contracts without adult supervision?”

“If Jiang-zongzhu is amenable,” Sect Leader Ouyang repeats with a nod.

Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. The pressure he felt building behind his eyes all morning is swiftly coalescing into a bitch of a headache. “Just what do you all think I’m capable of?”

Sect Leader Ouyang bows with a cheerful smile. “We have utmost faith in Sandu Shengshou’s abilities.”

-

In which a night hunt ends in disaster, Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse of Nie Huaisang's heart, and feelings are discussed after a certain fashion.

Four Days in Lanling by halotolerant

Nie Huaisang looks at him. ‘You are confusing me, Clan Leader Jiang, perhaps I misunderstand, but…’

‘You didn’t misunderstand. You don’t misunderstand. You understand all of it.’ For six months Jiang Cheng has been mulling this over, and now with Nie Huaisang in front of him he can’t figure out if he most wants to knock him down or kneel at his feet. What he does is try and breathe. Clench his hands at his sides. ‘And now I am going to ask you to do something for me. You have to do something for me. You have to help Jin Ling.’

Lean for Love Forever by Pip (Moirail)

Having a crush on your roommate is really embarrassing, except that's apparently the opposite of a problem. Jiang Cheng can't deny that's pretty convenient.

Wei Ying holds it up, a series of straps and buckles and velcro and wow, really a lot of leather. It has absolutely no conceivable form beyond tangled.

Nie Huaisang opens the door at exactly the moment that Wei Ying holds the thing up to Jiang Cheng’s chest, as if he’s trying to imagine how exactly it would fit onto a person, and it falls into a tangled pile between them while they stare at Huaisang in mild mortification.

acquired momentum by mongrelmind

Had Madam Yu known that this is where her son would end up, she would have gouged his eyes out with her bracelet before he made the grave mistake of looking in the direction of Nie Huaisang.

-

in which Nie Huaisang has an art show, Jiang Cheng is begrudgingly topless*, and there are. Shenanigans.

*Nie Huaisang excluded.

#sangcheng #mdzs #mdzs recs #fic recs #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #ill probably add more fics when I read more fics

[hell-is-a-teenage-girll]

Hey, I guess what people are telling right. You are selfish and using your gf for your own benefit whether it's sex or publicity. Most of time you entertain yourself with attention you get. That's not fair. Using your gf to build your own popularity and long list of follower and then you publicaly ashemed her, that she has to satisfy herself. Like she is just another toy for you. It's bullshit that you hide behind concept of stone and embarrassing her. She is butch, but she is girl, you seems to forget biological need behind personality.

Fuck off you mean bitch.....

I dare you post this...

You just asshole with cunt...no difference between boy who use girl as her toy and for popularity and in you...such dick you are....

HAHAHAHA

I dare you to send this to her my dear. I know this will make her blood boil.

I don't use her in the slightest. She LOVES touching me, she LOVES pleasing me. it's what pleases her. so who are you to tell my girlfriend what she likes and what she doesn't.

I use her as just a toy for sex so much, she's sleeping next to me wrapped around me right?

But idc that you come for me. But don't dare to speak for my gf. Decide what she has to like and what she cannot like, so if my gf prefers not to be touched, only please, you're telling me to rape her, still touch her, make her uncomfortable, because otherwise I am selfish and using her? Do you see the irony in that? MY GIRLFRIEND DOESN'T WANT TO BE PENETRATED. SHE STILL CUMS EVERY TIME WE HAVE SEX, I know your small minded brain doesn't seem to get this but she legit tells me all the time how happy she is to not constantly having to reassure people she doesn't need to be touched at the genitalia, to not constantly having to say ''please don't'', ''I mean it. I don't want you to touch me like that'', to have someone respect her boundaries when it comes to her body. You don't know how I hold her on bad days, you don't know how I kiss her on her face to make her smile, you don't know how intimate we are when we are having sex. You don't know how often she tells me ''the way you came for me was so beautiful''

LEARN ABOUT CONSENT YOU ABSOLUTELY SHIT RAG. Don't you ever speak for my girlfriend and her boundaries to me ever again, I will come for you.

Also hunny there's nothing ''dare to answer this'' about this, how about I dare you to come of anon and make yourself known 🤭🤭

Also message me again, I will block you. And as a kind request of my gf who is tired of y'all daring to send me bullshit and never directly at her, send her an ask, open your mouth about me and about her life to her. She'd love to put you in your place, and not in the fun way as I get to experience, to bad for you 😘

Oh also, the only thing you got right, is that I have asshole with a cunt, that is anatomically correct, someone paid attention during biology! Good for you 👏👏👏

#also #I could barely make out the words or sentences you're saying #such dck I am #I legit can't 😂 #asks #rude #learn about consent #i'm sorry you're jealous it's me next yo her and not you #because that's what sound like dear #jealous asf #but don't ever think breaking me down will bring you closer to her #as she gets angry and protective about me when this happens because she's tired of people doing this instead of coming to her #you'll see when she wakes up #for now I'm gonna admire this cute sleeping angel

[ddaenggtan]

as we go along | myj [m]

pairing | min yoonji x reader

wc | 10.4k

genre | NSFW; Fluff, Smut, a dash of Angst bc why not

Four years ago, the beautiful stunning attractive frustrating Min Yoonji came into your life. Ever since, it’s been a competition between the two of you to win the HOA’s Holiday Decorating Contest. The fiery looks she gives you paired with the pointed insults throw you off your game every year, but not this time. This holiday season, you’re determines to win; and along the way you might just find that Yoonji’s been trying to win something else.

;OR the queer hallmark movie of your dreams.

warnings/tags | idiots to lovers, enemies to lovers, Awkward Gays, Idiot/Oblivious Gays, very strong language i think this MC curses almost as much as i do, oral (female receiving) x2, fingering, wall sex, theres like....a hint of body worship in that MC loves eating pussy bc lbr. what else could possibly compare to that. uhh side jinkook, as well as some side namyoonmin and some vhope if u squint real hard. hwasa and chungha are a lesbian power couple. OH The Min Twins aka Yoongi and Yoonji are siblings uwu

a/n |  this is 100% every single lesbian fantasy of my dreams because i just really love the ladeez and also min yoonji needs more characterization outside of 'stone cold butch domme' so uh. here ya go. i love ladeez so this is v self indulgent and also Super Gay. 

this is part of the 25 Days of Christmas: A BTS Anthology 

[Today]

Red bleeds into green and glitters magnificently on the snow. Lights and tinsel are strewn all over the yard of your parents’ house, creating a rather pretty collage of sparkles and swirls against the white backdrop. You wish you could appreciate it more. 

As it stands, however, you’ve been outside for hours untangling the decorative strands so that you can hang them on the gutters, eaves, and railings of the two story house behind you. Your mother had insisted you work inside but you know better. The cats - Mochi and Pablo - are your favorite in the world and you love them dearly, but one of their favorite things in the world has always been holiday decorations. The number of times you’ve had to stop them from chewing on lights of knocking the tree down is frankly ridiculous. So instead you’re unravelling everything so you can get started on what you’re sure is going to be your best year yet.

You’ve always loved decorating, of course, especially for the holidays. Getting up before dawn to go pick out one of the giant fir trees to stand in their living room, picking out new figurines for the Winter Village that sits on the mantle, helping your parents put ornaments on the tree. You love holiday decorating nearly as much as you love the feeling of victory in your chest. 

“If you had an organizer that wouldn’t take nearly as long,” says a voice from behind you. It’s melodic and deceptively sweet in spite of the lower register, and you don’t turn. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction. You don’t even respond, instead settling your gloved hands on your hips and eyeing the front porch so you can decide where to start. 

“Really? Ignoring me now? Tsk tsk, and here I thought you were better than being a sore loser.”

Continuing on your mission to pretend she isn’t there, you heft several yards of lights over your shoulder and head toward the ladder you have against the porch roof. You may as well start up high. 

“Interesting choice,” Yoonji mutters as she watches you. The hair on the back of your neck bristles, and you take a deep breath to calm and center yourself. “I’d heard that icicle lights were a bit last season, but I’m excited for this vintage look you’re going for. If you need more, let me know. I think the ones I used last year are still in the garage.”

“What do you want, Yoonji?” You huff, turning over your shoulder to glare at her. She looks entirely too at home in your yard with a steaming thermos in her mittened hands. 

“Just wanted to say hi. Wasn’t sure you were coming this year, considering how late you got in.”

“My flight was delayed for weather reasons,” you snap. 

“Ah. That’s why I always drive up instead.” There’s a pregnant pause that’s filled only with the huffs of your breath as you focus on the lights in front of you. “Oh, but you never got your license, did you? Ah, you should call me next year, we can carpool.”

“I got my license this past year,” You bite out. She doesn’t need to know that it took a few tries. It’s not your fault it makes you anxious to be behind the wheel. “Seriously. I have work to do.”

“Obviously,” Yoonji mutters. You flash her a glare and she just smiles back. “Just wanted to see how you were, if you needed any…” She pauses, eyes trailing over the explosion of decorations on your lawn with thinly veiled judgement in her eyes. “Help.”

“If I needed your help, I wouldn’t be winning this year’s contest.”

“By the looks of it, you aren’t winning this year’s contest anyway.” Her mutter doesn’t escape your notice. But that’s the real problem you have with Min Yoonji.

She’s sarcastic and blunt and kind of intimidatingly hot, but you can handle that. You are a strong, independent queer woman in the modern age and you are not about to let some random lesbian intimidate you, no matter how much you kind of wanted to fuck her in the past. Yoonji is not a problem for you. 

It’s the way she’s constantly putting you down, giving you backhanded compliments, and generally acting like she’s better than you. While winning your parents’ neighborhood’s annual Holiday Decorating Contest that their local Homeowner’s Association runs. Everyone gets a kick out of the friendly competition, the winners get a gift certificate to a Korean BBQ place, and a good time is had by all. 

Except you. 

Because you’ve made it your mission to win - to beat the current reigning champion of the past three years who stands on your lawn sipping what smells like hot cocoa and silently judging your decor choices like she didn’t put a massive inflatable pumpkin on the roof for Halloween. 

She watches you the entire time you hang up the lights, carefully attaching them to the edge of the awning covering the front porch. It isn’t until your father pulls into the driveway and you’re done with the upper half completely - about to start the railing - and descending the ladder one careful step at a time that she speaks again. 

“Those are hanging too low,” She tells you. She doesn’t seem to mind when you ignore her in favor of wrapping lights around the stair banister. 

“Hey there, Yoonji!” Your father calls as he starts to unload the groceries. “What brings you to this part of town?” They both laugh at the joke and you force back a gag. 

“Just hanging out,” She calls back. “Making sure your daughter doesn’t break her neck for some silly competition. You need help with those?” Your dad waves her off. 

“I’m not that old, but thank you. Besides, it looks like you’re needed elsewhere.” He gestures with one bag-laden hand, and both you and Yoonji turn. 

A large SUV pulls into the driveway across the street; the passenger door swings open before the vehicle even stops, and a girl - woman, really - launches herself out of the car. She’s across the street in record time, nearly tackling Yoonji to the snow with the force of her hug. Both look excited to see each other, a rare smile on Yoonji’s face that makes you burn with something that doesn’t feel quite like the usual rage. 

The two are talking rapidly in your front lawn, too harried and chaotic for you to make out much of anything besides the fact that they missed each other. They look comfortable with each other in a way you’ve never been and you force yourself to remember that you don’t care . Even as you eye the way the newcomer’s hand sits just that little bit too low on Yoonji’s back. 

The sounds of car doors closing and snow crunching draws your attention and you’re shocked to see another gorgeous girl making her way over. She looks as excited as the first, yet more subdued about it. 

Likely because they’re on a lawn that decidedly does not belong to them, but you could be wrong there. 

Both of the women are absolutely gorgeous, though, easily model material. The first has artfully styled dark hair that falls in perfect waves down her shoulders, and is delightfully curvy in all the places the world loves. Her cheekbones are to die for, makeup flawless, and you resist the urge to pluck at your own outfit, chosen for warmth over style. 

The second woman is no different; not quite as thicc, as Jimin would say, but the figure suits her, as does the straight platinum hair that hangs down to her lower back. It’s stark against the black of her expensive-looking coat, and it only adds to the energy she carries that draws you in even as you wish it wouldn’t. 

“Oh, how rude of me! These are my neighbors,” Yoonji says after a minute. You don’t miss the way she hesitates saying your name, or the almost predatory smiles the other two women get. 

“So you’re the one,” The dark-haired one says. You don’t get a chance to question it before the blonde cuts her off. 

“I’m Chungha,” She says with a friendly smile. “And this is Hyejin.”

“My friends call me Hwasa, though,” The brunette adds. “We hate to tear her away but it’s been ages since we’ve seen our girl.”

“You saw me like two weeks ago,” Yoonji mutters. You’re too caught off-guard by anyone calling Yoonji their ‘girl’ to respond, but you don’t miss the way her cheeks tinge pink from something that isn’t the cold. 

“So we’re gonna steal her away now,” Hwasa continues, oblivious. You don’t protest, letting your father chat amicably while they say their goodbyes and you look between the girls. 

Hwasa’s hand is still lingering on Yoonji’s lower back, something neither of them seem bothered by. That’s something that friends do, though, right? Jimin squeezes your ass constantly and the two of you definitely aren’t together. 

You hear your name and a question but you can’t seem to really focus beyond a mumbled agreement to whatever you were asked. The way Chungha’s eyes glance over her companions feels like something more, but you can never really be sure. Not in this day and age.

But when they head back across the road to Yoonji’s house, Hwasa doesn’t hesitate to lace their fingers together. Yoonji lets her do it, and the glimpse of the grin and the flushed cheeks you see make your heart clench. 

Paired with the way Chungha eyes the pair as she follows behind - a decidedly more than friendly gaze - and every alarm in your brain is going off. She looks ready to jump them both the second they get in the door. 

“I’m impressed,” Your father says. 

“I’m not done yet,” You tell him, turning back to the decorations sprawled across the lawn. “I’ve still got to-”

“No, no,” He interrupts. “Not the decorations. That you’re finally making strides to be nicer to Yoonji.” You stare blankly at him, not understanding what part of your attitude towards her said anything about being nicer. 

And anyway, why shouldn’t she be nicer to you?

“The party…?” You blink at his words, looking in all respects like a startled rabbit. “The annual Min family holiday party? That they just invited you to? The one that you said you would attend?”

“I’m sorry, I did what. ”

“It just happened, sweetheart. I was standing right here for the entire thing.”

“No,” You tell him firmly. “No, because I would remember telling Min fucking Yoonji that I was going to her stupid holiday party.”

Your father just shakes his head. “Then perhaps we ought to get you a doctor’s appointment, sweetie, because I watched it all happen not five seconds ago.” He pats your shoulder, doing his best to show his solidarity for your sudden idiocy, and makes his way inside. 

You spin to watch him go, all the potential protests and complaints clogging together in your throat and leaving you silent. He gets to the bottom step before you’re storming angrily back to your decorations, because whatever , you’ll go to the stupid party. 

Yoonji can have her dumb holiday party with those overhyped cookies your father always raves about. She can have her caroling and her sing-a-long that your mother adores. She can even have her two super hot model girlfriends, because you’re a modern woman, and sometimes that’s what a relationship is. Whatever. It’s her prerogative. You don’t care. It is not going to affect you, or your decorating, at all. 

You scream a little when the icicle lights you so carefully hung knock against your father’s head on his way inside. 

[Three Years Ago]

“You look like you’re struggling,” a voice says behind you. 

They aren’t wrong, either. You’re balanced precariously atop the porch roof your parents’ new hours, hanging garland off the edges so your dad doesn’t have to do it himself. 

You turn to see who’s talking to you - especially since you don’t actually know anyone, this being your first visit to the neighborhood - and very nearly have to hold on to the edge beside you to stop yourself from falling off. 

The man that stands on your parents’ front walkway is easily the most beautiful you’ve seen - a casual elegance to his stance that you’ve not seen outside of celebrities. His leather jacket looks warm and comfortable while remaining stylish, and the all-black underneath suits him while highlighting the lithe form. All of it is perfectly complemented by the mop of jet-black hair tucked under a knitted beanie, and you can’t help but wonder what kind of neighborhood your parents have moved to, when models are just walking around the streets. 

“Uh…” You would kick yourself for sudden ineloquence if you thought you could without falling straight on your ass. The guy bites back and obvious smile, ducking his head for a moment to do so. 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” He calls as he looks back up at you. “Did you move in recently?”

“No, I don’t live here.” He raises a brow and you huff. “It’s my parents’ place. I’m just doing their decorating for them.” The guy nods and starts to say something else, but he’s cut off before he can. 

“Jimin-ah, what are you doing?” You look back to the garland as someone else walks up, some girl based on the quick glimpse you get while tugging on a strand that doesn’t want to untangle. You give them some semblance of privacy as the guy - Jimin - relays to her everything you’ve said so far. It only strikes you as a little odd that he’s being so detailed; she could be a jealous girlfriend, for all you know. 

“Oh,” the girl says, tone as dry as the dead leaves piled in the corner of the yard, “Is this supposed to beat me somehow?”

“Yoonji,” Jimin scolds under his breath. 

“Sorry,” You say, standing up to your full height. It’s a considerable distance considering you’re still on the porch roof. “But what is that supposed to mean? Is there some kind of competition I don’t know about?”

“Oh,” Yoonji repeats, surprise evident in her voice this time as she eyes you. You take the opportunity to do the same, and you’re glad the nip in the air already turned your cheeks pink because fuck. 

Yoonji’s god damn gorgeous. She’s slightly taller than the average girl, even in the winter boots she’s wearing, but she wears the height well; her shoulders are straight and her chin has a natural upward tilt to it, like she’s used to looking down at people in more ways than one. She’s not dressed fancy - just thick leggings and an oversized sweater - but she looks like she belongs in a commercial or something. Her hair is similar to Jimin’s - pitch black and soft - but hers is glossier, more like a cat’s coat; her cheeks are pink from the cold, her lips are slightly parted and invite too many thoughts about if they’re as soft as they look, Even in such casual circumstances, she’s radiant, even as she says-

“That explains a lot.”

It takes a second longer than you’d like to admit for your brain to resume function, but when it does, you huff with indignation. 

“Excuse me?” You hiss. “What, are my decor choices not good enough for whatever this competition is?”

“No,” Yoonji says slowly, cocking a brow, and you see red - and it isn’t the lights from the house across the street. You don’t even let her continue before you’re defending yourself.

“Well I’m sorry that not all of us can decorate like they just stepped out of...of…Better Homes And Gardens, or some shit like that. Some of us focus more on making sure we like our decorations and that they actually mean something instead of just doing things for the aesthetic .”

Yoonji mutters something under her breath but you can’t make it out; it’s lost among the breeze that kicks up and the soft sound of laughing that Jimin is trying desperately to muffle. You huff a little and return to your mission of dragging the garland up on top of the roof, a new determination filling your chest. 

“Shouldn’t your boyfriend be doing this?” Yoonji asks, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking a brow. You freeze. You can hear Jimin’s quiet inhale, and when you look up, he’s got his lips puffed out like that meme of that guy doing the duckface. You let your hand rest on your hips and give this girl the best glare you can - which you have to admit is quite powerful when you need it to be. 

Like now, when this random super hot girl is judging you for being single and also assuming you’re interested in men. The nerve of her. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” You tell her firmly. She frowns a little, and you wish the expression wasn’t so cute. 

“Why not?” 

You scoff. “ Because,” You tell her firmly, “Not only am I happy by myself and don’t need someone else to be complete, I happen to prefer women. You may be happy with a member of the opposite sex,” You wave at where she and Jimin stand close together and return to trying to pull up the piece of garland that’s probably stuck on something, “But I tend to lean the other way.”

Yoonji just arches a perfect brow at you, but she at least doesn’t bust out laughing like Jimin does. 

“Oh man,” He says, wiping tears from his eyes as he stumbles forward, “Imagine looking at us and thinking we’re straight. Oh my god, imagine, can you believe-”

“So why don’t you have a girlfriend doing this then?” Yoonji asks. Her cheeks are a little redder, but you’re pretty sure it’s just from the cold. “Wouldn’t it be better?”

“Because I’m a strong,” You heave another string of garland up, “Independent,” heave, “Woman!” You give one last tug on the garland and it flies loose, sending you landing back on the flat of your ass atop the porch roof. It doesn’t hurt too bad other than the fact that you can see a smile playing on Yoonji’s lips and your pride has already taken a few hits. 

“Well then,” Yoonji says, patting Jimin’s arm and stepping back, “We’ll stop distracting you, Miss Independent.” She and Jimin walk across the street, and you pretend not to notice the way she looks back every so often. 

[Today]

“No, it needs to be taller.”

“Sweetheart if it’s any taller, it won’t fit in the house.”

You send your mother a frustrated glance and shake your head. “It will, it just needs to be the right height and shape.”

“Why can’t we just get a fake tree? They’re so much easier to move and put together, wouldn’t that be better?”

“No,” You hiss, scandalized. “Real trees are better overall for the environment, not to mention how you can’t manufacture the smell of pine trees that come with them that set the entire atmosphere. Plus this nursery uses the profits to plant more trees both here and in areas that suffer with deforestation. It’s for a good cause.”

“And that’s why we had to get here at five in the morning?” Your mother asks sarcastically. 

“Yes,” You reply firmly, “Because otherwise all the good trees will be gone and we’ll be forced to choose from the leftovers.” Your mother mumbles something else under her breath, but you don’t hear it. You’re distracted because there it is. The perfect tree.

You’re two steps away from your perfect tree - tall, evenly spaced, full branches, well balanced, with the perfect shade of evergreen - when you hear her. 

“It’s over here,” Yoonji’s voice echoes. “I need the perfect tree, and it’s the best one I’ve found in years.”

You ignore the way your mother lights up and shush her when she tries to call out to Yoonji. You listen closer; your nemesis is still talking, something about needing a tree for someone - which, who leaves tree shopping to the last minute? The only reason you’re here is that you got in late because of the weather - but her voice is definitely getting closer. 

Panicking, you look at your tree. If Yoonji sees it, it’s definitely over. It’s perfect, there’s no way she’ll want any other, and what Yoonji wants, she gets. 

The only real explanation for what happens next is that you’re running on four hours’ sleep and Yoonji tends to make you a little stupid. 

“Get the other side,” You whisper to your mom. She stares at you and doesn’t move. “Hurry up, before they get here!”

Your mother watches for a few seconds as you wrap your arms around the tree, getting pricked in the face with pine needles as you do, and start to tug. It’s a heavy tree, and it’s only just started to shift when the voices get closer. 

“Seriously?!” You exclaim in a harried whisper to your mom. “Not even a push?!”

“You’re trying to steal a tree,” Your mother says. “From a nursery that gives to charity. I’m not helping with that.”

“I’m gonna pay for it later!” Your mother sighs and starts pushing halfheartedly on the other side of the tree.   

“Shit, no, I meant-” Your words are cut off by a grunt as you manage to catch the tree before it falls entirely. It’s heavy against your shoulder, and of course that’s when Yoonji turns the corner, followed by the broadest man you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. Both stop in their tracks at the sight of you. 

“Hey Seokjin.” You say, faking a laugh. “How are you? Haven’t seen you this year. Business good?”

“Yeah,” He says, cocking a brow, “When people don’t try to run off with our trees.”

“Who? Me? I would never!” The tree starts digging into your shoulder and your legs tremble. “I just thought I’d load it up for you, y’know, save you the trouble.”

“Oh did you?” There’s amusement in Seokjin’s voice as he fiddles with his ring. “You know our policy, you have to pay before loading.”

You start to stammer out some bullshit about him being busy but you’re only halfway through the excuse when Yoonji says your name.

“It’s alright,” the woman says with a bored voice. “She was loading it up for me. That’s the tree I was coming to show you anyway.”

The weight finally overtakes you, and you crumble under it. You manage to twist so that nothing important is trapped under the trunk, but you get a faceful of needles for your efforts. 

“Maybe you should do it, though, Jin,” Yoonji says. “It looks a little much for the poor dear.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin huffs. He pulls the tree off of you with what looks like little effort, hefting it over his shoulder so the base drags the ground. “Where are you parked, Yoonji?”

“Load it onto their car,” Yoonji responds. Both you and your mother stare at her in shock. “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

“Oh, well isn’t that sweet of you,” Your mother coos. She points the way to Seokjin and the two head off, chatting amicably as they go. 

You narrow your eyes at Yoonji where she stands, not even offering to help you up from the snow where you still lay.

“What’s wrong with it?” You ask. All she does is quirk a brow. “The tree. Why are you giving it to me? You wouldn’t unless there was something wrong with it. So what is it? Termites? Leaking too much sap? What?”

Yoonji shrugs. “You wanted it,” She says simply. Your blood boils, and she steps back like she doesn’t even notice. 

“You aren’t even going to help me up?” You call as she starts to walk away.

“Good try, Miss Independent,” She calls back. “I think Jungkook’s still in the office if you need him.”

You half-scream a growl as you flop your head back into the snow. A pout forms as you watch the sky start to color with the sunrise. 

You’re going to have to throw away your perfect tree.

[Two Years Ago]

It’s the day of the contest. You’re confident in your decor choices this year, even if you couldn’t get every single thing you had in mind, you decide as you wander the neighborhood to scope out the competition. Last year you went simple and got second place, and you’ve switched it up this year. All out with the best decorations possible. 

You’re going to win. Losing isn’t an option, not again. Not when you were beat by her. 

It doesn’t matter, you remind yourself as you turn the corner onto your parents’ street. Your decorations are as good as they can be. 

Your mood sours a little when you see a figure in the yard across from yours, but the soft beanie and oversized hoodie cheer you up once you notice them. 

“Yoongi!” You call with a smile. The man turns and gives you a gummy grin. “I didn’t know you were in town!”

“Yeah, we got in late last night. Kinda crashed once we did. Then someone dragged us all out to the store early this morning.” He rolls his eyes and you laugh. 

“Well the house looks good. Not as good as mine, obviously,” You tease, “But good.”

“Yeah, you might win this year. Yoonji’s got some good competition.”

You sniffle a little, doing your best to contain your distaste for his twin. 

The Min twins, nearly identical save for the fact that they aren’t the same gender, are easily the best and worst things about the neighborhood. Worst because of that pompous priss Yoonji, obviously. 

Best because Min Yoongi is one of the sweetest people you’ve ever known even if he is a bit shy. You met him last year, when he’d carried in an obscene amount of groceries for your mother and you’d almost mistaken him for his sister. You’d made him coffee to say thanks, the two of you talked, and you’ve been friends ever since. 

“No Jimin?” You ask him. He gestures vaguely to the roof, where you can see a small blue hat bopping around. “Ah. I take it you aren’t finished yet, then.”

“Do you know any other reason my sister would have my boyfriend on the roof?” You share a grin with him as you both watch a strand of lights fly off somewhere. “Apparently she needed to make some last minute adjustments. That’s why she dragged us all out to the store, to hunt down some stuff for her.”

“Oh, did you happen to see one of those big dancing snowmen? The one that plays music, you can control it all from your phone? I looked everywhere and couldn’t find one, it’s the one thing I was missing. Had to use an inflatable yeti instead.” Yoongi frowns. 

“Huh, how weird. That’s what we were-”

“I got it all ready, it just needs to be plugged in.”

Yoonji strides out from the house - looking as good as ever in some plaid pants, how dare she - and stops dead when she looks up and sees you. 

“What are you doing here?” She snaps, and you scoff. 

“Visiting a friend,” You respond with a nod towards Yoongi. You take a glance at the phone in her hand, then up to where you can see Jimin standing up a snowman. “Did you seriously steal my idea?!”

“What? No.”

“Really. Because I distinctly remember telling Jungkook about this yesterday while I was picking up my tree and you were right beside him talking to Seokjin. I was even going to put it on the roof so everyone could watch it dance to Pentatonix covers.”

“Like I would listen when you talk,” Yoonji says. Yoongi sighs but you can barely hear it over the flood of rage. 

“Y’know what? Get fucked,” You tell her as you storm out of their yard and back to your parents’ house. 

“I guess you won’t be coming to the holiday party then?” She calls over the road. You send her a rather vulgar hand gesture in return that you hope your parents don’t see. By the time you get inside, the snowman is playing a Mariah Carey Christmas song and you kind of want to set it on fire. 

You do not win the competition that year. 

[Today]

Maybe you should have listened to your parents when they said not to drive today. Probably you should have taken the big ass truck that your father keeps in the garage specifically for when the weather is bad, because it’s got that fancy four wheel drive and traction control and all sorts of stuff meant to keep people safe in the middle of floods and monsoons and blizzards. You definitely should have remembered to charge your phone before you left the house.

Especially considering that your car isn’t great in the snow now falling gently from the sky to land on your hood, mixing with the smoke pouring out from under it. 

You’re lucky you managed to drift to the side of the road and get your hazard lights on, but that’s where said luck runs out. Your phone is dead, it’s several miles back to the house, even further than that to town, and the temperature is already dropping into dangerous territory. 

You’ve been sitting here for three hours, though, tucked inside the residual warmth of your car with spare blankets wrapped around you as you watched night fall. You’re not sure what else you can do. There aren’t any wild animals around here, or anything like that, but it’s definitely too dangerous to trek back to the house. 

“I should’ve just walked back earlier,” You groan as you bundle the blankets closer. “At least it was warmer then. Stupid car, stupid car, stupid me , didn’t charge your stupid phone, how dumb am I.”

Your tirade against yourself continues for several minutes and includes a few very crafty curses that would make your mother gasp. You’re in the middle of another when lights shine into your mirrors, nearly blinding you. 

The lights slow and come to a stop behind your car. A door shuts and you scramble to exit, ready to get on your knees and beg whoever it is to give you a ride to literally anywhere that has heat. 

It takes a second too long for you recognize the shiny purple jeep and the elegant black peacoat backlit by the headlights, and by the time you do, she’s already got an angry snarl on her face. 

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” She demands. You shiver in response and glare at her. 

“Oh, just hanging out, thought I’d take a little nap beside the road in the freezing cold, the usual y’know,” You bite back. She rolls her eyes and starts back towards her jeep. You frown, watching her, and she stops with one foot inside and her hand on the door. 

“What are you waiting for?” She asks. You shrug, and she huffs. “Get in the fucking car, I’m taking you home before you turn into an icicle.” You don’t move and her frown deepens. “Fine, but if you die out here, I’m not the one that’s going to tell your parents it was because you were too stubborn to accept a ride.”

Guilt gnaws at you, and with a frustrated huff, you stomp your way over to the passenger side of her jeep and climb inside. 

She’s careful as she drives, you notice. Long fingers wrapped tight around the wheel, jaw tensed so hard it could be stone, and one arm leaned against the window after she’s finished turning the heat up as high it will go. 

It’s not even been five minutes when she tosses a thick, fleece-lined blanket at you. You look at her, ready to be pissed off, and she cuts you off before you can complain. 

“Your teeth are chattering so loud that I can’t hear myself think. Try not to get hypothermia before we get there, okay?” You huff a disbelieving laugh but curl into the warmth of the blanket anyway. It feels almost too-warm, like when you pull clothes out of the dryer, but it’s a comfort against your freezing skin. 

“Why are you even here? You aren’t heading back from town, you’re not heading to town. Do you just drive around looking for lost girls?” 

“No,” She says carefully, hand tightening around the wheel. It’s all she says for a full minute before she sighs. “Your parents got worried.”

“What?! ”

“They said you went to town to pick up some salt for the sidewalk and drive, and that it had been hours, and that they hadn’t heard from you again even though you took your phone. They were scared that something had happened, so I…”

Your sarcastic response dies on your tongue when you look at her. Really look. 

Her shoulders are tense and set, in a way you haven’t seen before. Her brows are creased, and the pretty lips you refuse to acknowledge are set in a thin line and turned down at the corners. There’s something fizzling in the air between the two of you, something new and unknown.

“...Were you worried about me?” You ask quietly. She shoots you a look and then laughs, a second too late with not enough amusement. 

“Drink that,” She says, gesturing to a thermos. “It’s coffee, it’ll help you warm up a little.” You take the thermos, thoroughly enjoying the warmth it provides your hands, and take a sip. You don’t know why, but you’re surprised when it’s the exact way you like it. You shoot her a thoughtful look, wondering just how else she might surprise you. 

The rest of the ride is quiet, only the lull of the engine and the tires. Neither of you talk much; perhaps because she’s too angry, but you’re too distracted by your own thoughts to say much. 

There’s no way, right? The two of you hate each other, you have since you met. It tints all your interactions, colors every single conversation where either of you are even mentioned, it’s one of the basic facts of the universe. 

So why, as Yoonji pulls into your parent’s driveway and smiles at where they stand watching from the window, do you have a feeling like maybe you’re wrong?

[One Year Ago]

“Really? Inflatables?”

You scowl and turn, already prepared. There stands Yoonji, arms crossed. The weather is fairly mild for the season, and she’s taking advantage of that. High waisted shorts, an off-the-shoulder top, lace-up boots, leather jacket, she looks like every rebellious lesbian you’ve ever dreamt about, and it only makes you hate her more. 

“Yes, inflatables. Because some of us like a little fun. Besides, you stole my dancing snowman last year, and I wanted something you aren’t going to rip off.”

“I didn’t steal your-”

“Whatever,” You interrupt, not wanting to even bother to listen. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

She starts to say something else, but the slam of the front door cuts her off. You turn and grin, waving. 

“Tae! C’mon, put it over here!” 

Taehyung smiles and makes his way over, inflatable deer in his hands. Yoonji’s silent as he gets there and sets the animal where you direct. When he’s finished he turns to you, boxy smile and all, to make sure he’s good, and glances at Yoonji. 

“Oh, you didn’t say you had a friend over,” He whines. “Now I’m being rude. Hi, I’m Kim Taehyung.”

Yoonji doesn’t answer, merely eyes with distaste the hand he’s got extended. 

“Right. Well then, I’m gonna go get the fawn, alright? Be right back.” He smiles at you, and you watch as he jogs back into the house.

“I thought you only brought Namjoon with you this year.” You turn at Yoonji’s words. 

“No, Tae came as well. It’s a good thing, too, because Joon is utterly useless now since he met Yoongi and Jimin. Little punks stole my best friend.” You’re only mostly kidding. You’re happy for Namjoon - he’s been somewhat lonely these days, and now he’s got not one but two handsome men vying for his affection. 

It does reinforce your own loneliness, though. 

“I thought you liked girls.” You look back at Yoonji and notice she’s got a small pout on her face. It’s cute. 

“I do like girls.”

“Then why is Taehyung here?” The way she says his name is full of spite, and it makes you laugh. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that I had to get your permission when I want to bring my friends and loved ones up to visit my parents for the holidays.” You adjust the inflatable deer, posing it so that it looks like it’s glaring at Yoonji’s house in anger. 

Taehyung comes back out before Yoonji can say anything. He’s got his jacket off now, and he does look good in the simple white shirt and the headband that makes his hair look even fluffier than usual. You just really can’t focus on anything but the inflatable fawn he’s got tucked under one arm and the matching rabbit tucked under the other. 

Yoonji’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, and you roll your eyes. 

“You need another deer,” She spits before she turns around and stomps back to her house. Taehyung shoots you a look. 

“I take it that’s Yoonji, then,” He says with a laugh. You make a puking sound and he tuts at you. “You’re supposed to be nice. That is not nice.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t steal your dancing snowman, did she?”

Across the street, you can see Yoonji fuming as she stands on the porch, talking to Yoongi about something or other. They both look over and while your first instinct is to turn around like you haven’t been watching them, you resist. Instead, you give Yoongi a bright wave. He doesn’t return it but his frown lessens slightly, though that could be because Jimin stumbles, laughing, out of your parents’ house with Namjoon not far behind him. 

Both of them have hearts in their eyes, and it only gets worse when they look at Yoongi. 

“That’s disgusting,” Taehyung says with a wrinkle of his nose. “Eugh, they’re so couple-y and gross. Remind me not to come next year if Namjoon’s here.”

“Oh no,” You tell him with a grin as you wrap him in a hug. He’s warm and solid against you, as he always is, and you thoroughly enjoy it. “If I have to struggle, you do too.”

“Fine,” He whines dramatically. “But I’m bringing Hobi so he has to suffer, too.” You laugh and set him to work organizing the inflatable animals. There are eyes on your back the entire time, but you refuse to turn around and give Yoonji the satisfaction. 

Especially once you realize that you do need another deer to make it look balanced and perfect.

[Today]

The holiday party is well underway by the time you arrive at Yoonji’s, however reluctantly you do so. Your mother and father disappear almost immediately, sucked into conversations with people they’ve known for years now; Tae and Hobi are tucked into a corner, nursing glasses of cider while they look at the rather extensive Winter Village display on the Mins mantle; Namjoon has been here for hours already, and is no doubt locked away in Yoongi’s room with the man himself, and Jimin, and you choose to believe that they’re having some philosophical discussion and not doing anything else. 

You think you catch a glimpse of Jungkook amidst the people from the neighborhood, but by the time you get to where he was, there’s no sign of him, or the broad-shouldered man he’s usually with. Abandoned in the kitchen, you pour yourself some cider and spike it with a hint of rum, just to get you through the night. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” A voice says. 

When you turn, you find Hwasa perched on the countertop, Chungha leaning back between her legs. Both are watching you curiously, and both look absolutely fantastic in figure-hugging dresses and tights and heeled boots. They look like they just stepped off a runway, but the look in their eyes feels more like a panther than a model. 

“What boyfriend?” You ask eventually. 

“Tall, great chest, soft hair,” Hwasa says. When you just stare at her, she smiles a little. “Boxy smile.”

“Oh, Tae?” You laugh a little. “He isn’t my boyfriend. I’m not even interested in him like that, he’s just my best friend.” The two women share a look and Chungha kisses her cheek before heading out of the room. Hwasa eyes you and you have the distinct feeling you’re being judged. 

You thought you looked okay when you picked out the simple but nicer outfit; black sweater, maroon skirt, tall black boots. It’s classy but casual. You’re sure of it. 

At least you were. 

“So tell me about this thing with Yoonji,” Hwasa eventually says. You nearly choke on your cider. 

“I mean...there’s not much to tell. We’ve hated each other ever since we met four years ago.”

“Oh?” Something lights up in her eyes that you don’t particularly like. 

“Look, no offense to you or your girlfriend, Yoonji’s just...kinda mean for my tastes. I guess some people are into that.”

“Elaborate.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, and you find yourself explaining before you can stop. You tell her nearly everything, about all the shit Yoonji’s done to you, and by the time you’re finished, she’s actually smiling.

“Like...I’m sure you love her and all, otherwise you wouldn’t be dating her, but-”

“What? ” She nearly falls off the counter, she’s laughing so hard, and when you start to help steady her, she just waves you off. “No, sweetie, I’m dating Chungha, not Yoonji.”

“I thought you were dating both of them? Did you all break up?”

“Oh my god , she wasn’t kidding,” Hwasa says breathlessly, still fighting back giggles. “Holy shit, this explains so much. Ha, oh my god, no, we never were dating Yoonji, she’s just our best friend. Like you and that Taehyung guy?”

“Oh.” You feel foolish; it makes sense, friends can be just as physically close as romantic partners. You and Taehyung are proof enough of that. “I...just assumed…”

“I know, but you’re definitely wrong. You drink more cider, stew on that, maybe rethink things from another perspective, I’ve got to tell Chungha about this, it’s too good.” Hwasa hops off the counter with ease and disappears out the door before you can ask her to explain what she means about other perspectives. You can hear giggles as they slowly drown in the chatter of the party and the soft carols playing over the speakers. 

You stay in the kitchen for a while, nursing your cider and thinking. If Yoonji doesn’t have two model-hot girlfriends, then could you have been onto something in the jeep that night? You’ve hated her for so long, and assumed that she hates you in return, but if you were wrong about the girlfriends, then maybe you’re wrong about that, too. 

Something enters your vision and you look up, nearly spitting out your drink as you do. 

Yoonji stands in front of you, in a slinky green velvet dress that she keeps tugging the bottom of. It doesn’t look like anything she usually wears, down to the floral lace tights and the wedge heels that make her even taller than she already is, and she looks slightly uncomfortable if the burn in her cheeks is any indication. 

The worst part is that she looks good. Like, good good. It suits her, even if it isn’t her usual style, and for once you can’t deny the attraction swirling within your stomach. 

“What are you wearing?” She asks angrily, glaring down at your clothes like they kicked her dog - whom you have not seen tonight, which is a travesty, because you adore Holly. A cough echoes from somewhere behind the two of you, and Yoonji wrinkles her nose. “I mean...I like...your outfit.”

You quirk a brow at her and set your cider down on the counter nearby. “Really? Because it looks like you want to tear it off and then set it on fire.” Something complicated happens with her expression and a spark ignites in your mind. 

“Are you sick?” She asks. Her face does something else complicated as a groan echoes from nearby, and something painful twists in your stomach. You really didn’t think you looked that bad. “I mean, after the other day. With the snow. And the cold. Are you sick?”

“Is...this your way of telling me I look ill?” You ask her. She frowns. “Because if wanted me to leave your party, all you had to do was say that, you don’t have to insult me.” You head toward the door of the kitchen and there’s a scrambling that sounds much too loud for just her friends. 

So your friends are also eavesdropping. Fantastic. Now everyone knows she’s insulted you. Just what you needed tonight. 

Her hand catches your wrist as you’re about to leave the kitchen. “I didn’t mean it like that,” She mumbles, not making eye contact. “I just...wanted to make sure you were feeling okay. It was really cold that night, and you were out there for a long time.” 

“So, what, you suddenly care? Why? Because you don’t want to win by default or something?”

“No, because I-” She cuts herself off with a groan, and you’re glad there are so many people around, because it seems like everyone’s distracted with something else. They’re too busy to notice this absolutely disastrous conversation. 

“Hey look,” Taehyung says, appearing from nowhere and pulling roughly on Yoonji’s arm until she’s standing beside you in the doorway. “Mistletoe! How random! Guess you have to kiss!”

“That’s a stupid tradition,” Yoonji spits, and you’re inclined to agree with her. “Forcing people to kiss just because of some plant? How is that okay? Besides, it’s got nothing to do with the actual myth behind it, and-” She sounds like she could go on forever, but you cut her off. 

“And it’s not like we want to kiss anyway.” Her grip on your wrist slackens, and you turn to look at her. Uncertainty fills you as you look at her expression, because the only word that comes to mind is crestfallen. “Right?”

“I...I mean…” Taehyung disappears as Yoonji searches for words, and you just know he’s hanging out somewhere nearby to watch it all happen. 

“Because we’re nemeses.” You say slowly. “We hate each other.”

“Do we?” Yoonji asks quietly, threading her fingers through yours. “Do you?”

“Don’t you? ” You ask her. “You’ve been nothing but rude to me since we met. You’ve insulted me, and stolen my decorating ideas, and-”

“No,” She says quickly. “No, I never meant any of it like that, you just never gave me a chance to explain. You’re...you’re so pretty, and I always get flustered around pretty people, and I say the wrong things.”

“You told me I wasn’t as good if I didn’t have a significant other the first time we met.”

“I was trying to figure out if you were interested in women, and when you said you were, I just...panicked, because I figured you had someone, because you’re…” She gives a wave to your general being. 

“You stole my dancing snowman.”

“I did not! I heard someone talking about a dancing snowman at the tree nursery, and I didn’t realize it was you, and I thought, since I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I’d get a dancing snowman that would play this cheesy playlist thing I made for you. I didn’t know you were looking for it, and I didn’t steal your idea. Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Okay, well...last year you were so rude! And you said you wouldn’t listen when I talked!”

“I thought…” She trails off, looking ashamed. “I thought you were dating Taehyung, and I got jealous. But the listening comment wasn’t like that! It’s because I always zone out because I like to listen to you talk, because your voice is so pretty, but I never hear what you actually say, and also you just...are really pretty. So I get distracted.”

“I…” You’re rather speechless; your entire world has shifted on its axis. “I thought you hated me.”

“Never.” Yoonji insists. “I just don’t know how to talk to pretty girls.”

“You hang out with Hwasa. And Chungha.”

“Yeah, and?” Her brows furrow. “What’s your point?” If you could, you would keysmash at her, but as it stands, you just gape. 

“Uh, they’re literally model gorgeous?”

“Oh, are they?” She looks down at where your fingers are still entwined with hers. “I hadn’t noticed.”

You blink at her, and she looks up at you. There’s a faint smile playing on her lips, and something bright in her eyes that you haven’t seen before. 

“I’m sorry,” You say, shaking your head. “I just still don’t-”

“Will you shut up?” Yoonji asks, free hand coming to gently glide across your cheek. “And let me kiss you?” Your jaw shuts with a snap and you nod. 

Her lips are soft against your own, and your breath catches in your throat as you return the kiss. Her hand moves to grip your jaw, tilting your head ever so slightly so the two of you fit together that little bit better, and your hands come to rest on her hips. 

Electricity sparks through you to her. She pulls back just a little and you’re distracted by the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips. 

“This might be moving a little fast, since we hated each other an hour ago-”

“You hated me an hour ago,” She corrects. 

“But I would be very, very happy taking this to a more private area so I can express to you just how apologetic I am that I thought you hated me.” You tear your gaze from her lips to look at her face. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown out at the mere thought. 

“Upstairs,” She growls, already pushing you in the direction of the staircase. You’re both speeding through the crowd of people as fast as you can without being obvious, and you have to help her every few feet because she’s wobbly in her heels, but by the time you make it up the stairs and into her room, you’re both desperate. 

Her mouth meets yours with a fire behind it that you’ve never felt before, and you hardly even get the door closed before she pushes you back against it. Your tongue darts along the seam of her lips and she grants you entrance, and you could moan at just the taste of her if you were just a little weaker. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” She whispers, moving to nip at your neck. Her hands are under your sweater and you don’t even remember them getting there, but you can’t complain as they move to cup your breasts and tweak your nipples through your bra. “Can you even imagine how many times I’ve dreamt of touching you? Tasting you? Hearing you moan?” 

She bites, hard and rough, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes you. How she possibly knows that you like that is something you don’t have the energy to ponder, nor the will to question. 

“Please,” You breathe, hands tangling in her hair as she sucks a mark into the skin of your throat. She’s slotted between your thighs and your hips are rutting against hers ever so slightly, desperate for some friction. You know you’ve already soaked through your panties, which is a feat considering all she’s done is play with your nipples a little and kiss you like you’ve never been kissed. 

“What is it, angel?” Her voice is deeper than usual, roughened by the desire coursing through your veins and hers, and it only makes you wetter. “What would you like me to do?”

“Anything,” You plead. “Please, just touch me.” 

“Anything?” Yoonji mutters. She chuckles, low and raspy and so unbearably attractive that you want to scream. You almost do scream, from frustration, when she pulls her hands away from your nipples, but she drops to her knees and you forgive her. 

Yoonji kisses up your thighs, from the edge of your boots all the way to where the hem of your skirt hits mid-thigh, and her hands are warm as they slide underneath. She doesn’t stop kissing you, not even as she lifts the fabric of your skirt and nips at the crease where your thighs meet your hips. Still, she’s so far away from where you need her, that you can’t help your whine. 

“Patience, angel,” She whispers as she glides one finger along your fabric-covered lips. Your hips rut forward on instinct, and she laughs a little. 

“You stole my dancing snowman, you could at least be quick about this,” You mutter. 

“What’s the fun in being rushed?” She leans forward to mouth at your pussy through your underwear and your legs tremble slightly. She’s gentle as her hands slide your underwear down to pool around your ankles, and even more gentle as they glide back up to rest on your thighs. “But I’ll be nice this time. Besides, I’ve been dreaming of what this pussy tastes like for years.”

Anything else you might say to her is cut off with a moan as her tongue starts to tease at your clit. One of your hands comes to rest on the back of her hair before you even realize you’ve moved, and she takes that as all the encouragement she needs. 

Yoonji eats pussy like it’s the last meal she’ll ever have, and you’re in absolute awe. The way her tongue moves against you is absolute bliss, no matter where it is; she teases at your entrance, sliding the very tip of her tongue inside to gather your wetness before she runs the flat of it up to your clit, where she circles and sucks mercilessly before moving back down to thrust it in and out and in and out relentlessly. She coaxes an orgasm out of you faster than anyone else ever has, and even as your writhing against the door with her head under your skirt, she doesn’t stop. 

Instead, she slides one long finger inside of you and keeps it there. She doesn’t move it, doesn’t even allow it to twitch, but it’s there and you can feel it as she wraps her lips around your clit and sucks, making your clench around her. She moans into your pussy, too, the entire time she’s at work between your legs, and it only turns you on more when you glance down to see her hand between her legs. 

“Yoonji, please, I want, please, I wanna taste you too, please,” You beg, tugging gently on her hair until she pulls back. Her chin is covered in your cum and the sight is so unbelievably unerotic that you could probably come just from that. 

“Take this off,” She growls, pulling on your skirt as she stands. You do as she says without hesitation, more than willing to get naked if it means getting your mouth on her, and by the time your boots are in the corner with the rest of your clothes, she’s just as naked as you are. 

And god, she’s beautiful. 

Your lips meet hers again as you push her towards the bed, and you can taste yourself on her tongue as it slides against yours. The two of you tumble onto the mattress and you situate yourself between her thighs. It isn’t until you’ve got her legs spread wide and your licking and sucking at her nipples that you register that her face is flushed with something new. 

“What is it?” You ask, panting, as you detach from her - beautiful, wonderful, adorable, perfect - tits. “Do you not want me to? I don’t have to, I just would really like to, it’s up to you.”

“No, it’s not that, I’ve just never…” She trails off, looking embarrassed, and realization smacks you in the face. 

“No one has ever gone down on you before?” You ask in disbelief. She shakes her head. 

“I’ve always been the one to do so, all the other girls have been kind of...well. I’m usually the dominant one, so…”

“Yoonji, sweetheart,” You say seriously, pressing a kiss to her cheek with each word. “Will you allow to me to eat you out? Because seriously, those other girls are trash, and I would absolutely cherish the experience if it’s something you want.”

Her face turns even more pink and she nods. You press a quick kiss to her lips and gently spread her thighs so you have better access. You mimic her actions from earlier, pressing kisses to her thighs and the crease of her hips. When you finally get a taste of her, you moan. 

She tastes like absolute fucking bliss, you decide as you glide your tongue through her folds. You could live off of nothing but the taste for her until the end of time itself, and the way she moves is amazing. Little jerks and thrusts, and her fingers tangle in your hair to push you closer even as her hips pull away slightly. 

Your tongue rubs circles around her clit, flicking and licking and coaxing her closer and closer to her high. You dip down to fuck your tongue into her for a second or two, and the way her back arches is art in motion. You reach one hand up to tweak one of her nipples while your other arm remains wrapped around her hip like a steel bar, keeping her in place even as she grinds against your mouth. 

You remember how it felt earlier when she wrapped her lips around your clit, so you mimic the action. Her bud fits perfectly between your lips, and when you suck on it, she tenses. Everything stops for a second, and you’re afraid maybe you ruined it, but then her whole body jerks, and she presses you hard against her. You lap up her essence as it comes, eager and more than willing, and when she finally stops spasming, you pull yourself away with a grin. 

“Holy shit,” She mutters, and you laugh. 

“I can’t believe no one’s ever eaten you out before,” You sigh, one hand sliding along her waist to massage her breasts. “Does that mean no one’s ever fucked you before either?”

“I mean…” You stop, staring at her with wide eyes. “I told you, I’m usually the dominant one, so most people don’t really...return the favor.”

“Can I please fuck you?” You ask in a rush. “Please, I promise I’ll be gentle.” She huffs a little, and you think it’s amused but you can’t be sure, because she’s spreading her legs again and your focus is elsewhere. 

“Yeah, angel, you can fuck me.”

You lower yourself to kiss her, lingering and deep, and you don’t miss the moan she gives as she tastes herself on your tongue. You wait until she’s thoroughly distracted by the way your mouths move, then glide your fingers over her. 

Her clit is still sensitive, based on the way she jumps as you ghost your fingers over it, so you avoid that. You don’t want to overwhelm her. She groans as you slide a single single finger inside her, and you moan. 

Her walls are softer than the velvet of her dress, and warm around you. She’s tight, too, so incredibly tight that you aren’t sure you’ll be able to fit another inside her. She moans as you slide your finger out and then back in, gathering more of her wetness as you do. 

You’re careful as you fuck her, gentle and slow, and you think you could get addicted to it. Her hips move in time with your hand, gaining speed as you do. “Fuck, angel, it’s so good,” She whimpers. You smile. 

“Let me know if it gets too much, okay?” She nods, and you start to slide a second finger in. Yoonji winces, just a little, so you slow until her hips rock against your hand. 

“More,” She breathes. “Please, more.”

“As you wish,” You tell her. You still are gentle as you thrust into her, feeling her walls contract around you. It’s heaven, absolute perfection, and you tell her so as she grips onto the sheets. 

You latch your mouth onto her nipple as you continue fucking her, biting and sucking as your fingers curl. 

“I need, ah, please, I need more, I need, holy fuck, to come, I need to come,” She moans desperately. You grin and curl your fingers more, sliding them against her walls. You finally find what you’re looking for, that small spongey spot that has her convulsing around you. 

“That’s right, baby,” You coo, “Come on, I know you want to.”

Her hands are in a death grip on your shoulders, and they only get tighter as you press harder against that spot inside her. She comes with a cry that you muffle with your own mouth, her body shaking as she lets go. 

You slide your fingers out when she’s relaxed a little more, licking the taste of her off as she pants. 

“Holy shit,” She breathes. You grin, peppering kisses along her stomach, up her chest, along her throat and over her cheeks. “Can we do that every day?”

“I dunno,” You tease. “Are you going to steal my dancing snowman again?”

She rolls her eyes and shoves at your shoulder, and you laugh. 

“I’m just saying, you’re supposed to be nice to the people you like.”

“I’m bad at that, though,” She mutters. “I always just...say the wrong thing. I’m more of a do-er.”

“I’m still caught up on how I was supposed to know you liked me based on the things you did.”

“Really?” She huffs, glaring at you playfully. “I went tree shopping at five in the morning for you.”

“Yeah,” You say softly, grinning. “You did.”

25 Days of Christmas: A BTS Christmas Anthology 

#25DaysofBTSXmas #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #smutcentralnet #yoonji fanfic #yoonji smut #yoonji angst #yoonji fluff #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #reader insert #yoonji x reader #yoonmin #namyoonmin #jinkook #chungha x hwasa #magicshopnet #ddaenggtan

[rotationalsymmetry]

Reading through a argument around “is queer a self defined thing or is it something where you have to check off at least one specific named identity and tell people what that is thing?” And there’s a 17 year old who expressed concerns about the idea of queer being a self identifier thing getting his ass handed to him. Which, I have to say, my initial reaction (safely saved to drafts) also involved a lot of swear words, and not colorful background swearwords either.

Fuck off. My initial reaction was to tell him to fuck off. And that, never mind about hypothetical straight fakers, I didn’t want him at my queer events.

But...I can understand, being young, probably being new to the community, possibly not having any offline community at all, how someone might find themselves arguing that position.

I mean, we got a lot of gatekeeping of various types on this site and in online queer spaces in general. It’s a thing someone could pick up without really questioning it, just because other queer people are saying it. And, you’re new, you’re unsure of yourself, you want to fit in. I can see it.

So, the kind gentle explanation, for anyone who needs less fuck off and more patiently explaining. (If I get replies/asks about this I’ll attempt to continue with the patient version.)

The acronym isn’t fixed. It’s fluid, and the categories within it are fluid.

For example: Marsha P Johnson in her life didn’t call herself a transgender woman. She called herself a transvestite and a gay man, even though she used she/her pronouns. Now, we look back on that and think “well, the language changed over time, someone who lived the way she did would almost certainly call herself a trans woman now, and the modern queers who identify with her most tend to be trans women.” Categories are fluid, in that now we’re inclined to see “trans woman, cross dresser, gay man” as entirely separate categories that aren’t especially related to each other (and het crossdressers might not be seen as queer at all) but they used to have much more overlap.

As another example, “non-binary” wasn’t really a thing when I hit adulthood. There were people who would now call themselves nonbinary, but they used different terms, like genderqueer. Stone Butch Blues talks about “he-she’s”, a term that straddled “butch lesbian” and the modern “transmasculine”, and which definitely isn’t in common use any more.

And that’s just in recent American history! If you look at how queerness is conceptualized across time and across cultures, it varies so much. Some cultures have more than two genders that are universally recognized within that culture. Some times/cultures see homosexuality as being dependent on whether you’re topping or bottoming or about gender roles: a guy who bottoms or takes on feminine gender roles is gay, while one who tops is just a normal straight guy. Sometimes a culture has fairly set gender roles, but people who are biologically male or female taking on the opposite role and having a same-sex partner is completely normal and unremarkable.

The alternative to “a queer person is someone who says they are queer” is to have a fixed definition. You are queer if you check at least one: gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, (asexual, intersex, two spirit, whatever else we want to explicitly include on the list.) But that would require “queer” to have a fixed definition and for all the sub-types of queer to be fixed.

What about when people don’t know for sure: a woman who knows she’s lesbian or bisexual but not which, a person who might be trans but isn’t quite sure, someone who might be asexual but again isn’t quite sure, but perhaps is quite sure they don’t feel comfortable when straight people talk about sex and romance. (And then there’s what happens when you’ve always thought of yourself as gay, but your partner is transitioning so what does that make you?) Hanging out in queer spaces with people who are queer makes sense for all of those people, even ones who might eventually decide they’re not actually queer after all.

And I’ve been writing paragraphs and paragraphs, but I think I missed the main point, which is: the alternative to “queer is self-defined” is “someone else gets to tell you whether you’re queer or not.” Which gives strangers permission to ask all sorts of invasive questions. (Especially if the given reason for defining queer is to keep people who aren’t queer out of queer spaces! That can only happen if you actually ask people coming into a space what they are!) There’s no way to define queer other than “someone who says they’re queer” or “someone who thinks they fit in with other queer people” that doesn’t open the door to those sorts of challenges.

And, in turn, to gatekeeping out people who might not be “queer enough” (ie, close enough to exclusively gay or lesbian) — in practice, trying to define queer leads to defining queer in a way that excludes aces or some trans people or all trans people or bi/pan people with opposite sex partners, or all of the above.

(Not entirely happy with how I’m using the term “sex” here, because I get “biological sex” can be a complex and very loaded concept for many trans people. If someone sees something they’re uncomfortable with and can suggest a better alt phrasing let me know.)

So, people tend to react to “queer shouldn’t be self-defined” in exactly the same way they’d respond to ace exclusionism or terf talk. Because...in practice, insisting queer has to have a fixed definition (or telling people to not use the word) tends to be round one of a game that ends with exactly those things. Even if you personally didn’t mean it that way, the rest of us don’t know that. We react to it like anti-racist activists respond to “All Lives Matter” — maybe it could be innocuous confusion, but it comes from a place of malice often enough that people do tend to assume malice.

Because the idea of fakers who are really straight infiltrating the community...that’s a terf idea and an exclusionist idea, and it doesn’t really fit with any robust and self-consistent understanding of queerness other than those ideologies.

#commenting on without reblogging #lgbtq+ #queer #queer gatekeeping #long post #you’re not really queer you’re actually just a straight person pretending to be queer #gets weaponized against actual queer people so often #it’s a bit like how if someone’s sitting in the disabled seating area on the bus #or using an accessible bathroom stall #you should just assume they have an invisible disability #becuade an abled person ‘getting away’ with that #is much less of a big deal than an invisibly disabled person #getting harassed yet again becuade they don’t look disabled #discourse

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update

I was just lying awake, listening to my cat kick off the day my crawling onto my nightstand and pushing all my pills and dice onto the floor, when it occurred to me that it’s been awhile since I did a reading update. and wouldn’t you know it, it’s been nearly a month since the last one! and I’ve been reading at warp speed since then, trying to get through a mildly anxiety-inducing pile of holds without having to return anything late, so let’s review:

Junk (Tommy Pico) - that’s right, ya boy took yet another stab at poetry. I was initially very daunted by Pico’s style, which is a single book-long stream of consciousness flow of poetry rather than a lot of individual poems split up and stitched together into a single collection, but it ended up pulling me in in a huge way. definitely a read that deserves time to sit quietly alone and absorb, at least for me, but in the end I liked it so much I immediately ran off to request more Tommy Pico be sent to the library posthaste. 

My Lady’s Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel (Kitty Curran and Larissa Zageris) - I wrote about it here, but the short version is that it’s fine, it’s fun, I’d probably nab more books like this, but it really could have used more gay.

Pleasure in the News: African American Readership and Sexuality in the Black Press (Kim T. Gallon) - EXTREMELY niche reading, and exactly my cup of tea as a sex educator whose research interests lie heavily in the “but how do we form our ideas about sexuality in the first place?” sphere. this book’s got a bit of everything - respectability politics, sensationalist reporting practices, and a surprisingly thorough look at how Black papers covered queer and gender nonconforming individuals.

The Collected Schizophrenias: Essays (Esmé Weijun Wang) - Wang is an extremely talented writer with a knack for explaining her own psychosis with delicate precision. I’ll freely admit I didn’t know much about schizophrenia prior to reading (and I still don’t, as one essay collection can hardly make one an expert) and I was continually surprised in a humbling way to realize how much I did not know and had truthfully failed to ever consider before. file firmly under “an emotionally difficult read, but extremely worthwhile if you’re up for it.”

The Song of Achilles (Madeline Miller) - I’m going to be unpopular (is this unpopular? I have no idea what the hot takes are in the Madeline Miller fandom, or even if such a thing exists) and say I did enjoy Circe more, but that’s not to say I didn’t like Song of Achilles - I read it exactly as quickly, in one breathless weekend during which I could not put the damn book down. your heart will be warm, and then filled with worry, and knowing how it ends will not save you from the impact.

Feed (Tommy Pico) - that’s right, Tommy Pico is back already! and I really don’t know how to explain my experience with this book other than to say I think I understood what a poet was doing, for the first time in my life, and it was all very funny/saucy/lonely/vulnerable/real in a way I have never personally gotten out of poetry. I’m considering buying a copy, and if you know anything about me and my book-buying practices you know that’s a rare feat indeed.

Stone Butch Blues (Leslie Feinberg) - this is maybe not the most intuitive comparison, but reading Stone Butch Blues felt a little like the 1972 film adaptation of Cabaret: it may not be the most #relatable lived experience, but there are enough common threads - capitalism bad, cops are bastards, Nazis need to get punched before they get too cocky - that it holds resonance. I wouldn’t classify either as, like, my favorite thing ever, but both have a lot of historical artistic value that I think is very worth engaging with. 

Are Prisons Obsolete? (Angela Y. Davis) - spoiler alert? yes. yes they are.

#bookblr #reading updates

[xfandomwritingsx]

And The Devil Makes Three – Billy Butcher

-gif source-

Description: Years after Butcher abandoned you, he finds out he left you with more than the thought he did.

Warnings/Labels: Angst. Heartbreak. If you’re looking for a happily ever after, this ain’t it. Mentions of sex and pregnancy. Reader has a named son.  

Approx. Word Count: 2,500

A/N: First, I SUCK at accents and dialect so just… forgive me for Butcher not sounding like Butcher. Second, there is so much history between these two that doesn’t get explained and I’m sorry because it would be like a 10k long story if I did that and I just… can’t do it right now. Maybe another time. Third, I need more Billy Butcher. NEED.

You had been washing the dishes on a fucking Wednesday afternoon when your doorbell rang. It was mundane. It was ordinary. It was how you liked it now. But then you opened that damn door and the floor about came out beneath you as your stomach plummeted and your blood burned.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The rage in your voice is clear as a bell. Billy fucking Butcher turns around to face you instead of the rag tag team of men on your doorstep. The faded look on his face is replaced with a forced smile as your eyes meet.

“Hello, love.”  

You slam the door in his face. You hear muffled voices through the door and then a delicate, but very persistent knocking on the wood.

“Please,” Frenchie calls from the other side. “We won’t be long! Just let us in and talk to us for a few minutes! That’s it. Then we’ll leave you alone.” His knocking continues through his entire plea. A mixture of inconvenient curiosity and concern of what your neighbors will think cause you to throw the door open again.

“Five minutes,” you snap at them before walking away from the door, leaving them to shuffle in behind you and follow you to your living room. “The hell are you doing here?” Your bitterness is aimed at Butcher and judging by the way he doesn’t meet your eyes, he knows it.

“We just need some information,” M.M. Speaks first, softly. There’s something about his tone that doesn’t quite sit well with you, like he’s afraid to speak to you. Sure, you weren’t exactly welcoming to them on your doorstep, but your grudge wasn’t with all of them. Just the one. “I know you got out of the game and you don’t want anything to with us, but we could use your help.” You scoff loudly and cross your arms over your chest just to make sure you didn’t punch anyone, specifically the asshole in the leather jacket, currently wandering aimlessly around your living room while the others stayed politely near you.  

“Is that what you told them?” you ask coldly. “That I left?” M.M. And Frenchie exchange a confused look before looking back at Butcher. You haven’t felt like this in years. You hate it.

“I told them you were out of the game and moving on.” He says it so plainly, like it was the whole truth and you snap.

“You left! You fucked me one night and the next morning you were just gone. Ghosted me with a half-assed note about how it was better this way or some shit!” You turn your attention back to M.M. and Frenchie. “He ever tell you that?” The shell shocked looks on their faces clearly say he did no such thing. “He decided I was out of the game. He kicked me to the curb.”

“Yeah well, looks like it worked out pretty well for ya, didn’t it?” You turn sharply to glare at him and see he’s got one of the photos that was on your mantle in his hand, holding it up for you to see. A cold dread rushes down your spine and your anger subsides for a moment.

In his hand is a photo of you and a young boy with dark hair that looks a little too much like the man standing in front of you. Butcher’s eyes are hard and unreadable. You wait for him to say something, to do anything just so you can move past the cold fear that’s slowly making you shrink down.

“Everyone get the fuck out now.” Your tone, though it waivers in the tiniest way, leaves no room for argument and the two men next to you seem ready to hang their heads and leave. But the new guy who followed them in, the doe-eyed young fella filled with optimism so sweet it makes you sick, steps towards you, briefly touching your elbow to bring your attention to him. You flinch at his touch and he withdraws quickly.

“Please, Miss…” he struggles to try and find your last name in his memory. He senses your impatience and moves on without it. “All we need is a name.”  

“Kid, I don’t know who you are, but you’re hanging with the wrong crowd.” His eyes drop to the floor, defeat slowly coming over him too. “My advice? Leave before he abandons you like a sick dog too.”  

“Told you she wasn’t gonna help,” Butcher says, an air of confidence in his voice that brings your anger flooding back over the fear. He gently puts the picture back and ushers all his boys back towards the front door.  

You don’t move from your spot, don’t walk them out, don’t do anything except stand there squeezing your arms over your chest and willing them all to go away. When you hear Butcher say, “I’ll follow in a minute,” your heart sinks. You don’t want to do this. Not now, not ever.  

His face is a stone when he stalks back into your living room, his own rage and confusion masked behind a blank expression that pierces through you. It threatens to make you feel guilty. You refuse to let him have that control over you, not anymore. You stare right back at him, waiting for his first move.

“How old is he?” There’s no question who he’s asking about

“It doesn’t matter.” You don’t have the patience to play dumb, but you’ll be damned if you make this easy on him. Your defiance breaks a little of his façade.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me,” he growls. “How old?”

“He turned three last month.” Your nails dig into the skin on your arm through the thin fabric of your sweater.

“Fucking hell!” He runs a hand over his face, his mind doing the quick and easy math to arrive at the answer he already knew. You let a little bit of your anger bubble past the surface.

“You don’t get to be fucking angry,” you snap at him. “You made your choice to walk away from me and anything and everything that came with me.”  

“It’s not like I knew you’d end up fucking pregnant!” He takes a step towards you and even though he’s still across the room from you, it feels like he’s too close. You finally release your arms, letting them flail up in an agitated fury.

“What difference does it make it if I ended up with a kid or not?”  

“He’s fucking mine, innit he?”

“No!” you scream at him, something within you snapping. Years of anger and resentment flooding out. “He’s mine. He is mine and no one else’s.” Your screaming drops to a deadlier tone. “I went through the pregnancy alone. I went through labor and nearly dying when I gave birth alone. I did the sleepless nights, the diaper changes, my fucking recovery, his entire three years of life all alone. He is mine.” You point your finger into your chest even though the emphasis is unneeded. Your fingers on your other hand have curled into a fist, squeezing into a white knuckled grip around themselves.  

“He’s got my blood,” Butcher says slowly. You shake your head.

“That doesn’t make you his father.”

“Legally, sweetheart, it does.” He tilts his head and that sickly sweet, better-than-you voice he uses makes you bark out a bitter laugh.  

“What, Butch?” you ask, utterly amused. “Are you going to take me to court?” He flinches back just the slightest bit and it gives you a sick twist of pleasure. “Want to stand in front of a judge and explain why your lifestyle is so conducive to raising a child?”

“Yeah well maybe it coulda been had I fucking known.” His eyes are still hard and angry, but they falter and look away from you for just a moment.

“I saved you,” you tell him slowly. “I saved you the struggle and the guilt of saying you’re going to be there for us and then not following through because you can’t let go of your crusade. I saved him a lifetime of where’s daddy? and why isn’t daddy here?” You feel the sadness creeping back in and the tears you thought were over years ago start to well back up, your heart breaking all over again. “I saved him from looking out a window, watching you leave and wondering why he isn’t good enough for you.”  

There’s a short silence where his eyes soften and you know your words hurt him. Not because they’re mean, but because they’re true. His eyes keep flitting to the pictures in the room, looking at the boy he doesn’t know. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

“You didn’t even give me the choice.” It sounds more pained than he meant it to, his anger melting away.  

“Kind of like how you didn’t give me a choice in leaving?” There’s still a little bite in your voice, but you try to subdue it. “What did you want me to do? Call the phone you’d already ditched? Go to the safe house you’d already burned? Did that.” You pause, considering if you should tell him the next bit. You feel yourself starting to tremble and without thinking about it, you find yourself walking towards him. “You think I should have tracked you down? I did.” Your voice is much softer now as you get closer. “I had your confirmed location in one hand and a pregnancy test in the other.” You put your hands out as if you’re still holding those items and the emotions of that day come flooding back. “And the moment that stick read positive, it was over. I threw out that piece of paper with your address on it and I never looked back.” You feel tears spill onto your cheeks and you try to not break down. Butcher won’t look at you, actively keeping his eyes anywhere else. “Tell me I made the wrong choice,” you whisper, not even sure what kind of reaction you’re hoping for.  

“What’s his name?” he asks instead, his own voice quiet. You roll your eyes and shrug your shoulders.

“Why?” You hate how defeated you sound. “What does it matter?” He clenches at your words and he rolls his neck in the smallest circle before looking back to you.

“C’mon, just…” he starts harshly, but falters when he sees you. His hand reaches up and his thumb strokes across the tear streak on your cheek. “Just give me that?” There’s a desperation in his voice that makes you ache.

“Ollie,” you finally tell him. “Short for Oliver.” His brow furrows and his lips tilt up in just the slightest way. When you involuntarily smile, you realize his hand is still hovering near your face. “I remembered you liked that name.” He sighs, giving in and letting his hand cradle your cheek gently. You want to push him away, but instead you find yourself melting into his touch.

“You’re such a bitch.” It’s said without malice and he stops trying to withhold his smile.

“So are you,” you say without missing a beat. He leans in to be closer to you and your hands find the edges of his leather coat, the zipper teeth biting into your hands.  

“I do miss that spitfire mouth of yours,” he admits.

You hate how much you miss him, how easily he can make you want to forget every awful thing he’s ever done. You told yourself for years that what you had was a one-night stand, that neither of you cared for the other. And then he shows up and unravels the delusion you held onto in order to keep yourself sane.  

“Why’d you do it, Billy?”  It’s the question that’s been burning at the back of your throat since he left. He grimaces and lowers his eyes to the floor.

“You needed out. You were ready to move on from all of it.” He leans down further, presses his forehead to yours and groans. “But you weren’t gonna leave me. And you… God dammit, you deserved more.” He pulls himself away from you and leaves the space in front of you cold. He starts pacing your living room again, footsteps heavy. “You wanted the white picket fence bullshit. And I wanted ya to have it.” He stops, facing away from you and brings his hand over his face. “I didn’t intend on fucking ya.” There’s an honesty there that you know he doesn’t like showing. “I was going to say goodnight and leave your room and just be gone. But then…”

But then you had grabbed his hand and asked if everything was alright and before you knew it, his lips were crashing down to yours and you were both tumbling back into your motel bed, years of bottled up passion and feelings pouring out. It had been the happiest you had felt in years. Until you woke up the next morning and it all came crashing down.

“Do you regret it?” you ask softly. “Any of it?” He pauses before answering, approaching your mantle once more.  

“Do you?” The bastard could never just answer a question. His fingers trace a frame that’s holding a picture of Ollie’s school picture.

“I don’t regret him.” It’s not a direct answer but it needs to be said. He nods firmly to himself before turning away and walking back towards your front door.

“They’re waiting on me,” he says gruffly, a flimsy excuse to make his exit. You follow him this time, not wanting him to leave yet.

“Butcher,” you stop him with his hand on the knob, but you can’t think of a single thing to say. There’s really nothing more left to discuss. It’s not like he’s going to stay and you sure as shit aren’t going to ask him to. So you sigh and ask instead, “What information did you guys need?” He puts his fake smile back on.

“Don’t worry about it, love.” He straightens out and his eyes clear, slipping back into business. “I told ‘em not to come here anyways. Was still trying to push them off your porch when you answered the door.”

“Look, if it’ll help you finish all of this then I’ll give you the information I have.” You shrug casually, but he sees right through it and catches that hopeful glint behind it. He shrinks again and his voice gets low, regretful.

“You know when this is finished… I probably won’t still be around.” You press your lips together and nod, the hope squashed right out of you. He was going to finish this plan even if it killed him. And it probably would. Watching the ground, you hear him open the front door. “Take care of the little bugger. I’ll make sure no one comes to bother you again.”

And just like that, he’s gone again, leaving you just as alone as he did last time.

#billy butcher imagine #billy butcher #the boys #the boys imagine