#ftm reader insert fic

“You don’t need to be jealous, I only have eyes for blondes in their fifties. With nicotine problems.” You're practically salivating for the nurse, it’s your mid shift time to make heart eyes at her.

Dana laughs, you love her laugh. It’s contagious, a little snorting mixed with a heavy giggle. God this woman was carved by Roman Gods. 

You swear you see a blush, but maybe it was the sweltering heat. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking in the ED.

She eyes you in that way, and the other nurses snicker and giggle at this dance you two do. Every shift you put on a show for them, sorta like a peacock would. Ruffling your feathers by the nurses' station, trying to get one specific bird to take the bait. 

Evans gives you the same old response. 

“I’m old, I’ve got no room to clean up another toilet for a man who can’t aim.” She smirks, and you gawk at her.

“Dana Evans, light of my life! You know I have indoor plumbing! Darlin, I only ever sit to pee! And I know my way around a toilet brush, too!” You flirt harder, clutching your heart like she’s struck it with Cupid’s arrow.

The women combust around her with laughter, and she glares at you.

It feels like the scene in Grease, it’s performative, but in the work you all do. Sometimes everyone needs a little stress relief. 

And the nurses work so hard, the least you can do is make them laugh. They deserved far better, better treatment from the hospital and patience. 

But you could supply them some extra energy drinks, a helping hand, some god dman ‘thank you’s.’ And every now and then, a few chuckles. 

But you weren’t doing it all selflessly; you wanted Dana Evans. 

Not like a notch in your belt kinda way. 

Nah, as you eye the way she’s smiling at you, you feel it in your bones. 

You wanted Dana to tug your hair so hard while you went down on her, you’d need plugs. 

The dirty ways you’d make love to this woman would be enough for her to need to call out of work. 

Dana seems to read your mind because she takes a rubber glove out of a box just to slingshot it at your face. 

It hits you in the cheek, and you don’t flinch, winking at her. 

“Down boy,” Dana tells you, but her eyes say something different. 

“Dana, when will you let me take you to the moon, huh?” You ask, unmoving from your spot in front of the station. 

“Trauma incoming!” Robby yells your way, and you slowly walk backwards, still looking at her for an answer. 

“When pigs fly!” Dana shouts, and you play hurt once more.

“I’ll get on it!” You answer, then rush over to the gurney, coming in with rebar, stepping out of the shoulder of a forty-year-old with a colorful vocabulary. 

The next four hours are a blur, a lot of blood, a lot of strange conversations. A strange color of pus that squirted on Whittaker's face, that was fun. 

It’s only when you're charting and Robby is staring at the screen, trying to figure out who to kick out of a bed next. So that the dance of musical chairs could continue. 

That Dana moves to him, and the two start covering rooms, and you get your chance. 

You reach into your pocket to the origami you’d made while waiting for the X-rays to come back. 

It was a sticky note you’d folded perfectly into a small pig. 

You whistle, and both Robby and Dana look at you, sort of offended that’s how you asked for their attention. 

Then you threw the paper onto the computer before them. 

“What is this doctor?” Robby asked, and Dana snorted realizing right away. 

“That’s a flying pig.” You answered, and Langdon grabbed it as he walked around them. 

“Wow, this is really cool, did you make this?” He picked it up, obviously wanting to keep it for his son. 

“Yeah, just proving a point.” You eyed Dana, who shook her head.

“Which is? You need to be spending your time on shift more wisely?” Robby asked, already done with your shit for the shift.

“That all men are horn dogs, no matter the chromosome,” Dana answered for you, and walked away. 

“You guys having trouble in paradise?” Langdon asked, and Robby just walked away with an amused look. 

“It’s the long game, my friend.” You answered back and checked the computer for the notification on test results. 

Few hours go by and you finally got to pee. Making sure to take your time to sit and enjoy the tiny break. 

But it was short-lived, you’d just flushed when the sound of the door almost breaking from a body entering it had you jump. 

“FUCKKK!” Dana screams and you open the stall and see her freaking out. 

“Is now a bad time to tell you this is the men's room?” You say, and she’s pacing back and forth and back and forth. 

So you take this moment as a good time to tie the strings of your scrubs and walk out of the stall. 

You eye her from the reflection of the mirror, sorta like you would if a jungle cat were in your habitat.

You pushed your hand under the soap dispenser and tried not to stare. The water faucet splashed in the porcelain.

“He called me too old! He thought he could grab- and I’m old no one wants! Ha! You want me!” Dana yells, and you’re trying to put together the story but you don’t have all the pieces. 

“Dana?” Your voice cracks at this opportune minute and she turns to you. 

Full heat in her stare. 

“You want me! You flirt with me every shift god damn it! I’m not some wrinkled up saggy- fuck him!” Dana cuts herself off, and you wave your hand over the paper towels, and it makes a sad robotic noise. 

“Dana did someone-” You fear the stupid person who instigated this wrath. 

“You want me! It’s not just-I mean I see the way you look at me when I’m smoking a cigarette!” Dana rambles, and you aren’t sure where this is going. 

“Yeah, I do.” you start to agree, throwing the paper towel away and facing her now. 

“I’m hot! I still got it!” Dana’s posture and hand throwing is sorta terrifying but you wouldn’t disagree. 

“Absolutely.” You answer honestly. 

“That’s fine, yeah! I mean-fuck take your shirt off!” Dana yells at you and your face moves to the lock on the door, seeing she had flicked it. Not aware it was the men's bathroom, but clear she needed a minute. 

“Uh-” You say awkwardly, not sure if this was-

“Take your shirt off, we’re gonna fuck.” Dana tells you and your body temperature skyrockets. 

“We are?” You ask a follow-up, unsure of what midnight wet dream you’d just walked into. 

“Yes, we are!” Dana says with enough fury from whatever had just happened. 

You hesitate for only a second before you lift your scrub top off and set it on the counter, and then your tank top, and you hear a groan and stop. 

“What? What is it?” You worry, thinking maybe it was your surgery scars but it wasn’t at all. 

“You look like that! Fuck youth is wasted on the yong, put your head back.” Dana says, and you’re confused, eyebrows furrowed. 

But she walks forward and pushes your chin back, her cold fingers run down your throat. 

Then down to your collar bones, her hands were strong and sure, and you weren’t sure what this was anymore. 

“Is this a physical?” You try to joke, and her hands go to your traps then to your deltoids. 

Enjoying you with a more hands-on approach. 

“You’ve got more muscles than before.” Dana’s voice drops a little and you try not to move, or flex under her curious hands. 

“Yeah-I uh started to work out after work,” you say conversationally. Not sure where your confidence had gone. 

You're under the fluorescent lights in a bathroom, not exactly what you thought would be how you first got to touch Dana. 

That was a lie; this was making you nervous because you’d only ever fucked women your age. And being shirtless in front of Dana felt like the major leagues. 

“Can I touch you now?” You try to make it sound light. 

“No,” Dana answers, and you realize she’s enjoying herself. 

Your eyes move to see the way her focus is solely on your arms, her hands move down to caress your biceps, and you swear you’ll work out twice as hard if she likes you like this. 

“Dana?” You ask as her finger followed the vein in your forearm like it had gold at the end of it. 

“You’re pretty.” She whispered, and you tried not to twitch under her focus. 

“So are you. Can I move now?” You ask, and all the anger was leaving her body now that you were offering yourself up. 

“I-I’m not as young as you, and I don’t look like all that under my scrubs, kid.” Dana laughs and you don’t like that. 

You move your arm out and cup her face, something inside of her melts. 

All that toughness finally put aside, Dana can let someone else drive for a moment. 

“I’m going to kiss you, don’t hit me.” You tell her, and her face turns up to you, ready to be adored. 

You won’t make her wait; you kiss her with everything you’ve got and she moans, and her lips open immediately. 

Her tongue tastes like peppermint from her mints and desperation, you understand the feeling. 

You turn her body as you keep moving against her lips with fever, and Dana’s trying to pierce your skin. Her hands move to your shoulders, and her nails make little crescent moon indents on you. 

You pushed the head nurse against the counter, and she made a little noise in surprise. 

That was fine, Dana could be held for a change, maybe that was all she’d needed. 

You kiss down her bottom lip, then moved bolding to her jaw line and pepper kisses.

“Fuck I haven’t been touched like this in-” Dana stops herself, trying to remember and unable to. 

“Take your scrubs off.” You say, as you move to her neck and she grabs you by your neck like a thing she can manhandle and pulls you off her. 

“Not when you look like that, not in this light, forget it, bub.”

“Dana, take your bottoms off, how about that?” You try as her hand is just a little tension away from choking you. 

Dana’s hold twitches, and her eyebrows lift, and then she lets out a little chuckle. 

“Here?” The nurse asks, and you want to slap everyone she’s ever fucked. 

“Yeah, right here, I want to taste you.” You say stronger this time, and Dana smiles widely. So you reach out and untie her string and drop her scrub bottoms. 

She’s got work underwear on, they’re cotton and dark blue, you pull them down and lean her lightly against the counter. Putting the clothes in a bunch to the side, not wanting to take her sneakers off, tough times come for touch measures it seems. 

“You’re gonna-Oh.” Dana’s voice gives out as you drop to your knees and you kiss just above her clit, enjoying the bit of pubic hair. 

Your chin brushes against the nub; you’re being a gentleman, giving respect before you eat. 

“You’re really going to-” Dana says again but now you’re pulling her lips open and licking long strokes. 

“OH, GOD!” Dana’s hands reach out to stop herself from falling. She slaps the side of the paper towel machine so hard it starts to dispense rapidly. 

Her other hand goes to steady herself against the wall and mirror but she’s unable. 

You let your tongue roughly rub up and down, then circle around her clit. 

Enjoying her flavor, the vanilla in her body wash, the slight sweat. The musky flavor mixed with something spicy. Fuck you tried to look up at her only to see Dana’s lips trembling as she watched you. 

“Good boy, fuck oh god yes! Oh I should have let you before!” The head nurse shrieks and you don’t breathe, you push your face further into her folds until your tongue goes into her tight cunt. 

She bucks against your face, smearing her arousal across your nose and cheeks. 

“FUCK ME! OH GOD YES! DON’T STOP!”

A knock on the door is loud, and you hear Robby asking for you by first name. 

“OCCUPODO!” Dana shouts, and you laugh only for her to grab you by your hair and jerk you back to work. 

“Hurry up, God I’m so close. I need it.” Dana tells you, and you know she’s got to get back out there, and so do you. 

So you go in for the intense sucking and licking over and under her clit not letting her hood come back and Dana’s knees almost give out completely. 

As she falls forward, you stand and grab her by the backs of her knees and shift her weight onto her ass on the counter. 

Spreading her legs as you fuck Dana like this is the only chance your tongue will ever get. 

“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!”Dana shouts, and you make a slurping noise as you bob your head a little to stimulate her clit even more. 

Dana panics and grabs your shoulder to push you away, but you don’t move. 

Knowing before she did what would happen next.

“OH FUCK I’M GOING TO SQUIRT,” Dana shouted, unbelieving she was about to actually do it. 

But your fingers move to her cunt, and you finger fuck her harder and don’t let up on her bundle of nerves. 

Sure enough, she gushes, power washer type of squirt.

It hits your chin, your neck, your chest, super soaks down onto your scrub bottoms and you keep swallowing. 

Wanting to not waste a drop, and only when her whole body goes lax do you finally let go.

Dana shudders at the new cold air hitting her cunt where your hot mouth had just been. 

You raise up in between her legs, and she grabs your jaw with her hand from underneath and you lick your lips. 

“You’re dangerous, you know that.” Dana tells you, but her eyes roll back and she’s riding her aftershocks. 

“Whatever you say, Mommy.” You smirk, soaked in her juices. 

“Fuck you, you think you can call me that just because you made me cum?” Dana asks open her eyes to glare at you and you twist to kiss her palm. 

“I can do it again, you need more Mommy?” You flirt harder and Dana actually shivers and you realize she doesn’t hate the nickname as much as she might want you to believe. 

“You think you can make me cum again, do you?” Dana wants you to try.

You nod confidently and your hand still in her cunt curls against her g-spot and Dana’s body lifts off the counter into your chest. 

“I think you should let me come over after our shift.”

“What makes you think I’d allow that?” Dana fights back, but her face is closer to yours now. 

“HEY, WE HAVE AN ED TO RUN OUT HERE!” Robby yell and pounds on the door again. 

Dana groans and tries to sit up but you don’t let her move, staying between her legs. 

“Let me come over after work.” You insist and she glares at you, but her mouth is still smirking. You remove your hands from her wet hole.

“You just want to say you’ve fucked a MILF is that it?” Dana’s own fears are clear now and you shake your head. 

“I want you to keep me.” You say so fast that you can’t realize how silly it sounds, but she arches an eyebrow. So you guessed it wasn’t the wrong sentence. 

Then Dana’s confidence comes back, and she reaches down and cups your sex annd you just about howl in need.

“You need a Mommy, huh?” Dana asks, her breath tickling against your still arousal-soaked lips and chin. 

“Please,” you beg and she rubs your clit through the cum soaked scrubs. Her squirt drying sticky to your chest. 

“You think you can be my boy?” Dana asks and you moan and she pinches your clit through the fabric and you shuder and buck - mouth falling open. 

“You’ll cum that easy huh, baby boy?” Dana laughed and you tried to chase her hand only for Robby to pound on the door so hard that neither of you could ignore him this time. 

“HEY! DON’T MAKE ME GET THE KEY! THIS AIN’T SOME MOTEL YOU KNOW!” The angry doctor wasn’t going to ask again. 

“BE RIGHT OUT! DON’T GET YOUR PANTIES IN A WOD!” Dana yells back, and you make a sad noise when her hand leaves. 

“Be ready by my car at 8 pm or I’m using my vibrator, and you’re sleeping on the floor,” Dana tells you and pecks you on the lips before pushing you back and standing, dressing herself as you stood there, soaked in her cum, still shirtless. 

You beam at her, happier than ever. Dana washes her hands and leaves you there like a good boy, flipping the lock and eying you. 

“You got me on you right-” Dana points to her own cheek to show you. You move your hand to it, and she laughs at you.

Then leaves the bathroom, making it clear you would have to do the dirty walk to get new scrubs. While the whole ED would know you were on your knees. 

You didn’t care; you couldn’t wait until 8. 

“Can you switch me that day?” You ask Santos, and she fixes you with an interested look over her monitor screen.  

You knew better than to ask any work friend a favor while they were charting.

“Does this have anything to do with why you humped and dumped Al-Hashimi?” She tries and you blush.

Word traveled fast in this ER, and lies moved even quicker.

“We never- we haven’t, no!” You stutter hating yourself already.

You sounded guilty. Not able to even blame the testosterone for how your body was responding. The pain in your privates a sort of half boner mixed with uncomfortable gush.

“Damn, you guys didn’t even sleep together?” Javadi adds and you twist to see her interest peaked at the nurses station. Gossip caused even Princess to pause and type slower.

You try not to touch the beard hair on your chin anxiously. 

But you were currently a bug under a microscope.

“This is an HR complaint waiting to happen. No, no I’m not sleeping with a senior-“ 

“Citizen.” Santos giggles and Whittaker pipes up while he ate at the desk.

“Al-Hashimi isn’t that old.”

“Gay boy only said that because hes fucking someone twice as old.” Santos adds so fast you almost forget your own drama.

“You and Robby?” You ask and he doesn’t meet your glance.

Damn you hoped you didn’t look that pathetic.

“It ain’t against the rules to have a sex life kiddo.” Dana walks around you and you are sure you can’t be more embarrassed.

But the blonde’s already gone so you can’t give her any sass in return. 

You make tiny fists and try to detangle this mess.

“Dr Al-Hashimi is a great doctor and mentor, it would be inappropriate-“ you say the rehearsed lines.

“Lame.” Santos and Javadi say at the same time and you groan.

“A yes or no is fine, can someone change shifts on Friday or not?” 

Mohan and Cassie walk over discussing a patient just in time to chime in with the rest of the doctors;

“Not.” They all say unhelpful.

You let your head thunk onto the wall.

“I’ll remember this when you guys ask me.” You add but turn away before you hear the witty comeback and laughs.

It’s three hours into your shift before you're brought back from the masses coming through the waiting room.

Al-Hashimi has a trauma coming in and you are told by Dana all hands on deck.

So you're on the roof covered and visor on, when you twist to see Baran.

Her lipstick was dark but faded from working a double.

Her curls still bounce over her shoulder, you have about a foot on her.

But she holds herself so confidently that you feel inferior in every way next to her on this rooftop.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Baran adds and you wish the helicopter would hurt up.

“Not sure if-“ you say too quickly and Baran interjects again.

“Night shift, you put in a request to transfer? What, you think you’re just so adorable I can’t help myself? That I’ll climb you or something?” Baran teases and you actually consider going back down the elevator and checking yourself in.

“I just figured- I mean it could be awkward.” You start up again and Baran scoffs.

“I have been turned down before, and I didn’t do anything outlandish. I think at the age of 40 I’ll be able to hold back. You won’t be corned in a parkinglot or anything.” She jokes again and you hate how charismatic you find the doctor.

“Someone’s turned you down before?” Your voice cracks and Baran actually has the nerve to giggle.

“No, not once I hit puberty. Pretty sure after that boys and girls all fell to my boobs.” Baran adds and you don’t see the lie.

Your eyes fall down to her scrubs and Baran makes a risking noise like ‘gotcha’

“So it’s not the physical connection then.” Baran adds turning back to the helipad.

“What?” 

“Well you had me confused at first. I mean you look ready to rub yourself against my leg everytime we are on shift. It’s not the age thing, because I heard you and Dana had a thing four Christmas parties ago.” 

Your eyes bulge.

“What?” You blurt out in a screech and Baran just seems tickled.

“Don’t worry, I asked permission first. Never mess with a nurse, but she said it was the best kiss she’d ever had. But she found girls are more her style now.” Baran says and the helicopter starts to whip the air around to make her shout.

Al-Hashimi walks into danger first as you shout after her “MEN AND WOMEN?”

Four hours later you're covered in blood changing out of your scrubs. 

You don’t think it’ll take long, you hesitate to walk to the bathroom, figuring you could slip behind a privacy curtain and get the job done.

You’ve dropped your drawers around your ankles when you hear your name being called and Santos yanking the curtain back.

No.

Javadi, McKay, and the new bambi like nurse around her. 

You shriek an undignified noise, and the girls all let out a giggle.

McKay stares at the bulge in your cartoon themed boxer briefs. Trying to remember the last time she saw a bulge at all. 

While Javadi covers her eyes but then opens them a crack to look down at your tube socks pulled up your calves like some 80s horror movie. 

Your hand goes to cover your crotch, imaging even the packer is shy at this. The poor silicone wanting to shrivel in fear.

“GET OUT!” You yell, only for other people to gawk around you.

“Damn, is that you flaccid?" Santos asks and quickly pulls out her phone taking photos.

You yank the curtain and die of mortification.

“Nice undies doctor! What’s your” Santos adds and you wonder if you can go home early from humiliation.

You walk out in the new dark scrubs and try to ignore the whispers and giggles. 

You help more patients and by the time night crew comes in your charting ignoring everyone.

Abbot clocks you, eyeing Dana who shakes her head but he confidently strides up to you.

You don’t look at him. 

“Hey buddy, I heard you showed off those thick thighs we been workin on.” Jack adds, and you don’t look up. He’d been your gymp buddy everyday for the past year, helping you beef up. Jack said it was great for his mental health, but it felt like he needed a hobby that didn’t involve getting shot. 

And you needed someone who believed in you. 

“Santos put photos of me in my boxer in the break room like it’s wallpaper.” You add, grumpy as all hell. 

Jack bristles, his jaw clenching, he knew - but Santos didn’t. 

“That’s fucked-” He’s instantly in your corner and you look at him shaking your face. 

But he twists with his backpack and heads for the break room to see sure enough your hairy thighs and bulge. 

“He sure likes Garfield, huh?” Ogalvie adds snickering as Baran opens the door to see that yes - the rumors were true. 

“What the hell is this?” She shouts circling both Jessie, Ogalvie, and Mohan. Princess is snickering until she sees the look on the senior attendings face. 

“He’s a grower and a shower then?” Mohan jokes towards the nurses only to want to swallow her tongue as soon as the room grew cold. 

“Who did this?” Al-hashimi’s voice raises and people outside the glass stop to see it. 

“Hey! This isn’t funny!” Jack adds opening the door to yell at the floor. 

Dana takes off her glasses and you want to be swallowed whole by the desk. 

“Someone come forward!” The charge nurse adds but no one moves.

“Take it down, take it down now.” Baran tells icy to the group of people staring. 

It’s terrifying and everyone scatters.

You stand up from your spot and walk towards your patient, the ED begins to stir again. 

You work two hours over your shift, and the jokes are endless. First they are Garfield related, lasagna and mondays. Then about how those boxers must have meant you ate a lot of pussy. 

Then it was basic and dick related. 

Meat in the lasagna, sausage in your scrubs and so on and so forth. 

The jokes were mostly good natured, and you knew it would die out. 

But as you walked by the nurses station you saw the security white board with a drawing of Garfield and a poll for inches. 

“Are they, um trying to figure out how bit my dick is?” You twist to ask Perlah who snorts and looks. 

“I think it’s up to five hundred, you out of here?” Perlah asked and you turned to her. 

“I think so, I’m done charting, just need to check with-” Jack scares you by clamping a hand down on your shoulder. 

“Hey, you going home?” He says, not looking through the window at the expo markers.

“I keep hoping this is one of those nightmares and I’ll wake up and it’ll all be over.” You say to him and Jack’s gentle face falls with sadness. 

But you push past him, not really feeling like talking much about it anymore. 

You clock out and avoid saying goodbye, just heading upstairs to your old jeep.  Throwing your bag in the back you clock  Baran with her headphones in heading towards you. 

She’s not wearing scrubs anymore, her hair is wild and the way the moonlight hits her makes you stare. 

Baran must feel your eyes because her eyes meet you and your heart skips a beat. 

Her smile is all knowing, kind in ways your soul hasn’t ever witnessed. 

You lift your hand up, awkward and unsure you waive. 

Baran does you one better, she takes the headphones off and makes her way to your beat up car. 

The bumper is gone, and the paint is chipped, and Baran doesn’t pay it a second glance. 

You’d assumed she would turn away from things that were different. You’re realizing you assumed a lot about her.

“You okay?’ Baran asks and you realize that no one this shift had taken the time to ask you questions. Once your boxer were the joke of the shift, you’d tried to take it on the chin. 

Like just ‘guys being guys’ and you’d shut down so completely that you’d forgotten yourself. 

“I’m not big, I mean-my dick isn’t…” You gulp and then look down at your shoes. That wasn’t what you should say to your attending, jesus you were stupid. 

“Show me?” Baran asks, it’s so easy that you actually double take. 

“What-”

Baran smirks then looks behind her as if to check if anyone could see you two in the dark parking lot. 

Placing her fingers against your collarbone she backs you both up to where the car door is still open. 

You stumble into your back seat and sort of crawl backwards, Baran climbs into the car with you and you’re sure this is a dream now. 

Because she’s pulling your jeans down and seeing those stupid garfield boxers, and then she’s got her fingers on the elastic band and you grab her hand hard. 

Baran stops and waits for you, you try to remember that Baran is…Bisexual? Fuck no one prepared you for this shit. How to navigate sexuality and gender. 

Baran’s curls fall from her shoulders and she waits. 

You drop your hand and hold onto the side of the car behind your head. 

“It’s not…I’m not-”

The older woman breaths out softly and you feel like you might shatter if she looks disappointed at you. 

But Baran’s fingers are soft for a surgeon, but sure. You should have given her more credit. 

The woman was so fucking smart, you have to let go at some point, that was love right?

Baran’s fingers curl under the band, finding how warm your skin was, the top of your pubic hair tickling her knuckles. 

“You seem big to me,” Baran tells you and then pushes your cotton shirt up, and leans down to kiss your hairy stomach. 

Your lips break open into a smile, no one has kissed your stomach since- god since someone had promised to love you. 

Baran’s other hand cupped at the toy in your underwear and you panicked, thinking how she might realize here, now - that it wasn’t real. 

That it was too soft, too squishy and- it wasn’t hot and hard, wasn’t real.

Baran didn’t react though, instead she slowly pulled the Garfield boxers down to your knees, letting the toy sit on your pubic mound like it was whipped cream on top. 

“Baran-” You gasp, your pussy wet and now in the open air of your car. 

The senior attending looked up at you from her dark eyelashes and your mouth went dry. 

The last of her lipstick smeared on your stomach as she trailed kisses down, lower, lower. 

Oh fuck.

Your hips lifted and Baran’s hot breath made you clench, how could you not?

“You seem pretty big to me baby boy.” She tells you and you moan out, your head thrasing back as you do your best not to hump up. 

Baran has her own ideas of what this car romp entails, as the backseat is no place to make love for the first time. But she’s done waiting for you to realize how good you two were together. 

The older doctor isn’t waiting, her lips move down your caught off guard at a new kind of wetness. 

Your face craning down to see that yes, Baran had spit on your packer. It was dribbling to the sides as she played with the shaft. 

Up and down, it wasn’t attached - but your body sure as shit didn’t know that. 

You moaned and Barans watched how your mouth fell open and you pant with need. 

She’s got your cock in her hand like it’s always been hers. 

“Plea-” you pant out and Baran’s other hand reaches down to your thick clit. Testosterone has made it grow, causing pains and erections that made no sense to your psyche or night cycles. 

Her fingers wrapped around it just as she did the toy. In unison she pumped you up and down, letting her thumb swirl over the tip. 

The tendons in your thighs clench down in pain, your chest rises and falls faster. 

“Baran I-” You shiver as your arousal rolls down her fingers and she pinches down harder. 

You can’t breathe, your orgasm is so close, and all she’s down is play with your packer and torture your t-dick like it was sa stressball. 

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you? Hmm baby? You were wrong, you’re nice and big. And you’re going to behave for me? No more running, you’ll be so good for me. I own this cock don’t I?” Baran tells you, her voice thicker and deeper than before and you’re nodding and whimpering pathetic. 

“You’re gonna come home with me big boy? Be mine?” Baran asks you again and you’re practically drooling as her thumb nail teases under your hood and you think you’ve reached a new state of desire. 

“Everynight.” You pant back honestly and Baran likes that. 

She’s going to teach you so much. 

Leaning down Baran licks the underside of your packer and you cry out. 

“We are extremely inclusive here, as you can see. By our clear token hire.” Principal Ava boasted like she was the most progressive. In a public school, in Philly you suppose maybe your being hired was novel.

You’d hoped none of the staff would dwell on this one little fact about you.

The camera swung to you in the break room.

“Stop calling him that.” Barba snapped, as your shoulders curled as if you could hide yourself and your lunch.

“It’s offensive, and that’s coming from the gay hire.” Jacob adds mid bite, coffee stain on his own papers as he sat at the opposite table.

You tried to ignore the cameras and focus on your notebook with the lesson plan. But Ava kept speaking, and you slunk even further in your seat. Desperate to melt into the disgusting floor.

“You will recognize him from my TikToks. We hired an attractive trans man who’s yummy! But I didn’t say that cuz I’m in love yal.” Ava adds and cups her heart, and then poses for the camera.

“This feels wrong,” Janine said to Gregory who was eyeing the camera, uncomfortable as ever. “Should we do something?”

You grabbed your stuff, slung your bag over your shoulder, stuffing the papers under your arm and taking the black coffee with you.

You slipped out the door just as Melissa entered the break room, stopping just by you, a little closer than she’d allow many to stand near.

“Hey Buzz where off to at this hour? Not doing your second cup of too much sugar, not enough coffee, are you?” The red head teased but you shook your head and moved away from the door.

Making a mad dash into the hall and away from the lights and cameras.

“What did you do to him? He’s the nicest hire we’ve ever had and you go scarin’ em! AYE! GET THOSE CAMERAS OUT OF MY FACE BEFORE I TURN YE INTO POLPETTONE!” Melissa shouts so loud you hear it at the end of the hallway.

Already imagining what Jeanine's face is doing at that offended scowl. The definition of a teacher's pet even after she became one.

But you won’t slow down, you open your door and enjoy the comfort of silence.

Your cartoon sneakers squeaking as you round your desk. Your eyeglasses hang from the cream thermal you're wearing. And luckily its too early for anyone to need you. Dropping the thick stack of papers and notes for this week. You're careful not to bump the Pixar memorabilia figurines off the top of your desk, or the long luscious plants you’d had since your first day of teaching six years ago. The vines are thick and love your newest classroom.

You take the corded headphones hanging on your shoulder and put them in your ears.

Enjoying the beats of ABBA, you shoulder the window a little too hard and it works. The pop is satisfying. The frame bending just enough for you to jack it open.

It was humid as all Hell this summer, and as June heat hit your windows like a greenhouse. You tried to enjoy the small movement of air, as the morning noises bumbled outside.

Your smile curled as ABBA’s Chiquitita swelled from the headphones into your system.

Chiquitita, you and I know

How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leavin'

You'll be dancin' once again and the pain will end

You will have no time for grievin'

Chiquitita, you and I cry

But the sun is still in the sky and shinin' above you

Let me hear you sing once more like you did before

Sing a new song, Chiquitita

You hum and even sway a little as you dance out the bad feelings, you couldn’t let the kids feel what you just went through. It wasn’t their fault.

Being a transgender teacher didn’t change your mission, if anything it made it all the more important.

No kid left behind in the public school system, not on your watch. You weren’t as perky as Janine, but you certainly understood the hustle. You’d been bulled through your whole life for being born wrong. Now that you realized you hadn’t been, that there was beauty in hormones and gender euphoria. Finding yourself on a different path then others. That was all okay.

Now you wouldn’t let another kid walk around with that kind of weight on their backs.

So you hung equal signs, and made after school hobby groups, you bought with your tiny paycheck art supplies. And you wouldn’t give up on those little faces that you saw every morning.

So you danced it out as you passed out packets to start the kids off with some fun word puzzles to learn keyterms for this week. On the whiteboard you drew Woody and Buzz jumping together over the math question for the day.

And even went as far as to sing as you swayed and created your own dopamine.

Oblivious to the red headed teacher who was twice your age smirking as she watched you enamored.

Yeah sure you were younger, but Melissa had tried to talk herself out of her feelings.

Seeing you dance like a goofball in your classroom, with your adult buzzlightyear shoes. Those tight jeans hugging that sweet ass, damn you were the kind of snack Melissa couldn’t ignore.

And she loved your humor, your smile, the way you taught kids long division way before the requirement. The way you stayed after school and worked with Malcom with his dyslexia. All of it, Melissa saw you.

Not as the trans hire, or some way for Ava to make new followers on instagram. No, Melissa saw how you put that smile on. How your glass half full attitude wasn’t easy, wasn’t a crusade or special pill. You didn’t have Janine annoying energy.

You were trying to make this school better, without changing the foundations of it. You did it in a million small silent ways.

Melissa Schementi was absolutely sold by your charm.

And as you pushed your nerdy glasses up your nose and squinted at the board, Melissa had to remove herself from the thin window at your door as to not drool in hall.

The morning ran smooth, kids all a little tired but ready for fun. By lunchtime you think if you do a different tactic. Go early to the break room, maybe you can get your lunch out and another cup of coffee before the hoard goes in.

You slink inside, your shoes squeaking again, but your to the fridge with your scooby-doo lunch box out. And you twist to see if anyone’s there yet, still silence except for kids going to the cafeteria. So you try your next move, worlds best teacher mug under the Mr. Coffee you press buttons with fever.

But you’re too late.

Jacob, Gregory, and Barba burst through and they’re arguing about something. You try to ignore it bend back down to open the fridge and fish out the creamer.

Unaware once again of Melissa’s eyes as she walks in and instantly glued her attention to your ass cheeks.

Those acid washed denim with the belt, fuck she could bend you over and eat you like a damn sweet treat in this summer heat. The idea of licking you pussy to ass made her sweat more.

Barb had noticed Melissa’s stare and before she could joke to her friend, the principle came back in and read the room.

”Someone likes the token hire after all, huh?” Ava’s voice rang through and you jumped.

Head colliding with the top of the fridge and you winced.

”FIDDLE STICKS!” You shout, and cup the back of your head.

“What grown ass man says fiddlesticks?” Ava recoiled in disgust as Melissa strode over and opened the freezer as you stumbled a little.

”The kind who teaches second graders!” She shot back, Barbra moved to the sink and got a paper towel to dampen it.

You blinked a few times, the room spinning too fast.

Barbra and Melissa eased you into one of the staff lunch chairs and you felt your stomach flip flop.

“Buzz, baby can you say something? You hit your head kinda hard.” Melissa cooed and Gregory and Jacob both made faces at each other. The redhead wasn’t known for her gentleness.

Yet here she was, cupping the ice to the back of your head. Barbra raised the cool paper towel but in reflex Melissa took it and dabbed it onto your forehead.

Barbra tried hard not to comment; not about to call her friend out here. But she wasn’t used to this version of her best friend.

“Ow,” you finally wheezed, not feeling as tough as you’d like.

“We should get the nurse.” Gregory said unhelpful only for everyone to glare at him.

“We don’t have a nurse on Tuesdays.” Jacob murmured to him, trying to save his friend the wrath.

“Which is illegal.” Barbra reminded Ava who scoffed as if none of this was her fault.

“Buzz baby, I’m going to take your glasses off.” Melissa told you and slipped off your glasses. You kept blinking and trying to breathe through the throbbing pain.

“I have some Tylenol.” Barbra added going to the lounge drawers.

“We took it all last month when everyone got headaches from construction next door.” Gregory added again and Jacob shook his head to stop talking.

“Wowie, can you guys be anymore helpful?” Melissa shot the rest of the room, saved for Barbra who was now going through her purse.

“Hey don’t you even think about going home, I can’t call another sub. Unless you want Mr Johnson to teach math. But last time he told them math was invented by Bezos.” Ava shrugged like that wasn’t the worst thing.

“I can do it,” you say trying to stand only for a sexy red head to push you down.

”See, he’s willing to go to be more than just a toy.” Ava found her own joke funny, but no one was laughing. Certainly not the woman holding your head up while you resembled a bobble head. Your eyes dilating and then turning pin point.

“You ain’t goin nowhere. Hold this,” she grabs at your hand to cup the ice pack to your noggin. Throwing the soaked towel away and spinning to Ava. Enough heat to set off the janky fire alarms.

“You’re going to let him lay down in my classroom or imma tell everyone how you harassed him. Buzz will get a big settlement and this school will be investigated by HR. Yeah Ava, I can do it too. I know a guy. And it that don’t work I know another guy with ten thousand pounds of live rats. So you pick.” Melissa speaks with her hands and a lot of confidence.

Even you were scared. As you squinted up Barbra put a hand on your forehead, trying to decide if she should hand you a trash can for you to puke in.

Melissa was ready to throw down, she might be shorter, but she could take Ava in a fight in two seconds.

“God that’s why she calls him Buzzlightyear isn’t it? Because she loves him from infinity and beyond.” Jacob murmurs a little wrapped up in the love story.

But Gregory doesn’t agree.

“Pretty sure it’s because of his addiction to cartoons and shoes. But yeah, sure.” He added not so quietly.

Ava isn’t dumb, she doesn’t look at Schemmenti for a moment before nodding.

Barba seems pleased even, Melissa doesn’t waste anytime, she’s lifting you up. You stumble a little but the short teacher steadies you and walks/drags you out of the lounge.

Melissa walks you to her classroom and you see a beanbag chair that has to be older than you, with more stains than Barney’s Dinosaur suit.

“Lay down, go on. I Lysol it every day.” Melissa adds and you just about fall down onto if it.

Then let out a big sigh.

Melissa is set to work, closing blinds and making the room nice and dark. Your shoulders sag in relief.

“Kiddo, I j know your a big burley man, but imma get you a blanket.” Melissa grunts as she pulls out a Philly Football blanket and lays it over you.

“You don’t have to-“

“Stop it, I want to. Not everyday I get to manhandle a hunky teacher. Now close your eyes Buzz.” Melissa tells you and you lift your head to see her walking away.

“Where are you going?” Your voice panics, the older teacher likes a needy man.

“Grade papers, make sure no one bothers yous. Why, need someone to play with your hair and tell you a bedtime story? Or all that sugar keep you up?” Melissa asks from her desk as she puts her son glasses on.

“I quit sugar,” you grumble, and put your head back. Finding the idea arousing, if she wanted to play Mommy you wouldn’t be opposed…

“Why’s that?” Melissa asks.

“I’m trying to get more fit,” you wheeze, your head killing you.

The red head devours you from across the room, up and down.

“I think you could stand to add some more sugar in your life.” She whispers hoping you won’t hear it.

“No one’s ever….taken care of me…like this.” You admit, your eyes closed. Only the sounds if distant childrens laughter and the hum if the AC.

“Yeah, well get used to it.” Melissas flirting always sounds like a threat and she wants to kick herself for it.

“You think I’m a hunk?” You question still laying open like a starfish in the bean bag chair. It’s not romantic, it’s probably crazy lookin, but you feel sick and don’t care.

“Who said I said that?” Melissa asks angrily, and a little louder than before.

“You did,” you remind her, just moments ago. You fought the pain running down your skull.

“Lapse in judgement.” Melissa tries to cover it up but now you're smiling. And that’s her kryptonite.

“I didn’t think anyone liked me…just the token hire.” You yawn as you say it.

Melissa rifled through papers on her desk, not sure what she pretending to look for.

“Yeah well, not to me.” The older teacher answered low again. Not sure how to say all that mushy shit.

“I even heard a few teachers say I was to prove the district did Inclusivity. No one cares about me-or my ability to teach…Just the box I tick off.” You finally admit out loud, trying to not sound as heartbroken as you were.

“That’s messed up. No, that’s… Damn it Buzz, ignore em. They say I’m tenure and cranky. What do they know?” Melissa let out a noise of disbelief and tried to lay it on thick. But as she stood at her desk, she lifted her glasses off and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

Her anger for you, is too strong to pretend.

Even if your concussed with your cartoon shoes in the air. You might be the butt of their joke, but you mattered. You mattered to these kids. And damn it, you mattered to Melissa.

“I guess I’ll be the inclusive and you’ll be the cranky.” You tried to joke, but it came out dumb. Melissa chuckled at your attempt at lightening the mood.

Your mouth opened as sleep finally took you. Ice pack falling onto the ground. Melissa would be sure to take you to a doctor. Not wanting your brains to be too close to scrambled eggs. She knew a guy who made hours calls. The older teacher is already planning and scheming. But when her eyes moved back to you, you were gone to the world.

As you slept, drooling, mouth hanging open, deep snores. Completely unsexy, Melissa tried to resist the urge to push the stray hair off your forehead or kiss your cheek.

Melissa schementi had it back, she whispered in the dark classroom to your sleeping form;

“You don’t want to date me,” you smile gently, but you won’t do this. 

The doctor seems unperturbed by your denial. 

You hiked up this hill together, loving the way the grass had grown and spring was blooming. 

The dog leash in one hand and your coffee in the other. You try desperately on these walks to talk the older woman out of it. 

Yet every day off, you found your thumbs texting her, asking if she was busy.

“Why is that?” Baran asked, blowing on her coffee before taking another sip. 

“You’re a doctor, in her-” You narrow your eyes at her, and Baran does the same back at you.  “Early 40’s, but your skin looks incredible. Anyway, you’re some kind of PTSD junkie turned anxious. You think you want to settle down but you don’t.” 

You read and Baran seems fascinated with you, like you’d just done a backflip for her. It’s not accurate, and part of you knows that too. 

Baran would make the best mom, you could see her older settling down into happily ever after. 

“Wow, all that from my skin care routine?” She flirts back and you giggle. 

Taking a sip of your own coffee. The bit of breeze whips at the stray dark curls.

“Baran, it’s the nicest offer I’ve had in a very long time.” You say, but your eyes can’t meet her own. 

You see your puppy up in the distance, she runs up the trail excited, then comes back to you with a big smile. 

These are the days that make the weeks and hard hours worth it. 

The sunlight streaming in between the long treebranches, the bunches of wildflowers along the trail had bloomed for spring now. Your dirty weekend warrior sneakers had a hole in the corner, they’d been worn in and well loved. And as you walked looking down at the roots ready to trip your footfall. You notice for not the first time, that Baran walks in time with you. 

Your coffee cups gripped tightly, your gaze lifts to see your light brown pitbull panting and running back towards you. 

But she stops at Baran instead, the ball slobbery and wet, she drops it at the doctor's feet. 

“Little Pickle, the pretty lady doesn’t want to touch your grody ball baby!” You say in a baby voice to your dog, but Baran is reaching down to pinch the ball and chuck it up the bath further. 

Just like every weekend, reminding you that the older woman wasn’t squeamish. 

“She’s fine, God, I should be thanking you for letting me get to play fetch with her. I want a dog desperately, but with my work hours I feel like it wouldn’t be fair. That’s why I’ve adopted yours.” Baran changes the subject, she’s been known to try and ease your anxiety by pivoting. 

“You are great, Mama to Pickle, but if we were to get a second, what would you name em?” You ask, happy to talk about something else for a moment. 

As you walk more slowly up the trail, a bumblebee buzzes close enough by that you can hear the faint noise. 

Seeing as pickle disappeared over the small pass after her favorite toy. 

“I don’t know, Pitt?” She says proud of herself, and you snorted. 

“For pitbull?” You ask, and her grin only ups in it’s wattage, god looking at her was like looking into the sun. 

Baran heated your soul just from being in her orbit. 

“I work at ‘the pitt,’ I don’t know. I don’t think I can top pickle.” She jokes and you look offended. 

“I was in a bad place, I went to the shelter, I brought her home. I’d never loved anyone before- we didn’t know each other. I wasn’t sure if she was the right fit for me-” You stop speaking, realizing how this is getting too close to another story you two weren’t speaking of. 

You walk alongside each other, and Baran doesn’t interject, listening intently. 

“And….and I made a sandwich and sat next to her. I realized I wasn’t cut out to be anyone's anything. Certainly not these recue pups, Daddy. Fuck I’ve failed every relationship I’d ever tried. And…uh she, she looked up at me with those big eyes. I took a pickle out of my sandwich- which is the best part by the way.” You point your finger at her from your hold on the coffee cup. 

Baran’s liking this story, her eyes hold something you can’t place, but she’s listening. 

“Well, she ate the pickle. I figured if love is one selfless act to another. And this pretty girl could take a chance of me. Fuck I’d give her every pickle from every sandwich.” You say just as your dog starts to sprint back to you, all stalky legs and drool. 

Pickle looked closer to a gargoyal or a gremlin with all that foamy spit and yellow tennis ball. 

But she was perhaps your first love. 

“Sounds like a great girl to me.” Baran compliments just as your puppy pants and spits the ball out to you time. 

“My turn, huh?” You ask her, and she sits obediently, a thing you’d only gotten her to do the first week of adopting the pit because of a combo of cheese and pickles. 

Quickly, you’d learned dog treats didn’t create the horrendous farts that plagued her in your tiny apartment. 

You bend over, and Baran slows her walk as you lift the soggy ball with it’s grass bits stuck to the side. 

You throw it overhand like a football and watch it go far. 

Baran watches the way your strong shoulder rolls back, bicep flex, forearm move, and hand release. 

It’s not scientific whatsoever; she’s having her own fantasies about your muscles. 

But when you turn back she’s got her game face back. 

“So, you don’t think maybe it is time to open your heart again?” Baran shrugs, and you try not to trip on your feet as you walk. 

She wasn’t easily shot down. 

“I mean, I think what we have going is pretty good?” You answer her question with a question. 

Baran moves her lips to the side as if she’s trying to get you to understand. 

You stare at her face, her gorgeous, stunning face. 

“We meet up twice a week, and we go on a hike on your day off. We get take-out and watch a movie at your place or mine. A routine all the time, calls and dates. Sometimes wine, sometimes beer, the night is over, and we part ways with a hug.” Baran is speaking as if this is outside of either of you. 

Two actors in a play, you see the nights, the weekends, the walks, the films. 

“We went to that museum a few weeks ago,” you add, but it’s lame. Your shoes make scuffling noises as you hit more rocky terrain. 

Both of you are bending your knees harder in the change of intensity. 

“Is that all you want?” Baran questions instead; she’s too good at this. 

“What does it matter what I want?” You respond too quickly to the question and hate yourself. 

Your own trauma is showing at such a knee-jerk response. Your therapists reminder that you are allowed good things.

Baran seems to think the same, as her demeanor is gentle, she reaches out with her free hand to your shoulder. 

Cradling you for a moment as you two slow down and stop. 

“What are you afraid of?” Baran questions again, all good well rounded things to ask. She’s wiser, older, more successful, drop dead stunner. 

Of course you wanted her. 

Of course, you were terrified. 

But none of those were the reasons you couldn’t date Dr Baran Al-Hashimi. 

You bristle, not from her touch, but from the truth. 

Baran misreads it and drops her gentle touch, giving a small tug of her lips. It’s sad and unsure, and you don’t want her to think that way. 

You don’t notice that Pickle has dropped the ball again until she lets it fall wet and loud on your shoe. 

It jolts you back to reality, and you bend down to pick it up again. 

It’s slobbery and makes little squishy noises as you hold it, you don’t want to look at the woman you’ve been falling for. 

Baran twists to look ahead at the trail. 

“Robby comes back tomorrow, and my schedule won’t be so intense hopefully. But it will change, so we’ll have to coordinate so I can get some quality Pickle time. You know, joint custody and all.” She jokes and you want to make a joke too but can’t find it in yourself to do so. 

You throw the ball but this time it doesn’t go nearly as far, a clear sign of your own insecurities. 

“Baran- I think we should-I think I should tell you something.” You decide and she stops walking and looks back at you, unmoving, ready to go as fast or slow as you need. 

She squints a little in the sunlight and you think this is it, this is the moment. 

All you have to do is tell her how you fell deeply. 

But be honest, tell her why you call her every week. 

Why you text her every day, why you need to FaceTime her to make sure she gets home safe? 

Don’t be a coward, you’ve mowed her lawn, shoveled her driveway, you two have cooked together, laughed together. 

You’d be a moron not to in love with her. 

Baran waits, her own hand going to shield her eyes from the sunlight. 

She waits for you. So much patience. 

Just as she had for months now. 

How could someone so kind want to spend even a moment with you?

Pickle trots back, panting and wheezing a little, but she sits at Baran's feet now. 

Tail wagging enthusiastically, so ready for the next throw.

That had been how you’d fallen so fast for this woman. 

You came as a patient into her ED, and she’d broken the rules for you, allowing Pickle to stay by your side after you explained she got anxious alone. Like a lot of rescue animals. You didn’t say how you got anxious without her. 

And you couldn’t leave sweet Dill Pickle outside, it was too hot, it had been last summer. 

Baran hadn’t even waited; she’d said of course. 

You’d been told by the head charge nurse, who you later learned was named Dana, that Doctor Al-Hashimi never broke a rule. The doctor was by the book, all scores and problem-solving within the realm. 

But she hadn’t even blinked, saying yes to you. 

Baran, oddly enough, didn’t treat you directly, and now you wonder if the reason was that she didn’t wanna blend personal and HIPA. 

You watch the woman in front of you with curiosity, had this always been how she’d wanted it to go?

“I-I’m not who you think I am-I mean.” The leather leash in your hand makes a noise as you squeeze it harder. 

Baran walks back towards you, and you can’t look at her. 

You feel like a fool, a liar who’s taken her for granted. 

“Your fly is down,” Baran tells you, and you panic and look down at your faded blue jeans, and sure enough, they are. 

You fumble with the things in your hands, but Baran stops you, she tilts your chin up with her fingers, and you’ve never been more turned on. 

Her face closer to you now. 

“You forget to pull your zipper up every time you wear jeans, and most shorts. Did you know that?” She asks more bold then you’d seen her go before. 

You gulp, your throat bobbing, suddenly all moisture leaving your mouth. 

“I do?” Your voice cracks, and she grins again, then drops her ender display. 

“Your voice cracks, your fly is always down, I’ve been to your house- you’re the only man in his early thirties who owns menstrual products.” She adds and your face must turn in horror because she’s talking faster. 

“I was the senior attending on shift when you came into my ED. I didn’t treat your wound, but I was there for your chart. As I am for every patient's chart.”

You wince, and you can’t breathe; this is your worst nightmare. 

Sweet Pickle comes over and rubs against both your legs. Noticing your obvious displeasure, she makes little pitty whining noises to check in on you. 

“You-”

“As for who you are, I think I have a pretty good idea. Seeing as how I’ve been spending all my free time with you. You’re the kind of guy who still cowboy walks on the outside when we stroll at night. You call your dog Pickle Chips when you get home and spend a good minute kissing her face. You’re endlessly kind, you sing to the radio out of tune, and every time we walk outside, you put your face into the sun and sigh like she’s an old friend. You tip more than twenty percent even when you’re broke, you have lucky socks and secretly inhale me every time we hug.” Her eyes look down to your lips, like she can already taste you. 

You gulp again comically, but Baran reaches out and cups your face so gently, and you never considered yourself to be someone worth loving. 

All of those things were easy to you, not something that someone like Baran might…might like in a - a man. 

“I can’t-I can’t give you what a-any other guy could. I mean you want a family and-and someone-”

Baran moves closer, and you want her more than you’ve ever wanted anything, your eyes already going to close to lean in. 

“You can give me the kind of man, who’s gentle. Who’s kind, and funny, soft, and thoughtful.” Baran lists, and you’re melting in her palm now. 

“Baran I-” It’s more of a sigh than words and she’s nodding. 

“I think I know you well enough to make my own decisions. I suppose the only question is, am I the woman you want?” She says pulling back, and you don’t want her to  go. 

You drop the leash and coffee with a splatter and reach out, cupping the back of her neck where her curls tickle your hand. 

You pulled her in and kissed her hard. 

It’s better than the movies. Better than you ever dreamed. 

Baran moaned against your lips, and she was so soft, so sweet you pull her body close to yours, and she dropped her own cup. 

It splattered at your feet.

But as her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. 

Baran's smiling against your lips, and you moan as her fingers play at the hair on the back of your neck. 

You break the kiss to laugh loudly and she’s giggling too. 

“You knew the whole time?” You question, and she’s nodding. 

“I knew you were a good man, who just needed to learn that more than one girl loved him.” The doctor corrects, and you are in love. 

But then you hear puppy licking noises and look down to see Pickle licking at both your coffee cups. 

“Gherkins! No! Bad girl! Not the coffee!” You shout, trying to get her to stop, and Baran bends down to pick up the cups and stack them. Stacking the two cups and trying not to stand in the mud. 

“What a mess!” Baran says to your dog more than you, who’s having fun in the mud, tail wagging. So happy that the pretty lady is talking to her. 

Pickles likes Baran, and now you can see, it’s because the doctor makes you happy. 

And all Pickles wanted way a happy Daddy, and maybe a little snack. 

“God, I’m gonna have to stop at a dog wash stall. God, look at you, pickles, you’re all dirty.” You laugh, not angry, how could you be? Baran grabbed the tennis ball and chucked it, so she ran down the path and away from the mud. 

“I’ll help you clean her up, and then we can get that movie you were talking about.” Baran lists, and you like how she does this. Makes plans, tells you what it’s gonna be like. You’d happily follow her wherever she told you. 

Fuck you did have it bad. 

As the older woman listed different food options, you get distracted. 

“I got it on you,” you realize, feeling bad, you reach out to the spot on the bottom of her sweatshirt. 

But Baran seems to move closer to you, and you realize your touching her stomach. Her breath catches and the sexual tension is enough to set you on fire. 

Had she always looked at you like that?

“Uh-” you realize nervously. 

Baran collapses the empty coffee cups and bends them into her bag. 

Then she moves closer to you and you feel like all the hair on your arms must stand at attention. 

Baran looks into your eyes and you think she’s gonna kiss you again. 

But her hand goes to your pants and you look down just in time to see her grab the zipper of your jeans and pull it up. 

The noise is loud in your ears. 

“Come on big boy, we aren’t even halfway through the hike yet.” She says, grabbing the leash and walking backwards so she can see the dumb look on your face. 

“Pickles won’t mind! Why don’t we turn back now!” You say, thinking with the member she’d just had her hand so close to. 

Surely you two could find a beautiful bush or tree. You wanted more kisses, a lot more kisses. How had you been so shy before?

The dog barks as Baran gets closer, and you try not to pout. 

“Doctor, the pain! Oh my heart! I need you desperately! A kiss could save me!” You shout out, but she’s already ten or twelve feet away, and you hear her laugh. 

She makes a cone with her hands and responds from uptrail.

“Move it! My daughter’s got a pup cup in her future!” Baran tells you, and you start to jog to catch up to them. Pickles barks happily as you run after them.

Picturing that house, and those kids, and a big yard for sweet Pickles to run.  

You couldn’t get the smile off your face now, you were Baran’s man. 

The End.

Your body washed up on the sand, back raw and bloody still from the scratches of your Captain, your lover, your Agatha. 

Your long hair knotted as the sea water pushed you up onto land.

You coughed up all the water and bile possible before twisting onto your back to see a ship in the horizon. Your ship not long ago too. That place you called home seemed so far now. Light dancing behind the sails that you now knew were enchanted with magic.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves on how you were off of the ship.

No first, like every good legend told at sea, we must go back to the first time you set you foot on the deck of a pirate ship. 

It only took until you’d signed your name and come aboard the pirate ship that you’d learned the ship, nicknamed ‘Black Heart’ was run by the nefarious Harkness. 

The captain who had sailed off the side of the world, looked into the eyes of Death herself and kissed her. 

But what was more shocking to you than this story? Was that it wasn’t until you were thrown to your knees in front of the captain that you’d learned Captain Harkness was a woman?

Her boot was up on the side of her navigation table spreading her legs like a man would in the small space.

You got your first real intimate look at Captain Harkness. The beads in her tendril locks where braids are flowing between more layers of gorgeous dark hair seems to tell stories within stories. Each one carved with a symbol you had never seen before. 

Her face and hands carried iny scars from fights, dark black aged tattoos peaked out from her wrist. Her blue captains jacket and hat made her look regal, like she’d always lead these scoundrels to riches. 

You must have tuned out while staring at her because just as you were getting lost in those baby blue eyes your fellow crewmen another blow. 

You were kicked down to your hands again, in a bowing pose. The second type they kicked you and fell onto your chin, scratching it raw and bloody. 

You grunt and tried not to show how much it hurt in front of the captain. 

Who seemed to be considering her optins as she stared at you with half interest. Suddenly her boot ran across your collarbone as she was propping you up again. Damn did it hurt, the weight of it making your body scream out.

 Blood dripped down from your cut to her old leather boot. 

“Crimes of this child?” The captain was maybe twenty years your senior, but curse the seas if she wan’t the most beautiful thing you had ever laid your eyes on. 

Your teeth bared you tried to show no fear, gazing back into her blue eyes with a sort of combatant upper lip.  

“Said she was a lad but, captain it’s a lass.” One of the bufoons said and then to add insult to you name; he grabbed your linen shirt to expose your chest.

A few men chuckled, but you couldn’t be more embarrassed. 

You cast your face to the floor, unable to look now into your captains eyes. 

It was bad luck to sail the seas as a woman, but you were no woman, no you were not. 

“Looks like a flea bitten dog to me. Begs the question though don’t it Hawkeye? Ye drunk’n cockroaches have a problem with lasses? Do ya?” Captain asks and a hush falls across her cabin. You hear a leather mug slap down on her table and the men scattered out of the captains quarters like rats on a burning ship. 

She removes her boot from your body and you fall forward for a second before closing your shirt as quickly as possible. Hating how the sea water on your skin mixed with the heat of the Captains private room has made your nipples harden. 

Your body turn pink but not from the sun. 

“What’s yer name child?” Her voice dropped a few octaves, it felt like the push of the sea. 

You give your name, not the one you were born with, no. But the one you’d written on the ledger. The one that Davy Jones would have to call you when your captain threw you overboard. 

Harkness didn’t give you a hand up, but you moved on your heels until you were standing again, chin dripping down your neck, a big enough chip on your shoulder to make you sink a few inches in height. 

“Kid, this is a pirate ship. This is no life for a-”

“I’M A PIRATE! I’VE SAILED BEFORE AND I’M TWICE THE MAN THOSE GUTTER DOGS WILL EVER BE!” You shout back, spit flying from your bottom lip. 

Harkness doesn’t take offense like you’d assumed, instead she stares then gives a wry sort of smile. 

“A pirate huh, what about Mommy and Daddy? Do they like the idea of you hiding on a pirate ship, passing off as a….” She stops and you interject. 

“A pirate, I’m nobodys lass,” you insist with the fury of a childhood of fighting. The memories of broken hearts and a world that hated you.

No, the sea was your home. This ship was your home, you’d make it so. 

“So no one will be looking for you then? No bonnie lass with a crush and a romp?” Harkness questions some kind of twinkle in her eye, and you disagreed with her at once. 

But you stay silent, obedient, waiting for your fate. 

Oh but what a fate was in store for you. 

The captain waits for a moment, as if deciding what kind of night she’d like to have. 

“I could throw you on the brig, or simply toss you overboard, one more soul lost to the dark blue.” the dark curls bounce as she walks back to her table and pours more rum into a mug. 

“I-”

She twists around holding up her finger, it stops you in your tracks. 

Harkness walks back to her table with maps stacked on scrolls stacked on older more sister parchment.

The oil lamps in her space flickered from dead whales that once swam the down deep darkest waters. 

As your captain fell like an old sailor into her seat again. Rum swishing over the side of her thumb as she decides your fate. 

“How will I be sure you will not lie again, decievers deceive, it’s just as the sparrow flies.” Harkness puts the mug down and licks her thumb before scratching at her cheek seeming bored by you now.

“I’ll work harder than every other man on this vessel. I’ll give you everything I have, I want to go with you!” You point to the floor cursing it in a way. 

Harkness leans back in her chair and takes off her captain’s hat and smiles big and wide now. You see her gold tooth behind her canine and it gleams in the warm light.

“Oh now don’t be making promises you can’t hope to keep.” She drolls at the idea of it, but it’s a lie. One you don’t see. 

You step forward and miss how the captain seems to be excited by you now.

“It’s a promise captain. I swear my soul to you and the seven seas.” You say and Harkness laughs full and evil, it booms in the cabin. 

That’s how you started, no favors - cleaning on your hands and knees. No food, no water, no sleep. It’s own form of torute. 

But your spirit would not break like the blisters popping in the sun. 

And all eyes were on you, hoping for your downfall. 

But the ship was clean, and the work did not bother you. So you were thrown into cooking, and you rose to meet every challenge. You peeled thousands of potatoes with a dull knife until dawn. Scrubbed and slaved away to prove your worth. 

You don’t know how long it was until you were pulled up to top deck. But one day they yanked you out of the bottom of the ship for new Hells to come. 

Trials and tribulations, oh the trials they put you through. 

They tortured you, taking away your shoes, but eventually you learned the songs. Never complaining, you sang along with the rest of the men. 

This was a pirates life, and you were a pirate. 

So your crewmates only more gave you work, your hands raw and bloody. But you would not break, not once. 

It took many sundowns before you realized, the lack of heckling. No longer were they spitting in your direction, or calling you slurs. Now you were allowed to drink water from the same bucket. 

With the change of the breeze your body changed too. 

No longer weak and bruised, no now you were free of the throbbing and calves splintering in pain as you hauled the ropes. 

You gleamed in the sun - showing muscles where baby fat was only mere moons ago. Strength was thick in your thighs, biceps boomed like the iron in the canons. 

You were complete muscle. 

You learned quickly how to navigate the stars from another sea dog, the men started to speak to you with something close to respect. 

They let you sleep on the deck, covering for you, slipping you food when the captain wasn’t looking. Treating you like a brother in arms. 

Soon you were asked you to card games, you learned how to bluff, how to hold a sword, how to drink like a pirate. 

How to vomit the next day like a cad as they laughed good naturely. 

You began to fight in the rings undership, they would yell and throw their coin down to bet. You lost and lost and lost, until you didn’t. 

Until men bet on you. 

A fighter, another man with sweat on your brow. 

You’d wake with the dawn, crawl with strong hands and feet up the ropes like it was mere childsplay. Only to hang from the mast and watch as the cream sails flapped like the birds did as the sun broke from the water below. 

The sea spray mixed with the sun kissed your skin, you were in love, you were free. 

Only you had missed on very important thing. 

Those haunted blue eyes of the captain watched you.

She watched you grow, watched your veins strengthen like the ropes, and your confidence break open like the sea. 

You were too good at following her instructions, and now - now you must be dealt with.

Captain Agatha Harkness was not about to let you ruin her plans. 

So as your day turned to night, and the ship rocked you harder than any cradle could. 

Your sea legs holding you up right as you made knots for the evening. Finding solace underneath the stars. No idea of how your fate would change. 

A hand grabbed you, the captains right hand man dragged you into her quarters, you kicked and fought. But it wasn’t enough, and as you were once again thrown to the floor in front of your captain you realized that young pirate who scared his chin was gone. 

You quickly got to your feet, noticing as your captains eyes flicked to your chin. A scar healed long ago, your captain liked to admired it from the shadows when you were fighting in the ring. 

“My Captain,” you nod to show your respect, but you do not grovel like before. For now you had worth.

“Leave us,” The older pirate yelled at her first mate who closed the solid doors behind him. 

“You gave an oath,” Harkness says calmly and you grow confused. You had not broken it, if anything you had flurorished under her trials. 

“Captain?” You question but she ignores you and goes to the medium stove that heats her on dark nights. Inside is a long dark rod, you are not sure what you’ve done wrong. 

“Do you not swear it?” She asks and you hesitate for only a second. 

“I swore to you captain,” you agree as the captain back turns to you she pushes the brand further into the coals. 

No other pirates on her ship carry a brand, this is different, this is the stuff of legends. Harkness was marking you not just for common pirates at doc, or another ship, but for the mystic beasts of below, for Death herself to know. 

You were property of Captain Agatha Harkness, and anyone who would ever touch you, would fall to the captains mercy. 

She lifted the red hot iron rod and the boy who got onto this ship might have been frightened. But as she walked towards you with purpose, you simply pulled down at your white billowing shirt, giving her unmarked skin. 

Harkness felt a swell of pride fill her, but she was far too calloused to say anything close to a compliment. No she only had a wicked exsistance to bestow on you now. 

Her heart thudded harder as she saw your loyalty. But now was not time for such tender things.

Instead she simply pressed the hot metal against your chest and shoulder, something no one could miss. 

You don’t scream, instead you stare into her eyes with matching intensity. 

Not understanding why you were receiving this. 

Harkness doesn’t like this, she needed you to scream or kick and fight. But you don’t, you keep yourself raw and open for her. Having given your soul to your captain many waters ago. 

When she moves the brand off of you, she tosses it sizzling into the floor like it’s offended her. 

“Get off my ship.” The Captain says with more hatred then you understand. 

“What?” You can’t possibly be hearing this. “Why?”

She grabs you by the collar and lifts you slamming you down onto the navigation table, causing things to fall rattling to the floor. 

Her lips are next to yours, face centimeters away now as she hisses. 

“Get your pirate pussy off my ship!” 

It doesn’t feel like a slur, no it feels like she wants to see whats under your trousers. 

But her body doesn’t move off of you, if anything now you can feel the heat of her. The way her breasts push against you. 

The smell of her salty sweat mixed with rum feels as close to calypso as you would ever get. 

“Captain, please - I serve under you, and you alone.” You remind her, wondering how she could brand your skin and then throw you into open water. 

“Where this ship goes, my heart cannot follow. Do you understand?” The Captain says just above a whisper, you can taste her breath now. Her eyes so stern, now seem like something entirely else. What was happening?

“Captain, please, I love it here. Please, I need the sea! I did everything you asked! I learned to sail, I learned every tie, every blade, every crass knuckle! I became a man- a- a pirate just as you told me to!” You practically cry, only you cannot. Because in your promise to be a man of the sea, all of the salt you had given up to the vast water. Now your eyes were void of such things.

Harkness didn’t let you stir under her agitated hold. 

Her lip curled up with anger you couldn’t possibly understand, until she pushed forward and kissed you. 

The captain’s kiss was strong enough to unbolt every piece of wood from this haul. 

Your skin still sizzling in pain as the Captain devoured you, taking your shirt down to your elbows to make it impossible for you to fight back or to caress her in return. 

Captain Harkness was rabid, she scratched at your back like a prisoner would in her cell. Your strong back bloody where your skin was breaking open in jagged lines. 

You arched into her touch and kissed back, wondering if this was how your captain had kissed Death too. 

Her tongue invades your mouth and you hadn’t learned this on the deck of her ship. You were just a boy now under her, but your hands hungry to hold onto her, but all you could do was grab at her waist. Fingers strong piercing in to hold on for dear life. 

You felt as though you were a bottle being thrashed around in a storm at sea.  

While Harkness kisses stole whatever bit of your heart you hadn’t already given to her. 

You sucked in your captains tongue and tasted the lime and rum mixed with something darker. She grabbed at your long hair and pulled like you were her ship to sail.

And maybe you had been all along, you just now had found out. 

Her hand reached between you to cup at your sex and you pant and have no air left. 

So when the kiss ends your dizzier then when you drank below deck.

Then the captain shocks you by looking enraged again, she grabs at your long hair and you hiss in pain.

“You carry my mark, you belong to me, cursed with my love to the ends of time. No bullet or mortal man can harm you, no lover may kiss upon your lips. I do so promise, I will see you soon. But you may not sail this voyage on moment more, I cannot bring my heart into these waters.” You think the light must be playing a trick on you, because you see a tear fall from your captains eye.

That was impossible. 

Then she’s pushing you out an open back window, and you are fallling - falling.

Your body hits the water and for a moment you think you’ve died and it’s Davy Jones caressing your skin not the water. 

You consider not fighting the current but letting it swallow you whole.

What was left for you up there?

But as the salt water moves into your brand, it seems the sea recognizes you as something not of this realm. 

The tides change and you bob to the surface, never having kicked or attempted to swim. 

The water pushes you towards land…

Which is how you are now, bloody but sealed into a fate. 

Having a touch of destiny about you, you lay on the sand and move your hand to cup the brand. 

A heart swollen curled into your skin, with an A inside of it. It was puffy and still just a little bloody, but the water had seemed to kiss the curse closed. 

You shuddered as you watched the ship sail into witchy waters.

It wasn’t until a voice cleared behind you that you saw a sea witch, dark hair and a wicked smile. 

This island seemed entirely barren, saved for this one soul who you were sure was a trance from swallowing all the sea water.

Or maybe this was the locker and you were meeting the devil. 

Still the dark witchy woman stalked closer, her eyes falling onto your brand, then she smiled big and wide.

Reaching out to you to move a bit of hair out of your face, admiring your handsome body.

“Te Veo.” 

“You know what, forget it, I’ll just drop the class.” You say dejectively, grabbing your black worn out blue jansport backpack and moving to the door. 

“You do that and you won’t graduate on time!” The Professor raises her voice at you and you not even your leather jacket isn’t thick enough to shield you from that truth.

You falter in step to turn back to her.

“So you won’t allow me to switch, you hate me from the last semester-“

Professor holds and hand up to your tantrum.

“I have never hated a student.” She says an air of authority about her.

You laugh rudely in her face. 

“You sure have a funny way of showing your devotion to your students!” You yell now, not caring about how petulant you are acting. 

“I’ll remind you that your in my office hours, and you can low level your voice and change that attitude real quick.” Professor Harkness face morphs to one you’ve yet to be at the end of. But had scene enough through your school year. 

“Ya know what, why don’t we skip to the end, just fail me- you know you-“

You start to yell again and then Harknesoses her own temper.

“I have never given you a grade below a B minus!” The older professor defends like you’re being a flat out moronic. 

“Yeah, except you’ve given the harshes feedback and blacklisted me from being a teachers aid to anyone here! You’ve not approved of a single internship I’ve tried for graduation! What is your problem?” You can’t believe your own insolence but you won’t stop now. 

Some people would have blamed it on a certain hormone therapy you were working through. But you wouldn’t agree, Professor Harkness had been a terror on the student body. What’s worse is that you had liked her in the beginning, and something had changed. 

The ugly voice inside of you said that it was you who had in fact changed…

That that was the reason for her coldness to you…

“You had no problem with my workload last semester, and I told you the teachers assistant position in this department was full, but I would make room for you - if you wanted to do my first years. I do not see how I’m some evil witch, it’s like I’m just missing the pointy hat with you!” Harkness breaks her normally solid composure to yell back and you just don’t want to do this anymore. 

You sigh and look down at your shoes. 

Her warm light in this old office is so inviting, you think back to before you transitioned, when you’d stumbled in here asking for a reading list, four years sure changes things. 

You push your glasses up your nose and look at her with a new confidence that, that young girl lacked. 

“I will be dropping the class, I’ll not finish if that’s what it takes. But I’m not going to be here another semester where you pick me out of a crowd just because you can.” You grind out, thinning of how often she’d called upon you with no reason. 

Harkness eyes widen a little, her lips move to say something but your twisting back and you grab the doorknob. 

It’s such bummer your such a noob, because that would have really been a great moment to storm out. 

But as you wiggle the doorknob, you’re struck with panic at this being even more awkward.

Harkness doesn’t say anything as you twist it left and right and it doesn’t budge. 

But as you use brute force you hear a pin drop in the lock. 

“Fuck - you’ve got to be kidding me.” You scorn at the metal handle. “Who even has these fancy ass hold metal doorknobs anymore, fucking pretencious piece of shit!” 

You kick the bottom of the door and Harkness takes a forced breath and then comes around to you. 

You step back and avoid eye contact. 

Harkness tries to lift the doorknob carefully but it’s no use. 

“Yeah no I know how doorknobs work.” You spit back and Harkness groans, her own panic starting to build. 

“You can’t call the janitor?” You point to the landline on her desk, walking over you lift it to hear no dial tone. You feel a new fear. 

“You’re born in the 90’s, you don’t have a cellphone on you? Isn’t your generation glued to it?” Harkness bites back, and you pull it out to show it’s absolutely dead. 

“Okay Professor, you’re not ninety, don’t you have a cellphone?” You bite back and Harkness hangs her head and puts both hands in her hair. 

“Yes I do, out in the classroom with my bag, you all but argued your way into my office hours. I didn’t grab it while we were mid argument.” Harkness round the desk to her computer, you drop your bookbag and open your laptop. 

“You’re joking, you have to have wifi in here right?” You challenge back and Harkness takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“It’ll be down until tomorrow,” she grabs the flyer for tech outages that each professor got on their desks this morning. You pinch it out of her hands to look at the times. 

“Nine am? People have class before that! I can’t be here until nine am!” Your panic only builds and the Professor eyes you carefully. 

“You don’t have some girlfriend or roommate or something that will come looking for you?” She asks, and you don’t hear the intrest in her voice, you’re too busy thinking of how you’re going to die in this fucking room. 

You’ve never yelled at anyone like you just had and now karma thought it would be super duper funny to have you sit in the mess you’d made. 

“No, no I don’t. Why don’t you have somebody at home waiting for you?” You spit back, imagining some boring guy who’s taller than you with a law degree and a kombucha project. 

“No, I live alone, well I have a rabbit but he’s got enough food for the next two days.” Harkness adds then she starts to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“Hey don’t crack up on me, this isn’t funny!” You yell back and she shakes her head and then wipes at her eyes. 

“No, it is though. When you think about it, it’s actually hilarious.” She says and you put your laptop back in your bag, moving around her desk looking for an iphone cord. 

Only for Harkness to giggle harder, then start to snort. 

“I’m an android user.” She keeps laughing and you’re struck for the millionth time with the thought that Professor Harkness is gorgeous. 

You awkwardly go back to her expensive looking leather sofa. 

Sitting down on it you don’t say a word, and then Professor Harkness stops laughing all together.

“What are you doing?” She arches an eyebrow now. 

“Well I’m not spiderman so I can’t crawl through the vent.” You snarl back and that shuts your professor up. 

First Hour

It’s dead silent, you end up laying on her sofa, your feet over the edge of leather. 

You pull out a book and start reading it, not wanting to sit in uncomfortable silence. 

But Harkness is sitting at her desk, grading papers the old fashion way with a red marker. 

But she keeps looking up at you like she wants to say something, then stops herself. 

“Fuck, what is it?” You finally say putting the book on your chest. 

The office had no windows, you only could tell that time was passing by the old dark academy looking clock in her dark wooden office. 

But god you couldn’t concentrate on your book at all. 

“You really think I hate you?” Harkness asks, you twist to stare at her, wondering when she’d ever looked this soft. 

Blush worn from the day, her black turtleneck and glasses just made her look so…no - you wouldn’t go there. 

“Let’s just not talk, okay? As soon as we get someone to help us, I’m not your problem anymore.” You lift your book back up and miss the small flinch in those dark eyebrows of the older woman. 

You read maybe two lines before she interrupts again, not bothering capping her red pen as she ignores her work. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a sandwich in that bag of yours? Greek salad and a shirley temple?” The professor breaks the silence to ask. 

You don’t react for a second, before you sit up, tossing your legs to the ground to open your backpack. 

You open the loud war torned zipper and your Testosterone bottle accidentally stumbles out, moving under her desk. 

“Shit,” you curse, but the professor is already pushing her chair back and bending down to grab the little glass vile. 

She looks at it with interest before handing it back to you.

“You don’t carry the needles around do you? Do you need an injection soon?” She asked as though you would magically transform back if you didn’t get it right now. You laughed a little at her.

“I’ll be okay, unless no one breaks us out for two weeks, then we’re gonna have to get creative.” You joke, forgetting you hated the older woman, as you dropped it back into your bag then riffled around in your disorganized bag. 

“Men,” Harkness smirks seeing how you had no folders for your papers. You don’t hear her, as you reach in and pull out a protein bar and a packet of gushers. 

“Your choice,” you offered them both and she eyed the gushers like they’d personally offended her. 

“How old are these?” Harkness asks and you glare at her. 

“Oh I’m sorry, and what did you bring to the picnic?” You can’t believe that Harkness actually shrugs and picks up the protein bar. 

Opening the package and snapping it in half and handing it to you first. 

You don’t understand until she explains. 

“Dinnner, that’ll be dessert. Or breakfast depending on how long we’re going to be locked in here.” She says simply and you take the other half. 

You lay back down, nibbling on your dinner and not looking back at the wicked professor. 

Who for sure didn’t look adorable while taking off her heels and sitting back at her desk. 

Hour three 

You were dying, it was fucking sweltering in her office. The sweat was trickling down your back and you were trying to ignore it with your book. 

But when Harkness stands up and lifts her turtleneck up off her body your eyes snap over at the show. 

The little bit of skin showing from her stomach as she takes off the black thick material. 

Only for her to pull down a white t shirt she’d worn underneath. 

You don’t look at her breasts, you wouldn’t do that, you look at your book with intensity. 

“You can take off your shoes and jacket, you must be boiling in it.” Harkness tells you, like an adult who can stand being in a room with someone who was rude to her. 

Not like you, who was in fact boiling from the inside out because of all the tension. 

“I’m fine.” You say back, but your voice waivers just enough. 

“Suit yourself.” Harkness say back a little quieter then before. Almost miffed at you, but she’s not her usual brutal self. 

You swallow then set the book down, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Have you gotten to the good stuff yet?” Professor asks and you turn and can’t help but smile. 

“You read smutty novels?” You say too excited at such a fun fact. 

“That’s the third of the series, you aren’t even to the good stuff yet.” Harkness answers and caps her red pen and flips an essay over. 

“Wow, who would have thought, Professor Hardass!” You laugh and the older womans face drops. 

You regret it immediately, the way her shoulders stiffen and her expression turns icy. 

You are a little ashamed you’ve done this to her. 

You both are quiet again. 

Hour Five

You stand up abruptly and take off your leather jacket, embarrassed that you were wearing a tank top underneath it. But whatever, it’s a crop too, just to your belt line. It’s one of those old school punk bands that you’d made the cuts too. 

You sit back down and push off both your shoes to your white socks in the space and you sigh a little. 

You miss the way the professor is staring at your muscles like a woman starved of the flesh. The way she notices the bulge in your shoulders now, not like two years ago when you’d first taken the shot. 

No, you’d been hitting the gym hard, the way your arms look a little wet from sweat doesn’t help the way Harkness feels. 

She bite her cheek and looks back at the essays, but your hands shake, she cannot possibly read it now. 

Hour Six

“You didn’t start to pick on me like that…..when…” You say out of the blue and Harkness is staring at you - waiting for you to finish it. 

“Nevermind.” You say anxiously, looking down at your hands. 

“You think I don’t enjoy you in my class because your trans?” She asks completely confused at you, your bottom lip shakes but you twist to look at her over her desk. 

“Well?” Your tone is angry, because if one thing you’d learned from Testosterone. 

Anger was easier than all of the other feelings, anger made you run faster at the gym. 

It made you less of a cry baby like your dad had always said. 

Anger was so manly….and maybe it was. 

But why did it make you feel so damn sad. 

Like you were constipated emotionally and the only emotion that was within reach was this…anger.

Your knuckles were white as you squeezed your hand hard again. Then let go, seeing how your fingers were dark red from the pressure. 

“You know I’m the one who made them change all the names on your paperwork.” Harkness said gently and you looked at her with more confusion. 

“I didn’t know that, no. I assumed but…thank you.” You respond and Harknes nods once and then licks her bottom lip. 

“I did tell them to not take you as a TA. I didn’t let anyone take you on, and…I blocked your ability to get an internship.” Harkness reasons again and your frustration turns to pain in your face and as she looks up to keep speaking she loses her nerve. 

“Why would you do that?” It’s so fucked up. Because I-I’m not worth the program or?” You gulp, your new adams apple bobs and Harkness watches it, watches the way your neck moves. 

How you needed a shave around your throat, now the sweat has the ends of the back of your hair just a little wet. 

Professor Harkness works so hard, every god damn day. 

“I-” She starts again and you scrunch your face up. 

“Let’s go back to not talking, it’s fine.”

Hour Seven

You wish you could sleep, but as Professor turns the lights down, it’s only about 5pm. There was not a chance in hell on a goodday you could sleep. 

You look over at the Professor with her dark hair, glasses on her nose, casual white t leaning back in her chair with her feet on her desk. 

A sight you never thought you’d get to see. 

But you study her as she breathes evenly, a bit of sweat dripping down to her collarbone, you try to see if you can see what color bra she’s wearing. 

She jerks her knee to scratch it and you flinch as though you’ve been caught. 

Making her eyes open, and look at you. 

Caught.

“Not tired after our big meal?” She teases and you actually hate how funny she is. 

“You didn’t like the red gusher?” You counter back and feel as though it’s coming off maybe too flirtatious. 

The Professor closes her eyes again and makes a pretend disinterested face, scrunched her nose up. 

“The blue was better,” the older woman answers as though they were fine wines you two had tasted. 

“Pretty sure that’s the blue food coloring over the red. But I promise you the red food dye has a certain buzz.” You flitter your fingers near your head and she laughs again at your joke. 

You don’t remember the last time you’d heard such a full body laugh. 

It makes you smile despite yourself. 

You both sit for a moment and you think maybe she’s trying to sleep again. 

“What do you normally do at five pm as a senior college student in this town? Besides reading vampire smut?” The Professor was definitely sounding flirtatious now, right?

“I don’t have any friends Professor. I mean, I work sometimes at an animal shelter. I made another bro friend, sometimes we go running. I like…live music. Good beer, long walks on the beach…” You smirk at the end and you don’t turn and see a similar look. 

“Wow, a leather jacket wearing softie.” Harkness teases back and you think she’s actually pretty right. 

“It’s not my jacket..I mean it is now, but it wasn’t always…” You trail off and think of a fallen friend. 

“I’m sorry.” The Professor responds, evidently you weren’t as guarded as you’d like to think. 

“Thank you.” You say for the second time in this tight space. 

You listen to her breathe for a few seconds, finding comfort in the melodious way she is in her space. 

Until your surprised by more questions. 

“Why can’t you sleep, afraid the wicked witch teacher will suck our your soul?” Harkness self depricating doesn’t feel on brand and you don’t like it. 

You can’t look her in the eyes but your man enough to apologize when you’re an asshole. So you speak it with your eyes closed, finding the safety in the dark. 

“I shouldn’t have called you that nickname…I guess I just thought if I made you the villain…I could quit all of this… i thought maybe you calling on me all the time, being such a hard professor…I don’t know.” You trail off finding your own apology actual dog shit. 

Harknesss throws you off by being far wiser than you. 

“Why are you running away? You’re so close to your degree?” It seemed like the professor was genuinely devastated by the idea. 

You keep your eyes shut so you don’t see the pity. 

“I transitioned in this town, I go into every room and I’m not…just another guy…I’m that trans guy. I guess i just thought if I could run away from it all..Maybe someone would see me, I guess that’s stupid to hear from someone liike you.” You say and then you have to turn and look at her, but you hadn’t heard her move closer to you. 

That she’d pulled the chair around and was a mere foot away from you. 

“Oh shit, I didn’t realize I was on the clock.” You joked seeing you laying on the sofa and her sitting up looking at you with kindness saved for a loved one. 

Not a random student with an identity problem and a vile of confidence in his backpack. 

But the way her gaze hits your bones makes the joke land flat. 

“You are so handsome, so intelligent, you have the whole world in front of you. Finish your degree, please? You worked so hard, and I-I will stop being so god damn selfish and-” 

You don’t understand and you furrow your brows at her. 

“You aren’t selfish, I mean you’re no easy A. But you-”

“I picked on you in my class, I treated you different because I was having my own…midlife crisis?” Harkness tries the word out like she’s been trying to figure it out herself. 

She looks up like she can’t figure out how to do this. 

As you watched her, you noticed how human she was now, in the heat of this tiny space, in her glasses, in this warm glow. 

“I don’t understand.” You say honestly, still not putting the pieces together. 

Your professor takes a long inhale for confidence and you wonder how someone so brilliant can be so unsure. 

“I treated you different, I punished you so it would punish myself. I’m not supposed to fall for a student, I could lose my job.” Professor says it all at once, almost like she’s a school girl again. 

Your heart was beating in your ears. 

You don’t say a word, but as you stare into her baby blue eyes you are sure this is another dirty dream. 

Those wet ones where you wake up hornier than hell, stupid hormones. 

This can’t be real. 

Professor Harkness can’t be sitting on her desk rollie chair in front of you in her barefeet and heat blush.

Telling you she….

“Fall?” You repeat the word back, like this is a vocabulary test. 

“Yes, I stopped you because if I could still see you everyday- If you were in my class…If I didn’t show favoritism, if I was hard on you - no one would know. Fuck, I had no intention of you finding out this way or-I mean.” 

You cut her off by sitting up and starting at her harder. 

“I’m trans though?” You say and you see Harkness heart break. 

“Sweet boy, I know that. Remember I’ve been here the full four years in the same classroom as you.” She smiles warmly, a look you found yourself intoxicated by. 

Was that possible, to dissolve with the curl of a womans lips like this?

“I-I don’t have a dick, you’re I mean you-” You babble like an idiot. 

You stand up and Harkness pulls her chair back a little so you can pace back and forth. 

You wipe at your forehead with your hand anxiously moving the sweat. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Harkness softness is so good you want to lick it up her thighs. 

“You don’t hate me.” You repeat feeling suddenly claustrophobic in the space. Was this how love hit people, like a mactruck to the ribs?

“No, I never did. You just, caught me off guard and I-I’ve never been-”

Your internalized transphobia sparks and you look at her with big sad eyes. 

“With a transman,” you interject but her gentleness takes the air out of your lungs. 

“With a student.” Your professor responds and your mouth makes a small ‘o’.

You feel naked in front of her now.

“But no, I’ve never been with a transman….I’ve always loved the person not the gender…” Mrs. Harkness looks at you like she’s not sure if you will combust. 

“I don’t think I understand still, what- how?” You just keep looking down at your white socks, your brain short circuting. 

Your Professor stands up and comes to face you, her fingers lift your chin, the bit of hair there soft against her. 

You are eye to eye now and she hesitates. 

“I’m going to try to teach it to you the best way I can, okay?” Her breath smells like blue gusher and something so yummy you couldn’t have possibly envisioned it when you masturbated to the idea of this. 

“Yes please Professor.” You stumble like a boy in love and her grin makes your knees buckle. 

But she moves just centimeters from your lips. 

You can feel them ghosting against yours. 

“You’re going to have to call me Agatha.” She says and you close your eyes just as her lips meet yours. 

You kiss her like it might be your last kiss. You grab at the back of her neck and she moans at the intensity of you.

But you couldn’t hold back if you wanted to, you never imagined a pretty woman would ask you to call her by her first name, you fought to be a man worth kissing. 

And now here she was, and you would’t disappoint. 

Your Professor moans again as your tongue teases at her bottom lip. She’s pushing you back so that you fall onto the leather sofa, and she’s on your lap, straddling you. 

Her stocking covered feet hanging off the side of the sofa as her knees fall to either side of your thighs. 

She sits on you and you thrust up, your clit wanitng to push against her - but it doesn’t know it lacks length. 

You kiss her open mouthed and the moan she makes this time has your body on fire. 

This was so much better than anger, or alone in your room with a vampire book.

Agatha grabs at the back of your hair and tugs so that you can’t keep devouring her. 

“Easy sweet boy, what’s your rush? We have time,” She brushes her lips against you and as you try to surge up she lifts off just a bit. It’s a promise for more than just this room and your heart swells. 

“You are too good to be true.” You say with big adoring eyes up at her. 

She laughs and kisses you gently, and you’re not sure how to love like this. 

But you’re sure that Agatha could teach you. 

Epilogue 

When the locksmith comes to unlock the door, you and Agatha are laying on the worn sofa fast asleep. You’re wearing just your boxers and she’s naked on top of you, your leather jacket draped over her lower back. 

The old man just smirks and closes the door again, leaving a key on her desk. 

HI! FTM writer here and at the first of every month of 2026 I like to do a trans sotry! If you like and want more gender expression reader please go ahead and check out Trans MasterList

“What are you?” Joel gruffs as you’re shoveling snow. 

“What?” You twist in your heavy coat to glare at him. You hated that this old geezer was constantly talking at you. Somehow, every rotation of stupid chores, he was able to get paired with you, and you hated it. Tommy’s not much better than his brother, (staring at you too long) but where Tommy had to be worried about the people, Joel didn’t give a shit. 

Holding up his veiny, calloused, big hands like you needed to calm down, you looked away from him now. 

“I don’t mean nothing bad by it sweet cheeks, you’re just…” He says while gazing at you from your shaved head in it’s beanie down to the boots that you bartered to get that don’t quite fit your feet. 

You ignore him and continue to let your shovel scrape against the pavement. 

“Now don’t be like that sweet cheeks.” Joel carried on, just as he did everyday. 

“Stop calling me that.” You gruf and throw the snow onto the pile. 

“What? Say it!” He asks dumbly, the stubble on his neck is overgrown, you hate how much of a god damn DILF he appears. 

His long sigh at your overreacting comes out in clouds from the cold. 

“Sweet cheeks,” you say tugging the hat off your head, shoving it into your left pocket. The cold air licks at your bare head. 

“You told me I couldn’t call you peach fuzz anymore!” Joel throws his hands up and then drops them against his jeans in upset. 

“Yeah, not that either.” You say and then get frustrated, and stop shoveling to glare at him. “Sweet Cheeks, Peach Fuzz, why are you calling me this shit?” You ask, figuring it’s just plain old hazing, older guy, younger guy. 

But more of the older men in the community call you Hotshot, or Bubba. So you don’t understand these nicknames from Joel. 

He grins big and wide, like he’s waited for you to ask why this whole time. 

“Peach fuzz because you can’t grow a beard, but your head looks downright fuzzy to rub. Not to mention you look like you’d taste sweeter than peaches. And, Sweet cheeks because-” 

You roll your eyes to stop him, putting your shovel against the wall. 

“Let me guess, I have baby face.” You hate this, hate that he finds your gentle masculinity so damn funny. 

But when his face scrunches up in confusion he corrects you.

“No, not those cheeks….” He says innocently then his face cracks open into glee. As he admires your ass. 

“That’s it, I’m done. You can shovel the rest of it old man.” You turn away, your boots creating packed snow to crackle with your steps. 

You walk away from him as Joel continues to call out to you; “Sweet cheeks, come back! I’m old, I can shovel it all myself! Come on Boy! You look so good shovelin’!” 

His harassment has been going on for months, and you were sick and tired of it. 

You head into the main kitchen area in a huff, not caring about the eyes watching you. 

You go to the coffee pot and pour yourself too harshly into the broken mug, then find some whiskey on the top shelf behind a jar of peas that was for sure expired. 

“You alright there, Bubba?” Tommy bravely comes up to you to ask, his wife watching carefully from a distance. Somehow thinking the man would have a better shot of talking you down than her. 

You pour more whiskey than you should into the coffee mug for this time of day. Then you crack the cap closed, pocketing it your big jacket. Not caring that you were stealing now. 

“Stop it with the nicknames, I have a name!” You shout and a few townsfolk turn to watch the display. Tommy looks around the room and then back at you. You take a long drink of the whiskey, you’re not drunk, not by a long shot, but you wanted to be now. 

“Something wrong?” He says lower in volume then before. 

“Yeah, why the fuck does Joel have to be on every single one of my rotations, doesn’t matter how many times I change it. I can’t muck the stalls, go on perimeter watches, work construction, work electrical, or fucking shovel snow without his old man stupid jokes. I’m tired of him, pair him with someone else, anyone else! He taught me and I don’t need him anymore!” You yell, and Tommy’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t reach out to stop you. Instead running his hands through his sweaty hair and nodding towards the back half of the kitchen. 

You walk with him letting the door swing behind your bodies. 

“We call you Bubba, because we respect you.” Tommy eyes you closely, and you understand, but it still twists in your gut. “We’re trying to validate you. But also, the one time someone…made a comment on your … features….Joel punched his face in.”

Tommy tells you the story, and you just don’t understand, as you stare at him. 

He waits for everything to click into place. 

It doesn’t. 

“Why?” You need more information. Someone in the back of the kitchen comes towards the burners with a big pot. Tommy twists to see the person, then grabs your bicep and pushes you out the back door. Your coffee sloshes up to burn your thumb but you don’t care as he’s guiding you to more secluded spot. 

“I don’t think I’m the person to tell you this. But… I can’t keep watching him stalk you and then after each shift, mope and get drunk. So, I’m just gonna say it.” Tommy’s grinding his jaw, nervous and frustrated he’s gotta be the one to clean up this mess. 

“Tommy, just switch me shifts. It’s not a big deal, I don’t-”

“I can’t, you don’t understand. Joel won’t let anyone else do a shift with you…Only him.” He emphasises his facial expressions, begging you to understand. 

“I don’t care that he likes bullying me, making his comments. That he taught me shit, I just- I don’t care. I don’t want to be in this community if this is how it’s gonna be all the time!” You shout at him, then storm off as he calls your name over and over. But it’s too late, you're heading back to your house. 

It wasn’t as big as the family homes; in fact, it was once a garage that you had built up. 

Now it had a small bathroom, a mini greenhouse, skylights, a bed built on you, whittling some old long table into a bedframe. 

The rug you traded a knife you’d made for, you kept some food but never much. 

You’d been working on building a guitar, but so far, it was just parts and time spent. 

The sunlight streamed through your mini home, it was on the lot with Gail. Who had been happy to have you only ten feet from the house. Someone to fix her pipes, help her make candles for the community, and help her grow pot so she didn’t have to barter for it. 

You fixed things, had a green thumb, but mostly you would talk to Gail about life; she was lonely. 

Something you’d been since the day you were born. 

So it was easy to walk into her home and not leave for seven hours. 

Today you’d already tended to the pot plants, already cut all the wood for her fire tonight, for her to make a small can of soup over. 

You put down the broken mug on the small wooden-makeshift countertop you used mostly to make coffee and whiskey mixes. Especially after a long day with Joel, he drove you to drink. You’d roll a joint later, once you could feel your fingers again. 

Kicking off your snow-caked boots inside caused a small puddle to form. But you didn’t care, as you cracked open your tiny cast-iron wood-burning stove. 

You make a tiny fire, happy for the warmth, but understanding that with your smaller body mass, there wasn’t a chance it would reach your bones. 

You take off your jacket and throw it onto an ugly chair you’d taken out of the trash. It had taped bits, and motor oil stain from last spring when you’d been working on a small engine repair. 

Your socks get a little wet, you pull your sweater off, then you toss your oversized flannel tossing them on the weathered chair. 

Standing in your faded blue jeans and a tank top, you rub at your shaved head. Walking over to the blooming heat, the flames licking higher, you keep your hands at the base of your skull. 

Wiggling your toes in your sock-covered foot in front of the fire. Your left small toe poked out from a hole in your socks, needing stitching, like you’d done on your right sock from where you’d already mended the pair. 

There’s a knock at your door, you frown in that direction. 

“GO AWAY!” You shout, not wanting to fix anything or talk to anyone. If a small heater was down, which happened too often, you’d get a knock at your door. 

If someone had a leak in the roof, they’d call you. 

Well, you and Joel, as you both were the best at repairing just about everything. 

So if something was broken, you were going to make them go to his old ass to fix it. 

A fist slammed on your door so hard, that the wood shook the frame of your house.

The knocking only got harder and faster. 

“NOT HOME! GO BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE!” You yell, then grab at your mug so you can down the coffee and whiskey mixture in two gulps. 

The door is swiftly kicked open, your metal lock falling to the ground, for you to see Joel standing there. Your mug shatters on the ground. 

“THE FUCK! YOU BROKE MY FUCKING DOOR!” You yell at him but he slams it closed so hard that it opens a crack again. He whirls around like a bear full of rage, grabbing your armchair, he yanks the heavy thing against the door to barricade it. 

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE JOEL!” You shout, but he eyes you with some kind of crazed look. 

Taking your home in three steps he’s in front of you now.

His giant hand grabs your face and squeezes it in his hold, like he was palming your skull like a basketball. 

“You got a problem with me Peach Fuzz? You don’t wanna play with me anymore?” He grunts out, and you can smell his aftershave. Maybe some poutchili mixed in it, but he was musky like a man who works outside. 

It’s a tad intoxicating, even with all the god damn adrenaline flowing through your body. But his pharmones do things to you.

He smells of smoke, leather, denim, and that sweat you get when you’re under a car for hours. His veins bulging from his neck and forehead have you sure he’ll kill you. 

So why does your body relax in his hold, not shy away?

Joel notices too, as he looks into your eyes, then down at your body. 

Kinda like two dogs fighting for dominance, and one going law in submission, you’re submitting to the older man. 

“You’re not like other boys. So gorgeous, still so handsome too,” Joel says, somethwere between anger and bewilderment. 

“I’m a man.” You argue back, but he disagrees just enough, that you feel angry at him. 

“No, you’re a…gentle boy…so soft, so gentle,” he says, his voice getting deeper, lower in volume, hypnotic to you. Even as your heart beats so loud it’s in your ears. 

“Joel.” You say his name like it’s a threat, though you don’t know what to threaten. 

The man releases your jaw, then moves down to your neck, his other hand coming out to caress you. 

All it would take is a squeeze for him to choke you.

But he doesn’t hold on tight now, as though he’s admiring your pale delicate skin. 

The skin that would only take a second for him to bruise up, to squeeze, to break you. 

He’s so much bigger than you are, he’s got muscle from decades of labor. 

Lean muscle yes, but bulkiness in his shoulders, his biceps, forearms bulging with veins and hair, hands used to being scarred from a fight. 

You tried not to gasp as your chin was tilted back, Joel was tenderly sizing up your adams apple, it was so much smaller than his, less jagged, so tiny. 

Your eyelashes flutter at the dominating way he manhandles you. 

You don’t know if it’s the power he is able to wield over your frame, or the way he seems at home at touching you like he owns you. 

But Joel isn’t letting you go. 

“Your not like other boys…I like that.” He whispers and you roll your eyes at him. 

“Perverted old man - of course you don’t-” You sass him bringing your face down again but he slaps your mouth, hitting your cheek low and you gasp but open your mouth. 

He holds your face tight once more, inches his face so close he could kiss you.

“You know I taught you how to be a smart boy. Taught you how to turn wrenches, how to build. Now Imma teach you how to fuck, cuz I’m your Daddy. Ain’t I? Huh soft boy, you can turn wrenches and shave that head, but you ain’t a big man, not like yer Daddy.” Joels hold is tight and angry. But he’s breathing like his cock is doin the thinking now. 

You moan. 

Fuck you, actually moan, your eyes dilating, body growing weightless. 

Joel likes this too, he’s getting a high off this. 

“Open for Daddy. Come on, Peach Fuzz, lemme see that soft mouth.” His other hand grabs at the back of your neck, commanding. 

You open your mouth, then do him one better, sticking out your tongue. 

He spits on your tongue, and you both moan in unison. 

“You don’t want it sweet, huh? I tried so hard to be kind, to get to know you. But that’s not what you need, you need to shown what type of man Daddy can be. I’ll teach you, don’t you worry.” Joel licks his bottom lip, his facial hair moving as he spits on your tongue again. 

One hand moves to the front of your throat and the other stays at the back of your skull. 

Like it’s so easy to hold you, you’re tiny in his hold, something he can easily teach, easily train. 

You swallow his spit, tasting mint and something dark and earthy. 

You had never considered the old man didn’t want you to be like other boys, he wanted you to be his boy. Your body has goosebumps at the harsh way his fingers dig into your skin. You with no scars, porcelain in comparison to his forest of hair, muscle, and broken scar tissue. He was a perfect contrast to you, and when he would throw you down to spread those cheeks he considered so sweet. It would be a boy and a man, straining and panting like two cowboys at the end of the world. 

“Daddy,” you sigh, and he understands, squeezing your throat. You were a tiny bird and he was all encompassing. 

You reach out and grab his belt, the metal clicks as you easily unhook the leather strap and unclasp his jeans button. The fire crackles in the background as you feel a head high, too excited to see what was under the acid wash jeans, under the flannel pattern worn boxers, what his color his tip was. How long was Joel? How thick was he? Would you learn how to open yourself - wet and wide for him to slide inside. 

No condoms at the end of the world, you would both be thankful, because you needed his scent all around your pussy, a mess of wet cum you created together. 

He’s wild and crazed, and you need him inside, need to feel his sweat, his masculine musk. You want to shower in his heat, hold his seed inside your cunt for as long as you fucking can. 

You didn’t know you needed this, you needed this the whole time. That’s why he was always teaching you, why you wanted his approval so desperately. 

“Take out Daddy’s cock, let me show you what it looks like to be a big man.” He whispers it and you shiver at his breath against your tongue stuck out. 

The zipper is loud in your tiny home as you pull the tab down only to feel his member straining against the fabric, his pubic hair already scratching against the back of your hand. 

“Make me a man, Daddy.”