Am I A Good Puppy? Ruff Ruff!!

you punch nazis!

(requested by anonymous)

CW: Sis with a y

Lmaoooo big fucking yikes. Pro tip, if you want me to fuck with you maybe go over what sort of shit I'm into, getting called (what is imo) a slur doesn't do it for me. Then to top it all off just immediately blocking me instead of apologizing just seals the deal. Peak

I'm lying in bed awake with my gf who is very much still asleep. Just sort of scrolling Tumblr and enjoying my time here. When she sleepily rolls over and pulls me into a cuddle, then whispers "Mine" in my ear. I'm swooning. This is bliss, I look over to her expecting her to be a little awake, but no. Sound asleep as her breathing goes back to that deep sleepy breath. I may have not been physically seen, but even in her sleep, she knows what I need. I love being trans, I love being a lesbian, I love being hers, I love her. This is what it's all about folks.

How It Starts

It’s innocent at first—just two trans girls sitting way too close, sharing mirrors and brushes, pretending this is just about eyeliner techniques and not about the way our hands keep lingering on each other’s skin. You tilt my chin up, fingers brushing my jaw, and I swear I forget how to breathe.

By the time we’re negotiating our little trade—you’ll teach me how to wing my liner if I do your dishes—the tension has already shifted. The touches last a little longer, the teasing gets a little bolder. The compliments start flowing, layered between giggles and stolen glances.

"Your lips look so soft with that gloss."

"Your skin is so smooth—I could touch it all day."

And then—

It’s in that moment, breath catching, fingers hesitating over soft, shivering skin, that we both realize:

Trans girls who get flustered when you compliment them are so cute, like…

And suddenly, one of us is saying it out loud. Come here so I can feel how hard you are.

The words hang between us, thick with heat, a teasing challenge wrapped in a promise. Eyes flicker, lips part, and suddenly, we’re not pretending anymore. The playful touches become something else—gravitational, inevitable.

One moment, we’re giggling over how clumsy we are at getting each other’s tops off, fingers fumbling over straps, buttons, fabric that suddenly feels far too complicated. The next, our laughter is swallowed by gasps and soft, desperate moans, mouths crashing together in messy, lip-gloss-stained kisses.

Fingers tremble against bare skin, tracing curves we’re still learning to love, gripping hips as we grind together, slowly, achingly, lost in the heat. The world outside doesn’t exist—just us, two desperate girls making up for every moment we were denied this kind of love before.

Breathless, needy, we praise each other between gasps. You’re doing so good. You feel so good. Hands roam, nails dig into soft flesh, and for once—just this once—there is no shame, no hesitation.

Just pleasure. Just warmth. Just us.

I hope Nael knows their poem made me cry

favorite thing is when a brat goes from “i hate you” to “i want your cum inside me” in the span of ten minutes