Chapter 1

by Fluxom

Tags: #cw:noncon #complicated_genders #D/s #fantasy #oops_I_spilled_my_gender_fluid #sadomasochism #transgender_characters #battlebots_but_for_wizards #comical_amounts_of_violence #conditioning #dehumanization #graphic_but_harmless_violence #horror #humiliation #im_want_to_kiss_boys #m/m #magic_academy #marking #nb/nb #obvious_conditioning #public_play #ritual_of_the_familiar #spitting #sub_is_too_bimbo_to_fully_grasp_the_horror #transformation

"Oh that's actually a good idea," I said after jokingly posting the premise of this. "I could write a one-shot about that. It'd be real quick. Super easy. Takes like five minutes."

Anyway I did it again and have been peer pressured into admitting to myself that 100+ pages is not a one-shot and I should parse this out as chapters. Whoops.

This is yet another fanfic of mine, this time in the RotF setting so if you want context for some things that will just be assumed then I recommend you read the original over here.

Some people are just upsettingly attractive. It’s true, it’s really true, sometimes, there are some people, who have a face and a body and a whole demeanor that is just so wholly unreal in their power and gender that it is just downright infuriating how horrifically attractive they are.


One such of those people, a particularly large specimen of masculinity was currently sandwiched between the train crowds and right up next me that I had no space to escape his? Their?


Their amazingly beautiful face and shockingly toned body and why the fuck is anyone allowed to look that good what the hell and why is he *giggling* at me like that??

“You’re the anxious type, aren’t you?” they said, giving me another wave of angry feelings because even their voice sounded great. What in all fire is up with this. I just nodded along silently. If I didn’t say anything then I wouldn’t put my foot in my mouth like I always did-  “Oh you don’t even know you’re doing it, do you?” unless I was doing that thing where I got so nervous that I was running my mouth impulsively anyway- “You are.” -which wouldn’t be too much of a surprise given we’re packed shoulder to shoulder in a train full of magically empowered strangers ostensibly going to school but more looking over each others shoulders like vultures- “Here.”

They moved a bit to the side and leaned out, arm out, to make a body barrier between me and the rest of the train. Must be easy when you’re built like a gods blessed brick house and oh no now they’re basically walling me into the corner and I can *smell* them why is that good too!? THAT'S NOT FAIR!?!?

“Going to the academy?” They said, an obvious but welcome attempt to distract me from how crowded it is now that I actually technically did have some breathing room even if it was in their sweaty flesh cell (don’t be visibly horny about that, damnit.) I just nodded dumbly in response. The words, well, died a gay death in my throat. “Me too, I’ll be studying physical therapy for the curse inflicted. You?”

Oh, wonderful, they had a caring heart too. “C-cryptobotany.” I stuttered.

“Not on the familiar track?” They asked. Oh no. I shook my head. Being a familiar would mean having to give up, like, everything? That seems like a lot and frankly I’m scared to even commit to lunch. “Huh, wouldn’t have guessed. You’re glowing bright enough I would have figured you’d been training just for it.”

Glowing? I felt a chill run down my spine. I had always been… gifted, I suppose would be the word, in how much raw energy would pulse through my body. That I took well to the kind of meditative training meant to expand that well of power was also a pleasant gift, though at the time I just thought it was a nice way to get my anxious brain to shut the FUCK up for five seconds. But… I glanced past their arm to the rest of the crowd and this time I saw the predatory glances aimed my way. Raw magical talent, at least an appearance of questionable skill, and an anxious shy heart ready to break down in crowds? I probably looked like a particularly delicious slice of bait.

I gulped.This was a terrible idea. Maybe if I asked nicely they’d let me go home and just promise to not actually use any of my magic powers at all instead. “You okay?” The stupidly pretty person towering over me asked.

I sidestepped having to be honest about my internal meltdown with a clever deflection. “N-name? I mean, your name, er, what is.” I paused. Those were barely words. “What’s your name?”

They looked down at me with a weird look in their eye. Appraising? Pondering? I don’t know how faces work why is this so hard. “I have one,” They answered slowly, but then added with a wink, “But I get the impression you’d prefer to call me Sir.”

“Sir!?” I yelped.

“Just like that!” Sir chuckled. “And you strike me as a Flower.”

“...Flower!?!?” Confusion overrode the sensibilities needed to be angry.

They just nodded firmly. “Yeah, you’ve got that flower energy. Actually, you know what?” With their free hand Sir suddenly took hold of my chin and pulled it up to make me look them in their big beautiful eyes and- fuck, I’m just a hopeless gay I shouldn’t be expected to have to endure this but I didn’t exactly want to look AWAY either- was that a good idea? Or maybe I should be looking away. “Yeah, I think I like you. Here.” Their nail suddenly dug into my cheek and dragged down, sending a blooming burst of heat across my face as it went that surged out in a flash before vanishing just as quickly. “There, now everyone who sees you will know to back off since you’re all mine.”

As soon as Sir let me go I dropped limply onto my luggage. With a shaking hand I touched the side of my face and felt… nothing unusual? Just my usual lovely soft skin, without even a mark from their nail. I thought about turning my head to look at my reflection in the window and decided against it out of hand. If I actually saw something that I might actually have a breakdown and I’m embarrassed enough around strangers as it was.

Mercifully, the conversation between me and the obnoxiously pretty stranger simmered off into silence after that. I remained seated in the corner atop my luggage, while they continued to wall me off from the dangerous crowds while keeping a hand on my shoulder so I ‘wouldn’t fall down when the train stops’ or whatever. That I mentally pictured the same strong hand ruffling through my hair was a secret I mercifully kept to myself though.

All I've done all day is think about boys with gender. I don't think I'll ever recover

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