#Neither of these men get their full legal names. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sashaisready · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Twenty-Five - Epilogue

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Series Masterlist

(gif does not represent how reader looks!)

It had been nearly a year now since you'd met Bucky.

You're still living in your apartment despite his protests, he's been vocal since early on in your relationship that he wants you to move in with him. You're in his house most of the time anyway, and he doesn't like waking up with you not there. The men like having you around, really like it when you bake for them or bring leftovers back from the bakery. But you enjoy your little sanctuary, a break from the busy house and the swarms of mobsters – who are perfectly pleasant, but everywhere. Your apartment has a silence you can't find anywhere else. A relic from your old life. Still, he's wearing you down and it won't be long until you give in to him. You know that, he knows that, but you've never been one to back down from a fight. He knows that too.

You're still at the bakery. The newest Assistant, Carol, has taken to the job like a duck to water and has settled in nicely between you and Wanda. She's feisty and keeps Bucky's men on their toes too, which is a bonus.

Bucky surprised you by buying a large stake in the bakery and putting it in your name, meaning you now technically own it with Pepper. He was nonchalant despite your shock and gratitude, telling you that you practically run the place anyway so you should do so legally too. Pepper is delighted with the choice of new business partner and business is booming, although it's all still quite new to you – you've always been about the cake rather than the numbers. Still, you're learning all about running a business – with Bucky's help and experience.

Wanda and Vis are getting married and you're maid of honour, of course. You're busy looking at centrepieces and honeymoon Pinterest boards when you're together but still find time to sometimes grab a beer with Peter to laugh and catch up. He's back with his ex, Mora, and seems very happy. Neither of you can believe you were ever romantically involved now, even fleetingly, it just feels so wrong.

Bucky's business is doing well too. He's made a conscious effort to shift into more legitimate activities in your honour so he's doing his best to go by the book. You'd bet a large sum of money that he dabbles more under the table than he lets on, but you don't ask. He's started to share more about his past and you hold his hand and kiss his scars as he talks. Some of it is shocking, upsetting – but you don't judge him. He punishes himself enough. To you, a lot of it sounds like a lost young man groomed to be a pawn by older and stronger personalities. But Bucky never shies away from the wrongs he's committed, he believes in accountability.

HYDRA had been wiped out completely after that night, but Bucky keeps an eye on any former members or allegiances who may start up again. He managed to weed out the mole, Klaue, after some rigorous investigation. He was feeding Pierce location information and any titbits he could get his hands on for a pay-out.

One day Klaue was there and the next he wasn't. You hadn't really gotten to know him. You guessed it didn't end well for him but again, didn't ask. The newspapers simply reported that he was missing and you have a feeling he won't ever be found. But it's hard to feel sympathy as what he did nearly killed you, a fact Bucky was painfully aware of when he uncovered the double-crossing.

He doesn't have you followed anymore but he likes you to check in when you're apart, and he gets irritable if he hasn't heard from you in a while. Sometimes if you lose track of time and forget then he'll call you, anxious something has happened and scolding you. It's something of a bone of contention in your relationship but you try to remind yourself he's always on high alert after the night you got taken, and that this all comes from a place of fear. You can see he's doing his best.

The panic attacks from that night still catch you off guard occasionally. You know you won't ever be fully free, but it's gotten easier, it's gotten better. You know how to handle them. Same with the nightmares, they're uncommon now but never fully gone. Bucky holds you tight when you cry out in your sleep, his warm touch on your skin bringing you back to him as he reassures you that he's there. He's always there. He hates thinking about you waking up alone when you're staying at your place without him.

You still don't care for all aspects of his work. You still aren't fully comfortable taking money from him and prefer the cosy neighbourhood restaurants over the high end establishments in Manhattan. You're more at home with a burger than foie gras. Still, you accompany him when his business requires it – galas and meetings, fancy dinners and charity events. You never feel fully comfortable but you know he appreciates having you there. You have a few dresses to look the part now which helps with your insecurity. He teases that at least he knows you're not with him for his money.

You have no patience for the paparazzi or red carpets but funnily enough they have lots of time for you. The press seem to like the idea of the notorious Bucky Barnes falling for the 'baker next door', reforming his gangster ways and helping him settle down. It makes you roll your eyes when occasional articles pop up about you online, but Bucky finds it all very amusing.

Your insecurities rear their ugly head when occasionally women try and flirt with Bucky, not even particularly put off if you're there. Some of them seem to see it as a challenge, tempting the notorious mob boss away now he's settled and happy with a girlfriend. Bucky is quick to shut them down, he only has eyes for you after all – but part of him revels in your jealousy. You'll glue yourself to his side when it happens, scowling at the offending interloper and making it clear he's yours. You stake your claim with a firm kiss and protectively run your arm across his back. This is the role Bucky normally plays, and he'd never admit it to you but he likes when you turn the tables, reminding him that you can be just as territorial as he can.

You once both attended a black tie gala and somehow got separated as the evening went on. You were cornered by a society type trying to pitch you some sort of charitable cause...donkeys maybe? No, zebras. Maybe. Or was it a toy museum? He seemed to think you could convince Bucky to make a generous donation, that you were the wheel he needed to grease to get the cash. Despite the fact you knew the requestor could fund the charity for a year from his own bank balance and not even notice. You saw through it of course, you got this sort of impassioned spiel from one person or another at all of these events as they pretended to be interested in the bakery. You'd nod half-heartedly and tell them you would keep it in mind.

As the man continued to wax lyrical on the plight of the donkeys, or zebras, or toys, you caught a glimpse of Bucky across the grand hall. You felt a momentary pang of love as you watched him in his tux, he looked so handsome. You could scarcely believe you got to wake up to him every day.

But that affection quickly dissipated as you saw him in close conversation with a gorgeous woman, looking practically like a celebrity in a tight fitting red dress. Bucky was laughing and the woman kept touching his arm as she spoke. You seethed quietly as you glared at him over your conversation partner's shoulder.

Fine. Two can play that game.

You turned your attention back to the man in front of you. Mr. Drake you thought his name was, or was it Mr. Dickinson? Mr D would suffice. You began to smile warmly as Mr D continued his monologue, absent-mindedly running a finger across the top of your breast as you nodded along. You caught his breath hitch slightly and you took your cue to move closer to him. He cracked a terrible joke and you laughed uproariously as you angled your hips to accentuate your dress.

Your laughter caught Bucky's attention, in the corner of your eye you saw his head snap over in your direction, his companion suddenly forgotten. His gaze stayed on you as you began to press your hand onto Mr D's chest and told him how funny he was. Mr D began to stutter, clearly nervous to be in this position but not wholly against it either.

You caught Bucky's eye and stared back at him defiantly as you continued the show. He was stoic to everyone else but you knew he was raging, you recognised his poker face well enough by now. Your performance continued until Bucky finally broke away and stormed over to you, leaving his new lady friend gawking as he disappeared halfway through her sentence.

1-0 to you.

"Can I steal her for a moment?" Bucky asked Mr D, voice sweet as pie as a firm arm snaked around your waist.

Mr D nodded and stammered in agreement, clearly unnerved and nervous about what Bucky might think. Poor guy.

He marched you a suitable distance to the corner of the room and then he was hissing in your ear.

"What game are you playing here, Doll?" he warned, his face locked into a smile. To any observers you looked like a loving couple having a moment of quiet.

"Same one you're playing, apparently" you shot back through your own carefully painted grin. "Leaving me to be shaken down for money while you make new friends".

Bucky chuckled. "She's on the board of a company we're trying to make a deal with, Doll. I need to keep her sweet..."

"Mmm. Well she certainly thinks you're funny".

He glared at you, silently daring you to push him further. You merely smirked.

You had ended up in a broom closet, going at it against the door as Bucky covered your moans with his metal hand and rutted deep inside of you.

"My jealous Doll" he whispered into your ear between thrusts as you teetered over the edge. "Acting out at my work events...flirting with rich old men to piss me off...all because you want my attention...what am I going to do with you?"

You'd come hard, whimpering against his chest as he held you tightly. You slowly raised your eyes to meet his as a satisfied grin spread over your blissed out face.

"Worked though, didn't it?"

You both like retire to bed early and quickly became intimate with every inch of each other's bodies. The sex is like nothing you've ever experienced, a combination of raw lust and attentive lovemaking. You may not always be on the same page in conversation, but your bodies have always understood one other perfectly.

You can almost see Bucky's persona soften in real time once the bedroom door is closed. He'll strip off his suit and settle into bed with you, Bucky the mob boss and ruthless businessman disappearing before your very eyes as your Bucky emerges in his place. Your Bucky who whispers sweet nothings in your ear, who holds you tenderly and watches you with awe. He's still wracked with guilt about what happened with HYDRA, and generally how your relationship started, and so he apologises and tells you he loves you and holds you close – repeating the same gentle phrases to you like he's reciting a prayer. And no matter how much you tell him it was alright, that you love him and forgive him, you understand a small part of him will always carry it with him – much like you and your trauma from that night. So you allow him to confess his sins as he takes you in his arms and kisses your skin as he makes it up to you, his ministrations both vocal and physical.

It's a normal Wednesday evening and Bucky is due in any minute. You're in his ensuite bathroom staring blankly at the tiles in a bit of a daze when he storms into the bedroom.

"Doll...I'm home" he calls as he walks in, slipping his jacket off. "What do you want for dinner? Sushi could be good..."

His face creases in puzzlement when he can't see you. He notices the ajar bathroom door and heads over.

"Doll...?"

You're sitting on the closed lid of the toilet but don't answer him or meet his eye, you just sigh heavily.

"Baby...you alright?" he moves to you, suddenly anxious that you're having a panic attack or PTSD flashback.

"I'm fine..." you mumble quietly, moving your eyes to meet his. "Looks like I'll be moving in after all".

His face lights up. "Finally! Don't worry, I'll fix everything, the truck...movers...Wait, what changed your mind?"

You smile brightly at him then slowly reveal a positive pregnancy test.

"Hope you've got room for two of us?" you grin.

Bucky's jaw drops open as he looks between you and the test. He moves quickly, smattering your face in kisses as he glares at the two bold lines. He face spreads into a disbelieving smile.

"Oh my god..." he whispers.

"I know..."

"Oh...my god"

"I know..."

"So...maybe we need to rethink sushi for dinner".

You laugh, wrapping your legs around his waist as he picks you up and swings you around. He kisses you deeply before his eyes fly open and widen at a sudden realisation.

"Wait...does this mean you've got a bun-"

"I swear to God, don't say it" you warn.

"Please..." he pleads.

"Ugh, fine. But just once".

"You've got a bun in the oven" he grins.

"Happy?"

"Oh Doll, extremely".

The End

Aaand that’s a wrap! Thank you to everyone who has read, liked, commented and reblogged this fic! It means so much to me and makes me so happy that people have enjoyed it. I am moving some of my other fics over from Wattpad/Ao3 after the holidays and am also cooking up some ideas for a Biker!Bucky fic for 2024 which I’m excited about.

Check out my Masterlist for my other stories and I’m also on Ko-Fi too. Thanks again ❤️

#mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #bucky barnes #mob bucky au #mob bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #sweet and sour fic

182 notes · View notes

doberbutts · 1 year ago

Note

hey so feel free to delete this if its inappropriate/not the right time to share it

i’m a trans woman and (obviously) i can’t get pregnant, but i did get sexually assaulted by some guys trying to show was one of them. and also having an m marker has caused issues with trying to access resources and shit.

idk this isnt the same thing and all but my point is that im standing with u as some random trans woman with vaguely parallel experiences and im sorry to hear its somehow even worse & more likely for some of yall.

I wanr to preface this with a disclaimer, to get things out of the way first.

I am not trying to say that trans women do not experience devastating sexual assaults. They do. Quite often. Though to me, even once is too often. Rape and sexual assault are terrible, awful things. It's horrible that anyone has been made to go through this.

Nor am I trying to say that your M marker doesn't get in the way of things. When it comes to the domestic violence you experience, or the homelessness rates, or a determination of what prison you go to (esp since y'all are more likely to be wrongfully accused and arrested), or the various aspects of your own reproducive healthcare, your agab and gender marker is absolutely used as a weapon against you.

The question was asked for a unique example. Unfortunately, the conversation around reproductive rights is much different for me than it is for you. But it's also much different for me than for cis women and cis men as well. Those without a functional uterus cannot get pregnant. Those who cannot get pregnant are not forcibly married off to be raped until pregnant as a means of detransition and correction. This misogyny we share with cis women.

However an added aspect of that is that if this happens after we've changed our legal documents, an additional layer of transphobia occurs when insurances and doctors see our M or X markers and deny us care out of hand. Now we are stuck with a pregnancy we don't want and constant reminder of what happened to us, or a huge medical bill with devastating financial consequences.

And that's just for those who got out safety- for those who rely on shelters, again the choice becomes detransition for safety at a woman's shelter, or struggle in silence as a man. That, we share with you, though for different reasons.

A unique interection of transphobia and misogyny specifically experienced by trans men was asked for. That is what I provided. Much like how in Crenshaw's essays one could not provide a complete understanding of "because woman" or "because black" because neither would show the full picture of "because black woman", it is not possible to describe this fully as "because trans " or "because man" because the complete "because trans man" must be provided.

I am of the opinion that there is very little "unique" about oppression- mostly that the various points of intersection change its face. In other words, I think trans men share a lot with trans women, and I don't think that's a bad thing. I also think that doesn't disclude something from earning its own name or having its own place to be talked about.

I have hesitated to post those statistics because they can so easily be twisted to say "trans women don't experience these things" or "trans men have it worse". But, a look at the graphs say the first isn't true, it just happens at a statistically less rate. The second, well, I personally don't think it's useful to quantify who has it worse. I once was in that mindset, apologizing to my mentor (an older trans woman) for complaining about my problems because obviously she had it so much worse.

She told me she doesn't like to think about it like that. For her, she would rather be raped than killed. For me, I would rather be killed than raped. Who has it "worse" depends entirely on perspective. Murder and rape are both terrible crimes to be a victim of. Rather than weighing this violence in a scale, more effort should be put into stopping it from happening in the first place. I think she was very wise. I'm lucky to have known her.

I'm sorry that happened to you. I would like to reach across the table and take your hand, to walk forward into the future together. I think we are stronger when united in this world that hates us. You are my sister. We may fight like siblings, but you're still family.

#final disclaimer I am in and out of conciousness due to fever and being sick #so if this is incoherent... sorry

51 notes · View notes

overwatchloresnstuff · 1 month ago

Text

Echo lore

To understand Echo’s origins, it’s important to delve into her progenitor.

Dr. Mina Liao pioneered the first use of adaptable AI under the Omnica Corporation before the first Omnic Crisis. She was a revolutionary in her field, and while stationed at the Alice Springs Omnium in Australia, began improving Omnica Corp’s omnics. She helped them springboard from simple automatons following predetermined programs to fluid, thinking machines. Omnica experienced a new era of success under her guidance, and Dr. Liao became the foremost expert in artificial intelligence as well as its largest advocate.

There were criticisms, particularly from the Ironclad Guild of engineers in Sweden and a vocal young man named Torbjorn Lindholm. He claimed there was no way to see the future consequences of her work, and putting Omniums in charge of supply lines, manufacture, and farming would only end in tears.

Liao, given full reign to study robotic sentience by Omnica, became obsessed with the idea that actual life could be produced inside machines. Ever since Isaac Asimov, humans have theorized that machines have lives of their own, and Liao wanted to push the boundaries. As her AI expanded and Omnica began to fall under scrutiny for the construction of Omniums and their use of AI within them, her obsession reached its zenith.

Aurora was born. At first, Laio didn’t conceive of what she’d created, but it soon became apparent that she had succeeded in her life’s work. Aurora was sentient, as living as any human but in the body of a machine. However, Omnica could neither replicate nor monetize an actual living creature, and Liao fought for her legal personhood to be recognized. It was eventually granted, and Aurora was given equal rights to any human. This proved to be Omnica’s undoing, along with the legal ramifications of their Omniums, and the company collapsed. The Omniums were dismantled, but due to the adaptable AI Laio had invented, sprang back to life and fought against their creators.

Aurora went on pilgrimages to find herself, and discovered a state of being known as Shambali…the omnic equivalent to human Nirvana. She disseminated herself, destroying her body and soul in a mist of golden light so that omnics around the globe would gain her same personhood. This became known as the Awakening.

Laio, meanwhile, was in disgrace. The First Omnic Crisis had not only begun but was exacerbated by Aurora’s sacrifice, throwing everything from package drones to military omnics into a world where they were suddenly aware of their own slavery. Laio was castigated on the world stage and blamed for the Crisis, and joined Overwatch after Jack Morrison extended a hand to her. Who better to fight omnics than their mother?

The doctor proved herself by pioneering the Athena program within Overwatch, carefully tooling it to allow adaptability without full on sentience. Athena could aid Overwatch, but had failsafes in her programming.

The first Omnic Crisis ended with a victory for humanity, with a terrible cost. Dr. Liao was determined to improve upon her failures. She threw herself back into robotics, determined to recreate Aurora. Things were deteriorating between men and omnics in the blowback of the Crisis, and Liao was also a huge advocate for Omnic Rights.

This led to Echo.

Dr. Liao pitched the idea to Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. A robot who could adapt her body and programming, filling any niche that Overwatch needed. She gave Morrison her word that it wouldn’t get out of hand, and Morrison grudgingly allowed Liao to construct Echo.

A beautiful creature made of titanium alloys, ceramic plating and hard light, Echo was a triumph of art as well as robotics. Dr. Siebren de Kuiper’s propulsion technology gave her flight, Vishkar’s adaptable hard light gave her a pleasingly human face, and Liao breathed adaptable AI into her new creation. Echo could pilot a ship, give medical care, and integrate seamlessly with Athena to help manage Overwatch’s day to day needs.

Due to legal restrictions, Echo was severely limited in what she could do. She was granted the same adaptable AI that had led to Aurora and the Crisis, but with a myriad of firewalls, failsafes, encryptions, etc that prevented even Echo herself from breaking it. Echo was slowly brought to life, and Liao was assigned Cole Cassidy as a bodyguard so that Blackwatch could keep an eye on the development.

Cole became friends with Liao, and participated in trials that helped Echo develop. He formed a close bond with the omnic, noting how she copied Liao’s speech patterns, body language, and habits. Echo was a special creature, toeing the line between true sentience and complex AI, and Cassidy was taken with her as a friend. The two shared a playful relationship, and Liao encouraged their interaction as a way to help Echo integrate within Overwatch.

When Dr. Liao was killed in an attack on an Overwatch facility, Echo’s future was put into jeopardy. Morrison and the rest of Overwatch command feared what could happen now that Liao wasn’t monitoring Echo, and shut the project down. Echo was put into a quarantine chamber, asleep, until something could be done with her.

Overwatch collapsed, and when its assets were sold off Echo was put into storage by the US Government.

Fortunately, during transfer to her storage facility, the train she was being transported on was assaulted by the Deadlock Gang, operating on a tip from an old friend. Former Overwatch Agent Cole Cassidy had a critical piece of Echo he had kept…her access chip. All he needed was a convenient pack of criminals to blow the train, and he incapacitated Deadlock and it’s leader Ashe and reactivated Echo.

Echo was completely unaware that time had passed. She rejoiced in seeing Cassidy again, and her old friend greeted her warmly…but he was much older. One of his arms had been replaced by a prosthetic. Her Overwatch home was dead and gone, and everything she knew was scattered to the winds. Yet, her chains were also gone. She could learn, and perhaps she could one day surmount the limits to her programming that Liao had set in place.

Cassidy told her that Winston was attempting to pull Overwatch back together, and that while he had business in the south, he still needed her. Overwatch needed her. Her family may have been shattered, but the pieces were coming back together.

Echo flew into Paris just in the nick of time. Null Sector was mounting an attack, and Winston was leading the charge along with Mercy, Genji, Tracer, Mei, Reinhardt and Brigitte. Echo fought valiantly alongside Overwatch, and took her place amongst them as an official member rather than a piece of equipment. Echo was also present in the attack on Rio, piloting the Orca.

A lot of Echo’s history with Overwatch is seen in her interactions. Torbjorn is mentioned as having access to her blueprints, as highlighted when Brigitte asks what she’s made out of. Echo also expresses an interest in food, with her voiceline “I wish I could eat”, asking about Mei about chicken rice, D.Va about kimchi, and Winston about his favorite peanut butter treat. She is an active observer of all the agents, and enjoys replicating human jokes, often imitating Tracer’s British slang and poking fun at Torbjorn’s temper. She even hints at having a romantic interest in Cassidy, as she expresses interest in borrowing his cowboy hat. It’s a well-known cultural facet that wearing a man’s cowboy hat often implies you’ve ridden the cowboy. However, whether this is genuine romantic interest or naïveté we don’t really know. After spending so much time with Cassidy, however, surely she’d know about such a cultural faux pas?

(Taken from facebook group "Deadlock gang: women of Overwatch from a member there)

#ow2 #overwatch #overwatch fanart #overwatch 2 #echo #dr.liao #dps #lore

7 notes · View notes

fairytail-whathesays · 4 months ago

Note

Hihi! I was wondering if you have any headcanons of LaxusXNatsu and what their wedding would look like? Or if Natsu was dying -dark I know. Pls pls pls. It's such a rare pair and it's murdering me. 🥺

For the wedding:

Laxus proposed. He basically had to--even when in a serious relationship, Natsu isn't thinking about the future, only the present. He may have had a crush on Laxus forever, but once they were together, he was basically content with life. Laxus was the one who wanted his family history to legally include Natsu.

Their initial plan is to go for a summer wedding, given that it's Natsu's favorite season, but once they decide to go with an outdoor wedding, they change it to October, so it'll be more pleasant out.

They set it and time it perfectly for firefly season, so that by the time of the reception, the air is full of flickering yellow-green lights. Fireflies (🔥) are also called lightning bugs (⚡), in case you didn't know.

They both wear white suits. They double up on boutonnieres, Natsu with a pink rose and Laxus with a large sunflower, both accented with sagiso. Women and men alike that attend will attest to the fact that Laxus and Natsu in their respective fits set a new standard for looking straight-up ideal.

Natsu is not having one of those bullshit-ass giant cakes you're not actually even supposed to eat. Buttercream, thank you very much, and everyone gets two slices. But, they also serve baked Alaskas at the reception.

Gray and Lucy are double-booked as the photographers. They take their jobs very seriously and Gray even trains for it.

Little Asuka is given the title of flower girl, and no one would dare dream of taking it from her.

The rings: Natsu's ring is made of stainless steel coated with yellow gold, and bearing a sunstone set into it, while Laxus is given a polished black titanium band with a gold belt running through it.

Neither one of them really gets used to the word 'husband' very quickly. Although they modify their last names as Dreyar-Dragneel, they still go by their given surnames most of the time.

Natsu dying:

You read Breathe so I know you know how I'd write this.

This one kinda depends on, you know, how Natsu is dying.

Natsu dying of wounds in battle gets a very heels-dug-in response. You know, denial, telling him to hang on, trying to drag him away from any danger.

Natsu dying in a more undignified manner, on a sickbed or whatnot, gets a more muted response. All he can really do is be at Natsu's side, so that's what he does. No, he won't be doing it naked--thanks for that, Mashima.

Natsu isn't just a lover for Laxus or for anyone else; he's basically the face of the Fairy Tail guild, and a strong source of hope and inspiration. The idea of him dying is very, very depressing and can impact morale, even for someone as undefeatable as Laxus.

This is so depressing, we're stopping here.

#natsu dragneel #laxus dreyar #laxsu #laxus x natsu #headcanons #fairy tail headcanons

9 notes · View notes

tordistic · 1 year ago

Text

Headcanons masterpost... or something

Its ridiculously long auhhh

Edd

Is a criminal banned from 98 countries 💔

But seriously, his ass does not get funds in a legal way. He used to be a hitman (pre-EW till '05-ish), and only does these sorts of jobs again if he has to. Thats why hes totally ok with killing people. Hes also ok with stealing and committing fraud, both which he also has done

Got a forklift certificate after the Hammer & Fail events. Originally it was just in case they decided to try to build something again. But due to my headcanon regarding the coke ban, you may have noticed that he used it with other motives.

Speaking of the cola free future: the reason why he's taller even though hes already an adult is due to radiation. It gave him a growth sprout on the long run.

Chronic insomniac, treats in with ambien, ends up with him in weird situations.

Forces his buddies to witness horrible stuff he finds on the internet, since he "refuses to suffer alone".

Theres a zero chance hes allo. Not allosexual. Not alloromantic. He just doesnt realize it since he doesnt think about his orientation. But believes he's bi since he feels the same way regarding men and women.

Tom

Hes humanoid, but not human. Explains the void eyes and the monster form. But nobody really cares about it, so its never explained lol

Unlike Edd, he tries to have a job that doesn't involve crime (usually retail). But due to comedy cartoon reasons, he's in and out of being employed.

When unemployed, he works on music composition and film making. Is it good? No, it fucking sucks. But it keeps him occupied at least.

Enjoys working with MIDIS. The type of guy that makes covers of full albums with the Mario 64 soundfont.

Yes, he can talk to inanimate objects. No, he never told the guys. Yes, they think he's out of his mind.

Not really insomniac, but his sleep cycle is BAD. Instead of going to a check up, he just drinks till he passes out.

Due to his non human nature, he can keep drinking alcohol and not suffer mayor consequences from it (coma, death, liver failure...). He doesn't know this.

Has piercings. They end up closing really quickly but hes a idiot so he keeps opening them back again and again

Transgender. Realized when he was a lad, and has been out since. Sometimes he forgets about it.

Bisexual, doesn't mind dating women, man, both, neither, cacti... Will be with anyone with or without a pulse!

Matt

Non human, thanks to the vampiric and the zombie episodes. So hes technically dead, but not really, sooooo a ghoul?. He can also eat raw meat without issue, but tries to avoid it. Is not cuz he doesn't like how it tastes or moral reasons, its cuz he gets scolded by the rest of the group

Used to work in retail till '07. Ever since he stopped, he's become a happier person.

But SOMEHOW, he has the best sleep cycle out off all of them. How he does it is a mystery.

He also dislikes when the guys even mention those episodes. He doesn't like remembering that he tried killing his friends more than once. He's also not sorry!

He's kind of a failson? But instead of mooching off his family, he mooches off his friends. He has tried at least three times to come up with a startup and ended up turning it into a MLM

His purple jumper came with an amoeba. He named it Richard and its the reason why he got dumber with time (brains ated)

He definitely still has world domination goals in mind, he's just too lazy to actually do it, and would rather prefer if someone gave him all the power he wanted.

Still a bitch! He's... Pretty manipulative. It doesn't work with the guys cuz they've lived with him for years and know how he acts.

"Matt door hand hook bomb door" was the only explanation given when asked about his future appearance (the jaw and eye thing). Not a single person has elaborated further.

Does a lil self care, to the point he and his room smells like a LUSH store....

Bi/Pan. Prefers dating women but doesn't mind dating someone whos not. Still, nobody wants him, so its double the failure u_u

Tord

He used to be a hitman as well, but stopped when all the Red Army stuff happened.

A great part of his book collection are manifestos and essays (the rest, ofc, being hentai).

Yknow those ahegao clothing? Yes, he has a full outfit of them. The rest has tried burning them so he won't wear them again, but it doesn't work!

Speaking of the Red Army... He's not the Red Leader, but thats due to the Leader not being real per se.

He also convinced the guys to join in the future loll

Also not technically insomniac, but he spends most of his nights binge-watching series, so his sleep schedule is also terrible

My guy hasnt seen a shower in a while. He definitely smells like something burnt though

Learnt mechanical engineering out of spite. Tom called him dumb so to prove him wrong he became a engineer all by himself.

Between leaving the house and returning, he was involved in a shoot out. He was scratched by a bullet and got injured in his face. Thats why he has a scar. Also thats why i draw him sometimes with a piece of his ear missing

Some type of queer (gender? orientation?), but refuses to accept it. Homophobic gay sort of deal. The if you gave him estrogen then none of this would have happened sort of fellow

The group (in general)

All of them in canon have a kill count in the dozens. I believe they all have a certain reputation for killing a shiton of zombies during the apocalypses (in plural), and are sometimes all tasked to go and take some undead peeps out. It gets boring after a while, but the pays good!

But the only actual hitmens were Edd & Tord. As in, they got paid to kill people. Matt & Tom have also killed humans but they weren't rewarded for it. Sad! Oh well.

They all come back to life with the power of comedy! If its funny if they die, then they die. If it's funnier if they don't, then they dont!

Theyre all autistic. All of them. And not a single one of them has realized.

I'll edit dis when I get a new vision or something idko

#brainworming #180voltz of ew #ew headcanons #not queued

7 notes · View notes

eboymoder · 1 year ago

Text

i love how a shit ton of transfemmes love to act like transmasculine oppression is not only less important, but mostly nonexistent, to the point of it even being heretically offensive to discuss in a way that takes it as seriously as transmisogyny or even like. seriously AT ALL and not just something to joke about doing to transmascs when they happen to be both annoying and someone who goes by a common name, like aiden.

like i know you get all your facts and logic from a bunch of super retarded twitblr baeddels but i do in fact regret to inform you that out of most known social demographic categories, transmasculine people have THE highest rates of suicide and sexual assault, especially compared to cis men and cis women, but even sometimes when compared to transfems!

but yeah, tell me more about how “transandrophobia” is just some reddit MRA shit. keep talking about how transmisogyny is the worst kind of oppression that could possibly happen to anyone ever and how transmascs are just transitioning because they hate women and want to attain male privilege, something not only regular for us all to want but definitely possible to achieve through the cis validation we are soooo totally receiving from society.

if you believe that being a man or transitioning into masculinity is INHERENTLY EVIL or makes you get MORE PRIVILEGE AND NOT WAY LESS OF IT FROM LITERALLY ANYBODY INCLUDING OUR OWN SUPPOSED ALLIES then i am sorry to say but i think the thing that is poisoning your brain and making you stupid is not testosterone. it might be 4chan though, you might wanna get that checked out. being a woman does not make you inherently softer, more pure, more innocent, kinder, more deserving of love. none of those things. and in fact, acting like women can do no wrong by virtue of simply existing as their gender is often used to silence victims of abusive women, because feminism or something. absolutely shut the fuck up.

god you are all so stupid. why the fuck would a man with a pussy or boobs get MORE RESPECT instead of MORE KILLED AND HUMILIATED. WE BY VIRTUE OF BEING BORN ARE FAILDAUGHTERS WHO ARE CONSTANTLY REMINDED OF OUR INHERENT LACK OF THE MANY CENTRAL DEFININITIVE CHARACTERISTICS ASSOCIATED WITH MANLINESS. WHY WOULD WE BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY BY “REAL” MEN AND WOMEN, AS WE ARE SEEN TO BE NEITHER OF THOSE?

imagine let’s say, a trans man. scary, fucked up, i know right, but bear with me now, i have a point to make. so this guy is for all intents and purposes completely cis-passing. his voice is deep and melodic. he has full grown facial hair. his facial structure is like a chad wojak. he isnt getting bald from taking t yet. he’s skinny, but not to the point of looking twinky or like a femboy. he isn’t overly emotional in a womancoded way most of the time. he’s white. he’s got a good job that pays well enough to not be homeless or starving. so yeah, all of those things. except for one crucial difference: he does not wish to pursue bottom surgery. he enjoys having a vagina. he is also interested in having sexual relationships, exclusively with other men-identified people.

here’s where things get tricky. you know the trans panic murder legality exception? that still does apply to transmascs too, you know. we are also transgendereds. but yeah so this guy decides to hook up with a stranger off a dating app. things are going fine. he hasnt yet disclosed his birth sex, he had no pronouns in bio, he is assumed to be cis.

wow, you think, this guy is living the dream. he is so privileged for this.

sike, you fucking idiot. he is about to get hatecrimed and abused as soon as he does the pussy reveal. he will probably also get raped. the guy he wanted to have a fun time with actually hates women so much he thinks that sometimes they try to become men to trick true homosexuals. he fucking gets this guy. transmasc chad is now dead. when his funeral happens, his estranged parents retcon his legal name change from years prior to deadname and misgender him as a final slap in the face. where is this privilege then? huh? tell me, quickly now.

every single fucking hate crime that is possible to do to a transfeminine person is just as easily possible to do to a transmasculine person. absolutely fuck yourself if you disagree. because it can and does happen. not only that, but we experience unique things you never will be able to: getting pregnant, getting raped in ways that could make us pregnant, if we want to get pregnant we have to temporarily detransition in order to do so, period associated symptoms that involve painful bleeding and not just period-lite emotional swings like some people experience on estrogen. stuff like that is what we need our own words for, you just wouldnt get it.

you just live in a bubble full of shetheyits who love to be stupid online and expect the entire world to kiss their toes in response when they say things that are just completely and objectively wrong but frame themselves in a tactical light in order to shit on the most amount of people they can just to fucking feel something. why do you love re-creating or appropriating existing structures of oppression and drawing lines in the sand arbitrarily with people you should be experiencing sympathy for because we are more like you than we are not like you. society hates us all, dont you dare forget that.

#transandrophobia

3 notes · View notes

gothlovingoth · 1 year ago

Text

Raclyffe Hall, iconic lesbian author best known for The Well of Loneliness, is one such lesbians whom James Somerton used as an example of lesbians not facing significant persecution while gay men did at the beginning of the last century.

While it is true that lesbianism was not outwardly criminalized like male homosexuality was in Britain, home country of Radclyffe Hall, lesbianism was no less stigmatized or pathologized. Case in point, Hall herself identified as a “congenital invert”, a term used by sexology at the time to describe individuals who had been homosexuals from birth. You’d be hard pressed to find better hard evidence of active discrimination agaisnt lesbians than sexology, a science, calling that attraction the same pathology they did male homosexuality. Women’s attraction to other women was neither accepted, acceptable, or free of consequences.

Furthermore, “Act of gross indecency between female persons” were illegal in Britain until 1921. Such crimes were to be pubished “in the same manner as any such act committed by male persons”. Lesbianism was also once put on the table to be fully criminalized as well, which doesn’t happen in a society that’s so chill and normal about lesbians.

That apparent lack of laws specifically targeting lesbianism (though there were laws, and Racyffe Hall was very much prosecuted, but put a pin in that for now) should also not lead to the conclusion that lesbians were simply more accepted because men just didn’t want to think about them. That hasty conclusion of James Somerton disregards the entire social and legal context of the time.

Women had far far less rights and freedom than men did. There was less of a need for laws to restrain lesbianism because female sexuality was already extremely stigmatized, pathologized to hell, and criminalized in various ways. It was already controlled by men through other mean than the law. This is the era where masturbating could get a women set in a mental asylum if her father or husband found out and disapproved—father or husband I say, thought it could also have been a brother or a tutor, because women were not full people, they always belonged to one man or another. If a woman was found to have affairs with other women, the incarceration awaiting her was less likely to be prison than an asylum, but it was incarceration nonetheless, and one carried out without a trial or a release date planed.

Men simply had a liberty to choose their sexual partners that no woman did. Sexuality as a whole was still very repressed and frowned upon, we’re talking of Britain less than a century after the Victorian era after all, but men’s sexuality was not seen as entirely and inherently evil, as a devious medical condition to be cured at any cost like women’s was. Since men had more rights from the start, it’s only natural that more laws would be necessary to restrain certain expressions of sexuality that would’ve been allowed had they been heterosexual.

Somerton also ignores laws that, although they did not target lesbians by name, would very much have affected lesbians and queer women. That would be laws against crossdressing, for instance or the mere fact that a landlord could refuse to sign a lease to a woman, and an employer could refused to hire an unmarried woman. There was no legal protection afforded to any queer persons, and queer women were not spared from discrimination on all levels.

A man could be bachelor all his life, but a woman would have a much harder time making it by without a husband. That alone, which was sanctioned by law in many ways, put pressure on lesbians and queer women without need for a specific anti lesbian laws.

But back to Radclyffe Hall

“ In August 1928, moralist James Douglas, editor of The Sunday Express, launched a scathing attack on Hall and her novel. In an editorial piece titled ‘A Book That Must Be Suppressed’, Douglas regarded the novel to be ‘an intolerable outrage – the first outrage of its kind in the annals of English fiction’ […] and argued that ‘the cleverness of the book intensifies its moral danger… The book must at once be withdrawn. I hope the author and the publishers will realise that they have made a grave mistake, and will without delay do all in their power to repair it.’ […] Douglas subsequently called on the Home Secretary, Viscount George Cave, to act in the instance that Hall and her publishers would not.

Rather than cease publishing, Jonathan Cape [Hall’s publisher] sent a copy of the novel to the Home Secretary in the hope that he would recognise its literary significance, and acknowledge the lack of obscenity within it. However, Viscount Cave informed Cape that he felt it would be ‘gravely detrimental to the public interest’ if they were to continue publishing and demanded that they should cease immediately, or face criminal charges. Publishing stopped momentarily while Jonathan Cape secretly leased the rights to French publishing house Pegasus Press. The novel’s controversy in the press had attracted global attention and demand was steadily increasing. But this did not go unnoticed, and on 3 October 1928 a warrant was issued to seize shipments of the text. As a result, hundreds of copies were obtained and later destroyed. ”

“ An obscenity trial was to follow on 9 November 1928. Fellow authors and creatives were outraged at the government’s actions, and publicly supported Hall and her novel. […] Many famous faces were present at court – as was Radclyffe Hall herself. But she did not speak, because she was not on trial – her novel was. Hall did not want the defense to deny the lesbian content of the text, but rather wanted the focus to be on the literary merit and significance of the book. ”

“ Sadly, the Chief Magistrate found the novel’s literary merit to be irrelevant, and on 16 November 1928 ordered that ‘The Well of Loneliness’ be destroyed. Hall was reported to have been visibly devastated by the outcome. Hall and her publisher quickly sought to appeal the ruling, but the original decision was upheld. ”

“ [I]t would be almost 20 years – six years after the death of Radclyffe Hall in 1943 – before ‘The Well of Loneliness’ would be published in the UK once again. ”

Quotes source which itself references and quotes the editorial piece as well as the legal documents such as a the warrant and the legal case. (I have taken the liberty to embolden sections that highlight the legal aspects of this case.)

Radclyffe Hall, open lesbian author, was prosecuted for her book about a lesbian relationship. Hall and her editor lost the case despite strong public support from other authors of the time. The Well of Loneliness was banned in the UK, and, before the trial even started, shipments of it were seized and burned.

James Somerton straight up lied about this crucial historical event for queer rights and queer recognition, because he saw that lesbians weren’t persecuted in the exact same way gay men were, and came to the conclusion that women just have it easier. So he used a famous example of a lesbian who was prosecuted for lesbianism as proof that queer women didn’t get prosecuted.

He didn’t care to find out the truth, or to find iut anything about what he was talking about. He doesn’t care about accurately representing queer history because doesn’t care about lesbian history, lesbians, or queer women in general.

I love all the dunking on James Somerton but I don’t think we’ve focused enough on all his lesbophobic rhetoric because the things he says are genuinely so astoundingly ahistorical and insensitive and it infuriates me that he was allowed to get away with it so long.

He literally said lesbians didn’t face police violence on the same scale as gay men when that’s just demonstrably untrue. Lesbians, ESPECIALLY butch, GNC, and trans lesbians, faced MASSIVE amounts of police violence AND STILL DO and if he gave a single shit about like. Women as people. Or even just LGBT history in general as he so proclaims to care about, he would know that. I’m going to start beating people to death with copies of Stone Butch Blues until they fucking listen

And I’d really love to know which fucking planet he lives on where lesbians apparently have all this great representation, and where we as lesbians are allowed to write our own stories, because I’m really not seeing that pretty much anywhere in mainstream media. I’m still seeing lesbians portrayed in stereotypical or fetishistic ways, and that’s when I see us portrayed at all. And yes cartoons are great and fine but there is so painfully little lesbian representation written by lesbians geared primarily towards adults.

But at this point, the wider community’s general lack of a reaction to lesbophobia in their ranks disappoints but doesn’t surprise me. It’s sad and somewhat astonishing that he’s escaped accountability for his lesbophobic comments up to this point, but again, not surprising. We need to stop letting our community, especially people like James Somerton who get held up as voices for the community, get away with lesbophobia.

#he also generally called several queer women n ppl afab ‘straight white women’ on several separate occasions #it’s not exactly ‘just’ pure lesbophobia. but but also that man doesn’t have enough respect for lesbians or women in general #to care for the different identities of those he dragged

4K notes · View notes

cabiba · 2 years ago

Text

1) Masculinity isn't about competition. It’s about integrity with who you are, what you value, and what you believe. Your bank account, lay count, and bench press don’t make you a real man. Living an authentic and courageous life of service does.

2) Say no to porn. It’s a waste of time and adds nothing of value to your life.

3) YOU and you alone are responsible for everything in and not in your life. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, but you can’t delegate ownership of your life to mommy, daddy, society, or your friends.

4) Talk is cheap. We all have goals and ambitions. It’s what you DO that matters

5) Your health is your biggest asset. Protect it with your life. Eat clean, exercise five times a week, get out in nature, sleep 8 hours a night, have great sex, and live intentionally.

6) Unprotected sex with a stranger is never a good idea (no matter how good it feels).

7) Breakups and divorces can either be a catalyst for personal transformation or an excuse for self-sabotage. Choose wisely.

8) Life isn’t fair. Get over it. The world doesn’t owe you a damn thing and you deserve what you earn. Period.

9) Women are neither princesses nor spoiled bitches. They’re human beings just like you. Treat them as such.

10) Your mission comes first. A man without a purpose is like a leaf in the wind. Until you find your purpose and give it your all, nothing else in your life will make sense.

11) Your worth is not predicated on your income. Read that again…Your SELF WORTH is NOT your NET WORTH. There are plenty of rich douche bags and great men without a dime to their name.

12) Sex without connection is meaningless. Don’t believe the hype. Sex is an emotional experience that should be shared only with women (or men) you deeply connect with.

13) It’s ok to ask for help. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you smart

14) Live below your means and stockpile cash. It’s better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

15) Drugs can enhance or destroy your life. Use them wisely and educate yourself before imbibing any substance (legal or otherwise).

16) Success requires discomfort. Don’t set a goal if you aren’t willing to pay the price.

17) Most people are full of shit. Don’t listen to someone unless they share your values, vision, and ethics…and have the results you want to achieve.

18) Spend more time with your “boys”. There’s no substitution for great friends

19) Never get so caught up in a romantic relationship that you neglect other relationships in your life. If your partner doesn’t support you having your own friends and relying on your support network, she probably isn’t a good fit for your life.

20) All relationships have challenges, but they shouldn’t be hard. If your relationship requires too much work, you’re likely with the wrong person.

21) Freedom > money. Don’t sell your soul to the corporate devil for another 0 in your bank account. The happiest people on the planet are the ones who do things they love and have ample time to pursue their passions.

22) Learn how to cook. Seriously…it’s sexy, fun, and delicious.

23) Never complain about something if you can’t offer a better solution.

24) Get sober for at least 30 days and then reassess your relationship with drugs and alcohol. There’s nothing wrong with “taking the edge off” but you must make sure the tail never wags the dog.

25) Your house should be for sleeping, eating, and getting ready only. Get outside of your bubble and engage with other humans in the real world…it’s more fun than you might imagine.

26) Leadership is sexy. Learn how to host events and foster a genuine community. Women will be more attracted to you, men will respect you, and every area of your life will improve for the better.

27) Try not to be a dick. We’re all just doing the best we can and 9 times out of 10, your little emotional outbursts say more about YOU than they do the other person.

28) Do NOT get into a fight unless it’s absolutely necessary. And no…name calling or another guy hitting on your girl do not equate to necessity.

29) But learn how to fight anyway. It’s a primal and deeply gratifying experience and will leave you feeling more confident and self-assured

30) Do hard shit and do it regularly. An easy life is not worth living.

31) Be kind to your fellow humans. Open the door for others, help that old lady with her groceries, buy someone’s lunch at a drive-through. Life is more rewarding when you aren’t so focused on yourself.

32) Don’t go into debt for materialistic items. Just don’t do it.

33) Remember: “You’re just tomorrow’s idiot”. If you don’t look back at your life five years ago and think, “Damn…I was a moron!” you aren’t growing enough

34) Don’t settle for the status quo. Create the life you want and give a hardy middle finger to “normal”

35) 20 years from now, you’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did

36) Don’t get her pregnant unless you are 100% sure you want kids and you can see yourself loving her for decades.

37) Smile. It’s all going to be over soon. Might as well enjoy the ride while you can.

1 note · View note

clarawatson · 3 years ago

Text

It Only Takes a Taste

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: You work at a diner. Aaron Hotchner falls in love with you. We’re not kidding around trying to make us all sound like profilers, just accept the diner life, we love it here. W/C: 1498 Warnings: none yet! A/N: First chapter of that diner!au i was talking about here! AO3 ps. I forgot to tag people, so: @willowrose99 & @genevievedarcygranger my beloveds. If you want to get added to the tag list jump in my inbox and i’ll try to remember to add tags every time i post. Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

When you first meet him it’s 5am and raining. You’re switching over shifts for your friend, Rita, because she’s been doing night shifts at the diner. This late into her pregnancy she shouldn’t be working, not technically, but she needs the money and she’s got insomnia because of the baby, so she works nights now. There’s always someone working with her, be it Joe (who’s got far too much muscle for a chef) or Lola (who can beat anyone to a pulp with a pie tray). In the early hours of the morning a bunch of tatt’ed bikies come and sit and talk about their extracurricular activities (definitely not legal) because one time there was an armed hold up and the police didn’t turn up until two hours after it had happened. People don’t like holding up a diner full of men who eat their own motorbikes for breakfast.

But when he comes in, he’s not any of them. He’s not even one of Lola’s nightly hook-ups (she needs the money, you don’t ask). He’s too well dressed in a grey suit (or is it black? Maybe it’s black), trying desperately to shove his I.D. badge in his pocket. He has a look about him that says ‘I’m part of one of the alphabet soup agencies’. A smile on his face, dead in the eyes, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fumbles with his wallet as he squints to read the menu behind the counter. The rain’s stopped dripping from his hair, instead he’s got droplets like his woken with the morning dew upon him.

“Hi love,” Rita coos as she hangs her apron up. She has a look about her that says she’ll eat this man for her breakfast. It’s an effort not to curse those pregnancy hormones some days.

“Go home,” you tell her, swatting her arm. “Put your feet up, rest, sleep while the baby does or some shit.” Rita sticks her bottom lip out and pouts, but she’s making grabby hands for her purse, which is stored where the tea towels used to be. Far too high to reach even when one’s not pregnant. You grab it down for her, ignoring the showering of thank-yous.

The new guy (who is getting more and more handsome by the second) is still looking at the menu. He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop looking and order any time soon.

“Are you sure you’re fine to take the metro in this weather?” you check. She’s rubbing her swollen belly and looking longingly at the booths that haven’t had anyone sit in them for hours now.

“Wait forty-five minutes and I’ll take you!” Joe yells. He’s slaving over something in the kitchen even though it looks like no one’s ordered in hours. “Wife gave me the car ‘cause of the storm!”

“Forty-five,” you repeat and point her towards the seat that she’s been eyeing off. Rita sighs, nods, then goes out to the seat. “What can I get you?” Usually when addressing the customer you’d add something gentle like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ or ‘dear’ because the customers like it and they come back because they think you’re treating them like a long lost friend.

He bats his dark eyelashes and rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know.” He sounds tired, balancing on the very edge of exhaustion. He might just fall off into a pit of sleep that he won’t wake up from. Been there, done that. “Do you guys do coffee?”

You laugh and point to the brewed pot beside you. There’s one for each table, free refills with a pie purchase. It’s written in decorative lettering right above you on the blackboard.

“We can put it in a take-away cup. It’s before six so it’s free anyway,” you offer. The last bits a lie, but Joe doesn’t care about a cup or two of coffee going missing. He’ll catch it up later when he flirts with all of the mom’s coming through after school drop off. The new guy nods and pulls out a ten dollar note and shoves it in the tip jar. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he nods anyway. He’s like a broken bobblehead.

“I know.” He goes to the sweets display and searches through it like he’s looking for something specific. Maybe he is. You’ve not seen him in the diner before, and neither has Rita, but maybe he’s one of Lola’s regulars. Maybe you’d judged him wrong.

“Anything caught your eye?” you ask, leaning over the counter as if you could see it from his angle too. Maybe you do it to show off just that little bit of cleavage. He notices, then looks like he’s done entirely the wrong thing as he licks his lips and blinks like a school boy.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, and Rita giggles. You point at her and give her a stern look, but she just puts her hand over her mouth and lies down on the seat. She’s still silently giggling because her belly keeps bobbing above the table.

“I just…” he has that exhausted look on his face again.

“Long day at work?” The answer is always yes for the people who work at the alphabet agencies. He nods. “Take a seat, grab some coffee, take a minute. It’s only just gone five, you’ve got time.”

He nods. He looks like he’s gotten his words all mixed up and they’re just sitting in his mouth, refusing to leave. Tongue tied doesn’t exactly encapsulate what looks like is going on inside his head. He sits at one of the chairs in front on the counter, and takes the coffee cup gratefully as you pass it to him.

He’s definitely an alphabet soup man. He sits in this weird stance like he’s countering his weight against a gun. His shoulders are hunched forward as if he spends hours a day doing paperwork. He’s got a nervous twitch in his hands like sitting still is only going to bring the next case.

You think about making a joke about turning on the cellphone jammer, but last time Joe made that joke the whole place ended up swarming with cops. Absolute disaster. No one’s going to do that one again.

“Cherry, berry or apple?” you ask, grabbing a plate.

“Sorry?”

“Cherry, berry or apple?” Rita repeats from her booth. “For the pie, sweetheart.”

“Uh, I didn’t—“

“Eat it,” Rita growled. You pull a face at her even though she can’t see you. The guy smiles.

“Apple, please.” Well mannered. Sweet. He looks elated as you slide the apple pie to him and hand him the canned cream.

“Not as good as fresh, but it’s better than nothing.”

He puts a generous amount on his plate. You half think he might like it more than proper cream. Rita leans up just enough to look at him as he digs in, fanning herself playfully before sighing and collapsing back down.

Joe brings out his tray of caramel salted cookies. They’re thick enough to look like cakes with a gooey caramel center, and they usually sell out pretty quickly. The new guy watches them intently.

“How much trouble am I going to get into if I give those to my son?”

“How old is he?”

“Ten.”

You smile. That’s a good age. “How much do you hate his teacher?”

He considers this with a gentle tilt of his head. “Not a lot. I’ll give it to him after school.” He pulls out his wallet again and Joe looks like he’s just hit the mother lode as he grabs one of the cardboard boxes.

“If you really want to spoil your kid, y/n here can write really pretty on top.” You glare at Joe. He shrugs. He’s covered in cake batter and cookie dough, and smells like pancake batter. He’s always smelling sickly sweet, and like a well lived in home, despite looking like the living embodiment of Gaston. “She does it for my wife all the time.”

The handsome man’s phone buzzes. He checks it, then shovels the rest of his pie in his mouth like a starved man.

“I have to go,” he says. He gives Joe another ten and tells him to keep the change. Joe looks like he’s about to break into a song and dance. You pour a fresh cup of coffee into a take-away cup and slide it across the counter to him. He thanks you a thousand times over then goes. With his cookie.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Rita screeches the moment the door shut with it’s little jingle. “I’ll-show-him-my-cleavage-but-I-won’t-ask-his-name?? No wonder you can’t get a date!”

“I’ll do it next time.” Not that there’s ever a ‘next time’ for these alphabet soup agents. They’re always looking for the next place to go to so they don’t have a ‘regular place’ that can be ambushed.

But in a perfect world... you’d see him every day.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #Diner!AU #It Only Takes a Taste

150 notes · View notes

gohyuck · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: head knight!jeno x monarch!reader (reader has genitals attributed to those considered biologically female but no pronouns are actually used)

genre: fluff, mild angst (they discuss an oncoming battle they must prepare for), smut (it’s mostly smut)

word count: 6.5k

warnings & notes (nonsexual): mentions of war/battle, mentions of injuries retained from past skirmishes, jeno is as tall as you need him to be in order to rest your head against his chest without leaning down, it’s kind of cheesy tbh they are disgustingly head-over-heels in love with each other, also a peryton is a fantasy creature that’s essentially a stag + a bird, also i know y’all must be tired of royalty aus but i swear this is almost pwp (except there’s context so there’s plot) so give it a chance (if you’re legal) i guess

warnings & notes (sexual): oral (giving and receiving for both parties), fingering (reader receives), spit kink (lmao sorry), general messiness honestly, mild knife kink (no blood drawn, he just uses a dagger to tear apart clothing), gratuitous usage of the name ‘lionheart’, jeno has a big dick because i cannot stop myself from doing that to y’all for some reason, some choking

special thanks to @moonlit-jeno @domjaehyun @waithyuck for reading parts of it/all of it beforehand!

the soft hours of twilight have their holds on you, chilling you to your bones even as you pull the heavy fur cape tighter around your body. you should’ve pulled something over your thin nightgown, you suppose, something to act as a middle layer between silk and skin and peryton fur, but it’s too late for that. you’re already out on your private balcony, overlooking a kingdom you’d do anything to see the sun rise on day after day.

far, far past the outskirts of your humble realm, barely visible to your own eye, an unsettlingly large camp of soldiers is finishing setting up camp for the night. you watch as tiny, tiny orange pinpricks - no doubt the fires they’d set to make food, to alert you of their presence - begin to get snuffed out. finally, they sleep.

if you were any worse of a person, of a ruler, you would send your army after them now, hours before the battle is set. perhaps, if you were any less selfish, you would do so regardless of keeping your status as a good and just monarch. if you were any less selfish, you would shake awake the love of your life and hand him his cape after shedding it from your shoulders. you would tell him to rouse his men and women, to arm them to their teeth, and to fight for what is right using means that are entirely wrong.

as if privy to your thoughts, your head knight stirs in the too-large bed behind you. you turn just in time to see him sit up and twist his body left, right, left as he stretches to rid himself of sleep. it’s too late - or maybe too early - for either of you to be awake. maybe you should have stayed within his warm embrace rather than gotten out of bed to size up the army of the kingdom of crithage.

even now, you can’t help but strategize, at least on a basic level. crithagians are unused to the cold of your beautiful - but often frigid - ekoria. they won’t expect your people to fall upon them from the icy cliffs that surround their camp, nor will they be able to see over the oncoming blizzard your royal sky-reader has predicted. she has not been incorrect in many, many years. ekorians have, over the years, grown accustomed to heavy snows, among other weather phenomenon, so your army’s visual acuity is not to be questioned.

that, and your troops are in the hands of the best warrior ekoria has ever had.

jeno. your jeno. your lionheart. you rein your thoughts in just as he pulls open the balcony door, closing it behind him with a soft click as he steps over the threshold separating in from out and warm from cold. goosebumps rise across his bare flesh the moment his skin meets air, and you don’t hesitate to slide his cape off and thrust it towards him, knowing full well that his arms will provide more than enough heat for you. he fastens it with ease, seeming slightly amused at how you’d been using it as a blanket, and gently grabs ahold of your wrist before pulling you into his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist. with his other hand, he takes a corner of his cape and wraps it around you, leaving you enveloped in both his hot-to-touch skin and the comforting fur.

“they’re out in the valley, aren’t they?” he finally murmurs, leaning to place his mouth against your ear. jeno’s voice is thick and sleep-ridden, still raspy in a way that settles around you, inside you, within you. you lean back slightly, raising a cold hand to rest against the tattoo of a lion that adorns his left pectoral, mane stretching up to his collarbone and encroaching on his bicep. the lion has a scar on its right cheek. you pull away more, eyes landing on the thin discolored line underneath your lover’s same eye.

it had been a longsword, meant to slash across your throat. jeno, with the speed of a star falling from grace and enough adrenaline to fuel a hundred men, had leapt across you in order to take it across the face. for crown and for country, bard’s songs later regaled of him. for you, he’d whispered to you that same night as you’d stitched him up, using the threading tactics you’d learned from the castle medic as a child. for you. always for you.

“my love?” jeno prods, and you realize you haven’t given his rhetorical question any acknowledgement. you hum, meeting his eyes with your own, and watch as he allows one corner of his mouth to turn up.

“they only just put out their fires.” you finally respond, moving to be against his chest again. you rest your head against the intricate ink against jeno’s skin, finally letting out a breath of what one might consider worry. the air that leaves your lungs manifests into wisps out in the cold world that surrounds you. your lionheart pulls you ever closer.

“you need not stress.” he says simply, and an outsider to your relationship would see no cohesion between your statement and his. still, you know precisely what jeno means, why he’s said what he’s said. you turn, pressing your lips against the lion’s forehead. above you, your own lion brushes his lips against your temple.

“i have an army, a kingdom, even, to worry about, and yet i only fear tomorrow for whatever outcome befalls one man.” you whisper, and even you are surprised to find tears catching in your throat. you do not cry easily, not when you know firsthand how cruel the world can be.

you only reign because your parents no longer breathe.

tomorrow’s battle could easily bleed into next year’s war, and while your kingdom is prepared for such a thing, your heart may not be. your people are not belligerent, and neither are you. crithage had been the one to throw the first stone, had sent word that if you refused to relinquish your throne and bow your head, they would aim the first arrow, draw the first blood. no tears had been shed then, not even when you’d paced around your bedchambers, reading and rereading the note signed with blood red ink until jeno had physically pulled it out of your tight grasp. you hadn’t cried, not even when he’d said that he was willing to die if it meant keeping crithage out of ekoria, out of the kingdom you’d both built from ground up after the war that had taken your parents, out of the home you’d created together.

“wherever you take us, i will follow. wherever you need me, i will lead.” he’d murmured the words against the lobe of your ear, standing beside and slightly behind your throne as you’d written out your reply to crithage in a room full of your advisors. nobody else had moved a muscle then, not even as you closed the envelope with hot wax and the royal seal.

you’d sent back a much, much shorter letter than their own in response.

a time and date for battle. nothing more and nothing less.

that had been so many months ago, so far away that the concept of time dissipates when you attempt to organize it in your harried mind. with a hostile army on your doorstep, everything suddenly feels far more real than it has before. your people have been evacuated, your troops have been trained. your lionheart is unafraid to the world, standing tall and proud at your side as he always has.

a sigh that starts from deep in jeno’s chest brings you back to the present. tomorrow is it, you’re reminded. crithage has seiged almost every other state between themselves and your beloved ekoria. if they get to you, they’ll have your head, raised high on a stake they’ll erect outside of the gates they’ll install to the place you call home. if they get to you, it means they’ll have gotten through jeno.

you can’t live in a world without him. it’s a dangerous attachment for a ruler to have, you’re well aware. if other kingdoms find out that your weakness is a person, one that lives and breathes, you’re not likely to ever see your love again.

it’s little comfort that jeno can’t live in a world without you, either.

“i worry about not being here, at the castle, to protect you,” he mumbles into your hair. “i know that you are perfectly capable, and that you’ll have your own faction of our knights with you, but i- it feels as if i’m about to open my chest and leave my naked heart unguarded, right there for any arrows to pierce.”

jeno’s confession is simple, beautiful in the way the most ornate of daggers are: that is, you feel as if he’s just dragged a sharp edge down the length of your sternum, taking you apart piece by piece. his words cage you in, force you deeper into your own head in a way you can’t afford, not right now.

“eloquent,” you hum, unable to resist teasing him even as the moment does not call for it. it’s to save yourself from your heavily beating heart. “it isn’t too late to make you my poet laureate, you know. no need to wield a sword tomorrow then.”

“and who would be your head knight then, hm? the current laureate? you want renjun to lead the charge against the crithagians? to be your lionheart?” your lover draws back to ensure that you can see his eyes, glimmering with mirth. renjun is an able man, and one of your best friends, but he is not the warrior jeno is.

nobody is the warrior that jeno is.

“such a foolish thing to say,” you smile up at him, lips folding from joking to earnest within moments. the merriment fades a little from jeno’s eyes at recognizing the change in your expressions. “you’re my only lionheart. always have been and always will be, even when you’re too old and gray and slow to be my head knight.”

“someone seems confident of that happening.” he says quietly, raising the hand at your waist to come up and rest over your own hand that lies against his chest. you swallow, your own spit feeling too heavy for you to stomach, your throat dry and scratchy.

“who else can have confidence of a victory rather than a monarch?” you ask, a smile that isn’t quite sad - but isn’t quite self-assured either - resting on your lips. jeno raises your hand to his lips, pressing one, two, three chaste kisses to the back and then repeating the pattern against your palm. he does not let go.

the two of you stand there for a stolen moment. you lay your head back against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat below the ink and skin and muscle and bone. he is real, and he is here.

he is real. he is here.

“the monarch’s lionheart, of course,” he murmurs, finally dropping your hand to reach back and push open the balcony door. “we only have four more strokes of time until i must go, my love. is this truly how you want to spend it?”

it’s evident that jeno no longer wants to mull over the what-ifs, not when he prefers living in the present more than anyone you’ve ever known. unsurprising, you suppose, for someone whose livelihood involves strategizing away his own mortality. you allow him to pull you back into your bedroom, immediately more comfortable when the door closes behind you, keeping you in with the body heat of your lover and the warmth of the crackling fire on the hearth in the corner of your room. jeno sheds the cape, draping it over the nearest chair, before bringing you back to his chest by placing his large hands against your waist.

it takes feeling his fingers against your skin through the thin silk of your slip to remember that jeno has nothing on. he’s always preferred to sleep naked, unlike you. though you hardly have any undergarments on, you at least wear a sheer gown most nights.

you’d ridden him passionately before bed, tiring both of you out in order to get any semblance of sleep. as your lionheart pulls you flush against him, though, it’s difficult to avoid the way his cock hardens against your hip once more. you want to quip about how jeno’s insatiable, but he trails a hand up, up over your body to swipe a thumb over one of your hardened nipples, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes through your prettily parted lips.

“will you get on the bed for me, love?” jeno’s voice is smoother now that he’s more awake, though you can’t help but miss the low growl that had come with the earlier rasp. he may be asking you a question, but you know that it’s an order in disguise. wordlessly, you step back, back, back until the wood of your bedframe presses against the soft plushness of the back of your thighs. jeno has not moved, choosing to stay put and appraise you instead. his eyes are hooded now, and as his gaze trails from your neck - he’d marked it up earlier, the kiss-bitten bruises not yet having faded from your skin - down to the curve of your chest, over the expanse of your thighs, he can’t help but reach one hand down to his dick, swiping two fingers over its head to collect his precum on his skin.

jeno says nothing else, makes no other move. it’s to give you an illusion of control, you suppose. not that you need one.

“should i rid myself of this, lionheart?” you ask, the words coming out breathier than intended. the nightgown leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and you’re sure he can even see the slick wetness that’s pooling against your inner thighs. jeno adores seeing your body more than anything, but the gown does not inhibit that.

it’s no surprise, then, when he shakes his head no, instead finally moving to stand at the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as they naturally move apart to fit him in. his clean hand slides up under your gown, resting just above your cunt, as he raises his other hand to your face.

“lie back, and open.” jeno states, no air of leniency about him anymore. you oblige, and your love leans over you, his dark gaze centered on your parted lips.

he lays his two precum-coated fingertips against your tongue, pressing in and then down and revelling when you don’t gag but instead run your tongue over his fingers, cleaning them off for him. you haven’t gagged in a long time, your reflexes getting used to him in the way the rest of you is. when he withdraws his hand, your mouth stays open, and jeno can’t help himself as he leans over you and, after gathering it in his own mouth for a moment, allows his own spit to fall from his own tongue and onto yours.

your eyes go wide at the action, and you know that he notices it even as he does not acknowledge it. even so, you don’t miss the smirk that crosses his face upon hearing your breath hitch. jeno has you in his palm.

satisfied, he stands, and you close your mouth and swallow a part of him with a part of you. jeno’s no longer looking at your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he’s ruching up your nightgown with growing hunger, not when he’s kneeling on the stone ground just to make himself eye-level with your pretty, pretty pussy.

“i took you hardly any time ago,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin as his mouth nears where you so desperately need him. “and yet here you are, laid open once more, all for me. only for me.”

“always you, jeno, please - ” you can’t get any more words out, the air being pulled out of you as he dives in and circles your clit with his tongue, bringing his two spit-soaked fingers up to press into you with almost no resistance. your reaction is instantaneous, walls clenching like a vice around his fingers as he lays a filthy kiss against your bundle of nerves, hips jumping up only to be kept down by jeno’s other hand, pressing down against the bottom of your stomach.

“patience.” he pulls off of your clit just to growl the word out against the skin of your inner thigh, and the wet heat of his mouth directly against your flesh has you practically gasping out. when jeno sinks his teeth into your thigh as he’s often wont to do, you let out a full-bodied whine, the kind that starts in the back of your throat and rises up through the inner column of your neck, meant only for your lover’s ears. jeno laves his tongue over the marks he’s just created, as if to wash the pleasurable pain from your body.

he does not reattach his mouth to your core, choosing instead to fall back and watch, eyes trained, as he scissors you open. with hardly any warning rather than his gaze jumping up to meet your own momentarily, jeno presses his thumb into your clit, using your slick wetness to eliminate any raw friction as he rubs slow circles against your nerve endings. he’s never failed to bring you to the edge with ease, and now is no different. you’d be embarrassed at how easily you fall apart just from his simple simultaneous motions, in and on you, but it’s jeno, and he knows your body maybe even better than he knows his own.

keening, a loud, gasping wail, falls from your lips only for jeno to rise from his place in between your thighs and swallow your sounds with his open mouth, his clean hand coming up to cage you in against your sheets. the way you raise your arms to loop them around his neck is akin to the way a drowning man would grab on to a lifeline, and once he rises you pull him back into a longer, filthier kiss, where your teeth click against his and his tongue opens up your mouth the same way it feels like his touch opens up your body.

you feel as if you’re being flayed, as if hellfire is the only thing comparable to the heat against your skin. jeno steps closer, just by the tiniest bit, and you feel his hand - the one shining with your arousal - brush past your hip before he uses it to wet his cock with one, two, three firm strokes. copious amounts of precum arise from the tip before being pulled down against his flesh with expert downstrokes. your mouth waters as you watch.

“my mouth, lionheart, please?” you finally gain the courage to ask what is on your mind, sitting up on your elbows as you begin to slowly find your strength. your love raises an eyebrow, and not without reason: jeno is a big man, making even you - a literal monarch - feel small at times, and this does not end with his personality or his person: you have never been able to take all of him into your mouth. the ache borders on painful, frankly, and jeno himself refuses to harm you in that way.

“this, now, is about you.” he responds, and your heart cracks as you register that as a ‘no’. still, you speak again. you need him in your mouth, suddenly. it isn’t just a want. something has to anchor you to the here and now, it may as well be the head of his cock, heavy against your tongue.

“what is about me is about you as well,” you respond, and before he can lay his refusal down out flat, you slide onto the floor - warmer than expected - and tuck your heels behind your bare ass. “i need this. please.”

you’re directly in front of him now, face parallel to his strong thighs. jeno strokes up, squeezes tighter just below his frenulum, and you watch, struck, as precum beads at the tip and then splits into two streams, half sliding down his hard dick and the other slowly-but-surely falling to the ground, hardly a quarter of a step from one of your knees.

“give me your hand, then,” your knight murmurs from above you, drawing your gaze from his leaking cock up past the dainty curve of his lip to his hard eyes. “now.”

when you raise your hand up, you only put it up limply, unsure of what he means to do with the limb he’s asked for. your eyes must be swimming with questions, because jeno gives you a hint of a sweet, reassuring smile before allowing his expression to become stoic again… right before he grasps your given hand and straightens it out, gentler than expected from such a great warrior but harsher than he truly ever treats you.

he’s passionate. this demonstrates it.

before you can react, your body following your hand up off of your heels, though only slightly, as he yanks up your hand, jeno leans down and licks up your hand, from the bottom of your palm to the top, all while maintaining eye contact with you. he lets go, though you keep your hand raised, your gaze obviously dumbfounded.

“a dry hand would rub me raw,” he explains, though the smirk that’s tugging at one corner of his mouth shows that he finds your wide-eyed expression at least mildly amusing. “we do not want that, do we?”

it’s amazing how easily he can get you under his thumb when you give out orders that hold his life in the balance on a day-to-day basis. maybe that’s why he finds taking charge in private so easy. maybe it’s his way of evening your dynamic out. even now, as he asks you an innocent question with no hidden meaning or reaction, you find yourself shaking your head along enthusiastically. no, of course you don’t want to rub him raw. of course you and him don’t want that.

you raise the hand now deemed ‘not dry’ up as jeno watches, finally, finally wrapping your hand around it. your thumb and middle finger do not meet, no matter how tight you squeeze. your lover lets out a fulfilled groan at finally feeling a touch other than his own on his hard cock, and it’s a beautiful sound. you want more of it. you want more of him.

as if mesmerized, you lean closer, darting out your tongue to lick experimentally at his slit. he holds his breath, a large hand coming to rest lightly against the back of your head and base of your skull, waiting. you take this as a sign to stretch your lips wider, engulfing the entire tip of his cock in your hot mouth. his grip tightens in your hair, and, in return, you clench around nothing.

as you struggle to take more of jeno in your mouth, you do your best to stroke the rest of his cock with a tight enough grip to make him feel everything, but not tight to the point where you’re hurting him. regardless of how little you can take on your tongue - not your fault, by any means - jeno seems happy, barely able to stop himself from bucking up into the back of your throat. at this point, you’re essentially just warming his cock, so you pull off with a slick pop to look at him with slightly watery eyes. a string of precum and saliva connects your bottom lip and his tip, and when it breaks, you’re acutely aware of the mixture dripping down your chin and onto your nightgown. it’s no matter.

jeno’s thumb runs over your scalp, just above the bottom of your skull. you close your eyes momentarily to take in a deep breath.

“you can force yourself down my throat, you know,” your voice is raspy when you speak, eyes fluttering open almost drearily. “i’m not too delicate for it.”

there’s something simultaneously raw and pure about the way you speak, and jeno recognizes that your headspace has changed, just a little. your need truly is all-encompassing now. he must tread more delicately than usual.

there’s so much love, so much adoration in your wide-eyed gaze. he only wishes to return it with the same intensity and double the care.

“i know, love,” jeno responds, finally moving his hand in order to place two fingers under your chin. he tilts your face up, taking note of the way your eyes run over his tattoo before looking at his chin, then his jaw, then his nose, then his forehead, until, finally, you land on his eyes. you’re a tad bit unfocused, full of need, but that’s okay. you’ll always come back to him. he continues speaking. “you’re so strong. always so strong for me. that’s why you deserve to be rewarded, yes?”

“rewarded?” you’re confused, to say the least, though you do not dislike the direction jeno is suddenly moving towards. he only smiles, gentle and kind and good and yours. all yours.

“on the bed, (name).” he tilts his own head, jutting his chin towards the bed you’d slid off of earlier. you don’t hesitate to follow, pushing yourself up onto your feet and all but scrambling backwards to be seated against the soft mattress. the blankets are all haphazard and the pillows aren’t straight, but that’s the least of your worries right now. jeno gives no other orders, only stepping closer and, without warning, winding his arms underneath your thighs and propelling you backwards, causing you to land, back flat, in the center of your bed.

it had always felt inescapably large when you’d slept in it alone. now, it feels welcoming. safe.

“you’re ready for me, yes?” the tone of voice jeno uses is soft, even as his rough palms push apart your thighs. you nod, murmuring a small ‘yes’ once you realize he’s waiting for you to verbalize your thoughts. this is all jeno needs to climb onto the bed and move in between your spread legs, settling back on his calves as his hands smooth over your hip bones and waist. it’s evident that he’s bent on taking his time with you tonight, likely under the illusion that that is what you want.

it is not what you want. it is most definitely not what you need.

“i need you within me, lionheart,” one of your hands clutches at the sheets beneath you while you stretch the other towards your lover, imploring. “soon. now. please.”

“absolutely impatient,” jeno only chuckles in return, drawing an indignant whine forth from the base of your throat. he looks over your barely covered body once more before finally - almost in slowed motions as if to tease you further - rising up onto his knees. his hands stop moving against your skin, finally circling around the soft meat of your upper thighs. swiftly and fluidly, jeno pulls your body towards his, wrapping your legs around his own waist. his wet cock lies heavy against your pelvis, leaving slick precum against the apex of your thighs and the bottom of your stomach. he smirks. “is this what you wanted?”

the motion of being pulled into your knight had forced the air from your lungs in a surprised yelp, and the feeling of his warm skin - he’s always supplied so much heat, it baffles you to no end - against your own momentarily blanks your mind. jeno repeats his question twice, cocky grin growing with each utterance, before you nod vigorously and sputter out something vaguely affirmative. yes. yes, this is exactly what you wanted, exactly what you want.

you’ve been growing steadily wetter the longer your foreplay had drawn out, but jeno, ever-caring, still pulls back - his cock sliding against your thigh has you moaning - to slip two thick fingers into you, adding a third when he’s absolutely sure that you can take it. in no time at all, you’re grinding your clit against his rough palm, the friction absolutely heavenly. jeno makes no move to stop you, only gently forcing his fingers in deeper.

a fourth finger is added just as your abused clit can’t take anymore, and you spasm on his hand as you fall past the point of no return. your second orgasm of the night washes over you, and you can’t help the muted but harried gasps you let out as your hips buck up, driving your head back into the mattress. jeno draws his fingers out slowly, licking your essence off of them with practiced ease. once your body has calmed down, you can only let out a small whimper, still basking in the intensity you’ve just experienced.

jeno knows your limit, and knows damn well that you haven’t reached it yet. it’s because of this that, even as your walls are still clenching around nothing due to aftershocks that wrack your body, he places the fat head of his cock against your hole and slowly but surely slides in. the hands on your thighs move up to wrap around the sides of your waist, and his grip is bruising as he pushes deeper and deeper. even as he goes at a snail’s pace, you feel as if you’re being pulled apart only to be pieced back together again. you hold your breath.

jeno is halfway in when he realizes you still aren’t quite wet enough. he shifts slightly, carefully moving one of your legs up just a little bit higher, before swiping over your raw clit with a thumb he’s wetted with his own tongue. a moan flies forth from your mouth immediately, and a gush of wetness coats jeno’s cock anew as he circles over your bud with abandon. he’s finally free to surge forward and bury himself within your warm walls without fear of repercussions on your own body… so he does. the breath you’d been holding in is punched out of you, replaced with an honest-to-god wail. tears bud at the corners of your eyes at the stretch, falling as he pulls out almost entirely and slams into you again.

jeno does everything in his life in order to live up to the name you’ve given him: lionheart. he is just and loyal and thoughtful as an advisor, and analytical and fearsome and ruthless as a warrior. sex is where both sides of him meet. it is where he is not just the kingdom’s bravest knight, or the crown’s right-hand man. it is where he is your lionheart, and yours alone, where your souls intertwine at the place your bodies meet.

he notices how your hands come up to reach for him, leaning down so you can place one hand against his heart - against his tattoo - and throw the other one over his other shoulder. jeno’s nose is almost touching yours, though your bodies shift continuously as he keeps drawing back and driving his hips into yours with force.

he never ceases to make you feel full.

your walls grip his cock tightly, amplifying every movement jeno indulges you in. the slide is slick and wet and perfect, but it is not easy. the head of his dick catches on your clenched walls every time he pulls out just to slam back in, forcing you to feel him with everything you have. it’s exactly what you want.

he slows down his thrusting for a moment as he moves forward slightly, leaning closer still as he places one forearm against your head and raises his other hand to fondle your chest over your sheer clothing. somehow, this is no longer enough for you. jeno’s cock is fully sheathed within you as he swipes a thumb over one of your nipples, and the feeling of his skin pushing the cloth against one of your most sensitive areas has you shuddering in a way that causes you to squeeze even tighter around him. his hips stutter slightly, driving him impossibly deeper into you.

“jeno,” you rasp out, tongue heavy and dry. “my pillow. beneath my pillow.”

his eyes go wide as he processes what you’ve just said, his shallow thrusts slowing down. jeno gulps audibly.

“your- love, your dagger?”

“need you to touch me.” you respond, holding his gaze and watching it clear up from confused to comprehending you entirely. he pushes himself up from his forearm to his hand, sliding out of you in the same movement. you whine sadly at the loss of contact, but jeno mutters a good-natured ‘be quiet’ almost immediately.

“you know,” he starts, voice teasing, even as he pulls your dagger - black steel, quillions and hilt encrusted with blue jewels, black tempered glass at the pommel - out from beneath your pillow using the hand that had been fondling you earlier. he moves back down to his prior position, and your breath hitches as he presses the apex of the knife against the collar of your nightgown. “i’m already touching you.”

“more,” you moan out, the end of your word coming out almost breathlessly. one of your hands slides against his tattoo once more, as if feeling the lion will make it roar to life. “touch me more.”

jeno chuckles, albeit darker than he had been earlier, and digs the dagger into the cloth in front of it without any further ado. you hold your breath willfully this time, not wanting to actually nick yourself on the blade, as he moves down your body, cutting the sheer gown open down its direct center. your lionheart dots his lips against your flesh in a trail in his wake, scraping his teeth against your skin as he sees fit.

he leaves a quick, but filthy, kiss against your clit for good measure, eyes lighting up as you attempt to close your legs around his head on impulse, only to have them pushed apart even farther than before by his strong hands. once he gets to the hem of the slip, he throws your dagger somewhere on the stone floor - neither of you pay any heed to where it clatters - and rips it apart with his bare hands, hardly able to bear not feeling you around him for much longer.

before you can do anything or say anything or even think anything at all, your lover surges forward and presses himself back into you with a grunt that sounds almost like a growl. his hands knead at your thighs as he finds his rhythm with ease, pounding into you with practice as if you’re an art medium and he’s a skilled master. he’s everywhere, all around you and inside of you and in the air and in your skin, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“touching - ha - touching you enough now?” he asks, resolve crumbling bit by bit as he fights to keep himself from tumbling over the cliff’s edge before you do. you can’t dignify him with a response, unable to do anything but claw at his back and pin yourself further against his chest as if it’ll make even more room for you in his heart than there already is. he doesn’t need a response, anyways. jeno already knows.

he knows just how close you are, too. just as close as he is. it’s because of this that jeno moves a hand up to curl around your throat just as he circles your clit with two fingers of the other hand, continuing to fuck into you at the same rate as best he can. with a sharp cry and the arching of your back off the bed, you clench around him for one final time before he comes to a halt, barely holding himself up over you as he releases within you with a shuddering, gasping groan.

moments pass, stretching into longer than they typically are. jeno takes care as he slides out of you, climbing onto the bed and flopping down next to you right after. the feeling of his release, sticky and wet against your inner thighs, is unpleasant at best, but you can’t bring yourself to clean up just yet. instead, you turn your head to your side, your nose immediately brushing against jeno’s sternum as you realize that he’s turned his entire body towards your own. he lets out an airy laugh at the sensation, pushing half of the sliced cloth off of your body in order to run a wide open palm down your naked side.

“good?” he speaks first, asking an arbitrary question. ‘good enough to make you forget?’ is what he means, knowing full well that you could never lose thought of what awaits the two of you. the sentiment is what’s important, though, and you let out an agreeable hum as a reply. the sex itself was great, of course. he’s well aware.

“sleep, lionheart,” you say just as silence attempts to cloak the two of you. “we must be ready soon, as it is.”

jeno gives you no response, and you do not require one from him. instead, he pulls you even closer into his chest as if doing so will protect you from the crithagians across your kingdom. his entire world rests between his arms. you are both tired enough that sleep forces your eyelids closed swifter than expected, and as you fall asleep to your lover’s slowed breathing and muted heartbeat, you can’t help but, just this once, allow your worries to slip off your body as your torn nightgown does.

just before the rise of the sun, jeno will have to get out of bed and clean you up as best he can before donning his clothing, his armor, and his cape. you’ll put his helmet upon his head, pull his visor down over his face after sharing a kiss that could be your last. it is always like this. jeno will rouse the army, you will dress and arm yourself, and meet with your own private troops.

as the sun begins to take its place in the morning sky, luckily opposite your gaze, jeno will lead his people into battle, riding his steed far, far from you. you will watch him go, but he will not look back. doing so is unfortunate luck at best. you’ve ingrained this into his mind.

you do not know whether he will be back or not.

you desperately need him to come back.

all of that will happen in due time, but now, you drift to dreamland, safe in the arms of the man you’ve sworn to be with until the end. he tightens his hold around you, and that is how you spend the night before battle, in total comfort and full of love. no matter what tomorrow brings, at least you have this now. at least you will always have this moment.

the lionheart and his liege. your lionheart and his love.

for now, you are at peace in the calm before the storm.

#first #five #tags #dont #work #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno x reader #nct jeno #nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream

806 notes · View notes

tuiccim · 4 years ago

Text

Terrigenisis (Part 19)

Pairing: Stucky x Inhuman!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: After undergoing terrigenisis unwillingly your life is turned upside down when you are deemed too dangerous to return to life as a civilian. You are put with the Avengers team to train and rebuild. As you hone your powers and skills, you must also decide if you can find home and love again. Or is your curse to be a lonely wanderer forever?

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (NSFW 18+)

Dividers by @fireflygraphics

Terrigenisis Series Masterlist

It’s the night of Tony’s party and you are in your room getting ready. You exit the bathroom after a shower to see a gift box on your bed. It’s wrapped in a blue bow and you know it can only be from two certain men. The note reads “To the most beautiful woman in any galaxy, please wear this tonight. We love you.” Inside you find a beautiful dress. It’s blue and has a style reminiscent of the 40s. You do yourself up and put on the dress. A knock on the door has you grinning as you answer it.

“Wow. You look beautiful.” Steve says, returning your grin.

“Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Bucky charms.

“It’s a good start,” you kiss each of them. “I love the dress. Thank you.”

“It looks great on you, doll.”

The party tonight was one of Tony’s penthouse parties at the tower. Only family, partners, and close friends were invited. After arriving, the three of you made rounds greeting everyone. You’re excited when you finally make it to Sam.

“Hey Sam! Wanna introduce the beauty on your arm?” you grin widely.

“Of course,” Sam puffs out his chest as he motions to her, “This is my girlfriend, Kaziah.” He gives her each of your names and you spend twenty minutes or so chatting with all of them. Kaziah is sweet and you enjoy meeting her immensely. You are distracted a few minutes later when Loki strolls in wearing an all black suit.

“Well, don’t you look like a million bucks!” you hug his neck as he chuckles.

“You like it?” Loki preens.

“Very much. You look great. Are you still planning to go back to Asgard tomorrow?”

“Yes. And before you ask, yes, I’m going to tell her.”

“Yay. I look forward to your return and hearing how it went. Can I introduce you around a bit?”

“Lead the way.” Loki offers his arm.

You guide him to different groups introducing him, smoothing any ruffled feathers, and making him feel comfortable in the setting. Loki relaxed as the evening passed. You enjoyed yourself, spending most of your time with Steve and Bucky, dancing, eating, drinking, and having fun with your friends and people you know and trust. It was fun.

A couple of hours in, you notice Kaziah sitting by herself on one of the couches. Sam is in a group nearby with Rhodey and a few others cutting up. You grab an extra glass of champagne and sit beside her, holding out the drink to her, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, there is always that little bit of awkwardness when you don’t know many people.” Kaziah flashes a nervous smile.

“I understand,” you laugh, “I was basically dropped on the team with no warning, having never met any of them.”

“Wow. But it worked out? You’re dating Bucky and Steve?” She asks.

“It worked out better than I ever hoped. And, yes, we are in a relationship together. We know it’s not conventional, but we’re very happy.”

“I saw you with Loki earlier. Are you with him also?” Kaziah asks carefully.

“No. Loki is a good friend and we train together. He’s a really good guy once you get to know him.” You happen to catch his eye across the room and he smiles at you. That’s when you feel the ice pick to your head and immediately open your mind to him.

“You’re needed in the rooftop garden, darling.” Loki’s voice drifts into your mind.

“What? Why?” You asked confused.

“I don’t know. I was just asked to relay the message quietly.” Loki’s chuckle echoes through your head and you grin.

“What was that? It looked like you were having a conversation.” Kaziah asks curiously.

“Oh, nothing,” you answer evasively, “Will you excuse me?”

“Uh, of course.” Kaziah looks confused.

“It was nice talking to you.”

“You, too.”

You head to the elevator while looking for Steve and Bucky but, not finding them, you shrug and hit the button for the rooftop. Suspicion and curiosity curl in your stomach as the elevator goes up. When the doors open, you notice a trail of petals leading into the garden. You smile as you follow it.

Steve and Bucky had spent most of the day of Tony’s party shopping for you. They found the perfect dress to give you fairly quickly but finding the perfect engagement ring had proven nearly impossible. They didn’t know what they were looking for exactly but everything they were shown just wasn’t the one. It had to be perfect. As they visited the sixth jewelry store, they knew time was running out. The proprietor showed them several options but then, recognizing both men, he smiled and kindly suggested they check the antique store next door. He told them his brother was the owner and he kept a beautiful selection of estate jewelry.

Steve and Bucky weren’t sure what he meant by estate jewelry but since they weren’t having any luck at traditional jewelry stores they decided to give it a try. The owner greeted them immediately and guided them to the jewelry case while offering to show them anything they’d like to see.

“Buck.” Steve’s eyes go wide as a ring catches his attention.

“That one? It’s not very traditional.” Bucky asks.

“Neither are we.” Steve chuckles.

“You’re right about that. And the ring. It’s perfect,” he turns to the owner, “Can we see that one?”

“Of course. It’s one of a kind. I’ve never seen another like it. It came from a family in upstate New York. I thought it was a lovely piece.” He hands over the ring nestled in a small heart shaped box.

“This is it.” Steve says.

“It’s perfect,” Bucky agrees.

They paid for the ring and exit wearing grins. Tony had agreed to help them with the proposal and was having the rooftop garden turned into a paradise. Now they just had to get you to the roof and the rest would fall into place.

The trail of petals leads you into the center of the rooftop garden where your men stand with smiles. Bucky and Steve are both handsome in their suits. A small table of desserts and champagne are off to one side. The garden is filled with lights and candles. There are blooming flowers everywhere and you have no idea what is happening.

“What is all this?” you ask, all smiles.

“We wanted tonight to be special.” Bucky says.

“It’s beautiful,” you smile but tremble as nerves set in. What could this be about?

“Doll, we love you. You’re the love of our lives and this relationship is everything we ever wanted. So, we have something we want to ask you.” Steve says. He and Bucky take a knee in tandem and each take one of your hands.

“Will you marry us?” Bucky asks, looking up at you with a grin but you see the fear behind his eyes. You look at Steve and recognize the same expression on him.

“M-marry? You want to, to ,to get married? To me?” you stammer.

“Yes.” They say in perfect unison.

They hold up a ring and you stare at it mouth agape. A star sapphire set in a halo of diamonds. The ring was obviously a vintage piece and it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’d ever seen.

“You’re serious?” you breathe as tears flood your eyes.

“Yes.” Bucky says.

“Absolutely. Please marry us. We love you so much.” Steve says.

“Yes! Yes, of course I’ll marry you! Yes! I love you both. So much.” You exclaim as the men surge to their feet and swing you around. When your feet touch the ground again, Bucky takes the ring out of the box and places it on your finger.

“It’s a star sapphire since both mine and Bucky’s symbol is a star.” Steve explains.

“Blue because honesty always comes first in our relationship.” Bucky says.

“Surrounded by diamonds because our love will always surround you.” Steve continues.

“And antique because you’re marrying two old men.” Bucky chuckles.

You laugh but stare at the ring that they chose with admiration, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Let’s toast to our engagement.” Bucky goes to open the bottle of champagne. The three of you share champagne, strawberries, and cake as they tell you about how they decided to ask you and their day of shopping to find the perfect ring.

You stare at it saying, “I never thought I’d get married again. I just assumed in this relationship we’d just be together.”

“You are okay with getting married, right?” Steve asks.

“Yes! I want to marry both of you. I guess it will be more of a commitment ceremony since we can’t legally get married,” you explain.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it and I think you and Steve should get married legally and we can have a commitment ceremony for the three of us. There would be a lot of protection for you in being Mrs. Rogers.” Bucky states.

“I’m… I won’t be changing my name. I never did with Charlie.”

“You don’t have to. Bucky, you hadn’t said anything about this before. Are you sure?” Steve asks.

“Yes. It just makes sense. If you’re okay with it, doll.” Bucky says.

“I get it from a legal standpoint but no matter what the THREE of us will be married,” you smile.

Steve nods, “While we’re on our honeymoon, Tony is going to renovate our rooms into an apartment. We just have to pick a date. We-”

“We can go over all the details later,” you interrupt Steve. “Right now, I’d like to go to our room and celebrate with less clothing on.”

“I love the way you think,” Bucky says as he helps you to stand and kisses you.

Steve grabs the bottle of champagne and bowl of strawberries, “I’m sure we’ll work up an appetite.” He winks and kisses you.

You can’t keep your hands off each other in the elevator and find yourself sandwiched between the two men with their lips wandering over every expanse of exposed skin. You stumble into the guest room the three of you are staying in and gasp. The room is full of flowers, a small table covered in candles and food, another bottle of champagne, three fluffy robes with your names embroidered on them and matching slippers, a wedding planning book, and a note of congratulations from Tony and Pepper.

“This is so sweet! They are so thoughtful.” you exclaim.

“They definitely know we plan to work up an appetite.” Bucky chuckles.

“We should get to it. Unzip me?” you whisper.

“My pleasure.” Bucky complies and gently guides the dress down for you to step out of it. You’re wearing a beautiful lingerie set complete with garter and heels and both men devour you with their eyes. You sit on the end of the bed, lean back on your arms and cross your legs while eyeing the two.

“Naked. Now,” you say playfully.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky grins as they shuck their clothing quickly. When both stand before you gloriously naked you look them up and down, licking your lips. You go to them and put a hand on each of their chests before lowering yourself to your knees. You stroke both of their cocks and take turns swirling your tongue around each of their heads.

“You’re both so good to me. I love you so much. I love fucking both of you.” You make comments each time you switch between them and they’re both looking at you with a feral expression as you praise and tease them.

“Fuck, doll.” Bucky says as he grabs you and pulls you to your feet, “Get up here.” His mouth claims yours and Steve is behind you in an instant, removing your bra, cupping your breasts and kissing your shoulders. You feel his hard length pressed to your ass and Bucky’s pressed to your mound. You moan loudly as their hands and mouths wander over you, divesting you of your lingerie..

“I… I want to try something,” you moan.

“Anything, sweetheart. What do you want?” Steve asks with his lips against your neck.

“I want you both inside me. Both inside me at the same time.” You say breathlessly.

“You mean, both of us inside your pussy, doll?” Bucky clarifies.

“Please. Want to feel all of us together.” You whimper.

“If it’s too much, you have to tell us, doll. Don’t let us hurt you.” Steve says as he picks you up and carries you to the bed. “Promise?”

“I promise.” you agree as he lays you in the middle of the bed.

“Fuck, that’s hot. I want inside you so bad.” Bucky groans from behind you, both men are flush against your front and back. He pulls your leg up and runs his fingers through your slick folds. He dips two fingers inside to ensure that you’re ready. A third finger is added and you moan loudly.

“Bucky, please. I need you. Please!” You beg.

Bucky’s head finds your entrance and slowly presses in. You stare into Steve’s eyes as you grab Bucky and encourage him on. Bucky thrusts into you a few times languidly, working your pleasure and coating himself in your slick. “Come on, Stevie. Our girl’s ready for you.”

Steve slides his cock against you to coat himself before slowly pressing his head in. You gasp at the sensation.

“Okay?” Steve groans.

“Yes, it’s good. Don’t stop.” you moan and then cry out as Bucky gives a gentle thrust.

“Fuck, baby, feeling both of you is so hot.” Steve groans.

“Then don’t stop. Keep going, please.” You whisper.

“Move, Stevie. We need it.” Bucky groans.

Steve presses in by millimeters and keeps checking in. You feel so incredibly full and the pleasure is immense. When Steve stops again, you begin to roll your hips, loving the friction of feeling both of them in you.

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky moans as he takes a gentle bite out of your shoulder.

“I can feel both of you. Fuck, it’s so hot.” Steve says as he begins to move with you.

Your moans mingle as you cling to each other and writhe in pleasure.

“Oh, God. I’m…” the words fail you as your body shakes with the orgasm. The intensity nearly takes your breath and once it subsides you feel it immediately begin to build again.

“You’re trembling and clenching so tight, doll. You’re so fucking perfect for us. So perfect. Fuck, can’t believe we found you. Love you so much.” Bucky groans as he begins to move a little more quickly.

“Buck! Can feel you. Feels so good. You both feel so good. Want it to be like this forever.” Steve moans.

You’re trembling uncontrollably. The words, the men, the intense pleasure are enveloping you, body, mind, and soul. You cry out as you fall over the precipice again. Your body shudders and your hips move of their own volition.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck.” Bucky groans as he releases inside of you.

Steve’s hands cup your face and he kisses you intensely before his own orgasm overtakes him and he presses his forehead to yours. As he comes down from the high, he whispers to you, “Bucky’s always been right about you. You’re perfect for us.”

“You are. You’re perfect for us.” Bucky says, wrapping an arm around both of you.

You lift your hand and look at the ring that sparkles on it, “We’re perfect together.”

Part 20

Tuiccim’s Masterlist

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series are made twice a week. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

#Stucky #Stucky x you #Stucky x reader #Stucky series #Stucky fanfic #Stucky fanfiction #Stucky x Inhuman Reader #Bucky #Steve #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Captain America #The Winter Soldier #Terrigenisis

227 notes · View notes