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crowcravesmore · 22 days

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Dead Girl Walkin' (Frank Castle x F!Reader)

AKA 'Bounty & Bliss'

Frank Castle x F!Reader (18+)

+ After a mission gone wrong, you end up on the wrong side of Fisks gun, and now you're a wanted woman. You have 30 hours of freedom before every bounty hunter in New York has his eyes on you, so of course you run straight to Frank. Oh how he loves the sight of you.

Word Count: 5.1k ( It's actually impossible for me to write a "short" fic. I'm a wordy bitch, I can't help it. I love to talk.)

Warnings: Cursing, violence, reader getting beat tf up (She's got powers it's fine), explicit content/smut, Frank being such a softie for you, fluff (is that a warning?).

A/N: LETS GO FRANK CASTLE LOVERS! I absolutely adore this man, and I think it shows in how I write him. This is an oldie from my previous blog, but it's one of my favorite fics I've ever written. It's a long one so buckle up. (This fic was absolutely based on the song Dead Girl walking from Heathers the musical. Take that as you will.)

+ + +

It was an absolute fact that you weren't gonna die a peaceful death. Yeah no, you were gonna go out one of two different ways. One, a Bruce Willis, Die Hard type thing with at least two explosions. Or two, someone else is gonna punch your card for you. Full stop. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, that's it.

Frank threw a guess in once. Said you’d probably go out saving a bunch’a kids from a burning building or something, because you're a soft ass like that, Sunshine, that’s why. He was three stitches deep on his right arm, and shooting you looks from his side of the couch. Ain’t that right, Sunshine?

Nope. nuh-uh, not even close. You get a grand total of thirty hours, all Courtesy of Mr. Kingpin himself. Fisk. What kind of name is Fisk anyway? It sounds too much like Fist, or fish, either way it’s awkward. You’re just being pissy, because you got caught, and Fisk is rubbing it in your face.

Third punch is to your jaw, and that’s the one that knocks you, and the chair you're strapped to, back. You’re taking this whole thing in stride, you haven't passed out or anything. Be proud of that. After the fourth punch Fisk finally waves his hand and lets— what's his name? Rick? This guy looks like a Rick —stop. You ever been hit with brass knuckles by a heavyweight? It sucks.

You were hired by an unnamed client to sneak into Fisks club, and put mics anywhere you could. It was easy getting in without being noticed, unfortunately for you Fisk has eyes everywhere. Fortunately for you one of your powers is strength, so a couple of blows by a heavyweight won't kill you. It fucking hurts though.

Fisk says something, but he’s standing on the other side of the room and your ears are still ringing, so he really says nothing. He turns, catches your eyes, and there's a curious sort of smile on his face. Your ears are still ringing but, over all of the noise, you catch him say ‘Again’, and brace yourself for impact.

Rick, son of a bitch, knocks you hard, just under your eye and you can practically hear the bruise forming. You must’ve blacked out for a second because when you blink there’s Fisk, dropped to his haunches in front of you. It takes thirty seconds after you start drooling blood for him to start back up.

“You’re a real woman, you know that?”

“And what does that make you?” Your voice doesn't even sound like you, it’s too scratchy, and your words are hard to make out.

Fisk sort of ignores you and says,“And Because I'm a nice guy,” Pulling a white handkerchief—Christ—out of his shirt pocket and wiping your mouth. “I'm gonna make this easy on you, how bout’ forty eight hours? Sound good?”

You’re so stubborn. Like, way too stubborn for your own good, that’s what you’re gonna tell Frank when you explain why you spit your blood in Fisks face. And because you’re a real woman.

“Thirty hours,” Fisk says, gripping the bottom half of your shirt, using it to wipe his face, and standing up. “Butch,—” So that’s his name, he looks like a Butch. “Show her the door.”

Brace for impact.

You can't be that mad though, I mean come on. After that stunt you pulled at the Quagmire tonight you’re surprised you’re even still walking-uh -running. So yeah, thirty hours and after that you’re gonna be a goddamn beacon of come get me for every baddie in New York. Okay, you gotta stop running or else you’re gonna pull something, and catching a cramp probably isn’t the best thing for you right now...just sayin’.

You pitch from a sprint to a light jog and eventually stop, bowing over and pressing your hands to your knees. A long groan crawls out of you, and you shake your head. The middle of 10th and 42nd isn’t the place to let it hit you. Clear your throat, spit, stand back up, keep walking.

You decide to swerve out of the road and onto the sidewalk, that way you’re not ass out for everyone to see. And it’s a helluva sight. You’ve got a bruise forming just under your right eye and your nose is busted to shit, not to mention the blood- that you’re not even sure is all yours- caked over you. All that and you probably smell like a back alley.

You shift and adjust, turn right toward the dock, and pick up the pace.

‘I can run,’ you think, digging your thumbnail into your palm. ‘haul ass to Seattle, become some poor fisherman's wife.’

That doesn't sound all too bad, besides the fact that Fisk has got eyes all over this goddamn city. You so much as even look toward the bridge and his thirty hours-oh-mercy are gone. Poof! You won't even make it out of New York.

A street light flicks off for a second before coming back to life, and you dig in your back pocket, fishing for your phone. It’s a mess of cracks and smeared blood, but still manageable. You click it on and the screen gives a few half assed flashes of light before turning on. Yeah, still manageable.

You wipe the screen against your shirt and pull it back, checking the time. Twelve oh five. Good, he's still up.

•

Frank's van is static under the west bridge, just next to the pier. It’s a beige camper he’s had since way back when, and is still too sentimental to give up. It’s rusted, a hubcaps gone missing, and the battery is standing on it’s last leg, but don’t ever tell Frank it’s anything less than perfect. Seriously, buddy, don't do it.

You called it a piece of junk once, something mumbled between Frank trying to turn the engine over and almost flooding it.

“If you don’t like it that much, Sunshine, you can walk back.” He shakes his head and turns the key over again. The engine makes an almost awkward sort of noise. Something like a cr-r-r-eek! Before gray smoke creeps its way from under the hood. “God fucking damnit.”

You're ninety percent sure the only reason he didn't knock your head through the window is because he's got a soft spot for you....Eighty-five percent.

Your boot knocks against an empty can, probably oil, and Max pokes his head up. He's lying right outside the van's side door, tucked halfway under it with his head on his paws. You go still and try to remember if this dog actually liked you or not.

When he doesn’t move you chalk it up to a definite maybe, and start walking again. He lets out a few half assed growls before crawling from under the van and barking, loud and proud. You throw caution out the window and speed walk toward him, forgetting the fact that he’s a full grown pitbull, and wave your hands in front of you, shh shh shh! No, doggy. Nice, Max! You got a million different scenarios playing in your head, and none of them are good.

Max is howling now, nose pointed to the sky and oh sonofabitch.

You hear a gun cock over your head and now you're staring down the barrel of a shotgun. This was the fourth scenario. At the end of that is Frank, standing in a pair of raggedy sweatpants, an old NYU tee, and-Christ he's not even wearing any shoes.

You're still a little wobbly in the legs so you press your hand against the doorframe, and lean. That's it. Play it cool, nice and steady.

“Hey, Frank.” You say, and then. “Can I come in?” You're batting against four hours of sleep and maybe a concussion, so hey, frank is the best you're gonna do.

His shoulders slump down and he points the gun away from you, eyes moving three speeds too fast. Like I said earlier, you’re a helluva sight, girl.

“You look like the back end of hell.” He says, side stepping to let you in, eyes catching on your knuckles. They aren’t the worst of it, but you can tell a lot about a person from their hands, and Frank’s getting the whole goddamn story.

You step up into the kitchen—living room?—and focus on everything you’ve already seen before. The sketchy stain on the ceiling, the empty Budweiser cans, your feet. Just for good measure you pick up a roll of gauze and turn it over in your hand, because this is the most interesting thing in the world, not your bloody knuckles. And definitely not Frank who’s staring down your back, shooting imaginary laser beams your way. Pew pew pew. I’m calling it now, he’s gonna get mad. You know it, I know it, so just fucking face the music before he-

“So,” oh-Kay. He clicks the third deadbolt, and leans his back against the door, gun cocked on the wall, and arms crossed over his chest. “You gonna tell me what happened or am I gonna haveta’ guess?”

He doesn't have to guess, because he already knows. But, he's gonna lean back and give you a chance to say it before he starts pulling teeth.

“This was once in a lifetime, Frank.” You're pushing out excuses and he's barely said anything. “There was an opening-”

“Y/n, what the hell did you do?”

Franks more worried than actually confused. He knows you're in some deep-I'm talking chasm into hell deep- shit, he's just worried he's not gonna be able to pull you out.

“I went to the Quagmire, and Fisk was there.” You wring your hands because of the look he gives you. Priceless. “I had a shot, I took it, I—”

“Tell me you killed him.” He's shaking his head, tilt up, and looking at the roof. He's about to start praying, and lord knows he hasn't done that in a while. “Tell me you killed him, Y/n.”

The throbbing behind your eye is enough to remind you that no, you didn't. You came damn close though, I'll give you that.

Frank blinks, slow squeeze, and groans something low in the back of his throat. He drops his head and drags a hand down his jaw, you're gonna be the death of him if you keep this shit up.

“And,” you gotta get it out now, if you don't do it now you're gonna hate doing it later. “I got a bounty on me.”

“Course you do,” he's looking at you again, but his foot is tapping against the linoleum, so he's beyond mad now. “Is it active?”

You shake your head. “No, I got thirty hours.” You would have forty eight, but he doesn't need to know that...or why you don't anymore.

“Shiiit,” he almost laughs. “Bastard gave you a helluva’ lot more time than me.” His eyebrows tilt down and you catch the way his eyes track along your knuckles. You're standing in front of him, and in this light he can finally get a good look at you. And he doesn't like it. “What'd they do to you, Sunshine?”

There it is. You let out a halfhearted dry laugh and say. “Butch, son of a bitch has a solid right hook.”

“I bet I got better,” He says, lips upturning a bit.

You say. “Oh, I know you do.” And that's it, you're both drawn back into a moment that definitely shouldn't happen. Christ, girl, the man's a vigilante with a truckload of baggage. Stay away. Don't do it to yourself.

You gotta dodge this shit, so you say. “So, what do I do now?”

He gives you a quick once over and pushes himself off the wall. “First, you gotta take a shower, get your mind right.” He stalks over to the hall closet, and starts pulling out random things; a towel, a washcloth, sweatpants, and one of his Rolling Stones T-shirts. He tosses a Then we'll talk, and figure out our next move. over his shoulder and that knocks you back a minute.

Our. Don't dwell on that. Nope, nope, do not do it. You nod, walk over to him, and say. “Thank you, Franky.” Franky’s something only you’d get away with saying, just like he gets away with the whole sunshine thing. It’s weird, you’re weird, leave it alone.

When you reach him he pulls back, giving you this half look between you really okay? and it's okay if you're not. Oh, God, he's gonna have your eyes in the shape of hearts if he keeps this up.

“I'm fine,” You reach a bit more, and he meets you halfway, pushing everything towards you. “You better have hot water though.”

“Baby, you know I do.”

“Mhm, that's what you said last time.”

He says. “Just tell me if it's not hot enough for you, I'll fix it.” And you're positive it's borderline flirty. You gotta occupy yourself with turning on the bathroom light, or else he's gonna see fuuuck written all over your face.

You gotta say something back or it's gonna be one sided, and awkward so you push out. “I'll call you if I need you, Franky.” Low and slow.

Did you just?

Franks mouth pulls up into a grin and he's gotta wipe his hand over his cheek, as if he's just feeling the stubble. Look what you did, you're making him nervous.

Before either of you have a chance to react, the door’s closed and you're pressing your back against it. If you didn't know any better you'd think the man was making a move, but you've got a migraine from hell so you're gonna chalk it up to friendly banter.

You're gonna opt for a cold shower though, just in case.

•

The shower does wonders for you. Your regenerative powers help too, giving your body the chance to heal a bit under the water. You walk out dressed and unstressed with your clothes balled up in your arms, just about to call out Franks name when you hear him say. “Back here.”

You turn and walk into the small bedroom space, just big enough for the two of you. He's laying on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes, looking like absolute sin. Okay, yeah, you're cut off from reading tacky romance novels.

“You can just put your stuff on the table, we'll get em’ washed tomorrow.” He sounds tired.

You walk to the kitchenette table and drop your clothes on top of it, before walking back to the room and saying. “Or we could just get my clothes from my apartment, that's a pretty good idea.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “We could, and, you know what, why don't we go to the police station while we're at it and tell them about the bad man named Fisk?”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought we were stating dumb ideas.” He says nonchalantly, before adding. “You and I both know that it's not safe for you to go to your place, or else you wouldn't be here, right?”

He lifts his arm off of his face and looks at you. Yeah, right. You nod and he nods back, covering his face up again. “Right.”

Truth be told, you'd probably still be here even if it was safe. Truthfully.

You crawl onto the bed next to him and the springs groan out something light and metallic. Lay down, face up, be quiet.

“Y/n.” That's not quiet.

“Hm?”

“You're not doin’ this alone,” Okay. You turn your head to look at him but he's still got his arm over his eyes. “Not while there's air in my lungs.”

You say, “It's not your fight.” And Frank finally looks at you. His brows tip and he props himself up on one arm so he's leaning over you a bit.

“Hell it's not, you think Ima’ just let that bastard have at you? Nuh-uh,” He shakes his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but that's not how this works.”

“Then how does this work?” You're not mad, just curious. If this is going where you think it's going, God willing, Frank’s gonna be the one starting it.

He's the one with the brick walls here, so you're gonna let him be the first to break them down.

His eyes drop to your lips and roll over the curve of your jaw. It's sharp and soft at the same time, just like the rest of you. You shift, catch his eyes, and his sight slips off to the wall.

“I, uh.” he rolls onto his back and clasp his hands on his stomach. You're making him nervous and he's the one doing all the work. Jeesus, one of you do something. This is embarrassing.

“I don't wanna die.” What? You-pfsshhh. Yeah, okay, start there.

Frank has to blink that in, but he's still too chicken shit right now to look at you. So he asks. “Why not?”

For the love of God.

“Why not?” You repeat, frowning at the ceiling. Frank squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head, backtrack.

“No, not-” He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and gives himself a second to get it. He doesn't, so he just nods and says. “Yeah, okay why not? Why don't you?”

You sit up and turn to look at him. He's circulating between frowning at you, and the ceiling, and the door, so when his eyes hit you on their third rotation you say. “I don't wanna die, because I'm not ready yet.” Simple.

“Says the girl who went all Annie Oakley on a mob boss tonight.”

“It was his henchmen-”

“-henchmen?”

“-and that's not the point.” You ignore him. “The point is I'm scared. I thought I could do it tonight, but I didn't and now look at me.”

He does. In the weak light from his bedside lamp he can see all of you. The bruise forming (and healing) under your eye, and on the bridge of your nose. The scratch along your neck that dips just below the collar of your-his shirt. It's a lot. You're a lot.

He shifts and pushes himself up a bit before opening his arms. “Come here.”

Then your head is pressed against his chest, with your hand resting on his abdomen. Fingers curled in. You can hear his heart beating, thu-thump. Thu-thump.

His arm wraps around you and you can feel his fingers brush against the middle of your back, right at the dip. A train's horn blares in the distance and suddenly you feel really mortal.

This is it, Kid.

You've finally hit fuck it, because now you're lifting up and kissing Frank Castle. You half expect him to push you off, but nope, his hand pushes straight to your hips, your shirt hitching up around his forearm.

There's no awkward is this okay kisses, nope, you're both just diving for it. You push your hand up to his shoulder and-oh okay, yeah you do that- slide your leg over him, so you're halfway straddling him at least.

You push both of your hands to his neck, thumbs pressed against his jaw, and lean in. It's an awkward approach, something he wasn't exactly ready for this time because your teeth collide, and you're about to pull back and apologize when he reaches down and grips your ass.

Oh-Kay. He tugs you back up toward him and this time you're both ready. Especially you, because your tongue dips into Frank's mouth and he's just here for it.

After a while of just that, you lift up and press your hands against his chest. His other hand scoots up to your hip, and he starts rubbing up and down your thighs.

“Y/n-”

“Hold on.” You scoot so you're really on top of him and sit back a bit, feeling him rub against your clit. He lets out a sharp exhale of a groan and you lift up, before sitting back again and grinding against him. Frank tugs off his shirt and you follow suit, pulling yours up and over your head before tossing it off to the side, and Frank is on you.

You’re not wearing a bra, so he just dips his head down to lick your nipple into his mouth. He reaches up to gather your other breast in his hand, and you bring your hands up to his shoulders just to hold onto something. You bury your face in his hair, shift, and kiss along his head.

Frank starts peppering sloppy kisses across your chest before biting down on your other nipple.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Frank.”

“Mhm,” He’s got a vice grip on your hips, and then he’s bucking up into you. Slow and steady, and meticulous, and—Jeesus. His tongue swirls and bites, and you’re tilting your head back. Eye’s closed just feeling him.

Okay, you gotta-hold on. You push against Franks shoulders and his mouth comes off of you with an almost obscene pop. He starts to ask what’s wrong when you dip your head down and catch his mouth against yours. It’s slow and nasty and good, something almost too sensual to be Frank, but it is. It’s just you and him.

He mumbles. “Com’on.” Against your lips and rolls you over so he’s pressed on top of you. You’re rubbing your hands up his arms and over his shoulders when he —oh Christ, okay—reaches up to grab each of your wrist pinning them over your head. This is more of what you expected, you’re not gonna stop him though.

He peppers kisses along your jaw and down to your neck, before sucking.

“Fra-ank.” God you’re whiney right now, and Franks sucking hickies into your neck, so who the hell cares?

“What’s wrong, Baby?” Frank is an A-1 goddamn tease. Before you can get an answer out he pushes against you. Languid downward rolls of his hips, catching against you and pushing your body up juuust a bit with each thrust. “Hm?”

Your mouths open in an ‘O’ shape, and you’re positive you're not gonna be able to make clear sentences, so you lock your ankles behind him and drag him closer to you. He groans out a breathy ah, shit and pulls his head back up to kiss you again. When he lets your arms go he’s quick to get back on you, sucking and biting his way down your body, and you’re still too dazed to really get what’s happening until he says.

“Y/n.”

He’s sitting up, leaning back a bit onto his legs, with his hands resting on your hips. You prop yourself up on your forearms. “Yes?”

His mouth tips up into a half smile and he says. “I said you gotta lift up,” His fingers tap the waistband of your sweatpants. Oh, yeah, okay. You lift up your hips and he starts tugging your pants down, fingers hooked in your panties too. You lift up your legs and then he’s got everything up and off of you.

He settles back down, onto his stomach, with his head between your legs and looks up at you. You’re still propped up onto his shoulders, and you’ve got a pretty damn good view of him. He dips his head down and starts kissing along your thighs, and again it's strangely intimate for him. Out of your peripheral you catch a car's headlights move past the window, and you think to say something when you feel Frank slide his hands to the back of your knees and fold your legs back on either side of you towards the bed.

You feel him blow cool air against you and you gotta take deep breaths. Scoot, shift, and his face is right between the junction of your thighs. Your hand is in his hair when he drags his tongue up your pussy and over your clit. Your head hits the pillow and you push your other hand into the other one next to you. Gripping.

“Frank,” You breathe for no reason other than it’s just him. “Oh, God, Frank.”

He moans into you and that’s enough to get your back arching a bit. He starts in earnest, jumping between circling your clit, and looong strokes up your vulva. You start to wonder if he’s spelling his name down there, when he pushes his tongue aaaalll the way in until his face is practically buried inside of you. His tongue is pressed flat against your labia and then he’s licking inside you. There’s a pause while you gasp out a ‘Fra-a-ank’, before he starts tongue fucking you. You’re not sure what your sound limit is here so you’re doing your best to keep it to a minimum. Rotating between a string of Oh god, Yes, fuck, and Fraa-aank-just to be safe.

And then he plants his mouth over your clit and sucks, pushing a finger inside of you. Your back is almost full rainbow, pushing your head into the pillow, and your moaning out a loud. “Ooooh, fuck, Frank!”

He hums, and, without missing a beat, his tongue starts circling your clit, and he adds a second finger. Languid and intinse. Faster, tighter, you’re really pushing the sound limit here. He’s still working you to the edge, but has enough time to say. “Come on, Y/n. Come in my mouth, baby.”

You groan. “Oh shit,” But he pulls his fingers back a bit, curve, and he’s finger fucking you against your G-spot. He’s an angel.

You’re loud. Like-you’re voice is probably gonna be strained in the morning- loud. Frank pumps into you, tongue circling tightly, and gets just a little rougher with it. “Ah, fuck, Frank. Please-God-please…” He latches his lips around your clit and sucks, and it's gotta be biblical the amount of times you’ve said God’s name tonight. He presses against your legs and tucks his fingers, moans against you. Your jaw drops and you squeeze your eyes shut, pushing your other hand down to the back of Frank's head and pulling his face into you.

A strain of ecstasy pushes its way through you and you just can’t get out fast enough. “Frank-frank, oh GOD AAaaahhh!!” Your chest has a slow rise and fall to it, and Frank is back to being sensual. Kissing around your still sensitive clit and up your thighs. He lets go of your leg and pushes both of his hands onto your hips, you can feel your wetness on his fingers.

He pulls himself on top of you and this kiss is rougher, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. He props himself up onto his forearm and reaches down to push off his sweatpants, throwing them off to the side with the rest of his clothes.

“You ready?” His voice is wrecked, something you’re really not used to hearing from Frank. You think, and push up on his shoulders before wrapping your leg around his hip and rolling so you’re on top. Franks got this dazed smile on his face, and lord he is cute. Really, Frank Castle is cute.

He grabs onto your waist and lifts you up with almost ridiculous ease, before shifting his eyes down and watching as you wrap your hand around his dick and slowly guide yourself down onto him.

You press your hands against his chest and raise up, just to grind back down, and Franks gotta focus on his breathing or else he’s gonna cum way too fast.

You go like that for a while, a slow and steady rock, but Frank’s been sporting a hard on since you laid next to him so he’s not as patient as he could be. He adjusts his grip on your waist, hikes his legs up so he’s digging his heels into the mattress, “You ready, baby?” and starts to buck up into you. And you thought you were leading the show.

You’re panting out little ah’s with each thrust, and you gotta brace your hand on the headboard for some kinda leverage. Frank pulls you down onto his chest and kisses you full, mumbling a string of “You like that? Huh? Ah, fuck.” against you, before wrapping his arm around your waist. You grind down and meet each of his thrust and he’s done for. He pushes his face into your neck as he starts pistoning into you, lips mouthing at your neck. His thrust start getting sloppy, uncoordinated, and he moans out. “Com’on, Y/n.” Before reaching down and circling your clit.

And it's building and building and you rasp out. “Frank, I—”

He bites down on your shoulder and Oh, okay, yes that. You dig your nails into his shoulder and he’s forcing every ounce of himself not to scream. “Y/n!” Low and breathy. He still does. His hips stutter as he cums, and you pick up your pace, fucking him through it. His hips eventually stutter and he bucks a couple of times before sighing into your neck, spent.

You both just stay like that for a while. Breathing in each other, enjoying the come down. You can’t help but let your mind drift to thoughts of Frank outside of this. Domesticated, and lovely. He just came inside of you, so the idea of having his kids passes through briefly. You’ll deal with that tomorrow. He coaxes you off of him and onto the bed, sliding the sheets onto the both of you. Sliding his arm under your back he pulls you into his side and closes his eyes. You rest your head against his chest, hyper aware of how intimate this is. Neither of you are sure whether or not you should dwell on that or not.

He, Christ, reaches down and plants a kiss on your forehead before laying back and saying. “You’re not getting your card punched, not while I’m still here.”

Does he know what he’s doing to you? You just nod, because you’re not really sure if you believe him or not, and he sees that.

“Hey,” He says, nudging you a bit. You sit up and look at him, and he’s got this look in his eyes. Something like worry, and hope, and so much love for you it almost breaks your heart. “I’m serious, I’m not letting him or any a’ them get to you.”

You’re the closest thing this man has got to a friend, hell even a family, so yeah. You believe him. You nod and lean up to kiss him, before laying your head back onto his chest.

Thirty hours.

A/N: I'm actually obsessed with this man. Y'all please leave comments letting me know if you liked this / what you think. I wanna hear back from you! Have a great day, beautiful.

#I love writing so much what a great outlet #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x female reader #frank castle fluff #the punisher #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #kash writes

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zombiekillerbiceps · 1 year

Text

Closing In

Leon follows reader home...

Note: thank you to anon for suggesting this premise, ohhhh I did not realize how much I would like writing this - and thank you everyone for your patience!

Content: 3.9 k words, 18+, cnc with enthusiastic consent, stalking roleplay, slasher roleplay, home invasion roleplay, denial, rough sex, taunting, humiliation, crying, overstim, sadism/masochism, Slasher!Leon, obsessed Leon, LeonxReader, fem reader, no y/n.

"I dunno, I just think it's kind of romantic," you say. Your hands fiddle nervously with the tassels on your throw pillow.

"He was a stalker, babe." Leon's voice hides just a hint of amusement. "He cut women up."

"Okay, but besides that-"

"Besides the... The serial killing."

"Yes! Besides the serial killing."

Leon stared at you, an eyebrow arched in judgement. You tried to stay straight faced - by God, you tried - but he had a way of half-smirking his way past your mask with his annoying, pretty face.

"Look, I'm just saying," you roll your eyes, not even sure why you keep talking, "something about... Obsessing over someone like that is kiiind of romantic. What's the point of love if it doesn't make you a little crazy? Y'know? Anne Rice would agree with me."

"Anne Rice was horny for a Confederate twink," he points out.

You gawk for a moment. But like, he's kind of right. So instead of saying anything clever, you throw the pillow at him. He deflects it with his forearm, but that gives you the opening to jump on him. You're wrestling in no time, breathless and sweaty and... Moving against each other...

You're out for lunch with your friend, Jessie, at some too-fancy Parisian style café. You sip a caramel iced latte and share a plate of rose coloured macarons. She complains about her studies, you complain about work, and you both come to the resounding agreement that deadlines suck. She complains about her last date, some butch that was more well-read than her that accidentally made her feel stupid. You don't have the heart to tell her that they sounded cool as hell. You tip-toe around telling her about Leon. It's not that you weren't proud of him, it was just... With the nature of his job, what were you going to say? Yeah, I'm seeing this guy who has a gun case built into the dresser and is super paranoid about people visiting his place and won't tell me what he does but he's like, totally a sweet guy and not some psycho? Yeah. Okay.

You stretch, appreciating the summer sun on your limbs and the peaceful breeze around your skirt. Your phone rings. Jessie snatches it up before you have a chance to, and then gives you the most scandalous, shit-eating grin you've ever seen.

"No. Don't you dare-!"

"Hiiiii lover boy," she coos over the phone.

Oh fuck, kill me.

"Jessie, give me the phone!" You reach across the table, the ceramic plate between you clattering loudly against the glass table. You freeze, feeling eyes on you. Jessie opens her mouth in mock embarrassment.

"So you're the secret boyfriend that my best friend keeps hiding from me?"

"Jessie, come on."

She listens for a moment, then laughs. You get up from your chair and walk over to her while she tries to twist away from your grasp.

"mhm, mhm - oh, sorry, I think someone wants to talk to y-"

You finally snatch it from her grasp. You give her a stare with the intensity of someone who can kill by staring. You try to keep your voice as flat as possible.

"Hey, sorry about that. What's up?"

"Is that Jessie?" He asks. He's got that... Quirk in his voice. The one that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can feel Jessie watching you and try to keep it cool.

"Yeah, sorry, she's like, literally five years old sometimes."

"She seems fun."

"Babe, I'm kinda busy, did you have a reason for-"

"That's a pretty dress you're wearing."

You freeze halfway to sitting back down in your chair. Jessie tilts her head, giving you that concerned-puppy-dog face she did when she knew something was up.

You clear your throat and find it suddenly dry. You sit back down but you're a little clumsy, your skirt getting caught on the arm rests. You snatch it back, and then trying to regain your cool, you take a sip from your iced latte. You hear him chuckle on the other end. Did it get cold all of a sudden?

"What, uh, what do you mean by that?"

You can practically hear him grin into the receiver.

"I mean," he says, drawing out every syllable. "I can see you. And you look pretty today. That skirt will roll up pretty easy-"

You hang up on him. Mostly in panic. There was no way you were going to do that in public! Your eyes scan the area around you. Pretty cafe patio, pretty park across the street, some people going about their daily business. You can't see him anywhere. He must be fucking with you. He must have known you were going to wear a dress, it's so hot out, and where would he even be hiding?

A cold hand touches yours and you almost jump out of your skin. Jessie's taking your hand in hers, and when you meet her gaze, she looks like she's about to cry.

"I'm so sorry if I caused any issues between you, I totally shouldn't have answered it. I didn't think he'd like, get angry with you," she starts to wetly babble, swaying between guilty and protective. You love her very much, but you don't know what to say.

Oh, it's just this weird sex game we play, I promise this brooding dude who you've never met and only spoken to once is definitely a good guy and not like emotionally abusive.

"Hey, hey, Jessie. Don't worry about it. It wasn't about that he's got this... Thing. Unrelated. But uh, look, I have to go."

She frowns, almost curving her pink lip-glossed mouth into a pout.

"If he so much as leaves a scratch on you, I will kill him."

Your thoughts flit to the bite marks and bruises that are just covered by your dress. If only she knew.

You kiss her cheek, snatch up one final macaron, and take your leave. You try to control your pace, look cool, act natural. Your eyes scan the buildings and alleyways around you. You seriously can't find him.

Your phone rings.

You stare at it for a moment. Your hands are shaking a little when you answer it.

"It's sweet how much she cares about you," he says. An idea dawns on you. You nod and give an mhm sound, listening around you for anything noticeable. A church bell rings just ahead of you and you hear it echo over the phone.

"You're close," you say. You try to sound threatening. He just laughs at you.

"Obviously. How else would I know you're wearing that citrus perfume I love?"

"I wear that everyday." Your voice shakes as you speak, and you can't help but whip your head around. You half expect to see him there, but it's just some guy who gives you a dirty look.

"No, you don't. You only wear it when you're going to see friends. You usually wear the vanilla one. You like that it's so subtle."

You're a little impressed he noticed that. It was kind of sweet, really, if he wasn't totally freaking you out. How did he possibly get close enough to smell your perfume without you noticing? You start walking again. You want to catch the train home. Maybe you can trap him there.

You use the shop windows as you pass to get a better look, pretending to window shop.

"Do you think I'd look good in that," you ask, with no idea what you're referring to. You're looking past whatever is behind the glass to observe the reflection. A spot of blonde hair, maybe... He got a totally different hair cut? No. Not him.

"Using the reflection. Clever."

He hangs up.

You spin around again, desperately searching the crowd. He was a beefy guy and he moved like a panther, there's no way he was just casually blending in. But, you can't find him.

You wrap your arms around your core. Knowing you're being watched makes you want to shrink into yourself. Yet you can't ignore the excitement you feel. It was kind of romantic, really. Kind of dangerous.

You liked Leon best when he was dangerous.

You set off again, somehow walking a knife's edge between nervous and confident. Both prey and prize. You keep looking over your shoulder as you pass into the crowded underground of the subway station. It's right around rush hour and it's so packed you can hardly move. Other people are breathing your oxygen and you're just recycling theirs. It's tight, and hot, and moving at the exact speed that makes you feel like no one is really getting anywhere. You pull your purse tight to your body and try to shove past people, only to be confronted with more people.

Your phone rings. You hang up. And then, in a stroke of brilliance, you call back.

His ringtone echoes out in the tiled halls. You try desperately to find it, but it only rings out twice, then it's lost in the sea of people.

"Clever," his voice is deep on the other end. "I'm almost impressed."

"Yeah. Why don't you stop hiding?"

"Oh, I know you're eager, but I didn't think you'd want me to cut you up in this crowd."

He's impatient. You can tell by the sharpness of his voice that he's more frustrated than he admits. The threat sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but picture yourself bent over on the filthy tile floor, knife to your throat, fucked within an inch of your life as people step past. The ebb and flow of the crowd pushes you towards the oncoming subway.

"What exactly is your plan?" He asks. You can hear the screeching brakes over the phone. "I know you take the 76 Southbound until Queen Street. I know you get off and walk two blocks to George Street. I know you live in a turn of the century brownstone with a heritage plaque and bathroom sink that takes forever to drain."

You step onto the 76 Southbound near the front. You press your back to the wall and watch as people get on.

"Yeah, well," you say victoriously, "I know you have to go the same way."

And then you see him. He walks directly into your trap, and realizes it too late. His blue eyes widen in realization. The door slams shut behind him.

You hang up.

Some people pile up in front of you, giving you cover from him. You watch him from behind shoulders and under arms. Open, navy bomber jacket and a grey t-shirt with black jeans doesn't exactly scream slasher killer. But, something about how casual he looks keeps your attention. He blends in, he's unsuspecting. And, to your surprise, he's grinning like a fox.

He's broad, and when he moves through the crowd, people make room for him. He scans every seat and every face with purpose. Inching his way towards the back. You realize you have nowhere to go. You start to panic. Maybe you get off a stop early? And then what, he beats you to your house and waits for you?

No, you have to get home before he does. Lock the doors before he can get in. You push closer to the door so you can be the first one off. You turn to track his progress and directly meet his gaze.

Fuck.

His expression drops, his eyes glaring at you from under his brow. You're almost hypnotized by them, frozen in place while he cuts through the crowd.

You're pinned down with nowhere to go. But, surely, nothing will happen in public, right?

He pushes past a few more people and then he's on you. He towers above you, his broad shoulders cutting out other's view of you. You notice how his t-shirt clings to his body. How well fitting his jeans are. You also notice the angry squint in his eyes from under his brow.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" He brings a hand down to touch your hip, holding it in his grasp. You quiver against him as he leans down, close enough to whisper in your ear. "Don't you know I’ll always find you?"

You turn your head away from him defiantly. Your eyes scan the train, but passengers nearby don't seem to notice. They all have that vacant long-day- commute stare.

"No one's going to help you, sweetheart." He closes in, one arm rests on the wall beside you, his body angled to ensure prying eyes can't see. His free hand slides up your body. It caresses the curves of your hips, the softness of your tummy, the round of your breast.

You flush. Your hands come up to his chest as if that will stop him from pawing at your tits.

"Leon, seriously? Here?" You whisper it, completely embarrassed.

"I can take you whenever I want." He uses that commanding voice you've only heard a handful of times before. "You're mine."

To prove his point, his hand dips between your thighs, and he presses his fingers against your pussy over the fabric of your skirt. It's so sudden and strong, your hand goes to his wrist on instinct. He doesn't stop, rubbing hard enough to make your legs shake.

"Could probably take you right here," he mutters, his breath hot on your ear. You feel yourself get wet at the thought.

"Queen Street." The robotic, automated subway voice chimes out from overhead.

The door opens. You lose your balance, but manage to recover quickly. You move fast, hoping to put as much distance between yourself and Leon as you can. You take the stairs two at a time until you breach the surface, taking in the fresh air like it would save you. But the summer heat brokers no peace, and you know Leon isn't far behind.

You don't look behind you for fear of slowing down. You take one block normally, then decide to cut through an alley way to save time. Every minute was another he could be gaining on you.

As you take a few paces into the alley, your hair starts to stand on end. It's somehow darker here, the smell of mildew and gasoline making your stomach turn. Your cell phone rings. You answer.

"Stop calling!" You snap, betraying more fear than you mean to.

"An alleyway? You're smarter than this." Leon is unphased by your outburst.

You give in, turning your head to look behind you. He stands at the other end, the sun behind him obscuring his features.

Then he moves. With long, easy strides, he makes ground quickly. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he whistles a slow, off-beat tune.

You turn and run. Your hand meets the corner at the end of the alley and you use it to redirect your momentum. Full tilt sprinting in a sundress down a public street in the middle of the day probably makes you look crazy. Leon made you look crazy.

You get to your brownstone on George Street. You take the few steps up to the front door. You throw your phone in your purse as you frantically rip through it for your keys.

Fuck, come on, where are they? Lipstick, tampon, water bottle, wallet FUCK! There. You snatch them up like they'll save your life. Your hands shake as you put them in the lock. It turns, and you take one last look to see Leon - oh shit!

He's at the base of the stairs! He takes them by two. You manage to get the door open wide enough to barely squeeze through. His hand slaps against the door but you throw your full weight against it. It slams in his face. He turns the knob. You struggle to hold it against him as you turn the dead bolt. Then the chain. He slams a fist against the door and you slowly back away from it.

A chilling thought dawns on you.

Back door.

You run to the other side of the house, tripping over shoes and a discarded purse as you do, cursing as they steal precious seconds from you. You turn the corner and run directly into the door. Your body stings from the impact. You shakily turn the lock.

Silence. For a few, long minutes, there's just silence. You wonder, disappointed, if he gave up, but take the time to catch your breath.

Your cell phone rings. Sweat rolls down your back as you answer it.

"I got you, motherfucker."

"Did you?" He asks. His voice is cool. Calm. "How confident are you that you got to the back door before I did?"

"I would have heard you come in." You aren't so sure.

"Would you?"

Your apartment is small. You approach the bedroom, then quickly snap the door open. It lies still. Empty.

"You don't scare me," you lie.

"I really almost had you there, didn't I?" He's calling your bluff as you move into the kitchen, "What do you think I would have done if I'd caught up to you?"

The kitchen is still and quiet too. You don't have an answer for him, anxiety knotting in your stomach. You take the turn into the living room.

His arms wraps around your waist with enough strength to lift you off the ground. You scream. You kick at him, but he doesn't budge, dragging you into the living room.

You see a window open.

"Did you climb the fucking trellis?" You ask, shocked and amused at the sight. He tries not to laugh.

"Yeah."

"What are you, Romeo?"

"You said you wanted romance," and then, his voice drops again to that cold, serious tone that makes you feel like prey, "isn't this what you wanted?"

He lets you go and you take the opportunity to run. But his hand is entangled in your hair, the sharp pain making you cry out. Tears gather in your eyes and you whimper. You grab his forearm and try to pull away, but the self-inflicted pain makes you freeze. He rolls his eyes.

"You're just so fucking predictable."

He drags you across the living room floor. It hurts, bare knees roughly hitting the hard wood floor. He lifts you up with an arm around your stomach. Then, he's bending you over the couch.

You try to push back against it. You struggle against him. He pulls your head back by the hair and you nearly sob.

"Please, don't," you whimper. He rolls his eyes at you.

"Not our safe word, sweetheart."

His words make you feel so beautifully helpless. The tears finally fall down your cheeks and, at the same time, you become aware of how soaked your cotton underwear is. His hand comes up and slaps you sharply. You whimper. He does it again, this time harder. The stinging in the side of your face is enough to make your pussy clench around nothing.

He pins you to the side of the couch his hands on your hips. He rolls your skirt up, and makes a choked sound at the sight of you. He tears your underwear down harshly.

"Please, don't," he mocks with a harsh slap on your ass. "Try and tell me you don't want this."

A finger slides along your slick, from hole to clit. He presses his finger against it just slightly but it's enough to make your hips buck. He gently rolls a finger around your clit a few times, already building that high in the pit of your stomach. He barely fucking touched you and you're already desperate to cum, breath ragged, legs shaking. Leon pulls away. You whimper in disappointment. Then his hand comes down hard against your ass cheek. Then again. Then again. Then again.

The pain is overwhelming. But god, you don't want him to stop. You want hand-shaped bruises on your ass, you want to remember this every time you sit down for the next week.

"You look so pretty for me when you cry" His hand still wet from your cunt comes up and rubs your tears away, leaving an obscene mix of your tears and your desperation for him on your cheeks. The tears keep falling anyways. Then, softly, "you do remember our safe word, right?"

You nod, but you don't say it. You want to go further. You want him to hurt you more.

“Hey, answer me when I’m fucking talking to you,” he grabs you roughly by the jaw, wrenching your face to look at him.

“Yes,” you nod, desperately. “I remember.”

“Wasn’t so fucking hard,” he says. He slaps you again, hard enough to stun you into a stupid, teary-eyed grin.

You hear his pants unbutton, then unzip, then fall to the ground, but you're so overwhelmed you can't move. His hand still in your hair, still tugging enough to remind you of your place beneath him, he lines his hips up with yours.

Then he's pushing into you. One, smooth motion is all it takes, your cunt greedily pulling him in. A high pitched moan escapes his throat, followed by a groaned "so fucking wet."

He fucks you deep and slow. Torturously slow, enjoying every minute of pleasure that he gets. The head of his cock presses against your g-spot, building the high like one boils water. Slowly. Your abdomen pressed against the couch makes it easier for him. The hour of teasing and adrenaline and painful foreplay has you overstimulated. But it’s really the slow, deep fucking that drives electricity through your body. Push and pull, ebb and flow, your face and ass stinging as he works. You’re already bordering on the edge, but his pace doesn’t allow you to go over. You just hover there. And hover there. And hover there. For what feels like hours you’re kept right on the edge without ever going over, building the tension inside you until it fucking hurts, and then you’re crying again. You want him to slam his hips into you, to fuck you into the couch, to do something to make you cum, but he doesn’t.

“Leon, it hurts,” you whine.

“It’s supposed to.”

“Please,” you beg, desperation making your voice hoarse. “Please just make me cum, please.”

“Relax.”

“Leon-”

“I said relax. Or I’ll stop right now. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you shake your head, hair falling into your face.

He takes his time to smooth it back, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He wipes more tears from your cheeks. When he speaks, though, his voice is so hard and cold.

“Greedy little whore.”

With no warning, he’s fucking into you harder. Faster. It only takes a few thrusts before you’re cumming on his cock. Your body tenses so hard your muscles scream, shaking and moaning and gasping for air. Your cunt tightens so hard you hear Leon breathe a fuck, baby. It feels like it lasts forever, and when you finally come down, you’re entirely dazed.

You’re... vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, hot and sticky. But for the most part you just feel like you’re floating. Leon slowly lowers you to the floor, grabbing a throw pillow and tucking it under your head. You close your eyes.

You wake again when the room is an orange glow, a blanket thrown over you for comfort. Leon is lounging on the couch reading a book, and when you stir, you immediately have his attention.

“Hey,” you mumble sleepily.

“Hey. Thought I’d let you sleep, you looked like you needed it. Why don’t I run us a shower?”

“Yeah,” you smile softly, dreamy fuzziness still clinging to you. “I’d like that.”

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #Slasher!Leon #yes he doesn't actually use a knife but it's the energy. you know it is.#anyways it's finally here thank you for the kind messages #requested #<- forgot to tag lol #Aaaaas always! Reblogs help me find more readers and comments are really encouraging! I read every single comment and tag :)

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grison-in-space · 2 months

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Reading Men Who Hate Women (Laura Bates, 2020) at the moment. She's talking about the manosphere: the massive online communities of men who congregate to talk misogyny, ranging from PUAs to MRAs, incels and MGTOW. These aren't new topics to me—I've been following this off and on since watching Gamergate kick off—but Bates handles them well and I think this book could serve as an introduction if this is a movement with which you're not familar. By the way, it's been a decade since Gamergate this year. Isn't that a kicker?

(Incidentally, I first ran into the concept of incels way before I think many people did: when I was still on AVEN, c. 2006-2007ish, I remember a few occasions where users ran into incel communities and brought them to our forums to ask: is this like what we're doing? Is this like us? Consensus quickly solidified on the direction of "no," each time, not least because asexuality dialog at the time was extremely clear about divorcing desire from action, and it was very clear that the desires centered in that community were very different than the ones people in asexuality spaces were untangling.)

Bates handles the topic with grace, compassion, and a deep understanding that I really wish more writing on radicalization or terroristic networks used: people in real pain, who are struggling in pitiable circumstances to do their best and clearly need more support, can also in their pain be truly dangerous to others. Hurt people hurt people. Compassion for pain suffered is important—you can't understand recruitment without understanding that—but you also have to understand that pain, fermented in darkness, can create deadly poisons. Pain isn't essentially holy or cleansing or cauterizing. It doesn't accomplish anything good by existing. If we can relieve it, we should—but we should follow harm reduction principles as we do so, lest pain be allowed to multiply and fester.

What gets me is that in 2017, in the wake of the Google bro "manifesto," I spent a feverish week writing what wound up being a 20,000 word rebuttal studded with what eventually totaled 100+ peer reviewed citations. It got quite a bit of reach and covered ground ranging from effects of testosterone on behavior, the concept of effect size in sex differences, basic statistics, the ways that humans treat people differently based on their perception of gender, intersex trauma, and whether feminists care about men's problems (yeah, actually, and they should).

I released that piece, changed up my name and fannish presence—my long time pseud was tangled all over the piece's genesis—and hunkered down for the reprisals. I expected harassment and vitriol. It never really came: I ignored the comments on the post, after a bit, and I held boundaries on what I was willing to pay attention to. But by and large, I had no direct consequences from the Manosphere.

Perhaps the piece was too long (although I got many comments from people who read it and found it useful, and I included an index). Perhaps it was simply that I included a headshot of myself, with uncharacteristic red lipstick and characteristically buzzed hair, and cheerfully discussed throughout that I was butch and queer: sometimes I confuse people who are very focused on bioessentialist sex differences, because I don't fit their paradigms in the slightest.

About six months later, James Damore attempted to frame his incredibly poor decisions in light of his Asperger's, and I did get a couple dudes on social media presenting me with this information apparently in the hope that it would shock or embarrass me. I immediately pointed out, acerbically, that I'm equally autistic and that he was making us look bad, and they melted away again into the background. It wasn't really the well of terrifying anger and obliterative fury I was expecting.

I find myself reading these stories in Bates' book and thinking about the internet I grew up on: AVEN by 2005, WrongPlanet the same year, listening to people on the margins talk about their fears and hopes and dreams and theories about themselves. I find myself thinking about narratives and meaning, the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and why.

I'm certainly not the first person to worry about radicalization of young autistic people, especially autistic men. Not even close. Paradoxically, it's a group of people for whom an understanding of intersectionality is crucial: young disabled men often alienated deliberately from conceptualizing themselves as disabled, without the tools to understand why life is hard and painful and never seems to reflect their experiences, trying to construct understanding beyond one's singular, isolated defective wrongness—which is what's left, if you take community off the table.

(Have I mentioned how grateful I am that so many autistics are trans spectrum? Imagine if we weren't, and if I didn't have so many transfeminine sisters funneled along those same currents and drifting closely enough alongside to understand. My sisters, so many of whom are out there living and modeling better ways to understand and participate in gender as a social activity: by figuring out what is most comfortable for you, understanding that comfort for one might be agony for another, and taking steps to shape your own life into a fashion that wells forth the most peace and joy. It's a message we all need to hear, but that is a group of people I hear singing so loudly from my place in a different wing of the choir, and I love them for it.)

I don't have answers. As is, so often, the case these days, I have only grief and love, and the determination to build better structures where my own hands reach. I had intended to direct my career, once, to undermining the entire concept of "good genes" models of evolution and explaining how their convoluted connections to natural phenomena are better explained by other, more direct motives. Since 2020, I've been moving in a new direction—but what precisely it is, I'm not sure.

Sex differences is certainly a piece of it, though. Even if I find myself often enough writing that it's not enough to know a sex difference in one species to assume that another will reflect a similar relationship: we should study sex differences in animals, but we really shouldn't assume that humans will have the same ones or work the same way. I suspect this won't be the first time I tangle with that community. I suppose it depends how much authority I can accrue as protection first.

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wof-reworked · 4 months

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ok I can't stop thinking about the jade winglet, here's my gender hcs for all of them

Moonwatcher - she/they (nonbinary)

I feel like this is fun bc rn (in canon) her gender is just "anxiety" but like,,, one day in the future she gets to actually play around with it

like she captures a very specific type of person I've met who you go "oh I mean I know she's gay but she's probably cis..." and then you have like one real convo and find out they're like not only nonbinary but better at it then you

I think she should get to be butch when she's older. I think she deserves being a) massive compared to her two twink boyfriends and b) gnc as shit

Kinkajou- any/all (genderfluid +transfem)

Kinkajou strikes me as being like. totally ambivalent to gender. Kinkajou changes her pronouns based on how the fruit he ate for breakfast makes him feel. Kinkajou is better than you

I think she was like staunchly using she/her for a while bc it just felt right and like changes pronouns situationally- Rainwing village is she/her, Jade Academy is any/all, close friends it varies, etc etc

Qibli- he/they (transmasc)

Qibli's just always kind of known who he is, and has been like. pretty contentedly in his corner for a while. I think it's like- a pillar of stability for him of like "at least I know I'm (x)"

Proximity to Moonwatcher puts the they/them in there bc I think it's nice when ppl get more comfortable so they start branching out a lil bit :> Qibli has like. guy who says "he/they" because he doesn't mind they/them and wants his friends to feel supported y'know

Winter- he/him (cis + gnc)

Look I feel bad making him one of like. two cis ppl at JMA but like I think it's funny if he's cis but inflicts a status effect of gender envy on every trans person in his proximity

guy who does makeup flawlessly because "it's fun" and decimates your sense of identity as you wonder why the fuck god gave these gifts to a man

extra funny for the fact that as a dragonet he gets offended by the implication he's pretty. he gets over it eventually I think

Turtle- she/her or he/she/they (transwoman/trans)

See here. Otherwise I think she's like trans and this could go in like. any fucking direction ngl

transmasc turtle??? hell yeah !!! transfem turtle??? hell yeah !!! gender is whatever Turtle has going on and god knows if she knows it

last egg to crack bc Turtle is immune to self reflection that isn't anxiety and self loathing

"Haha everyone hates how other people refer to them and their gender what do you mean? :)" (entire jade winglet: cringing with worry)

Umber- he/him (cis)

cis and a lil insecure about it but like. he's just nice :)

he's like experimented with pronouns and gender and found none of them really stuck so like. cis+. cis (extended dlc). you know what I mean I hope

gonna be honest I'm lost for him bc I genuinely forget he was there bc he peaced out so fast. justice for my boy I want to know more !!!!!

I could be persuaded for transman Umber ngl,,, it tempts me,,,,,,

Peril- she/her (trans woman)

On one hand I'm torn bc I think it almost doesn't make sense for her backstory BUT ON THE OTHER HAND the idea of Scarlet being supportive of Peril's identity and LITERALLY NOTHING ELSE is hysterical to me

though actually if we wanna get sad,,,, that 100% could be a manipulation tactic of Scarlet. "see I love you I even accept you" etc etc. now I just feel bad man

Peril's also in the same camp of Qibli of knowing this abt herself since she could think and being happy in it. She knows what she's about

BONUS:

Carnelian- she/they/he (transmasc)

Look butch can be a gender and sometimes you're a mean butch skywing idk what to tell you

wish she stayed alive bc her and Moon could've been legendary together. girl who will kill for you vs girl who desperately wants you to do anything else please we talked about this you can't solve your problems with murder

I think Carnelian's true gender is Skywing Patriot and idk how to put that in hc form but this is as best I've got

#wings of fire #wof headcanons #wof reworked #this is canon 2 me so it goes in the tag ok #qibli wof #winter wof #moonwatcher wof #turtle wof #kinkajou wof #peril wof #carnelian wof #umber wof

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genderqueerdykes · 3 months

Note

Quick question, would it be alright to identify as genderfuck while also being a cis woman? For some context, I used to identify as transmasculine before deciding that I am happiest as a woman (I don't identify as detrans because I've had to witness too many TERFs in that community trying to drag others into their horrendous beliefs and I'm not comfortable associating with that), but fucking with gender roles is still a pretty core part of me, especially as a butch dyke of colour, so I still feel connected to the genderfuck term despite being cis. Everything I've seen on the term is focused on nonbinary and other cisn't people though so I'm worried about intruding in a community that isn't for me.

hey yeah, that's totally okay! you can be a cis genderfuck person/genderfucker! there's nothing wrong with that, and that is in fact, very cool! i'm glad you decided to take the time to send a message, you sound awesome! i'm glad you've taken the time to figure out who you are and how you are happiest being perceived and addressed! gender is extremely complicated when you're a person of color, and being a butch woman of color adds an entire other level of complication on there, so i say go for it, it sounds like you know what you're about!

you sound awesome, thanks for taking the time to reach out! good luck in your journey, and have fun fucking with gender in your own funky way! appreciate you!

#asks #answers #genderfuck #genderfucker #butch lesbian #transmasculine butch #transmasc butch #dyke #butch of color #lesbian of color #butch dyke

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creekfiend · 1 year

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Man sometimes I think about the gay adults in my life when I was a kid and I get so emotions

My shop ("technology education") teacher in middle school was this extremely gruff no nonsense older dyke who I was just totally enchanted by and she brought her rescue dog to class all the time and I like, drew her Sailor Moon drawings to put on her classroom door in sparkly gel pen. Other kids would go "ew I heard she's a lesbian" at lunch and I would be like "what did you say. Say that to my face. Meet me in the pit. I have no idea why I feel so strongly about this but meet me in the pit nevertheless. I'm 12 and I would take a bullet for Nancy Lynn and her wife who I have Never met"

Just. When ur a baby gay and ur like. "I have no idea why I would trust this loud opinionated masculine woman with my life," lol

I often wonder what she thought. As an adult now I am like, "Oh yeah, I can for sure identify when kids are fascinated by me because there is something about themselves that they see in me and they're curious and excited to meet an adult who is like them in some way even tho they don't know why" so she must have known. She was very nice to me and we were friends and she knew my parents also. so. OH IM FEELING EMOTIONS ABOUT IT ALL OVER AGAIN

Man. I love. Middle aged butches

A friend of mine has two 12 year old kids and one is a furry who loves to draw Wolves With Horns and I am going to stop at their house and visit when my friend and I drive back with Flare this spring and so my friend was telling her kids about me and she showed them some pictures and her kid was like SO EXCITED and my friend sent me a bunch of voice messages from her this morning being like "WOW I LOVE THE MOON TOO. WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DRAW THEN MOST? WHATS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR MINE IS PURPLE" this kid already knows she is queer because her mom and her school are awesome and 2023 is a different place to be 12 in than 2001. But I'm still like 🥺 TO BE AN ASPIRATIONAL FIGURE FOR QUEER KIDS.. ooogh. Feelings

#i was also lowkey in love with our very gay family friend Steve as a child bc he was so CLEVER and FUNNY and WITTY #equal opportunity infant gay baby.

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fuck-customers · 5 months

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i am a tall butch woman (6ft+) and constantly have people call me sir upon first greeting me, which is totally fine. like i get it, you see a super tall masc woman and assume they're a sir. what isn't fine is having customers go through an entire interaction with me with my very common and very feminine name at eye level on my nametag and going "okay goodbye sir! (or bro, man, dude, or god forbid "buddy" or "pal")". it's one things if it's a mistake, it's another if you are this oblivious or needlessly weird about it. also if customers could stop coming up to me and asking "is [name] really your name?" that'd be great. i've also had multiple ask "really? are you sure?" when i say it is. it's especially frustrating when they ask this, i tell them directly "yeah i'm a woman" and they still end the interaction with "okay goodbye buddy". i'm a nearly 30y/o woman please stop thinking i'm a 16y/o boy or i'll snap.

Posted by admin Rodney.

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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

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Butch Bea with thoughts around top surgery? (if it's not a consideration for her/them totally no worries) would be interesting to hear Bea deciding and/or confiding in Ava abt it - your writing of feelings is always so good tysm

[ok if ppl don't want this in the butch bea canon then that's fine BUT if ppl do... this is sweet. i love this prompt]

you've seen beatrice come out of surgery before, but this is different. her eyes flutter open reluctantly, although she'd already woken up for the nurses before they let you come back to the pacu. you're sure she'll be nauseous, because anesthesia always makes her feel sick, but when she finally manages to look at you steadily, she smiles.

'hi baby,' you say, and you're in the same kind of sterile hospital as you have been before, when things have been bad, and scary, or hard. but this — this — is so, so beautiful.

'hello ava,' beatrice says, her voice rough from being intubated, hilariously formal for being so obviously high.

'how you feeling?'

'pretty good.'

'yeah?'

'a little sick to my stomach. but — everything went okay?'

you run a hand through her soft hair, kiss her forehead. 'it went really great.'

her smile breaks your heart a little: you know, now, more than anyone else in the world but her, how long she denied herself this peace.

'your surgeon said she'd be by soon, and you'll be able to see.' she leans into your hand with a sigh, and you rub your thumb along her cheekbone. 'you can rest while we wait for her.'

she's asleep almost immediately, her long lashes and her freckles and when she had brought top surgery up, months ago, with shaky hands, you had held her in your arms and held her jaw in your palm. 'there are very few things that could make me love you less,' you had told her. 'this will make me so proud of you, and so, so happy for you.' she had nodded and kissed you, salty, relieved tears down her cheeks. 'my only condition is that, if you feel like it, you wear shirts as rarely as possible at home. or out, i'm not opposed to that either.' and she had laughed and you're more sure, every single day, that the world isn't supposed to exist to harm or to hurt.

you hold her hand in yours, update your sisters and friends that bea is awake and fine and loopy, promise lilith that you'll send some good videos of her soon, and a few minutes later wake her when her surgeon knocks on the door.

'i can see?' she asks, excitement evident even through the fog of anesthesia, and you love her.

'we want to keep the padding and compression on for the most part,' her surgeon explains, but then she smiles. 'but yes, for a minute.'

bea nods and you help her sit up a little in bed. you're no stranger to surgical dressings and drains at this point, but you've always found them necessary at best, gross and painful at worst. but you watch beatrice get to look at the curved scars that span her chest, the bandages over her re-grafted nipples — you watch her entire face light up and her shoulders set and she grins and starts to cry. you look too, and she is so, so beautiful; you feel tears burn at your eyes too and then she looks at you and laughs.

her surgeon smiles too. 'your swelling well go down, and the drains will come out in about a week, hopefully.'

'it'll be even better?' she asks, disbelief and awe.

you squeeze the top of her hand, the deep reverence in her voice filling your whole body with unspeakable joy.

it takes a few weeks for her to be back on her feet, a few months until she gets to go surfing and to the dojo again. but you make sure she's comfortable and order all the food she wants; you wash her hair for her and empty her drains. you are no stranger to being cared for — by beatrice, with tenderness — and, when it's your turn, you realize, time and again, that there's love there that moves heaven and earth.

'ugh.' lilith rolls her eyes when bea walks out of the hall from your bedroom, joggers slung low on her hips, drying her hair. all of the swelling has gone down and her nipples have fully healed.

'hello, lilith,' bea says. 'so nice of you to drop in uninvited and then complain about brunch.'

'oh, i wasn't complaining about brunch. i like these pastries.' she waves the pistachio croissant she took off of your plate around for effect. 'i'm complaining because i feel like i'm going to have to see your abs for years now, all the time.'

'i'm so very sorry,' bea says, definitely not sorry at all. lilith has been in and out every few days to check up on bea, so it's all a very silly charade at this point.

'i am happy,' lilith says, taking a bite of the croissant and then continuing, her mouth full, just to bother bea, 'that you're doing so well. and feeling so happy in yourself.'

'thank you,' beatrice says, her strong back turned to you as she makes both of them tea very precisely. 'chew with your mouth closed, please.'

#butch bea 🥺🫡#prompts #avatrice fic #avatrice #wn fic #there's like... so much more here but a lil smth!

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ghost-qwq · 4 months

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Fallout HCs about video games cuz I'm absolutely batshit insane about these characters

(Fo3, NV and 4 but it's only characters I am crazy normal about)

Fo3 (Butch, Charon and RJ)

Butch

I'm being so honest with you, I think he'd LOVE rhythm games

He's a big music guy to me!!!

Rhythm games player,, he also would play the fuck out of multiplayer fps games

but Lone would have to make him stop because he gets really mad when he loses

He's fucking horrible at puzzle games also, he makes Lone solve puzzles for him but totally not because he needs help

He just uh... Thinks Lone is too dumb to figure it out... Yeah...

Charon

Okay I know I picked the characters but I'm so clueless for him

Maybe fps but idk

Actually this guy likes puzzle games

He watches Butch fail horribly and silently judges him

Puzzle games and like... Games with specific tasks you need to repeat

I'm thinking like Potion Craft and Sticky Business

bro would love cleaning games I think

PowerWash Sim and Viscera Cleanup Detail are his beloveds

This kid would play multiplayer fps games and absolutely kick ass too

He's the mean kid on mic telling you how shit you were...

He gets mad when he loses and quits

But not before saying that he's never playing that game again

... And then he's playing the same game the next day

He's such a little hater I think he'd say all kids games are for babies

He would LOVE to play them though :(

Would sooner kiss a Deathclaw than play a horror game though...

He'd act like he's not scared until he physically couldn't hide it anymore

FNV (Veronica, Arcade, Benny, Boone, Raul and Vulpes)

Veronica

Fps 100%

She's the one beating Butch all the time and she's having a blast doing it

Maybe also sorting games?

Ooh exploration games even

I barely traveled with Veronica but I feel like she would get really deep into the lore of whatever game she's playing

Unpacking fan I feel

I think she'd like ARGs too

She'd play slime rancher and throw tars into the sea as soon as she sees them

Arcade

He feels like a strategy game player

CIV player

Probably also likes cleaning/sorting games

I don't think he'd play video games very often... Sort of just a thing he does when there is NOTHING else to do

Probably would play Niche

Maybe Spore

I honestly have no clue with him beyond that

Benny

I'd like to start this by saying that he's comically bad at every game he plays

Other than gambling ones

He plays strategy games and loses every single time

He could not win a game to save his own life

Only games he's okay at are like... Ones it's hard to lose,,

And house flipper... He feels like a house flipper guy if he had to play

He also plays the Sims,, he loves that game so much

Boone

Really challenging myself here

I think he'd be good at fps but not really like them very much

Idk why but he feels like an rdr2 player to me a little

He also plays Plants Vs. Zombies because he's great

Idk he absolutely doesn't play games ever and when he does it's like,, card games

Boone is not the gamer of the group

Raul

Fuck oh God why did I put him on this list

Also a house flipper kind of guy but unlike Benny he's actually good at it

When he plays games it's to relax !!

He's playing fucking Stardew Valley and having a nice time

He plays Golf With Your Friends with the Courier...

Kinda feels like a Terraria player but he has actually no clue what he's doing,,

Plays Minecraft but only to build a house then turn the game off

If anyone tries to teach him a game he pulls the old man card

He will not play a game if he doesn't want too...

He's just "too old to figure it out"

Vulpes

Like Arcade he also plays CIV

But he's annoying about it somehow

Strategy and puzzle game player

No matter the game he acts like he's better than you for playing it somehow

Plays Terraria like Raul but he knows what he's doing and won't stop being a bitch about it

He acts like whoever he's playing with is stupid for not understanding whatever game they're playing

Fo4 (Nick, Deacon, Danse, Curie, Preston and MacCready again)

Nick

He's just like Raul tbh

When he plays a game it's to relax or with friends

He also plays Golf With Your Friends... Probably with Ellie and Sole

I think he'd like playing Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes...

Jackbox games too

He likes having fun with friends okay? :( let peepaw play a damn game

Probably would also like PowerWash Sim

Maybe even Slime Rancher

Deacon

I'm struggling more with what games he WOULDN'T play

He'd play multiplayer horror games with everyone and NOT do what he's supposed to

Not because he's uh... Scared or anything...

He's in the Railroad, obviously he likes Detroit: Become Human

Idk why but he feels like he would love OneShot

BattleBlock Theater kind of guy 100%

Like I said, I have no idea what he wouldn't play...

I think he'd play anything with his friends though

Kind of guy to find the absolute worst quality game to play and get it for everyone so they can all suffer together

Danse

Strategy games.

Or games with a very direct path

I think he'd be overwhelmed by open world games

Too much to do and not enough direction on where to go first

Survival games I think he'd like too

Hates horror games,, he would never admit it but he always gets jumpy

I honestly don't think he'd play anything other than strategy games without being pushed but shh.... If he were a gamer

Curie

Cleaning games or games that focus on science

HUGE Niche fan

She has no clue how to play a video game but she knows science!!

CIV player but she doesn't attack anyone unless they attack first... She just wants to make her cities and make everyone in them happy. That's literally it

Preston

I think he's in the same boat as Nick but he can't pull the old man card

He's just not a big fan of video games

But as long as he's playing with friends I think he'd have a good time

Probably would hate horror games too...

They're fun until it gets actually scary and then he doesn't want to play anymore

Honestly, I think he might like Don't Starve

Idk why... He'd play Wilson I think

Or Wendy

MacCready again

look he's older now

He still plays multiplayer fps games but he doesn't get as mad at them

He doesn't say as mean things anymore... And when he says it he says it to himself

I think Butch got him into rhythm games as a kid but he isn't good at them

100% would play video games with his kid.

He'd play like,, bugsnax when Duncan is older and lose his mind

I'm being so honest with you I think he's not good at any games that aren't fps...

EXCEPT. Stardew Valley. He would never in a million years admit it but he'd loved that fucking game.

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kekaki-cupcakes · 9 months

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I dare you - Leo V x gn child of Nike/Reader

part three

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

Leo knew he wasn’t a scary person, but somehow everyone in bunker 9 cleared out as soon as he announced he was having a ‘build off’ with a Nike kid. On second thought, maybe it wasn’t him.

That was obvious when the large stone door swung open and a figure stood, fuming, and framed by the afternoon sun behind them. “Valdez!”

The last of the Hephestus cabin, and Butch, who was melding pegasi shoes, packed up their toolboxes and left as Leo shrunk back. He held up his hands in defense, which only seemed to make it worse. “What did I do?”

“What are you wearing?” They hissed, grabbing his wrists and shaking them violently. Their hands were scarred and calloused, like his.

“Uh, what I usually wear- “ Leo looked down at his outfit, and then looked back at his hands. “Oh! You mean the bracelets, yeah, Drew found me this morning. Totally thought she was gonna try and dye my hair green again, but she gave me a friendship bracelet instead!”

“Now that I think about it, friendship bracelets are more concerning than the hair dye, actually…” His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then flickered to the hands still grabbing his. “Wait, you have one too?”

His lips split into a wicked grin. “No way…”

He was met with a firm shake of their head. “Nuh, uh, she’s an idiot- take it off now Valdez-”

“No, I'm keeping this forever, back off!” Leo hissed back, leaning forward and clasping his hands tight behind his back. He ignored the way his heart rate started to go up, which definitely had nothing to do with their proximity.

“I hate you!”

“But we’re besties now, we even have the bracelets to prove it!” He said with a wink, and turned back to the bench, hoping to hide the blush gathering on his cheeks.

There was a silence in which he listened to bitter mutterings behind him, and when there was no sign of them getting over it, he sighed. He wasn’t annoyed though, for some reason they made him… less then angry. “What are we building?”

“Now, this may surprise you,” They started in a casual tone, and he watched them roll their lips in and press their fingertips together. “But… I don’t know how to build shit.”

“Le gasp.” Leo said monotonously, and swung around, raising a brow. “Really? I never would have guessed, it’s not like you spend all your time trying to stab me, doing your sister’s hair, and eating strawberries!”

“Hey, I can eat more strawberries than you!” They shot back, scrunching their nose up in a way that made Leo want to smooth it out with his finger.

“Okay, well… I can use a drill,” He stuck his tongue out. “So there.”

“Just tell me what to make, Valdez.” They ordered, and sidled up beside him at the workbench.

He had a half finished blueprint and a few wooden joints, but he pushed them to the side and stuffed them into drawers quickly, waving a hand. “Okay, okay, chillax, segundo lugar.”

“The fuck does that mean.”

“...Nothing.”

“Oh really?” They asked sarcastically, hands on their hips. “Just like what we’re doing right now, then.”

“Fine, make a- a- make a… Fidget spinner.” Leo snapped his fingers quickly with a smirk, and then leaned in. “I dare you.”

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

Leo could have made a fidget spinner in about five minutes if he wanted to, using the scraps of metal from his toolbelt and the fire in his fingertips. Instead, he grabbed machinery off the rack, cut materials out of spare sheets of metal in the scrap bin, and finally learnt how to use the welding pit.

It wasn’t so he’d win, which he knew, but he had to do everything slow enough so that his ‘opponent’ could pretend to not watch, and then copy him a few minutes later. Of course, he could see every mistake, blunder, and fault, but he didn’t say anything, just silently itched to fix it from a meter away. He had grabbed copper, leftover from Butch’s pegasi shoes, but when they reached for aluminum, which he knew would crumble by the time it got to the circular saw, he had to swap it out when they looked away.

Thankfully they didn’t notice, he didn’t want them to feel bad about knowing absolutely nothing. Still, he had to intervene when they moved to the circular saw. It was a matter of safety, really.

He bounced on teh balls of his feet a few times and then wandered over casually as they held their fidget spinner shaped sheet of copper in a way that would surely cut their fingers off. He peered over their shoulder, “I can just-”

“No, I can do it!” They shot back, but there was no spite as they lined it up in the completely wrong spot, and reached for the big green button on the side of the machine.

Leo grabbed their hand tightly before they got their own sawed off in less then a second, and pulled it away from the button.“But you’ll-”

“I can do it myself.”

“But you don’t have to,” Leo answered, his quiet. He could relate, a little bit, to feeling like you had to do everything yourself, that you couldn’t ask for help. That was until Piper and Jason knocked some sense into his head. He grinned up at them, “this isn’t life or death, silly.”

He watched their expression shift a few times, and then their shoulders untensed and they glanced to the side. “...Fine.”

“See, just hold it like this.” Leo hadn’t realized he was still holding their hand, but he became very aware when he moved it over and shifted their fingers around the small metal sheet.

Their hands were littered with scars and indents from the wrappings lots of demigods used when Clarrise got the punching bags out. They were also warm, and he had to blink a few times and clear his throat, before sliding the fidget spinner cut out into place.

“Right.” They breathed, watching him intently.

“That’s better.” When he pressed the green button, nothing happened. He frowned, cocking his head. “Why isn’t it working?”

“Ha!” They barked with a grin, letting go of the metal and folding their arms across their chest triumphantly. “I knew it wasn’t me!”

Leo fucked under the machine and followed a trail of wires and extension cords to the powerpoint. “The powerpoints off. I’ll just, okay got it-”

He sat back up after he’d switched the power back on, and bumped his head hard on the tray that was supposed to hold the metal they were sawing, he reached up to his throbbing head, rocking back on his heels. “Fuck!”

The circular saw tipped a little as he moved out of the way, in his direction. Through his watering eyes, he watched the spinning blade drop towards him. Then a hand grabbed it with lightning speed instead.

There was the sound of tearing paper, or something along those lines, as Leo scrambled out of the way. When he blinked again, the machine was still spinning around on the ground, with a dark red splatter on the ground next to it, and white lumps in the mix.

Then he saw their face, wide eyes and head lolling back a little as they stared at what was left of their hand. Their vagued out eyes flicked to the mess on the concrete floor, and they gulped.

“...Please tell me that’s just a squashed strawberry.”

[ hey @blue-violin I thought you might wanna be tagged in this <;3]

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #leovaldez #Leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n

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