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qveerthe0ry · 1 year ago

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Lions Ain't the Kind - Part Three

Summary: You and Frankie talk about your feelings. And also bang. Word Count: 3,053 (it's short but porn with the tiniest bit of plot) Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom!reader, talks about narcotics anonymous, amab terminology for afab genitalia, kissing, making out, p in v intercourse, frottage, dirty talk, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader A/N: As always, thank you to @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar for beta reading and motivating me ilysm

Maybe it’s a little reckless, you think. It’s a Thursday night, and Frankie’s at your place for the fifth night in a row.

Sunday and Monday he left when you both were yawning into the wee hours. Tuesday, he fell asleep on your shoulder as you watched a movie on cable, and you had to kiss his sweet little sleeping face until he woke to send him on his way.

Wednesday, he came over later than the days prior, after his weekly community event. He opened up to you about what that meant, his weekly NA meeting, and showed you his one and two year chip, preciously tucked away in his wallet. He told you about how he’s nearly halfway to getting his third, and thinks he wants to become a sponsor soon.

He goaded you to ask him questions you may have, answered them patiently, and thanked you for listening. He looked tired, that night. He wore a long day of work, a bit of anxiety, and the challenging conversation all in the dark circles under his eyes and his slumped shoulders.

So you took him to bed for the first time, made him a warm mug of tea as he weakly protested, and settled your favorite weighted blanket on top of him. You let some satisfying YouTube compilation play at low volume, dimmed the lights, and snuggled into him while he sipped the chamomile with sugar.

When he’d finished, you let him rest his heavy head on your chest and close his eyes.

“Can I sleep over tonight?”

His voice was small and weary and you couldn’t possibly say no to him. So you set an alarm for him, turned off the bedside lamp, and slept.

And now it’s Thursday, and even though you woke up with him and showered with him and kissed him goodbye before you both went to work, you still crave the feeling of being near him.

Actually, you’re fully convinced that you’ve never felt so good in your life than you do right now, lazing in bed with bellies full of pizza and your head resting on Frankie’s solid chest.

It’s raining, as it has been pretty much all day. The kind of gloomy that begs you to go home and snuggle up with someone. You want to pretend like that’s the reason you’ve yearned for Frankie all day long, but you’d only be lying to yourself.

The TV is on, but it’s long been abandoned. You breathe together as you both watch the rain through the small slits in your bedroom blinds.

Easy.

Always so easy. You’re content to just enjoy the feeling of being this close to him, listening to the storm and the soft breaths.

But there’s a bit of a heated energy between you. You can feel it in the way his half-hard cock twitches against your thigh, the way his hand slinks lower and lower with each pass he makes across your back.

You can’t mask your reaction either, the way your breathing hitches every time his fingertips graze the bare skin between your hoodie and your briefs. Humidity builds quickly between your thighs, and feeling his strong one pressed against your cock has it throbbing in no time, has you arching into him for more.

��Hard for me, guapo?”

His whisper tickles your forehead, and you crane your neck to look up at him and nod.

“Can I get you off?”

You nod again, drowsiness and arousal clouding your brain a bit too much to conjure up words. He coos at you as he presses his thigh harder against your package. Your nails sink into the bare skin of his chest where you’ve snaked your hand under his t-shirt, and it makes him gasp and curse.

“What can I do? What do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

Jesus.

Your cock pulses at his eagerness to submit to and serve you. You sense he feels it, because he rolls his thigh into you again. You huff and pull your hand out from under his shirt so you can grip his shoulder, then wrap your hand around the back of his neck to pull his lips to yours.

His groan mixes with your own, and his hips buck up to find relief against your thigh, too. You fucking love this. You love it so much your entire chest swells with it. Lazy and turned on, exhilarated but tired, and so so comfortable here. You’re in your pajamas, and Frankie’s in a borrowed pair of yours, and you press and roll against each other like a dance you’ve practiced millions of times.

You shift to straddle him properly, and his hands find your hips, to guide you or to ground himself, you can’t be sure. His dick presses against yours and you gasp, and his teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Shit, can you take these off?”

You slip two fingers under the elastic of your shorts that sit snug against his hips and he nods quickly.

You work to get yours off yourself as he shimmies his down his legs and before he can even kick them off you’re spitting into your palm to wrap it around his heavy, warm prick.

His eyelids flutter closed at the feeling and he goes lax into the mattress under him. You make quick work of slicking him up before you lower yourself back down. He hisses as you slide your cock against his, grinding into his frenulum, and for a moment you’re worried that he’s too sensitive.

The anxiety falls when his hands press you against him harder, and his hips buck up, and he lets out a sweet groan. You rock your hips, reveling in the wet friction of your cocks sliding together, the tips of them kissing before every retreating roll. You bend down to kiss him, open-mouthed and uncoordinated. The rough bumps of his taste buds against your own make you shiver, make you thrust your hips a little faster.

And his noises. He’s so fucking vocal, it makes you even more wet, that much more turned-on and desperate for him. You match them, unable to hold back the raw desire that’s overwhelmed you in such a short amount of time.

His prick twitches deliciously as it slides back and forth through your folds, and you start to roll your hips even further, to feel the head of it press against your soaking entrance.

You aren’t always so into penetration. You have to be in a certain mood, and you have to really want it.

But right now, as you feel him catch on your rim, and the accompanying gasp when Frankie feels it too… Well, you really fucking want it.

You bite down on his plump bottom lip maybe a bit too hard, and he hisses as you pull away.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you pant, “can I— Can I put it inside?”

You watch him squeeze his eyes shut, and feel his hips jerk at the question, and hear his whimper cut off as he replies.

“Yes, anything. Take anything from me. I want it.”

His babbling eggs you on, and you tilt your hips and lean back enough to let his cock press into you. You watch his chest rise and fall rapidly as you sink down onto him, so easily with how turned on and soaking wet you are.

He fills you perfectly. Your nails bite into his skin with how fucking good it feels to clench around him.

“You— Oh god.”

His eyes are squeezed shut, and his grip on your hips is bruising.

“Okay?”

“Too fucking good, you feel amazing,” he pants.

You lift yourself up and begin to ride him, watching with heavy lids as he writhes under you. You work together beautifully, meeting each other halfway. The angle has him grinding into the perfect fucking spot, and you know you won’t last long. You can tell he won’t either by the way his eyebrows are pinched together in an effort to hang on.

“Touch me,” you breathe, spreading your thighs wider.

You watch as Frankie’s big, brown eyes open and gaze up at you, then down the arched line of your body, to where he’s pressed deep inside of you.

His hand twitches on your hip, and you realize you haven’t really done this with him yet. But it’s okay. You’ll show him, you want to show him. And more than just to get off, but because you want him to know you, every part.

You take one of his hands into your own. His eyes follow them both where you bring them to your mouth. You suck on his thumb first, and watch his eyelashes flutter as he grinds out a ‘fuck me’ through his teeth. You repeat with his index finger, and let the sloppy job you’ve done leave a thin string of spit between him and your mouth.

He squeezes your hip with his free hand as you guide his other down, past your heaving chest and your belly, to rest on the hairs on your mound. You hear his breath hitch, and it makes you smile, and then you coax him to take your cock between his thumb and forefinger.

You whimper as he squeezes experimentally, and then you move his hand to start stroking you.

“Like this?” He asks, eyes so wide as he looks up at you.

“Just like that. Please don’t stop.”

He nods and continues to jerk you off, and you finally start moving again, your knees screaming as they lift you up and back down on his cock. You feel it jerking inside you, so heavy and thick. You cry out when you find the perfect angle, and you grind and bounce on him like that until your ears ring and your vision goes fuzzy and you’re coming around him.

He cries out too, nails nearly breaking skin as he feels you squeeze him and as your dick pulses over and over again between his fingers. You both watch it, the way it throbs in his grip, and the creamy white droplets that leak out of you around his prick.

You pull his hand away when it’s too much, but you keep riding him. He quickly sits up on his elbows, grabs one of your hips with his big hand.

“Gonna— Ah, fuck. Gonna come. Tell me where,” he pants.

“In me, fill me. Want you to,” you say, equally out of breath.

He keens, whining as he buries his face in the sweaty skin of your neck. He’s supporting himself with just one hand now, the other wraps around your waist as he fucks up into you. You hold his head steady against you, fingers tangled in his hair as his cock pounds into the sensitive nerves inside you.

You’re both a heap of a mess, sounds of your pleasure and your bodies colliding and the bed creaking all mixed together. You feel it when he releases, in the way his dick jumps and twitches inside you and the way his grip on your waist tightens and the way his teeth sink into your skin.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “Jesus. Shit.”

You giggle, chuffed with yourself, but also at the way his breath tickles your goosebumped skin. His lips and tongue soothe the nasty bruise he left fairly high up on your neck. You tug on his hair to get him to look up at you.

He always looks so goddamn gorgeous after he comes. So relaxed, hazy, eyes dark and glassy. You press your lips to his and feel him go lax against you as he lets out a big breath.

“Guapo,” he mumbles low against your lips, “so fucking perfect.”

His voice is all slurred and low and it rumbles your own chest where it’s pressed up against his. You hum your agreement and rest your foreheads together.

For a moment you just rest there like that, listening to your breaths even back out again, and the accompanying rain against your window panes. His hands draw soothing patterns on your lower back, and you can’t stop running your fingers through his slightly damp curls.

Whe Frankie goes soft enough to slip out of you, you regretfully have to stumble off to the bathroom. You stare in the mirror a bit too long, eyeing the love bite you will DEFINITELY have to pull out your makeup bag for in the morning. But you also notice your exerted face, the sweat that lingers on your skin, and most of all, the smile that you cannot get to go away.

When you come back to the bedroom with a towel, Frankie seems to be having a similar problem.

All cleaned up, you crawl back under the covers with him, coax him to roll over so you can hold him from behind and rest your hand over his heart.

“Gonna start charging you for rent, Pretty Boy.”

He chuckles, wiggling his ass back into you.

“Surely there’s some other way I could repay you.”

It shocks a huffed laugh out of you, and you move to grab his hip and dig your fingertips into the warm flesh.

“Would you like that, Francisco?”

It still delights you, how tangible his reaction is when you say his full name. This time, you get to see the goosebumps break out on the back of his neck. You press your tongue against them, then your teeth, and chuckle when his response is stilted.

“Yeah– yes. Fuck.”

You get a wicked feeling that curls around your gut, hot and sticky, almost whiplash to be right back here again so shortly after such an intense orgasm.

Your hand moves to his thigh, where you toy with the hem of your shorts.

“You want me to fuck you, Pretty Boy?”

He arches into your touch, encourages you to reach higher. He’s forgone his underwear, you discover, as you stroke the skin just under his asscheek. He shivers as you tease him, cuts off a noise high in the back of his throat to respond.

“I do,” he whispers.

You grab his hip once more, grinding into him, finding the juncture of his neck with your mouth and suckling before you speak against it.

“Shit, Frankie. Gonna be my pillow princess? Let me have my way with your cute little ass?”

He yelps when you bite the thin skin behind his earlobe, but his back just arches even more to press back into you.

“I can’t– I can’t go again right now.”

You huff at that, and smile against the curls at his nape, pinch his asscheek once for good measure.

“That’s okay. We have time, right?”

He turns in your hold and finds your lips with his own in an instant. Bruising, his mouth is insistent against yours, while his hand scrabbles for purchase on your hoodie. You’re both short of breath, once again, when he pulls away.

“I really, really think that you’re good for me.”

It sets your heart racing. It’s not something anyone’s ever said to you. It’s not something you thought was ever really possible, to actually add value to someone’s experience. Not someone worth being with, anyway.

“I know you’re good for me,” you whisper.

“Don’t let me fuck this up. I fuck this kinda thing up, usually. Don’t let me. Yell at me, tie me down, call my mother on me, but don’t… just don’t let me fuck this up for myself.”

You kiss the crown of his head.

“You like being yelled at and tied down, then?”

That gets a real laugh out of him, startled and bubbly, and you squirm under him as he pinches at your sides.

As the laughter dies down, you watch the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes settle, and even reach up to swipe your thumb across them.

“You know I wanna show you off, right?”

You nod, an instinct, nothing more.

“Guapo. I mean it. You’re so… You’re totally out of my league, I wanna brag about it to everyone.”

“What makes you think I’m out of your league, you crazy, crazy man?”

Your hand finds his curls again, playfully scraping your knuckles across his scalp.

“You’re the entire fucking package, you’re sweet and gorgeous, smart, successful, so kind. Everything I’ve always wanted. I want everyone to know I have that. It’s silly, I know, but I feel so… smug about it.”

You laugh, but it’s broken and breathy.

“You think you feel smug.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m just some guy.”

“You’re my guy.”

“Fuck, say that again.”

His hand finds your hip and squeezes, and you bite your lip to hide the satisfaction in your smile.

“You’re my guy, Frankie.”

His eyes lose their mischievous glint. They soften, and his bottom lip quivers as he sucks in a deep breath.

“You mean that? You– You want me… like that?”

Your hand settles at the back of his head to cradle it, and you press a kiss to his heated cheek, then his nose, then his forehead.

“Sweet boy, of course I do. I want you in every way you’ll let me have you.”

A little breath hiccups out of him and his face splits into a pearly white grin.

“Like… as your boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes at him then, but match his smile tooth for tooth.

“Yes, Pretty Boy. As my boyfriend.”

He lets out a happy sigh, and you feel his fingers fidget with the hem of your hoodie.

“Guapo… What do you want me to call you?”

You hum, and press your lips to his, so soft and supple and malleable against your own.

“Partner…” you mumble against him, “better half.”

“That one’s very true,” he jokes into your kiss.

“Dearest… lover.”

“You’re gonna make me hard again,” he says, low, a warning into your own mouth.

“Is that such a crime?”

“You’re gonna send me to an early grave, so, in the long run it is.”

You laugh, full and deep, lips pressed to his cheek.

“My dearest,” he says, pressing a kiss to your own cheek, “my partner,” a kiss to your forehead, “my lover,” a kiss against your lips, languid and drawn out, until you’re arching against him and tangling yourself in him.

“Yours.”

last part / next part

#x reader #sub! frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #nb reader #gender-fluid reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fanfiction

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the-mark-of-a-dying-star · 1 year ago

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12 years ago, you were 15 and stood on stage with a nervous smile, excited to perform your debut song.

Critics labeled that move as "stupid," making predictions on how a soloist from a third-rate company can never survive the industry. Yet, against all odds, you won at a music show pretty early in your career.

This opened the door to success. You were able to release albums, hits after hits, won at music and award shows, filmed videos, tours around the world, and even modeling. When you decided to dwell into acting, no one was surprised.

Even when you find it hard to release any content, millions of fans are still there eagerly waiting for you. When did it become so hard? waking up has become a struggle, your manager is back to scolding you like you were some rookie, and your fans are beginning to get worried for you. It doesn't help you're still reeling from being linked to a scanda that shocked the nation. Becoming an idol was once your childhood dream, where did it all go wrong?

⊹₊⋆ play as a tired and depressed K-pop idol-actor on their 12th year in the industry.

⊹₊⋆ choose your appearance, personality, background, and gender preference. you also have to specify if you are known for your singing, dancing, rapping, or acting skills and what type of music you release.

⊹₊⋆ release your last song or last drama (or both depending on your choices!)

⊹₊⋆ spend time with 4 unique people in the industry and get a chance to either befriend them or romance them.

⊹₊⋆ navigate through the fall out of your career after a scandal that shocked the nation.

⊹₊⋆ continue to shine like a star or explode like one while trying.

Yoo Jinhyuk / Jieun ( M / F) — The Constant

Long before either you and J were idols, they were someone from your hometown who was hellbent on outdoing you. Your life was a hell, not only was K your age, they were also a family friend and your classmate. For your entire life, whenever you do something, J will somehow find a way to do it better. It wasn't a surprise that their career as an idol flourished as quickly as yours. You have spent a chunk of your life wondering if you have done something bad to warrant such hatred. If only you could notice the looks J gives you, maybe you'd see there was never a trace of hatred.

Choi Kihoon / Kyuri (M / F) — The Newcomer

K is your senior in the industry, they debuted four years before the public even knew about you. Strangely enough, you and K have not formally met each other yet. There were many instances where you were supposed to meet them and even work with them in some films, but it always fell through. Who would have thought they would become your neighbor? Known for their intimidating looks and villain roles, K is surprisingly kind-to a naïve level. It's a surprise that they have been able to live in a world like this. Would you give this kind newcomer a chance?

Shin Hojin / Hwayoung (M / F) — The Artist

Your relationship with H is extremely awkward even when you both come from the same company. As an industry senior, you do your best to guide H and their group so that they can avoid all your mistakes and be the best of the best. However, as H debuted later in their life, they are actually older than you. It throws you off. You don't know how to interact with them without sounding rude. Little do you know, you are their muse. The one H means when they write love songs. Can this hopeless romantic have a chance with you?

Lee Sunwoo / Soojin / Soo (M / F / NB) — The Reporter

You should not be seen with them; it will only ruin your career. It is best to stay clear of them. Well, that is what S convinced themselves. They weren't like this before. S was once known for their professionalism and straight-laced reports, up until two years ago. S was the main reporter who made the public aware of a devious crime done by different celebrities. While reporting it to the public was the right thing, S's mental health took a decline. Honestly, S is a hypocrite. They keep on telling you this friendship is a bad look when they're the ones who crave your presence the most. They want to protect you but fear crossing the line between protecting you and abandoning you.

⊹₊⋆ Trigger warnings: Depression, suicide, self-harm, internalized homophobia, and sexism. More will be added.

#interactive novel #interactive story #if #if-wip #interact if #interactive fiction

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shaftking · 10 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/ratstuckinamarble/763516863889227776/zoobles-issue-basically-being-that-body-parts

Idk if you’ve seen The Amazing Digital Circus, but the most recent episode features a character named Zooble who is referred to by they/them pronouns and has detachable body parts. Zooble is offered new body parts but doesn’t want any of them, and people like the person who made this post are relating the experience to being nb. I think it seems like they might be experiencing fluctuating dysphoria? This could also possibly be about body dysmorphia, an ED, neurodivergence, trauma, etc… Either way, based on the tags, I wouldn’t say being uncomfortable with your body means you’re a third gender tbh.

Anyway, I tend to be weary of when people are validated by these kinds of characters, since imo it encourages them to just slap a third gender label onto themselves and call it a day without attempting to address the crux of their underlying issues. Also Zooble is just a bunch of shapes, so I’m surprised such a character is being praised considering how often I’ve seen complaints about not wanting non-human creatures to be nb rep lol.

The whole thing with nonbinary characters, which I think is true of any sort of “minority” character you’re depicting is that you’re never going to satisfy everyone with it. There will always be someone who personal standards for representation is not gonna be met.

That said, nonbinary is inherently flawed and often is just a popular (and annoying) way to blanket a ton of different and unrelated things. It could be someone who is trans in denial, or with fluctuations in dysphoria, or could be someone who is just GNC, it could be someone who is looking for a community to be a part of because they’re lonely and want a sense of belonging, it could be someone seeking attention or to stand out from others as special or unique, it could be they were told that what are just insecurities you have from growing up or just because people have insecurities means that they’re not their gender, etc etc. Usually when I hear about a nonbinary character being touted as the hot new rep I have to roll my eyes because it’s mostly just lazy trend hopping.

Frankly I’m pretty sure people in the future are gonna look back on this era of nonbinary characters as some kind of echo of tasteless caricatures of previous eras.

#ask

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vacantgodling · 2 years ago

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please feel free to share anything you'd like about hyacinthus - don't know much about him but I'm kinda obsessed with him

(also I'm sorry if things have been rough)

oh thank you for coming to my talk about my favorite terrible man talk :) he’s one of if not the most favorite oc i’ve ever made and the main character in my first book of the fall of galeré quad (or quintet? perhaps? the fifth book is still up in the air of whether or not i’ll make it exist) and my magnum opus paramour which you can read more about here -> teehee

so dis him

prettiest man in the world 😌💅🏽 (i drew all of these btw lmao)

he’s the bastard son of a businessman who ends up getting married to an eldrich entity, cheats on said entity with his butler and learns how to Care About People which is something he did not know how to do LMAO

he’s an asshole. by like. a lot. he’s crass (esp bc paramour is set in a fantastical 1890s-1900s adjacent steampunk world), he’s rude, he’s vain, he doesn’t care about other people as far as he can throw him (and he can throw them pretty far), and he’s so fucking emotionally constipated. He’s SOOOOO emotionally constipated. much of his character and behavior has been influenced by the circumstances of his upbringing—first neglected by both his father and his servants and never allowed to leave the estate he was cooped up in for fear of bringing shame to the family name by merely existing (and suffering many abuses within), then under the thumb of his conniving elder sibling tagetes who’s like a secondary antagonist and subject of the fourth book in the quad empire. he doesn’t trust people because he’s always been used and shit on. so he treats others in kind and never lets anyone close.

this backfires somewhat when he meets his butler amon who’s got so many issues and one of them being INTO hya’s asshole attitude and they start a sexual relationship which is wild bc why talk about feelings when you can call me my lord and choke on my dick ya feel.

hya’s also gnc (he only uses he/him and he doesn’t identify as being feminine or womanly but he does love to and does wear dresses and fashion that we would consider feminine). this is bc in galeré there’s 3 gender categories basically. there’s male, female, and a third one that i have yet to name. but it’s basically for all those we’d consider trans/nb/gnc/cross dressers/the like. hya falls into this category as well as other characters like tagetes, erecia (who’s butch basically) and rumex, etc.

aside from shopping his favorite hobbies are being left alone and reading. he’s very good with money and math and can balance a budget like no one’s business. he doesn’t care for religion at all (only sparing slight interest for his younger half brother aloe who’s deeply religious) and is generally pessimistic. his favorite drink is coffee specifically a fantasy blend in his world called misted ivory geisha. he only wears white and gold clothing as personal preference but he looks good in all colors (his wedding dress was red actually) and speaking of — he didn’t know his mother but he looks EXACTLY like her. (i’m overly fond of his mother but she won’t appear in canon; only in aus and in the series set in this same universe, alizath lol)

oh he’s also a taurus sun with a leo rising (cuz i like astrology and shit lol). he doesn’t like celebrating his birthday so he never shares the date but it’s also because his birthday takes place in the middle of the largest religious festival in galeré and that’s even more annoying to deal with lmao.

why he’s my favorite is for a variety of reasons but it also has to do with the fact that i want to be him and i want to fuck him lmao he’s the best of both worlds :)

#he is such gender envy god #s: paramour #also thank you #i’m okay i think i’m just trying to process a lot #it’s hard when it’s so embedded into you that you can’t see it but you know it’s true lmao 🙃

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littencloud9 · 1 year ago

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Hello, for the character ask game, can I ask Megumi, Yosano and Cheng Xiaoshi? Thx :D

megumi

Sexuality Headcanon: pan king megumi my beloved. also definitely on the ace spectrum!

Gender Headcanon: cis or he/they nb or transmasc all work with me

A ship: ITAFUSHI!!! MY BELOVED BOYS

A BROTP: him and nobara duh. gege bring them back. they were so precious i could die

A NOTP: uhh. s.ukufushi or g.ojofushi is Not my cup of tea

A random headcanon: hes not good at comforting people so instead he brings his shikigami out for them! and he and tsumiki used to walk his divine dogs together for fun/when shes feeling down :)

General Opinion: MEGUMI!! I LOVE YOU MEGUMI WAUGH. hes the sweetest boy ever and hes so spiky and tough on the outside but on the inside he has so much love to give. also anyone who says hes annoying for wanting to give up on life. i will FIND YOU. hes been through so much. hes had his autonomy stripped and then his powers were used to hurt everyone he loves. the fact that hes even hanging on rn is so impressive i need to give him a big hug MEGUMI GET BEHIND ME!!

yosano

Sexuality Headcanon: lesbian or bi or anything works but she definitely Likes Women

Gender Headcanon: transfem yosano. points aggressively. see my vision

A ship: dont have one

A BROTP: her and ranpo!!! the siblings ever i could cry. and her and dazai is very compelling to me. also her and chuuya for the giggles

A NOTP: ok look. i actually liked k.ousano when i first heard about it bc they could be so interesting if you look at [gestures vaguely] their positions in life, their organisations, their morals, very clashing personalities, rs with mori etc etc. but most of the fandom sees them as ‘ooh hot dom lesbians’ or smth similar, and they’re treated as a throwaway ship/just made completely ooc to make it work and im just like. ?? so it kinda ruined the ship for me lol. theyd hate each other and thats what makes it interesting for me. they wouldnt fall in love at first sight

A random headcanon: she has a lower back tattoo! and she also gave herself a belly button piercing bc she was convinced being a medical doctor qualifies her for that, and ranpo is an enabler. but it worked out in the end

General Opinion: YOSANO AKIKO!! I LOVE YOU!! i actually didnt care much for her at all until season 4 and her backstory (dare i say best one in bsd) was shown. then i was like WOAV. and she rose up my ranking so fast. i love that shes KIND and a protector and not afraid to be fierce, and i also love that she cherishes life so much. youd think being able to bring life back so easily means she’d disregard it more but NO! gestures to her fight with kajii. i think she deserves the freaking WORLD shes my everything <33

cheng xiaoshi

Sexuality Headcanon: i dont think he’d label himself. just queer :)

Gender Headcanon: also no labels! he goes by he/him but he plays around with gender expression (growing up with qiao ling will do that to you)

A ship: shiguang my beloveds… best ship ever… romantic or qpr or secret third option. they are just meant to be okay

A BROTP: of course him and qiao ling. he calls her qiao ling jie like i could CRY. they are the world to me

A NOTP: i cant see him with anyone other than lu guang lol they are soulmates. so any other ship ig

A random headcanon: his favourite colour is blue :) and other than bball he also really enjoys volleyball. and back in uni, him and xu shanshan are karaoke besties!!! they both have really good singing voices

General Opinion: CHENG XIAOSHI! THE CHARACTER EVER!! god hes just so kind and selfless and despite everything hes been through he has. SO MUCH EMPATHY. and of course that could be because of his powers but i also think that it’s because cxs is HIMSELF. yes he has access to the person’s feelings and memories, but not everyone can really put themselves in other peoples shoes so easily you know? they could feel it, but cxs understands it. id destroy worlds for him haha…

send me characters!

#thank you for the asks anon!#asks #ask game

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yldboth · 1 month ago

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(originally posted: 11th October 2024)

Incipit: I believe the meaning of life is to be true to yourself. Identity, through whatever eyes, is always the product of Nature and Culture and naught but Nature and Culture. If there is a Third Source which can inform in any part any given action or perception, than that could possibly be that "True Self" which i seek. This is why i welcome the fact that nobody reads my shitty homestuck fanfiction, it means that writing it is something purposeless, something motivated neither by the Fiery Pulses of Nature, nor the Cold Calculations of Culture. If you think this is overly dramatic, then yes. Yes it is.

7th Post: Taurdeus, Sign of the Author. And would you look at that, i've already started writing bullshit.

Constellation: This is one of the more convoluted signs i've made (and liked). There's a lot you can want to see in it if you wanna. Like, maybe you see a little man jumping in the shadow of the lines. Or maybe that's a flower, the lower shadows are two leaves and the circle is the underside of a petal. But that doesn't explain the lines in the upper-right and upper-left corners. Honestly i'm kinda stumped. The "deus" suffix is an interesting angle. Translated literally from latin, "Taur deus" means "Bull God". By that logic every Bronze sign could be translated to Bullsomething, but i'm struggling here, so give me a break. There's a lot of animals in the Bovidae family that don't have an official constellation irl such as Bisons, Buffalos, Antelopes. Yeah, did you know that Antelopes are a kind of Bovine? Not really what you think of when you think of the Cow's cousin, eh? There's a particular species of Antelope that has four horns (and looks dope as fuck). The sign also has 4 of that "pickaxe shape", but the four-horned antelope's horns are small, straight and sharp, not big and curvy, so i don't think it fits. Ultimately, it comes down to the Constellation metaphor. The Hope aspect and the "the author" title point to themes of the imaginary and creative work, whereas the bulky overloaded symbol points to the theme of "burden". So the metaphor is "the creative burden", someone born under taurdeus's constellation is someone who has difficulty realizing their creative aspirations and someone who has trouble separating creative works from their real life, be that their own works or other. In that sense, of the above options the buffalo makes the most sense, i think. Bisons have larger heads and comparatively smaller horns than buffalos, plus buffaloes have curvier horns more akin to the sign's shape. So the Buffalo constellation it is. I tried to make the constellation with a lot of stars since the sign has a lot of lines itself.

Physicality: When i tried to leave a character's gender ambiguous until i developed them more they ended up settling as NB, and that kinda pissed me off. I'd rather make a character be NB explicitly than have them be that way because i fucked up and couldn't decide. That's to say, i'll be setting gender from the start from now on, and this one's gonna be a girl, because i have too many boys already. With a sign like that, the First thought was "This troll needs fuckhuge horns that burdens her head", right? But i already did that with Bahkos, plus there's another fuckhuge-horns-looking bronze sign coming up eventually, so here's an alternative idea: This troll has much denser and harder horns than normal, so despite them not being properly gigantic they still put a great burden on her neck. The shape of it is that of a Cape Buffalo's horn, with the horns forming a sort of helmet on top of her head. Since her horns are so heavy, she probably wants less mass elsewhere, so her hair is really short. So what else is there to consider? In terms of psionics, we have no psionics. In terms of weapons, we have no weapon. This troll, you see, is a little weakling. She has no combat skills, no supernatural abilities, no charisma to lead or conquer. She is a tiny little weakling who i could squash easily with one hand. Very murderable.

Backstory: So how does a troll get through alternian life, all the way to exile, with such an eminently crushable spine? Well, let's do some worldbuilding. You see, many trolls believe in soulmates. That for each each quadrant there is one other troll that is truly destined to them (that's canon, not something i made up). So, if even an heiress falls in love with a lowly burgundy, as long as she claims "it's the work of fate" other high-bloods won't find her fault. For a lowblood, this arrangement can be highly beneficial and as such they will gain the derogatory nickname of "Jewel". Richel Cullan is one such Jewel. Moirail to one Purple blood powerful even amongst Purple bloods, she never had to fight or scavenge for a day in her life. She had all expenses unlimited and most of her 9 sweeps on alternia were spent indulging in entertainment media. Novels, Movies, Television, Video Games, and Arts of many kind. In those times, Richel amassed a truly remarkable collection of media, some rare, some banned, some unique. She helped preserve those works by making copies and distributing them online. And she was proud of that work. Once she went off-world, she hoped to pull on her moirail's influence to become an imperial librarian helping to manage the empire's archives, a task generally assigned to teal bloods, but not outside of lower caste's reach.

But on one night, her hope shattered. Her moirail had solidified his power over the sweeps, accruing a whole retinue of subordinates, both loyal and fearing. Mostly fearing. What woke Richel from her dreams that night was the heat of the flames covering half the neighborhood, ex-allies battling in the streets over who would be the new boss, and a mob banging at the door, wanting something to make a show of the death of the old regime. "Your Moirail is dead, Jewel" one of them yelled as pieces of the door fell to the floor. Richel never got to know how, exactly, her moirail died. She barely made it out of that hive and out of that town with the help of a mysterious stranger she had bonded with the night before. She spent the next two weeks experiencing the alternia she never knew, desperately escaping wild beast and murderous trolls, barely scavenging enough food to live off of. She wouldn't have lasted much longer had the drones not picked her off for her exile. Of her once great collection she barely had a small box left, which she had clung to desperately even wading through the alternian mud. With no on-record accomplishment, no powers or skills, no influence with highbloods, not even any belongings, the career paths for Richel were nil. After receiving a standard-issue rifle and combat uniform, she was shipped to the frontline to serve as cannon fodder.

But she survives! Two Sweeps later, she is still there, her hard-as-a-helmet horns having saved her from more than one close call. Her combat performance are nothing impressive, but her infantrymates have gotten to calling her "the dead girl", because under a rain of explosions she still sleeps deeply as a corpse. They don't know how she does it. But i do, dear reader. She sleeps so deeply because even now, she still dreams.

Excipit: Aaaand that's a wrap. This one was such a fiasco. I wrote Constellation and Physicality, and then i tried writing a Short Story because i loved the short story last time, but this time it just didn't work. Short stories are a cool way to characterize a personality, but this time i had a whole backstory to jam in there and it ended up meandering and going nowhere. So i had to cut it. And now i was sitting there, with the character fully characterized from the process and only half the post written. I sat on that for like three months because i couldn't be fucked until just tonight. And the whole time it was sitting on my mind, i was going "oh, i have free time, i should finish the post", but then i'd go "nah, i have to wake up early tomorrow" or get distracted by other projects. That said, i really do enjoy this writing format. I always have a blast writing each part of it, when i can get to it. This excipit is way too long, Aks.

#extended zodiac #custom troll sign #homestuck #homestuck worldbuilding #homestuck oc #improv writing

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midwesternorcprincess · 3 months ago

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stuff I have observed since trying to date again: I have extremely specific tastes in women. I suppose. I seem to be most interested in trans women. they always catch my attention the hardest and I can only speculate as to why. because I've previously had by far the most success with them, because of ex, because they are most of my friends? just plain old arbitrary attraction? probably a mix of all that. when I match with them on apps and it seems even a little promising, I feel the need to take my shot

not exclusively them, of course. although I really am ONLY matching with them on apps. jesus christ I don't think I have matched with a single cis girl on a single app and I'm on all of them. part of this is probably sort of a demographic shift affect. when I first started dating over a decade ago, there just were a ton more cis lesbians. and I think in the few years after that, there was a big cultural shift among queers my age, and a ton of people who were lesbians then are trans guys or nonbinary now. to no loss - just like in phonology, the gap was filled with trans women. I can't believe the queers did a chain shift

well anyway, there are still a few cis girls on the apps but I am sure not matching with them. and don't even really see ones that interest me tbh. if you're a cis girl on the gay apps you're probably super femme and coincidingly, looking for a third for you and your man 😒 or else you're super into the gym, which happen to be the two biggest Elaine repellents you could possibly have. and the feeling is no doubt mutual

but sometimes I see cis women irl I find appealing. I think I like an extremely low-femme sort of vibe. like a woman in her mid 30s who's not wearing makeup and has like shoulder-length plain hair and probably listens to NPR (this is an unfortunate side effect, not something I'm actually attracted to. I can't think of many things more mind-numbing than actually listening to NPR. I respect what they're trying to do but if you play that shit around me there will be an Elaine-shaped hole in the wall and I will be out of there). see them around town sometimes. I think these women are very handsome although I don't imagine they would be the type to see anything in me and don't think they'd be very fun to date. more generally, I think I like women who are definitely femme but have ""masculine"" features. this is honestly kinda rare to encounter in cis women. I think I kinda give off this vibe myself but idk

so you would THINK I would have luck with nbs but man I really fuckin don't. idk man. I try. occasionally I'll match with one and try to get something going, but just haven't ever felt very interested. feeling seems mutual again. why the hell should that be. what even is attraction? what is this all based on. we arbitrarily declare our genders and our attraction obeys this. least, mine does

and finally, I made some observations while listening to old-timey folk songs and thinking about how men sing about women and vice versa. struck by how I REALLY relate to the man role and not the woman one, when it comes to love. not really elsewhere in my life, I feel firmly femme. but i relate to the kind of lover/pursuer thing rather than the beloved/pursued thing. I can't really imagine being that sort of 'object' (i mean this in a neutral, transitivity sense) of courtship. like mutual interest is great and all and I want that, obviously I want the girl to feel things for me too. but idk. really can't imagine being the one to be approached and romanced and whatnot. it happened a few times in the past, but now I feel, idk, too hardened and mature for it. don't know what that means, except that I am fine with messaging first now

#personal

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g-hua · 1 year ago

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I haven't been here in years... But I think I need a place to vent and talk and all that.

My foster dad passed away back in 2016, and it was kind of a big blow since I was still studying and had to drop everything to pick up the slack... At the same time, a lot of bad things happened...

My ex, who was living with us, left after being in a relationship for 6/7 years, and I found out through his step mom that he was a huge creep and had been cheating on me with a 15 year old (we were both already +15).

My foster brother stole money from my foster mom, his bio mom, after cheating on his wife with someone almost my age (me and my foster brother are 18 years apart) and divorcing her. He stole half of the money my foster dad left her, took out a 10k loan with her as collateral, and another 20k loan with his ex-wife as collateral before disappearing with the money and his new girlfriend. I was left to pick up the pieces of my foster mom and his ex-wives' heart. He also made me work for him for free out of spite for a year and was telling everyone he was paying me while overworking me and telling everyone I was a bad worker. It made finding jobs until everyone heard about what he did before running away really hard. I only found out then what he was saying about me.

Doing all this was really tiring, and I didn't have time to keep up with friends or for social media, so I drifted away from all of my friends and was unable to find most of them again... I also felt like telling them about all these problems was too much and would burden them. I didn't tell anyone that my foster dad had passed away, much less the rest.

I ended up accidentally isolating myself pretty badly... So much so that I've only been able to reconnect back with two or three friends, one because I remembered his steam ID and was able to gather the guts to say hi years after adding him back and the other because I saw an email they sent to me asking to reconnect while I was cleaning an old email address inbox. The third friend I only reconnected because the first friend invited me to hang out with the two of them while he was in town.

Still... It's really hard now to keep in touch with them... I feel like an awkward burden that doesn't know how to socialise.

I also had to deal with a lot of health stuff...

It took a one week stay at a mental hospital to finally be diagnosed as AuDHD after 16 years of being told it was just depression/anxiety and being heavily medicated with SSRIs since very young. I ended up in the hospital because I was having a really bad meltdown and didn't know what meltdowns were or how to deal with them. No one ever diagnosed me because I was pushed so badly to mask with verbal and physical abuse. It only started to crack after my foster dad passed, and there was no one else left to hit me. I got medicated properly, but I'm still on a waiting list for CBT...

I was also tricked by a psychiatrist into doing HRT. I'm AFAB and NB, and most of my dysphoria is chest related, and when I finally gathered the courage to come out after over a decade and go to a doctor she lied to me and said that it was the law that patients had to go through a certain period of HRT before getting a mastectomy. She pressed me against a wall, saying I needed to do HRT to get surgery and change my name/gender on my ID, and kept lying about how it wouldn't affect my body all that greatly if it was just a few months. I caved and believed her. She did all the work herself (she was a psychiatrist), bloodwork, and prescribing the T. After a few months, I didn't feel good and even more dysphoric. I was gaining a lot of weight without any major diet/exercise changes. My neck looked weird. I tried to contact her about it, and she ghosted me. When I contacted the hospital, I found out she had retired. After going to another hospital, I was told that there was no such law and that there was something up with my thyroid. It took +2 years to reverse the health related damage she did, and I nearly needed surgical intervention to my thyroid gland... I've had to start everything from scratch because she never diagnosed me with dysphoria, even though she should have had to get me on HRT and change my birth certificate. The hospital doesn't have any records on me and a few handfuls of other patients, a few of them minors. She took everything with her when she retired.

The pandemic also messed up my immune system pretty badly. I had a lot of sinus problems and got sick easily for a long time after the lockdown and mask rules were lifted here.

So, life hasn't been easy... At all... I feel really behind on everything. I'm lucky enough to have my boyfriend even though we're LDR. We're both dealing with stuff, and we started dating right as the pandemic hit... It toppled everything... I feel like I got in such a hole, and it would have been much worse without him... I lost the will and confidence to do so many things I enjoyed doing before. Art was the biggest blow. I miss art. I miss it so much and don't know where to restart.

Right now, I'm just... Waiting... Slowly picking myself back up from burnout, waiting to be called for CBT so that I can handle life better, so that I can go back to finish HS, so that I can follow the field I always wanted and was always denied which was restoration. Everything has to be so slow for me now so that I don't relapse... Even enjoying things has to be slow. It's really hard for someone like me who spent their whole life pilling things on my back and constantly toppling over and pushing myself back up. I feel like I lost a little bit of me every time I fell, and that's why I'm in this state now.

So, I guess this is it for a first post. I mean, it's my blog, I'm supposed to write about these things too, right? I feel like I should have a justification for how weird I am. So, this is it.

#vent post #trauma dump #my brain feels like mush

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fatalism-and-villainy · 3 years ago

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if you're comfortable talking about it, can you elaborate (maybe in a very general sense) on how those posts are messing up their discussion of the nb experience? I'm curious and I also don't want to make the same kind of mistakes.

Sure, I don't mind explaining further. I don't think I can do so in a general sense, though - being on Pillowfort has made me much more inclined towards using specific examples. I think that's not really the done thing on tumblr, both because it's hard to link to things here when URLs can change, and because it's tacitly considered against etiquette (or, least, I know I instinctively flinch away from doing so). But I think a lot of discussions would be less inflammatory here if people were more specific about what they were complaining about, and I think this is a topic that benefits from close reading some examples, because a lot of it is subtle stuff in the wording that betrays a lot of broader and more pernicious assumptions.

So I'm not including these examples to chastise anyone, I'm just using them because they're useful illustrations of a bigger problem.

My post that prompted this, for context:

I have seen two posts in the last few days that conflate how nonbinary people get read by others with nonbinary people’s own personal relationship to gender and the nonbinary label. I’m so so sick of this.

Alright, post #1 (and I did find a thread where some people were pointing out some of the same issues I have with it, but I saw it reblogged with this addition on its own, so it's worth pointing out). OP's post:

if you call a nonbinary person cis bc they don't perform androgyny to a level you approve of i'm omw with a big hammer to shatter your kneecaps

Note the "perform androgyny to a level you approve of" phrasing - this is about others' perception of nonbinary people and of what constitutes androgyny. Now look at this addition:

This is incredibly important to remember. Nonbinary isnt just a middle ground or a third gender. Its not being in the binary. Thats it. That means something different to every nb person. So maybe someone does lean a bit more into their assigned gender at birth, they’re still nonbinary and calling them cis just because they arent preforming for you is transphobic- Yes even if you are trans too.

I agree that nonbinary people can have some kind of identification with their assigned gender, and that this doesn't negate their being nonbinary or trans - but, crucially, that's a different topic from what the OP was about. The OP was about how people look to others, and how they meet others' standards for what a nonbinary person should look like.

And what counts as "performing" androgyny is not only very subjective, individually and subculturally, but also full of double standards. There are people who would consider simply having visible breasts, or not trying to hide my body shape, as "presenting" as a woman, or not being androgynous, even if my clothes or hairstyle would be read as "masculine" on a cis man. (Side note: the way I often wear my hair is something I've mainly seen on men, and some nonbinary people as well, but because it's long on the top a lot of people would think "feminine". The gendering of hair is weird.) Similarly, I like wearing brightly coloured lipstick. This isn't because my identity is at all "feminine" or aligned with womanhood - I just like bright colours on my lips 😂. Additionally, there are nonbinary people who might get read as "androgynous", or whose gender might be harder to visually sort into a binary category, who do, in fact, feel some affiliation with their assigned gender. These are separable categories.

While the addition is alright on its own as an observation, I think adding it here actually undermines the point of the OP. The original post argues that others' perceptions are not the determiner of whether someone else "counts" as trans, and the addition, even while in agreement that nonbinary people who aren't "androgynous enough" count as trans... also falls into using others' perceptions as a determiner of another's identity.

The second post is here:

even spicier take: “non-binary” means a thousand different things to a thousand different people and therefore anyone of any sexuality could theoretically be attracted to a non-binary person in some capacity, so if you’re gay and someone you’re attracted to says, “i’m non-binary,” you don’t actually have to redefine your entire identity, you can just drink a cup of sleepytime tea and go right on being gay and into non-binary people.

So, this starts out with "nonbinary means a thousand different things to a thousand different people", which leads me to think that this is about relationship compatibility - i.e., that there are nonbinary people whose personal version of "nonbinary" doesn't preclude gay relationships or gay-identified partners. But the following statement implies a slightly different angle - "therefore anyone of any sexuality could theoretically be attracted to a nonbinary person in some capacity." The "therefore" doesn't follow for me, because "being attracted to someone" is very different from relationship compatibility, and doesn't have anything to do with how a nonbinary person self-identifies or wants to be socially positioned.

I think this sort of confusion is part of what makes a lot of conversations about "attraction to nonbinary people" so fraught - because there are several different scenarios implied in how this post is written. Are we talking about the possibility of a gay person actually forging a relationship with a nonbinary person? Are we talking about seeing someone in passing that you think is attractive who turns out to be nonbinary? The phrasing "if... someone you're attracted to says, 'i'm nonbinary'" implies this is a scenario in which the attraction started before learning that person's gender. But is this just a passing crush, or someone you happened to notice, or is it meant to be someone you're already in a relationship with? Because those are two different scenarios! If we're talking about the possibility of a gay person having a relationship with a nonbinary person, then what being nonbinary "means" to that person is relevant. But if we're talking about a gay person just being attracted in passing to a person who turns out to be nonbinary, then the attraction itself does not say anything about, or having anything to do with, that nonbinary person's self-conception.

Look, here's the thing. It's pretty inevitable that we all visually misclassify people from time to time, even cis people. Attraction is also internal and does not affect the other person at all. I don't think the possibility that someone you happen to find attractive might not actually be your preferred gender, or might potentially find your attraction distressing, need be a source of scrupulosity - just pay attention to their signals in your actual interactions with them and treat them how they've implied or explicitly stated they'd like to be classed. Similarly, I think sexual orientation is about patterns and general trends, and one person falling outside that pattern doesn't necessitate changing one's identity. But that says fuck-all about the identity or feelings of the nonbinary person in question. The idea that it does has the (probably unintentional) implication that a gay woman finding me attractive means that I must be "woman-aligned" or comfortable being classed that way in relationships, which is not at all the case.

Like, the separate implications the wording here in this post are all points I agree with: some nonbinary people find "gay" as an identity or social position to be compatible with their conception of themselves, and being mistaken about someone's gender or having an exception to your general pattern of attraction doesn't necessitate an identity crisis. But is it clear how treating one of those things as naturally flowing from the other has troubling implications? Nonbinary people vary widely in how we want to be classed, or feel comfortable being classed, in the context of relationships. But other people's involuntary feelings of attraction are absolutely not a comment on that. And treating them as if they are is incredibly harmful.

#anonymous #replies #alpha speaks #nonbinary subjectivity #gender fuckery

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qveerthe0ry · 1 year ago

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Lions Ain't the Kind - Part Two

Summary: You and Frankie can't get each other off your minds'. He asks you on a third date. It's a success. Word Count: 5,741 Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom!reader, a few brief mentions of alcohol, talks about gender non-conformity, talks about gender dysphoria as it relates to sex, amab terminology for afab genitalia, kissing, making out, oral (afab receiving), dirty talk, premature ejaculation, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader A/N: Special shoutout to @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar for letting me bother them about this part while I was writing, love you both dearly <3

Frankie calls you later that night.

You helped him clean up after, popped some popcorn, and rewound the movie. He snuggled sleepily into your side; the orgasm apparently settled his nerves from before. You both joked about how not-so-great the movie was over a few beers, and then you sent him off with a buttery goodnight kiss.

But your phone rings as you’re settling into bed for the night, and you think maybe something is wrong, like his car broke down, or he left something at your place.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. I just made it home.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, no, everything’s fine. I just— I wanted to thank you.”

You laugh. Sweet boy, calling to thank you for getting him off.

“Was it that good?” You joke.

“No— I mean yes, yes it was. That’s not what I meant though. I’ve never been… Well, you know, I’m not so good at this stuff. And I’ve never felt like… this. And I like it. And I like you. So… thank you.”

Your face burns at his words, at the thought you could give this man something he needs, this man that you’re quickly developing a habit for.

“That’s sweet, Frankie. I like you too. A lot.”

You hear him huff through your tinny phone speakers and in a moment of pure weakness you wish you would’ve asked him to stay over.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yes. I really do.”

He laughs, and you can imagine it in your head, what his dimple looks like, the way his curls would look as he shakes his head.

“That’s awesome.”

——

Frankie’s a busy guy, you come to find out. He works fairly long hours at his mechanic shop, and he has custody of his daughter every other week, and he also attends community events, he calls them, every Wednesday.

Your business is relegated to the eight hours a day you spend in your office, and maybe a few hours here or there when you need to take work home with you.

And you’re not blaming Frankie for it, but the distance makes you want him so much more. He texts you all day long, staggered back and forth when you both have the time. He’ll call you some nights, when his daughter goes to bed early, just to talk about your days. But it isn’t enough.

It’s not enough because you can’t stop thinking about how he looks in your lap, and how desperate his sounds are, and how his skin feels under your palms.

It’s driving you mad, replaying that night over and over and craving even more from him.

It really isn’t just about the sex, though, either. You find yourself thinking of him at the grocery store, wondering if he likes the scent of your favorite deodorant or if you should pick something new. You see an old Ford Ranger as you’re driving to work and wonder if Frankie’s inside. You find a new show on Netflix to watch but pause it after the first five minutes because you think Frankie would like to watch it too, with you.

And Frankie’s just as bad, if not worse off than you are.

His days are long and busy but occupied with thoughts of you, even as he’s changing brake pads and tinkering elbow-deep in the hood of another car.

When he picks up his daughter from school and asks how her day was, he sends off a quick text to ask you about your day, too.

And after he gets her to bed, and finishes laundry and the dishes and brushing his teeth, he crawls under the covers only to feel like his queen sized mattress is way too big, way too empty.

That’s when he texts you, Saturday night, heart beating just a bit too fast and feeling a tad heavier than normal.

I miss you. Are you free tomorrow?

I miss you too, sweet boy. I’ve got nothing going on all day.

Can I pick you up for brunch after I drop off the kiddo? Around noon?

Sounds perfect, can’t wait 😘

And he hardly sleeps because of the anticipation, wondering if this whole thing has just been a fluke. One whole week of not seeing you has his insecurities skyrocketing, despite the texts and phone calls.

The clock on his bedside table reads 5:36am and he can’t for the life of him tamper down the feelings to fall back to sleep. So he trims up his facial hair, and showers for longer than he usually likes to. He makes a big breakfast for his daughter, and dresses in his nicest jeans and a collared shirt while she giggles at some Sunday morning cartoon.

It isn’t until he’s halfway to her mom’s house that he realizes he’s a dead giveaway. He winces when she answers the door with her eyebrow raised, greeting cut-off halfway through.

“Are you going to church now?”

He laughs and rolls his eyes as she waves him into the foyer.

“Not quite. I think church usually starts earlier than noon, though.”

“So… court?”

“Oh my god, is it that unbelievable that I have a date?”

“At noon?”

“Brunch date,” he shrugs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

“You haven’t dated since we broke up.”

He shrugs again, and can feel the heat beginning to rise to his cheeks.

“Is this new? Where’d you guys meet?”

He huffs at the interrogation, though he knows there’s no malice behind it.

“Um… Tinder… couple weeks ago now.”

An amused look spreads across his ex’s face, and he wants to die.

“Interesting. You’ve met in person, then?”

“Yeah, twice already. Last week.”

“Well, sounds like it’s going good then, yeah?”

He takes a deep breath in, and nods, and then shrugs.

“I hope so. Like… I really hope so.”

Her face softens, and she smiles a sweet smile that lets him know he looks even more vulnerable than he feels, which must be a feat.

“Then I hope so, too.”

——

When Frankie knocks on your door a little past 12, he surprises you. Gone is that apprehensive look you’ve grown so used to seeing on him. Instead, he’s beaming, a precious and pearly smile splitting his face when you open the door.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath, like he may have ran up the stairs at a less than leisurely pace.

“Hey, smiley.”

He huffs when you tease him, but his smile doesn’t falter.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Looks good on you.”

Everything looks good on him, actually. His shirt hugs his chest and his tummy, and his jeans are sucked tight to his thighs, and his hair is that perfect mess of haphazard curls that makes your fingers tingle with the urge to touch.

“You ready to go?”

He shifts in his spot on your doorway, and you bite your lip as you admire the view.

“Not yet.”

His mouth opens to respond, but the words don’t get a chance to leave his lips because you’re pressing your own to them.

Warm, soft, minty.

His hand finds your waist and yours cups his neatly groomed jaw, and the simple touches make the wires in your system short-circuit.

Simmer down, you remind yourself, you have to at least get through brunch.

His smile is still wide when you pull apart, softer now, but no less giddy. He gives you a once-over, taking in one of your favorite outfits you picked out of your closet just for today.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers.

“So are you.”

He shrugs, and you let your hand fall from his face to rest on his collar, and then farther down, where his top button lays open to reveal his smooth chest.

“Brunch?”

He squeezes your hip when he asks, and you try and fail to hold back a heaved sigh at the prospect of having to be decent in public with this man.

“Yep. Brunch.”

He chuckles, kisses the corner of your mouth as soft as ever.

“Back here for dessert?”

It shocks you, but it delights you.

“Francisco, you dirty dog.”

He backs away with his hands up as you make your way outside, letting you lock up.

“I’m just trying to ask for what I want,” he mumbles.

He looks sheepish when you turn back to face him, but also proud. You think he should be.

“I know. You’re being a very good boy for me.”

You smirk all the way to his truck at the way he tugs at his collar and clears his throat, and how his hand feels sweaty in yours.

——

He takes you to brunch by the river, a place you’ve heard about but you’ve never been to. He’s really sweet, opening doors for you and asking if the table on the patio is alright and turning his entire attention toward you while you wait for your food to come.

Though you’re both quite handsy, linking your calves together under the table and playing with each others’ fingers on top of it, you really don’t want to go home by the time the check comes.

He pays this time, of course, and when you’re standing up to leave you suggest taking a walk along the river. His enthusiasm for your suggestion makes your insides feel all sticky and hot, that you’re both on the same page, that even something so little can excite him like it does you.

The thing is, you don’t do this often. Okay, maybe you’ve had many dates that end up exactly like this, walking off a meal and chatting. But it’s very very rare that you get to do it with someone you click with, someone who gets you, someone who makes you feel comfortable in your own skin.

Frankie does just that, has since day one when you spent hours talking on that godforsaken dating app. And especially now, as he slinks one arm through the loop of your own and uses the other to caress where your sleeve rides up your bicep. His body is warm where it presses into you, only adding to that fuzzy feeling from the couple of mimosas you drank with brunch.

And when you turn to face him, the happy look on his face is everything. You get tripped up in the sunlight glistening in his brown eyes, the hints of ochre sparkling as his head shifts, before you determine you need to tell him.

“I like the way I feel with you,” you say earnestly, though the champagne has surely given you a bit of a push.

“What way is that?”

His pace slows on the little pebbled pathway, like he really doesn’t want to miss what you say next.

“Like I can just… turn my brain off and be.”

He chuckles, squeezes your arm.

“I feel the same. Like I don’t have to pretend to impress you or anything. Like I don’t need to impress you.”

You hum as you let the words sink in, and lean a little heavier into him as you walk.

“You do impress me though,” you tell him.

His breath hitches, you can feel it where he’s pressing into you from chest to hip.

“You impress me too. I uh— I think you’re probably the most impressive person I’ve ever met.”

“Weren’t you like, in the military?”

He laughs, then, full, you can feel it shaking his tummy against your arm.

“That doesn’t really count. Besides, my military buddies’ skills are limited to the field. I don’t think between the three of them they have more than a handful of civilian brain cells.”

“Harsh,” you laugh, pinching his side between your knuckles.

“I say it with love, of course. They’re good guys, you’d like ‘em. In a way you might like an annoying sibling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like you to meet them sometime. Maybe soon. If you’d feel comfortable.”

You don’t know much about this infamous group of guys Frankie’s bonded to, just that they’re his only real friends, and that they’ve all been through a lot. Another gooey feeling spreads through your guts at his proposal.

“I’d like that. Sometime soon.”

It does worry you a bit. You don’t know much about the military, but you’re aware of the stereotypes. Surely if Frankie’s friends with them, then they aren’t bad guys.

Frankie must see the fleck of apprehension in you,

Because he stops walking and releases your arm so he can face you squarely.

“I’m out to them. They’re cool with it. Pope— Santiago— he’s queer too. We’ve been to pride together, all of us. No bad vibes.”

You wonder if they’ve ever met someone like you. You wonder if Frankie’s told them about you yet. You wonder a lot of things in such a tiny amount of time that you sway a bit on your feet and Frankie reaches out to steady you.

“Shit— Are you okay??”

“I’m fine,” you’re quick to assure him, “just… I dunno. What if they don’t like me?”

Frankie scoffs.

“There’s no way they won’t like you. You’re you, you’re kind and funny and smart. What’s not to like?”

“Are you purposefully ignoring the elephant in the room?”

It isn’t heated, the way you ask it, but you’re genuinely curious. Is he beating around the bush, or is he naive, or is it really not a big deal to him?

“Cariño, it’s not an elephant. It’s a— I dunno. A neat… plant,” he shrugs.

You squint at him, and tilt your head at his explanation.

“You know what I mean? An elephant in a room is a giant pain in the ass. It’s much more like a cool plant. Maybe one some people aren’t familiar with, but it’s not— you’re not an elephant, is my point.”

You stare at him for a beat longer than you mean to, but once your giggle involuntarily bubbles up out of you, Frankie’s serious face is cracking into a goofy smile.

“You’re cute,” you tell him, “Jesus Christ.”

Your laughter mellows, and Frankie looks sheepish at your compliments, but he grabs you by the elbows anyway, leans in close to you so that you can smell the way the sun warms his curls and his skin.

“I mean it though,” he says, “I like you. Exactly how you are. The guys will too.”

Your eyes dart around to your surroundings as Frankie’s lips find your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Without anyone ogling, you shift your head just that much more to let his lips press against yours.

He hums, leaning harder into you, pulling you closer with his hands at your back. You melt, pliant and lax in his arms, until he huffs and pulls away.

“Frankie,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to take me home.”

His pupils grow comically large at your request, and this time he’s wobbling on weary legs.

“Anything you want, mi planta.”

Your walk back to his truck is… brisk. You’re not sure who’s leading who by the time

Frankie unlocks the doors, both too giggly to really worry about it. He kisses you breathless across the center console before he turns the key in the ignition, and you roll the flavor of him around in your mouth while he pulls out into traffic.

Frankie’s promise of ‘I like you exactly the way you are’ is rattling around in your head like a pinball in a faulty machine. You’re not sure he can even say that. If he even knows you exactly the way you are. It’s been two dates and a handful of weeks texting back and forth.

Granted, one of those dates had him shaking and crumbling on top of you, but still. He told you he’s never met someone like you. He said that, and now you have to pull the ‘Ol Talk out of your dusty little hat and you aren’t sure how he’s going to react. He’s given you no reason to believe it’ll be negative, but still. Sometimes it just makes you uncomfortable, to have to explain things that don’t often need explaining.

Instead of boiling over with nerves the closer you get, though, the anxiety simmers below the surface as you watch Frankie navigate back to your apartment. His side profile is criminal, with his wide eyes and strong nose and stubbly jaw, that dimple that just won’t seem to go away. His curls tickle the nape of his neck and whisp around his temple and you must twirl them between your fingers. So you do, and his answering hum has you squirming in the passenger seat.

The walk up your apartment stairs is when the nerves start to get the best of you. It takes you two tries to get your door unlocked, and you know Frankie is aware by the way he looks at you when you usher him through the door.

“Are you okay?”

It’s funny how just a week before you were asking him the same question, and now you’re the one who’s a bundle of frayed nerves when you’d only ever been so cool and calm and collected.

“I am, I just— Things are different… with me.”

His concerned brows turn back up when he smiles at you, the softness in his eyes working wonders to ease your anxiety.

“I like different. Different’s fun.”

You huff. He’s so sweet. It’s hotter than it should be.

“Really. I wanna learn you. Let me, cariño. Please?”

And god… those are gonna be a big, big problem, his wide, watery puppy eyes framed by long eyelashes that he breaks out like it’s no big deal. Like you wouldn’t murder someone for him if he made those eyes at you and asked nicely.

You sigh, and nod, and that gets him to drop the eyes at least, replace them with a toothy smile instead.

“Let me get us some waters, if you wanna get comfy on the couch.”

It gives you a second to breathe and gather your thoughts as you meander into the kitchen.

“I missed this couch,” he muses, wistful, and you laugh.

“I’m sure you did, Pretty Boy.”

You barely hear his huff over the trickle of your Brita filter, but then he speaks up.

“I love it when you call me that. Drives me crazy.”

Frankie’s full of this energy you didn’t expect from him, so much more forward now. You suppose the walls have been broken down a bit, ever since your last night together.

He’s sprawled out on the couch when you return with two glasses, leaning back against the corner of it, and his cock is straining at his jeans. You don’t pretend not to notice, and he doesn’t pretend that he can’t see your eyes tracing the shape of its outline in his dark denim. You place your waters on the coffee table, even as you feel your mouth go dry.

“Told you, drives me crazy. You drive me crazy.”

The way he looks up at you makes him look so small. Your pulse jumps about it, the way it makes you feel just minutely more comfortable with the conversation you’re about to have.

And it’s one that you want to have, no matter how un-sexy it feels, or annoying. Because in your experience, when you forgo the conversation until after, they always take it personally when you tell them what you didn’t like. And even though you know it’s bullshit, you can’t stand the thought of Frankie feeling defensive toward you, even if it’s unfounded.

So you curl up next to him, let his arm that’s slung over the couch rest across your shoulders. You bring your knees up to your chest and plant one hand high on his thigh. You’re so nervous that you almost miss the way it twitches under your palm.

“What’s on your mind?”

His thumb rubs tiny loops against your shoulder. Yours mirrors it on his jeans, and it soothes you enough to start speaking.

“Sometimes I don’t like… certain things. During sex. And sometimes I do. It just depends on my mood,” you start.

“Yeah, same. I think that’s everyone, right? Normal?”

You roll your eyes at yourself, because you know he has a point. But yours are a little different.

“Yeah but… You know how I said sometimes I’m both, and sometimes I’m neither, and sometimes I’m one or the other?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do.”

“Welll when I’m… y’know. Sometimes certain words just… turn me off. Make me feel weird, and get in my head and stuff, and then it’s not fun anymore.”

Frankie nods.

“And not like… What I mean is sometimes I like one word, and then another time I won’t like the same word. It’s always different. Depending on what I’m feeling.”

“Guapo, look at me.”

It’s then, when Frankie’s deep voice cuts like a searing hot knife, that you realize your eyes have been darting around everywhere but him.

He’s got a serious look on his face when you finally gaze back, but it’s soft, and it’s comforting, and for a second you think might cry.

“I think it’s my turn to make you ask for what you want.”

He smirks when he says it, and it’s so uneasy and so not at the same time.

You take a deep breath. Release it. Feel the squeeze of your heart unclench a bit.

“I want you to suck my cock. Today. And tomorrow maybe I’ll want you to eat my pussy. Okay?”

“Jesus Fuck—“

“I’m sorry—“

“Shut up, you’re so fucking hot.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs and make your face feel like it’s on fire. Even more so when his free hand presses against his erection over his jeans. It spreads, a dangerous flame that curls around your insides, high in your chest and low in your gut, and you tilt your head so you can taste the little whimper that falls from his lips.

Your hand finds his chest again, like it did that night, and something about his racing heartbeat eases you so much. That he’s just as nervous as you are, even if he’s a bit better at hiding it this time.

He cradles you when he kisses you back, one big, warm hand on the back of your head and his other on your back, wrapped around you, safe. And he’s gentle as he leads you to lie back, even as he growls and nips at your bottom lip.

Safe.

His thighs bracket one of yours as he holds himself above you by an elbow on the cushions. You feel his cock, hot and hard, pressed tight against you, throbbing when he shifts his hips for friction.

You let a noise sneak past your vocal chords, a deeper sigh, and instantly you feel even more vulnerable.

But Frankie just returns it, grip tightening on the back of your head. He pulls his mouth from yours and instead finds your pulse with it.

You gasp, and he curses. His hips jerk against you, and you know you’re about to soak through your briefs. His teeth find skin underneath your collar and you egg him on by lifting your thigh to press even tighter against his prick.

His muttered curse feels hot against your skin, but it quickly runs ice cold when Frankie’s hand sneaks under the hem of your shirt. You grab it quickly, separated by the material, and shake your head back and forth quickly.

“Not right now,” you whisper, “sorry.”

He looks up from his toothy assault on your skin to meet your gaze, hand slipping back out from under your shirt, and smiles.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, hand finding the crook of your thigh instead, “never for that. Always tell me what you need.”

Your breath stutters as he shifts back up to kiss your lips again, his thigh pressing just right between yours as his tongue tastes the roof of your mouth. You grind just like that, and he does too, a hot and damp rustling of fabric as he takes your mouth and whines into it at the friction.

Your hands get with the program, reach around to squeeze his ass and encourage his thrusts against your thigh. Sparks of arousal shoot through you every time you feel his cock pulse against you. It becomes not enough extremely quickly, especially with the noises you’re coaxing out of him and the way his tongue is sloppy and greedy inside your mouth.

“I need your mouth,” you gasp, your slick lips moving against his own as you speak.

He groans, licks at your bottom lip one last time.

“Anything you want.”

You’re hot, flustered and aching when he finally works on unfastening your pants. All the while his wide doe eyes peer up at you, waiting for any direction.

He shuffles a bit, settling between your open legs and huffing when he misses the pressure of your thigh against his prick. You thread your fingers through his curls as consolation, and smirk when he shudders and his eyelids droop.

He gets a hand under your pants, and both of your mouths drop open at the contact to the warmth between your thighs.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he sighs, “please let me taste you.”

His voice is gravelly, sends a wave of tingles up your spine as you grind down into his hand and tighten your grip on his hair. His fingers twitch against you as he gasps and pulls against your hold on his locks, and it’s fucking wicked.

Your curse and tug him by the hair to bury his face between your legs. You feel his nose squish against you first, then his lips, a hot breath of air released against you. He groans into you, inhales a deep breath, and you see his hips work frantically against the couch cushion underneath him.

“Frankie.”

He opens his eyes, but doesn’t dare pull his face away from your center.

“Take ‘em off,” you order.

He nods, face still pressed against you, like he’s nuzzling your package, and you have to tug his hair to urge him to get a move on.

“Sorry, sorry. Fuck— can’t help it.”

His fingers tremble, just barely, but noticeable nonetheless, as he hooks them under your briefs. One last look up at you, and you nod and tug at his curls, and then he finally pulls the damned things down your legs and off.

At this point, you don’t have enough wits about you to be shy. You spread your legs, one against the back of the couch, the other dangling off at the knee so your foot touches the floor. The air in your apartment is cool where you’re wet and slick, and your hips wiggle in anticipation.

All the while, Frankie stares at your center, just inches above you, so close you can feel his ragged breaths with every heave of his chest. He’s a fucking vision like this, between your legs, needy and ready to do what you tell him.

“Can I—?”

“Suck my cock, Frankie. Wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around it.”

A stilted breath escapes him as he opens his mouth to press against you. Your hips jolt at the first touch of his tongue through your folds, hot and wet and perfect. He wastes no time following your direction, though, tongue flicking over your cock before he gets it into his mouth and suckles.

Fuck.

It’s so fucking good, he’s so fucking good. Your grip on his hair only gets tighter as you watch his hips grind against the couch in a frantic rhythm. He whines and sucks harder, just shy of too much, tongue circling around your dick in between delicious pulses of suction.

You want to close your eyes and succumb to the pleasure, but you don’t want to miss a moment of this. The way his brow is creased in concentration, his silky curls bobbing up and down in your lap, the fucking noises he makes. The slurps and the grunts and the hums, like he’s getting just as much out of it as you are.

You suppose he is, the way he’s humping the sofa like he’s in heat.

His eyes flicker up to you, a silent question.

Is this doing it for you?

“So fucking good, Frankie. Just like that,” you tell him, fingers dragging through his hair, nails scraping at his scalp.

His eyes close as he hums around you, and yours do too, then, overwhelmed by the feeling. Your hips rock up into his face, fucking it, using him. His grip tightens on your thighs, and your body rocks from the from the way he’s grinding against the couch.

His tongue is wicked and precise, circling your cock, flicking it, circling then flicking, again and again and it makes your whole body buzz, has you out of your fucking mind.

And you suppose that’s why the words just fall from your lips; there’s no filter left, just raw, overwhelmed senses and adrenaline.

“Fuck, good boy Frankie. Letting me fuck your face, like the perfect little toy.”

“Hah— shit,” he whines, hips stuttering between your legs just for a moment as his lips lose their grasp on your dick.

“Prettiest mouth, all for me, right?”

You watch him as he looks up at you and nods, mouth hung open, his tongue sliding up and down your slit at the quick motion. He looks a mess, with his mustache glistening and his pupils huge and dark and his hair sticking up every which way. His eyelids droop and his brows draw up tight and he looks so so perfect between your legs.

With another pathetic noise, he sucks your cock between his lips again. You take mercy on his hair, let your hand find the back of his neck and cradle, massage the tense muscles under your fingertips. You feel him shudder against you, watch as his hips speed up in time with the bobbing of his head between your thighs.

And it’s building, blazing through your system, fiery static that has you breathing quicker, arching your back as your muscles tense.

Frankie’s noises only press you closer and closer to the edge, the way they’re muffled around your prick in his mouth, the way he’s clutching onto your hip and fucking your couch cushion as he slurps and suckles. It’s soaking wet and hot and much better than you’ve felt in a very long time.

“So close, don’t stop,” you beg.

Frankie’s answering noise is strung-out and his grip is bruising on your hip. You lift your hips into his mouth and your hand finds his hair again. You tug and encourage him to suck you off faster, just a bit, just enough.

You cry out his name as you shake. You hope the grip you’ve taken on his hair isn’t too tight, but none of your movements are your own until all the tension leaves your body. He works you through it as his breath puffs faster and heavier against your mound, gradually suckling softer, bobbing his head slower and slower while he groans around you.

Slowly, your muscles relax and your tendons unclench and your eyes open just in time to watch Frankie press a kiss to your swollen, twitching bud.

“Jesus,” you manage through a breath.

His grin is shy as he rests his cheek on your thigh. He strokes you through your comedown, quiet and calm, his fingertips soothing your thigh and your hip.

“How was that?”

You laugh at his question, and he hides his own chuckles in the crease of your hip.

“Incredible.”

He hums, and you ruffle his hair when his gaze turns sheepish.

“What do you need, Pretty Boy?”

He’s flushed, and his curls are a little damp at his temples as he shakes his head.

“I don’t need anything, Guapo.”

You try to muster up as stern a look as you can with your brain still fuzzy and your muscles still lax and gooey. His big brown eyes look up at you, pleading, and his shy look turns embarrassed.

Instead of speaking, he grunts as he sits back on his knees. You take note of the way his teeth scrape his bottom lip before you follow his eyeline, down his still heaving chest and belly.

You try not to let your eyes widen when you see the substantial damp patch soaked through his denim, but you must not have been subtle, because he makes a high, cut-off noise from the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” he says with a grimace.

“Shut up, you’re so fucking hot,” you chirp.

Those little dimples you’ve come to adore rear their heads even as he shakes his.

You sit up to press a kiss to one, then the other, and then his lips. You savor the heady taste of yourself on them, hum happily into his mouth as his trembling fingers stroke your skin.

You both change into comfier clothes. The sight of him wrapped up in your things has a whirlwind of emotions wreaking havoc in your chest. Something primal and something domestic all at the same time, and you have to tug him close in your grasp to tamper it all down to a manageable level.

His body weight tucked half into your side, half on top of you works wonders to calm you, especially as your hand finds his silky curls once more and you feel each strand slip through your fingers.

Frankie sighs, big and heavy, and it tickles your neck.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

He chuckles and nuzzles his nose into the sensitive skin behind your ear.

“Thinking it’s kinda crazy, being so into someone I met a month ago.”

Your pulse jumps at his words. You wonder if he can feel it where he’s pressed against you.

“Yeah, kinda crazy,” you agree.

“Feels stupid.”

His curls brush against your face when he shakes his head, huffs again, but you hear the smile in his voice.

“Life’s kinda stupid.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

You chuckle at him as you watch his fingers tap an incoherent rhythm on your stomach.

“Seems fair, doesn’t it? To lean into the stupid when you get the chance?”

He turns to you then, a soft smile crinkling the edges of his wide eyes.

“Sounds fair to me,” he mumbles.

last part / next part

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dragon-kazansky · 4 years ago

Text

Made with love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU! 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 12

You had called Wanda immediately after you were dressed. You asked her to meet you at Escorpión Morado as quickly as she could. She said she would be there with Nat right away.

The doors were open when you arrived, Sam having come in early to reorganise the bottles and boxes from behind the bar. He welcomed you as you entered, but could clearly see something was up.

"What happened?"

"I think Helmut just threatened to kill Stark."

"What!"

You sit down at the bar and catch your breath. Sam fetches you some water and then leans against the shiny new bar to listen to you.

"What happened?"

"Helmut explained everything about Tony and Heike. I listened to him. I'm not worried about Heike, Helmut proved to me he loved me and I'm not going to leave him like she did. This morning Strange came to important an gave this bullshit letter to me. Helmut read it, got pissed, and stormed off, telling me to meet him here. He said he was going to kill Stark."

"He won't kill him."

"Are you sure? He was so angry, Sam."

James comes out from the back and sees you both talking. He comes to stand beside Sam.

"What's up?"

Sam explains everything.

Wanda and Natasha show up about ten minutes later. Everyone but Helmut was present. Once everyone was caught up, Sam made everyone coffee and you all waited.

An hour passes by.

Thirty minutes later the window cleaners you hired show up. You let them get on with it.

Another hour.

"I have to call him," you pull out your phone. Wanda sits next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

There had been no word from Zemo and you were worried sick.

It rings.

And it rings.

He doesn't pick up. You drop your phone on the bar and bury your head in your hands.

Wanda rubs your back gently.

Natasha stands by the door and looks out. She watches the square. It's quiet, not even the locals were pottering about, but it was first thing Saturday morning.

Then, as if they knew Natasha was going to be waiting, someone comes around the corner and enters the square.

Heike. She's coming here.

Natasha pushes off the door and enters the restaurant again, coming to stand beside you.

"That woman is coming."

You sit up, spare a glance at Sam who stands in front of you, and then slowly turn in your seat. Your eyes narrow on Heike as she enters the restaurant.

She's dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse, small nude heels on her feet. She looked she was here to do business.

You stand from your stool. Wanda and Natasha flank either side of you. Sam stands up straight behind the bar and Bucky crosses his arms.

"What do you want?" You hiss.

"To talk to you."

"How unfortunate, I don't want to talk to you, so bugger off."

She clenched her jaw.

"Don't talk to me like that."

"Or what?"

"You should be nicer to people you don't know," she says, keeping her voice level, but you knew you knew you were irritating her.

"I don't have to be nice to wicked women who go around breaking hearts. He was in love with you."

"He told you?"

"Yeah, he did. We don't keep secrets."

"Evidently," she rolls her eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Helmut came raging a storm at The Iron Grill this morning."

"Where is he? Is he still there? What happened?" You ask, urgently.

Her blank expression doesn't change.

"He's fine. They both are. Helmut punched Tony again. If he does that a third time there will be a lawsuit."

"Where is he?" You demand.

"I don't know. He left and I came straight here."

"Well, leave."

"Don't you want to hear what I have to say?"

"Not really, no."

She glares.

"You're appalling."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." She looks you up and down. "Ugh, what does he see in you?"

You didn't have an answer for her. You have no idea why you stood out to him, not really. You had just caught his attention one day and that way it.

"A kind, amazing, human being who values my thoughts, feeling and most of all, my cooking."

You look behind Heike to see Helmut.

You run quickly across the restaurant and jump into his waiting arms. He holds you to his chest tightly, kissing your temple.

"Helmut, you're OK!"

"Of course I am."

"An hour, you said.'

He cradles your face between his big warm hands.

"I know, I'm sorry, darling." He kisses your forehead.

Heike coughs into her fist.

You don't look at her, just bury your face in the crook of Helmut's neck. He keeps his arms around you as he looks at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell Y/N how much happier they would be if they took Stark's offer, and to try and convince them to convince you to sell the restaurant over to Tony. You're only going to lose in the end."

You shake your head against his shoulder.

"No, you'll be the losers here."

"You sound quite sure."

You lift your head and look at her.

"I am. We have put a lot of effort into this restaurant and we're going to prove it this weekend," you tell her.

"Is that so?"

You nod.

"On Monday the invites will be sent out. By Thursday the restaurant will be complete. On Friday the grand opening will happen. Sokovia will remember who was here first, and who they should be supporting."

Heike looks unimpressed.

"You should be careful what you say."

You smirk.

"You should be careful who you mess with."

She scoffs and turns to Helmut.

"We could have been great."

He narrows his dark eyes at her.

"Remind me again who left who at the alter."

She looks like she's about to throw a tantrum. Quickly, she turns on her heel and leaves.

You watch her go.

Once she is out of sight you wrap your arms around Helmut's neck and pull him down for a kiss. He returns the gesture eagerly.

Wanda smiles softly at the pair of you.

When you pull away, your brush your fingers through his dark hair and look at him.

"There's still a lot to do before we re-open."

He nods.

"I know. We better get started."

Wanda claps her hands and gestures to a box she had set in the table.

"These are the invitations, thought you should check them before we send them off."

You walk over and open the box.

You smile.

The card is a rich purple and the lettering is gold. They're perfect.

"Send those asap!"

She nods and closes the box.

Natasha presents to you another box, this one a bit bigger.

"I picked them up just as you asked."

You open this box and smile. You reach in and pull put the fabric which sits inside. You unfold it and hold it up.

"Aprons?" You hear James ask.

"Brand new aprons."

You hold one out to Bucky, hand one over to Sam, and then you turn to Helmut. His fingers brush against your as you hand it over. He smiles.

"Put them on!"

Helmut chuckles and puts it on, tying it securely around him. The aprons were black, Escorpión Morado sewn into them, and their names too.

"You had these made for us?" Helmut asks, looking up at you.

"Yes."

"Where's yours?" He asks.

You smile and turn back to the box.

"Right here."

Helmut takes the apron from your hands and gestures for you turn around. Slowly, he puts it on you. He ties it securely around you.

You turn around and show him.

"Beautiful."

You smile.

"Handsome."

He grins.

"We look good!" Sam states, looking at each if you.

Helmut smile as he faces you all.

"We don't have much time left. I'm counting on all of you to help make my father's restaurant the great place I remember it being when I grew up."

You smile proudly at him.

"Let's put Escorpión Morado back on the map!" You cheer.

The others cheer with you.

Helmut holds your hand as you reach out to him and he pulls you in for another kiss.

Sokovia will remember what this place once was, and Tony Stark won't see it coming.

@namethathasnotbeentaken @belle82devart @cathrin2405 @lieutenantn @wilder-fangirl @latenightartist-author @lucky-luck-lucky @hb8301 @charistory @thatoneartgalsstuff @thesuitkovian @malkaviangirl @zemosimp420 @realremyd @the-chaotic-cow @lostghostgirl94 @zafiro-draco @lazygurl05 @pinkcutiepiee @goddessofmischief03 @whovianayesha @myybebe @awesomesauce-abbie @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @swooning-for-mc-avoy @nonamec0s @apparrio @scuttle-buttle @alex-the-nb @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @greeneyedblondie44 @somethingthatsaysbubbles

#marvel #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #au #baron helmut zemo #zemo #tfatws #chef zemo au

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kalorphic · 4 years ago

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Hi hi! I’m not ace/NB anon, and I’m not ace so I won’t speak on that, but I do kinda agree with them about the NB rep in IF. I’m non-binary myself, just to make it clear that I’m speaking from my personal experience.

That said, I really appreciate what you said about Cody, and the way they identify and feel about their identity. I think a lot of IFs with NB characters will not allow the characters to present as gendered in any way, whether that be choice of pronouns, their sense of fashion (especially feminine fashion), their hobbies and interests (yes it’s stupid that some hobbies and interests are gender-coded, but I swear it seems like authors avoid giving stereotypically feminine or masculine hobbies and interests to their NB characters), etc. Readers aren’t even allowed to know if a NB character is afab or amab, which might contribute to anon’s point of authors treating it like a third sex. I get why asking is inappropriate, as a NB character’s genitalia is no one’s business. But some NB people outwardly present as their assigned gender at birth (so NB characters should be able to do that too), and some NB people would just like to relate to characters on another level (“hey, I was afab and now identity as non-binary too, maybe me and this character that I love had a similar experience growing up in a society where female is considered the second sex.” Idk it just feels weird to me when authors refuse to acknowledge that NB characters had/have gendered experiences, or make it seem like those experiences were/are inherently traumatic.

But like I said, I really appreciate the clarification you made about Cody. Just from the few things you said about Cody’s identity in the other anon post, I feel that the nuances of my own identity and how I present myself to the world are represented in an IF character for maybe the first time ever. Simply because most NB characters are gender neutral across the board, which isn’t bad at all, but sometimes, ya know, variety in representation is nice.

Obviously though, I’m not the voice of all non-binary people, and my personal feelings are just that: personal. I’m not trying to speak for everyone in the community, I’d just like to offer my personally experience and feelings. I’m not a gender studies expert and I’m still learning things every day. But I hope this was at least a little insight and/or helpful. Also, I hope this doesn’t come off as rude or anything, I really don’t intend it to. I’m fluent in English but it’s not my first language. Anyway thank you for sharing your story and characters with us, and don’t forget to take care of yourself ❤️

Hi anon! First of all, I’d like to say thank you so much for the feedback and for sharing your insight with me! It’s really helpful and appreciated!

I’m truly honoured that you feel like you can relate to Cody in some way, to be honest I wasn’t sure whether I was going to reveal that they were amab but then I kind of accidentally did it, and it felt okay to do that. Especially considering Cody is perfectly comfortable in their body and presenting in a masc way, they just also like presenting as fem, and don’t feel as though they fit in those incomplete social constructs that are the binary genders.

For other IF authors, that might be different, and each to their own honestly. As you so rightly said, it’s all about individual experiences and personal preferences!

Honestly your English is perfect, and you didn’t come across as rude at all, don’t worry!

Take care of yourself as well ❤️

#ask #cute ask #helpful anon #not if related #thank you so much!!!#<33333

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shaftking · 10 months ago

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I watched the third season of Heartstopper and there’s this character named Darcy who started identifying as nonbinary and going by they/them pronouns after expressing not wanting to be called a lady and preferring pants over skirts.

Now you could argue that Darcy is maybe coming to terms with being a trans guy and using the label as a stepping stone, but that would mean having to break up with a lesbian, so I don’t think the writers will make that happen. Otherwise, I don’t think this was a good move since it just reinforces stereotypes, especially since there aren’t any other gender non confirming characters on the show. It’s not a good look and is definitely not progressive. Plus it’s super discouraging for people like me who relate to Darcy but don’t subscribe to nb stuff.

Also I think it’s especially distasteful when one of Darcy’s friends is a trans girl who experiences dysphoria on screen. The two of them could’ve had a conversation about gender, but ofc nothing was done with that. Instead, Darcy is told by a side character to have “fun” with pronouns as if they’re quirky nicknames :/.

Anyway, I liked the season overall (it even inspired me to reach out to my therapist again after a long time), but I wish this kind of stuff was left out of it. It’s so hard to find LGBT media today that doesn’t include this type of ignorance smh.

Iirc I think I heard that that character was like? Enbywashed? Because they weren’t nonbinary in the original comic, just gay or something.

It is just completely irritating to see a show that has an opportunity to have trans characters prioritize nonbinary. I think I made a comment earlier about how the Sabrina series looked like it was leading up to having one character come out as a trans man, or maybe being butch? But then they decided to make the character nonbinary, probably because the actress identified as such. As far as I remember the show had zero actual trans people involved or as characters. It’s just insulting honestly.

#ask

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olderthannetfic · 4 years ago

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hi hi history-non again, sorry I know it's a very

ahem wide and girthy ahem

ask, and i'm sorry for not narrowing it down farther my brain is smooth as butter and the dart board, so to speak, is. big. i feel like im throwing my dart in the ocean of 'what i don't know' and trying to spear a fish who might speak to me like the queer elder i never ha d ;lkasjd;flkas damn you small conservative town ANYWAYS

i guess okay maybe do you have any favourite figureheads? whats your fave pieces of lgbtqa+ media (like books or shows?)

thanks again and sorry for.

uh.

big.

Lolololol. Yes.... it’s so... big...

In the 90s, the writers of nonfiction who I found really inspirational were Susie Bright and Kate Bornstein. My Gender Workbook was a classic. I gather there’s a new edition.

I was a massive, massive nerd, so my actual favorite queer book as a 14-year-old is one that will be a bit... uh... much if you’re not feeling very intellectual. It’s Third Sex, Third Gender: Beyond Sexual Dimorphism in Culture and History. This thing is a massive doorstop of a book that collects academic journal articles on third gender roles from various cultures. I was obsessed with this thing. Again, it’s academic journal articles, not popular nonfiction, so expect that level of impenetrable prose.

I was also a giant weeb, so I read a bunch of books on the history of gay sex in Japan. It’s pretty interesting how much people assume the “m/m sex = sin” shit was worldwide and how much it just was not.

In terms of fiction, I’ve always struggled to find f/f media I relate to. I really like the tv adaptations of Fingersmith and Tipping the Velvet. Lots of fucked up problematicness and gorgeous visuals. Gotta love the lady with the strap-on and the gold body paint!

For other queer media, I was a big fan of Velvet Goldmine and of Pedro Almodóvar’s older films, which are full of every problematic kink you can think of. They also have a lot of het I like, like the lady being coerced into sex (that she enjoys) by the drag queen who impersonates her famous mother she has a lot of mommy issues about... except said drag queen is really an undercover police officer. Just... whut. (All the “straight” stuff in Almodóvar’s films is also bugfuck nuts and often kind of queer.)

I really, really, really loved Crash. Not the shitty one that won an oscar: the car crash perverts one full of weird UST. There’s a ton of straight sex in this too, along with every gender combo and a laundry list of upsetting kinks. It’s just every kind of weird perv thing. (”Weird art film full of sex and problematicness” is pretty much the defining feature of movies I liked as a teen. I loved Kissed, that het necrophilia movie too.)

Stage Beauty is probably my favorite film for bi vibes. It’s this meditation on identity as the English stage was changing over from having men play women to having actual actresses. It ends in f/m, but it’s definitely a very queer film.

If you want slice of life stuff, I guess you could try Dykes to Watch Out For (the comic that’s the source of the bechdel test) or the Tales of the City novel series. These will both give you a sense of what was going on in certain queer communities in the late 20thC. If you want something relatively fluffy, Maurice is a historical costume drama with a happy ending. I found it awfully slow as a college student, but it does have naked Rupert Graves (Lestrade from Sherlock), so...

----

See, this is hard to answer because I came of age and did all of my reading of that kind a long time ago. I pretty quickly moved on to fangirl media, which I have always liked a lot better than other arguably queer stuff. Back in the 90s, that meant Japanese stuff and fic. Later, I had access to more flavors of by-fujoshi-for-fujoshi media.

So my actual favorite m/m books are a bunch of “m/m romance” (i.e. American BL being sold as ebooks on amazon). If you want live action TV and fandomy vibes, you’re better off with Trapped (hot cop/mobster action!) or one of those Thai series about schoolboys or something than stuff made by cis gay men in the US.

I also came of age in an era when “queer” media was very Cis Gay Men And Sometimes Cis Lesbians with an occasional nod to bi people existing... maybe. Kate Bornstein and a few others were raising the profile of MtF transsexuals (the term in use at the time) who wanted surgery or even, gasp, maybe didn’t want bottom surgery in some cases. Anything about FtMs or nb/agender/etc. identities was practically invisible. I saw the term ‘genderqueer’ around a bit, but it was mostly in contexts that were very tryhard and unappealing to me.

(You haven’t given any details, but I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re like much of tumblr and the flavors of queerness you relate to aren’t so much the Cis Gay Men Only culture that makes up quite a bit of queer history and older queer media.)

I can tell you what I liked as a teen, but not everybody is into fucked up art films that may not have happy endings. I can try to rec things about queer culture in the 90s, but I probably don’t have great recs for way earlier or later than that... unless it’s so much earlier that I’ve researched it while writing fic of some historical canon or other. A lot of how I learned about queer culture myself was from magazines or from reading soc.bi on usenet or just from living through the 90s--not typically from books that are easy to unearth and just hand to someone now.

I tend to just not like anything in the contemporary romance or slice of life genres, regardless of gender and orientation, so while I’ve watched/read a bit more queer stuff like this, especially in the past when I had less access to queer media, it’s not a space I’m great at reccing in. And that’s unfortunate because a lot of that type of art gives you a better sense of what other queer people were like in other eras and/or it’s a safer rec than some bananas crazy BDSM film.

I was, and am, very kinky (though pretty lazy in terms of actual practice), so a lot of my reading and media interest was bound up in that also. Obviously, I was quite interested in the drawings of Tom of Finland or the photography of Robert Mapplethorpe, but are you going to be into photos of some guy shoving a whip handle in his ass? I love the movie Cruising... it’s about serial killers and leather and homophobia and is every bit as potentially traumatizing as that sounds.

I feel you on the problem of finding queer elders. There isn’t really an obvious way to go about this.

#queer history #queer media #Anonymous

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