Summary: Jack's psychologist had recommended that he find a new hobby, and Jack chose to start cooking for his boyfriend. This resulted in small daily encounters and lunchboxes for work, given the amount Jack cooks.
warnings: just fluff, Jack might be like that in his role, but I imagine him as a caring person when he's off duty.
A/N: I don't use Y/N or variants in my fanfics.
It was morning when Jack came home; it was 7:12 a.m. when he walked in and lay down on the couch. he knew that at this hour you would have already left the house to go to work and wouldn’t be back until lunchtime so you could eat at home and grab the charger that was always on the counter; Abbot knew you left the charger there on purpose just so you’d have an excuse to stay home with him during your lunch break one of the few moments you got to spend together.
Jack’s blue eyes fixed on the counter with a smile as he saw the charger’s cord hanging there. He got up from the couch with a sigh and walked over to the counter with the wooden cabinets that you’d refused to let him replace with modern marble ones, saying the house would lose its charm.
A soft chuckle escaped Jack’s lips as he picked up the charger and looked around the empty kitchen. He leaned against the counter while fiddling with the charger. — What would I do without you— Jack said as he wound up the charger and placed it back in the corner of the counter. His hand ran along the cold marble until it reached the end of the counter where he was leaning, and he stared at the stove; a smile appeared on his face.
Abbot walked over to grab his jacket and wallet so he could leave the house and stop by the grocery store, having decided he would make lunch today so that you and he could spend more time together. His psychologist had already mentioned that he should take up some hobbies not that he’d taken that advice very seriously until now, when he saw an opportunity to have more free time with you and make you happy at the same time.
The trip to the market was quick for Jack: rigatoni pasta, tomatoes, Tuscan sausage, heavy cream, basil, and Parmesan cheese. Abbot hurried back home, leaving the grocery bags on the counter and grabbing the cutting board, the pot to boil water, the olive oil, salt, and black pepper.
When Jack looked up, it was at the sound of the front door opening; he saw you coming in with that look of complicity and feigned innocence — I forgot the charger— he heard your voice stop speaking as you entered the kitchen, the saucepan of sauce bubbling to thicken, and him grating the Parmesan cheese.
— Oh yeah, I saw a loose charger in the kitchen— Jack said as he set the grater and the cheese down in the bowl; he wiped his hand on his apron as he walked over to you. — How was your morning?— he asked, his eyes locked on yours; he kissed your forehead, waiting for your answer.
— Well, wow, I think I had an accident on the way here because that was definitely not on today’s to—do list— your reply drew a faint laugh from him as he slipped his hands into his pants pockets.
— Then I guess I hit the blank space on the bingo card— Jack said, moving his hand to your waist and guiding you to one of the counter stools. — Lunch today is Rigatoni alla Toscana— he said, placing a plate in front of you and another next to him.
— Wow, what made you decide to cook lunch?— Jack’s blue eyes looked at you as you asked the question, and a smile appeared on his face.
— I’m following what my therapist said, and I’m also spending time with you, because lunch is ready and now we have free time to be together during your lunch break.— — Jack said, leaning in and kissing your temple. — Come on, let’s eat— Jack said, already taking your hand and guiding you to the table that was set, with only the plates and the bowl of grated cheese missing.
He sat down next to him, placing a plate beside him and one in front of him. — You know, I could get used to this— Jack said, picking up the bowl and putting some Parmesan on his plate.
Throughout lunch, Jack was happy and kept looking at you. It was nice to spend a little extra time with his husband, and preparing lunch and other meals helped increase the quality time they had together he had the therapist to thank for that.
sypnosis. — ★ your 9 year old twin sons, leviathan and lucien, had been acting strangely for the past few days. you had thought maybe it was because their father, varka, had returned to mondstadt a few months ago and they were still getting used to him being home. that was until kaeya, your favorite loose lipped captain, had accidentally revealed to you that they were hiding a secret from you and your husband.
word count. — ★ 872
warnings. — ★ ftm!reader, established relationship, implications of pregnancy, reader is called mom/mama, angst if you squint, kinda yappy before getting to the actual plot of the fic sozzy
an. — ★ PLSSS do not look too deeply into the names, i have no creativity and used names of characters/people i like (levi from obey me and lucien lunaris from fsp en). sorry for basically disappearing i wasn’t kidding when i said i get major writers block <//3, also do not mention how this is a few days late for father’s day this randomly came to me. sorry for the abrupt ending, if i added any more the fic would have been 10 times longer cause im a yapper.
you knew your sons confided in their uncle kaeya (his words, not yours), but you didn’t think it would go as far as them keeping secrets from both you and your husband, varka.
you tried to not let your mind run rampant of what they could possibly be hiding from you after kaeya accidentally spilled the beans to you, not wanting to jump the gun and assume the worst.
you hadn’t told varka yet, knowing he would immediately “interrogate” them. you didn’t want them to think they were in trouble, because you knew they would never hide anything from either of you that could land them in harms way.
but a small part of you couldn’t help but think that they were hiding something like that, because why else would they look like they were antsy to leave the room whenever either you or varka entered?
the one time they did keep something harmful a secret when they were 5 while varka was away, they received a very long letter from their other father in another nation after you had informed him of what happened. safe to say they never did something like that again.
you would finally find out the reason for their actions on father’s day, a holiday you had forgotten your sons take very seriously.
“mama! papa!”
you felt the bed dip afterwards, then two more bodies pressing on top of you; making you grunt.
“wake up you two!”
it took you a second to fully register the voices, wearily blinking up at the ceiling as you pulled yourself out of slumber.
“what’s wrong?” you asked softly, sitting up in bed slowly. (as best as you could anyways, seeing as varka had an arm around your waist.)
“come down stairs, quick!” was all leviathan said before he and his twin climbed off the bed and raced downstairs, leaving you even more confused.
you turned your head to your left, bringing your hand to varka’s shoulder and shaking him.
“var, wake up.”
he hummed, rubbing his cheek into his pillow.
you shook him a little harder, “c’mon, wake up. the boys want to show us something downstairs.”
at the mention of a surprise from his sons, varka shot up in bed, making you jump lightly. he didn’t say anything as he got up, throwing a shirt on and heading downstairs.
you sighed heavily, getting out of bed yourself and slipping your house shoes on before heading downstairs as well.
as you descended the stairs, you had to stop just before the last step.
“varka? is everything okay?” you asked, noticing how your husband had stopped at the last step.
when you received no reply, you peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. you quickly understood why he had stopped.
your twin sons were standing in front of a cruelly made banner that said “happy father’s day!” with a cake with two lit candles on a table in front of them.
they nervously glanced at each other before speaking,
“we know uncle kaeya had said something to you mama about us hiding a secret, but we just wanted to surprise you and papa for father’s day…” lucien trailed off, clearly afraid that you and varka were going to be upset that they hid this from you.
you lightly pushed varka forward, making him realize how long he was standing there. he made his way over to where lucien and leviathan were standing, with you not far behind him.
“we love it, luci.” varka said as he affectionately ruffled lucien’s hair, then doing the same to leviathan when he pouted.
you walked behind the twins and put your hands on their shoulders, “it was very thoughtful of you two to do this for us.”
they both had proud smiles on their faces, obviously happy you two liked their surprise.
“oh! blow out the candles, then we can have cake!” leviathan said, lightly pushing you to stand next to varka in front of the table.
you and your husband looked at each other momentarily before turning to the still lit cake.
you both clapped your hands together and closed your eyes, quickly thinking of a wish as if it was your birthday.
i wish that my family is always happy and healthy…
i wish that my sons grow up to be well behaved men, unlike lohen…
you opened your eyes, looking at varka one last time before blowing out the candles together.
“can we have cake now?!” lucien excitedly asked, forgetting the time of day.
“we still have to eat breakfast, silly.”
both twins pouted at varka’s response, but knew there was no arguing with him.
as they ran into the kitchen for breakfast, varka turned to you as he wrapped an arm around your waist.
“what’d you wish for?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“if i tell you, then it won’t come true.”
varka pouted at your answer, showing where your sons got the habit from.
“c’mon you big baby, who knows how long those two can hold off on the cake.” you said as you picked the cake up to bring it into the kitchen, varka chuckling softly as he followed.
Summuary: You couldn't even come up with a decent lie looking him in the face, you were completely speechless, and you probably would have been even worse if he'd found out the truth. WC: 1.733
Pairings: Bruce Wayne x FtM!Batmom!Reader, Batkids x FtM!Batmom!User
Cw: Reader isn't out yet so he still uses she/her pronouns and femenine terms, such as mom or wife, passive suicide thoughts
You can't even say for sure what triggered this topic to resurface in your mind after all these years, with such ferocity. You don't know if it was simply the persistence of the subject or the realization that nothing more can be done, and that you are simply trapped here in a way, indefinitely.
But during the violent awakening and that infernal internal monologue, your mind filled with such a fog that you couldn't even perceive when you suddenly attacked the mirror in front of you that had been there for years, and you noticed even less when your husband's desperate voice invaded the room after he rushed in and saw your blood staining the floor while looking at the few shards of glass that still remained in the frame.
You only truly regained consciousness when they were already taking you to the infirmary in the cave; you were still quite dizzy and disoriented, but it was easy to say that they didn't even know what to say.
You woke up in Bruce arms with the gentleness and safety you expected, and Cass walking behind you two with such silence that it was impossible for someone without training to notice. You thanked whichever entity that Damian was at the Kent's farm for the weekend and that Duke was at his aunt's house.
And when you went down into the cave and Alfred, who was already there organizing some things for you, started tending to your hands, that was when the room really got heavy, but it was something you expected.
The inside joke in the family was that you were the saint, the only one with your head on straight. It didn't mean you remained an untouchable doll all these years; you've cried in front of them out of nervousness about producing a new work, out of anxiety about a release, and had your share of panic attacks over the fear of losing your kids during a mission or injuries that no mother should see in their own kids. It was more of a way for saying you was the only one that had "normal" problems, a consequence of being the one that wasn't direct involved with vigilantism.
So, for them, one random morning, after a really good night, after waking up in a great mood, while getting ready for work, you simply shaterring a mirror with your own fist while derealizating was something none of them could even dream of; they could barely imagine you having a fit of rage, let alone something like that.
No one lies to a bat, not even other bats, but you were not only a bat, but you're Batman's wife, the man who made that code. You never really went out into the streets, you didn't have a fixed uniform or a hero name, but you drove the Batmobile more times than any of the kids can dream, you handled more communications and mapping than Oracle, you tended to more injuries than Alfred, and you were definitely extremely important to maybe one case or a hundred.
You adapted to so many things in the span of a couple years that no one even imagined half the things you thought. You weren't just smart, you were one of them, which sometimes got forgotten amongst so much chaos, but you are one of the best of them.
But right now the situation was different, because you let your guard down around one of the best at reading people. Cass stared at you from head to toe, with an anxious but not profound expression, at least to outsiders. You were well aware of the whirlwind of information as he meticulously analyzed each and every move you made.
And your mind was on par with hers, what would she say, what would the others say? Because you know very well that you have two hours until everyone else knows, maybe three if you're lucky, and if this infirmary room already has a horrible atmosphere where nobody even knows what to say, imagine when all the other bats, stupidly caring for you, arrive?
Because you not only let your guard down, but you don't even know if you can raise it again, you don't even feel like you'll survive if you stay like this, but you have no other alternative, you don't trust that you'll be able to hold back if they start questioning or harassing you too much, especially if Bruce does something similar, the idea of seeing the reaction of the man you love so much while he discovers this perverse secret makes you want to vomit.
You've worked for years to stay here, and if it all ends like this, you don't even know what you're going to do with your life.
"[Name]? Can you hear me?" You heard Bruce soft voice finally bringing you back to reality. Apparently you dissociated so hard again that you didn't even notice when the other two leaved the cave.
You look to your hands resting in your lap, perfectly treated and fingers covered in bandages, but one much larger hand covers them and you bring you attention to your husband again.
"Sweetheart... What happened?" Bruce voice sounded awfully sad, what matched his expression that he was trying to hide. People often say that Bruce isn't more than a lovesick puppy when it comes to you, and you never doubt that, and that was what makes everything harder.
"I-I..." You try to sound more serious or maybe more put together but your cracked voice still gets over. It was the first time in years that you genuinely didn't have a clue on how to explain something. "I don't know, I was getting ready and started to zonig out and when I come back I saw what I did..."
Omitting was the best thing you could think of in that situation but also was the worse, you know damm well you don't will be able to hold it for too long.
"What you was thinking of? Did something happened at work those days or was something happening in the house?" Bruce just sounded more and more worry and it was breaking your heart at this point.
"I don't know? Maybe we should redo my blood tests? I just fell like... It was just unnatural of me you know" You even forced a heavy sight while your husband was just holding you stronger.
"I gonna call your work and say you need a day off and ask Alfred to redo your tests, ok babe?" You just nodded slowly while fell your heart aching as Bruce gets closer to you. "You know that I am here for everything you need, right darling? And if you ever fell that I am getting too distant you know you have all the right of scream how much as you wanna with me... Or maybe you can even talk to the kids or Alfred before come to me..."
No you are not here for everything, you don't want your wife to become your husband, you don't wanna me screaming in your face over how much I want to die, you don't wanna your family having contact with me after this, you don't wanna a man.
"Of course my dear" was the only words that come out of your mind, following a long a open wide smile that was dripping in silence fear.
Bruce may love you, and you don't doubt that, but hear him saying things like that hurts everything, because he doesn't even know half of what is happening, but this is all your fault, you can't even actually blame him for this.
In the end, he let you go with a kiss that was supposed alleviate your fears but it only made you fell more dizzy.
You went upstairs praying that Alfred had cleaned up for you, because there was no way you could do it yourself, but when you entered the room you not only found everything clean but also Cass, lying on your bed, with two small bowls of food.
"It's almost one p.m and you haven't eaten anything today…" She said without much emotion, but arranging the two small plates on the bed for you, which brought a genuine smile to your face at that moment.
Cass is the quietest of them all and your only girl—Steph would rather die than admit that you or Bruce were her parents—and sometimes you even feel that this makes some moments a little sweeter. She wasn't one to express what was happening with words, but this was her way of showing that she would be there.
You sat on the bed next to her and pulled her under your arm while you ate. You'd barely been in the room for 10 minutes and you could already feel her gaze, a look that said she knew something, but didn't have the whole story, so she was going to try, gently or not, to get you to talk.
But that's something she won't get out of you that easily; the idea of seeing your little girl react to such news isn't easy on your mind.
"My brothers are having dinner here tonight, by the way." Yes, exactly two hours. You honestly prefer not to know how that exchange of messages went or what their reaction was.
Your boys are the loves of your life, just like Cass, but the idea of having them around you, obviously trying to get information from you and not knowing what to do, was too stimulating for a day like that, but you knew that you couldn't avoid them for more than a day.
You didn't even answer, just sighed and shook your head slowly, for the tenth time that day, which was barely halfway through. It was to be expected that silence would now reign, while the two of them ate peacefully in bed, which would still elicit a complaint from Alfred, but you almost froze when you felt Cass snuggling closer to your side.
"I love you, Mom." Her voice was barely audible, a whisper so sweet it would warm anyone's heart.
"I love you too, my dear." You tried to respond in kind, kissing her forehead and taking a small smile from her. That's why you considered yourself one of the best among them.
A/N: everyone say thank you to my boyfriend for helping me talk through writing this. Ultimate writer’s block hack that I will be taking full advantage of
Also, sorry for the random posting, but I figured you all would like this better tonight than tomorrow
Written for this request
Dividers by @/firefly-graphics
CW: smut; explicit sexual content; petplay; muzzling; collaring; leashing; Bucky wears a gag; sub!Bucky; dom!Reader; ftm!Reader; Bucky is called ‘mutt’, ‘puppy’, ‘bad dog’, ‘good boy’, ‘babe’, ‘dog’, and ‘pup’; grinding; Reader’s wrists are pinned down; Reader’s parts are called ‘dick’ and ‘hole’; penetrative sex; drooling; brief crying during sex; edging; orgasm denial; praise kink; degradation kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; Reader is called ‘sir’; implied multiple rounds
1878 words
Bucky was not a person who let go of control easily. You knew this.
Which is why it’s all the more delicious that he’s letting you do this.
He’s kneeling next to your bed, barely resisting as you fasten the straps of the muzzle behind his head. You stroke his hair for a moment before tilting his head back.
He whines a bit, eyes glazed and dark with need. You smirk, barely biting back a chuckle at the dazed look on his face. The black metal of the muzzle looks so good on him and the gag inside makes his quiet sounds all the more thrilling.
“How’s that feel?” You murmur. “You look like a proper mutt now.”
He groans and drops his head forward, pressing the muzzle against the crotch of your boxers. The metal keeps him from mouthing at you and his whine sends a shiver up your spine.
“Aww,” you murmur, “Poor puppy doesn’t get his treat this time.”
He groans again and tilts his head to glare up at you. But you just smirk down at him and idly scratch at his scalp. He shivers immediately, melting into the touch and you chuckle.
“You gotta work for it this time, babe.”
Bucky whimpers in protest but you ignore it. Instead you tilt his head back again and clip the short leash to his collar. “There you go.”
He doesn’t protest as you tug on the leash. You guide him up and he climbs up, settling over you easily. His head lowers to nuzzle your neck but the muzzle stops him yet again.
He growls softly but you shush him. He just growls louder and drags the metal bars of his muzzle against your shoulder.
You grip his leash a little tighter, pulling it taut. A warning. “Come on, mutt,” you scoff. “You’re creative. You’ll figure something out.”
His growl turns into a whine and you soften a little. But only a little.
You grip his muzzle and drag his head up, fixing him with a look. “The muzzle stays on,” you say firmly.
He groans but you can feel the way his hips rut down against yours. You bite back a moan at the feeling. He’s so hard, already grinding against your boxers like he’s desperate to fuck you.
“You want it?” You barely manage to mask the tremble of need in your voice. “I just put the muzzle on you and you’re already acting like a damn dog.”
Bucky whimpers and shoves his muzzle against your neck again, rutting harder against you. You can’t hold back a moan this time, rocking up into his movements.
You reach down to push down your boxers but he growls and grabs your wrists. He pins your hands up over your head, easily keeping them there with his metal arm.
His other hand slides down, tracing along your body. Not to tease you, but out of awe.
He tugs down your boxers and tosses them to the side. His fingers swipe up through your slick to circle your dick and you moan at the touch.
“Fuck,” you groan, “You’re such a good boy.”
He shudders at the praise and you can feel his dick twitch against your thigh. Smearing precum against your skin. His muzzle presses harder against your skin, his breathing getting heavier.
You chuckle softly. “Come on, mutt. Don’t tell me you’re gonna cum that quickly. And without permission too.”
You’re expecting a growl, maybe some attitude. You’re not expecting the way he melts against you, whining pathetically. Rutting softly against your thigh like he can’t help it.
It sends a rush of electric delight through your body. “Oh, you like that?” You purr. “You wanna be a good boy then?”
Bucky’s groan is muffled by his gag, but it only makes the sound hotter.
“Come on, then,” you taunt. “Be a good boy, mutt. Fuck me like a good dog.”
He’s moving as soon as the words are out of your mouth. He growls and ruts against your slick hole a couple times, making you moan again.
You open your mouth to say something more. Something a little meaner. A little more goading.
But he gives you no warning before he’s pressing the tip of his dick to your hole and shoving inside.
“Fuck!” You arch, clenching down around him, “Oh, fuck, yes!”
He growls and starts to move. Rutting his hips against you to thrust his dick deeper into your eager hole. Every movement makes you shudder and moan.
He’s not even fucking you properly. He’s just rutting and rocking against you, shallowly thrusting in and out. And it’s so hot.
His muzzle knocks against your shoulder with every movement. His whimpers and stuttered breathing making your body pulse with heat. Every clench of your body around him makes another pathetic noise crawl from his throat and it only makes you clench harder.
Bucky groans again, body shifting over you as he starts to lift up. Probably to change the angle but you don’t care. You grip his leash tight, stopping him before he can get halfway up.
“Bad dog,” you gasp out. And he shudders.
He drops back against you with a pathetic whine, muzzle pressing sharply against your shoulder. But you don’t care, not when he ruts into you with renewed fervor. Not when he’s clearly chasing a high that’s almost in sight.
He whimpers and shivers and whines at you, drool dripping from the muzzle onto your skin. It’s ridiculously hot. Everything about him, everything about his desperation and his submission makes you burn with heat.
His thrusts get sloppier, his whimpers needier. He’s so close to cumming.
And you’re high on power.
“Not yet!” You moan out. “Not yet, puppy!”
The noise he makes goes straight to your dick. He almost sobs, his entire body jolting with the sound. He sounds agonized. Like it takes every inch of self-control and obedience in him to obey.
But he stops.
And he heaves for breath. Shaking and shuddering on top of you, gripping your wrists so hard it’s almost painful.
You grip his leash, keeping his head low. Letting his muzzle press to your shoulder. Shuddering and clenching so tightly around him as drool and tears leak onto your skin.
“Fuck,” you hiss out. Your body throbs with need. Your spine is tingling with delight at the way he obeys you. Your head dizzy with the rush of lust and glee and the desire to see just how far you can push him.
But it’s a whimper from Bucky that draws you back. A soft, pained noise. He’s trembling, dick twitching hard inside you. Free hand gripping the sheets under you like they’re a lifeline.
You loosen your grip on his leash.
“Good boy,” you croon softly. “You’re such a good pup, being so obedient like that.”
He shivers and melts against you again. A muffled moan echoing from his throat. He starts to move again, slow thrusts of his hips that make the slide of his dick intoxicating.
“That’s it,” you purr. “That’s my good puppy.”
He whines again, once more pressing his muzzle to your neck. And you finally take pity on him.
“You can do better than that,” you murmur, leaning in to softly bite at his muzzle. “You know the rules, pup.”
He whimpers softly but lets go of your wrists. Your hands move to his head, lightly gripping his hair. Softly rubbing your fingertips against his scalp.
He uses his metal arm to prop himself up while his other hand trails down your body again. He keeps thrusting, even as he circles your dick with his skilled fingers.
Your hands fist in his hair and you moan, arching under him as pleasure zings up your body. You’re already so wound up that it barely takes any time at all before you’re falling apart beneath him, shaking through a delicious orgasm.
He doesn’t stop thrusting all the way through it. Even when he stutters and whimpers with need at the way you clench so hotly around him. He doesn’t cum and he doesn’t stop.
You’re barely half recovered, barely able to remember how to form words. But you finally let go of his leash.
“Come on, mutt,” you moan out. “You’ve been a good boy. Now fuck me like a real dog.”
And he loses it. His hips snap forward, burying his dick inside you. He lifts up just enough to get the perfect angle and then he fucks you.
His hands grip your hips bruisingly hard. He pounds into you, shaking the bed with the force of his desperation. His head is tossed back and you can barely hear his muffled howls. He’s lost to his pleasure and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
You cum on his dick again and his thrusts speed up. He lets go of your hips to slam his hands down on either side of your head, leaning in close. You can barely think.
His drool drips into your open mouth and you greedily swallow it down. He groans above you, his hips stuttering like he’s on the very edge of cumming.
“Cum for me, puppy,” you gasp out. “Be my good boy!”
He breaks. He cums hard inside you, shudders of pleasure wracking his body. His thrusts turn to slow deep grinds of his cock, letting your body milk him into overstimulation.
Only then does he collapse against you. His breathing hard and fast.
Your fingers hasten to undo the straps of his muzzle and he lets out a pathetic moan as you gently pull it off him.
He buries his face in your neck, mouthing at your skin and dropping kisses against your shoulder. Sucking in deep breaths as you both come down from your highs.
You pet his hair as you both relax. His weight on top of you is familiar and comforting and soothes the greedy part of your mind that wants more.
He makes a low sound against you and starts to shift up. The movement makes you clench a little around his dick and he hisses from the sudden stimulation. “Fuck!”
You force your body to relax again and he pulls out with a soft groan. But his fingers immediately press to your hole, carefully pushing his leaking cum back into you.
“Bucky,” you groan, covering your face with your arm. Your face suddenly burning hot.
“What?” He murmurs, voice low and raspy. “I don’t have a knot to do this for me.”
A bolt of heat shoots straight to your dick at the thought and you clench hard beneath his fingers.
“We— You—“ Just the thought of his dick having a knot. Of his cum being kept inside you like that. Of you two being forced to cuddle until his knot went down. Just the thought has you dizzy with lust all over again.
Bucky just grins. “How else are we supposed to have pups together?”
You grab for his leash and yank him back down into a filthy kiss. “Shut the fuck up and fuck me again.”
He chuckles and kisses you back eagerly. “Yes, sir.”
You don’t let him leave the bed again for hours. And it’s worth every single minute.
remember the ask...? well... i'd love Jason todd with 23... and uh... yeah... you know... it's readers 18th birthday...? You don't have to, i'm is asking (goddamnit i'm so nervous this is my first request)
23. "Don't be gentle with me-l like it when you're rough."
Pairing: Jason Todd x GN! AFAB! Reader
Note: As a 33 year-old, I don't feel comfy writing this young of a reader. As such, I've elected to write Jason as 33 and the reader as 29. How you choose to read it is up to you.
●●●●●
When you've swallowed the last of him, he pulls you up into his lap, kissing you slow and searing - like he can't taste himself on your lips. One calloused hand gently yet firmly grips the back of your neck, holding your head steady as he claims your mouth. Your hands are cuffed in front of you in snug red leather.
You feel cream dripping out of you, and let out a whine of embarrassment, but don't dare move. Pulling back, the Outlaw looks you up and down, his eyes following the trail of wine-dark bruises he's sucked into the base of your neck, the hollows framed by your clavicles, all the way down your torso. "You look gorgeous like this, [your name]...wearin' my marks, so wet for me I can fuckin' taste it in the air."
Leaning back on the couch, Jason eyes you from beneath mostly-dark bangs and thick black eyelashes, searching. Even though he smirks, his voice is warm and earnest when he says, "You've been real good for me - so what does my baby want for their birthday? How can I spoil you, tonight, hm?”
"Sir, I told you..." You can't help but look a little offended, pouting. "Don't be gentle with me - I like it when you're rough."
He lets out a long-suffering sigh, but cracks a tired smile. "Okay, sweetheart. Thuddy or stingy?”
“Both, please. I don't want to be able to sit tomorrow without knowing who I belong to, Sir.”
“...Don't you have work tomorrow, [your name]?” The big brunette asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, from home.” You point out, cuffed hands clasped as if in prayer. “Please? I'll even edge all day, until you get home, if you want…”
Jason closes his hands over yours, laughing softly. “Goddamnit, you know I can't say no when you get like this - all needy an’ polite while you're drippin’ on my lap. Fine, you can have both - but tomorrow, I'm gonna’ eat you out until you forget your own name.”
When you open your mouth to protest, he holds up a finger and clarifies, “For my pleasure, not yours, baby. Don't worry, I'm not getting soft on you - I just like how sweet you taste.”
A wicked gleam in his eye, he adds, “Especially once you get ten or so deep, an’ start squirming. That's how I know I've ruined you for anyone else, that you're really all mine.”
●●●●●
I'm really rusty, but frankly, I'm bored, single, and recovering from surgery, so I've decided to make it y'all's problem. I'm back, if only briefly. Please lower your expectations.
EDIT: Although this fic was written with a more binary trans reader in mind, I'm hoping this fic will also be suitable for AFAB nonbinary people who are masc or male adjacent, which is where I might be at. I'm currently working dating hcs for Wallace with a nonbinary reader (which will be suitable for both AFAB and AMAB readers).
Relationship(s): Wallace Wells x transmasc!reader (romantic)
Warnings/info: Trans typical stuff, like dysphoria, transphobia etc. etc., sexual remarks, he/him pronouns for reader, headcanons were written in one sitting, when I was feeling not great. (Let me know if I need to add any)
(A/N: I've been reading a lot of Succession fics over the last few days. Last night I read a Roman Roy fic and for some reason it gave me this overpowering wave of dysphoria that I still have yet to fully recover from. Annoyingly, I have yet to actually watch Succession so this could have been avoided; I just think Kieran Culkin's hot and very gender so I couldn't resist pretending that someone with his face was my boyfriend. Reading about Roman made me think 'oh shit. Maybe I'm a flawed and pathetic little guy on the inside. But I just look like a woman who likes to kiss women and everyone treats me like a girl and uses my girl name and girl pronouns and that feels super gross and makes me want to live in a hole. Now I'm going to feel bad about that for the next few days.' So, yeah, I'm having another transmasc crisis that I'm using fanfiction to get me through. I figured Kieran Culkin started this, so I might as well write something featuring a character of his that I can actually write for. This is a self-indulgent and self-explorative treat for myself, but I hope that transmasc readers can enjoy this, too. If you'd like more Wallace stuff, trans stuff or Wallace AND trans stuff, feel free to send in a request. I really want to provide more fics for transmasc readers because you guys are super underrepresented (and, y'know, Papa Gonzo-rella wants to explore his gender a little more). Also, I swear that I will get around to watching Succession, and I more than likely will end up writing for it when I do.)
Respectfully, Wallace does not give a shit that you’re trans.
Of course, he doesn’t flat-out ignore it, because it’s part of who you are, but it isn’t an obstacle in your relationship by any means, and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.
If you’re feeling dysphoric and/or otherwise insecure about yourself, he’ll pinch your cheeks and tell you how handsome and sexy you are.
If you’re feeling especially bad, like ‘not getting out of bed and hiding from the world’ bad, he’ll keep you company and say what he can to reassure you.
Being mushy and sincere truly isn’t his thing, so whatever he says will sound either slightly insensitive (but still pretty sensitive as far as Wallace goes), facetious or like he wants you to get over how you’re feeling so he can fuck you.
But, he genuinely doesn’t want you to feel bad and you can tell he cares, because otherwise he wouldn’t be there for you when you're feeling your worst.
Wallace is very affirming, but in his own Wallace way.
He lovingly refers to you as his lameass boyfriend.
If Scott ever compliments you about anything, Wallace will call him gay.
He will shout ‘gay’, like the Senor Chang meme.
"Hey, man, I like your shirt-"
"Ha, Scott's gay!"
"I-I'm not gay! I just like his shirt."
"What's wrong with being gay, Scott?"
"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with being gay!"
"You really need to work on your internalised homophobia, Scott. To think, my gay lover and I share a bed with a bigot."
If you’re doing anything that he knows will make you dysphoric or exacerbate your dysphoria (for example, scrolling through social media and looking at cis dudes that give you gender envy) he’ll shut it down.
Using the aforementioned example, he’ll snatch your phone off you and close the app, saying: “Nope. Make better decisions.”
And, while you’d initially be annoyed at him for grabbing your phone, you will appreciate it in the long run.
If you have testosterone shots but you’re not a fan of doing them yourself, he’ll begrudgingly help you with them.
He will make a very Wallace comment, though
“Stabbing? I didn’t know you were that kinky.”
If anyone’s a dick to you about being trans, Wallace is always ready to go with a snide remark about the other person, because of all the things you could possibly mock his lameass boyfriend for, being trans is at the bottom of that list.
(He should know, as the person who makes fun of you the most.)
Also, he cares about you very, very much and he doesn't want people being transphobic to his boyfriend.
If you’re cool with it, he will make trans jokes, but nothing ‘attack helicopter’ or ‘attack helicopter’ adjacent, because he’s too clever for that and he can come up with better material that isn’t just derivative, transphobic garbage.
If you get your period and it makes you at all dysphoric, be prepared for this exchange:
“Don’t worry. Scott pissed blood last month and cried about it and he’s still a man.”
“Did-did he go to the doctor?”
“I don’t know. He seems fine now, though.”
If you still have boobs and don’t mind them being touched or otherwise acknowledged, he will use them like a pillow.
If you decide to get top surgery, he will make the following request:
“Well, if you’re not using them, can I have them? I need a pillow that Scott won’t steal. And, he wouldn’t steal your tits, because he knows I’d call him gay for it.”
“Why are you like this, Wallace?”
“Selfish.”
Being trans doesn’t make your relationship much different from any of Wallace’s other relationships.
You’re just, for better or worse, another one of Wallace’s boyfriends.
warnings: kissing/making out, underage drinking, reader wears a binder, loooots of talking and thinking about feelings, no mentions of the murders (do with that what you will), Charlie is confused about his sexuality, kinda mentions Kirby x Charlie in the past?, trans angst based on my own experience
authors note: I didn't find anything more creative than a game of spin the bottle, forgive me. also this is my first fic ever, so support is appreciated :)
The kitchen air smelled of stale beer, flat soda and boredom. Outside, everything looked still, frozen in time, in stark contrast to the high pitched scream streaming in from Kirby’s living room, the flickering lights of the gory slasher movie Robbie had insisted the group rewatched, as he did at least three times a year. In an attempt to flee the overwatched dialogues and murders, you had escaped to the dark kitchen, taking as long as possible to grab a soda from the well-stocked fridge. Everybody else seemed absolutely enthralled by the flashing images, Robbie above all and, sadly, Charlie too. You had only come to this “party” (not really a party) as an excuse to spend time with the boy, but you’d barely had a chance to speak to him, he’d already been at Kirby’s side when you’d arrived, and he hadn’t left it at all. Boredom had slowly seeped in, and while trying to sneak glances at Charlie and somewhat look interested at what was going on in the movie, you’d finally sneaked off into the kitchen, after a mumbled excuse about being thirsty.
You leaned against the counter, taking a sip of soda, looking through the darkness at Charlie’s sharp features, at his eyes fixed towards the screen, mesmerized by the blood on-screen. You rubbed your eyes, sighing, wincing as the edge of your binder dug into your ribs. How could you have been so stupid as to hope for his attention when you knew that the boy was pining for Kirby, the blond angel. You couldn’t hate her, she was an absolute sweetheart, one of the first to accept your transition, the first to defend you, the first to invite you anywhere, and specifically tonight, she’d offered to let you stay the night, and offer that you’d graciously accepted, eager to get away from home. You understood Charlie: Kirby was probably one of the best people in this town, and one of your closest friends.
But you were starting to regret your decision of even coming, you felt completely forgotten and out of place. You finally made your way back to the living room just in time to see Robbie pause the movie near the end to explain a useless detail of the plot, one that he’d already underlined in the past. His remarks were accompanied by a disgruntled chorus of disappointment and a throw pillow chucked at his face by an annoyed Jill. You chuckled softly at the odd scene unfolding in front of you and went to plop down on the far end of the couch, when Kirby spoke up in your direction:
“Cmon, sit here, next to me!”
She scooched over, leaving a gap between her and a panicked-looking Charlie. A million thoughts crossed your mind in that moment, and most of them either included running away or passing out.
“No, don’t worry, I’m fine where I am,” you managed to force out.
“Nuh-uh, as host, I demand you sit next to me,” she joked. Since she didn’t seem to want to let it go, you dragged yourself over and plopped down on the couch, hoping Charlie wouldn’t be too pissed at you sitting between him and his longtime crush. You didn’t even dare look in his direction, and anyway, Robbie was already shushing everyone as he resumed the movie.
The end of the movie was a blur, you’d seen it so many times that you spent your time curled up on the sofa, refusing to look at Charlie for more than a second at a time, mostly letting your mind wonder as to what could be, but never would.
Charlie was straight, you knew that. You also knew that he liked Kirby. You were gay, everybody knew that. And most importantly, like a blaring neon sign above your head, to your dismay, you were trans. It wasn’t easy feeling accepted, especially in such a small town where everyone knew everyone. You’d lived in Woodsboro forever, people had known you as the little girl grappling for her femininity, dressed in the frilliest dresses, hair falling to her waist. Seeing you grow into a boy, then a young man, was odd to them. It took a while for people to accept your transition, and though you’d found lots of allies and friends, you’d also discovered how horrible certain people could be. In short, it was difficult. You were sick of the comments, the stares, the judgement. You’d rather people just kept ignoring you, it would be softer on everyone that way.
Charlie was a person who you’d not interacted with enough to know what he thought. In hopes of saving yourself the humiliation, you stayed mostly away from the boy you liked, you pined from afar, and he never made a step in your direction, no matter how hard you hoped. Tonight was a last resort, and clearly, it wouldn’t amount to much.
You snapped out of your rêverie as the final credits began to roll, and you felt Kirby stir beside you. Robbie seemed ready to immediately play another movie, but Kirby stopped him easily with a single glare. She stood up, turned on some soft lights, and spoke loud, overtop the other conversations.
“Let's play some games. This doesn't feel like a party.” She stared pointedly at Robbie, who was too busy rifling through her movie collection to notice. The blond grabbed an empty bottle from a nearby table and waved it around. Jill turned to face her.
“Spin the bottle? What are we, thirteen?”
“Oh come on, it’ll be fun.”
Everyone seemed to agree with Kirby, except you, but you didn’t dare speak up. Instead, you slipped away to seek refuge in the kitchen again. As you walked past the girl, she seemed to want to say something, but a pleading look from you convinced her to stay quiet. She followed away from the others, into the kitchen.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine… party games aren’t really my thing, sorry,” you mumble back.
“Are you sure? It’ll be fun, I promise. Plus, it’s just us, you know everyone here.”
You glanced beyond her, at Charlie, who was sitting on the floor, talking with Robbie.
“It’s more for your sake… I don’t think many people are eager to kiss me.”
“So what? No one here wants to makeout with Robbie and he’s still playing.”
“Yeah but he has an obnoxious ego.”
She giggled.
“True, but still. I think you should play.”
“I don’t think I have the guts for that, Kirby.”
“I have a remedy for that.”
She walked to the fridge and came back brandishing a bottle of beer, looking exceedingly proud of herself.
“Your solution is beer?”
“Liquid courage.”
You smiled against your will. Her good mood was infectious, bleeding out onto your skin and into your heart.
“You’re trying to get me drunk.”
“Maybe.” She smiled childishly. “Alright, yeah, I am. But can you blame me? You’re a very fun drunk.”
“Kirby, I-”
“Oh shush, you’re sleeping over, right?”
“I guess.”
“Then drink.” She practically shoved the bottle in your hands. “Cmon, you’ll have fun.”
Reluctantly, you took a sip of beer and followed Kirby back into the living room, where everyone was sitting in a circle.
“Jesus, this looks like a cult,” you mumbled. In the corner of your eye, you caught Charlie smiling at your comment, and you felt your heart swell. You plopped down on the floor, between Kirby and Olivia, directly across from the boy, and took another sip of beer. It wasn’t hard liquor, but you were drinking on an empty stomach, and you were tired, so you could already feel a fuzzy warmth spreading through your body.
Still, you crossed your fingers that the bottle didn’t land on you, you’d rather not be involved than see the look of disgust on Charlie’s someone’s face. The game took off, but you were too deep in thought, slowly growing tipsier, to notice much of what was happening. Suddenly, you heard someone call your name. Panicked, you looked up, thinking the bottle was pointing at you, but it was the second worse thing that could happen: it was your turn. There was a tense silence in the room and as you looked around at the hesitant faces, you mumbled:
“I should just skip my turn.”
A few faces relaxed, but Kirby frowned. She handed you the bottle.
“Cmon Y/N, it’s fine, just spin.”
You took the bottle from her hands and placed it in front of you. You glanced at Charlie, who seemed to be interested in everything but you, and with a deep breath, you spun the bottle. It seemed to go on forever, and you were growing dizzy from how hard you were staring at it, as if willing it to explode. It started to slow down, and you wished you could disappear. It stopped spinning, pointing straight ahead of you. You couldn’t even get yourself to look up, you didn’t want to see his face. But you had to.
You glanced at Charlie, and he looked absolutely bewildered. You saw him looking at Kirby, looking panicked, and you catch her shrugging. You opened your mouth to talk, but the alcohol made you slow, and someone beat you to it.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
It’s Trevor. Grade A asshole, you thought to yourself. But he was right. You nodded and mumbled an agreement. Charlie stayed quiet for a moment, then finally spoke up, directly at you.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just a game.”
And the world seemed to crash down around you.
“What?” Your tone betrayed your shock. He shrugged.
“I said I’d do it. Wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t. Everyone else played, it’s only fair.”
You nodded slowly; and Kirby gently pushed you to get up. You had a feeling she knew about your crush on the long-haired boy, even though you never mentioned it, and you silently thanked her for encouraging you to play. You slowly walked towards Charlie, staring at your feet, willing for time to stop and to go faster at the same time. You stopped in front of him, and you could feel everyone staring at you. You took a deep breath, and through the slight beer-induced haze, you leaned towards him. You were terrified. You were scared he’d regret, pull back, but no. He met you halfway, and you swore you heard someone gasp. His lips were dry, they tasted of soda and chapstick, they moved hesitantly, slowly. You felt his hand brush your waist softly, right before you pulled back, and you were sure you felt him chase your lips before straightening up and looking away. You bowed your head to hide your profuse blush and headed back to your spot next to Kirby, who was smiling excessively.
The game went on in a blur, neither you nor Charlie being called on again. Eventually, people started to break off and the game died down. You excused yourself and rushed upstairs. It was much quieter there, and you stepped into the guest bedroom you used when you spent the night at Kirby’s. Slumping on the bed, you took a minute to collect yourself.
Holy fuck.
Holy. Fuck. You could still taste Charlie on your lips, you could still feel him somehow. The kiss had lasted a fraction of a second, or a million years, you couldn’t tell. You looked at your reflection in the mirror in front of you, it felt like you were looking at another person. No physical differences, but something changed. It scared you how much one kiss with Charlie, in such an unserious context, had impacted you. The moment was replaying over and over again in your head. You couldn’t face him after that, you really couldn’t. You considered staying in here for a while, but you knew Kirby or another one of the girls would come get you eventually. So, after making sure that you looked presentable, you headed for the bedroom door, but as it swung open, you jumped when you saw someone standing there. Your heart rate tripled when you realised that it was Charlie. He seemed just as startled as you.
“Oh, hey… everything okay?” you managed to ask.
“Yeah, Kirby sent me to get you. She said she needed help with something.” You noticed he looked shy, a faint blush coloring his pale skin.
“I’ll be right there.”
He nodded and started to walk away, but stopped when he heard your voice.
“I’m sorry about earlier”
“What for?” He looked at you quizzically.
“The um… the game? The kiss,” you blurted out.
“You don’t need to apologize for that-”
“I know, it was just a game, but still, I’m sorry you were in that position-”
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“I wanted it to happen. I liked it.”
The words vanished from your mouth, and you stared at Charlie, bewildered. You could feel your face go red.
“I’m sorry, what?” you finally managed to ask.
“I said I liked it.”
“And before that?”
“I was… was hoping for it.”
Nothing seemed to make sense. You ran a hand through your hair.
“You don’t need to say anything,” he said, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
He started to walk away, and you wanted to say something, you really did, but you couldn’t get any words out, nothing coherent. You saw him disappear down the stairs, and cursed yourself for being so slow.
What had even happened? It must’ve been a hallucination, right? A sick image conjured up by your hazy, lovesick mind, to taunt you. There was absolutely no way Charlie had just said that he’d liked, that he’d wanted it. You rushed down the stairs, back down to everyone, scanning the faces. You found Kirby before finding the boy: she was all smiles and excitement. She rushed to see you, and you took a few steps in her direction.
“He’s outside, if you’re looking for him.”
Both of you knew who she was talking about.
“You knew?!”
“Of course I knew.” You stared at her, shocked.
“What? How?”
“I’m the only one who knows Y/N, don’t worry… I think even Charlie himself was confused.”
Things made even less sense now.
“I think you should go talk to him.”
“Fuck no… I can’t face him.”
“Sure you can. You have to.”
She seemed set on pushing you towards him, but you were too frazzled to do anything, let alone in Charlie’s general direction.
“Oh cmon, he’s just as nervous as you are yknow? It would be cute if I wasn’t getting frustrated at the fact that neither one of you wants to make a move. You have to do something.”
“I’ll fuck it up”
“You won’t.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“You’re overestimating my skills Kirby.” She grabbed your forearm, gently pulling you towards the back door. You kept trying to free yourself, to convince her to let you go, but it was no use. The door was right in front of you.
“Kirby-”
“Y/N. He likes you. I know, he’s talked my ear off about it. You like him, obviously. What could go wrong?”
“So much could go wrong.”
“Nothing will, I’m sure.”
And with that she opened the door for you. With a last pleading look, you stepped outside. The porch seemed empty, but Charlie appeared from around a corner. He looked like an angel in the moonlight, pale skin, piercing eyes, hair almost glowing silver.
“Hey,” he mumbled.
“Hi”
Neither of you seemed to know what to say. A laugh tumbled from his lips, and you relaxed a little.
“Fuck um…” You looked away, the back at him. “I had no idea.”
“I wasn’t sure either. I just… felt something, I guess, but I didn’t really know what it was. I didn’t know I liked… boys.”
He’d called you a boy. It was stupid, but it meant everything. You could feel butterflies fluttering in your chest, between your ribs.
“What about Kirby?” you asked, still wondering about his alleged crush on your friend. He frowned.
“What about her?”
“Everyone seems to think that you like her.”
He stayed quiet for a moment, looking at you.
“I did. In the past.”
“Oh.”
“But we wouldn’t work. We’ve both established that.”
He looked away and started pacing, walking along the lines of the wooden porch.
“But we stayed friends. She’s the only person I told about… you”
“Oh wow.”
“I know.” He looked at you again. “She helped me figure things out.”
“I guess I have her to thank, huh.”
“I guess so.”
The air smelled sweet outside, vividly fresh in your throat and lungs, slowly bringing you out of the lethargic state you were in. You’d lost your beer at some point, but you’d drunk enough to be enjoyably tipsy and giddy, especially out here, alone with Charlie. You found yourself unable to hold his gaze without feeling your cheeks flush, so you let your gaze wander along the treeline, or towards the illuminated windows.
“Sorry,” you felt yourself mumble, “I’m not good at this shit, I’m making it awkward.”
The boy frowned, leaning against the banister.
“You’re not, don’t worry.”
“And sorry if the kiss was bad,” you added.
“It wasn’t.”
“And sorry for apologizing so much.”
He laughed softly at that.
“You’re forgiven.” Then, “So… that kiss.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I could do it better if you give me another chance.”
“I’d give you as many chances as you need”
And with that, his hands were firmly on your waist and his lips pressed against yours. He still tasted of chapstick, but something stronger tainted his lips, something inebriating and velvety, some of Kirby’s liquid courage probably. The kiss was messy and uncertain, but desperate. Both of you had waited and imagined and wished for too long to not enjoy this moment. You finally pulled back, breathing heavily, fire of the alcohol smeared on your lips, his grip tight on your abdomen, your arms resting on his shoulders.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much… but there’s room for improvement. Try again,” you answered, smiling slightly. He didn’t hesitate, pressing you against the banister, joining your lips again. Your lips dropped open, and you could feel him in your mouth, you could taste him, warm and heady. A soft sound escaped you, loud in the quiet of the garden, and you felt him smile. His hips were pressed against yours, and you grabbed his face to have something to hold on to, and in that moment, you could feel everything with such glaring reality that it all made sense, for once.
When, a while later, you both walked back inside with messy hair and swollen lips, pupils blown wide and giddy smiles on your flushed faces, not a single person could question what had happened outside. It all felt like a dream, but for once, it was real, his hand was in yours, hidden underneath the table, and nothing felt so bad anymore.
Hello, can I request an ftm reader who just finished his transition, but the team (except Hotch) didn't know he was ftm, so they are confused when they see the reader super happy and Hotch congratulates him for finishing his operations/transition ?
Have a nice day !!!
A/N: Hiya, sorry this isn't too long, but hopefully you enjoy it!
Warnings: none? Reader's had a surgery but a good one
You grinned, walking into the bullpen practically beaming and with a confidence the team had not seen before. You had taken two months off, with a vague explanation of ‘medical stuff, but don’t worry guys, nothing’s wrong’. This, of course posed more questions than answered them.
“Hi guys!” You chimed, it was your first day back. Granted, you were still on light work for a few weeks to ensure you were fully recovered before taking any unsubs down.
“Looks like someone’s up and ready to fight crime!” Garcia cheered loudly, immediately embracing you in a hug. You hugged back. “Oh how we’ve missed you!”
“I missed you all too.” You smiled.
“(Y/N), it’s good to see you.” Hotch greeted, “Congratulations.”
“Thank you sir,” You beamed.
“How does it feel?”
“Good. It feels really good.” You gave a soft smirk, “One could say it’s a weight off my chest.”
Morgan frowned slightly, looking between the two of you. “Alright, what’s going on?”
“I’ve completed my transition, that’s right folks, like the Pokémon I have evolved.”
“I’m so confused.” Spencer whispered quietly.
You give a quiet laugh, “I’m trans, and this was my last operation and now I’ve completed my transition,”
“Give us a twirl!” Garcia grinned as the others congratulated you.
You did so, twirling. “Ta-da.”
“Handsome as ever.” You give a laugh at Garcia’s words.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” You said, slightly sheepish. “I wasn’t exactly sure how to broach the subject.”
“I mean, Pokémon was a good way to do it.” Prentiss said.
