#its like calling some guy 'the man' like yeah he sure is huh

[softness-and-shattering]

I think in general it can be easy to forget that other people dont come out and then immediately transition and be fully their true gender in every single aspect, indistinguishable from the outside as a person who's trans at all. I had an...interaction with a few trans femmes like a month or so ago, about a trans guy who had miss-stepped pretty badly in trying to avoid dysphoria, because he had been misgendered by family all day. From that context he's probably a teenager and therefore probably not transitioning much. (I know this is a lot of assumption but I think its fair?). He's been called a girl and treated like a girl all day. And these...femmes? Can I say that? were acting as though he was being a classic entitled guy oozing fragile masculinity. This young person being called a girl all day may know himself to be a man but its clear nobody else in his life does. Nobody looks at him and sees a man. Yeah of course barely hatched trans people are fragile and sensitive about their gender. Doesn't make him entitled to demand whatever from others, but also doesn't make him an entitled macho bro-dude, it makes him someone fucking up because he's in pain.

It sometimes happens to me a little bit the other way in discussion of how like, queer spaces not really being inclusive because you have to pass a femininity vibe to check to get in can be transmisogynistic. Every now and then Im like "huh, this is a trans guy/butch problem" and then I remember, trans women who dont 'pass' also fall into the 'too masculine-looking to be "safe" for femmes and thems' category. Which is also why Im not totally sure on the exact definition/scope of transmisogyny, because from my perspective this particular thing is about anti-masculinity regardless of if its deliberate or wanted or intended, and regardless of one's identity because its an external judgement being made. I think its also getting harder for trans guys to 'pass', like top surgery and what top surgery scars look like are becoming more known. And theres the whole clusterfuck discussion about how people are perceived and how people want to be perceived and in some places if you wear a dress youre seen as obviously a woman but in other places with the exact same presentation youre seen as a man in a dress. I dont have anything to add there, just thinking about it.

wait where are all the trans guys

Historical-anthropological research, especially the work taking place before the 21st century or outside the West, tends to focus entirely on transfeminized groups. So when reading these works it’s pretty natural to ask — wait, where are all the trans guys? This is a reasonable question with a few clear answers; this post is something quick I can point people to.

The central condition of transfeminized groups' absorption into feminist activism has been to accept a kind of symmetry with select TME groups through the understanding of trans femininity as "gender variance." Under this framework, transfeminized groups' social position can be understood as a consequence of gender variance and some abstract violation of cis norms; this was proposed by people like Susan Stryker and Emi Koyama [1], among others, and continues to structure trans inclusion today. It also fails when considering several basic aspects of these groups:

Transfeminized groups are associated with hyperspecific labor practices, most frequently sex work, but also hair styling, drag, makeup artistry, acting, and other forms of 'gender work.'

Metropolitan transfeminized groups appear in the archive as highly clustered and active groups connected with, but usually intensely split from, the masculine men they fucked.

Transfeminized groups become a kind of 'third gender' on an epistemic level; they are Known to wider society before and after “coming out” in a way that USAmerican transmasculinity has only recently vaguely approached.

Transfeminized groups are heavily clustered in labor practice, social organization, and epistemic position, although this is not universal -- certain strains of USAmerican transfemininity have become a bit more labor-agnostic in the last two decades, not-so-coincidentally alongside more general currents of gender-labor liberation. The messy strains of trans male identity recovered from the archive and from current practice tend to lack labor, social, and epistemic coherence. As Aaron Devor notes in FTM, his 1997 history of FTM men, trans men in the 20th century tended to transition out of cities and into the countryside, finding low-profile places they could exist in. These practices, and the earlier "female husband" practices described by Jen Manion, relied on the labor-agnostic nature of transitioned manhood in order to disappear from public life. Transfeminized groups, on the other hand, are categorically restricted from the main form of economic life historically available to women -- marriage. Their labor practices are heavily constrained and have almost always revolved around some form of 'gender work:' as Susan Stryker put it, you need to get people to pay you for being a trans woman. Transmasculinity pushes away feminized restrictions on labor; trans femininity is labor.

Because transfeminized identities are so often labor-identities, and because their specific brand of 'gender work' and hormonal/silicone/surgical embodiment usually requires both specialized training and community support, nearly every metropolitan center in the world developed highly centralized transfeminized groups over the course of the 20th century [2]. As Ochoa notes, this visibility is partially due to epistemic visibility (everyone knows what a trans is), partially due to group structure (people work and train each other), and partially due to the selectively visible demands of finding clients. Fledglings come in with a way of being that is always already visible to society, but changing the body to match and learning how to fully enact and slowly contest the third-gender labor-identity they've been given takes a lot of community support.

So as labor-identities, transfeminized groups tend to a level of labor/community/epistemic coherence that has no clear counterpart. The news archives we have of trans men (as seen in Manion) position them as singular and easily absorbed back into the female gestalt; the cisgender feminist/gayguy/AIDS researchers that form the bulk of historical-anthropological work saw them as unnecessary to their grand theories of gender; the communities themselves have been materially fractured and, for the groups that rise out of lesbian-feminist activism, only partially committed to their own existence. The result of all this is that there is no clear equivalent to the "transfeminized groups" of Jules-Gill Peterson; there is no symmetry to trannydom, and while additional work to unearth trans manhood in the archive remains extremely valuable, sometimes the necessary level of label-coherence and social existence just isn't there.

[1] Stryker, "My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage," Emi Koyama, "The Transfeminist Manifesto" [2] As seen in Namaste, Invisible Lives, Prieur, "Mema's House, Mexico City," Kulick, "Travesti," Newton, "Mother Camp," Ochoa, "Queen for a Day," Hegarty, "The Made-Up State," and plenty more. Most of these works came out in the late 80s and 90s due to a combination of the feminist "third gender" craze, the burgeoning field of masculinity studies, and AIDS.

[kowroo]

really looking forward to season 2: patrolling the mojave

[ansel-rae562]

The new Doorman

[Doppleganger!Milkman x Reader]

°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•

{Author's note: So I accidentally made a promise to a bunch of people in tiktok so here I deliver you a smut, please note this is my first writing one since I'm more into Angst and I also made this gender neutral as I can so yeah.. Enjoy!}

~°~°~°~°°~°~°~°~°~°~°°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°

First day of Job being a doorman! finally you found a job, looking for one is a bit hard. And this is quite a high pay so why not but this one involves dealing with doppleganger's which is kinda dangerous but the D.D.D assured you that you'll be safe as long as you stay in your office.

After you watched the introductory film explaining about how the job works, you opened the metal window and saw the D.D.D personel

"Welcome and congratulations on your new Job! Remember you have to watch out carefully for the doppleganger's. There are times that the neighbors are not on the list, check their ID's closely and their appearance's as well, or else you and the others may end up dead.. That's all you may continue"

The personnel left and you decided to check the today's list

"Okayy.... So here will be the expected people..."

Izaack Gauss

Mia Stone

Albertsky Peachman

Elenois Sverchtz

Francis Mosses

Anastasia Mikaelys

"Wow... Uhuh that's quite alot....but nothing I can handle"

A few minutes later a person came "Good morning, I see you're a new doorman" The woman said as she handed in her ID "Good morning and Yes I am ma'am" You greeted then looked at her ID 'Gloria Schmicht'.... "Uh ma'am? May I ask why are you not in today's list?" You asked "Oh It's cause my mother had an emergency and I had to be there" After checking all the files and seeing almost no anomalies you called the apartment just in case and found out that the wife is actually home "Sorry nope, bye" you said immediately pressing the danger button and calling the D.D.D.

Hours passed by dealing with a few doppleganger's which some of them being visually creepy and threatening you till a man came, he was wearing a white button up shirt and a white hat that has 'Milkman' written on them. He looks tired, bags under his eyes showing then he spoke "Good afternoon, here's my ID and entry request" you stared momentarily before deciding to check all information, he also has an attractive voice which made you blush a little.

Learning that his name is Francis and he's the local milkman around town you couldn't help but have a little crush I mean he's attractive, his voice is also attractive, tired guys may or may not also be your type and he does have a pretty decent Job so he does perfectly fit your dream guy. Not long after it's finally night time and also the end of your shift, you packed your items that you brought with you then the one who'll exchange with you arrived "Hey..." She greeted "Hold on a sec, have to make sure you're the real one" you said checking all the workers files "Wow darling... Taking your job very seriously huh?.. impressive" she said with a subtle smile, she has green eyes and bags are shown under her eyes, she looks like she has been doing this for years.

"Well yeah... Don't want to lose a high paying job ya know" you replied and confirming that she's the real one "hmm, Understandable" you opened the metal door and she bid you goodbye "Careful darling, some doppleganger's are hostile and might attack you, here take this it's a 200v taser.... don't worry i have plenty" you thanked her and left to fo home. Walking home is kinda creepy especially at night, you wouldn't know when a creature of some sort is gonna pounce on you right now that's when you heard a rustle on a nearby bush then something jumped out.

It was cat... Quite a big one but it was injured on its side, you went closer and tried to reassure the cat "Hey... Hey there kitty, don't worry I'm a friend.." as you said those words the cat looked at you with a mix of hatred and confusion "I can help... I promise, I won't hurt you like whoever did that to you" The cat slightly calmed down and let you pick them up, you arrived home and put your bag down as well as settling the cat on your table and immediately finding the first aid.

You tended to the cat's wounds and surprisingly it just let you do your work, you winced to yourself finding that the wound is a bit deep "Gosh who would hurt a cat... They're sweet" finishing it up you wrapped the cat up with gauze "there you're all fixed up kitty... Hm.. i guess I could also feed you since you're at my house" you then went to your fridge to look for something to feed the cat and for yourself.

"You settling alright kitty?.." you asked, after feeding the cat you set up a box with a few soft rugs in them for the cat to sleep on and the cat looked at you with content eyes, chuckling lightly to yourself "you know it's amazing how your eyes can actually communicate, it's cute" you turned around to turn off the lights of you room "Night kitty..." You said finally falling asleep. The next morning you woke up and saw that the cat was nowhere to be seen and the window has few paw prints "Dang it I was planning on adopting him" you said sadly then started getting ready for the day.

Arriving at your workplace the girl from last night greeted you "Good morning darling!, did you have a good rest last night?" She asked "good morning, Yeah I did thanks for asking" you replied then she opened the metal door and went out "uh... You're not gonna check if I'm the real one?..." the girl turned around and said "Would you be asking that if you were a fake one?... And besides you're new it'll take a few days before they decide to copy you" she turned around again and left. Starting your shift like what you did Yesterday, letting a few people out giving them an entry request for when they come back, dealing with a few doppleganger's, letting people in once confirming that they're the real one till finally the guy from yesterday came; Francis "Hi mr. Milkman" you greeted, he looks a bit surprised when he saw you "Oh uh... Hello... " he said smiling slightly, you blushed then he handed you his ID only but you looked closely you saw he has a small mole on his left cheek which the real Francis didn't have. You kinda have memorized what he look and a few of his information from the files.... Kinda creepy of you but you couldn't help it, he was now your crush "Oh... I'm sorry, my good sir but I actually have this guy memorized and you're not him..." You said and before you could close the metal window you humped as he banged on the somehow sturdy window "What?!... How could!-... I see you like little mr. Milkman.. " the faker said his eyes were really angry and creepy "Yeah nope bye." you said then pressed the danger button and called for the D.D.D. Minutes later the metal window opened "There was no one in sight but I suppose the doppleganger already left before we arrive, you may now continue your work"

The day ended and you switched shifts with Loira, the name of the girl that you work with she bid you goodbye and you went home. Weeks later the things just go by on a repeat with some of them you going on a late night grocery, what's really interesting is that the doppleganger who always pretends to be Francis, he'd show up you find a small detail that the real Francis doesn't have, he'd get angry telling you things like "I'll get you next time" "I'll fool you one day" "Why are you so observative of the guy" then once you call for the D.D.D service he'd disappear before they could arrive like what's the deal with him?... Earlier he said something that actually sent shivers to your spine "Wait till I devour your fleshy body, Human" that was an actual pretty creepy threat, didn't realize that your already at your doorstep from a long day, you set down the groceries on the kitchen counter and went to take a quick shower and change.

After that you arranged all the groceries, it's pretty quiet around your house since you live alone, your parents on another country and your house is pretty far away from other residents so you'll be aable to hear anything out of the ordinary. Going up the stairs to sleep you decided to stretch around a little while you do so, you felt a weird sensation going up your leg, you looked down and a black substance of sorts but before you could scream another one covered your mouth as other one's quickly wrapped around your legs and arms separately, along your torso as well completely immobilizing you.

You looked around saw... Francis?... but his eyes are dark with white glowing dots on the middle "Hello... Doorman, I did say I will get you... Didn't I?" He spoke. You were confused, scared how did he know where you live? "Hey... Hey there... Little human, no need to get scared after all I'm a friend.... Aren't I?" That's when realization hit you. The cat that you helped was a doppleganger "you know human, you hurt me when you set your eyes on someone else... I thought you liked me?... Didn't you say so yourself?" He said which earned a muffled confused rambling from you "No... You must pay for making me believe you... " Before you could make another confused noise the tentacle like substance was removed around your mouth "What now-" you were cut off by something shoving into your mouth deeply making you gag, it was one of his tentacle.

[NSFW part]

He relentlessly attacked your mouth making you gag, you tried to squirm away but it was futile he has you wrapped around his other tentacle's. By then your eyes then started forming tears, you looked at the doppleganger of Francis which amused him "Look at you... Such an expression... I want more.. " he said. He set you down on your bed having your arms up above your head as he crawled between your legs "I did say I would devour your fleshy body... Don't worry it's not in a way I would eat you to the bone" he then slowly tore your garment earning a gaged up moan from you. He looked at you directly seeing that lewd expression from you also looking at him, he then slowly dipped his down between your legs which made you moan once again. You couldn't help but moan while he completely eats you out while also making you suck on one of his tentacle's, you were completely helpless making you take all of the pleasure like obedient slave.

That's when you felt something go in futher inside you, it felt like a very long tongue reaching up to the parts that you never could reach and hitting you perfectly on your spot making your body jolt and moan loudly than before "hmm?... is this your spot...?" He said while his tongue was still deep into you, he fastened up the pace than before almost a bit too fast than normal making your body more hotter and eager for a release. Not long after you came he adjusted himself, he humed in satisfaction "this will do..." He said then he removed the tentacle from your mouth as you looked at him with tired eyes "aww.... Already tired? Unlucky for you I'm not done yet" he adjusted his position, you didn't even notice that he entered you once again but this with his cock which made you yelp in surprise. He mercilessly pounded at a fast not giving you a preparation while his other tentacle's explore your exposed especially around your chest, waist and neck and his hands holding your thighs firmly to keep your shaking legs in place.

Release after release, you couldn't keep up anymore till you passed out from complete exhaustion and pleasure. He finally unsheathed his cock from you and loads mixed both of his and yours spilled out, staining the bed beneath the both of you. He then looked at your passed out form, your heaving chest, your belly slightly bulging and your beautiful sleeping face... "Such a perfect human.... I just wanna keep you" he fixed your sleeping form in a much comfortable position and pulled a blanket over before making his way to the telephone and dialed a number "Hello... Loira hey! I called a bit early so I could inform you that I'm sick..... Yeah please do.... Thank you I will bye!" He turned back to you and layed beside you "Rest now, my human...."

[princessbrunette]

when spoiledexgf!reader ponders on her relationship with rafe, it always come down to one thing. how on earth did they end up together in the first place? her scowl upon thinking of this would often soften into a reminiscent smile in realisation. it was his attitude that drew her in.

you remember where you were— at the county club, shock horror, and you were all alone. you weren’t in the mood to socialise that day, after one hundred things had already pissed you off you were simply there to pick up some lunch and head on home.

you frequented there, so you knew all the faces. even guys like rafe cameron, who would always stare or have something to say like you didn’t know all his tricks already. yes he was fine, but he was going to have to work a lot harder if he wanted to actually stand out.

you totter through the club in glittery sandals headed straight through to the bar where you could order your food and drink to go. you do so, and stay there whilst you wait for the order to be prepared. you’re actually lost in thought, tapping your nails on the plastic menu on the counter before you feel a big looming presence at your side.

rafe cameron leans on the counter top, already that smug little smile on his face. the one that made him look all smarmy and expensive. he’s nursing a whiskey in his hand despite the time being only along the lines of 4PM — and you move along slightly, clearing your throat. now he’s just blatantly staring at you.

rolling your eyes, you feel your lashes kiss your brows as you turn to face him. “can i help you?”

his mouth turns down in amusement as he holds his hands up defensively. “nah, just here to talk. is that… is that not okay?” he plays it off like a nice guy, but you know how fucking crazy he is. you’ve heard the tales. the future version of yourself bangs on the glass wall of the memory, begging you to just walk away.

you say nothing, turning to face the front once more. this doesn’t deter rafe from making conversation.

“y’know i uh, couldn’t help but notice how good you look today… i mean you always look fine as hell but today… mhm.” he hums, taking a sip of his whiskey and you feel him lean back just a little so he can eye you.

“thanks.” you state blankly, trying to ignore the way his special attention warmed your stomach ever so slightly. you wanted to slap yourself for being so pathetic.

“yeah… for sure.” he licks his lips before moving up alongside you to stand closer. “look, lemme get to know you, alright? i’ll take you out.” he offers.

“i have a man.” you blurt out, and it’s instantly met with a scoff that melts into a strained chuckle as he runs a hand down his face, shaking his head. oh? you blink at him. it wasn’t technically a lie. you were seeing someone, whether or not you’d call him your man was unimportant. “what?”

“nah, nothing.” he smirks, still clearly amused as the aftershock of his laugh still bubbles past his lips. “you got a man, huh? then uh, why are you here… ordering n’payin’ for your own shit?” he reaches down and gently plucks your hand off the counter, observing it. “and uh, why are your nails not done? yeah i’m not sure this guy knows what he’s doing ‘cause uh—”

you snatch your hand away, feeling your face heat as you huff. “its not your business.” you stare up at him, probably thinking you look real intimidating but those doe eyes only made you reflect the appearance of an angry little kitty-cat. you’re distracted, so when the country club worker returns with your food in its to go box, rafe maintains the eye contact with a lazy smirk, leaning over you to tap his card on the reader, paying for it.

“you’re welcome.” he states, before sliding your phone off the counter where you’d rested it and holding it out for you to take. “guess you owe me now huh? why don’t you go ahead and unlock your phone so i can put my number in there n’i’ll go ahead n’call it even. alright?” he raises his eyebrows, and you couldn’t believe it — but something about the way he was handling you made you wanna back down. submit like prey. you swallow, feeling that attitude disappearing little by little as you silently unlock your phone and hand it to him on the contact page.

he smiles, satisfied and nods before typing it in and handing it back. “text me. i’ll get you right.” he lets his lips curl up a little again, all pleased with himself as he finally steps out of your space — instantly striding off without a glance over his shoulder as he heads towards one of his friends that had just entered.

you couldn’t help your intrigue. but as the famous saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

[beanarie]

of course

in which the helicopter crashed with both our guys inside. inspired by this awesome post by @mooshkat

(tw: vomiting, heart issues, near death angst, biphobia mention)

~

Once the wave of agony subsides, and Tommy is reasonably sure he's done vomiting into the dirt, he blinks over at Evan appraisingly. "Is your arm broken or did your shoulder go out again?"

Evan grimaces and finishes tying off Tommy's splint. "Shoulder. And my hip's not feeling great. Cracked rib, maybe two. But of course you had to outdo me."

"Didn't do it on purpose." Tommy glares at the spot where his tibia poked through the skin, like he can intimidate the pain away. "Anyway you've got me on quantity."

"There's nothing else?"

"My head hurts," Tommy admits, "but there's not much we can do for that right now."

Evan leans in to compare his pupils. Tommy is very proud of himself for not flinching. "Dispatch had our location?" Evan asks, and instead of reminding him that he was there when they confirmed it, Tommy nods.

He knows he can't go to sleep, even if the leg would allow him. He finds a stick and starts tic tac toe. Evan chuckles and joins in.

He wins the next two games. Tommy blames his probable concussion.

Evan holds his bad arm tight around his midsection, but his eyes seem stormy for a different reason. "These people who hurt you in the past, what- what are their names?"

"Huh?" Tommy gives up on the game, scratching it out of the dirt. "You want a full list of legal names or just what I called them?"

"Was it Evan, for any of them?"

God, he's so transparent. Tommy laughs.

"Do you- do you judge everyone by who came before? Is that just what you do in a-all situations? One barista spilled coffee on you in 2011 and you pay for Starbucks with one of those grabby reacher things ever since?"

"Fuck's sake." Tommy doesn't even like Starbucks, but he doesn't say that.

Evan sort of shrugs before he remembers his shoulder with a wince. "It's not generally considered a sign of maturity. Ironic, I guess."

"Yeah, call me old. See where it gets you."

Evan brightens. "You're talking to me. I like my results so far."

There's something indefatigable about this man. Tommy can't help but surrender in the face of it, just a little. "How did you know I'd have to pinch hit for this fly along?"

"I didn't. I just hoped." His grin is just the slightest bit abashed. "Worst case scenario, get out of the engine for a day and I pump one of your coworkers for info."

"They have very little to pump," Tommy says. Evan and the codependent 118 are the aberration, and they're well aware of that. Tommy has great coworkers. They do their jobs and leave, with the exception of drinks once or twice a month. None of them gave him shit after the breakup. Few of them noticed. This is how most teams operate. Evan, however, looks surprised and a little sad. "What were you hoping to hear?"

"I don't know." Evan looks away, suddenly self conscious. "That you messed yourself up at least half as much as you did me."

Tommy rubs at his face. "I didn't mean to mess you up, Buck. Truly. We- It just ran its course. It doesn't reflect badly on you, or me. This just happens."

He looks upset at first, then calculating. "What if I hooked up with those Not-Evans?"

Tommy looks behind him, searching for something that makes sense. "What if you moved to the moon? I have no idea what you're getting at right now."

"Would I be experienced enough for you if I let them have a go? They were terrible for you, so it stands to reason they'll be terrible for me, too." He lifts a finger, his eyes lighting up in a way that turns Tommy's stomach. "Oh, I guess one or two of those might be women. They don't count. Some might be bi and married to women. Do they count as half? If I bag a threesome, is that like seventy-five percent? Do you give points for polyamory?"

Tommy feels about eighty years old, and not a fit eighty. "When did I say even one of those things?"

"The implications were pretty clear, Tommy. 'You're just young and excited. You don't know what you're feeling or how to interpret anything going on in front of you.'"

Tommy doesn't know what to say to that. It's not remotely what he meant, but he's never been good at communicating through panic.

"Did you love me?" Evan asks quietly. Tommy can't look him in the face. "It felt like you- like you did, but when you let me go like that, like chopping off the top bit of a carrot, it made me re- reevaluate everything I thought I knew about us."

The note of devastation in his voice almost tips him over, but ultimately what does it is the implication that Tommy made Evan lose faith in himself. He can't abide being responsible for that. "Of course I love you, Evan. How could I not?"

The tightness in his chest, that felt so much like raw emotion, intensifies, growing sharper. It's hard to breathe now, like sucking a milkshake through a coffee stirrer, and he realizes, something is very wrong. About as wrong as it could possibly be.

"Oh," he says. An attempt to inflate his lungs all the way makes his vision go sparkly at the edges.

"Tommy?"

Tommy drags his eyes up to meet Evan's. "S- Sorry, I-" I wouldn't have said any of those things if I knew. "Sorry. Evan." You deserve better than a fucking deathbed love confession.

A rough hand grasps his neck, slowing his descent to the ground. "No, hey. Hey hey hey. Tommy, we'll figure this out." Evan sniffles and tries to smile. His tears are falling everywhere. "You're okay. You're fine. Just keep- keep breathing."

The coffee stirrer is about a millimeter wide. Tommy can feel the muscles in his neck straining like he's deadlifting his own weight. Evan rips Tommy's shirt open and he swears floridly, miserably. They both know what this is; they've seen it in a hundred MVAs. Cardiac tamponade. When his heart gives out from the strain of all the blood surrounding it, chest compressions can be worse than useless. They could punch his ticket that much faster.

"Tommy," Evan says, pulling Tommy into his lap. The complaints from his splinted leg are distant, belonging to someone else entirely. Evan's voice is a ragged mess trying to piece itself together. His shoulder and ribs are probably killing him. "Don't run out again. You need to stay. Breathe."

Half a millimeter.

One quarter.

Tommy can't remember what comes after millimeter.

"That's it. I know it's hard, but keep trying. That's all I ask. Just try, okay? Look at me."

Micrometer? Is that it?

Evan's face is shadowed by the sun cresting over his shoulder. Tommy closes his eyes against the glare and is rewarded with a shake.

"Keep your eyes open. Stay with me. Just a little- little bit longer, please."

Fingers are running through his hair, lips are pressing against his forehead, and he thinks he can hear... sirens.

[plussizeficchick]

Artist Boyfriend | Jungkook x Chubby!Reader

Summary; “He’s not my real boyfriend, he’s my artist boyfriend.” (Loosely based on the movie “Dinner in America”, and this edit.)

Warnings: Street Artist!Jungkook, public sex, P in V, panty sniffing, breeding kink, mildly jealous Jungkook, somewhat bad boy!jk? (He runs from the law).

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest when you hear someone practically fall into your flower shop. You lean your head over the oak counter, looking to see who it was. 

He had dark hair, the curls slick with sweat making them more pronounced. He was breathing heavily, and you’d be lying if you said his labored breaths weren’t causing a heat to build in your lower stomach. 

Get it together (Y/N)!

“Hey, you need some help?” Jungkook’s head jolts in the direction of your voice. You hold up your hands in mock surrender, showing that you mean no harm. 

This was bad. Really bad. Pretty soon the cops would be rounding the corner looking for “him” but there was nowhere for him to hide besides the flower shop that he accidentally stumbled into. “Uh, I-” He was at a loss for words as his eyes ran over your plump figure. 

You were fucking beautiful.

You wore an off the shoulder sundress that hugged your stomach and tits quite nicely, if he says so himself. Your thick thighs were on display, making his mouth water slightly at the thought of possibly feeling those wrapped around his head. 

“Mister?” You furrow your brows, what’s up with this guy? “Hide me.” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “Huh?!” He quickly shushes you, his warm eyes softening, almost pleading with you. “Please, hide me. I’ll explain after.” You don’t know what compels you, but you end up agreeing, hiding him behind your counter, just in time for the cops to rear their heads. 

“‘Scuse us ma’am, have you seen a young man running in this direction? Black ski mask, dark clothes, the like.” You do your best to be convincing, “Yeah! Saw him run down that way, though it looked like he hopped on a bus.” You shrug. The police turn their heads just in time to see a bus leaving the stop. One tosses his hat to the ground, visibly upset, “Damn it! We had that little shit! We were so close!” You’re a bit startled at the display, eyes shifting to the fugitive that you’ve essentially housed. “Calm down, Han before you scare the poor girl.” He gestures towards you. “We’ll get him next time. Thank you for your help, miss.” You bid them farewell, and when you’re sure that they won’t be returning, you lock your door, turning over the Out For Lunch sign.

“Explain.” You say, arms folded over your chest. You may not have meant to, but the action causes your breast to accentuate, the fat practically spilling over the top. Oh to feel the sweet softness, to feel them squeezed in the palm of his hands. To fuck his dick in the middle of the soft mounds of flesh. “Hello!” You wave your hand in front of his face. Maybe this was a bad idea? “What? Oh right- sorry. Well you see I did some graffiti and let’s just say, they didn’t take too kindly to me “defacing public property” or whatever.” He brushes off, hands resting in his black jean pocket.

He was attractive, in a sort of endearingly punk sort of way. He was dressed in majority black, with pops of color from the various wristbands that he had on each wrist. Said wristbands drew attention to his hands, the few veins that ran along them and his surprisingly long fingers. What you wouldn’t give to feel them inside you. Curling up and finding that delicious spot inside you. “Hey, miss?” He snaps his fingers in front of your face, was this what he was like? It was quite… amusing.

You snap out of your reverie, an adorable pout making its way to your lips, “Don’t call me “miss”, makes me feel old.” You mutter, and Jungkook wants nothing more than to kiss your puckered lips. “Well, sorryyy,” he drags out the word as he looks down to read your nametag, “(Y/N), anyway, apparently my art is “illegal” so I kind of had to cut loose.” He clicks his tongue to emphasize his point. You size him up, “What type of graffiti?” You ask. He balks at you, it’s rare for him to find a girl interested in that kind of thing. “Huh?” “I’m pretty familiar with the scene around here, so what kind of work do you do? Tag? Blockbuster?” You prompt, and Jungkook feels himself falling for you already. 

“I- Freestyle. I freestyle, really.” He says, fumbling over his words. You run your eyes over his figure before you settle on his eyes. Cute. “You’ll have to show me your work sometime.” You tease, moving to tend to your flowers. Jungkook follows close behind, your scent of warm vanilla and lilies drawing him in. “Maybe.” He flirts back. “Say, how do you know so much about this kind of stuff anyway?” He asks, eyeing a bouquet of white roses that’d look very nice in your possession. You jolt your head to look at him, an incredulous look on your face, “What? I don’t look like I know that kind of thing?” You sass. Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, “W-what? No! No, that’s not w-” He’s cut off by the sound of your melodic laugh, “I’m just kidding, chill out.” You say, pulling a small chuckle from him. “Ha-ha very funny.” He deadpans. You smile brightly up at him, your chubby cheeks lifting at the action. “To answer your question, Mister fugitive-” “You know if you want my name, you can just ask.” He winks. “Anyway, I’ve been in the street art scene for a while. I’m not really good at doing it, but I do have my favorite artists.” You shrug. 

Jungkook’s intrigued, eager to hear more. “Really?” Who’s your favorite?” He asks, and you’d be lying if his excitement wasn’t infectious. You giggle at his eagerness, “Well, there’s not much known about him and no one has seen him yet. According to a lot of people, he never signs his work.” “And I take it that you don’t agree.” He says. You shake your head, “There’s this group that thinks his signature is in his work and I agree. The most common letters seen in his work is JK. With the type of art he does, there’s no way that you don’t want your signature on something like that. But I also understand him not wanting to take away from the art. So why not try to find a way to sign it, while also making it part of the art?” You say, looking up at him to gauge his reaction. Jungkook feels himself nodding before he realizes, “That actually makes a lot of sense. I’ll have to see this guy’s work. I mean, if I’m going to be the top artist in your life.” He smirks. You feel your cheeks heat up, a smile unconsciously making its way to your face. “And what makes you think you’ll be my favorite?” You say, tapping a finger against your chin. Jungkook plucks one of the many white roses he was eyeing, extending it towards you. “I know so.”

— —

It didn’t take long for Jungkook to come by your flower shop regularly, always sure to buy and leave a flower with you each time he came. And it took even less time for you to start dating, the tension between the both of you too palpable to ignore.

It was an accident really. You had decided that you wanted to show your closest friend one of the most recent works of your favorite graffiti artist, practically dragging him to the mural. “Hurry uppp, slowpoke. I wanna show you my boyfriend’s work.” You suddenly feel Jungkook come to an abrupt halt. “Boyfriend? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” He says, an adorable pout making its way to his plump, pink lips. 

So cute you just want to kiss it off.

“Not my real boyfriend, silly.” You giggle at the confused, almost puppy dog look he gives you. “He’s not my actual boyfriend, he’s my artist boyfriend. I wouldn’t actually date him.” You scoff playfully, turning around to guide him into the direction you were going.

When you both finally reach your favorite artist’s work and after a while of admiring it, you notice Jungkook shifting uncomfortably next to you. “Are you okay? We don’t have to stay.” You reassure him. You barely have time to register him grabbing your hand and practically dragging you away from the other street artists.

He pulls you into an alley, far from prying ears and eyes and before you get the chance to ask him what happened, he presses his lips firmly against yours. “I’m JK.” He says when he finally pulls away from you. Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, all types of questions on your tongue. “I had to come with you to make sure that it was me that you were talking about and now that I know I can’t keep that part of myself away from you. Especially since I’m your “artist boyfriend���.” He says, nervously gnawing on his lip ring.

How? When did he find the time? Could he kiss you like that again?

You hadn't even realized you asked the last question aloud until you hear the slight chuckle that you’ve come to fall in love with. “Sure, but are you gonna keep my secret for me?” He asks, that sinister smirk making its way to his lips. 

Before you know it you're nodding your head, eager to feel his soft lips against yours as he runs his hands along your soft body. Fuck he never gets tired of feeling you against him. The sharp contrast of hard to soft, the way you practically melt into him.

It’s just too fucking delectable to pass up.

The tension between you both builds, the kiss gradually heating up and becoming more intense as the seconds pass. You wrap your arms around his neck just as he lifts up one of your legs to wrap around him. You both groan at the glorious friction, his clothed cock grinding against your puffy pussy making slick pool in your already sticky panties. “Please,” You mewl against his lips, the chill of his lip ring feeling tantalizing against your lips. “Please what, pretty? You gotta tell me what you want.” He breathes against your lips, the smell of his mint gum and cologne pulling you in. You whine, threats of a tantrum rearing it’s head. “Kookie, please don’t tease.” Jungkook chuckles, before slightly pulling away from you.

You reach out for him, chubby arms holding onto him for dear life, “Kook, please. Fuck me. Touch me. I need something.” You groan against him as you practically dry hump him. Jungkook decides to take pity on you and all but rips the flimsy thong you’re wearing off of you. You barely had time to register before he was shoving the piece of cloth against his nose, your scent washing over his senses. 

He quickly pockets the piece of fabric. You’re on borrowed time, it’s only a matter of time before another couple comes along for their own salacious activities and as adventurous as Jungkook is, you’re his to look at. 

He just manages to tug down his zipper and pull his semi hard cock out, before he uses your slick to coat his cock, running his dick along your wet cunt. “Fuck me, Jungkook. Fill me up. Wanna be full.” You moan into his ear. The sound of your breathy voice in his ear does something to Jungkook and without warning, he slams himself inside you to the hilt. You groan at the intrusion, never truly having got used to his size as yet. “Fuck! Yes, baby. That’s it. Give me that pussy.” Jungkook groans into your neck. He’s sucking hickies and leaving small, wet kisses along your throat and the exposed skin on your chest. You moan at the feeling, reaching up to bring his lips to yours. 

He reaches one hand up to palm at one of your tits, squeezing and molding the flesh to fit his large hand. You whimper when you feel him squeeze your nipple under your dress, causing your pussy to squeeze around him involuntarily. You both moan into each other's mouths, your pussy clenching and unclenching around the thickness of his cock each time he punches the soft, gummy spot inside you. “Cum for me.” He grunts, cock throbbing as it aches to empty itself in your womb. “Soak my fucking dick, baby. Get me nice and wet, pretty. Cause I’m gonna fill you up. Stuff you to the fucking brim.” You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your pussy squelching as you milk his orgasm for everything it’s worth. “Cum in me. Fill me up, baby. Wanna be so full it leaks out.” You moan into his mouth, eyes locked together. It doesn’t take long, a few more thrusts and he’s spilling into you, the warmth of his seed settling deep inside your stomach.

You both take a few seconds for your highs to come down and before long, you start to giggle. “Were you jealous, Kookie?” Jungkook pulls away slightly to pout at you, lips all pretty and kiss-swollen.

“Was not.”

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @cherries-c0la @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon @c0pkiller

[augustinewrites]

your little flower stall is strategically set up a few feet from one of the trendiest restaurants in this area of tokyo. 

it’s a smart spot, one that men like reo can appreciate when he’s already ten minutes late for his date. he’d quite literally just left work, a last minute meeting having forced him to get ready in the back of his car in his haste to arrive somewhat on time. his shirt is untucked and his pants are wrinkled from being left in the trunk for so long.

he winces when he catches his reflection in a window, running a hand through his unkempt hair in a poor attempt to fix it. he definitely can’t show up empty handed when he’s late and looking like this. 

“good evening,” he greets, a little breathless as he approaches your stall. his eyes scan the bouquets available, looking for any safe picks and frowning when he realizes you’re out of roses. so he shrugs and picks up whatever’s closest. some kind of yellow flower.

“yellow carnations?” you murmur as he digs into his pocket for his wallet, prompting him to glance up at you. “an odd choice.”

“how do you mean?”

“it’s an unusual choice for a date, is all.” 

he raises his brows. “how do you know they’re for a date?”

“oh, come on,” you grin, leaning against the counter. “a handsome guy like you doesn’t have someone to buy flowers for?”

he knows it’s probably just a marketing pitch, but his ego swells nonetheless. “handsome, huh?” 

you simply shrug - tease - and place the carnations back into their bucket to grab a different bouquet. you cut a strip of white ribbon from its spool, winding it around the stems. “go with these instead. if your date knows anything about flowers, these will definitely get you laid.”

reo actually laughs at that, as he strongly doubts the wannabe influencer he’d been set up with knows much about the meanings of flowers, but he’ll take your word for it. he hands you his card, not-so-secretly hoping that you’d caught a glimpse of his name on its surface before you swiped it through your machine.

when you return it to him, he pulls a handful of bills out of his wallet and stuffs them into your tip jar.

“oh,” you start. “that’s too much–” 

he flashes you a smile that’s been called ‘swoon-worthy’ before, waving you off as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “don’t worry about it! you’re saving my life here.” 

“your sex life, you mean?” you quip, but your eyes sparkle at his praise as you hand him the bouquet. “well, thank you for your patronage, sir.” 

he quickly dips his head in thanks, a little reluctant as he heads towards the restaurant. 

_____

monday mornings aren’t especially busy for you, as bleary eyed office workers don’t have much need for flowers. 

which is why you’re surprised when the man from last friday starts approaching your stall, holding a cup of what you assume must be coffee. he doesn’t quite look like you remember, from the impeccable cut of his suit to the way his hair is neatly pulled back. he’s even wearing aviators that you’re sure would look ridiculous on anyone else, but for some reason make him look like a movie star. 

he pulls them off with his free hand and hangs them off the pocket of his bag, waving at you like you’re old friends. he looks so earnest and excited that you can’t do much else than blush and raise your hand in response. 

“morning,” he greets once you’re close enough to hear. “this is for you. for last friday. i wasn’t sure what you’d like so i just got their special.” 

he holds out the cup, whose logo you now recognize from the overpriced cafe down the street. you take it, smiling. “i take it your date went well then?”

he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shrugging. “sure.” 

“did you come to buy her more flowers?”

“ah…i don’t think i’ll see her again.” 

you perk up at that. just a little. “oh?” 

“yeah,” he sighs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “i, uh, kinda wanna see where things go with someone else.” 

oh, of course there’s someone else. a guy like him probably never has a shortage of options. (and who are you not to capitalise on that?) “maybe some flowers will help.” 

you think there’s something mischievous in his smile. “definitely. what do you recommend?”

_____

reo is running out of places to put his flowers. 

they’re all over his office. they line the entirety of his windowsill and take over the free space on his desk. a small clump of white daisies in an old coffee mug. a single rose in his pen cup. his assistant has to crane her head around a vase of lilies to deliver her reports at the end of each day. 

what can he say? you’re one hell of a salesperson. if anyone had asked him what his favourite flower was before, he’d have no idea what to tell them. in truth, he’d never given much thought to something so impermanent as flowers.  

but you easily become a permanent part of his routine. each day he stops at your stall, utilising the information he’d gathered from the internet just moments before to impress you with an educated floral choice. 

you always smile when you hand him the bouquet, and he wonders how your product isn’t sold out at the end of each day, with a smile as enamouring as yours. 

when his office is overrun by floral accents, he starts bringing them home instead. his neighbours gush about what a great boyfriend he is each time they catch him returning with a new arrangement. they say that whoever he’s coming home to must be a ‘very special someone.’

they don’t know that it’s just nagi, who barely looks up from whatever game he’s playing but comments mildly that he didn’t think reo was a flower guy. 

“everyone’s a flower guy,” he’d quipped as he unwrapped the brand new vase he’d bought to accompany the bouquet of peonies and anemones you’d given him. 

and if nagi noticed he’d come home blushing the day you called him your most important customer, he didn’t say anything.

_____

“hey,” he asks on a particularly slow sunday afternoon. you’re in the process of wrapping - by his request - a bundle of lilacs, which happen to be your favourite flower. “come to lunch with me. i can get us a table—” he points to the restaurant behind you. “—there.” 

you don’t answer right away, allowing yourself a moment to make sure you’ve heard him right. “what would your girlfriend think?”

he looks confused as you hold the lilacs out to him. “girlfriend?”

“yeah…isn’t she the one you’ve been buying all these flowers for?”

he blinks a few times before hanging his head with a chuckle. “no i— i don’t have a girlfriend.”

he doesn’t have a girlfriend. so that would mean…

“you’re asking me out,” you realize, averting your gaze to the counter with all the awkwardness of a kid receiving their first valentine. “i’d love to, but i can’t just close—”

“what would you make in a day?” he blurts. “ideally.” 

“well, ideally i’d be sold out—”

he flips his wallet open and hands you his card. “i’ll take everything then.”

“everything?” you echo. 

he shrugs, shooting you a wink. “what can i say? i’m a flower guy.”

“reo,” you laugh, pushing his card back towards him. “i’m not going to let you pay me to go out with you. just go grab some takeout and come back here. a pretty face like yours is bound to sell.” 

“you’re whoring me out for business?” 

“i’m just being entrepreneurial,” you counter. 

he crosses his arms over his chest, a handsome grin on his face. “alright, but i’ll need to be compensated for my efforts. maybe even with a kiss…”

you roll your eyes (albeit with a smile) as you point at the restaurant. “at least buy me lunch first.”

[wheneverfeasible]

Confession

wc: 3k || rating: T+ || AO3 || cw: referenced homophobia, homophobic language || summary: Eddie comes out to Wayne

Eddie Munson was bi.

Bisexual, meaning liking boys and girls and anything in-between.

What. The. Fuck.

It was all stupid Harrington’s fault. Steve. God, why did it have to be a preppy jock? There were plenty of other guys that could have snapped that realization on him, but no, he had to watch Steve Harrington spit out demobat blood (if it could be called that) after ripping its fucking spine out that made Eddie realize ‘huh, I think I like guys.’

It wasn’t like Steve was the only guy he was attracted to, he was shocked to realize. No, now that he knew that it was a possibility, his obsession with some of the musicians of bands whose music he wasn’t even that fond of started making a lot more sense, as well as how he’d reacted to some of the guys he’d gone to school with, or who had bought from him, and Jesus H. Christ, that guy at The Hideout had been hitting on him, hadn’t he?

So yeah, Eddie was dealing with a little bit of shock at his attraction to his friend, as well as the fact that that attraction was also apparently becoming a legitimate crush. Because that was healthy and safe to do. Especially when last he knew, Steve was still hung up on Nancy. And in a weird codependent relationship with Robin. Seriously, if he had to listen to Dustin complaining about why Steve wouldn’t just date Robin one more time, he was going to pull his hair out.

But so Eddie was bisexual. That was fine. Once he’d had his little crisis—and he’d been given plenty of time to think about it while recovering from being the main course at the all-you-can-eat Eddie Munson buffet—he’d done a little bit of research into the topic. Which was how he’d discovered that he had unintentionally been telling every gay man (if he came across any) that he apparently liked to top and was into inflicting pain with his sexual partners (suddenly the guy at The Hideout made more sense).

And…okay, maybe Eddie left the bandana there. He didn’t know, but the idea of it wasn’t too bad. Maybe. Maybe he should look into getting other bandana colors too, just in case.

It didn’t matter. He was still inexperienced, had only been with chicks before, and even then there had only been three of them. Two of them had only slept with him for the story, and the third one…well, everyone needed a little heartbreak in their life he supposed. Maybe he and Steve could compare notes.

The idea of sleeping with a guy, however, was not…unpleasant. It took him by surprise, sure, but he thought he could be down to trying some things out.

That wasn’t the issue on hand, however. It wasn’t what was eating him up inside, making him nauseous as he gnawed at his cuticles, pacing back and forth in the new double wide trailer the government had bought for them after Forest Hills was repaired. (R.I.P. to his uncle’s mug and hat collection.)

And there it was. The issue. His uncle.

Eddie could keep it a secret, sure. Could stay firmly inside the closet he hadn’t even known he’d been in, sitting safe and secret. But…that went against Eddie stood for. Sure, he knew he couldn’t shout it from the rooftop that he maybe sometimes thought about what it would feel like to have one of his best friends’ dicks in his mouth, but this was his uncle, man. This was Wayne.

Christ, he wished he had Ronnie, his former best friend, here to talk with her about all this. (He had also discovered another identity he hadn’t known about, asexuality, which he thought was right up Ronnie’s alley and wished he could tell her, but that was impossible now. She’d left Hawkins behind for a fresh start and he couldn’t blame her.)

But that meant that he was all alone. He loved the new friends he had, loved his band, but…well, this was something a little more complicated. And he wanted to tell his uncle. But…

Eddie gulped, every crunch of gravel outside the trailer sending an electric current through him as his anxiety spiked. His uncle should be home from work soon. Eddie paced a small circuit, knowing he needed a cigarette but also not wanting to go outside. His uncle had declared the new trailer a smoke-free zone. He doubted it would remain that way after this conversation.

He’d like to think his uncle would be supportive. After all, this was Wayne. His uncle loved him, had been there for him even when his own father hadn’t, and had stood by his side even when the whole town thought he was some psycho satanic serial killer. Hell, Wayne had walked in to Chrissy’s mangled corpse in his trailer and hadn’t once suspected Eddie of being guilty.

But having a queer for a nephew?

His uncle was progressive, but that didn’t mean he’d feel as complacent about his nephew being…what he was. His uncle had taken him in after he’d already grown and never expected him to help with the rent money, though Eddie did anyways with the money he got from dealing. But so Eddie was an adult, had a GED to his name, and didn’t need his uncle’s charity anymore.

Gravel crunched outside, the familiar sound of a truck engine rumbling along, and Eddie knew his uncle was home. Fuck. He hoped he didn’t leave this encounter with a black eye. Or worse. Hell, there were some people in this town that if he told this secret to, he wouldn’t leave the encounter at all. Not alive at least.

He knows his uncle isn’t like they though. He knows. Still, the fear persists. He’d always known he’d be too much for his uncle eventually. Would this be the final straw?

Wayne’s footsteps sounded on the porch.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

Eddie had, in case he had to leave quickly, already packed a duffel. He wanted to trust his uncle, and he did, really, but…but there was that sickness going around, and Reagan, and Hawkins was such a conservative town, and Eddie just couldn’t know, not for certain. Not with something like this.

“Heya kid,” Wayne said with a gruffness to his voice that spoke of long hours at the plant, though there was the small relieved smile that curled his lips when he got home and saw Eddie there. Like Eddie’s presence was a reassurance now. Eddie hated that he was about to ruin that all.

Because sure, there was a possibility that Wayne would accept him, or at least not kick him out, but Eddie had seen too much shit to think that things would ever be easy for him. It was the Munson Curse.

“Hey Uncle Wayne,” Eddie said, and maybe it was the title, maybe it was the way his words warbled in his throat, but Wayne immediately stopped from where he was moving to pour the morning’s coffee into a generic mug and turned to face Eddie with a furrowed expression.

“Everything all right, Eds?” he asked quietly, hesitantly, and took a large stride over to where Eddie was hovering by the coffee table. He froze, however, eyes widening, when Eddie flinched. Wayne swallowed, his gaze darting over Eddie as though looking for an injury. “Eddie?”

He could do this. His uncle deserved to know he had a fucking fairy living under his roof. Maybe he wouldn’t care, or maybe he’d be fine with it as long as Eddie never acted on it, or maybe…maybe…

Eddie thickly swallowed against the rising burn of bile in the back of his throat. He wanted his uncle to know because this was a part of who he was and it was important to be honest with himself and with his only family member still alive that genuinely loved him, just…he hoped he didn’t lose that love with his confession. But he wanted Wayne to know. Even if it hurt.

“U-Uncle…” Eddie wrapped his arms tightly around himself, his tone almost pleading. He blinked back the burn behind his eyes next, willing the words to come out of his mouth. As soon as he’d fully realized the truth, fully known what it meant, he knew that he’d tell Wayne. No matter what, he wanted his uncle to know this about him.

Wayne’s face grew slightly panicked at Eddie’s response, the way he held himself, the tone of his voice, and Eddie could tell the older man wanted to reach out for him but was taken aback by Eddie’s earlier flinch. Christ, would Wayne still want to hug him after this? Touch him? Be in the same room as him? Breathe the same air?

Would he tell Eddie that Alan Munson had been right all these years when he’d continually abandoned Eddie because he’d somehow known his own son wasn’t worth sticking around for?

Wayne took another step closer and Eddie panicked.

“I’m bi!” he exclaimed suddenly, wincing as he withdrew into himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he subconsciously braced for some sort of physical attack. “I’m bisexual,” he whispered, his words shaking.

There was silence, stillness.

Eddie drew in a shaky breath and risked opening his eyes to look at Wayne, expecting disgust, revulsion, perhaps even anger. Instead, all he got was…confusion?

“What?” Wayne asked, his expression full of his lack of understanding what Eddie had just said.

Eddie swallowed again. “I…I’m bi? I like…both girls and boys,” he clarified carefully, though there was a touch of confusion in his own words, his brows furrowing as they only seemed to stump Wayne further. Eddie frowned, figuring he was as clear as could be.

“Did…” Wayne began frowning a little himself, still looking confused. “Okay? But you’re lookin’ like you wanted t’ tell me somethin’.”

Eddie blinked.

“I’m bi,” he repeated pointedly, his arms dropping to his side.

Wayne rolled his eyes to look at the ceiling for a moment in mild exasperation before looking at Eddie again. “Son, did someone say somethin’ ‘bout it?” His lips twisted into a small scowl. “Did that Harrington boy say anything?”

“What? Jesus, no!” Eddie exclaimed, because why the hell was his uncle bringing up Steve when he’d just come out to him? His insides still warmed at being called ‘son,’ however. “Wayne I’m…I…” The panic started up again despite everything and he swallowed nervously. “I like boys, Wayne. I’m a queer.”

Wayne just blinked at him, his scowl turning once more into a confused frown. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s the truth!” Eddie exploded, not having expected his uncle to think he was making it up or lying. Jesus, and what a thing to lie about.

“Obviously,” Wayne snorted in answer, crossing his arms over his chest as he let his gaze roam over Eddie as if looking for an answer. “But I need to know what this prelude is for.”

Eddie felt lost. He stared at his uncle in confusion, his earlier fear and anxiety slowly draining away as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His uncle sounded…sounded like he already…

“You knew?” he asked, voice soft and fragile.

Wayne’s brows lowered, and Eddie felt a little offended that Wayne was looking at him like he was an idiot. “Eddie…I’ve known since you were twelve years old and told me you thought Big Bill Broonzy was pretty after lookin’ through your mom’s old records with the biggest blush on your face.”

Eddie gaped. He vaguely recalled something like that, but that wasn’t…he hadn’t…Jesus fucking H. Christ.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Eddie huffed in sudden annoyance.

“I thought you knew!” Wayne protested, throwing his hands up and looking like he was losing what this conversation was even about. “Wait, you mean to tell me that you’ve been makin’ moonin’ eyes at the Harrington boy and you didn’t even know you liked him?”

Eddie’s blush now could rival any he made when he was twelve. He stuttered, gaped, and dragged a whole handful of hair to cover his face in his embarrassment. “I know that,” he whined. “God, have I have been that obvious?”

Wayne snorted, rolling his eyes as he moved to finish pouring himself that cup of coffee. “Had me worried he finally said somethin’,” he muttered to himself. He turned to point the plain white mug at Eddie. “If he or any of the others do, you let me know, Edster, you got that?”

Eddie softly groaned, burying his face in his hands next as he stumbled back to drop onto the sofa. No wonder Robin had started giving him those looks. He gulped. And…and Steve. Steve had been smiling at him more often, was…was lightly touching him with lingering fingers, had even used that voice on him that he’d use on the pretty girls that stopped by Family Video…

Steve hadn’t been using that voice on any pretty girls that stopped by Family Video recently.

Gulping, realizing that that was not something he had the ability to think about right now, he focused on the truly important thing. He lifted his head to stare at his uncle with wide, shining eyes, his heart fluttering so madly in his ribcage he’d almost thought he’d trapped a bird in there. He licked his lips, eyeing his uncle with wary hope.

“You…you don’t mind?” he asked, needing to clarify, needing to know. “You don’t mind I like boys too?”

Wayne snorted, reaching for another mug and pouring it half full, leaving enough space for him to pour a godawful amount of sugar and a splash of milk in it, just like his nephew liked it, before taking it over to Eddie. He sat down on the sofa next to him, hanging it over. Eddie was grateful for it, even if it was room temperature now.

“Son, I know you ain’t lived here with me long, and I know your father…well, Al’s always had his faults. But we’re family, kid. I’ve loved you since the moment Elizabeth told me she was pregnant with you. Nothing is ever gonna change that, you hear?” He sniffed, taking a sip of his coffee. “‘Sides, ain’t nothin’ wrong with love. You just got lucky, and your chances for love have doubled now.”

Eddie glanced over at his uncle with a shy smile, relief and affection for the older man coursing through him. He cradled his own mug between his hands, drawing in a shaky breath. Wayne knew. Wayne knew and he still loved him. A small, tearful chuckle escaped him and he hastily wiped away one of the tears that fell down his cheek.

“Eddie…” Wayne sighed, sounding regretful as he set his mug on the coffee table and turned to properly face his nephew. “I am deeply sorry if I have ever made you feel like I wouldn’t accept you, like my love for you was conditional.”

Eddie hastily shook his head, setting his own mug down to mirror Wayne’s position, curling one knee halfway on the couch. “You didn’t,” he reassured. “You didn’t, I just…I…” He felt bad now for doubting Wayne. For packing a bag like he was going to get tossed out at any moment. For thinking even just for a second that his uncle would ever hit him.

Wayne studied Eddie’s face before letting out a soft sigh and a small nod. “I understand. It’s not safe out there right now, especially not with everything.” And Wayne didn’t even know everything. He couldn’t, not with all the papers Eddie’d been forced to sign while being patched up after everything. But he knew that he didn’t know, so there was at least that.

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Eddie murmured. “I trust you, Wayne. That’s why I wanted you to know. As soon as I was sure, I wanted you to know.” He huffed. “Meanwhile, you knew before even I did.”

Wayne grinned then, reaching out to clap Eddie on the shoulder, making the younger man grin back. “Here I thought it was just some unspoken understanding between us. Guess I know why you always seemed confused when I bought more mugs with rainbows on them.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie moaned, slapping a hand to his face. “I am such an idiot.”

Throwing his head back with a laugh, Wayne relaxed against the sofa, making Eddie chuckle and do the same. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, boy. Just know that you’re safe here, and so is whoever you bring around.” He huffed. “Even if it is the Harrington boy.”

Eddie quickly shook his head again, his hair fanning around him at the force of it, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Oh no, Wayne. Absolutely not. Steve is as straight as they come.” He smiled a little ruefully at that, and though Steve had been smiling at him like that, it was just because they were friends. Expecting anything else would just lead to more heartbreak.

Wayne gave him a disbelieving quirk of his brows. “Whatever you say, kid.”

Eddie rolled his eyes in response. “You thought he had said something homophobic earlier.”

Reaching for his mug, Wayne gave a one shouldered shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone projected anger at themselves outwards.” He eyed Eddie. “They good to you though? Your friends. You feel…safe with them?”

Eddie thought about that. He trusted them, with his life actually, and not just in the figurative way. They’d proven that they’d save him, time and again. He even had his very own brand new walkie-talkie and call sign to show for it. He was part of something bigger now, something real, which was just what he had always wanted. Even if it was all over, their little group was a forever sort of thing.

Smiling, Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” He glanced over at Wayne with a soft look. “But no matter what, I know have you to back me up so…yeah, I feel safe because I know at the end of the day, I won’t be alone.” He had needed to tell Wayne first, but maybe…maybe he could tell the others too. Eventually.

Wayne gave a short nod. He seemed content with that answer. “Just remember to use protection when you bring your boy over.”

“Wayne!” Eddie screeched scandalized, but his uncle only laughed.

Of course, it still took several months to get there, but when Wayne came home early one day to find Eddie and Steve shirtless and making out on the sofa, all Eddie could do was give his uncle a sheepish smile.

When the next day Wayne came home and chucked a new pack of condoms at his head, Eddie just gave another scandalized screech while Steve, once again next to him, flushed a bright cherry tomato red.

They’d use them, of course, but it was the principle of the matter.

[blueberrymocha]

texting them

gon

✰ he didn’t grow up with much technology

✰ and he def did not have a phone

✰ so since he isn’t in the habit of using it often, your messages are all on delivered

✰ he also prefers to live in the moment instead of checking his phone all the time

✰ unfortunately for you that means you’re better off calling the person he’s with if you need to reach him

✰ once you talk to him about it though, he’ll be sure to answer within a couple hours

✰ he’d save your contact as a pet name, personally i can see him using “sunshine” or “honey” for you

✰ you’d be pictureless until killua points it out to gon and explains that you can add pictures to someone’s contact

✰ but once he does learn he’ll use a cute coupley picture of you guys from one of your first dates

✰ would have trouble deciphering your abbreviations

“btw ur gna be back asap right?”

“huh.”

✰ its fine, he prefers to call (loves to hear your voice) anyways

killua

✰ y’all would be so mischievous together

✰ prank calls as a weekly ritual

✰ you’re mostly safe from them but don’t think he’ll never do it to you

✰ probably won’t text you first but always responds within the minute

✰ would only call if he’s checking up on you, like when you’re sick or he’s on an adventure

✰ will use the most abysmal, disrespectful picture he has of you

✰ your name on his phone is either an inside joke or an insult like “sleeping ugly 🧚‍♀️” (he’s out for blood omg you overslept once)

✰ i just know alluka is confused af

✰ he’ll change it to something else whenever you see it, which you will eventually

“y/n can you check my phone?”

“sure! babe why is my name ‘dumbass’ heart emoji, wizard emoji?”

kurapika

✰ you can see this one from a mile away…

✰ his phone always got that silent mode + dnd + texts muted combo

✰ he does all that but would fully expect you to pick up if he called you

✰ speaking of which, he would call probably daily if either of you were away

✰ never forgets an “i love you” “be safe” “see you soon” etc

✰ if something happened, would want you to know that

✰ you guys would fall asleep on calls

✰ but mostly him

✰ your contact might just be your name for a while

✰ but i could also see him using something tame like “love” or “sweetheart”

✰ hes also the type to leave you on read

✰ especially if you’re asking when he’ll be back or how his mission is going

✰ generally just keeps his work separate from home unless he needs to vent or it’s extremely relevant to you

leorio

✰ wishes he could talk more often

✰ school just keeps him really busy

✰ will be upfront with you if he needs time to study, make dinner, or anything of that nature

✰ you’d get in the habit of leaving voicemails

✰ he listens to them all and leaves some for you too

✰ also good morning and good night texts, always

✰ your picture is whatever picture of you he finds the hottest tbh

✰ your name would be a pet name such as “shorty” or “beautiful”

✰ idk why but i feel like he’d misplace his phone often

✰ so if he doesn’t respond by the end of the day, you’ll probably get a call from his roommate’s phone saying how he lost his own

hisoka

✰ lets it ring out and then calls back a minute later

✰ “oh did you need something?”

✰ this man can’t stop playing games, the call cuts off halfway through what you’re saying

✰ then he calls back again acting like it was the wi-fi

✰ don’t worry——that’s only like a quarter of the time

✰ depending on his mood, he’ll be mostly serious

✰ imagine the look on his face when he realizes you’re calling because you’re in the hospital or smth

✰ yeah so he’s better at responding now!

✰ your contact picture is gonna be from the most stalker angle

✰ like it’s just you sleeping

✰ you found that a little odd but maybe your clown just wants to capture those memories

✰ …while you’re walking home on the opposite sidewalk

✰ if you’re in a longer, serious relationship, your name is something romantic like “my dove” but it’ll take a while to get there

illumi

✰ you’d be so surprised to find that he loves to call

✰ he travels a lot as an assassin, so he needs something to do

✰ would always text you formally it’s scary

“have you arrived at the manor yet, y/n? be sure to notify me immediately once you do.”

✰ he’s giving you customer service type responses

✰ you’ll also get updates about his missions

“i’ve just finished killing the target, expect to see me home in four days”

✰ the contact is just your name and if you convince him, he’ll add a picture of your choice

chrollo

✰ has like six phones

✰ if you didn’t know he was the leader of a gang you might‘ve thought he was cheating

✰ you also have the numbers of most of the spiders

✰ so if he ever has to disappear (like after yorknew) they’ll be sure to let you know what’s going on

✰ he’ll text you a few times a day if he’s able to

✰ would ask about your day and remind you to take care of yourself

✰ the conversations usually focus on you, while he listens or prompts you

✰ like kurapika, doesn’t want to involve you in troupe business so it’s very rare for him to even mention them

✰ he doubts you even want to hear about how he robbed an old man today, or killed a woman who didn’t hand over a jewel

✰ on his top secret personal phone, he’ll give you a contact photo with both of you in it

✰ your name would be a classy pet name, maybe “princess” or “beloved”

[vaaaaaiolet]

Sleep-deprived Leon's upstairs neighbor works late 'cause she's a singer on a deadline, and he's having none of it. He comes up with a wild solution to the problem in a moment of desperation, and he's surprised when you actually go along with it, but anything to get a full night's sleep, right? Then he finds himself wanting a bit more than camaraderie with you in the process.

f/m, romance, fluff, does this count as crack??? popstar reader w/ a twist, ID leon is USELESS w tech + lives under a ROCK, also you manic pixie dream girl a bit too close to the sun but it's ok bc ur cute LOL

word count: 2.6k // read this chapter on ao3

a/n: req fic + belated bday gift for my lovely 🍍 anon!! as usual i got carried away and butchered it. um. NOTHING makes sense just go w the vibes i beg you </3 pt. 2 coming out asap bc this fic will not leave me alone in the best way :)

chapter one

Rule of thumb: don’t bang on the first date. 

Leon’s wrapping his pillow around his head like a pair of goddamn Beefs (or is Beets? those tacky, overpriced- oh, forget it) while his upstairs neighbor gives her bed a run for its money on a Friday night, at a blessed 9 PM no less. 

Oh yeah. Her.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. 

R-rated suspicions aside, Leon tries hoping for the best. His new neighbor might just be an interior designer of the nocturnal sort. Sick of his previous rowdy, college kid-infested apartment building, he’d moved into this complex not too long ago thanks to a very politely-worded call to Hunnigan about open listings in quiet, senior citizen-friendly neighborhoods. Call him old, call him boring, but after a long day of running around saving humanity from the newest bioweapon to hit the market, all Leon ever wants to do these days is get a few winks of sleep. He’s pushing 30. Insomnia’s no fountain of youth, people. 

Thump, thump-thump-thump. 

New Girl upstairs seemed to have the same idea but with far more nefarious intent. She’d moved in at the same time as him, he’s sure – Leon saw a flash of her face a few days ago when she was lugging boxes of stuff into the elevator up to her floor. She’s the only sign of life from the 21st century he’s encountered since the day he came to sign his lease papers. Why? 

Because Hunnigan had fulfilled his request to a T. Leon’s new apartment building is long-term care home adjacent. 

Full of grandmas and grandpas who got about as loud as their record players, only leaving their homes to fetch the mail – telegrams by the wrinkles on some of them. It was perfect. Leon was positively thrilled when Eunice from Unit 202 very, very slowly, waved hello to him on his moving day.

THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP!

And then she happened.

Maybe he’s just a grumpy old man right where he belongs, in all his 29-and-a-half glory. But the pounding that girl is giving her bed with some frat boy right now is giving Leon the college dorm experience all over again. It takes him half an hour of tossing and turning in his sheets to throw on an old jacket, beeline to the elevator, punch the neon 3 button, and darken New Girl’s doorstep. 

His turn now. A quick knock, knock is enough for Unit 304’s door to open a crack.

“Hey, I’m from downst- oh my God, are you decent?”

And you, standing at the door in a dress that’s more sheer than his disbelief, only tilt your head to go, “Huh?” 

“Listen, I know tomorrow’s the weekend but I- shit,” his face burns, “could you keep it down, please? You guys are really loud and it’s late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You- you and whoever you’re with, could you not do this right now?” Leon croaks. 

Your hands flail wildly in dismissal. “Oh no, that was just me jumping on my bed! Helps with my creative process,” you say, smiling weakly. “I didn’t know the floors were that thin, I’m sorry.”

Bullshit. “They are.” Leon grimaces, “And um, it’s fine if you guys are loud, just save it for when everyone’s asleep next time.”

A frown interrupts your smile. “I just said it was me. There’s no one else here, seriously.”

“So what’s with the getup?”

“The-” your eyes drift down to the near see-through of your dress and Leon gestures vaguely, as if you need more explanation to why he’s avoiding eye contact with your chest. “Oh, this?”

He nods. 

“Creative process!” you chirp brightly.

“For what, pray tell?”

Curiously, that puts the wind out of your sails. Suddenly you having trouble meeting Leon’s eyes, lashes fluttering as you look up, down, anywhere that’s not his face. 

“For school,” you finally make out, fingers wrapping around the edge of your door. “I’m a music major.”

Pianos and prancing on beds don’t exactly mix. He can’t help but squint at you. “And the jumping helps with…?”

“Getting past writer’s block!” 

Back to bubbly with the ball in your court, you go so far as to open your door a little further to explain. Leon’s cheeks blaze as he tries his damndest to keep his eyes from drifting south. 

“I read online that moving around helps with ideas, and I’m supposed to have a whole album written by the end of the week. I probably shouldn’t have procrastinated…” you trail off with a half-hearted chuckle, “so now I’m throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks, y’know?”  

He hums. “You wanna be a singer?” 

“Mhm!” Your updone hair bobs with you, reminding him a little of a bobblehead. It’s almost cute enough to make his AMs worthwhile.

“Then you better start singing somewhere else, sweetheart. The walls are just as thin as the floors.” 

And Leon immediately turns his ass around to go back to sleep.

In hindsight, it might’ve been a little mean of him to leave like that. But his bed is just so heavenly, and with the sleep deprivation he’s been racking up lately, Leon’s half sure he just dreamed that entire exchange. There’s no way a girl like you in college – in her 20s, give or take – is seriously jumping on her bed on a Friday night for a homework assignment. That too in a dress fit for the club to add to the irony. Are all creatives this weird?

He pinches the bridge of his nose as the elevator descends, pushing aside his last glimpse of the glum expression he left you with in your doorway. So much for first impressions. But hey, you didn’t really make a great one either. He’ll call it even. Maybe get you a gift basket for chivalry’s sake.

He considers all this as he slips back under his blankets, finally, at 9:45 PM.

And then he hears a creeeaaak.

“Please,” Leon groans, jamming his pillow over his ears. 

Thump…thump?

Nix the gift basket.

6:00 AM on Saturday finds Leon with his eyes wide open and glazed insomniac red.

His alarm blares as if to say, you actually thought you’d need to get woken up, didn’t you?

It’s a little patronizing. He teaches it a lesson by throwing it off his nightstand.

Sometime between 11 and 12 at night, you’d gotten bored of your bed and taken to something with wheels. An office chair is Leon’s best guess. You’d rolled across your floor all night, and the resulting clatter of plastic grating on hardwood had kept him awake until the sunrise. Hangovers were more pleasant than the night of sleep (or lack thereof) he’d just gotten, and Leon’s no wimp. He’s a man, goddamnit. A decorated government agent!

So he handles the problem at its source. Whips out his flip phone like a man, and makes a very important call.

A disgruntled female voice crackles through at the first ring. “May I remind you that this line’s only for emergencies, Leon?”

“It is! I need you to find me another apartment, Hunnigan, please,” Leon sits up, rubbing his eyes to plead his case to an unimpressed Ingrid Hunnigan. “My upstairs neighbor won’t let me sleep. The floors are thin as hell and she’s been moving around all night. It’s even worse than my last place.”

“Really? An old lady is giving you that hard of a time?” 

“She’s college age — a singer — and when she starts singing for her homework all the time, I’m really not going to get any sleep. I’m begging you, Hunnigan. Get me out of here.” 

“Strange.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Truly,” Hunnigan deadpans. “You know how hard of a time I had getting you into an apartment building only for people over 55, Leon?” 

He winces, holding the phone a little further from his ears just in case. 

“How many favors I had to cash in, strings I had to pull, all because you’re hopeless at navigating an apartment listing site, let alone anything on the Internet? Do you realize I had to do that in my personal time because your request would fall under illegal use of federal intelligence resources?”

Leon falters. “I didn’t-”

“So here’s what you’re going to do,” Hunnigan says shortly. “You are going right back to your neighbor and working out a solution like an adult.”

“But I already-”

“You’re solving this on your own, Leon. Figure something out because I know you can delegate. Got it?”

He really doesn’t. He’s only good at that outside of the US.

“Is that clear, Agent Kennedy?” Hunnigan repeats for semantic measure.

“Crystal,” Leon mopes, sapped of all hope when she ends the call with a ‘good luck’, just like back in Spain. A familiar routine.

He’s back in front of Unit 304 by 9:00 AM. 

You open your door with a half-chewed yawn, wrapped in a robe and looking deceptively angelic, that is, if it weren’t for the immediate pinch your pretty brows take on when you grace him with a decidedly sour look. 

“Up already?” Leon tries.

This time all he gets in response is a quick nod, a mouth parted in distaste. 

Forward march, Kennedy.

“You were up past midnight. I heard you, y’know, on your chair. Kinda loud.”

“I’m not annoying you on purpose,” you sigh, tucking your arms into a tight cross over the fluff of your robe. “I just really have to turn my album in on time and I’m having crazy writer’s block. They told me the people here are quiet and easygoing. I haven’t had a single noise complaint so far except for you, did you know that?” 

“That’s because everyone in this building either has hearing aids or doesn’t realize they need them yet,” Leon grits. “I don’t even know how you got in here, to be honest.”

“A sparkling letter of recommendation, thank you very much. And you?” You push up on your toes indignantly. “Are you just older than you look? ‘Cause you might need a pair of hearing aids yourself.”

Leon bites back a scoff. “Don’t need ‘em. I can hear you plain as day from below.”

Sirens are starting to blare in his head and it’s like he can feel Hunnigan glaring at him from her HQ in the sky. Aborting mission again isn’t an option. If Leon doesn’t fix things now, he’d be starting bad blood that might outlast the combined remaining lifespans of the building’s tenants. His salary could cover rent that long; his ego, not so much.

You’re about two seconds away from shutting your door in Leon’s face before he interrupts with a save pulled straight from his ass: “I’ll help you write your songs.”

So instead, you squawk, “What?”

He sticks the toe of his shoe in your doorjamb for insurance. Blurts, “I mean it. I’ll help you come up with ideas.”

“How on Earth would you do that?”

Great question. No better time than the present for the both of you to find out. 

“You said moving around helps?” Leon repeats for you to confirm with a quizzical nod, “I’ll take you anywhere you want. Anywhere in the city, you name it, I’ve got a motorcycle I’ll get you there on. It’ll be a change of scenery. Just whatever you do, enough with the gymnastics at midnight.”

It’s a desperate lifeline, a creepy one now that he’s had more than two seconds to think about it, but a lifeline nonetheless.

And to his horror, all you do is stare. 

The resulting silence feels like crystallizing amber. A clock ticks agonizingly from somewhere in your living room. Tick, tick, shit, he desponds. But thankfully, your laugh bubbles out not a moment too soon, sending a tsunami of relief down his shoulders. 

“Gymnastics, really?” you snort, covering your mouth with a well-manicured hand.

“I’m serious.” Leon shoots for a winning smile. “But I have to ask, is working late also part of your creative process?”

Your eyes crinkle maybe, but you shake your head no. 

“Then we’ll go whenever you’re free. Show you a few of my favorite spots, see if it speeds up your songwriting. Sound okay, sweetheart?” 

“How about now?” you pipe up.

Leon coughs his splutter into something more dignified. 

“You said whenever I was free! It’s a Saturday, you’re free,” you point a finger at his chest, “I’m free,” turn it back on yourself, “and I need to finish writing my album by, like, yesterday. This is perfect!” With a miniscule squeal, you disappear back into your apartment.

Leon’s left standing in your entryway wondering when his lifeline became a dynamite detonation cord.

“You haven’t even asked me my name,” he calls out to deaf ears. Cups his hands for effect because he can hear you flinging hangers onto the floor. “Don’t they teach you about stranger danger at school?” 

“I’ll find out eventually!” floats back your worrying response.

You’re an efficient dresser, Leon gives you that. A thankfully normal one too at the dress and heels you rush back up to the door with. A large pair of cat-eye sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose makes Leon do a double take at the cloudy sky outside, but then again, maybe it’s another part of your creative process. Beyond his pay grade.

You adjust your sunnies with gusto, grin up at him when he gives you a curious look. 

“Well, go on,” you say, pulling out your phone. 

Leon blinks at the glowing rectangle.

“Number, name?” You tilt it as if you’re trying to entice a toddler. “I can’t just keep calling you Mr. Noise Complaint.”

“Aw, you’ve been telling your friends about me?” Leon chuckles at last, pulling out his flip phone and handing it to you.  

And suddenly it’s your turn to stare at a piece of foreign technology.

You take your sweet time putting in your number. It’s very entertaining, the way the tip of your tongue sticks out the tiniest bit when you make a mistake and the sound of furious keypad backspacing follows right after. Leon’s no better, setting himself on your phone as “LOEN KEENAYD”, and with his pride bordering on hubris, he has no choice but to keep it that way.

“Really small backspace key,” he fibs when you peer at the gibberish in your contacts. 

Your lip bite makes for a piss-poor job of hiding how funny it is.  

“It’s Leon, by the way. Leon Kennedy. Apartment 204.” 

You fix his name in half the time it took him to put it in. He holds his hand out for a shake, timeless enough, and you give it three businesslike pumps.

“I have to grab a spare helmet from my place, I’ll meet you down at the garage,” Leon promises.

You point at him before stepping into the elevator. “Either your idea works or I’ll have to work past midnight to get this album done and then you’ll really owe me, Leon.” 

In another life, you could’ve been a CEO. You’ve certainly got the pointer finger for it. 

Leon tips his chin in acknowledgment. “Whatever it takes to get back into your good graces, ma’am,” he grins.

That gets a cackle out of you as the elevator doors slide shut.

And he takes the stairs this time, waves good morning to Eunice in 215 on his way to pick up that helmet for you. It must be a good day, Leon thinks, sounding out your name in his phone’s contacts. Eunice even has a post- Great Depression era vinyl playing on her record player. Maybe it’s a sign to not be so glum about his situation. He’s finally fixing it, isn’t he? 

So be it. A guy can dream. In Leon’s case, he’s hoping he gets eight hours by Monday.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/saradika-graphics <3

[txttletale]

roadhogsbigbelly is doubling down. genuinely incredible (yes i am aware how deeply funny it is to start a serious post with that sentence. it is my one allotment of levity)

oh okay you just assumed that "loliporn" was involved and something that i deserved to be associated with defending and accused of making "integral to the queer identity" because of stuff that the OP (who i cannot stress enough i never followed or talked to or knew in any fucking way!) did that got called out months after i made my addition?

the rest of his post is just a very lengthy way of saying "umm if you didn't want to be called a pedophile because you were mean about stardew valley maybe you should be more careful about how you reblog from". yeah buddy im sure you apply that standard to yourself too huh. im sure you pull out your Bad Person detector every time you reblog a fucking post and beam OP with it. you literally screenshot my post about how as a trans women i get this standard uniquely applied to me and went "um its a good standard though. answer for the actions of every fucking person youve ever reblogged a post by".

and all this whole fucking schtick where he's like "ummmm im not calling you a pedophile :) i just assumed you thought 'loliporn was integral to the queer identity' based on source: i made it up and am going out of my way to repeatedly say you're agreeing with pedophiles and not being wary enough about pedophiles and that 99% of people who make the type of post im accusing you of making are pedophiles" is so fucking pathetic and if you fall for it you are a blatant transmisogynist like come the fuck on man.

i am no longer having a nice time on the computer, i am pretty fucking angry. and all this because he "doesnt have much skin in the game" but he doesn't like my stardew valley takes! yeah man real proportionate response.

not to mention the aside he makes to say 'wah wah someone told me to kill myself' amiguito do you have any fucking idea what my inbox has looked like since this entire transmisogynistic harassment campaign began a week ago? i delete those asks because i'm not into flaunting every piece of online abuse i get to make myself look like the victim in computer arguments but it has been constant and graphic! breaking news, women are people too, some of the most cutting-edge research suggests they might even have feelings!

"oh i censored her identity i dont know how she even found it" oh okay so you were anonymously pedojacketing me to your thousands of followers while vaguing about a post i made that had thousands of notes and using the same screenshot that an uncensored version of was passed around with thousands of notes as part of a transmisogynistic harassment campaign last fucking week?

how could anyone possibly have guessed it was me! it's a real mystery man it was basically witness protection. "oh but i didn't know, i didn't know she was trans", maybe he'll also say he didn't know about the harassment campaign, hey fucker, maybe apply some of the constant scrutiny you're reserving for women who are mean about farming game and apply it to yourself and consider looking into these things before baselessly making pedo accusations against someone!

this transmisogynistic crybully shit is absolutely fucking insufferable and i am absolutely sick of it and anyone who buys into it. i'm done assuming good faith or ignorance. i am not going to be a good placid little bullying target and acquiesce to this vile shit. it's truly fucking incredible that a tme guy can be found out as an actual pedophile and guys like mr. belly can immediately jump into action to use this as an opportunity to denounce a trans woman who had one interaction with him ever that consisted of five minutes spent typing an addition to a post and hitting ''reblog''. & if you don't find that sickening then straight up you are not safe for trans women to be around.

[acowardinmordor]

You Left Me, You Miss Me - Five

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five

Continuing immediately from part Four. And I hear your screaming, and enjoy it, but I am pretty sure that I'm not going the direction you expect me to.

------

“Huh?”

“I asked them to,” Eddie repeated, quieter.

It didn’t make more sense the second time.  His kids were stubborn. They were obnoxious, and someone asking them to do, or not do something had never once changed anything. Steve spent the last few years asking them not to leave crumbs in his car, and to call before coming over, and to please, just once, let him choose the movie on a movie night. Plus the part where everyone asked them not to put themselves in danger when monsters crawled out of the ground. 

Threats didn’t work on them, law enforcement didn’t work on them, like hell was something as delicate as asking going to do a damn thing. 

“Yeah, no, I heard you, but I don’t get it. So you, what? You sat them down and asked them to ice me out? And they said ‘sure why not!’ Man, even if you asked them to, they’re still the ones that did it. Shit, you’ve never liked me. There’s no way that you didn’t tell the boys to stop hanging out with me last year during your game meetings before everything happened.” Eddie shrank further into the seat, so Steve added, “So, it’s not your fault, but I guess I forgive you if that makes you feel better.”

Eddie gnawed on the inside of his cheek, wincing at what felt like every other word.

“Shit, Steve, it’s -- Shit,” he cursed as he sloshed some of his coffee over the brim. His eyes were clenched shut, and he was curled in on himself. “I didn’t sit them down and tell them to stop talking to you. That -- no way that would work. You’re right. They wouldn’t just -- Like I said, they’re crazy about you. It’s more, it’s all of the, I told them about how ever since -- shit. Look, it doesn’t matter why or how I did it, just trust me, I’m the reason. It’s my fault, and I fucked up, and I didn’t mean it to make -- but you left, and it’s killing them, and so you gotta forgive them, at least talk to them, cause its not their fault.”

“Yeah,” Steve stalled, “still don’t get why you think this is on you, dude.”

“At the beginning it -- shit, no. Doesn’t matter. Jesus Christ, Munson, don’t make this about that. Okay. I asked them not to invite you if I was around, cause I wasn’t -- I didn’t want to see you, and then I made sure they were always around me because -- because I wanted them to. And then I, you know, kept poking at them about it when they’d bring it up, reminding them that you don’t like D&D and that you wouldn’t want to watch the new Star Trek movie, and when they said anything I just kept telling them that -- Shit, just believe me. I’m the one that made them do this, it’s my fault, it’s not them.”

Okay, so Eddie was pushier since Spring Break than he was before it. Or the kids listened to him more. Or they were trying to take care of him. So Eddie was the prompt for them cutting him out of everything. Fine.

Still didn’t make it the guy’s fault. 

Steve got close with Robin after she found out about the Upside Down. But he didn’t get close to Jonathan. Dustin became, for a while at least, his brother. Steve would die for Mike, but they didn’t hang out if it wasn’t a group thing. All of them were tied together, and any one of them could make a call, and everyone would come to help, but that didn’t make them all automatically into friends. 

God, Eddie looked like he was on the edge of a breakdown in a booth in a diner. 

“Look, it’s,” Steve spun his coffee cup, “you’re real close with the guys in your club right? The ones in your band?”

Eddie went tense, then nodded awkwardly.

“You’re close because of that stuff, though. Not just cause you had some classes together or were next to each other on a bus. You got pushed together for some random reason, but  that happened with a lot of people. But you had shared interests, right? You like that game, and you got bullied at school and you like the same loud screaming music. So you got to know each other, and you had a bunch in common, and so you guys are friends. You’re close, so even though you graduated, and you don’t have class and lunch together anymore, you’re still friends.

“Christ, Steve, no,” he protested. 

Steve ignored that and kept going.

“I never had that with the kids, or any of them. Shit. Never had that with Nance either, but I didn’t know it back then.” His inner Robin glared, and he stayed on topic. “It wasn’t as simple as sharing some classes, there were monsters and all that, but that’s what kept me and them around each other. No more monsters now, so.”

His stomach twisted, like it always did if he got too close to thinking about this. 

He only barely managed to talk about this with Robin, because when it was Robin he was honest, and when he was honest, really honest, he ended the night quiet and hurting and picking apart the past year trying to find what he could have done differently. Shoving all of that back into the dark of his mind, he conjured up a casual shrug and a smile. 

“I get that they’re probably freaking out right now, but they’ll get over it. Give it another month or two and it’ll be fine. Start one of your campaign -- your big story things and distract them if they’re bugging you about it.” 

He wiped up the coffee Eddie spilled on instinct, and shoved the napkin in his now empty cup. 

Time to get home and get a nap before he went to the stockroom that night. He wouldn’t see Robin until he picked her up for work, but they were scheduled alone, so he could talk all of this through then. Trying to pretend this day didn’t happen would last all of eight seconds of contact with his best friend. Maybe she could make sense of how he was feeling. 

“Wait, stop, you can’t leave yet.”

“Munson, I’ve been here since before dawn, I wanna leave.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but you have to talk to them. They miss you.”

“They didn’t six weeks ago, did they? Or for the holidays? Or for the months before that, huh?” Steve finally snapped, then took a breath. “Sorry. Answer’s still no.”

He bussed their cups and the creamer to the pass through and grabbed his coat and gloves. Steam rose off Hopper’s truck where he had the engine running to keep warm. They exchanged a single nod before Steve turned towards the road to walk home. 

“Steve!” 

It wasn’t a shock to hear, but Steve had hoped that Eddie wouldn’t follow. 

“Okay, I get that you’re not going to just forgive them, and that you don’t want to talk to them, but--”

“No. I don’t. And I know you think this is your fault, and I’m telling you it’s not, and I told you, I’m not mad at you about this. We weren’t friends. I’m not mad at you for not wanting me around or whatever. That’s fine. And? They’ll get over it, and everyone can just move on with their lives with the people they actually like.”

Steve’s stupid voice betrayed him, cracking, and he cut off the rest of what he might have said. Anger was the fastest way to shut down weakness, and it was easy for him to sink into it.  

Eddie had his hands in his hair, clutching at it near his temples, looking borderline hysterical. 

“Would you at least listen if they talked?”

“They don’t have my phone number, and if you tell them where I live, I’ll send Mrs Buckley after you. And Hopper.”

“You could call them.”

“No.”

It wasn’t about who placed the call. If he heard them, if they said a fraction of what he wanted to hear, he’d cave, immediately and entirely, and then both the real life Robin, and the mini Robin in his brain would give him hell. 

“Steve come on, something, anything. Letters? If they write letters?”

“I’m not giving them my address, and Hopper already asked about mailing stuff through him instead. No.”

It was cold and he was tired. Just about the only person in the party that he didn’t care had abandoned him was trying to pull Steve back into the vat of slow simmering pain he was still climbing out of. 

“Look, Eddie --”

“I’ll drive them. The letters. You don’t even have to answer, or read them. Let me tell them that I can bring you letters, and I’ll drive them up here. If you do want to answer I’ll wait and then drive whatever it is back. As many times as you want.”

“Come on, man.”

“I won’t even -- I don’t have to know where you live, or your number, anything. I can come here. To the diner. Won’t even come inside, just drop them off and wait. You won’t have to talk to me, or see me. Just, come on. Even if you never forgive them, or answer them, let them have this. Even if you don’t read what they say, let them think they got to apologize.”

The wind shifted, and Steve tucked his chin into his coat to wait it out. 

Eddie was shivering two steps away, gloveless hands shoved under his arms, hair tangling into more of a mess than usual. 

“That’s a stupid idea, Munson,” he said when the gust stopped, “If they know that you know where I am, and you don’t tell them, they’re going to hate you. They’d drive you insane trying to get you to tell them, and they’d be horrible the whole time. They already ditched me for you, so, don’t make them hate you too.”

“They already hate me.” The response was immediate and defeated.

“Dude, they don’t.”

“They do. They figured it out a few weeks ago. That I was the reason. Just cause you don’t get it doesn’t mean they don’t. This is my fault. They already hate me. They won’t even talk to me long enough to yell. They act like I don’t exist.”

“Christ, Munson, is that why you’re up here, freezing your ass off in a parking lot and bitching at me? So you can get them to like you by getting me to talk to them?”

Eddie flinched. Didn’t say anything for a minute as he shivered with wide eyes. Then, without any of the dramatics the guy was known for, “Please, Steve. Even if you throw them out right after. Let them write to you, and let me tell them the truth when I say you got them. I think they can survive if they don’t hear back. They’ll blame me, but that’s fine, they should. The silence is what’s killing them. They need to say how -- they need to believe that you heard how sorry they are.”

It was so fucking cold it was making Steve’s eyes water. That was the only reason for it. The cold front that came in overnight.

“I’m not gonna promise to read them,” he caved.

The tension collapsed out of Eddie, and he slumped forward, hiding his face in his hands. 

“I work here in the mornings Monday through Wednesday every week. You should drop them off then. M’not saying I’ll read them, or write anything back, but if they want to write, fine.” 

Eddie nodded over and over, hiding behind his hands, and whisper-mumbling something that Steve couldn’t catch. He was shaking again. The kind of full body wracking that meant the cold was sinking deep.

“Christ, go get in Hop’s truck before your fingers freeze off or something.” 

Without waiting for a response, or checking that he listened, Steve turned and kept walking. Another gust of wind tore through him, loud enough that he wouldn’t have heard another call of his name. It was a good thing that John messed up the big combo that morning, and Steve had eaten it during the lull after breakfast. He wasn’t going to manage anything else until tomorrow at the earliest. 

That was assuming Robin didn’t kill him on the spot for his stupid, stupid decision. 

Ten steps down the road, and he already regretted it. Even if he didn’t read anything, even if they never sent anything, the choice would sit like a rock in his gut; a new ache, a new bruise, and Steve was dumb enough that he’d keep poking at it. 

---

I'm sad that this is two chapters without Robin. That's some kind of a crime. Can guarantee that Robin has Strong Opinions about this when she talks to Steve that night.

I don't do tag lists or regular updates, and I have no shame about that.

>>>>>Part Six

[mrsackermannx]

chef!sukuna who’s still lower in the rank than he wants to be, but so close to being a sous. tonight is his night to do the night’s special dish, finally. he earned this. he knew that if the head chef just let him, he could create the best dish ever served at this damn place.

so, he does just that.

he’s immediately scolded, the dish uses too many ingredients, the head says. too much to prepare. too ambitious. even though he used all of the left over ingredients from the menu’s usuals. 0% waste, 0% additional cost.

sukuna curses, taking a deeper drag of his cigarette. “make sure no table gets that shit,” he hears, with his fists clenching at his sides. ill go to the gym after this, he thinks, yeah, punch the fuck out of that bag.

it turns out that only table 8 has the dish, your table. the server messed up and now they’re crying in the back to the porter because they’ve been fired on the spot. “i told you not to fucking take it! have you never done expo-“

sukuna stalks calmly to the shaking waiter, “show me table eight-“ he sighs, levelling the head chef with a glare, sukuna was much larger, much stronger than him, difference in rank or not. he stood down, stalking down the other side of the kitchen with a huff. “ignore him, i wanna see who’s eating my dish, come on, let’s go.”

a reassuring pat to the shoulder from sukuna was almost enough to make him cry even more. sukuna kind of hated everyone.

“just there, chef. the couple, bedside the pillar on the left…its um…her, chef.” he grins, watching how transfixed the normally gruff man is, “your girl heh heh.”

“shut up,” he says, but he smiles a little.

he watches you, sat opposite some guy you hardly look interested in, you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, as always, his eyes are drawn to you, no other woman could compare.

he watches you slice through his dish, the fork at your lips, as soon as it reaches your mouth you make a noise of such rapture, a sudden quiet falls upon the floor of the restaurant.

it’s almost weird how heat rushes low at the sight and the sound, he can’t remember the last time anyone else fired him up like this. he never took himself to have any kind of food fetish, either. yet watching you eat his dishes always seems to be an erotic exchange he never anticipates.

“oh…him? think they’re married?”

“i don’t think so.”

that man seems to hiss at you, eyes on his watch, barely touching his dish. “i wanted pizza downtown, god.”

you shake your hand in dismissal, shoving another forkful in your mouth. “i wanted this, i always want this.”

sukuna let’s out a breathy fuck, and the server practically faints.

no one was immune to sukuna’s charm, then, it seemed.

“oh, fuck, table 7 saw me. fuck, chef ive already been fire-“

“go and give them a reason not to fire you. go, go to your table kid, it’s still yours, right?”

the table beside you seems to have called him over, asking for the same dish you seem to believe has came from heaven, telling anybody who asks.

sukuna can’t help but enjoy the lively affair, as the restaurant manager tries to explain over and over to more and more tables that the chef special has been cancelled. oh, how he loved this little bit of chaos.

“why?” your voice clatters through the cacophony like a piece of silverware on crockery. “this dish is phenomenal, the best ive ever eaten here and in this city, in this country-“

“miss-“

“taste it! can you not taste the hard work? the thought? its the best thing ive ever eaten. the chef who made this has impeccable taste and talent.”

your laughter rings through the place at your partners embarrassment. sukuna is about to pry himself away and head back into the kitchen, leaning on the side of the bar and then…your eyes meet, another forkful is waiting before those glossed lips. another sweet sound of joy rings through the air.

now you see him, huh?

your smile is sweeter than agave, “it’s you.”

your words are lost on everyone around you, but to sukuna he hears them as if you whispered them right against his ear.

sukuna was a tall, broad, and unquestionably handsome man, unmissable out of his chef whites, invisible in them, somehow. obscured by the ambient lighting of the restaurant.

you near him, like a moth to a flame, a sensual air to the way your hips flick toward him. “you-“

the head chef storms through to the restaurant floor, the door slamming you both into the corresponding wall. his large arms wrap around you, his hand cups the back of your head.

he slowly retracts his hand, and your chest rises as you resist the urge to press your cheekbone into his palm, “are you okay?”

his voice is deep and addicting, dark and dripping down your throat.

you’re beaming at him, like he’s an angel, like he’s somebody you already adore. he gifts you a lover’s laugh, “you seem to be the only satisfied person in the building tonight.”

“seems like you’ve satisfied me sir.” you wink, still letting his aura press you into the wall, he cages you in with his arms.

“oh?”

“last thursday. that soup, you made it, didn’t you…?”

“sukuna,” he answers for you, “maybe.”

“seafood special last month?”

“yes, and your name?”

for some reason he’s out of breath, you’re so close, so fancy in your silk dress, clad in jewellery that sparkles even under these dimmed lights. “reader, you…you’re a genius.”

“so you came to thank me personally?” he leans closer, swiping sauce from the corner of your lip. it lingers on his thumb, his eyes chase yours as he licks it. “how sweet of you.”

[ashbye]

Fashion Show

-Look y'all I know I've been gone but I had a vision ok it came to me while I was doing yard work and I had to so enjoy. There's plot guys 🤚😔

Summary: While on a run you find something that would be the perfect surprise for Daryl. You show him and are very happy with the outcome.

-It's smutty oops 18+ 🤭 and not beta read. There's swearing so prepare yourselves. I HATE THE WORD PANTIES SO IM NOT WRITING IT! Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

-Alexandria era (probably) and I am a women so its she/her (sorry)

It had been a while since you'd gone outside of the walls so you jumped at the chance to go on a run. Although you had wanted Daryl to join you he was unfortunately busy. Maggie and Michonne were joining you today so you can't complain.

After gathering the needed weapons and equipment you headed with the girls to a mall nearby that hadn't been checked thoroughly yet.

You got to the mall in record time with Michonne driving. Grabbing your machete in your hand and putting your gun in its holster, you got out of the car walking to the entrance behind Maggie.

"Why are we back here again I thought some guys had cleared it out already?" You asked turning to Michonne.

"They said there was too many walkers to get too far in do we're checking again."

You turned towards the door with a hum sound and raised your machete, walking into the mall. After scoping out the front the three of you found the mall to be almost completely empty aside from a few stray walkers that could be taken care of when you came across them.

Maggie turned to you both, "I say we split up, cover more ground."

You nodded before walking ahead as you all separated. Most stores you had looked through had been cleared out over time. There was a shirt here, a pair of socks there, but other than that it was a bit of a bust.

Until you saw a sign to a store ahead of you to your right. "No fucking way..."

You picked up the walkie talkie on your hip and called to Maggie and Michonne. "You guys are not gonna believe what I just found."

"What is it?" Michonne asked urgency in her tone.

"Either of you need any new bras?"

"Obviously, why?" Maggie was incredibly confused by now. You laughed before responding again.

"Go straight and take a right you'll find me. You need to see it to believe it." You put the walkie back after hearing Michonne say she's on her way.

You turn to the approaching footsteps and laugh. "Isn't it great? A Victoria Secret practically over flowing with unused bras and underwear!" Maggie smirked at you "You wanna find something special for Daryl huh?"

Michonne laughed at your expense but you couldn't care less because you're pretty sure you've been wearing the same bra for 2 months now.

And, duh of course you're gonna find stuff for Daryl. You're a loving girlfriend why wouldn't you get a present for him when you're on a run?

"Uh hell yeah I am! If I can find something to make me look sexy for my man of course I'm gonna take it!" You speed walk into the store with the girls following you chuckling.

You hold up a beautiful red set. It's lace would compliment her skin perfectly, you think. "Michonne, if you don't take this home for Rick, I will riot." You hold up to the girls so they can look at it.

"Oh please get that!" Maggie practically begs Michonne. "Alright I'll take it!" Michonne says with a smikr on her face after holding it up to her body.

The rest of the 'shopping spree' goes similarly, with you each holding up sheer and lace bras and panties for the others to take home and wear.

You found quite a few for yourself to surprise Daryl with later. You carefully put them in your bag with a smile.

After your escapade at Victoria Secret you all successfully grabbed every useful thing you could find and packed it into the car.

You were almost shaking with excitement when you got home, the clothes feeling like a thousand pounds in your bag.

It wasn't until everything you found that day was sorted through and put where it was supposed to be that you could go back home to Daryl. You walked through the door calling out to him that you were back. "Hey Darlin'. How was the run?" The familiar gravelly voice said from behind you.

You turned to him with a smile and placed your hands on his hips. You gave him a long kiss with a smile. "It went really well. I have a surprise for you actually." You pulled away from his face with only a few inches of space between you two.

"Surprise?" He asked with a vaguely shocked face.

You hummed with a smirk on your face. "Yeah after dinner I'll show you what your present is."

"So it's an after dinner kinda gift huh?"

You nodded before pulling away from him to hide the gifts in your bedroom. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

It's now dark outside and Daryl is sitting on the front porch smoking a cigarette. You walk up to him and sit down, leaning your head on his shoulder with a sigh.

You sit in silence for a moment before looking up at him. "Are you ready for your surprise Dar?"

He blew smoke out of his mouth before taking the cigarette from between his lips. "Hell yeah baby." He said before grabbing your hand and pulling you up with him.

You lead him to your bedroom with a laugh excitement flowing through both of your veins. Once the door was closed behind you both you turned and gave him a searing kiss. He grabbed your hips tightly with a hum in the back of his throat.

You slowly pulled away and pushed him onto the side of the bed. "I'm gonna give you a little fashion show. How does that sound?"

He looked up at you with a slight nod before you gently slid away from him. You went to the bathroom and put on the first set you got. It was white lace with a black lace flower pattern.

You slowly cracked the door to stick out your head. "You ready?"

"Been ready Darlin'."

The door was slowly pulled away to showcase your body that you had draped across the doorframe. You smirked at him when you saw his eyes slightly widen.

"What do you think Dar?" You slowly turned you body to show him the whole thing.

"Well shit..." he was almost speechless. He wasn't sure how long he'd last. And this was only the first one!

You walked toward him and placed your hands on his shoulders. "You like it?" Your smirk had yet to wipe from your face.

"I- uh yeah ya look-" he could barely even get the words out. He could only look up and down your body with lust clouding his brain.

"I have a couple more for you to take a look at." You pulled away from him and walked back to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Daryl could barely process the fact that you even left the room.

Meanwhile, you're giggling to yourself like a schoolgirl in the bathroom at the look on his face. Once you were ready you opened the door again, looking at Daryl.

This time you're wearing a dark purple set. It had sheer lace with small lime green polka dots. "What do you think about this one? It's a little different." You said, walking up to Daryl.

"I like it." He said, eating you with his eyes like you were his last meal. You chuckled at him before doing a spin.

He nodded his head looking like his head was in the clouds. You gave his cheek a kiss with a small smile on your face. Walking backwards to the bathroom you closed the door and prepared the next one.

You walked out wearing a pale yellow lace set that had cute little bows on the front. It was less revealing but Daryl liked it just as much as the others. You could only stare as you walked up to him. Completely mesmerized with how beautiful you looked.

He wanted to worship you like a goddess. He would kneel at your altar for the rest of eternity if it meant that you would give him even a fraction of the love and elegance you grace him with everyday. You could be covered in blood and walker guts or be wearing the prettiest pale yellow lingerie he's ever seen and he would still think you're the most exquisite women he's ever seen.

"Ya're beautiful." He said, it was the only thing the connection between his brain and mouth could compute.

And you were just fine with that.

"Yeah?" You ask with a big smile on your face. He nods with a small raspy yeah that makes you chuckle. "If this one is your favorite I'll keep it on so you can make love to me or fuck me however you want."

"However I want?" He seemed almost surprised.

"However you want. We can be all slow and tender or you can fuck me so dumb I'm cock drunk. How does that sound?"

Daryl couldn't even come up with words before he stood to full height in front of you and grabbed under thighs. He turned and layed you on your back, pressing his mouth to yours in a heated kiss. His hands ran up and down your legs searching for a hold.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as a moan left your mouth. Your tongues pressed together and you gave him all control. Daryl moved you up so your head was on the pillow. He took off his vest and threw it to the side before movie his mouth to your neck. He left kisses and bites up the column of your throat.

Small sighs left your mouth and your hands ran up and down his chest. Your fingers started unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. You threw his shirt off to the side and it's lost to floor somewhere with his vest.

His hand made it's way up to the band of your underwear. His fingers slipped past the band and pulled it away from you skin. You yelped when Daryl let it snap back onto your skin.

His hand finally sunk past the band of your underwear and grazed your clit. You let out a sigh and brought you hand to his face to bring your lips to his. He let out a groan when you lightly bit his lip. Your leg jolted as he continued to make small circles on your clit.

You moaned again and pulled away from his lips as his fingers dipped down. "Dar please!" Left your mouth like a mantra as you gripped his shoulders and your legs pulled him closer.

"Hold on Darlin' gotta make sure ya're good and ready yeah?" His movements became faster as he felt you're pussy grip his fingers. You nod as moans leave your mouth from the feeling.

"Dar I'm gonna-" your sentence went unfinished as you felt the coil in your stomach snap. Daryl kissed you through your orgasm as your body finally relaxed. He gently slid the bottoms down your legs and onto the floor before unclipping you bra and placing it next to it. You were panting under him as his hands went to his pants. He had stripped down before you could even offer any help.

He looked in your eyes as he lined himself up with your cunt. "Ya ready baby?" You nodded as you wrapped your arms around his chest. "Yeah, yeah I'm ready." You said in a reassuring tone.

He slowly slid himself into you. "So wet baby. Taking me so good." He played his body on top of you and used his forearms to hold him over you. You sat with him for a second to get used to his size. With a nod from you he started to slowly grind his hips into yours.

Small whimpers left your mouth as his speed increased. He let out heavy breaths and groans along with his thrusts. "Fuck Dar-" you moaned as you nails dug into his back.

"I got ya baby, I got ya"

His hips got faster as you both got closer to release. Your legs locked around his hips to keep him close. "Please baby, cum inside please!" Your eyes were screwed shut tightly as Daryl's jaw hung open in pleasure.

Your pussy gripped his cock as the coil tightened for the second time tonight. "Come on Darlin' cum for me" he said to you. Your nails dragged down his back leaving angry red lines on his skin.

He let out a groan at the sting as his hips stuttered. "Holy shit Daryl!" You said as your orgasm washed over you completely. The squeezing of pussy sent Daryl over the edge as he finally let go with a loud moan. His head fell next to yours as his hips slowed, helping you ride out the wave of pleasure.

The room was quiet aside from the breaths leaving you and Daryl. He slowly pulled out of you as his cum poured out of you. He kissed your cheek and neck as his had brushed your hair out of your face. "Ya did such a good job Darlin'."

You looked up at him as you softly kissed his lips and held his face in your hand. He rolled onto his back next to you. He turned you with him so your head was on his chest.

After calming down you look up to him with tired eyes. "I love you Daryl Dixon."

He looked to you with pure love and adoration in his eyes, "I love ya too Darlin'. So much."

You layed back on his chest as you held eachother in the quiet of the night. Even though the world had practically ended, you had never felt safer and more loved than you did when you were in Daryl's arms.

[mochinomnoms]

What do you think would happen if Floyd were to meet Riddle's mother?! Cuz I just read your Mama/Papa leech Headcanons about meeting their sons crush. But what if it’s reversed? Riddle's mother Meeting Floyd? (I would also say Yuu's parents meeting Jade, but unfortunately, that won't be happening)

“Wow, I thought Lil Goldfishie was a stick in the mud, his mama has a whole branch up her—” *gets kicked in the groin*

I have very mixed feelings about Riddle's mother, in that with the context we have right now she's a bitch and if I ever see her it's on motherfucking sight. But she must love her son still, right? Is she harsh because he wants to set Riddle up for success, but only knows the way she was raised? Is she scared of her kid getting hurt or failing, and so she tries to shield him from all possible harm? Is she so hyperaware of all the dangers in society that she feels the need to keep him in a little bubble, knowing in the back of her mind that making mistakes and getting hurt is part of growing up? A good mother would never want to see their child ever get hurt if it were up to them. I mean, she must care for him in some way, but how? In the manga or novel (not sure which) they mention that she fought back against the school to keep him in, but was that because she wanted him to have the prestige of NRC in his background or because she wants what's best for him? She homeschooled him herself to the point that he's an immensely powerful mage already as a teen, so she could've hypothetically kept doing the same thing, right? Is she a mother that truly cares for her son but suffered the same childhood, but she “turned out fine” so it must be fine? Or is she just a bitch, lol. Either way, she is emotionally and affectionately neglectful and doesn't realize it at best, and emotionally and psychologically abusive at worst.

I have a lot to say on the topic of Mrs. Rosehearts, about her parenting, the cultural differences of child-rearing that EN players and JP players might have. This post talks about it in depth, but I can say more on the topic later.

In regards to Floyd meeting Mrs. Rosehearts, probably against Riddle's wishes or while he's distracted, the poor guy is set up for disappointment. While it's implied that Mama Leech is overprotective and that she calls very often, if not daily, to check in on her sons, they still had enough freedom growing up to get into shenanigans and hijinks. I mean, they beat up a sturgeon and took some of its scales to fashion into earrings like a trophy. And they both speak very fondly of her, so Floyd is going into meeting Mrs. Rosehearts with the expectation that she might be a bit stuffy. But, she raised Riddle, his crush and favorite human! He's strict and mean at times, but he cares a lot for his dorm and is super diligent, she must be like that too!

But she's so…critical. She looks at him unamused, very standoffish, but is polite. He guesses. He can see where Riddle got his strictness from.

“Hello. Who might you be?” She probably didn't expect to have some random student, not even from her son's dorm, come up to her. He was...tall. Towered over her, and based on the color of his hair and sharp teeth, most likely wasn't human.

“Huh, you're not as red as my Lil Goldfishie is.”

She blinked and frowned, resisting the urge to chastise the strange fellow for his informal tone and rube behavior. Not her son, not her problem.

“Pardon? Do you often speak to your elders like this?” she asked, eyeing him as she turned away to watch her son give orders to his dorm as they managed an informational booth.

“Yeah, why not? They're just people. Not like I'm being rude or anything” She would strongly disagree. “You're kinda prickly, like a lionfish.”

“W-what?” She changed her mind, someone needs to put him in her place. “Now listen here, young man, it's quite rude to call people anything other than their na—”

“They're real mean, ya know. Venomous, a nuisance, can't even mess with it cause it has a bunch of spines—oh! Imma call you Mama Lionfish.” The young man snapped his left fingers like he made a revelation.

Mrs. Rosehearts had learned to control her temper, but she still had her moments, Her face been bright red, her lips thinned, and she opened her mouth to start berating the young man.

“Floyd Leech! What did I tell you about calling people names?” A tall, slender women came up to them, pale skin and hair hue similar to the man in front of her. She wore a cream-colored dress and matching blazer, adorned with gold and pearls, and a matching wide brimmed hat. She was followed by Riddle, who looked a mix of anger and concern.

“Never do it in front of people, yeah, yeah.” The man named Floyd pouted, but brightened at the sight of Riddle. “Oh hey Lil Goldfishie! What's uuuup?”

Floyd jogged over to Riddle, halting him midstep as Mrs. Rosehearts noticed Riddle almost bristle, trying to sidestep and get around Floyd. He was failing.

“I apologize, you know how boys can be!” The woman in front of her also towered over her, though not nearly as much as her son did. “My Floyd doesn't mean anything by it, he just a silly boy.”

The blue haired woman laughed, then abruptly stopped, narrowing her golden gaze as she thinly smiled.

“You're the man's mother, I assume.” Mrs. Rosehearts replied, smoothing out her skirt and clutching her hands together. “He's very...spirited. He's from the Leech family? Is it safe to assume that your the Leech family matriarch?”

The other woman's sharp toothed smile grew as she nodded. “Yes. It's not often that I come to the surface. But it's wonderful to know that I'm as—oh—well-known, on the surface, as under the sea.”

Mrs. Rosehearts wouldn't use the word 'well-known' as much as she would infamous.

“Yes, well. I would just remind your son to not so blatantly call people names to their faces.” she said, clenching and unclenching her fist in an attempt to sooth herself. “I'm not sure what your customs are under the sea, but up here he would be considered a riffraff.”

For all her talk about politeness, Mrs. Rosehearts forgot herself at time and let things slip out of her mouth faster than she processed. She knew she pressed a button when Mrs. Leech's smile disappeared.

It was only for a moment, but with the blank face and the way her gold eyes bore into her, it felt like her body and soul were being grasped by something dark and violent.

Then that feeling was gone as Mrs. Leech smiled again and closed her eyes, tilting her head.

“He'll be fine, I'm sure he'll find his people. After all, it seems he's already found someone in your son.”

Both women moved their gazes to the pair, now bickering. Well, Riddle was, the one called Floyd, was just swaying on his heels as he grinned and make a comment here and there. Each one after the other seemed to fluster her son further, his cheeks growing in color as they spoke. Most people who knew her son would assume that the red was attributed to his rage, and it mostly was. But (fortunately or unfortunately, she couldn't decide) her son was much like her. It wasn't rage that made his eyes dart away each time their eyes met for too long. It wasn't rage that made him scuff his foot every so often. And it most certainly wasn't rage in his eyes.

Mrs. Rosehearts cleared her throat, turning away from Mrs. Leech and walking to her son.

“I don't know what you're implying, but I must be going now. My son and I still need to tour his dorm.”

Mrs. Leech watched the other woman walk away, sighing.

“Oh, what a disdainful woman. And her son is so lovely too…she really is like a lionfish.”

“Yeah, it's a good nickname for her, right Mama?” Floyd came bounding over, stretching his arms. “Is' too bad she's a stuck-up, gonna real annoying if she's my mother-in-law.”

“Hm, I'll just have to overcompensate then and be the best Mama for you and the little Riddle!” Mama Leech clapped her hands excitedly, sighing in bliss at the thought.

“Oh, it will be so wonderful to see the family grow big...oh! By the way, Floyd.” Mama Leech walked away, Floyd following after diligently. “I might have mentioned a little 'something' to him about your cute rambles about him. He was so cute, all red and flushed when I said you're positively infatuated, calling him cute and—”

“Aw what! Mama!”

[stinkrascal]

Breanna: It don't hurt, does it? Vladislaus: It is healed, mostly. I am grateful you only took one bite.

Breanna: [ slurping ] You want some of this? Vladislaus: No. Thank you. Breanna: Uhuh. Hey, so is cannibalism a thing with vampires?

Vladislaus: Of course. Cannibalism is found within many species. It is only natural it occurs in our kind as well. Breanna: Oh. I bet that's a big problem. Hey, what about restaurants?

Vladislaus: What about them? Breanna: Do vampires got restaurants? I bet that would help with the cannibalism thing. Vladislaus: There is an entire city at our disposal. There are many such opportunities for fine dining experiences.

Breanna: Huh? Oh. You could've just said yes, but okay. I bet you read a lot.

Breanna: Hey, so do vampires have libraries? Vladislaus: Yes, Breanna. We have libraries. Breanna: Yeah, you sound like you read a lot. Vladislaus: Thank you. Breanna: That wasn't a compliment.

Breanna: Hey, by the way, where are we going? Vladislaus: To the headmaster. She wishes to meet you. Breanna: Oh, right. Hey, so I got another question. Vladislaus: Yes, I'm sure you do.

Breanna: What's that supposed to mean? Vladislaus: Nothing at all. Breanna: I feel like you're making fun of me.

Vladislaus: What is your question, my dear?

Breanna: It was—uh—oh. Yeah. About when I bit you. You were bleeding. And last night, when you cut your hand—you bled then too. How's that work? How do you bleed if you're dead?

Vladislaus: You are mistaken. We are not dead. It is the opposite. As vampires, we are made to live. We experience life in its most concentrated form. Food tastes better, music sounds sweeter, and my God, Breanna, the sex.

Breanna: ...

Vladislaus: ...

Vladislaus: [ clears throat ] My point is, we are not dead, we are more alive than any other. Breanna: That's... good? Right? Frankie: Hey! Heyyyyy! HEEEYYYYYY! HEYY VLADDY DADDY! [ coughs ] ah shit, HEY VLAD! C'MON LITTLE MAN, I KNOW YOU SEE ME!!!!!!! HEYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vladislaus: Of course. If you pay no mind to the minor setbacks. Breanna: Huh? What setbacks?

Vladislaus: The part where we eat the flesh of innocents, my sweet summer child. Breanna: Oh. How'd you know my birthday's in the summer? Frankie: C'mon peepaw! Get some fuckin' hearin' aids! [ whistles ] Yoohoo! Over hereee!

Breanna: Who's that guy over there? I think he's calling for you.

Breanna: Hello? Mr. Straud? Are you listening to me?

Breanna: Do you know that guy? Vladislaus: [ clears throat ] No. Vladislaus: [ in Frankie's mind ] Leave me alone. Frankie: Aww, c'mon, you don't gotta be like— Vladislaus: [ in Frankie's mind ] I SAID LEAVE. Frankie: Agh, get outta my head ya pervert.

Breanna: It kinda seems like you know him. Vladislaus: [ clears throat, louder this time ] As I was saying--our powers come at a great cost. You will do well to remember that. Breanna: Huh? Oh. You're still on that. I don't really care to be honest.

Vladislaus: You should. You were human not 24 hours ago. Would you turn your back on your people so quickly? Breanna: Who's my people? They're lucky I'm nice enough to stick to blood packs. Vladislaus: The blood packs are a byproduct of our sin.

Vladislaus: For every blood pack you consume, someone must die. Someone must be slaughtered. Breanna: Get off your high horse dude, you're a vampire too. If you think it's so bad you shouldn't have asked to be turned. Vladislaus: Is that what you believe?

Vladislaus: [ sighs ] Forgive me. I am being haughty. Truthfully, I envy your nature. You are suited for this life. This world was not made for me, and every interaction I have reminds me so.

Vladislaus: You, however, seem very good at enjoying yourself. You seek decadence, do you not? Vampirism is a decadent lifestyle. You will thrive. I can already tell. Breanna: ...Oh.

Breanna: [ giggles ] That sounds fun.

Breanna: You make me sound like I put some thought into it.