#hes not a loser for being low-t hes just a loser for not picking it up himself.

[jaysbaefie]

backseat | pjs

synopsis: in which your older brothers best friend finally stops teasing you and shows you just how much he wants you.

genre: brothers best friend to lovers

paring: older brothers best friend!jay x afab reader

warnings: teasing, softdom!jay, sort of bratty!reader, fingering, spitting, cum eating? licking?, usage of petname ‘princess’, jungwon watches (kind of), pretty tame… for the first time we have more plot than porn wowza !

wc: 6.2k

a/n: it’s been a minute, but i’m semi back! school is still on my ass but i’ve been procrastinating and wrote this. don’t worry you’ll be getting the rich day jay fic once school is over, im working on it slowly! just thought that id feed yall with this lol. this proves i can write plot and not filth, please guys im a good writer i swear… thank you for 700+ followers! okay now enjoy <33

. . . . . ◟੭

"where is he?" you groan.

all your friends had left and now you were sitting on the side of the road like a hobo with all your bags sprawled around you. you felt as if you were going to pass out from a heat stroke, the sun burning so hot that the pavement was beginning to fry your butt.

you had volunteered at a summer camp for underprivileged children this year, thinking that it would look good on your resume and record. i mean, what else did you have going on for you in the summer besides bed rotting.

originally, your parents were supposed to make the 3 hour drive up to pick you up. however, your mom texted you this morning that sunghoon, your older brother, would be picking you up instead.

you mentally prepared yourself for him to be late, but this late? all time low, even for him.

you leaned against the steel pole as support for your aching back only to flinch when the hot metal burned you through your flimsy t-shirt.

you had gotten tanned this summer, but with the way the sun was shooting rays right at you, you were positive you were going to burn.

after what seems like ages, a car honk snaps you out of your daze. a shiny blue honda civic pulls up in front of you, the tinted windows rolling down to reveal none other than satan himself—sunghoon.

"get in loser, it's hot," he says lifting his shades up for a second before letting them drop back down.

cunt.

you groan, the heat making you dizzy as you pick up your bags—ready to bitch him out for being so late. as you get near the car you notice another figure in the passenger seat, your seat.

"hi, __!" jungwon smiles, his voice cheery as he waves at you.

great, you can't bitch your brother out.

"hi wonnie," you reply half heartedly, motioning to open the trunk so you could put your belongings in the back. jungwon didn't deserve to witness you go crazy bitch on your brother.

"are you not going to be a good big brother and help your sister with her bags," you hiss, raising your brows as you stair at sunghoon with a mocking expression.

sunghoon fake laughs before his expression drops to dead serious, "don't be difficult, chop chop get to it."

you roll your eyes. huffing as you grab you bags and shuffle to the back of the car. after lugging your bags into the trunk, you slam it down extra hard to piss sunghoon off. "hey! be careful with that you little shit," you heard him mutter. you flip him off, making sure he could see you before yanking the back door of the car open.

you angrily sit in, shutting the door with more strength than you needed causing the car to shake slightly at the impact.

"relax, __," you heard right next to you. a small scream leaves your mouth, clutching your chest when you see jay in the back seat with you.

he gives you a smirk, his sharp eyes pinning you down before they give you a once over— causing a shiver to run up your spine.

"what the fuck?!"

"stop screaming so much, __. it's just jay," sunghoon rolls his eyes before he shifts gears and begins to drive.

bitch.

"is this why you were late? had to pick up your little friends?" you sneer as you buckle yourself in, making sure to leave the middle seat empty so there was space between you and jay. you give jungwon a small smile that said 'this isn't directed towards you.'

"yeah, i did actually. i can't be stuck in a car with you for 3 long hours," he sneers right back, you could practically see him roll his eyes even though you were glaring down the back of his seat. "jungwon was already over and i asked jay to come for the vibes," he adds on, the car skidding a bit when sunghoon takes to sharp of a turn.

your head hits the window as the car recovers from sunghoons bad driving, the pain you felt almost distracted you from jays palm which seemed to have found itself on your thigh. you guessed that it had landed there when sunghoon took the turn. you stare down at his large veiny hand, the way it gripped your plush thighs fully and how you wished it was around your neck and not leg.

your head snaps up to look at jay who looks almost, smug? you swallow harshly, your leg twitching as he squeezes your thigh softly before slowly removing his hand—his hand lingering.

"sorry," he grins, not looking the least bit apologetic. his smile made your heart pound erratically in your chest, not being able to look away from him.

you give him a stiff nod before turning your head to stare out the window mindlessly, not trusting yourself to talk.

you had always had a small crush on jay, well, maybe not small. it was quite big, and your brother knew about it and he was ruthless with teasing.

you still remember the day when sunghoon had noticed your behaviour towards jay. you were always eager to please him, if he needed help in any way you'd b the first to offer. you never did that for any of sunghoons friends and sunghoon had caught on.

"i see you still have a little crush on jay," he snickered, sliding next to you as you leaned against the kitchen counter—fiddling with your phone.

you tense up, "n-no? pfft, be for real," you to tried brush off but you had failed miserably.

sunghoon grins, "i know that look, that's the same look you had when you crushed on that creepy kid in elementary. oh my god, i still can't believe you had a crush on creepy youngjae. that guy used to pick and flick his boogers in the tube slide, __!" he exclaimed in disbelief, crossing his arms as he stares up in shock—completely forgetting about the issue at hand.

"you're tweaking," you dismiss with a hand, hoping that he forgets about the situation as a whole—but you aren't that lucky.

he would go to great lengths to tease you about your 'small' crush, especially in front of jay himself. sunghoon made sure that you would always end up sitting next to jay, sitting accordingly so you had no other option.

he got the rest of the group in on it, everyone collectively making sure that you and jay were stuck together whenever you happened to be around them.

every time you were out with him in a group setting, sunghoon made sure you and jay end up next to each other.

movie nights? you're squeezed onto the same couch. dinner? your sitting beside jay. traveling in the same car? you're always in the backseat together.

"oops, looks like there's no other seat," jake grins as he 'innocently' slides into the only available chair, leaving the one next to jay wide open.

jay acts unbothered, but the smirk he would shoot to jake said otherwise. it didn't quite make sense to you why he went along with his friends antics, was this some sort of sick joke to him?

every time jay posted a picture of himself on social media, the group relentlessly tagged you in the comments.

"@__ look away." "@__ don't simp too hard." "@__ jay told us he posted this for you."

and when you post something...

"@ jayparked she's literally serving, say something." "jay's typing..." "jay, blink twice if you're sweating."

jay just sends a single fire emoji under your post and the whole group loses their mind, including you.

it got so bad that you took it upon yourself to sneak out of the house whenever jay was around, trying your best to avoid him. you couldn't stand the relentless teasing, it confused you to no end.

however, today you were stuck with him in the back of your brothers car, for a whole 3 hours.

fuck you, sunghoon.

you know he did this on purpose, he didn't have to invite jay, and he surely didn't need to have him sit in the back. sunghoon knew what he was doing and his smug looks that he was passing you through the cars mirror was proving it.

you're not sure why sunghoon was so adamant on teasing you about jay, shouldn't he want to make sure that you and jay stay as far away from each other as possible?

your his baby sister for fucks sake, his best friend should be off limits.

your head rested against the cool glass of the window, spacing out occasionally as you listen to your brother and his friends talk about random shit.

"you're quiet, that's unusual," a voice whispers into your ear. you flinch, turning your head to see jay's face only centimetres away from your own. "w-what," you respond back hazily, mind not working due to the close proximity.

jay smirks, leaning back slightly as his gaze drops down to your lips and then back to your eyes, "i said, you're unusually quiet. i thought you'd bitch out your brother by now. but no, you've just been staring off into who knows where."

you couldn't help but scoff, the noise causing jay's smirk to widen, "i would've if jungwon wasn't in the car, he doesn't deserve to hear the insults i had planned for sunghoon."

jay's brows furrow in almost offended manner, "but i do?" he lets out a small laugh. you shrug your shoulders, "yeah."

his smirk drops and his expression turns serious, "be careful now, __. i'm starting to think you don't like me, but we both know that's not true."

your eyes widen, staring at jay in shock of his words. "w-what?" you ask stupidly.

jay shrugs, "you know exactly what i meant," he hums before he's leaning away, returning to his original position.

your heart stutters in your chest as you look at the boy in shock. you knew you were obvious but not obvious enough to the point where he was confident enough to mention it to you, and why now out of all times?

had sunghoon finally told jay about your little crush on him? he wouldn't. would he?

you catch sunghoon's eyes in the rear view mirror, shooting him a glare before flipping him off. he scoffs in response, muttering something about you being an ungrateful brat.

"tch, that wasn't nice, __," you shiver when you feel jay's cool breath fan against the shell of your ear. you keep your eyes glued to the back of your brother seat, to afraid to look over in jay's direction.

your grip tightens around your seatbelt as jay leans in just slightly, his voice dropping to a taunting murmur.

"what's wrong? cat got your tongue?"

you refuse to turn your head, knowing full well that if you did, you'd be face-to-face with that smug, devastatingly handsome smirk of his. your body betrays you, goosebumps prickling over your arms—your leg twitching under his gaze.

this isn't fair.

you spent years being teased by sunghoon and his idiot friends about your very mild (not really) crush on jay. you never expected jay to play along.

you rather him shut it down and brutally reject you than give you glimmers of hope that your crush on jay was mutual.

sunghoon's voice cuts through the tension. "jay, stop messing with my sister before she starts foaming at the mouth."

your head snaps toward your brother. "oh, fuck off, sunghoon."

jungwon lets out a nervous chuckle, clearly regretting being stuck in the middle of this situation. meanwhile, jay just grins. that slow, lazy grin that makes your stomach do a full goddamn somersault.

"aw, you don't like it when i tease you?" jay asks, voice dripping with amusement.

"i don't like you," you grumble, crossing your arms in defiance.

he hums, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "liar."

you whip your head toward him, scandalized. "excuse me?"

"you're excused."

sunghoon snorts. "damn, she walked right into that one."

you shoot your brother a glare through the rearview mirror again  before turning back to jay, your jaw clenched. "i don't know what the hell you're talking about."

jay tilts his head, pretending to think. "hmm. i don't know. maybe it's the way you keep looking at me like you're about to get on one knee and purpose to me," he teases.

your eyes widen. "i'm looking at you like i hate you."

"same thing," he shrugs.

"you're insane," you mutter, trying to shift away, only for jay to lean in again—his broad frame completely invading your space. his scent was clean and musky with a hint of something dangerous and forbidden.

your breath hitches when he lowers his voice just enough that only you can hear.

"i bet if your brother wasn't here," he murmurs, lips barely a breath away from your ear, "you wouldn't be so mouthy."

your body locks up. oh.

the worst part? you don't have a comeback. not one. your brain is short-circuiting, your face burning hotter than the summer sun outside.

jay leans back with a satisfied smirk, watching as you struggle to regain composure.

sunghoon glances in the mirror again, raising a suspicious brow. "why is my sister so quiet all of a sudden?"

"she's just thinking," jay answers smoothly. "maybe about what i just said."

your jaw drops.

sunghoon chokes on his spit, nearly swerving the car off the road. "what the fuck is going on back there?! what the fuck did you say to my baby sister?!"

sure, sunghoon teased you about jay. but he didn't actually want you guys to like each other.

jungwon, the only sane person in the car, sighs loudly. "can we please just make it home alive?" trying to calm down your brother.

you sink into your seat, heat crawling up your neck as jay gives you one last glance. his expression unreadable but his eyes dark, promising something dangerous.

fuck my life.

for the first hour of the drive, you do everything in your power to not acknowledge jay. you scroll through your phone, fiddle with your necklace, even pretend to be deeply interested in the passing scenery outside the window.

but it's impossible to ignore the way his long legs are stretched out beside you, the faint scent of his cologne filling the air, or the way his gaze keeps flickering toward you like he knows he's getting under your skin.

and the worst part?

sunghoon knows too.

"you're awfully quiet back there," your brother comments, smirking as he catches your flushed reflection in the rearview mirror. he had quickly gotten over the thought of you and jay actually being a thing, jay wouldn't do that to him? right? 

"usually, you'd be threatening to throw yourself out of the car by now." he snickers obnoxiously.

"maybe i still will," you mutter, shooting him a glare.

"yeah?" jay leans closer, voice low. "need a push?"

you whip your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. "i hate you."

"yeah?" he echoes, tilting his head with that infuriating smirk. "then why are you blushing?" his eyes raking down you face, watching your face turn a deep red.

your mouth opens—only to close when you realize you don't have a comeback.

sunghoon snickers, "damn, she's got nothing. this is a historic moment, note this down you guys."

you sink lower into your seat, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "i hate you all."

jungwon sighs from the front. "can we go one car ride without you guys fighting?"

"wouldn't be fun," sunghoon says, shifting gears as he takes another reckless turn that nearly sends you into jay's lap.

your hands shoot out to steady yourself—one gripping the handle above the window, the other landing on jay's thigh.

shit.

you freeze.

so does he.

what was this back and fourth you two were doing to one another.

for a split second, neither of you move. your palm is flat against the firm muscle of his thigh, the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric of his ripped jeans. you can feel how solid he is beneath your fingers, and when your gaze flickers up, jay is already staring at you.

smirking.

slowly, deliberately, he leans down. his voice is soft, but it carries enough weight to send a shiver down your spine.

"if you wanted to touch me," he murmurs, "you could've just asked, princess."

your body goes rigid.

with a yelp, you snatch your hand away like you've been burned, pressing yourself as far against the car door as possible.

sunghoon glances back in the mirror, brows furrowing. "the hell is wrong with you?"

"nothing!" you squeak, face burning.

jay chuckles, shaking his head as he stretches his arms behind his head. "nothing at all."

the drive continues, but now you're hyper-aware of everything. every small shift jay makes, the way his fingers lazily drum against his knee, the occasional glance he throws your way. he's enjoying this, teasing you—making you squirm.

and the worst part?

it's working.

you weren't sure why jay was going out of his way to tease you when he had never done so before. he'd go along with everyone else, but never initiate it.

at some point, sunghoon stops at a gas station to fill up the tank, dragging jungwon inside with him for snacks. you make a move to follow, desperate to put some distance between you and jay—but a firm grip on your wrist stops you.

you turn, heart stuttering when you see jay's fingers curled around your wrist, his thumb brushing lightly against your pulse.

"stay," he says simply.

you swallow. "why?"

his eyes flicker to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "because i want you to."

your breath catches. "you're insufferable."

jay smirks, tugging you closer until you're nearly pressed against him. "and yet," he muses, voice barely above a whisper, "you're still here."

you hate that he's right. you hate the way your pulse jumps at his words, the way your body instinctively leans in despite every alarm going off in your head telling you to move away.

but most of all, you hate the way jay is looking at you—like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"you're so full of yourself," you mutter, yanking your wrist from his grip, though it takes more effort than you'd like to admit.

jay chuckles, leaning back against the seat. "maybe. but i think you like it."

you huff, crossing your arms as you look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. but you can still feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, the smirk practically radiating off of him.

thankfully, the sound of the car doors opening saves you from further embarrassment. sunghoon and jungwon climb back in, the smell of gas station snacks filling the air as they settle into their seats.

"what did we miss?" sunghoon asks, tearing open a bag of chips.

fatass.

"nothing," you say quickly.

"nothing important," jay says at the same time, shooting you a look that makes your stomach twist.

sunghoon eyes the both of you through the mirror, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "you guys are acting weird.."

"no, we're not," you deadpan.

"uh-huh." he pops a chip into his mouth, clearly unconvinced. "whatever you say, lil sis."

you roll your eyes and sink into your seat, hoping the rest of the ride passes quickly. unfortunately, your hopes are shattered not even fifteen minutes later when sunghoon starts up his favorite pastime: publicly humiliating you.

"hey, jay..." sunghoon starts, shooting you a teasing look through the mirror.

fuck you, sunghoon.

you knew what he was going to do.

jay hums in response, looking up from his phone.

"do you remember that one time, back in high school, when __ wrote you a love letter but chickened out and threw it away?"

your entire body goes stiff.

no, sunghoon. jay did not know that. thanks.

jay raises an eyebrow, turning to you with a slow grin. "oh?"

"sunghoon, i swear to god-" you try to interrupt only for jay to place his hand on your bare knee, his touch silencing you instantly.

sunghoon ignores you, grinning like a devil as he continues. "yeah, she spent like, an hour writing it. had your name written all fancy and everything. she even-"

you lunge forward, smacking your brother on the arm as hard as you could. "shut the fuck up!"

"ow, what the hell!" sunghoon yelps, swerving slightly before regaining control of the wheel. jungwon sighs from the passenger seat, already exhausted.

"i hate you," you seethe.

"oh, come on," sunghoon laughs, rubbing his arm. "it's cute. she was so whipped for you, dude."

jay looks amused, his eyes flickering to you as he rests his chin on his hand. "was?"

your breath hitches.

oh.

"don't." you point a warning finger at him.

jay leans in slightly, a knowing glint in his eyes. "so, what'd you write in the letter?"

"i don't remember," you lie through your teeth, turning your head away to look through the window.

"bullshit," sunghoon scoffs. "you practically memorized that thing."

you shoot him another glare, cheeks burning. "i hope you choke on your stupid chips."

jay chuckles, tilting his head at you. "if you don't remember, maybe you should rewrite it for me."

your jaw drops, "i'd rather die," you scoff.

jay smirks, clearly enjoying your flustered state. "your loss."

sunghoon whistles, shaking his head. "man, i should've done this years ago. this is gold. jungwon, man, why did we just start doing this recently."

jungwon rolls his eyes, muttering something along the lines of 'shit brother.'

you groan, dropping your head into your hands. this is going to be the longest car ride of your life.

the air in the car feels hotter than it should. you're blaming it on the summer heat, on sunghoon's shitty ac in his shitty ass car, on anything but the way jay is looking at you.

because he is looking at you.

his eyes flicker over to you every few seconds, dark and amused, the corner of his lips curled into the kind of smirk that makes your stomach twist and your thighs clench. he's enjoying this. he's enjoying you, watching you squirm under the weight of his gaze.

and you hate that it's working.

"what's the matter?" jay murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. "you've been quiet ever since sunghoon mentioned that letter."

you don't respond, gripping the hem of your shorts like their going to disappear. you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he's affecting you.

but then, as if reading your thoughts, he shifts closer.

his knee bumps against yours, and suddenly you're hyper-aware of how close he is, how his arm is stretched out behind you, fingers lightly brushing the seat just above your shoulder.

"you should've given it to me, you know," jay muses, voice dipping into something softer, something deeper.

you swallow, heart hammering. "why?"

jay tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "because maybe i would've liked it."

you feel the world stop around you. this was going to far, there was a limit to it.

the way he's looking at you is almost predatory, like he's just waiting for you to slip up, to give him a reason to push further.

"guys, i swear to god," sunghoon groans from the front seat, breaking the tension. "if you two are eye-fucking back there, i'm pulling over and leaving you both on the side of the road."

your face burns. "we're not-"

"-sure," sunghoon deadpans, cutting you off.

jungwon just sighs, shaking his head. "this is getting ridiculous."

jay, on the other hand, just smirks. like he knows exactly what sunghoon's talking about. like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

and then, as if that wasn't bad enough, he leans in, just enough that his lips barely brush the shell of your ear.

"we could pull over," he murmurs, his tone low. "but i don't think your brother would like what i'd do to you if he did."

your whole body ignites.

you jerk away from him, pressing yourself against the car door like it's the only thing keeping you grounded. "jay," you hiss, your voice somewhere between scandalized and breathless.

jay just chuckles, eyes dark with amusement as he leans back against his seat, stretching his arms over his head like nothing happened.

"relax, princess," he murmurs, his smirk deepening. "we've still got two hours left. i was just getting started."

. . . . . ◟੭

you're not sure how exactly jay got so close to you, but the car ride had become unbearable.

sunghoon was now in the passenger seat, head lulled back as he let out loud snores. he had begun to whine about his neck being sore, asking, no begging, jungwon to switch with him.

grudging, he agreed.

jungwon drove steadily, music blasting as he tried to drown out sunghoon's snores. you huffed, at least your shitface of a brother wouldn't be bothering you anymore.

jay, however, was sitting far too close. his thigh pressed against yours, his scent thick in the small space between you. he hasn't stopped looking at you like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

his long and thick fingers are now lazily tracing along the edge of your shorts, just barely touching the bare skin of your thigh.

your breath stutters, and you shift in your seat, but he doesn't move his hand away. if anything, he presses in closer.

"you're jumpy," he murmurs, low and teasing, his voice barely audible over the hum of the car engine. "something wrong?"

he watches your thighs clench, his smirk widening as he holds back from slotting his hand between your legs.

you grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "your hand is somewhere wrong."

jay smirks, his fingers brushing up,"hmm. is it?"

his touch is barely there, teasing, deliberate. he's testing you, seeing how far he can push before you break.

and you're close. so, so close.

your thighs press together involuntarily, and jay notices. of course he notices. his smirk deepens, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the soft skin above your knee.

your breath catches. "jay—"

"shh." his voice drops an octave, thick with amusement and something else—something darker. his fingers trail up just a little further, grazing the edge of your shorts. "relax, princess."

you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. your fingers dig into the seat, your body betraying you as a slow, burning heat curls in your stomach.

"you ever think about me, __?" he starts, his fingertips now reaching under your shorts. you swallow harshly, holding back a moan.

"you ever think about me, touching you? touching you in places where no one ever has?" his hand had switched from tracing small circles on your skin to full on gripping your thigh.

you let a small whimper escape you, your eyes widening on realization before you slap your hand over your mouth.

jay chuckles, the sound low and knowing, his breath warm against your cheek. his grip on your thigh tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you squirm.

"cute," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "didn't take you for the type to be shy."

you want to snap back, to tell him to shut up, to tell him anything—but you can't. not when his hand is still on you, his touch searing through your skin, almost as if he was branding you.

branding you, as his.

his fingers move again, trailing feather-light touches along the inside of your thigh, dangerously close, but not nearly enough. your breath stutters, your hips shifting ever so slightly toward him, desperate for more friction, more anything.

jay notices, his smirk deepening as his fingers ghost higher, his lips barely grazing your jaw as he whispers, "so needy."

your fingers tighten around the seat, your body betraying you. "shut up," you mutter, though your voice lacks any bite.

jay hums, his nose brushing against your cheek. "you don't want me to."

it's not a question. it's a statement. one that makes your stomach flip, your skin burning under his touch.

his fingers trace back down, teasing, barely there, and it's driving you insane.

"tell me," he murmurs, his lips so close they almost touch yours. "tell me you want me to stop."

you should. you really should.

your brother and his friend were in the front seats for fucks sake, have you no shame?

"tell me, __. tell me you don't want my fingers in you right now," his voice heavy as his palm cups your pulsating heat.

you look ahead, your brother was still dead asleep and jungwon was focused on driving—eyes not leaving the road. the music he was blasting was loud, loud enough that he couldn't hear your brothers snores.

"jay.." you start, a whine leaving your mouth when you feel him put more pressure against your covered cunt.

"tell me you don't want it."

you shake your head, biting at your lip in embarrassment as you shut your eyes tightly. jay 'tsks's at your lack of response, removing his hand from your aching core. you immediately stop his actions, clenching your thighs so his hand would be trapped between your legs.

jay looks at you, his eyes dark as he stares you down with an unintelligible emotion. he purses his lips, he needed a verbal answer from you.

you shake as your nerves consume you, "i-i want your fingers in me, please," you say breathlessly, your gaze pinned to your lap. you feel jay shift beside you, you feel your head being tilted so your met with jays eyes.

"say it like you mean it, princess."

you feel lightheaded, "please, i want your fingers in me. i need them," you beg, your voice trembling.

jay's eyes flare with victory as your admission slips past your lips, his smirk widening. he had you right where he wanted you, after years of silence and teasing—he finally had you.

he leans in closer, his gaze never leaving yours as his hand slides under your shorts, the heat of his palm searing your dampened underwear.

his thumb circles your clit, making your hips jerk involuntarily as he hums in your ear. "so sensitive," he murmurs.

you gasp, trying to muffle the sound with your hand, but it's no use. he moves your soaked panties to the side, running his fingers along you soaked slit. jay groans when he feels how wet you are, rubbing circles against your clit before he begins to plant soft kisses against your neck.

your body shakes at the foreign feeling, not used to having someone else touch you there.

sure, you had a couple of flings in high school but none of them got far—your brother didn't let them.

your eyes flutter shut, a soft moan escaping you carelessly. unbeknownst to you, jungwon's eyes dart to the rearview mirror, but he doesn't say a word.

jay's eyes never leave yours as he begins to rub firm circles around your clit, small gasps leaving your mouth. his eyes flicker down to your lips, allowing himself to press his lips against yours.

he swallows your moans, his other hand reaching behind you to grab at your waist—making sure you don't move.

you squeal when you feel one of his fingers tease your entrance, your hand coming out to grip at his wrist.

jay pulls away from your lips for a moment, "so fucking pretty, princess. you're going to be a good girl and take my fingers, yeah?" he murmurs against your lips, his eyes sucking you in.

you nod mindlessly, letting jay do whatever he wanted to do to you.

he slips in a finger, groaning when he feels your velvety walls clench around him. "taking me so good, princess," he praises, pressing his lips back on to yours.

he continues to pump his finger into you while simultaneously rubbing your clit, swallowing every moan, whine, and whimper you let out.

your eyes rolls back when you feel him push in a second digit, fucking his fingers in and out of your cunt with each stroke hitting just the right spot— making you squirm.

jay internally groans at the situation, he wishes that he had you all to himself. he could have you in his lap, feel you push up against his throbbing cock while he made you cum with his fingers.

his thumb presses down on your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body, and you can't help but lean into his touch, silently begging for more.

"look at you, princess. taking my fingers so well. knew you could do it," he coos, his sweet expression not matching his filthy actions. he curls his fingers in you, your mouth dropping open as you lean your head back in pleasure.

"hey, look at me, princess. keep your mouth wide open for me," he demands, stuffing his fingers deeper into your sopping cunt. you obey, looking at him with hazy eyes as you struggle to keep your head up.

you let out a surprised moan when jay spits a glob of his saliva on to your tongue. you swallow on instinct, your eyes fluttering close before he's smashing his lips onto yours again.

the car feels like it's spinning around you as your orgasm builds, your heart racing and your world narrowing down to the feel of his fingers inside you.

just when you think you can't handle it anymore, he speeds up, "fuck, look at you. look at you clenching all over my fingers. getting your pussy played with in the back of your brothers car by his best friend, so fucking dirty," he spits out, his grip on your waist getting tight as you squirm in his hold.

"don't you dare try to move away from me, __. i won't let you cum. take it like a good girl, yeah?"

you nod, a small sob leaving your mouth as you try to control your moans. the music was still blasting through the speakers, but there's only so much that music could hide.

jay captures your lips into a scorching kiss, feeling you clench on his fingers—he knew you were close.

"c'mom, princess. cum for me. cum all over my fingers," he says against your lips.

with a muffled cry into his mouth, you shatter, your body convulsing with the intensity of your climax.

jay groans into your mouth, feeling your walls flutter against his fingers. he helps you ride out your high, his thumb rubbing small circles against your puffy clit.

he pulls away, watching you with hooded eyes as you try to regain your composure, his own breathing labored.

he takes his hand out of your shorts, his hand soaked with your wetness. you make a move to grab some napkins from the side compartments only for jay to slip his fingers into his mouth. you watch him, your mouth falling agape as he cleans every bit of you off of his digits—moaning at the taste.

he smirks at your reaction, tugging you closer before pressing his lips onto yours—making you taste yourself.

"you did so good for me, princess."

you mewl at the praise, not trusting yourself to speak.

a moment goes by where the two of you stare at one another in silence. your head swarming with thoughts of what would happen now?

"hey," jay starts softly. you look at him with confusion, tilting your head.

"stop thinking so much, princess."

you swallow harshly at his words, "o-okay."

he grins, "i still want you to rewrite me that love letter, __," he says suddenly.

you scoff, "as if."

"you will, and i will too."

you look up at him in shock, "why?"

he looks at you incredulously, "what do you mean why? i think it's pretty obvious that i like you too, __. i wouldn't have gone along with the constant teasing if i didn't. i wouldn't have had you cumming over my fingers if i hadn't been in love with you for years," he confesses at the end, his cheeks a soft pink.

you look at him in shock, his confession taking you off guard.

"i know, it seems kind of sudden but you need to realize that me liking you is against bro code. you're my best friends little sister, your off limits. but, fuck that. i can't live any longer like this."

"i love you too," you say quickly, your eyes widening at your own words.

jay chuckles, "i know, princess. i know."

. . . . . ◟੭

"that was disgusting."

jay looks over at his best friend, "then maybe you shouldn't have been looking," he snips back, taking out your bags from the back of the car.

jungwon rolls his eyes, "i didn't mean to. you were like 2 feet away from me bro, i was going to see no matter what. your lucky sunghoon didn't see."

"i didn't see what?"

jay and jungwon both gasp in shock, looking at each other nervously.

"nothing-" jay says.

"jay was fingering your sister in the backseat while you took a nap," jungwon said at the same time.

"WHAT!"

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[whirlybirbs]

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

[shaisuki]

who in haikyuu and blue lock secretly prefers big girls very more and those who aren't secretive about it

❝ 𝐁𝚰𝐆 𝐆𝚰𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐍 ❞

FEATURING. HAIKYUU AND BLUE LOCK MEN

CONTENT WARNINGS. implied smut + fatphobic themes

NOTES. don't take this list seriously. this is just my opinion and preferences. you can decide where they are much suited.

SYNOPSIS. the whose low-key and those who are shamelessly proud.

# 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 (most to least)

BOKUTO KOUTARO

— no surprise here. bokuto canonically like plump girls and isn't afraid to show his appreciation towards girls who have extra on themselves. will pickup you in the daily basis and parades and show you off in his games and proudly tells everyone that you are his.

ISSEI MATSUKAWA

— what's there to hide? if you like someone tell them no need to bullshit yourself that you cannot like fat girls and issei is one of them. what's the shame. forbid this man if it applies cause he's a menace to soft girls. the one who squeals when gets pick up and the mean one-liners he says to you to get you giggling and who knows at the end of the night, you'll be screaming his name while you ride his cock. a smug grin on his face.

MIYA ATSUMU

— a big sucker for big girls. didn't know it until he meets you and it fills his life like a missing puzzle. realizing that all he needs is a big girl in his life. we don't want to continue this conversation. he's going to yap all day and all night and will fight anyone who disagrees with him. beware you're going to lose. this one won't stop until proven right.

NISHINOYA YU

— worships the ground you walk on. see how he is with kiyoko? wait until he's with a big girl. smitten. s-m-i-t-t-e-n. our boy here is awestruck after realizing how good big girls are even you're thrice bigger than him. what's the matter with it. man isn't afraid to show you off. a short king to his big queen.

KUROO TETSUROU

— a loser. man will write a thesis to give the result's how you will change after being with a fat girl. gives you the key points on what to expect and what will you receive from them. have a dopey grin on his face while he talks about you and isn't afraid to flaunt you.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

— not so secret. it doesn't like he's hiding it. casually brings you up to one of his interviews that he gets talkative from it that he doesn't realize it. man is so whipped and wakatoshi isn't the one to hide his appreciation bit isn't blatant with it. will tell you how he likes you and tells how gorgeous you are when he sees someone that is a big girl.

special mentions: DAICHI, SUGAWARA, TANAKA, MAKKI, OIKAWA, HOSHIUMI, LEV, HINATA.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

— don't tell anyone. he will die. he just can't take it how infatuated he is with big girls. everything about them is soft, soft, soft. it's too much that he can't breath when someone's close and it's so obvious that it isn't a secret anymore.

KEI TSUKISHIMA

— why would he tell everyone about it. he likes the peaceful and quiet. behind closed doors is where he'll show his true colors. a nasty fucker who loves and gets off to see you cumming with his fingers. thick thighs jiggling and your round stomach bouncing from how good he's fucking you.

TENDOU SATORI

— prefers to admire girls with soft curves. there's no harm in it and watching them in their own safe space and be themselves is what he likes. there's nothing wrong admiring them.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

— is casually cool with it that you didn't notice it that you wouldn't know he have a preference for big girls cause he go the extra mile for them. casually flaunts how he can lift weights that's heavier than you and you will be light as a feather and can fold you in different ways that you will end up giving your number to him.

AKAASHI KEIJI

— he just keeps to himself while coughing it up to cover-up. the new hire is really cute. be cool about it and ask her about coffee sometimes. she's just so cute with her chubby cheeks when smiling or pouting. anything's good with her. doesn't realizing that he draws you in a new manga that he was supposedly to be editing.

special mentions: KENMA, AONE, SUNA, SHIRABU, SAKUSA, HYAKUZAWA, KYOUTANI, KITA, ARAN, HIRUGAMI, DAISHOU.

# 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 (most to least)

BACHIRA MEGURU

— baby loves them soft and big. plush with the right curves that would make him swoon and he chases them. something different you know, how to put it — exciting. it's literally chasing the joy what big girls bring him. everything about them is what him happy.

BAROU SHOUEI

— man provides and is on the provider mindset. what's the shame to like big girls who eats a lot and it's not like he swerves on what society ideal girls is but he just drifts on them. don't be surprised if he's asking for your hand one day.

MIKAGE REO

— once this boy decides on a preference he's not stopping or let alone find another thing that will interest him and since he discovered the existence of ✨fat girls✨ it hasn't been the same for him. he charms and woos them and of course spoils them. no one will dare to ask reo about why cause there's nothing to wonder about.

OLIVER AIKU

— this man is a womanizer. whoever have the pussy he's going and what's better with a pussy that is plump and soft belonging to a fat girl. he's converted. is similar to a dog who salivates after seeing a bone and oliver's shooting his shot at you the moment he laid eyes on you.

RYUSEI SHIDOU

— freak. can someone match this man's freak? turns out there is someone and how satiated he is to find someone. a fat girl to calm this man's need or worsens it. a big menace to bigger girls. wanting to get crushed by their weight and just feel them all over.

special mentions: KARASU, GAGAMARU, KIRA, OTOYA, SNUFFY, JULIEN

NAGI SEISHIRO

— he don't like it but trust me he like big girls. whose homely and bodies warms him and it was straight up heaven for this lazy boy. cuddles and cuddles and cuddles. this boy wants all the comfort and having a soft girlfriend, he's complete.

ITOSHI SAE

— man is built like he'd gone from war. he needs someone to remind him of home and that comes in the form of a soft fat girl that offers him all goodness what life has to offer. he sees them as someone who isn't too the usual girl who comes to flirt and get what they want from him. you're just you and it's enough for a man to rest easy for the rest of his days.

ITOSHI RIN

— he don't need to tell it. always been attracted to girls who are plush. nice and round. an extra on them. gets all starry-eyed when he sees one and his mind drifts into somewhere faraway where he and you only exists.

IKKO NIKKI

— mysterious as he can go. see that closet of his? don't open it. opening it is like pandora's box but it's the good one. filled with goodness of fuller figures in different magazines and manga. sweet girls with fat bodies being folded in any ways. you might also want to stay from his history. it's full of hentai with fat girls as protagonists.

ALEXIS NESS

— he got shamed for a lot of things. in turn baby boy learned to keep things secret and that includes his types on girls. big girls who carries themselves with such confidence that his heart is bursting from love he felt for them. to his eyes they are such beautiful creatures similar to his magic and it's enough for him to stare and maybe get lucky.

special mentions: ISAGI, HIORI, KAISER, JINPACHI, NOEL, SNUFFY

[oliveyougently]

Only You

Miguel O'hara fic, word count 1,185. Entirely fluff, preexisting relationship, soft Miguel, tooth-rotting-mind-numbing-fluff.

Nothing worked for you anymore. Not videos, not touches, not anything. You were bone dry, absolutely numb to everyone but your precious Miguel. You hadn’t even noticed at first- it was such a subtle thing, too.

So what if other men didn’t make you feel that familiar tingle? So what if an intimate scene in a movie just left you bored? So what if a shameless mannequin displaying men’s boxers just made you wonder if Miguel wanted any? It didn’t matter, you weren’t super sexual anyway.

But Miguel was different, way, way different. You could just look at him and start losing your mind. The way he talked with that accented, low voice aside to you, the way his body flowed and rippled when he stretched, everything. He made you hot just by being himself. Sure, he had his unattractive moments—those funny angles that made his forehead seem big or gave him a mock-double chin. And yet they just drove you crazier. You almost kicked your legs with a fan-girlish glee at how absolutely adorable he was. And all he had to do was look your way.

Nobody could make you feel the way he did. Everything else was an annoying white noise in the background compared to him. Other men? Pass. Others touch? Pass. Even enticing videos and intimate moments on screen had you yawning. But Miguel? Miguel was the love of your life, and you went crazy just at the barest touch.

Such a night came when you were watching a movie with him. It was come cheesy romance, one you had picked just for kicks. There sat the man himself on your couch, leaning back, face neutral and relaxed as he watched the overwrought drama play out. He had been half working on a schematic for a new lab within the Spider-Man HQ on his tablet, but it lay forgotten in his lap, his large hands resting the flat device on his thighs. You glanced over, curled up with a pillow ticked to your chest. It was a chill Friday night—sweats and a t-shirt for him, shorts and a sweater for you. It was messy and sloppy and absolutely normal—and yet you still couldn’t stop your glances. Eyes tracing his nose, eyes, the swoop of his messy hair, and of course his perfectly sculpted features. You didn’t dare look anywhere else—you knew he was aware of the slightest glances, and the slightest drift to anywhere else would have been noticed immediately.

“Preciosa?” Came a familiar, curious timber. You looked up to meet his brown eyes, realizing you had been staring at the spot where his jaw met his ear. He eyes were full of a special mirth, a mix of smugness, curiosity and fondness. You cleared you throat, well aware of how obvious you were being.

“What is it, my vida?” He inquired, turning his head to you and cocking his head, thick eyebrows raised. You smiled and looked away, embarrassed. “Ah, nothing, nothing… Sorry.” He raises his eyebrows even further, his full attention now on you. Feeling pinned, you shift, looking back at the movie. At the moment there was a tearjerking confession going on—you didn’t really have the patience to understand the details—and the male leaned in, cupping his darlings cheeks. You scoffed lightly. “Wow, what a loser…” you said with annoyance. You winced, hating your own harsh words. You had a bad habit of letting unkind things slip out when I you didn’t mean them.

“What, what’s wrong?” Miguel asked again, turning his head to look at you again. You gestured to the screen, huffing. “He’s doing it all wrong! It’s just… Ugh. I don’t wanna watch some awkward dude try to romance this girl. He’s just… Ick.” You express your distaste, knowing you were being slightly unreasonable but pressing on anyway. It wasn’t a bad movie or a bad actor, really—it just wasn’t him.

Miguel gave a throaty chuckle, again leaning back into the couch and putting his hands behind his head. “Not to your taste, Hermosa?” He teased, watching your disgust with amusement. You give a small huff and cross your arms, tucking your feet under yourself.

“It’s just… It’s making me uncomfy, okay?” You answer defensively, knowing full well that wasn’t the truth. He cocked an eyebrow, head tilting back to view you sideways from the back of the couch.

“Uncomfy? You never minded the intimacy before.” As if to prove his point his hand comes to rest on your thigh—instantly triggering every single hot flash and shiver you had. He raised he eyebrows even more—an almost impossible feat, at this point—at the obvious reaction you had. You flush and look away, tapping a finger on your crossed arms.

“Darling, what’s the matter?” He asked, now actually a little concerned. His large hand stayed on your thing not moving an inch—he wouldn’t dare make you uncomfortable. You sigh, rubbing your neck and stealing a glance at him. At the sight of his worried face, skin drawn up into acute wrinkle between his eyes and the barest hint of a pout, you almost lost it. What right has he to be so cute?!

You pick up a pillow and put your face in it, curling back on the couch. “Ah, dang it!” You cry, muffled by the plush of the pillow. He could only give an Incredulous laugh, eyes still wide with curiosity.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he scoffed lightly, half getting up to move you you. His voice was concerned, amused, fascinated—what was making his pretty hermosa so flightly? He reached over to grab at the pillow, the movie forgotten. “Don’t hide your pretty face from me, vida—”

You squeal, unable to help kicking you legs a little. “Please, Miguel, have mercy! I can’t take you!” He chuckles incredulously, still tugging insistently on the pillow. “My vida, what’s wrong? Tell me.”

You finally huff as he finally drags the pillow away, leaving you disheveled and slightly grumpy. You sigh up at him, taking in the beautiful sight: his hair falling forward to curl slightly, his deep brown tone warm and ruddy, and those damn puppy dog eyes just begging to know what was bugging you.

“You’re too hot, Miguel.” You say bluntly, relenting. He scoffs yet again—this time in actual shock. He looked down, face incredulous.

“What?” He asked, rich tone filled with bewilderment. You huff and groan, sitting up. He backed away slightly so you can sit up, face frozen in a small smile of shock.

“I spent my whole life thinking I had to make myself better to attract a woman and now you say it’s too much? Apologies, love. I had no idea.” He says, tone laced with an amused sarcasm. I huff again, cheeks slightly flushed.

“I can’t even function around you! You’re too much! I just melt like a little fan girl for you. I can’t even bring myself to think of another guy or someone’s else’s touch. It’s all you!” I sigh, putting my hands to my face.

He chuckled, laying down next to you and drawing you close to his chest. "I love you too." He murmured. You sighed, irritation dissipating quickly in the face of his warm affection.

"Damn you." you murmured, closing your eyes and settling into his chest. He chuckled again, cuddling closer to you, movie long forgotten.

Hey guys! First attempt at a fic, sorry if the ending was choppy! I hope you liked it!! I love soft Miguel so much you guys. I know this fandom is a little dead but I'm still here yall. Fluffy couple life with Miguel lives on. Love you, thanks for reading <3

[chibinasuu]

Drunken Shenanigans | Zoro x Reader

Part of the Thousand Sunny Slice-of-Life Series

Find the other parts with the rest of the Straw Hats here

Summary: You and Zoro raid Sanji’s wine cabinet after running out of sake on a night of drinking Word count: 1.7k Tags: one-shot, pure fluff, domestic bliss onboard the sunny, platonic straw hat pirates x reader, main pairing could be interpreted as platonic or romantic, no use of y/n, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, goth family crumbs, spoilers for sabaody/3D2Y i guess

Roronoa Zoro never needed a reason to indulge in a good bottle of sake. 

Tonight, he had simply gazed outside the window after dinner with his arms crossed, then nodded in satisfaction before declaring that it was a “fine night for a drink.” 

You agreed that it was, indeed, a lovely night, before deciding to join Zoro. Franky and Robin seemed to have thought the same, and followed you outside. 

Franky brought out a low table to the Sunny’s lawn deck. A small coal burner was placed strategically underneath it, providing warmth and comfort amid the chilly night.

The cyborg had a huge mug of beer in one hand, whilst the archeologist was nursing a half-empty glass of wine. You and Zoro have been passing a tall bottle of sake back and forth between you, not even bothering with a glass.

The four of you were five rounds-deep into the classic card game of Old Maid when you all collectively decided that this round should be the last one of the night, as it was getting late. 

Robin had then quickly won the game, and was now sitting back leisurely with no cards left on her hand. Franky slapped down the last of his matching cards on the table next, claiming second place with a victorious “SUUPEERR!!” 

The game went on with just you and Zoro until finally, one last card remained on your hand – meaning you only needed to correctly guess which one of Zoro’s two cards would be a match to yours, in order to win. You locked eyes with Zoro, trying to gauge his reaction as he presented his cards for you to pick. His face did not give away a single thing, determined not to be the loser of the night’s closing round. 

After a moment of hesitation, you quickly pulled the card on the left and flipped it towards you. You let out a triumphant whoop as you set the card face up on the table alongside its match that you already have on hand. Zoro groaned in frustration and tossed down his sole remaining card, which of course, contained the dreaded “Old Maid”. Franky, Robin, and you bursted into laughter at Zoro’s defeat – it was his fourth time in last place out of the total five rounds you played that night, despite the game being largely based on chance.

It was well past midnight when the four of you gathered all of the discarded cards from the table, neatly stacking them and stowing away the deck inside its worn-out box. Robin and Franky decided to retire to bed, but you and Zoro, unwilling to turn in just yet on such a beautiful night, opted to stay outside a little bit longer. 

You took the bottle of sake from Zoro’s grip and tilted it to take a sip, but not a single drop fell on your tongue. You glared accusingly at the green-haired man, who only shrugged and said, “My bad. Didn’t realize I drained it.” 

You sighed and flopped down on your back, gazing at the sky full of stars. Zoro soon followed suit, laying with one arm beneath his head. 

The two of you were quiet for a while as you laid side-by-side, shoulders barely touching. Your face was warm from the alcohol, contrasting with the cool night air. 

The gentle crash of the waves was the only sound audible in the darkness, until Zoro abruptly sat up and said, “I still feel like drinking.” 

You chuckled in disbelief, “Seriously?”

He stood up and offered his hand to you in response, “C’mon. You don’t need to drink more if you don’t want to. Just stay up with me for a bit.”

You accepted his outstretched hand, and he pulled you up to your feet. You were hit with a bout of dizziness at the sudden movement and stumbled forward, but Zoro’s strong arms readily steadied you.

He started walking towards the kitchen when you stopped him, an idea popping into your head. Your lips lifted up into a mischievous smirk as you told him, “That’s not where Sanji keeps the good alcohol.”

“Now, we’re talking.” Zoro answered with a sly grin of his own, never wanting to miss a chance to piss off the cook, “Lead the way.”

The lounge was awash with blue light from the giant aquarium that occupied most of the room’s curved wall. The main mast of the ship protruded from the center of the space, extending up to the ceiling. A cabinet was carved into the wood, and you opened the doors to see a variety of wines lined up neatly inside.

“Bingo!” You said with a winning smile, reaching for the first bottle that caught your attention. 

You know Sanji wouldn't be happy with you and Zoro – big emphasis on Zoro – messing with his wine stash, but you figured that was a problem for sober you to handle tomorrow.

You looked at the writings on the bottle's label, but your muddled brain couldn’t seem to comprehend the words and you struggled to sound them out, “Ithy– Ithursbur–” 

“Ithürzburger Stein?” Zoro supplied – in perfect pronunciation no less – then said in disgust, “Not that one. Way too dry.” 

Your eyebrows shot up to the sky as you gave him a questioning look. Since when did the Straw Hats’ sake-loving swordsman give a shit about wine?

Zoro’s face, already flushed from the sake earlier, turned a deeper red that reached the tips of his ears. 

“Uh.. Mihawk loved wine.” He offered vaguely as an explanation. 

You readied two stemmed glasses as Zoro went through the wine cabinet, scanning each label until he finally found a bottle that he seemed to be satisfied with. 

You rummaged through the drawers in search of a corkscrew, to no success. 

“Aw, come on,” You sighed in disappointment, ��what kind of bar doesn’t have a bottle opener?” 

You figured someone must have misplaced the item, and was about to go search for it in the kitchen when Zoro uttered, “No need.” 

He suddenly unsheathed one of his swords, and held the wine bottle at an angle. Before your mind could catch up to what he was planning to do, Zoro dramatically proclaimed, “One sword style,” as he took a deep breath, then swung his sword towards the bottle.

Your hand flew to your mouth to contain your gasp of surprise as the rim and cork of the bottle was cleanly separated from its body and flew across the room, thankfully landing safely on the plush couch instead of smashing into a million pieces on the floor. 

A second passed, then two. Zoro silently sheathed his sword. 

And maybe it was the booze getting to your head, but you couldn’t suppress the uncontrollable giggle that bubbled out of you after his sudden theatrical display of skills. 

“Well, that’s one way to open a bottle.” You said in between your laughter, “Did Hawk-Eye teach you how to do that?”  

“I just watched and learned.” Zoro smiled smugly as he examined the smooth cut on the bottle. “Not bad,” he decided, clearly proud of his handiwork. 

He poured out the dark red wine into the two glasses you already prepared, and offered one to you. 

You thanked him, then picked a random spot on the long sofa that ringed around the lounge. Zoro followed and relaxed into the seat next to you, legs wide and one arm rested over the couch behind you. He swirled his glass carefully, brought it up to his nose for a sniff, before finally taking an appreciative sip. 

You watched him attentively for a long minute, before finding the courage to ask, “Tell me more about him?”

Zoro understood who you were referring to without needing further clarification. He was silent for a beat, before starting in a low tone, “He… was strong. And a great mentor.” 

The Straw Hats had exchanged stories with each other about what went on in the two years that you were all separated, although you noticed that Zoro never seemed to go into much detail about his time at Kuraigana Island, and even less so about his mysterious host. 

Zoro took another sip of his wine after responding to your question, and you thought that he would just leave it at that. 

It came as a surprise to you when he opened his mouth again hesitantly, and started talking. 

He talked about the island itself, as well as its inhabitants. From the rabid Humandrills that he challenged everyday, to the “annoying ghost girl” that followed him around everywhere. You recalled meeting the pink-haired girl briefly at Sabaody Archipelago, and at that time, you could feel that she had definitely grown on Zoro, despite his display of contempt towards her. 

Most of all, Zoro talked about his teacher. Mainly about the rigorous lessons he gave, but also about the legendary swordsman’s passion for wine, his surprisingly delicious cooking, and his unexpected penchant for gardening. 

Zoro did not tell you the story of how he lost his left eye, and you did not push for an explanation. Everyone in the crew had been respecting his silence on that matter, knowing that Zoro would tell you all in his own time about what truly happened, whenever he’s ready to talk about it. 

You talked well into the wee hours of the morning, even after the wine ran dry. You couldn’t tell exactly when, but a deep sleep eventually took over you. 

You were woken up with a start, when several hours later, Sanji found you both sound asleep on the sofa — your head on top of Zoro’s shoulder, and his head on top of yours. 

“You shitty Mosshead!!” Sanji’s voice rang out sharply when he saw the empty bottle of his favorite wine discarded on the floor.

Zoro looked disoriented for a second as he woke up, but his lips slowly formed into a smirk when he eventually grasped the situation. He got up and cracked his knuckles in anticipation of his imminent daily squabble with the cook. 

You sighed and got up too. You definitely couldn’t handle their bickering so early in the morning, especially with the pounding headache from your night of drinking. You patted Zoro’s arm, leaving him to deal with Sanji’s wrath, as you made your escape from the room. 

You just hoped Sanji wouldn't find out that the whole thing was your damn idea in the first place.

a/n: my personal headcannon is that zoro is secretly a wine connoisseur after spending two years with mihawk. the trick zoro did with the wine bottle in this fic is based on a real-life champagne-opening technique called sabrage - which is cool as heck btw - and i like to think mihawk opens his wine that way all the time.

Find the other parts with the rest of the Straw Hats here

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 23

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Recovery meant many things. It meant valuing and noticing your body more. And his too.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Gunshot wounds. Mention of stitches. Bucky being huge. Beefy Bucky. (Can you tell he's my favorite?) But of a fluffy fun one.

Authors Note: Please comment, I love interacting with you guys! Be kind! ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

“H.” Bucky guessed. 

You drew an arm on the slowly growing stick figure, then marked an H. The man huffed, squinting at the broken word. You were playing the overly complicated game of hangman. So far, all Bucky had gotten was _a_ _ a. 

“Panda?” He guessed. 

“Nope.” You smiled, shifting the small white board into your lap. 

“B.”

You marked another arm on the body.

“Jesus, O.”

“Nope,” you marked another limb. 

“S.”

“Ah, there you go.” You smiled, marking the letter over its dash. “You’re getting close.”

“_ a s _ a?” He squinted at the board again, trying to think of what you could have written down. “I don’t know.”

“Oh come on, are you seriously giving up?” 

He rolled his eyes at you. “T.”

“You’re just guessing now,” you shook your head, marking down another letter.

“That's the point of the game, Y/n.”

“Educated guessing, Bucky.”

He rolled his eyes again. “L.” He guessed.

You marked off the final limb. “Aaand you're dead.” You clicked your tongue, then finally filled out the word.

“Nașpa?” He scoffed. “Low quality? You didn’t say we were doing Romanian words.” It was a word he’d taught you months ago when sifting through fruit in the market.

“You can be such a sore loser, you know?” You chuckled, wiping off the board. 

“Sore loser?” He blanched at you.

“If the shoe fits.” You teased.

“You’re more familiar with all the games we play, it's not exactly fair.”

“Okay, you can pick something out next time, if it will make you quit your pouting.”

“Pouting?” He huffed, raising a brow at you. 

“If the shoe fits,” you repeated. Bucky tossed the eraser at you. You dodged it, then packed up the tiny game collection, giggling quietly. 

“Pouting. I’m not a kid.” He pouted. 

“I know, you’re ancient.”

He glared at you softly. “Weren’t you the one saying I’m only technically thirty something?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but I can flip that coin whenever I want, if it will get a rise out of you.”

“Then I can flip the kid coin on you.”

“Hey,” you scoffed. “I’m not a kid, technically, or in perspective.”

“What year were you born?” Bucky asked you, tilting his head. 

“I think that answer would pain you more than me.” You said, snickering as his face scrunched up when you told him the year. 

“Jesus, I’m like ninety years older than you.”

“Well, yes.” You laughed, wobbling to your feet to set the game supplies on the counter. 

You were slowly getting better at walking, but Bucky still had to carry you up and down the stairs whenever you wanted to leave the house. You still had a noticeable limp, and you were starting to believe that that may never change. You didn’t exactly have a renowned surgeon to fix you up.

Bucky still treated you like glass, which only sometimes offended you. Most of the time, you guiltily enjoyed it. You were thankful for all his help. you were thankful for the way he never questioned or hesitated to carry you up the stairs, or out of bed. He never flinched when you grabbed his arm for stability after a long bout of walking, your leg growing tired.

He was always there for you.

“Bucky?” You poked your head out of the bathroom at the sound of glass shattering. Your initial panic was washed away as you found him sweeping up the remnants of a glass. 

“It slipped, everything’s okay.” He muttered, his voice soft.

“Slipped? Off the counter?” You asked, stepping out of the bathroom, your towel tugged tight around your body.

The pair of you weren’t foreign to the sight of each other in less than fully clothed circumstances, but you still felt a bit exposed as you stepped out. You would have just retreated back into the bathroom, but the look on Bucky’s face told you not to.

“From my hand.”

“That doesn’t usually happen, does it?” You asked, padding slowly over to him. You stayed a close distance from the broken glass though. 

He shook his head. “No- well, sometimes, but not often.” He muttered. 

“Come here,” you said, holding a hand out to him after he finished sweeping the glass into the bin. 

He glanced back at you, his gaze impulsively flickering to your towel. You were a bit embarrassed, having not stood before him like that before, but your mind was already in doctor mode.

He set his hand in yours, the size difference almost laughable. You turned his hand palm up, then started feeling up his wrist. “Have you been having any muscle weakness? Grip strength problems?” You asked, continuing to feel and press into his pressure points. His fingers kicked whenever you tapped a nerve. Good sign.

“No,” he answered quietly, glancing away after noticing a drop of water sliding down your neck. 

“You said this happens sometimes, did you mean recently?” You asked, moving your touch up his forearm. 

“Mhm,” he answered.

“Is it just your hands?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay,” you sighed, releasing his arm. “But it’s not like you’re trying to grip something and your hand just doesn’t do it, right?” You looked up at him.

He shook his head. “No, just when I get distracted.” 

You sighed, smiling softly. “Okay, good. I was worried it was the serum.” You shook your head, turning back to the bathroom. “When I’m done we should do another full body test, just to be sure. It’s been a while.”

Bucky nodded in response even though you couldn’t see it.

You gently shut the bathroom door behind you and loosened your towel to begin drying off. You felt a bit embarrassed, but in all reality, you knew he’d seen far more of your body in the past. Still, your cheeks were dusted a soft pink when you emerged from the bathroom again.

Some mornings, just as the sun was rising over the horizon, you woke to the sounds of grunting, followed by the humming of metal. You were familiar with it, by then, but in no way used to it. 

You turned under your covers to peek up at Bucky.

He was shirtless, his metal arm curved behind his back as he slowly counted his pushups. He often switched between the simplest of workouts. Pushups, sit ups, burpees, and simple stretching. Bucky had a lot of pent up energy, and a very large body to take care of. 

Working out was less of something he wanted to do, and more of something he needed to do.

You watched him, covers pulled up to your nose. You didn’t know if you were pretending to sleep or not, but you felt awfully embarrassed for staring. Yet you just couldn’t help it. You would mask it by saying it was envy, missing being able to move your body so much without rippling pain.

But really, you were just fascinated by him.

Bucky was incredibly fit. It was a fact. His body mass was mostly muscle, and a metal arm. He was toned and lean, but also incredibly thick. He was simply a beefy man.

And you didn’t often get to see him shirtless. Not like this.

He breathed slowly through his nose, sweat collecting on his chest and scalp as he moved to balance on his one flesh arm, his whole body steady in the air. His stomach flexed, his core working to keep himself balanced. 

His tan skin glistened with a light sheen. His sweats hung low on his hips- only sagging a little further upwards while he suspended his body in the air. 

He was so impossibly strong, and he made it look so easy. 

Though the scars that marred his flesh told a different story. 

With all there was of Bucky to look at, you couldn’t help your gaze being drawn to the reddened scar where flesh met metal. It was so striking to the eye. Jagged and sharp, splintering out along his armpit. 

You remembered the feeling of it under your fingertips when he let you touch it for the first time.

Bucky slowly lowered himself back to stand, then stretched his arms over his head. You stared. You watched his pants sag a little lower on his hips, the waistband of his underwear peeking out. Your gaze traveled up his hip bones, to his chest as it rose and fell with deep breaths. 

He was moving, filling a glass with water from the sink. His lower back had dimples, you realized. You felt bad for staring again. But he’d seen basically all of you, so it was only fair.

You knew it was wrong though, because when he turned around your eyes squeezed shut, playing asleep. Bucky quietly walked past the mattress. The bathroom door clicked shut. 

You let out a sigh of relief, praying he hadn’t caught your awkward staring. Except he had. He noticed, it was hard not to, with his senses. He felt uncomfortable under your gaze, insecure and slightly more worked up. But he knew you would be more embarrassed if you knew he saw, so he said nothing. 

When he exited the bathroom, clothed and clean, you were practicing your stretches and mobility exercises. “How do you feel?” He asked you, shaking out his long hair. 

You huffed, lowering yourself onto the crappy chair you had in the kitchen. “Weak.”

“Let me see,” he muttered, kneeling before you. Long wet dark hair hung in his eyes. You rolled up your pajama pant leg up to your thigh. Bucky slipped his metal hand under your knee to help adjust you as needed. He had taken your stitches out days ago, and the pink skin was weaving together nicely. But that was only on the surface. The inside was the problem. “Does it still hurt when you walk?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but it's not as sharp as it used to be.”

“Mm,” he grunted, turning your thigh slightly. He pressed along your outer leg. “Does it hurt to touch?”

“No,” you shook your head, watching his fingers drag along your skin.

He slowly rolled your pants back down. “And your side?” You tugged your shirt up and adjusted your position a little. The wound on your side was healing much faster. You were lucky with that one. The bullet skimmed right past any organs, and pierced through only minor muscles. 

Bucky thumbed over the puffy pink scar, then withdrew. “It looks like it’s all healing fine.” He muttered. 

“The bullet probably tore up more than we thought. I’ll be fine. I just won’t be much good at running, next time.” You muttered, using Bucky’s help to stand. 

“Next time we’ll be more prepared.”

“If only we didn’t have to worry about a next time.” You smiled, hopping around Bucky to sit back on the bed. “We should get those walkie-talkies though,” you offered. “A radio is a good idea.”

“I’ll look for some tomorrow.” He turned, pulling the chair up to the bed to sit with you. 

“Can I join you?” You asked, tilting your head.

The corners of his lips curled up softly. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

A/N: This episode was a little more soft and silly than others. I hope you guys liked it. I love beefy Bucky. Also I saw a fanart of Bucky doing a one armed hand stand pushup and it changed my life.

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs

[zweiism]

Devils advocate. P. Zweig

summary; patrick zweig is a fucking loser. a nuisance who only got to where he is cause of his wealth. you don't fall for his performance and you never will, he knows it. but has there been a shift between you two after a fight at one of his infamous parties?

patrick has an actual career, enemies to?????, lot of bickering between the both of you, spoiler they kiss, use of sweetheart

patrick zweig was rich. filthy fucking rich. the type of rich that turns heads, the type of wealth without a ceiling. His last name is imprinted on almost everything in the city. whether it be in the back of the stadium seats, or to churro companies. His tennis bag? custom-made crocodile leather, his rackets? strung by a personal technician flown in from switzerland. When other players traveled with gym bags, patrick zweig rolled in with a louis vuitton trunk and a team of assistants who handled everything from restringing his racquet to mixing his protein shakes just right.

Patrick zweig, was also an asshole. He walked like the world owes him something, wears designer like its second skin and go through girls like tennis rackets.

smashed one, picked up another, and never looked back.

patrick zweig didn't need to talk about his money, he is money. people bent to him, girls dedicate their lives to get a hello out of him, people didn't like him, they just tolerated him. Coaches kissing him up, journalists fawning over him, tournament directors made special exceptions for him. Patrick zweig didn't need to be good, he just needed to show up.

which makes him unbearable. Hes smug, arrogant, and always one step ahead because his last name paved the way. He'll flash that dumb smile of his, toss out a backhanded compliment, then pretends he's the good guy. But behind those designer shades and trust-fund charm is a fucking loser who couldn't get behind your skin if he tried.

The truth is, he doesn't even care the slightest bit about tennis. He doesn't chase after trophies, he expects them. everything about him is performative.

---------------------------------------------------------

There's about a hundred girls at the academy who dedicate their lives to being invited into one of zweig's parties.

Patrick spotted you after practice, leaning against the fence like he hadn't just skipped practice and showed up out of nowhere, wearing one of his designer sunglasses he got from a campaign he did a while ago. White t-shirt and blue jeans.

"hey." he said, like we were friends. like he hadn't spent the last two seasons pretending you guys weren't in the same league. "you doin anything tonight?"

money can buy you spots in the tennis world, but it sure cant buy class.

"no, why?" you ask, suspiciously

he reaches in his pockets to pull out a letter, or an invitation of sorts, and handed it to you.

gold lettering, over-the-top, and a cursive font that reads

'youre invited!'

you chuckle in disbelief.

"party at the mansion tonight." he said smoothly, "just wear whatever. lots of champagne and maybe a rooftop courts if things get fun."

you laugh in his face in shock. "and why would i wanna come to your party, zweig?"

"because i know you. i know how much you wanna see what the other side of life is like. what its like to exist in a world where everything is yours." he replies, and here comes his his im-better-than-you smile.

its unbelievable. it makes your blood boil. makes your lips curl up is disgust.

"im not like you, patrick, and i never wanna be." you reply, resisting the urge to spit in his face, rip the card apart, and walk away.

"no," he steps a little closer to you, voice low and annoyingly smooth. "but maybe thats why it'd be fun."

he turns and walks away, calling over his shoulder, "doors open at 9, dont be boring, L/N"

and just like that. patrick zweig was gone. leaving behind a trail of dior sauvage, ego, and a choice you didnt wanna admit you were actually considering.

---------------------------------------------------------

The party was already too loud, too gold, too fake, like someone took a movie cliche and turned it into a party.

sure enough, there was patrick, standing with his group of friends who all kiss his ass so he can open up new doors and opportunities for them. he spoke in a tone of boredom towards them, like he can sense the act they put up, which is ironic, coming from him.

patrick has a glass of something-overpriced in his hands, dressed in a suit specifically tailored to him, you can see his muscular build even while standing across the room from him.

he must've caught you staring, eyes landing on you, and the smirk following afterwards.

next thing you know he's strutting towards you.

"well, look at what the cat dragged in. i almost thought you would've thrown the invite away and never looked back." his tone full of sarcasm

"yea. maybe i shouldve done that instead." you replied, fire in your eyes.

he laughed. That arrogant, lazy, effortless laugh of his. "still got that fire in you huh? hows the training going? still hitting balls at the rundown community center or whatever?"

you clench your jaw. "still paying people to cheer for you?"

he leaned in towards you, voice a little low but still audible over the loud music. "No need, they cheer on their own when you're born a zweig."

"you know, money won't save you when you're across the net."

that wiped the smug smile off his for half a second, just long enough, then its back to his shit eating grin.

he shrugs. "we'll see. maybe i'll let you win this time."

and just like that, he turns and walks away, hands in his pockets, you can feel the all teeth smile even when you cant see him. he's already soaking up the attention of some girls that were definitely plus ones of others.

"who was that pat? was that your friend?" you hear a blonde chick whisper to patrick.

"nobody important, more champagne?"

---------------------------------------------------

you decided after a couple hours of drinking and dancing that this wasn't really your thing. so you decide to leave.

The party behind you was still loud, and you could practically still feel the bass thumping. You of it, its too loud, perfume too thick, and you'd had enough of it all

you shoved pass the large mansion door out into the garden. cold air slapped your skin, sharp and welcoming.

Your hand shivering, rubbing up and down on your arms to prevent the cold to hit you any harder.

then you heard it. the sound of footsteps.

you didnt need to turn around and guess who it was to know.

patrick.

of course, he followed. because patrick zweig never lets anything go, not arguments, not games, and definitely not you.

"do you always leave before the fun starts?" he asked, voice low, still teasing.

you exaled sharply, partly because of the cold and partly because patrick zweig is really getting on your nerves. you dont bother to hide your irritation. "the fun left the second you opened your mouth."

he chuckled under his breath, "really? cause it seemed like you were really enjoying the dance floor." theres a beat of silence, before patrick zweig breaks it. "and its not what your eyes said 10 minutes ago."

you turned around slowly, jaw tight, eyes locked on his. "you really think everything is about you, dont you?"

he smirks, "no, just most things."

the silence between you two was electric, one waiting for the other to make a move. The kind of silence where neither of you know what to say.

finally you shook your head. backing away. "you're exhausting. zweig."

he didnt move, just called after you with his ego and confidence.

"you'll be thinking about me the whole ride home."

you stopped in your tracks. turning back.

and maybe it was the smirk, or the lights from inside of the party that flashes over your eyes, the lights that highlight patrick zweigs stupid perfect jawline. or just the way he looked at you, like he already knew what you were going to say next.

or maybe it was the cold getting to you. but something inside you snapped.

"patrick, youre fucking rich. why dont you spend that money on some slut to suck your dick for an hour."

he raised an eyebrow, then stepped forward.

it was his tactic. it was classic patrick. his signature move. he couldnt just talk, he had to be close. conflict had to be up close, personal, a breath away. nose to nose.

he took another step, slow and deliberate, and stopped just in short of touching you. the heat rolling off of him warmed you up, the scent of dior sauvage invading your nose. unmistakable and nauseatingly perfect.

he smiled, "and why," he asked smoothly, "would i have to pay..."

then he leaned in closer, tilting his head, you can almost feel his lips near your ear

"when there are girls out there," he whispered, "who'd do it for free?"

a sharp WHACK heard in the air, cracking like lightning.

your hand flew without warning, but the second your palm hit his cheek, he didnt flinch.

he smiled.

actually, smiled.

slow, twisted, like he'd been waiting for it. like he likes it.

his cheek bloomed red, but his eyes a hint of desire. like your just told him a secret you didnt mean to share.

"well," he murmured, voice low and thrilled, "there she is."

you stared, breath caught in your chest, shock, anger, something else.

patrick tilted his head, eyes locked in on yours. the grin still curling on the edge of his mouth.

"hit me again, and i might think youre into me."

before you could opened your mouth to deny it, or reply with a clever response. you never get the chance.

because patrick zweig leaned in.

and kissed you.

not sweet, not soft, just fire, reckless, fast, and messy. his hands caught your waist, pulling you into him like he'd been dying to do it all night. you should've pushed him away.

but you didn't.

you kissed him back.

hard.

teeth clashing, heat and anger all tangled together, like winning a match you didnt know you were playing. your fingers curled into his stupid expensive shirt, and his lips pressed harder. like he'd been wanting it, like hes been wanting you.

you hated this. you hated that he tastes good, hate that it felt good, and you hated that he knew it.

you pulled away first, patricks hand still on your waist.

his forehead rested against yours, breathe uneven, same smile still plastered on his lips.

"i knew it," patrick murmured, voice low and rough

you didnt move, or rather, you didnt want to.

your whole body tensed "knew what?"

"that you wanted to kiss me. that if i pushed hard enough, it would happen.

you look up at him eyes in shock, "i didnt want to kiss you."

he tilted his head, lips still swollen, cheek still pink from the slap.

"couldve fooled me."

you looked at him in the eyes, hint of doubt in them. "that kiss wasnt about want you." you hissed. "it was about shutting you up."

he leaned in even closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "then do it again. kiss me again. shut me up again."

you stuttered, breath hitching. because you know he meant it. he wanted it. and maybe, maybe you did too.

but you couldnt admit that. not here. not ever. not with him standing there like he'd already won.

so you laughed it off. "youre delusional."

"and youre a terrible liar," he shot back. eyes scanning your face like hes memorizing you.

tension coiled between the two of you.

you shook your head. "go to hell, patrick."

he gave a lazy shrug in response, "already there, sweetheart."

you turned around to walk away, you knew its for the best, you knew if you were going to stick around any longer, things wouldnt end well, patrick, would end up winning. and you'd never let him win.

"you'll come around," he called after you, casual and cocky, like the kiss hadn't shatter any if not all of the hatred shared between the two of you. "you always do."

you didnt look back, but your fingers brushed your lips when he couldn't see.

and he just stood there. watching you leave, already planning his next move.

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Angel + G.N "Loser" Reader + Yan Demon Harem Blurb

It's been a while since you've been out on your own.

Between an influx of roommates better described as your partners by them and the few friends you had before not a day had gone by without someone hanging off your arm or chatting your precious hours away. Your apartment, once hollow and your fortress of solitude, was now bustling with more life and love than any home you had inhabited in the past. It was pleasant, if not a little overwhelming at times. Sometimes you missed the silent nights - the days when you were alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

Crawling out of bed and over the bodies that crowded your space, you slip on your shoes and retrieve the spare key tapped to the underside of your desk. As always, your roommates had hidden your main set and thus you hid spares in places they'd like never explored. Creeping towards the front door - the floorboards creak and cry out from the added weight.

"Baby?..."

You still, as if both you - and the shadow had zero knowledge of its heightened vision. The figure yawns, turning back towards your bedroom door.

"Grab me a pack of gum, if you'd like to buy my silence."

With a small nod, you pull your hood overhead and step out into the chilly evening air.

The closest gas station was about a block away; a fair final destination for your first night out alone in weeks. Walking through the vacant streets, it felt like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders - likely because it had. Your roommates were quick to massage out any kinks in your muscles when they were the cause of the majority. Each weighted a ton and loved to cling to you as if they were like as air. Still, you didn't mind it much considering they fixed the problems they caused almost as soon as they caused them. They cleaned up a lot in your life, more than you'd admit to them or risk being smothered to death by finally acknowledging their hard work and care.

"Sorry."

Opening the gas station door, you bump into someone as they exit. The hooded figure either ignores or didn't hear your apology as they quietly sit on the curb, head slumped against their knees.

Ok.... You shrug it off and enter the store, gunning for the isle with the item you set out to obtain. You pick a random pack and head up to the front to check out. The cashier takes a double look at you, straightening the hunch in their back as genuine surprise flashes in their eyes.

"Y/n? That you? Didn't recognize you without those bags under your eyes. You look good - how ya been?"

You check his nametag. Noah had been the closest thing to a friend you had for a while considering you'd see each other almost every night on his shift. "Oh, hey Noah. Not bad, just made some new friends... I guess."

He smiles as he takes the pack of gum. "Never thought I'd see the day, but I'm glad for you. Between you and that last customer - tonight has been full of surprises."

You decide not to question him on that last bit and pay for your items before heading out. The air feels even colder than when you stepped in and you were starting to regret wearing the only hoodie with such a giant hole in its pocket. You cover it as best as you could as you face the direction you came, stride halted by a soft hick from below. That person was still sitting on the side of the road, face covered by their hands as they openly sobbed and sniffled into their hands. It's not your problem to solve. You should really head home.

"Hey, you okay?

The figure turns to look at you. Shit - you intentionally said that low enough so they wouldn't hear. It hugs their knees to their chest, wipping their eyes off on their pants leg. The pants along with their hands and hoodie were stained with a golden, metallic looking fluid. Ew.

"I... ate a hot dog."

You grimace. You completely understand their state of duress now. They were so soft spoken and quiet you almost didn't hear them. Their voice sounded feminine - but not.

"It was the best thing I've had since I've came here. I thought I was doing something good by helping those people, but it's too much for me. I want to go home."

The figure throws their heads in their arms as their eyes leak once more. You could've sworn the same fluid that stained their clothes came from their eyes, but it was probably a trick of the light. You couldn't exactly say you had been in their shoes before, but you felt their pain. Life sucks, and then you die.

The figure jumps as a pack of gum falls on the concrete beside them.

"Buy another and eat it in front of whoever you're talking about. Once you stop caring about how others see you life get better. Not by much, but it's better than nothing. Just make sure you eat a stick of that after your done. From personal experience, hot dog breath isn't the best thing to walk around with. It's spearmint."

"Ah..... w-wait!"

The figure reaches out, but you're already gone. You're not going to hear the end of this by morning, but you're too lazy and out of cash to grab another pack. You head back home and crawl back into bed - unprepared for what the morning had to bring.

-

"Looks like someone left the house without our say so - again."

Goddamn it. It's not even an hour after dawn.

"You know it's dangerous to go outside alone by yourself, baby. Especially at night. Guess we'll have to remind you of your manners."

As by the grace of God, a knock at the door rings throughout your tiny home before your tattered clothes can be stripped of their remaining fibers. You bolt out of bed and to the door, flinging it open to greet the face of your savior. Instead, you're meet with the designer belt strapped around their waist. You poke your head outside and crane your neck to look up at the gigantic and well dressed figure - a bubble popping between her pale glossed lips as you catch sight of her face

"Y/n!"

The large woman reaches in and pulls you into her bosom, your legs dangling feet off the ground as she snuggles you to her chest. You fight the urge to sneeze as the feathers covering the upper face of her face assault your nose and eyes. As she swings you around like an oversized doll you see a dozen people standing behind her, each carrying more boxes and bags than you can count One, two three, twelve, thirty.... Oh God.

You tear your face from her bust to breath, looking through the wings masking her face for her eyes, but all that does is make your head spin. "Do I know you?"

The woman scoops you into one arm as she covers her mouth in shock, lowering you to the ground and dusting you off as she bows her head.

"I'm so sorry! I was just so excited to finally find you. You'd be surprised how many people have the same first and last name as you in this city. My name is Blythe, we met at the gas station last night. I did everything you told me to do and now I feel like a new woman. I saw the holes in your clothing and so I thought bringing you some new ones would be enough to repay you. It's not much, but I hope you accept my humble offering and maybe my invitation to tea this afternoon? It doesn't have to be tea, I just want to thank my savior in whatever way I can and hopefully become someone you can depend on as well. I'll do whatever I can to make happy."

Your stomach drops as a sickeningly sweet voice comes from behind you.

"Love, who are these people?

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: I don't think Rust is a big fan of getting head cause I think that it's much more aligned to Marty's character. However, I think it fits all too well with Crash era Rust so this is me trying to reconcile the two. I also don't think my Philosophy teacher would be too overjoyed knowing I'm using what she taught me to write foreplay but at least it stuck.

Warnings: 18+, violence, drugs, alcohol, reference to sex work, implied past abuse, rough sex both past and present

There are a lot of ways that you can get fucked up by a liquor bottle. Rust knows this. But mainly, there are two ways. The first is the classic act of getting drunk out of your mind: the type of drunk that can only end in violence. Rust doesn't always need to gulp down a bottle of Jameson, straight and hard, to feel the acrid burn of repulsion and vomit in his stomach. Sometimes, the slow sipping of a 12 pack of Bud or Lone Star is preferred on days where he's more lucid, has more of that sickening desire to punish himself with Sofia's face and blood and gurgling cough. Tearing that beer can and slicing at his skin might be a more effective, visceral act of punishment, but it's too quick. No, he brought her into this meat grinder of a world, he should feel that same machinery gnashing away at his being before he is allowed to slide into the stagnation that the piss warm beer allows him. Then, you have the far more crude way to fuck someone up; the jagged edge of smashed glass will do that just fine. Quick, cuts easy into the supple flesh of the cheek and makes a hell of a show. As he glances over the bottles of whiskey, Cassandra lets out a low whistle,

'Johnnie Walker Blue Label. This was the shit my dad used to blow rent on. You'd think for such a piece of shit loser, the man would've had cheaper taste,' and Rust can see a faint lacquer in her eyes, the impenetrable kind making her relive those scenes of her slurring daddy with a heavy set jaw and even heavier hands, the musk of her own fetid sweat mixed with talcum powder on her t-shirt in a pathetic, 8 year old's attempt to get the smell out, the hum of a refrigerator while a little girl cries at the kitchen table cause she doesn't get to feel safe around daddy. Hard to reconcile that image with the 20 year old in a white cotton sundress that ends too soon and is cut too low; the blueish lighting giving her skin a cool sheen. Cassandra puts the bottle back and walks over to where Rust is slotting his usual Jameson under his arm as he picks up a second bottle. From his crouching position, he can see the delicate purple hue on her thighs, arranged in the pattern of his fingerprints. A sickening sense of pride settles itself next to the self-disgust in Rust's gut at the marks and the satisfaction with which Cassandra is looking at them.

'Roughed you up pretty good, huh?' Rust says, gruffly. Cassandra glances over a delicate shoulder from where she's inspecting the Bourbon shelf,

'They hurt.'

'Bullshit, baby. You think I didn't see you were tracin' 'em in the truck, on the way here.'

'Doesn't mean they don't hurt.'

'True,' Rust stands to his full height, 'but d'you know what it does mean?'

'What?' she turns to face him.

He walks over to her, giving her cheek a couple, little pats his fingers, 'That you liked it.' Cassandra gives a derisive scoff but not one that can hide that glint in her eye: relief. Not just that Rust has indulged her infatuation, fucking her into the mattress until she forgot how to say 'Crash', but the protection that those bruises afford; the bruises of a young girl turned woman, bruises who's shade of blue show that the man who gave them is a tough son of a bitch.

'I hate it when you do that,' Cassandra states, somewhat petulantly.

'Do what? Point out that you can't do one over me?'

'No,' she says, narrowing her eyes, 'When you slap me around like that. I feel dumb.'

'That ain't slappin' around, trust me. And you ain't dumb, that's for sure, Cass,' Rust huffs, looping the plastic casing of a Lone Star six-pack through his fingers, 'But you shouldn't look to me to affirm that for you.'

'I don't need you to affirm shit for me.'

'Good, cause I ain't got the fuckin' time or will for that, too. Pick up your head, Cassandra. Stop fuckin' poutin',' Rust's tone is sharp. Cassandra rolls her eyes but she struts behind him, following him to the cashier. As Rust waits in line behind some trucker, Cassandra scuffs her boots against the floor, pulling her gum taught over her tongue until to snaps.

'You snap your gum,' Rust states. Cassandra looks up at him from where she was analysing the snake skin on the point of her boot,

'Huh?'

'You don't blow bubbles, you snap your gum.'

'I ain't gonna give the men 'round here the whole school girl routine. Fuck that,' she scowls. The corner of Rust's mouth twitches slightly at her sharpness; that guile about her never fails to dump buckets of ice cold water over his perception. His smart, smart girl, knowing that a quick, hard fix of money isn't shit next to the promise of survival that grit can give. Leave the milk boxes and cotton socks to the little girls, you're a woman now. It takes a certain intelligence to be sexy, to bear the soft, supple skin of ass, tits and thigh in a delicate veil of lace, and to still keep the wolves at an arm's length. Give them the scent of your blood, hot and throbbing, let them believe that the practiced gasps and rolling neck are just for them, but don't let them tear your skin. The wolves are ravenous in this wasteland, they get a taste for blood and they will gut you from the inside out.

Rust pays, ignoring the cashier's mild look of disapproval or envy at how Cassandra comes to stand next to him. She watches as the bottles get bagged up and Rust turns to leave. She gestures to him as they walk out, her boots clacking on the baked asphalt like one of those old, clunking clocks,

'Let me carry one.'

Rust barely spares her a glance, 'You're underaged. Shouldn't be drinking.' That almost makes her laugh,

'You're fucking kidding, right? I'm a stripper. You remember that, Crash?'

'You're also in college. Need to stay sharp, baby.'

'It's a Friday,' her tone dry, 'Plus, you're always offering me beers.'

'No,' Rust corrects, 'You take my beers and I let you get away with it.'

Cassandra rolls her eyes as they climb into their respective sides of his truck and Rust would be lying if he didn't feel the twist in his stomach at the practiced ease of the act, the facility of their place in the other's space. Rust starts the ignition,

'Stop rollin' those eyes at me.'

'Fuck off, Crash,' she retorts, only slightly annoyed and Rust just hums,

'You're real fuckin' cocky for someone who's in my hands about how many times they get to come, tonight.'

Cassandra almost opens her mouth before clamping it shut, making a big show out of rolling down the window. Smart move, baby, Rust thinks. A sentiment that holds up, after he bends her over the sink, bunching her dress over her hips; gripping her hair, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror as she takes him deep and hard. What Cassandra doesn't know is that the mirror is almost more for Rust's reflection than it is for hers. Forcing himself to look into his own glacial blue eyes, this way he can't indulge in the complete bliss of Cassandra's wet, tightness. No, if he's going to allow himself this then he's going to be fucking straight about it: he's a coked up, undercover narco currently using some vulnerable 20 year old girl who has no clue who he actually is. Rust wishes that the reason he's fucking her so hard, scraping his nails on her scalp, is that he hates her, sees her like one of the hookers that the Iron Crusaders systematically violate; it would make this shit a lot easier. But he doesn't and it's not. Rust is past indulging delusions for the sake of comfort. It was Nietzsche's idea, if he can remember correctly: embrace the pure fucking horror of eternal return, this ontological prison we're all stuck in, and you might finally find some enlightenment amongst the squalor.

'Put your leg up. Let me see those bruises,' he grits out, hand clamping onto her thigh in an attempt to lift to up.

'No-fuck-I won't be able to hold it up,' Cassandra stammers out, knuckles white as a scar on the ceramic rim of the sink out of exertion of holding herself in place when Rust shoves her forward with a particularly brutal thrust of his hips.

'Tsk, wrong answer, baby,' Rust says, shoving her leg up and bending it at the knee so that it rests in the sink bowl. The new position opens her up, not only showing the patterns of bruising on her inner thighs but the glistening wetness of her seam as he pushes into her again. The mixture of the two is a lurid depiction of what sex is around here; its inextricable connection to violence. Like meat and salt. The drop of thin, clear arousal now running down Cassandra's leg, the cracked scabs on his knuckles from a bar fight, the clunking rumble of the AC boxes outside the trailer: blood, sex and heat. Rust reaches a hand down and gathers the drop of wetness on his fingers, he brings it to his mouth and tastes it. Cassandra looks like she wants to cry as he catches her eye in the mirror.

'What's that face for, baby? Ain't never had a man taste you before?' Rust's voice thick from exertion and desire, her tartness covering his tongue.

'That's a really fucking intimate thing to do,' she says and poor baby sounds like she might either sob or come.

'No, it ain't, Rust lands a heavy slap on the bruises, as if to reprimand her for the implication, 'It's how a man fucks a woman.'

'So, I'm a woman to you now?'

'I don't fuck little girls, so yeah,' Rust says, his hand in her hair coming down to grip her throat. That's the one small mercy of innocence, Rust thinks, it can only be corrupted once. He yanks her head up by the chin,

'Look at yourself real good, Cass. This what you want? Some doped up biker with a load on, fucking you, leaving you all roughed up-Look at me, Cassandra,' he snarls, his tone harsh to conceal the begging behind it,

'Yes! Fuck, yes I do!,' she cries out, her adamance mixed with the first tremors of her impending orgasm. Rust lets out a growl, something deep and atavistic, as he yanks up her knee to bend her leg around his hips, now obscenely deep. Cassandra is now halfway slumped against the skin, the cold metal of the tap pressing into her sternum. This shit is good, too good, like the cool bliss of the moment the heroin hits your bloodstream and everything feels fucking pure. He pulls out as her feels her begin to pulsate around him and she cries out. Good, Rust thinks, wanting to punish her for being so goddamn complacent, Get used to crying if you want to fuck around with this shit, baby. He manhandles her to her knees as the muscle in his jaw twitches at what he's about to say to her,

'You want it that bad? Show me,' Rust deadpans, hand twisting into the dark mass of Cassandra's hair. She looks up at him and has the fucking audacity to arch her eyebrow at him before she takes him into her mouth, gagging slightly. Rust has never really seen the appeal of getting head, once he moved past the initial adolescent fascination. It makes him feel out of control, undisciplined, subject to his body's pure evolutionary need to procreate. It's one of the most self-serving, vapid states you can be in, mouth wide open, dumbstruck by ecstasy, unable to form of coherent thought except to mindlessly shove yourself further into the other person who probably isn't enjoying it anywhere near as much as you. Yeah, that's what Rust hates about the whole act, the mindlessness of it. But, fuck, his body isn't even his anymore, belonging to some fucking DEA's office to dope up and regurgitate whatever information they need to peddle their case further, without ever getting their hands dirty or doing some real fucking work. So, he may as well abandon himself to the weakness of his innate biological need.

Cassandra tries to give herself some respite by licking a long stripe up his length but Rust is having none of it: he presses her down so that her nose flattens against his pubic bone making her gag again and harder, shoulders convulsing too.

'Come on, baby,' Rust croons cruelly, using his spare hand to light a cigarette, 'Thought you said you could take it.' Cassandra briefly takes her hand off of the back of his thigh to give him the middle finger, quickly reinstating it as Rust presses as hand to the back of her skull and thrusts harder,

'Keep that shit up and I'll make you gag on your own finger, next.'

A few more chokes and constrictions of Cassandra's throat, and Rust is coming hot and heavy down it. He doesn't let her catch her breath,

'Get up,' he says, fastening his belt with his cigarette still hanging from his mouth. Cassandra just slumps against the bathroom floor, held up half by a trembling arm and half by leaning against Rust's leg. She glances up, hearing the clink of his belt,

'You're getting dressed?' a slight desperation to her voice.

'No points for deduction, Cass.'

'No, no, wait-,' she says, clambering up, or at least trying to, on shaky legs, 'Crash, Crash, I didn't come. Please-'

'What did I tell you about you bein' grown? Grown women fix their own messes,' Rust says, face and tone stoic as he casts to the slick that has dripped down from the apex of Cassandra's thighs onto the floor just under her, her smeared lip gloss, her nipples hard and visible through the thin cotton of her dress. He gives her hair a harsh ruffle before walking out the bathroom. As he grabs the Jameson bottles and beer, he stops in front of the trailer's door calling out behind him,

'Get to work, Cassandra.'

[blackdollette]

sub danny and sub reader :( desperate for pleasure, reader humping his thigh until danny just says "fuck it... get on me, hon" and she does. hops right on his dick and riding him, the two exchanging sloppy kisses. i luv sub x sub stuff

a tear just ran down my leg.

"but baby, it feels so right." | dan cooper

breaking my heart. - lana del rey

sub!female!reader x sub!dan

contents: thigh riding, unprotected sex (use a condom, yall.), creampie, slight overstimulation, squirting

you two had been going at it like rabbits for hours, to the point where both of you were just little whiny messes. you were perched on his thigh, rubbing your sore, wet pussy on it. your knee was in between his leg, nudging at his painfully hard cock every once in a while.

you and him were trying to see who would break first from all the teasing, the loser would be forced to wear a vibrating buttplug for an entire day. neither of you was opposed to the idea, but you just werent ready to quit yet.

you started bouncing on his thigh, whimpering at the feeling of your clit rubbing against him. dan's breath was coming out in quick, short gasps. it took everything in him to not lose control of himself right there.

his breath got shakier by the second, desperately needing to feel you around him. he started imagining your warm, tight little pussy squeezing the life out of his raging boner. he looked down, his eyes staying glued to your hips as they moved against his thigh.

you were beginning to grow needier, feeling yourself about to break. you needed to be filled with his cock. you wanted your insides to be intruded by him. you started moving faster, causing more friction on dan's clothed bulge. a low groan escaped his throat as his cheeks flushed.

you were almost at your breaking point, wanting to cum so badly. you were about 2 seconds away from begging him to let you ride him, but he beat you to it. dan's voice was shaky as he spoke. "fuck it... c'mon baby... p-please ride me... i-i... i need it s-so bad..!"

you nodded your head frantically, wanting to feel him almost as badly as he wanted to feel you. in an instant, his hands flew to his zipper, undoing it quickly. he pulled his erection out, which was swollen and red like it was angry at you for teasing it for so long.

you pulled your panties to the side and lowered yourself onto his cock, a loud whimper exiting your lips. dan's chest rose and fell as he finally got to feel your tight walls clenching around his length.

your eyes immediately filled with tears as you felt so full. "m-mh... so big..." you whined. dan put both of his hands on your hips, gripping them firmly. "c'mon baby... p-please... i need to feel you..! i-i... i want you so fucking bad!" he said as his body shook with desire.

you started bouncing up and down on him, your body feeling overwhelmed from being so filled up. dan pulled you close to him, landing an open-mouthed sloppy kiss right on your lips. your tongues danced together as you moaned into eachothers mouths, you picking up the pace as you rode his throbbing cock.

you or him occasionally pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air before immediately reconnecting your saliva-covered lips with one another. you intentionally clenched your pussy around him, making him let out a high-pitched moan. a few tears rolled down his red cheeks as the feeling of you on top of him became too much for him.

he lets out a choked sob and a few hiccups as he filled you up with his hot, sticky cum. you cried out as you felt it hit the deepest part of your pussy, feeling it dripping out of you and you continued to ride him, getting faster and faster.

cum started dripping out of your pussy, down his cock and onto the bedsheets. staining them with your liquids. dan's hands quickly flew to your bra, ripping it off of you. he looked at you with big, pleading eyes. "p-please... lemme suck on them. t-theyre just so pretty..!" he whined, holding your tits in his hands.

you nodded as you struggled to keep your composure. dan took one of them in his mouth, harshly sucking on your nipples, making a little squeak come out of you. you started rolling your hips on his cock, making him toss his head back as his lower body started to tremble.

"f-fuck..! d-do that again!" he said between choked sobs and hiccups. you continued to do it as your clit started to heat up. dan moved his hand down and started rubbing it quickly. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach.

"s-so close..!" you rode him even faster, the room filling with the sound of your skin slapping. he pulled you in for a big kiss as you hit your orgasm. you sobbed as you lifted yourself off of his cock, squirting all over him. he was rubbing your clit with one hand and jerking himself off with the other.

you lowered yourself back onto it as he cum once more, feeling all warm and full. you were both panting and gasping for air as you came down from your high. dan's hair was dishevelled, and your tits were covered in red marks. he pulled you in for one more big, sloppy kiss before you chuckled softly.

"i guess we're both gonna have to rock those buttplugs, huh?" you laughed softly, dan immediately joining in. "yeah, but i call the red one." he said before pulling you down onto him, fully embracing this moment with you.

author's note: this request got me feeling some type of way. 10/10. please keep more coming, theyre so much fun to do :))

[fastcardotmp3]

here we go again

for @steddiemicrofic July 2023 prompt: POOL | words: 442 | rated: T | no warnings

"Hey, batter-batter, hey, batter-batter, swing!"

"Jesus Christ, Rob," Steve laments as his fingers, so deftly gripped around the pool cue in hand, slips and sends his aim off and one of Robin's balls sinking into the corner pocket. “Am I not handicapped enough as is?”

He motions to the thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose with one hand, setting down the cue and picking up his drink to down the last mouthful of beer with the other, but Robin just waves her own empty glass in his direction with a sly grin.

“Loser's round, Popeye, you know the rules."

And he does, because this is sort of tradition at this point, knowing that when they play pool Steve will be buying, but when they play darts Robin will. They've had the same system in place for years, since even before they gave their stint on the west coast the boot and decided to become Midwestern kids once again, Windy City edition.

Steve is paying today, because they're playing pool, because Robin just finished writing her thesis and deserves a few free beers on her best friend's dime, so he grumbles to keep up appearances, bumps her shoulder as he passes, and makes his way up to the bar.

It should be obvious sooner than it is, that their usual bartender isn't waiting with Steve's open tab, already filling two glasses at the sight of his approach, but bad vision, right? The mere act of not expecting what's actually waiting there for him, right?

The last time Steve saw Eddie Munson, his hair was longer, he had fewer hoops in his ears, and he was still pulling on his shirt as he walked out the door and let is slam closed behind him.

The last time Eddie saw him, Steve was spitting vitriol about being too coward to stick around.

Both of their breath freezes when their eyes meet across the bar under low light and hazy memory. This is not part of the system.

“You don't work here.”

It's not the most elegant of openings, but at least it's concise.

“Started last week,” Eddie clears his throat, and Steve goes stupid, the way he can't help the spark of youthful want burning in his chest over top time-soothed heartache.

Want for something new amidst the old; want for something he never really stopped wanting.

“I can feel Robin looking at us,” Eddie says with a glance towards the pool table.

“Yeah.”

Steve doesn't have to look, just has to breathe through the sight of Eddie Munson, laughing drily on an exhale.

“Well, Harrington,” he shakes his head, “here we go again, huh?”

[watchoutforthefanfics]

achievement unlocked 🔓 (part fourteen) || Streamer AU! Reddie (IT)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: this prompt + BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish

Summary: Richie liked to play video games, and by some stroke of luck, it became his job. Being primarily known as Trashmouth on stream, he found his own little group of streamer friends and they became intertwined: The Losers Club. It never did feel quite complete, though. Well, until, he got his very own backseat gamer in chat.

TWs: innuendos, lots of talk of sex (it's Richie), cursing, brief mention of toxic relationships, and shameless flirting.

[[A/N: Fun fact, the songs I use in this fic are based on me shuffling my playlist and what comes up so. Enjoy :))]]

Richie was kinda sick of the road.

It was the fourth morning, and he thought he was in Oklahoma. Maybe.

The state sign was a few hours back, and Richie's mind was kinda melting. Just interstate, miles and miles of roads and cars, and luckily, changing trees and skies. Otherwise, his brain was definitely on low power mode: not tired, but in a mental capacity kinda way.

Eddie was doing something, or so he assumed. So currently, he was listening to music to try and keep him sane.

"Can I call you Rose?" Richie muttered along, switching lanes (his exit was coming up), "-'Cause your fragrance takes over the room."

🎵 Can I call you Rose?🎵

"Darling~" Richie got more into it, tapping along the steering wheel, "-I wanna-"

A chime echoed through the speakers, cutting off the music. Richie blinked, turning to his phone: e.kaspbrak is trying to videochat.

Quickly, Richie adjusted the angle to face him more, and answered.

"Hiya, Eds," he spoke, in a cliché New Yorker accent, "-What can I do for ya?"

He flicked his eyes to the camera and caught Eddie setting his phone up and stepping back -holding up two shirts. He looked like he was in a store, one where no one would mind if he took up a little space.

The traffic halted in place, and Richie would normally be pissed but he had Eddie now. So, he was completely fine with it. Grateful even.

"Which one's better?" Eddie asked, holding up one and then the other, "The blue or the pink?"

Richie's eyes lingered on the phone for maybe a second too long, because-

"Look at the road, fuckface," Eddie chastised.

"Traffic is completely stopped, Eddie baby," Richie soothed, nearly immediately, "-I am perfectly safe. Plus, how am I supposed to help if I can't look?"

Eddie's lips pressed into a thin frown.

Richie took the moment to skim over Eddie, he was dressed like he was on a run (he assumed he was). Wearing a red tanktop and running shorts, Richie couldn't decide if it was hot or cute. Eddie was a mixture of both in his mind, honestly. And then his eyes flicked to the shirts, simple ones, one tanktop with a graphic on it (Kirby, Richie thinks), and the other a simple baby blue t-shirt with a white collar and sleeve cuffs.

"Whichever you want, Eds," Richie spoke, passively, "-They're both good."

Eddie frowned again, pushing them forward further, "I asked you, dipshit. I want your opinion. Which one?"

Richie pursed his lips, eyes dashing to the road (still stagnant), before snapping back over to the phone. He really looked at the two of them, really fucking looking. Because that's what Eddie wanted, and Richie wanted to do what Eddie wanted for the rest of his life, probably. Taking a minute, he imagined Eddie in each one individually. He could picture Eddie pretty clearly now, honestly; he felt like he knew him like the back of his hand.

Blue with white collar, Richie's mind tsked, graphic pink tanktop.

"Blue," he answered succinctly (Eddie nodded and put the pink tanktop out of frame), and asked, curiously, "-and why exactly did you need my opinion, Eds?"

Eddie picked up his phone, as Richie looked forward and watched the cars begin to move -he shifted all of his focus. Eyeing the exit he needed to get off on, Richie waited patiently for Eddie's response.

"You're my boyfriend, dipshit," Eddie remarked, "-I want you to like how I fucking look."

"Eds, you could wear a neon jumpsuit that was so bright it burnt my fucking corneas," Richie laughed, pulling off onto the new road (GPS said something about turning left so he did), "-and I would still love the shit out of you."

"I didn't say you wouldn't love me," Eddie clarified, pointedly, "-I said that I wanted you to like how I look. I know you fucking love me, but that doesn't mean I can't like... fucking please your tastes or some shit."

"Awe," Richie cooed, "-Eds wants to please my tastes-"

"Shut the fuck up, asshole, you know what I mean-" Eddie huffed out, exasperated, "-Like I like your hair this length. If you cut it short, I'd fucking kill you."

"You like my hair?" Richie laughed, "-The monster that just fucking sits on my head? The shit I don't even try to take care of? The-"

"Yes," Eddie interrupted, "-I fucking love your curls. Even though you don't give a shit about them, I will. I'll figure that shit out, and take care of them. Because you're never getting fucking rid of them, ever."

I want you to be here to stop me, forever. God, I would do fucking anything-

"Salon Eds," Richie chimed, in an infomercial sort of way, "-where you don't give a fuck, but he does."

"That's not... Whatever, the point is-" Eddie continued, "-I want to hear your opinion, just like you want to hear mine."

"I don't even have a fucking opinion on myself, Eddie baby," Richie laughed out, winking exaggeratively, "-I am completely moldable. In more than one way too, if you know what I'm saying-"

"Shut up," Eddie laughed out, and Richie wished he could look. God, he fucking loved him, "-You're such an asshole."

The rest of the ride was a lot of the same, just bickering and Eddie stayed on the entire time. Or well, did his best to. Richie could tell when he was getting tired, he got really fucking giggly (at least with Richie) and couldn't properly focus. So, when he noticed it, he'd send Eddie off to bed, refusing to entertain shit ("Someone wise once told me that not sleeping fucks with your brain function, Eds.") until he heard Eddie's little tiny snores -so quiet you wouldn't even catch it in person, probably. Richie somehow hoped he could.

Eddie had just fallen asleep (he was only an hour ahead of him at this point), and Richie was picking at his fingernails. His phone laid along the mattress, somewhere near his left hand. He just fidgeted and stared at the ceiling -thinking.

This was a big fucking deal, and the last time Richie made a big fucking deal in a relationship, his heart ended up splattered on the fucking sidewalk. It wasn't that he didn't trust Eddie, he did but it's just... It's a different wheelhouse to be with Richie all the time, not just in the moderation Eddie had.

Steve would probably say the same thing about this shit, that it's how he's wired and they're trying to change it but it's okay if it still seeps out sometimes. Because yeah, Richie was working on it, but he still felt... like shit.

He believed that Eddie really fucking liked who he was (loved it actually, indirectly said but still). He really fucking did. But that doesn't mean he, himself, does. And Eddie was fucking helping, constantly reassuring him and saying the shit that Richie just needed to hear. He really didn't know how Eddie did it, but he did. But still, this shit in him was rooted deep. Probably as soon as his fucking sister was born-

Ding.

benny.boy.official ✔️

hope you're having fun rich !!!

send pictures with Eddie when you get there ☺️

Richie stared at the message for a second.

Ben. Sweet, grounding, kind, Ben. Ben who would do everything in his power to believe the good in somebody, even if everything they fucking did was bad. And it wasn't even like he was naive, he just... he just believed the shit out of it.

Richie clicked call before he second guess it.

"Hi, Richie!" He chimed, soft and warm (always was), "-How's the trip going? 2 more days, right?"

"Heya, Benny," he smiled back, naturally relaxing at the sound of him, "-and yeah, tomorrow is the start of the fifth day. Only one more after that, and then I finally fucking get Eds."

"I know!" Ben grinned, and Richie heard the murmur of maybe a movie in the background, "-I'm so happy for you two. It's amazing, really, Eddie's so excited, I can tell."

"Yeah?" Richie asked, genuinely.

"Oh yeah," Ben reassured, "-We went to get coffee this morning and I've never seen him smile so much, Rich."

Richie's heart flipped in his chest (he hoped it never stopped doing that), and he grinned so brightly that it hurt. If he was on his stomach he might've been kicking his feet. Fuck, he really loved him. He hoped with everything in him that Eddie wouldn't get sick of him physically, god, please-

"Ben," he spoke, "-can I ask you a question?"

"'Course, Richie," he answered, maybe a little concerned, "-what's up?"

"Is... Do you think-" Richie started before exhaling a breath, "-Do you think I should be worried?"

"About what?" Ben asked, curiously.

"Well, um, everything," Richie laughed a little, nervous, "-I don't... There's no hesitation in my body about Eddie, seriously, not a fucking shred. But... What if it's different for him?"

Ben questioned further, "What do you mean?"

"What if Eddie's... not sure? Or-" Richie scrambled, "-what if he meets me in person and I... I scare him away? It's one thing to text and call me but to constantly be around me? I don't-"

"Richie, breathe," Ben interrupted, calmly.

Richie obediently did so. A long breath echoed out of his lungs, and his heart slowed.

"Okay, now," Ben began, gently, "-has Eddie ever told you that he's not sure? Or that he's hesitant?"

Richie pressed his lips together, "Well, no, but-"

"Rich, Eddie would tell you stuff like that," Ben cut him off, "-He's very straightforward, you know that."

Richie sighed, "Okay, yeah, so he's not hesitating. But... whose to say it won't be too much for him? All my shit."

"Richie, he's dating you. He cares about you," Ben hummed, "-You guys know each other inside and out because you want to learn it all. Both of you do. I don't think Eddie's going to run."

"But what if he does?" Richie asked, pathetically, "-I can't... Ben, if he can't handle me, I'm fucked. I don't think I can-"

"If anyone can handle you, it's Eddie," Ben laughed a little, before adding, "-except for maybe Stan and Patty."

Richie laughed a little too.

"The point being, if-" Ben made sure to stress that word, "-and I really don't think this would happen, okay? But if Eddie couldn't handle you, you'll be okay. It'll hurt, but all of us Losers will be here for you. Worst case scenario, you have us."

He let a breath rattle out of his lungs, "Yeah, I do."

"But Richie, I really don't think you should even think like that," Ben spoke, carefully, "-Eddie really, really cares about you."

"I know," Richie sighed out.

"I don't think he'd even want to leave your side, honestly," Ben hummed, "-When you're finally united, I don't think that Eddie will want to leave you alone again. Ever."

Richie pressed his lips together, as tears burned the backs of his eyes.

"Eddie's not gonna run, Richie," Ben echoed again. His voice soft and warm, it made Richie's head clear and eyes grow heavy.

"Yeah," Richie exhaled a deep breath, "-he won't."

He could almost hear the smile through the line, Ben's little soft one. The one that if you saw would make your insides feel gooey, because it was just so fucking kind. God.

"I love you, Benny," Richie spoke, light and scratchy.

"I love you too, Rich."

"Now," Richie switched gears, grinning, "-about Ms. Marsh-"

Richie woke up that morning lighter, Ben's words thrumming through his head. He was up, miraculously, at 7:30 (all these timezones were really fucking with his sleep schedule). And was currently debating getting ready and heading out early. Because he couldn't exactly wait, or sit still, it was fucking impossible for Richie Tozier. He was itching to fucking go, to shave down some of the hours to get to Eddie.

If he left early though, Eddie would probably freak out though (something about hours of sleep and blah, blah). So, he just decided to grab his phone and fidget with it for a while.

Richie liked to search himself up, he'll admit it. He liked to dive into his fandom like a super spy (like the boss working undercover in that one show). He did it for a lot of reasons, maybe to see what his fans wanted or what they were reacting well to. Sometimes just to see what shit they were up to. This usually spanned from a lot of different platforms: Instagram, YouTube (he loved watching edited compilations of himself), Reddit, and Tumblr primarily.

Today, his poison was Reddit.

r/trashmouthtozier

u/trashmeuptozy • 4d

What are our theories about Richie's disappearance?

2.4k upvotes • 1.7 comments

⬆️ ⬇️ 💬

toziers-texas-toast • 4 days ago

personally I think he's u-hauling

⬆️1.25k ⬇️89 💬

reddie-girlie • 3 days ago

all I know is that it probably involves 🍝

⬆️1.2k ⬇️27 💬

bouncing-baby-boy • 3 days ago

guys don't worry he's just on a side quest

⬆️1k ⬇️54 💬

not_on_my_crotch • 2 days ago

fucking ur mom

edit: ur dad sorry

⬆️967 ⬇️53 💬

Richie pursed his lips, letting out a sigh (a little of relief), he was actually kinda worried about the reception of him just up and leaving. But, they seemed to be handling it relatively well. They obviously had questions, as they should, but they weren't harassing him for answers, so it was good.

r/trashmouthtozier

u/tozier_babeyyyy • 2 hrs ago

Reddie Playing Minecraft (link)

my first ever reddie comp !!! Hope you guys enjoy :)

⬆️3.5k ⬇️22 💬

Richie stared at it for a second, before clicking the link. Maybe a little too quickly, they could have his IP address right now-

"Alright troops-"

And then it was off like a rocket, every single moment they spoke to each other -documented. He watched the village section more than once, of his own doing, just rewinding and watching it over and over. Watching Eddie shuffle behind him, like he'd known he'd protect him. God. What a stupid fucking way to feel about a game-

It carried on the same, all the moments he remembers (he doesn't think he can ever forget anything about Eddie to be fair) all the way up to the end of his stream. He watched himself do his outro, Eddie's Steve fidgeting with chests on his screen.

Laughing a little, he went to get out of the video, but-

BONUS ROUND: spaghetti talking about Richie to the other losers, flashed onto his screen -some very fast-paced royalty-free music following.

Richie paused for a second, what?

Now, he was looking at a clip from Bev's stream. Her camera up in the top right corner, Richie mindlessly noted that she had looked very pretty that day, good for her. Before focusing on her screen, where just a few steps in front of her Steve (Eddie) was watching Richie run around in circles with Bill. The iron golem, at that moment (it flicked between Bill and himself), was chasing him around the outskirts of the village.

"If he dies," Eddie suddenly spoke, and he watched Bev adjust her vision in the game to look at it, "-he doesn't like... Nothing bad happens, right?"

Richie smiled, gleaming a little bit.

"Nope," Bev smiled, bright, and popped the 'p', "-Worst-case scenario, he ends up back where we started and has to get back to us-"

Richie watched as Bill was suddenly launched into space and the chat snapped onto their screen.

big.bill was slain by an iron golem

He laughed a little at the memory.

"-Just like Bill will have to do now."

"Oh," Eddie responded, still watching Richie get chased around the village with a keen eye. Was he always looking at me?

"C'mon, Eddie," Bev interrupted, "-Let's steal some crops, and then we can tear down their houses for resources-"

"We sound like fucking colonizers," Eddie retorted, and both Bev and Richie started snort laughing in tandem.

And then, he was looking at Mike's screen, facing out onto the flower field. Eddie was stood right beside him, so he knew relatively when this was. Even heard himself a little distantly in the background.

"I'm staying here. I'm living here. My vote's for here-"

Mike was close to Eddie though, so now, he could hear Eddie laugh a little. A soft, sort of affectionate, of all things, laugh that made Richie's head spin a little. Okay, a lot. It made his head spin a lot.

Affectionate? For Richie Tozier? Praise fucking god-

"He's such an idiot," Eddie laughed out.

"In general? Definitely," Mike responded, laughing a little too, "-But for you? God help his brain cells."

"Yeah, well," Eddie spoke, soft, "-I'm an idiot for him to, so."

Ben interrupted the thought, "I agree, it's-"

And then, it cut again to Ben's stream, he was wandering over to where Eddie started building -assumedly from the direction of Bev's house. Unsurprisingly, Richie might add. He was half convinced they shared that house, actually-

"Do you think Richie will like it?" Eddie asked suddenly, Ben shuffling up to his side.

Richie grinned a little.

Ben grinned, big cheeks shot up with the warm motion, before adjusting his vision to see the frame that Eddie had built. It wasn't much, just the corners of each wall, but it was very meticulously done. Different blocks (which it should be said that Richie fetched him) all placed in their exact spot. It was pretty good for his second time playing, honestly. But, he might've been a little biased.

"It's really nice, Eddie," Ben chimed, cheerfully, "-but I do think you could build it out of dirt and Richie would still be stoked."

Very true, his mind agreed.

"I wanna actually put effort in," Eddie replied, flustered (Richie could see his cheeks all puffed up in his head), "-It's our house. Ya know? It's gotta be good."

"I think," Ben smiled, "-As long as you're in it Eddie, Richie will think it's good."

Eddie stayed quiet for a second, looking out at the house, staring. Richie waited with a breath.

"You're such a fucking sap, Ben," Eddie retorted, with no bite at all.

"Yeah, well, apparently," Ben turned to look at him, laughing, "-you are too."

And then, Eddie spoke softly, "Yeah, I am too."

Just like that, it cut to an end card. Subscribe button, next video and all.

Richie blinked, throwing himself back on the bed. Fuck, I love him. So much. Too much probably. Was he supposed to love somebody this much? Like with every fiber of his being? Every single cell? Every single fucking atom?

Taking a peek at the time, he quickly decided on sending a quick message.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

good morninggggg eddie baby 💞✨️

hope you had dreams of fucking frolicking in meadows or some shit

Fuck it.

With a breath, he stood up and started packing. His tiny little bag, full of definitely too little outfits for a trip this long, but it would not be the first time he re-wore shit. So, he was okay with it. Until, ya know, he saw Eddie. He wanted to be wearing clean shit then (he saved his Marsh original that he liked so much for the occasion).

Humming along with a song that decidedly wasn't playing, grabbing all of his hygiene shit.

"Right now, he's probably dancing with a bleach-blonde tramp, and-" he murmured, before stressing out a word, "-and she's probably getting frisky."

Unzipping a pocket, he shoved his deodorant into it. And his cologne, fancy cologne, that he maybe only bought for meeting Eddie. But he did actually like it too. He wouldn't just buy it for Eddie (he totally did).

"Showing her how to shoot a combo," he sang louder, "-and he don't know-"

He heard his phone vibrate in his pocket. Felt rather.

e.kaspbrak is calling

Richie smiled a little, answering and putting it onto his shoulder (pushed up against the side of his head).

"Hey, Eds," he chimed, bright and smiley, and pulling his bag up off the floor. Day 5.

Eddie took a pause, and Richie heard maybe the scratch of a blanket. Had he just woken up?

And then, his voice came in quiet and sleep-slurred, "Hi, Rich."

Something warm shot through his toes, he'd never heard Eddie just woken up. This was new. And Richie wondered for a second if his hair was messy, or maybe his face had patches of red from where he'd slept. He'd get to see that soon, god.

"Awe, did my lil Spaghetti just wake up?" He cooed -half genuine and half teasing.

"The only thing that's right about that fucking sentence is that I'm yours."

Richie blinked. Mine, Eddie's mine. My Eds. 'I'm yours'. My Spaghetti. My boyfriend. My boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie's mine-

"Fuck yeah you are," Richie chimed -grinning bright and wide.

Eddie giggled a little (and Richie wondered if he was rubbing his eyes like a little toddler would), "Why are you up so early?"

"Dunno," Richie answered honestly, throwing his bag into the passenger seat (per usual), "-I just woke up this early, Eds. Aren't you normally up this early? Earlier, actually-"

"I don't have a job anymore, dipshit," Eddie explained, "-and I think I overdid it last run, so I slept in. Fuck you."

"Jeez," Richie laughed, connecting him to the radio, "-I was just asking a question. You wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"

"No," Eddie replied, quickly, "-Speaking of, I sleep on the left-"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "O-kay, Eds. What's-"

"-So, if you do too, you have to just fucking deal with it."

Oh.

Richie blinked, before answering awkwardly, "No problem, Eddie baby, I kinda just sleep in the middle."

"What the fuck do you mean-" Eddie mocked his voice, and Richie smiled (what a shithead), "-'I sleep in the middle'?"

"I spread out like a starfish," Richie clarified, listing, "-on my stomach, and sleep in the middle."

He could almost hear Eddie's nose scrunch up, "What the fuck? You're such a freak."

"What?" Richie asked, a little genuinely, "-Is that problem? I can just move over to the right side so-"

"No, it's not a fucking problem," Eddie interrupted, "-We're boyfriends, we can cuddle, idiot."

Richie blinked, Oh.

Cuddling with Eddie? Richie nearly pressed the gas to go fucking faster.

"Unless," Eddie paused, quieter -uncertain, "-Unless, you don't want to, I guess-"

"No, what," Richie clarified, swinging his hand around, and focusing on the car in front of him, "-Eds, that sounds like fucking... heaven. I just... I haven't thought about that shit. Because we were so far apart, it'd just make me sad as fuck-"

"Oh," Eddie spoke, blankly. Maybe a little flustered.

Richie wanted to see his face so badly right now that it made his skin itch. God, seriously-

"Yeah, well," Eddie pushed through his thoughts, "-you're gonna fucking kiss me when you get here, so. You better get fucking used to it."

Something swirled in his stomach. Kissing Eddie? Jesus, he hadn't thought about this shit at all. I get to kiss Eddie, god. In like a day-

"Why don't you just kiss me?" Richie laughed a little, splotchy red blush crawling to his cheeks.

"Because," Eddie answered, plainly, "-I want you to kiss me, asshole."

And I'd do anything you wanted, Richie's mind added.

"Yeah, okay, Eddie baby," Richie spoke softly, before switching up, "-As your celebrity crush, I know you've been dreaming of this moment for a long time-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, dickweed," Eddie snapped back, short laughter cutting into the tone.

"-Although, I should clarify, I won't be as good as dream Trashmouth," Richie commented, "-I may not hold up against the competition. But jokes on you, you can't leave me for me so."

"I haven't dreamed about you kissing me, moron," Eddie huffed out, "-and you need to get over that shit."

"No way," Richie laughed, turning slightly, "-That shit is sticking forever. Sorry, Eds."

"It's not that fucking important-"

"It is," Richie interrupted, "-It so is. I was your celebrity crush! That's so fucking sick."

"How?" Eddie asked, curiously.

"Well," Richie drummed his fingers along the wheel, "-you fucking watched my streams and thought, shit, he's handsome-"

"That wasn't-" Eddie paused, exhaling a breath, "-You're handsome, but it wasn't... How do I fucking-"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "Eds?"

"It was like-" he started, before decidedly restarting, "-It wasn't like a celebrity crush, where you just kinda think they're handsome and just like their voice or some shit-"

Richie listened.

"-It was like... It was like having a crush on my best friend. Because you're just-" Eddie paused, "-You're just so... you on your streams, so fucking... human. Celebrities are intangible as fuck, but you... You wore ugly fucking shirts, and you have the dumbest fucking jokes, and your hair is a mess on your head. You're a fucking person, and I just... I just wanted that. Wanted you."

Richie pressed his lips together, heart skipping a beat.

"So, it was like-" he continued, slow but deliberate, "-like we were, ya know, friends, and I just knew you. Saw all that shit firsthand. And I liked that. Liked you."

He blinked. Fuck, I love him so much.

"Well," Richie let out a breath, smiling too bright, "-that just makes it more important so. You've fucked yourself."

Eddie paused, "Shit."

Richie started snort laughing, eyes clear on the road despite the laugh wracking through him. He heard Eddie break into his own laughter, and it only made him smile brighter because, god, did he love the shit out of Eddie's laugh. Well, he loved the shit out of Eddie in general-

"Are you driving already?" Eddie asked, after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

"Yeah," Richie replied, turning off where he needed to, "-I woke up early and got fucking antsy. I'm not a patient man, Eds."

Eddie hummed a little, almost like he was still a little tired, "How long are you gonna drive today, then?"

"Well," he pursed his lips, trying to remember shit, "-I've got like 14 hours left, maybe less. You won't let me push shit but I have already driven 9 hours in a day before-"

"Richie," Eddie warned.

"-I know, Eds, I know. But it's either I do the long drive today or tomorrow, and I really don't want to be fucking passed out on my first day with you."

"I'm gonna make you rest either way, dipshit," Eddie countered, "-You've been through every fucking timezone in America, your brain must be totally fucking fried."

"C'mon, Eds," Richie chimed, going into a cliché New Yorker accent, "-ya gotta show me the city."

"The shitty city?" Eddie clarified, flatly, "-The one I hate?"

"It's New York," Richie laughed a little, "-There's gotta be something worthwhile."

"I know the shit you're trying to pull. You're not gonna change my mind, Richie," Eddie replied, pointedly, "-Even if you do all those hours today, when you get here, you're gonna fucking rest."

Richie paused, continuing hesitantly, "So, you're okay with me doing the long drive today?"

"You don't," Eddie paused, seeming a little too quiet and working himself up, "-You don't need my permission to do shit, I didn't mean to-"

"Eddie baby, stop," Richie soothed, immediately, "-It's not a permission thing. It's a 'for your well-being' thing. I don't want to do shit that will stress you out. I refuse to do shit that would make you feel scared when I can't 100% be there to fix it. Or at least fucking... help you through it."

"Really?" Eddie questioned, quietly.

"Of fucking course, Eds, I love the shit out of you," Richie laughed a little, "-and the idea of you being stressed the fuck out, alone, makes me want to bite my own fucking head off. So-"

Richie took a breath.

"-are you okay with me driving that long today?"

Eddie paused, before slowly saying, "You promise you'll stop driving if you need to?"

"Absolutely," Richie agreed, "-I'm not gonna push myself beyond my limits, Eddie baby. I promise."

There was a spare second of silence, and Richie started drumming his fingers along the wheel. It was the beat of 'Before He Cheats' (the song he was singing before). And his eyes remained squarely on the road -straightforward and focused.

"Okay," Eddie sighed out, "-Okay, yeah, you can drive 9 hours. That's... I'll be okay."

"Yeah?" Richie asked, genuinely.

"Yeah, Rich," Eddie laughed a little, "-Just make sure to eat and drink properly, and maybe hit the rest areas so you can stretch out your freakishly fucking long legs-"

"Can't call 'em freaks, if that's how ya like 'em," Richie interrupted with a Southern accent, "-Mr. 'my type is tall idiots'."

"I was hitting on you, moron," Eddie huffed out, "-You're my first boyfriend. I don't even know if I have a type."

"Yeah, I kinda figured," Richie laughed a little, "-That text drove me fucking crazy for weeks."

"Yeah, well," Eddie cleared his throat, "-fucking imagine what I felt when you told me your type."

Richie paused. ("But yeah, Spaghetti, teeny little brunettes who are mean to me.")

"Wait," Richie started, "-you... I, your celebrity crush, described you, a teeny little brunette who is mean to me, as my type. And you... what?"

Eddie didn't say anything for a second.

"Don't make fun of me. Or else I'll kick your ass."

"Roger that, Spaghetti," Richie echoed in a growly voice (like it was coming out of a walkie-talkie), "-please proceed."

"I... Ugh," Eddie exhaled like the words hurt to say, "-I threw my phone across the room. It cracked my whole fucking screen-"

"You what?" Richie interjected.

"It's just-" Eddie started to explain, increasingly flustered, "-You were... you. And I was, I was the exact description. And it hit me for a second that, you know, you were kinda tangible. That, with like... the right fucking circumstances, I could have you. Easy."

Richie blinked, before sputtering, "You could. You did. You do, you do have me now."

"Well," Eddie paused, smiling (Richie could hear the cheesy grin), "-I guess I got the right fucking circumstances."

"The best ones," Richie chimed, heart rattling in his ribs (Eddie, Eddie, Eddie), "-maybe."

"Yeah, shithead," Eddie replied, "-the best ones."

[teriwrites]

Beneath Alder Creek: Part 1

My Live Reactions to Reading Through My 2020 Novel

A bunch of these actually have chapter titles, and I'm not going to make a post header be like three lines long, so I'll just list them as we go!

Chp. 1: A Town in Mourning

'They were going to bury an empty casket at little Bran Pewitt's funeral.' honestly??? still one of my favorite opening lines I've ever written

He's been snatched up by the fae, without leaving so much as a button rip

The way that, stylistically, I was being So influenced by like Anne of Green Gables in some of this lol

Like, not seeing our main character in the opening chapter

'The twentieth century was still very much in its infancy, and already, it was proving to be dangerously hedonistic, thought Mrs. Bivin.' like that sentence came straight out of Rachel Lynde's mouth

Also a fun fact about that, this story takes place in a specific year in my head, but I don't think I've ever revealed exactly which year, bc I want it to be at least somewhat vague

"I'm doing very well, thank you," she replied curtly. "I only wish I could say the same of the Pewitts. I've just been to the store, and, bless them, it's quite the sight." As much as the ladies of Mrs. Bivin's knitting circle loved to feign disinterest in the town's affairs, the sudden creaking of chairs betrayed their attention.' (i love writing a lil old lady gossip circle)

Mrs. Bivin playing coy with her piece of news as she settles down to knit, and everyone's like 'bitch.... if you don't tell us what's going on!!'

"Well, I just arrived from Pewitt's General, and certainly there was young Winifred, insisting that if anyone in this town were to show some courage, her brother might yet be saved," she said guardedly, as though she expected the discretion of her knitting circle.' i kinda love that the first we hear of Winnie is her being an outspoken nuisance to the townspeople

One of these women in the knitting circle is Not a Winnie fan

"It's a shame, about Bran," Mrs. Gower's voice was low, barely audible over the sound of the needles. The others paused to listen. "It had been so long since the last disappearance. I had hoped they might've finally been satisfied." "There's no satiation for the fair folk," said widowed Mrs. Keelan. She was the oldest of the group, by far, and spoke with the grim weariness of experience. "And as for young Winifred, she'll learn to accept it. We all do, eventually. There's no need to force the grieving process before it's ready." Silence fell once more over the room.' (so in the second draft, I've cut out any perspective from the townsfolk themselves and stuck only to Winnie, but this is making me realize I actually kinda like allowing them to establish their own relation to the fae, especially since Winnie's approach is so unique)

This town is horrible lmao they're spreading gossip about the Pewitts like wildfire. Like, guys, their 9-year-old son just essentially got fucking murked, maybe hold off on the chatter

Lmao I forgot this story was originally supposed to be set in Wales

The Englishman that everybody hates being so excited to have a piece of actual interesting news and then getting absolutely no reaction out of the one person he tells is incredible

That's what you get for telling Leslie Hughes (derogatory)

(There's nothing wrong with Leslie, I actually like him, he's just kinda a loser (affectionate))

"I can't imagine where you lot picked up this notion of fairies in the woods. That boy ran away, clear as anything, and the whole town is acting like he's a martyr. I tell you, he'll turn up at his own funeral and make a grand spectacle of it." not this Englishman comparing Bran to Tom Sawyer

Mrs. Pewitt wants a sigil engraved into the tombstone, and Englishman is Very unhappy with the idea

Chapter 2: A Mother in Mourning

I forgot how much attention I gave to Elain (Winnie and Bran's mother) in this draft

'Mrs. Elain Pewitt was said to be one of the highest regarded housewives in the region, and even if the title were hyperbolic, it was not for lack of trying.' i wonder where Winnie gets her drive from

After publicly calling people out, apparently Winnie argued with her mom and accused her of caring more about the town's opinions than Bran and stormed off, yikes

'Elain had been born into a world of grief and fear, in the early days following a young girl's disappearance. It was the third time, she would later learn, that a child had been taken within the decade. Her childhood was littered with warnings and memories of her own parents' intense fears for their child.' this has gotten very heavy very quickly

'The fear of the fae had been instilled in Elain from a very young age. She did not understand their ways, but she had learned enough to know well the signs of her son's disappearance. Everything - from his fair curls that the fae so often coveted, to the ravens that had begun circling the edge of town - spoke to their involvement. Winnie was still too young to understand the finality of these.' the problem is, i love Elain so deeply, but i truly cannot justify delving too deeply into her character when she's only present in the beginning of the story

Like the Pewitt family has so much lore that simply cannot fit onto the page and it's tragic

Mr. Pewitt does not have the composure of his wife

That man is Weeping

'He was barely a step through the door before he pitched forwards, barely managing to catch himself on the credenza before breaking into a loud sob.' OKAY

I spent SO LONG trying to find the word 'credenza'

And I specifically could remember having heard the word in 'Living with Yourself', that one show with Paul Rudd about him being kinda replaced with his clone, ANYWAYS, I specifically remembered him referencing their credenza

And I legitimately went back into that show to find the word because I truly could not figure it out

Anyways,

Mr. Pewitt needs to get it together bc Mrs. Pewitt is holding down the fort rn and she's also grieving

Chapter 3: A Sister in Mourning

Here she is folks!

'Winnie woke on the morning of her brother's funeral with a wave of anger that washed over any solemnity she ought have been feeling.' remember that post about writing more angry/mean/asshole female protagonists? I'm doing us all a service

It's a gloomy morning before the service, because obviously it has to be

'The small surface [of her vanity] had given way its function to acting as a makeshift desk, littered with papers and writing tools. Propped up, blocking off the lower half of the mirror was a line of books that covered a variety of subjects. Most were worn through, stained, with pages torn or wrinkled from use.' i forgot that i made Winnie a NERD in this draft

Wild how little changes sneak in over the years. Winnie being described specifically as having brown hair in this draft, when now her hair's more like auburn

There's still definitely tension with her mom, but Elain isn't trying to get in her way, just delicately keep her from making a scene - checking that she's gonna wear actual mourning attire, that sorta thing

Winnie's excuse to go investigating around the area where Bran disappeared, rather than waiting a couple hours to leave for the service, is to pick wildflowers that Bran would've liked

The only way she convinces her mom to let her go is to point out that one of the other ladies in town is sure to offer her some of her award-winning roses, and Elain won't stand for her rival showing off at a funeral

Chapter 4: The Raven's Call

It previously rained, so Winnie has to be real careful about navigating in her mourning dress alongside Alder Creek (which is also the northern border of the town)

These woods are a lil weird - Winnie thinks she hears laughter, and she's drawn in further while she knows she should turn back, and then a raven startles up from a branch she grabbed and calls out as it flutters away

Winnie follows the raven because obviously she doesn't listen to How to Not Be Stolen By the Fae 101

'This chasing game lasted all of ten minutes before Winnie began to wonder whether she should turn back. There was no questioning now that she was going to need to hurry if she wanted to snag her shoes from the house. Even then, it would be a close call. As if in response, the raven gave a final caw, flapped its wings, and started off, this time across Alder Creek and soon completely out of sight." (classic mischievous raven)

I've shared parts of this on here before, but that won't stop me from doing it again!

'There was something lying out among the underbrush, just within the tree-line. Winnie took a step forwards, squinting at a small toadstool bursting out of the earth. Another step, and she could make out several others. They popped up from the carpet of fallen pine needles and patches of moss at the base of a tree. There must've been two dozen of them in total, all forming a circular cloister. Winnie's breath hitched. A fairy ring.' (!!!)

She got caught red-handed

By which I mean Leslie Hughes interrupted her before she could fully plunge into the creek with her mourning dress on, like an hour before her brother's funeral

'As they made their way [back], the curiosity was practically radiating from Leslie, but Winnie knew he would never gather the courage to actually ask her about what had brought her to the woods. She refused to indulge him, instead focusing her attention on picking buttercups where she could find them.' honestly, fair

Winnie nearly went to the funeral wearing galoshes

Chapter 5: The Funeral

'Winnie's parents were sitting in the front row, surrounded by family, friends, and acquaintances offering their condolences. They had decided against visitation the night before, a choice that had been intended to gently discourage other townsfolk from overwhelming the family with their chatter. Instead, it had merely held them at bay.' yeah, knowing the town of Bildenbey thus far, I don't think you had much chance of keeping them from talking

Everyone dispersing immediately when Winnie walks up?? Absolutely love that for her, girl's got a Presence

This church is Packed with people for this funeral/memorial

'It should have been an honor, but their eager preying on the social opportunity turned the solemnity into more of a spectacle. As though Bran was some tragic figure and not a missing child.' go off, man

All the references of Heaven and 'dwelling in the house of the Lord' are making Winnie Very uncomfortable, given the whole 'Bran is very probably very much so still alive' situation

And now they've strapped the coffin to a buggy, and they're starting off on their procession to the cemetery

'Stepping out of the chapel, Winnie expected to be faced with the same bright sunlight that had shone as she walked in. Instead, it had disappeared once more behind the clouds, and a bite in the air threatened more rain. It was only appropriate, she thought bitterly, regretting the decision to leave her umbrella in the mudroom.' apt

The longer they walk, the more real everything feels, and the more Winnie is starting to regret how she's been acting

Tbf, based on what we've heard, she's kinda been an ass to literally everyone

But she's also upset at how upset everybody else is, because it feels fake. The Bivins used to scold Bran so harshly he'd run home in tears, and now they're standing near her family, dabbing at their eyes with a handkerchief. That sorta vibe

'Glancing around, Winnie realized that the very adults standing just behind the family in the procession were the very same who criticized Bran the most.' exactly my point, but more succinct lol

Mrs. Keelan offering her some real sympathy and a grim smile, I still think she's my favorite of the old ladies

Winnie's crying thinking about the time she attended a funeral with Bran, and he was as curious as ever, asking half-whispered questions and trying to lean over the open grave to see the coffin aww

"I thought he was meant to go up to the sky," Bran had insisted. "Does this mean he won't be going to Heaven?" It had taken several lessons in theology for Winnie to sort out this particular question.' (lmaooo, it's giving Anne Shirley with Davy Keith)

So many tears

"Don't cry now," Mrs. Pewitt said, wrapping Winnie into a hug. "We'll get through this." "I'm not thinking of us," Winnie managed through a sniffle. "I'm thinking about Bran. He must be so afraid." (🥺)

Ending Thoughts:

I'm gonna be so real, I honestly forgot that I'd be reading through this draft for this project! In my head, BAC is such a current WIP that I was only really tracking the second draft I wrote in 2023/2024, so I mentally skipped over this draft and was prepping to read my 2021 novellas already. But I'm so excited to be reading it! When this whole project is done (and after I take a lil mental break), I'll be diving back into prep for draft 3. And I assumed that this draft would only give me more reminders of what I needed to change for the second draft, but by page 2, it was already providing me with food for thought regarding the opening of this story. Which, to my greatest frustration, has always been the toughest part of this whole novel. Winnie's background is important. Arguably, even more so with where the story is at now than it was during this draft. So including context for this, pointing out the environment she comes from through her neighbors/peers offers insight that Winnie herself starts out by intentionally ignoring. I went on a whole tangent to a friend of mine literally in the middle of reading chapter 1, and I'm sure it'll create a whole flurry of notes when I'm sitting down to work on revisions. But in regards to the story itself, here: I'm just so happy I made Winnie such a bitch <3

[crplpunkklavier]

also i dont super pass as male most of the time and whenever i go to my tiny small-town pharmacy to pick up my testosterone the little old ladies there think im picking it up for my low-testosterone boyfriend who is too ashamed to come get it himself. more than once ive been asked "and does um.... [name on prescription] know how much of this he needs to take daily?" and im always just like yeah dont worry its not his first time <3

[oneforthemunny]

shot through the heart |bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader|

prompt: eddie and you make a bet playing darts one night at the hideout. loser gives the other head.

contains: sexual themes 18+ MINORS DNI. oral male rec, a little fem rec at the end. overall filth.

Eddie sat at the bar, still in black but not in his usual work attire. Joey had agreed to let Corroded Coffin play tonight, a Thursday night slot, but the crowd was bigger than the usual Tuesday. Drunk teenagers with their fakes screaming and dancing over pitchers of beer, to drunk middle aged couples dancing on the sticky dance floor- Eddie wasn't quite sure why they were two stepping to his metal music, but he was fine with it. At least they were engaged and having fun, no pity claps or eye rolls like the Tuesday crowd gave him.

And the best part? There behind the wooden half circle bar, slinging beers, peanuts, collecting tips and taking orders, stood you. In your hair pulled back to he could see your pretty face. He could see you blush when he pointed at you, singing a vulgar, suggestive lyric into the mic. He'd be lying if he said his song writing skills hadn't gotten better since being with you, you were the main inspiration for the crowd favorite original song 'Super Soaker'.

Joey had given them the stage until midnight, when all the shows ended and the bar started to settle until last call. Eddie finished twenty minutes after, an encore from the middle aged woman who kept shoveling tips in jar and screaming out more requests. How could Eddie deny her?

He packed his things in the van, joining his band mates at the bar, where you had pulled up high chairs to the end, just for them. "VIP section, right this way, rockstar." You purred, a dazzling smile that had Eddie weak at his knees, when you pointed to the end.

You brought them rounds of beers and celebratory shots, talent was always on the house. "You guys did so good!" You cheered, setting down the shots of Jameson in front of them.

"Thanks, baby," Eddie grinned. "Couldn't have done it without my main muse." He winked, the guys snickering around him.

You rolled your eyes despite the blush that heated your cheeks. "Well, let me know if I can get you anything, ok? I'll make sure my service is up to your superstar standards." You quipped, brow raising teasingly,

Eddie's eyes trailed on the sway of your hips, dick jumping at the thought. He felt electrified, buzzing and jittery with post show adrenaline. The last time he'd played, he'd told you to go on your break, fucking you outside on the back wall, leaving you to go back to work on shaky legs, panties filled with his release for the rest of your shift.

The boys recounted their night, desperate girls crowding them, eyes wide and sugary sweet compliments that had Jeff nervous laughing, flustered and melting at the attention.

Not Eddie, he was too busy watching you, thinking about all the ways he'd have you when you got off. "For song inspiration, of course, baby." He'd always say, like he had to convince you anyways. You'd do anything he wanted.

The bar died down before last call around two, everyone drunk and tired, fumbling out to hook up or pass out. Eddie looked over, Gareth and Jeff had moved into the corner booth with two girls, desperately trying to woo them. Eddie scoffed, shaking his head, pressing the bottle to his lips.

You wiped down the bar, smiling and thanking a leaving customer with your perfect, polite tone. No wonder the Hideout thought you were their golden girl, you were. You were Eddie's too, the closest he'd get to a garden of Eden he was sure.

"Can I get you anything else, rockstar?" You grinned, elbows pressing against the bar, leaning across the sticky wood towards him. His eyes trailed down to your low cut Hideout shirt, a t-shirt you'd cut to make sexier- better for tips.

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. "Hey, Ellen," He called to the manager behind the bar, picking up receipts. "Can I borrow this one for a sec?"

Ellen shrugged, looking at Valerie, the other bartender. Valerie smiled at you, waving her hand. "I got it," She reassured, motioning to the two stragglers at the bar, hunched over their booze and dazing off.

You thanked her, pushing through the low side door of the bar. "Just call for me if you need anything, Val." You said, looking at Eddie expectantly. "How can I be of service?" You asked playfully, low, batting your eyes up at him.

Eddie's cock lurched, tight and uncomfortable against his ripped jeans. He smirked, tongue rolling over the inside of his cheek.

Eddie nodded over to the dart board. "You played before?" He asked, but he knew the answer.

Of course you'd played before, you and him rotated from the pool tables to the dart boards on slow nights when it was just the two of you.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. "No, never," You said sarcastically, bumping your hip to his. "Will you show me?" You flirted.

Eddie grit his teeth, salacious grin looking down at you. "C'mon," He slipped his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, smirking at your squeal. "Let's play a few rounds."

The two of you took turns throwing the arrows towards the worn and battered bullseye. You extended your arm, lining it up down the top fin, just like Eddie taught you. His chest swelled with pride when he watched you, nose scrunched in concentration, one eye shut before sending it sailing, flying towards the center.

Eddie clapped, smiling at you. "Good throw," He said, picking up his own darts. He was red, you were green; always.

"Wanna make this more interesting?" Eddie asked, looking around carefully, his voice dropping as he lined up his own shot.

You smirked, leaning against the table with already stacked chairs. "Yeah?"

"Let's make a little wager, how's that sound?" Eddie asked smugly, sending his own dart sailing and sticking against the black outer ring of the bullseye. "You up for a little challenge?"

You scoffed, air blowing out your nose with a shake of your head. "What're you thinking? Gonna bet all my tips or something?" You teased.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Like I would ever." He muttered, sending another dart sailing, then eyes locking with you. "Just a little bet to make things interesting, hm?"

You lifted a brow, waiting for his proposition. Eddie took a step closer to you, crowding you. "Three rounds. Loser gives the other head." His eyes were dark, shining in a way that had a cold tingle spilling up your spine, thighs clenching.

Your lips twisted, biting back a grin, but you knew he saw it anyways. "Hm, I guess I could afford to bet that much." You matched his playful banter. You picked up your green darts, the tips brown and rusted. "You first?"

Eddie shook his head, bowing dramatically in front of the worn and faded black duct tape 'x' on the ground. "Never. Ladies first."

You stepped on the mark, right foot forward, shifting your weight from your back leg to your front as you lined up your shot, sending it flying, landing on the cushiony material of the target on the second ring, the black slice under the 'twelve'.

You grinned smugly, spinning and stepping out of the way to record your score on the napkin while Eddie lined up his own. Round after round went by, you won the first one with ease- Eddie blamed the shots you'd given him. Eddie won the second by just a few points, grinning smugly.

Ellen and Valerie had gathered by you two, leaning over the rail and watching you intently play. The bar had cleared out before last call, just the sound of the buzzing equipment and the soft playing of the jukebox.

"Oh!" Valerie and Ellen cheered when you landed on the outer ring of the bullseye, dangerously close to the center.

"Wow, not looking good Munson." Ellen joked with a grin. "Hope you didn't wager anything too big."

Eddie's eyes flashed to your knowingly, your skin blistering under his gaze. "Nah, nothing too bad." He smirked, lining up his own shot, heavy boots on the mark.

You drooled as his shirt rode up, showing his inked tummy, hips, the outline of his boxers. He'd discarded his leather jacket, torn and covered in badges, earlier into the game. He knew you liked watching his muscles flex, veins protruding in his forearms under the sketched skin

His tongue poked out in concentration, looking down the slope of his nose before the dart went sailing, landing on the board with a solid 'thud!' and sinking into the worn foam. Eddie turned, smug smile on his face that he was trying to hide, twisting his lips to the side, but you saw how his eyes lit up. Your eyes flickering from his back to the board, red marked dart right in the middle; bullseye.

"Motherfucker..." You muttered, hands on your hips as Valerie and Ellen howled in laughter, clapping and cheering.

"Oh! That was too good!" Valerie cackled. "Time to pay up, girl. Hope it wasn't all your tips from tonight." She winked at Eddie.

You pouted playfully, exaggeratedly to Eddie. "I don't know how but you cheated." You pointed a finger at him.

Eddie laughed. "How?" He shook his head, curly tendrils bouncing with the movement. "Don't be a sore-loser, baby. You lost." He grabbed your waist, making you whine and squirm against his fingers, desperate to hide your smile and keep up your pouty facade.

"Don't you know you're supposed to let the pretty girls beat you, Munson?" Ellen shook her head playfully.

Eddie scoffed. "Where's the fun in that?" He grinned, smacking a kiss to the side of your head. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't count my winnings here. We can settle up back at home." He winked at you, leaving you throbbing and dizzy with what's to come.

Eddie stayed to walk the three of you out, opening the door to his van, smacking your ass playfully when you passed him to climb in. Eddie ducked in, kissing you hard, sloppy and needy. You could taste the whiskey on his breath still.

Eddie started the van, hand on your headrest when he pulled out, snaking his hand down to squeeze your cheeks together. "You ready to pay up when we get home?" Eddie smirked.

You blushed, turning your head to hide how flustered he made you, but he didn't miss the way your thighs squeezed shut at his words. "I still think you cheated." You jested, eyes rolling over to him.

Eddie scoffed, hand on your thigh, running his hand up the soft denim of your jeans, pinky trailing dangerously close to your core, leaving you shivering. "Psh, I won fair and square, sweetheart." He looked at you knowingly.

Twenty minutes later you were on your knees at Eddie's trailer, scratchy, green carpet rubbing uncomfortably against your knees. Eddie stripped you the second you walked in, clothes scattered and thrown in all directions, until you were naked, bare in front of him.

He sat on the couch, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, thick thighs spread with his cock angry and flushed against his belly, tip leaking and smearing onto his happy trail.

"Pay up, baby." Eddie grinned, taking a rather long exhale, embers crackling and falling from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours, stroking himself lazily.

He reached out for your hand, spitting a fat glob onto your palm, before leaning back, nodding towards his throbbing cock. You pumped him slow at first, squeezing his shaft with just the right amount of pressure, spreading his spit all over his cock. Thumb spreading and rubbing small circles over his head, gathering the leaking release to spread down his cock with every flick of your wrist.

Eddie watched you through heavy, half lidded eyes, flicking his ash into the tray, free hand reaching to wrap around your ponytail, falling and messy from your shift. You looked at him when you shimmied forward, eyes locking with him while you licked a strip on the underside of his cock, swirling your little tongue around his head.

Eddie swallowed hard, trapped moan in his throat, clenching his thighs and hips to keep from bucking at the sensation, especially when you cupped his sac, squeezing it just right, his cock throbbing and lurching when you swallowed him.

Your eyes stayed on him, trained to his face- just like he taught you. How he liked it. Eddie wanted to kiss you, cover you in sweet kisses and praises, and he would've if you weren't making him feel so good. He would later, when he worked you open with his tongue until you cried, pathetic and whiny at his mercy.

"Fuck, baby, yes, just like that," Eddie rasped, bumming the cigarette into the tray. His free hand cupped your hollowed cheek, eyes lust blown and meeting yours. "Good girl. Such a good girl f'me, aren't you?"

You moaned at his praise, vibrations sending electricity through his cock straight to his tummy where the pleasure had been building. Eddie sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, jaw gritting to keep from thrusting into the back of your throat.

"Go a little further. Yeah, sit up just a little higher, and- oh!" Eddie groaned, loud and head falling back. The kind of moans that you only heard in the X-rated films he'd rent and the two of you would watch together. Exaggerated, deep, and encouraging, leaving you blushing and determined. You wanted to hear that again, and again, and again for the rest of your life; make him feel good for the rest of your life.

You could feel your slick spreading between your thighs, achy and desperate for relief, to be touched. You clenched, shifting the heel of your foot as best as you could towards your throbbing center, rubbing and rocking on it for some relief.

Normally, Eddie would reprimand you for such a thing, but he was too wrapped up in the way your mouth felt around him. Your free hand squeezing and flicking your wrist up his shaft, tongue swirling and giving kitten licks to his head, other hand squeezing his balls.

You rocked lightly, eye lids fluttering when your heel brushed against your clit, Eddie's hand wrapping around your ponytail while you bobbed up and down, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth and leaving strings attached to his cock.

You could feel his abs clench, finger tightening around your hair, scalp tingling and burning with the pull. You felt his balls tighten, pulling up, cock twitching in your mouth. You looked back up at him, eyes round, awaiting his instructions.

Eddie's eyes were fluttered close, head tilted back, hips raising while his broken, breathy moans filled the room. Your jaw ached but you continued to suck him, squeezing his shaft harder and suckling against the head until hot spurts fell onto your tongue, gathering and filling with every shuddering breath he took.

Eddie's chest heaved, looking down at you through glazed eyes, shadowed by his thick, dark lashes. "Fuck, baby, s'good. Was s'good." He rasped, hands tightening out of your hair, feather light touch traveling down to your jaw, tilting your chin up to him.

"You didn't swallow did you?" You shook your head obediently, and Eddie beamed. "Good girl. Open up, show me."

You opened slowly, filling his thick, creamy release slide back your throat, lifting your tongue to stop it. Eddie grinned, mouth full of him, slobbering and dribbling down your chin. He nodded. "Swallow. Good girl. Very good." He purred, watching your gulp him down before his lips were on yours.

You shifted up into his kiss, hands on his hair thigh, pressed do closely to him as you could, dizzy with his praises and the way his mouth was exploring yours. He could tase himself, salty and bitter on your tongue. It made his limp cock lurch, hot pleasure still pulsating in his lower belly.

Eddie pulled you up gently by the back of your neck, his lips still on yours, hands on your waist, walking you in a clumsy sort of waltz back to his room. You fell on the bed with a small sigh, Eddie's hands strong and gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

He kept his eyes on yours, pushing his hair behind his ear before kneeling down onto the mattress, your knees by his ears over his shoulders, body raised off the bed steadied by his hands that gripped your hips and held you in place.

Eddie was salivating, licking his lips as he looked at your puffy lips, glistening and already coating the inside of your thighs with your arousal. Eddie placed a kiss to your mound, right above your clit. You shimmied your hips closer, whining and mewling for more, uncomfortable with the angle he had you in, but you wouldn't dare complain. Not when he was about to use his tongue on you.

"I think it's only fair that I show good sportsmanship, don't you?" Eddie teased wickedly, his breath tickling your sopping folds, sending shivers down your spine.

"Your turn, baby." He grinned salaciously, eyes narrowed and dark on you before his tongue was working you open, sucking and licking you until you were screaming, crying, and begging for more.

[forthereaderinserts]

The Yokai Ninja

Chapter 3

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By the time Y/N started to gain consciousness, the sun had already started making its way through the sky. They knew this would happen, they had a nasty habit of waking up whenever their body felt it, but it was still nerve wracking to be so late on the first day of training. Taking a deep breath, they attempted to calm down, it was no use rushing now. Y/N took their time getting ready and making a nice breakfast to eat on the way to the training ground, it would most likely be a while before they would get a break to eat lunch after all. Picking up the pace, Y/N tried to shovel as much food into their mouth before having to face their new team.

When they reached their squad, it was well past 5 AM. Y/N could see their exhausted teammates waiting on the training field, had they really been out there since five? Naruto was slumped over on the ground, Sakura was shakily standing in place, and Sasuke was perched in a squat with his eyes glazed over. Sakura was the first to spot them, “Wha- Why are you so late?! Do you know how long we were out here?”

Naruto jerked awake at the noise, falling backwards in shock. This also seemed to snap Sasuke out of his haze. He blinked a few times, before standing up and stretching slightly. They spared them both a concerned glance before responding, “Sorry, I woke up late and I had to make breakfast. Has Kakashi-sensei shown up yet?”

Just as Sakura opened her mouth to answer, Kakashi appeared next to the group. This got the trio to stand to attention and begin chewing their sensei out. He ignored the yelling as he sent Y/N an annoyed glare. “Now that everyone’s here, we can finally get started.” Y/N rolled their eyes and tried to avoid their sensei’s gaze.

After a few seconds of silence, Kakashi cleared his throat and set a clock down on a stump. Pressing on the top, he began to explain, “This alarm is set for noon,” he pulled out some little bells on a string. “Your mission is extremely simple, all you need to do is steal these bells from me. If you can’t manage that before the alarm goes off, you’ll be tied up and left to starve while you watch me eat my lunch in front of you.” He talked with a noticeable smirk in his tone.

Y/N never felt so good about disobeying a direct order. While their squad members were complaining about how hungry they were, they had just gotten a full night's sleep and a meal in their stomach. They were brought out of their thoughts when Sakura pointed out a detail that escaped the rest of them. “Sensei, why are there only three bells? There’s four people on the team.”

Kakashi snickered again, “Duh, that way at least one of you will end up tied up and disqualified. That one’s going back to the academy today, but then again,” The energy surrounding them all became stale and full of frustration. “All four of you could flunk, too. I expect you to use any weapons you have, including kunai or shuriken. If you aren’t prepared to kill me, you’ll never be able to defeat me.”   

There was obviously more to say about his teaching styles. Sakura and Naruto took turns bringing these up. “But, sensei! That’s too dangerous!” “Plus, you couldn’t even dodge that eraser! Are you sure you want us to go all out?”

Kakashi looked serious now, “Class clowns, the weakest links, it’s usually safe to just ignore them. Low scores, low skill, complete losers.” He brought his attention back to the rest of the group as Naruto was left to stir in anger. “When I say go, you can start.”

Enraged by being mocked again, Naruto let out a shout and charged at Kakashi-sensei. The genin watch in awe as the younger boy is immediately taken over. Like a flash of light, Naruto’s nose was in the dirt and Kakashi was behind him holding the kunai to the back of his head. “Honestly, you guys are starting to annoy me.” The three watching held nothing but fear and respect for the older teen. He was a dangerous opponent and it would take more than just running in there to take him down. 

Everyone moved to get away as he spoke again, “You did come at me like you were going to kill me, though. However, next time, don’t be so impulsive, that might end up getting you killed.” Tension was high as they all prepared for his next move. “Get ready, and start!”

As soon as Kakashi started the exercise, everyone jumped off in different directions and started strategizing their attack. All but Y/N, who trailed behind and tried to catch Naruto’s attention. They had no doubt that, despite his young age, they would never be able to beat Kakashi on their own; they needed to coordinate and work together to overwhelm the jonin. 

“Hey, Naruto, come here.” This barely caught the boy’s attention, it seemed he was still upset about being pinned to the ground. “Naruto, what’s the plan, man? How are we gonna do this?”

He didn’t even turn before responding, “No way! I gotta do this on my own, I’m not gonna let him humiliate me like this! Believe it!”

Y/N sighed before nodding. It seemed like they would have to rely on Sasuke for the extra man-power. They tried to recall which direction he had gone, before deciding to just search blindly and hope Kakashi was too busy with Naruto to follow. During this whole interaction, Kakashi kept an attentive gaze on Y/N.

Finding Sasuke was easier said than done. He was inexperienced, but he was still the best student in class. They found him high up in the trees, watching Kakashi easily avoid Naruto’s attacks, if you could even call them that.

“Hey-” Y/N threw their arms up just in time to block an attack. “Just me! Just me, calm down.” They struggled to keep a straight face, laughing would make sure the stubborn Uchiha never worked with them again. “Sorry, I uh, sorry. So, uhm, what’s your plan? For the bells?”

Sasuke gave them a strange look, like they had told some awful joke. He resumed glaring daggers at the pair in the field, “Why should I tell you? I need to get that bell and I can’t do it if you’re weighing me down.”

Well, that was a kick to the face. At this point, the only thing they could do was give up. Y/N wouldn’t even try with Sakura, chances are she would only want to work with Sasuke. They would never beat Kakashi alone and no one was willing to work together; they figured it would be better to admit defeat than make a fool of themself. They sighed once more and dropped out of the tree without a second glance to their teammate. Even if he was impossible to work with, it wouldn’t be fair to reveal him.

As Y/N stepped out from the tree line, Kakashi was turning towards them. How perfectly timed, it appeared that Naruto had also given up on his flailing. The tension was frightening, his one visible eye catching every twitch in their body. He was like a predator stalking his prey, and Y/N had just blindly strolled into his den.

The adrenaline from Sasuke’s attack and the sudden, overwhelming fear of being targeted by this dangerous ninja sent them into a panic. They acted on the first impulse that came to mind and immediately tried making themselves look as non threatening as possible. Throwing their arms up in surrender, they started babbling nonsense and inching closer to the teen in front of them.

“Hey! Phew, I’m saying that a lot today, huh! Well, you wouldn’t know–” Kakashi cut them off before they could make this anymore painful, “If you’re trying to distract me while someone else takes the bells, it’s not going to work.”

At the mention of their teammates, Y/N deflates. Their brow wrinkles as they adopt a sour look, “No, unfortunately, I’m just an idiot. I’ve been trying to get them to work together with me, but they’re too stubborn. I can’t get that bell on my own, so I figured I should just take the loss and let them try. Those two want this more than me, anyways.”

Kakashi seemed to relax at their words, his gaze turning inquisitive, like he was fascinated by the confession. “Have you tried asking Sakura? She might need help.” 

Y/N was childishly kicking the dirt, comfortable with the truce that had been established, “That’s a joke right? She’s so obsessed with Sasuke, she wouldn’t notice if she was on fire.” That got a laugh from their sensei. They continued their rant, “None of these guys understand that we aren’t strong enough to take you one-on-one. They’re so focused on doing it their way, they-”

Kakashi raised a brow at the pause. He was standing with his arms crossed, leaning backwards slightly. He looked excited now. “That’s the point though, isn’t it. You set us up, pit us against each other to see if we could work together under pressure.” Kakashi was moving now, coming to a stop just in front of them. Y/N stood up straight, not wavering as he leaned in close.

“Well, aren’t you a smart little mink? 

Fighting through the shock and embarrassment, Y/N managed to get out a response, “Fitting, with how you’ve been watching me like a hungry fox. Are you going to eat me up, sensei?” Much to their surprise, Kakashi choked on his breath and froze up. His face turned a dangerous shade of red as he struggled to come up with a reply. 

“Such tough words for someone who can’t even hold a conversation. A little disappointing if you ask me.” As they said this, they tried to reach for one of the bells.

They were just about to make contact when their wrist was snatched. They jerked backwards and their eyes shot up to meet Kakashi’s. His blush had faded to a soft pink, and his eyes burned in a heated glare. Though, there was no malice to be found. Only shame in being caught so off-guard that he’d almost let you beat him.

When it was clear that he had no intentions of going any further, Y/N admitted defeat once more. They were prideful, sure, but even they knew when to throw in the towel. “You’re a sharp one, Fox. I thought you were still trying to think of a good comeback.”

He turned his head to the side, his blush getting brighter. “Whatever, that was just a fluke. Don’t expect that to work next time.” Y/N grinned, “Next time?”

“Shut up!” His voice raised in pitch, how was it so easy to mess with this kid? “Stay put, I’m going to go check on the others.” They watched as he stormed off, rubbing his face to try and get rid of his blush. They didn’t know if any of their teammates were in that direction, and they doubted that Kakashi knew either, but he had surprised them so many times today.