#you can tell how gross i feel by how fluffy i write these losers

[alphacrone]

for practicality's sake

schmoopy sequel-ette to until your father's at the table || read on ao3

When Jack slowly opened his eyes, he was so hungry he couldn't believe the sounds of his stomach hadn't woken Bittle, or the entire neighborhood, really.

But Bittle was still passed out, face pressed uncomfortably into the gap between their pillows, Señor Bun squished under his chest, one eye dangling dangerously by a few threads. Jack made a mental note to dig out his pocket sewing kit and fix it before the eye came off entirely, then very reluctantly rolled out of bed. Normally, he'd let himself fall back asleep, or watch Bittle sleep a little longer in hopes he'd wake up soon and offer to make breakfast or just give Jack that silly, sleepy, just-woke-up smile, but Jack was starving and Bittle had been up late organizing his tax spreadsheet and just because he was the expert didn't mean Bittle had to cook every meal. Jack was perfectly capable of making breakfast, thank you very much.

After a teeth-brushing, face-washing pit stop, Jack ambled into his kitchen, scratching at his stomach absently. He and Bittle had both been trying to eat healthier — Bittle for the sake of preparing recipes for his aging demographic, Jack for his high cholesterol — but eggs and bacon sounded so good this morning. Sighing, Jack knew he needed to use turkey bacon, and he'd cook the eggs in one of the hundred different kinds of vegetable oil they had in the pantry instead of leftover bacon grease. Instead of toast or pancakes, he knew Bittle would want some of the leftover fruit from his last (disastrous) recipe experimentation.

“What fun is being retired if I still have to eat fruit?” Jack muttered to himself. “Bittle’ll love me no matter how clogged my arteries are.”

“But he'll love you a lot longer if you just eat the gosh darn fruit, mister,” a voice from the doorway chastised.

Bittle was leaning against the doorframe in an oversized Bruins shirt and oddly tight sweatpants. True to the chilly nature of early spring, he also had on the fuzzy bunny slippers Ford had gotten him as a joke for his brithday. They were utterly ridiculous, but Bittle wore them every morning until summer.

“Hey,” Jack said, grinning. “Morning.”

“None of that gross socializing crap until there's coffee in me,” Bittle mumbled, stumbling past Jack and patting his chest lightly. He flipped on the coffee maker and slumped against the counter, pushing his glasses up where they'd slipped down the bridge of his nose. “Honey, wear a shirt if you're making bacon.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. “How'd you know I was ma-”

Bittle rolled his eyes fondly. “Honey, you always make bacon if given the chance. Bacon, chicken tenders, and chocolate chip cookies are your culinary staples. At least put on an apron.”

Jack was pretty sure his body had faced a lot more abuse that flying specks of hot grease, but he also knew he liked the way Bittle looked at him when he wore only an apron over his sleep pants, so he simply pressed a kiss to Bittle’s head and pulled an apron off the hook in the pantry.

“Thanks, sweetpea,” Bittle said, eyes still not quite focused. “Gotta keep you in one piece as long as possible.”

“I doubt it's the shirtless cooking that'll be my demise, but thank you for worrying about me,” Jack teased as he began pulling the eggs and bacon from the fridge.

The earthy scent of hot coffee began to waft through the small kitchen, and Bittle elbowed past Jack to very pointedly pull the tub of chopped strawberries and blueberries from the fridge. “So, I've got an interview today and then a meeting with those AmazonFresh guys about the commercial, so if you wanna do dinner’ll it'll probably be a bit later.”

“We can just scrounge, if that's easier,” Jack said. “My place or yours?”

“Ugh, let me think,” Bittle sighed. “I've got leftover stir fry and one veggie burger left. Some frozen burritos. Canned soup. You?”

Jack put both pans on the stove, tossing the bacon into one and lightly sprinkling olive oil into the other. “I've got the leftover curry from last weekend and some grilled chicken. Maybe some broccoli, I’d have to check.”

“I'll bring the stir fry here, we can have a buffet,” Bittle decided, perking up as the coffee pot chimed. “I'll have to stop at my place to drop off my camera bag anyway.”

Despite the closeness of their apartments, Jack felt his life was so entwined in Bittle’s that even the smallest commute between seemed too much. “You should just move in with me,” he said as he began cracking eggs. “It'd make everything simpler.”

It wasn't until he needed to flip the bacon that Jack realized the kitchen had gone deathly silent. He turned, afraid of what he might see on Bittle’s face.

He was relieved to see mostly fondness, mixed with a bit of shock. “You really want me to move in with you?” Bittle asked uncertainly. “Or is this just some hypothetical?”

If he was being honest with himself, Jack had wanted Bittle to move in with him ages ago, before they'd ever even kissed. “I want you to move in with me,” Jack said, playing with a loose string on the apron. “If you want to keep your own place, I understand, but I like waking up next to you every morning and that would be a lot easier if we just...consolidated.”

“Consolidated.” Bittle’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. “So, this is strictly a matter of practicality.”

Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. The only reason I want you to move in is so I don't keep leaving my clothes at your apartment. Not because I'm madly in love with you. Not at all.”

“So romantic,” Bittle said, abandoning his coffee to move across the kitchen and pull Jack into a kiss. “I love you, too, and I'd love to move in with you.”

“Cool,” Jack said, just to see Bittle’s exasperated expression. “How many slices of bacon do you want?”

“Two,” Bittle said, patting his gut. “Watching my figure before the commercial shoot.”

“More for me,” Jack said. “I'm retired. I get to have...what was it Holster liked to call it? Dad bod. I'm working on my dad bod.”

Bittle choked on his laughter. “Oh my goodness, stop. I never thought I'd hear you say those words!”

Jack turned off the stove and slowly untied his apron. “What's the matter, Bittle? Don't like my dad bod?”

Bittle’s face was bright red as he struggled to breathe through the giggles. “No-no I love your dad bo- nope, I can't call it that, I'm sorry. I love your body but I can't-”

Jack grabbed Bittle by the back of the thighs and hoisted him up onto the counter, tucking himself between Bittle’s legs. Bittle was still laughing, but it became less hysterical as Jack shed the apron. Once upon a time, Jack would've felt self-conscious about the weight he'd gained since college, but when Bittle looked at him he couldn't think about anything but those big, kind eyes and the huge amount of love he saw behind them. Jack leaned up to kiss Bittle, soft and slow, thumbs tracing circles into the sensitive skin of Bittle’s inner thighs. Bittle shuddered and threaded his hands through Jack’s hair.

“You've still got too much muscle for a dad bod,” Bittle said as they broke apart. “Once you lose that, we’ll talk.”

“But I can't lose my muscle,” Jack said, tugging on Bittle’s earlobe with his teeth. “Then I wouldn't be able to manhandle you.”

“Mm, what a shame,” Bittle deadpanned. “You do you, honeybun. Dad bod, no dad bod, doesn't matter to me. As long as that bod eats some fruit and doesn't give out at age fifty-”

“I'll eat the fucking fruit,” Jack said with a laugh. He grazed his teeth down the length of Bittle’s neck, relishing the hitch of Bittle’s breath. “There's some other things I'd like to eat first, though.”

“Gross old man,” Bittle teased, but his breathlessness overruled any conviction he might've had. “Guess breakfast will have to wait.”

Jack stomach growled loudly, making Bittle laugh again. “Or we could take a five minute break for some bacon?”

“Always with the protein, Zimmermann,” Bittle said, poking Jack in the gut.

Jack grinned and grabbed a few slices from the pan, only slightly burning his fingers. “Open up,” he said, dangling one of the pieces over Bittle’s head like a mama bird offering a worm to her baby.

Bittle snorted but tilted his head back to grab at the bacon with his teeth. He tugged it out of Jack’s hand, and it landed on his face with a quiet smack.

“Ew!” Bittle laughed, grabbing the bacon with his hand before it could fall to the floor. “Now I'm all greasy!”

Jack gave Bittle a wicked grin and held his face still as he licked at the place the bacon had hit. Bittle shrieked and half-heartedly pushed at his chest, shouting a litany of, “Ew, ew, Jack, that's gross!”

“All clean,” Jack said, smacking his lips and shoving an entire piece of bacon into his mouth.

“You're disgusting,” Bittle said, primly nibbling on his own slice. “Absolute heathen.”

“It's not like you're not gonna be covered in my spit in, oh, ten minutes,” Jack countered, reaching for more bacon.

Bittle glared at him. “We were having such a romantic morning. What happened to that Jack? I want him back.”

“Was it really that romantic?” Jack asked around a mouthful of food.

“More romantic than throwing bacon at my face,” Bittle mumbled. “Finish your food and take me back to bed. We have things to be celebrating.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said, swallowing quickly and hoisting Bittle off the counter before he could finish chewing. Despite his age and the aches and pains that came with years of intense athletics, Jack could still carry Bittle around when he really wanted to. And he wanted to pretty frequently.

Bittle wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist and held on tight, sucking lightly at Jack’s pulsepoint. That only made Jack walk faster, all but throwing Bittle onto the bed — their bed. The thought of that made something warm fizz under his skin, and he scrambled onto the bed next to Bittle, kissing him deeply.

“Mmph, what's gotten into you?” Bittle asked, fingers digging into the flesh of Jack’s pecs. “So handsy before coffee.”

“This is our bed,” Jack murmured, lips against Bittle’s cheek. “In our room. ‘Cause you said yes.”

Bittle reached up and cupped his face in both small, calloused hands. Jack loved drinking in the sight of Bittle, the ways he'd changed since they first met. Back then he'd been scrawny and baby-faced, his golden hair always flopping in his eyes and his smile tentative, guarded, nervous. Now he was scooching closer to forty every day, face lined, body thicker and softer, and his smile…

Maybe it was just the smile he reserved for Jack, but it was bright and blinding and so unrelenting and unapologetic that Jack knew, deep in his gut, it would be the last thing on his mind before he died, it so intensely encompassed his whole heart.

“Baby,” Bittle said softly, tracing Jack’s cheek with his thumb. “God, I love you so much. Of course I said yes. It's only practical.”

Jack laughed and pulled Bittle into another kiss, dirtier and rougher than before. Bittle shoved at him until he rolled onto his back, and then Jack had a lapful of his favorite person, working very studiously on a hickey on his neck.

“Bits…” he whined, but busied himself with pulling Bittle’s shirt off.

“No more locker room fines for you, Jack,” Bittle said. “I've been saving up these hickeys like you wouldn't believe.”

“I'm too old to have hickeys,” Jack muttered, then gasped when Bittle’s teeth scraped at the point just above his collarbone. “Nngh- don't stop.”

“That's what I thought,” Bittle said, far too smugly. Then he paused and sat up straighter. Jack whined at the loss of contact. “Sugar, do you smell smoke?”

“No- oh, shit, the eggs.”

Jack bolted off the bed, accidentally dumping Bittle to the floor. He'd remembered to turn the burner off for the bacon, but the eggs-

Were only a little bit on fire, as it turned out. Bittle got the window open before the smoke alarm could go off, and Jack shoved the pan out into the brisk morning air to cool down. The kitchen was hazy and unpleasant, but Bittle darted around to turn on the fan and open all the doors and windows he deemed appropriate.

Once he finished that task, Bittle tucked himself into Jack’s side, shivering shirtless in the breeze. “I can't believe you nearly burned down our apartment,” he said into Jack’s chest. Jack bit back a smile at how casually he said “our.”

“I guess then I would've had to move in with you,” Jack said mildly, wondering idly if the pan was done smoking. It was always distracting, having Bittle so close. “Which would've been a shame, your place is so much smaller than mine.”

“Well, we can't all be NHL millionaires,” Bittle said haughtily. “But, really, your kitchen is so much nicer than mine. I would've cried if you'd burnt it down.”

“I'll try to keep that in mind.” Jack pulled the pan back into the room and dumped it in the sink. “At least we’ve still got...fruit.”

“Such a baby,” Bittle said, patting Jack’s cheek. “You like strawberries.”

“Not as much as I like you,” Jack said, pressing a kiss to the top of Bittle’s head.

“I don't know if that was a sex joke or you just being sweet, but either way, you should take me back to bed,” Bittle said, grabbing Jack’s hand. “As long as you're certain all of the burners are off.”

“Promise they are,” Jack said, letting Bittle pull him from the kitchen. “...now.”

“Well, then, if you're sure,” Bittle said, voice going softer and lower. “Let's go christen our bed.”

Jack didn't need any further persuasion.

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Big Secret

Pairing: Kirishima x reader, but also . . . pining!Bakugou

Warnings: Mentions of/implied sex, but nothing actually graphically happening. Gay/Bi/Poly fun stuffs. Bakugou doesn’t like the color pink. Also language from YoU kNoW wHo

Author’s Note:

*sips tea*

So.

Technically, no one asked for this, but I wanted to write it anyway. Then someone requested a sequel, so I made this prequel first (because I had a clearer idea, nothing against them). It doesn’t matter if you read Little Secret or Big Secret first, so do whatever if you’re new. 

Little Secret did surprisingly well, so I was more than happy to jump back into the mini AU. This takes place about a month before the events of Little Secret. I could not pick whether this is angst or crack, so I made it both. Both is good.

This is my first crack at angst (haha, see what I did there? I’m so smart and funny). If it’s bad, then it’s kind of just practice for me. If it’s good and you decide you like it . . . hooray! I did something right for once.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Enjoy!

-Sugar

⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙

⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙

Bakugou stood in front of your door, scowling as usual.

Ever since you and Kirishima had started dating, it felt like the red-haired hard boy was impossible to be reached, constantly spending all his time with you. Bakugou had expected as much when the two of you had announced to him that you were a couple, but this was starting to get ridiculous. He was starting to feel a little too left out, getting angry at how much he found himself missing your presences as you had once hung out interchangeably in all three of your rooms. But that was before, when you were all just friends.

Just friends.

Bakugou shook his head before rapping impatiently at your door. "Oi, (N/N), have you seen Kirishima?"

"I'm in here."

Katsuki immediately recognized the sound of the redhead's voice on the other side of your door, causing him to frown. Of course. Just as he'd anticipated.

"It's open," you called.

And you were in there too. Gods, he hoped he didn't just catch you two doing something disgusting, like kissing or worse. He was almost to the point of praying that the two of you were at least decently clothed when he opened the door.

What he most certainly didn't expect was the sight before him, immediately smacking him in the face the moment he walked in.

Kirishima had just gotten up from laying belly down on the floor, clad only in a pair of loose black sweatpants, defined muscles clearly out for anyone to see. You were right next to him, sitting in your cute pajamas. Bakugou had tried telling you off for copying him by wearing that black tank top like he did, but you had insisted that it had been as much your idea as it had been his. His gaze wandered to your bare legs, accentuated by a pair of short (F/C) shorts.

The most shocking thing however, was the fact that both your faces were slathered in some sort of mint-green paste, hair tied up and pushed back with fuzzy animal-themed headbands.

"Need something, Bakubro?" Kirishima asked, yanking him out of his thoughts before he could get too far down a rabbit hole that would be painfully embarrassing to climb himself back out of.

"You have my notes. I need them."

It was true, Kirishima had asked to borrow Katsuki's lesson notes, like he always did at the end of the week. Upon finding the boy absent from his room, Bakugou could have easily let himself in and taken them off his desk, right where they always were. But for some reason, he'd been driven to go out and find the redhead. He didn't know why. Maybe it was to torture himself. He never knew why he even still bothered being around you two.

There was a new feeling ever since you'd become official; a sickness churning in the pit of Katsuki's stomach. Oddly, he vaguely recognized it from when that damned Deku would constantly show him up, but this one was always much stronger, somehow even more painful.

Why did he wince every time you went to grab Eijirou's hand? Why did he find himself with the urge to go be sick when he'd first seen Eijirou lean over to give you a peck on the cheek? It had been because it was gross couple stuff, right? Bakugou wasn't here for all that nasty touchy-feely stuff. He'd seen his parents do it, and it disgusted him. And now his best friends were doing it with each other; sometimes right in front of him, sometimes when you thought he couldn't see.

But he saw, and he knew. He'd heard you, late that night after training. Heard the two of you noisily entering Kirishima's room, clicking the lock on the door as you'd stumbled to the opposite wall. He'd listened to everything: the telltale sounds of skin meeting skin and coming together. He'd heard both your sweet, pretty voices, desperately trying to keep quiet as foreign waves of feelings coursed through your bodies on the other side of the wall. The thin wall, where every sound was as plain as if the barrier hadn't been there at all.

He should have stopped himself then. He should have given up all hope, closed down all his feelings. He'd laid awake the whole night, thinking about how his two best friends were now seeing each other in this way. You were third years, and having relationships within the class was to be expected. But his best friends? Together? And now it was just him. The sideliner. The outcast. The third wheel. Alone.

He'd been forced to listen. It hadn't been his choice. It was even less his choice when the two of you had approached him the next day, listening one last torturous time to you as Kirishima sheepishly explained that the two of you had become an item. Bakugou pretended like he didn't already know.

He should have stopped hanging out with you, distancing himself as the two of you grew closer. But this had all happened almost four months ago, and he hadn't been able to force himself away from either of you. He couldn't tell if he resented you both or genuinely enjoyed your company.

What did it matter? It was only his stupid emotions, stupid feelings bleeding through his enforced walls. He had other things to focus on, better things. Like being a hero. Training to be at the top of the class, climbing ever higher to surpass All Might and be the number one hero. That was his goal. That was his purpose. It had nothing to do with his idiot, overly supportive best friends—if he could even call you that anymore.

"Your notes?" Eijirou's voice questioned.

"Yeah," Bakugou said. "Where are they?"

"My desk," Eijirou said. "Like always. My door should be open, you could have just taken them."

Bakugou scowled. "Oh," was all he said.

"Hey, we're having a spa night," you piped up.

"I noticed," Bakugou deadpanned.

"Ooh, you should totally join us, Bakubro!" Kirishima's green-caked face slipped into a grin with ease, flashing his ridiculously cute sharp teeth.

"Yeah!" It was your turn to beam, face lighting up in your smile. "Spa night for three!"

Just the three of you. That sounded wonderful. And also absolutely terrible.

Bakugou scoffed. "You're not going to get me to do your childish nonsense. I need to go study. And then sleep."

"The gren-nerd returns," you said, rolling your eyes. "Come on, Blasty, there is such a thing as too much sleep."

"Yeah," Kirishima agreed. "Besides, it's a Friday night. You have all weekend to do whatever. Have some fun with us and lighten up for a change!"

Katsuki glared at you, hovering inside the door frame. You smirked and began pumping your fists in front of you, maintaining eye contact with him.

"Spa night, spa night, spa night—" Your voice took on a low, stage whispered chant, and soon Kirishima joined in next to you.

"Spa night! Spa night! Spa night—!"

"Fucking dammit," Bakugou finally said, slamming the door shut behind him and stomping over to where you were sitting in the middle of your floor. He hurled himself down into a sitting position, trying to make every possible inch of his body language convey that he didn't want to be here. "You're just a pair of idiots and losers."

"I refuse to be cast down by your simplistic labels and insults," you said dramatically, placing a hand on your chest. "Gimme your face. Now."

Bakugou jerked his head back from you, even though you technically hadn't even reached for him yet. "What are you going to do?" he asked suspiciously.

"We must start with the face mask. Eiji, go get him a headband."

"A what?! I am not—"

"Yes, you are," you said firmly. "Unless you want to go take another shower to get it all out of your hairline, because, trust me, it gets everywhere."

Kirishima came back and flopped back down beside you, handing over a fuzzy, pink and white fabric headband with small bear ears stitched onto the side. Bakugou looked from it to the ones you were wearing. You donned a sparkly pink unicorn themed one, decorated with a horn, ears and a fluffy puff of a mane. Kirishima wore one that was very similar to the headband you were now holding, except his was black and white, clearly panda themed.

Katsuki pointed at Eijirou's head. "I want his."

The redhead blinked. "What?"

"Yours is cooler and not pink. I want that one."

You sighed. "Katsuki, it doesn't matter."

"I'm not wearing pink!"

"What's wrong with pink?" Eijirou asked.

"It's too girly!"

"Hey, pink can be a manly color," Kirishima argued. You nodded your head in agreement.

"Then why aren't you wearing it?" Bakugou shot back.

Eijirou blinked. "I, uh—um—"

"See, you don't want to wear it either!"

"That's not—!"

Bakugou lunged towards Kirishima, grabbing at the item keeping his red bangs pushed off his forehead.

"AAH—hey! It's gonna smear—!"

The boys took a moment to scuffle, Eijirou desperately trying to hold back Katsuki's arms as they grabbed at him. You took a moment to look into an invisible camera like you were on The Office, heaving a sigh.

"Alright, that's enough." You pulled Katsuki off your boyfriend by the back of his shirt collar, shoving the pink headband into his hand. "You can either wear the headband, or you can let it get in your hair. Eijirou was here first, so that one's his. Got it?"

Bakugou donned his 'I just bit into a lemon' face, spitting out a "tch" before reluctantly putting it on his head, pulling it up so his forehead was on display.

You noticed the ears were a bit off kilter, leaning a little too far to the left. It set off a tic in your face, making you reach over and straighten it out. You couldn't help but notice how Bakugou froze when your hands and face came nearer to his own, breaths stuttering and slowing to a stop. You sheepishly finished adjusting it, sitting back when you were satisfied.

In all honesty, you'd tried to ignore Bakugou's shift in behavior around you. He was as abrasive and irritable as ever, but there was something in the way you'd noticed him looking at Kirishima. You'd gotten briefly jealous until you realized he often acted the same around you. You told yourself to pay no heed to it, and now certainly wasn't the time to be sorting out and guessing at the feelings of your emotionally closed-off best friend.

"If either one of you takes my picture like this," Bakugou said. "I'm gonna fucking kill the both of you."

"Sure."

You glanced over and made eye contact with Eijirou. One of you had to do just that without him noticing by the end of the night. He was simply too cute not to; the pink matching his ash blond hair just right.

You tore your gaze away from Katsuki. I have a boyfriend right here, who I love very very much, you reminded yourself.

That much was true. Maybe you weren't allowed to order off the menu anymore, but it couldn't hurt to take another glance.

"Alright," you announced. "I'm getting the face mask back out." You got up and walked to your felt storage container of toiletries, grabbing the same green tube and package of face wipes you'd used only minutes prior.

"So why the fuck do you have three of these?" Bakugou asked, referring to his newly acquired pink ears.

"Sleepovers, duh. Also there was a sale and they're really cute and cheap, so there."

Bakugou let out another tch as you sat back down in front of him. You pulled out a wipe and began to work at his face, removing any oils that might have gotten on there throughout the day.

"Relax your face," you ordered, and Bakugou surprisingly complied. "You'll get wrinkles if you keep doing that. You know, the whole frowny thing."

"You sound like my mother, dumbass," he commented, keeping his lips turned down in a frown.

"Well, your mother is right."

"Feh."

You ignored his dismissive noise. "You have really nice skin, you know," you commented, moving back to your seated position and tossing the wipe in the general direction of your trash bin. "Do you have a routine? I found out today that Eijirou doesn't so that's what got us started."

The redhead shrugged behind you, having taken out his phone while you tended to Bakugou.

"Um, I wash it sometimes," Bakugou admitted. "My mom said something about how our sweat helps keep it clear, but she still sends me stuff every now and then."

"Neat." You sighed. "Wish my sweat actually helped my skin. Other than, you know, keeping it cool and whatever."

You took the tube from the floor next to you, popping the cap open and squeezing some onto your fingers.

"What is that stuff?"

"Avocado oatmeal clay mask," you said, glancing at the label. "Purifying."

"Huh."

You leaned forward again on your knees in front of him, beginning to spread the green paste over his cheeks and forehead like you'd done to Kirishima.

"I'm not a baby, you know," he protested. "I can do it myself."

"Oh, come on," you countered. "It's fun having your friends take care of you. Just let me do this."

Bakugou sighed through his nose. He had to admit, there was a teeny tiny part of him that liked how close you were, the way your fingers glided over his cheeks and forehead.

But you had a boyfriend. A very sweet, loving, cheerful boyfriend. He was yours and you were his, and Bakugou was . . . unavailable. He'd stay yours and Kirishima's friend, and he'd just have to accept it.

You finished fixing up his face, going back to your criss-crossed sitting position and wiping your fingers off with a tissue.

"Now what?" Bakugou asked.

"We can wash it off in about ten minutes, we just have to wait for it to dry."

Bakugou sat back, assessing the sensation of the mask on his face. It was cold and sticky, but he had to admit it smelled good. He'd never done anything like this before, and the tiniest part of him actually didn't hate it.

You started talking about a meme you'd seen on Instagram, and you laughed with Kirishima. You both were cute in your face masks and headbands. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but maybe Katsuki would be willing to sit through something like this again if it meant seeing you both like this.

You sat back and seemed to go into thought for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do next. "Eijirou, let me see your nails." He presented them to you, his face questioning. You studied his cuticles, clicking your tongue. "Imma get you some nail oil. We could probably all use some."

You got up again and grabbed the little bottle, twisting off the cap and beginning to brush the liquid onto your boyfriend's nails.

"What does that do, exactly?" he asked, watching you concentrate.

"Strengthens your nails," you explained. "Keeps them hydrated so they won't crack and break off so easily."

"Look at that Bakugou!" Kirishima proudly proclaimed. "I’m gonna have strong, manly nails!"

You giggled, beginning to blow on them so the solution would soak in and dry faster.

"Babe, I just realized something," Kirishima said.

"Yeah?"

"We look like Shrek."

You looked up at him, his face caked in the solid green mask, then turned your gaze to Bakugou. "You know, I wasn't going to say anything, but, yeah, we totally do."

You both started cracking up again, and Eijirou laid down on the floor as he laughed. He had the sweetest laugh, the absolute best. You provided hefty competition, however; your slightly higher voice adding to your own pretty sound.

"No hate on my mans Shrek, though," Kirishima said, sitting back up as his audible joy died down a bit.

"Shrek is love, Shrek is life," you said, nodding your head solemnly.

"I thought I was love. For you." Kirishima's expression changed to puppy eyes, pretending to be more hurt than he was.

"Uh, yes. But I've known Shrek longer than you, so he represents life."

"What the fuck, guys."

You both ignored Bakugou's comment, proceeding to bicker.

"But he doesn't love you like I do," Kirishima argued.

"He's shrekxy."

"I—" Kirishima blinked, shaking his head a little in bewilderment.

"Fite me, it's a scientific fact."

Instead, Kirishima turned his gaze to the blond, who was watching the full affair with barely concealed intrigue. "Bakubro, I'm getting jealous of a fictional 2-D green swamp ogre. I think my girlfriend is going to leave me for him."

"Actually he's 3-D," you corrected.

"See?" Kirishima exaggeratedly gestured at you in mock offense. "She doesn't appreciate me anymore for who I am. I'm going to rebound to you, Katsu."

Bakugou stiffened at the proposal. He knew it was just a joke, but now he couldn't get the thought out of his head of actually being with Kirishima. Allowing his hand to grasp his. Placing a kiss on the boy's cheek. Waking up next to him in the morning. Was that his problem? He wanted what you had with Shitty Hair? Or did he want what Kirishima had with you?

"Like I'd ever date you!" Bakugou finally spat, after maybe a bit too long of a pause. "You're a dumbass idiot, just like your girlfriend. You two are perfect for each other!"

Both you and Kirishima blinked at Katsuki's outburst, turning to make eye contact.

"Thank . . . you?" you said, unsure if you should take it as a compliment.

You were both used to Bakugou being brash and loud, often yelling insults he probably didn't mean. But this was a bit unusual, even for him.

What is going on with you, Katsuki?

You sat back and made a little "pthbb" sound with your lips, taking the cuticle oil and starting to apply it to your own nails.

"So when are you going to go back to rubbing my back?" Eijirou asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Or is that only for Shrek?"

You snorted. "I love you, Eiji. I'd give you a kiss on the cheek to prove it, but you've got some artificial avocado there."

Bakugou's frown shifted a bit. At least the masks were good for one more thing.

"Where?" Eijirou teased, feeling at his face as though it wasn't slathered in a thick layer of green paste.

"Ha ha," you said dryly. "I'll go back to personal masseuse-ing after we wash these off."

"When's that?"

You leaned over and tapped at Bakugou's face, finding his still a little moist. "Five minutes," you wagered.

Eijirou started a conversation about training, lightheartedly arguing with Bakugou over one of his techniques.

You watched the nuances of how the two interacted. They'd been friends for so long, they just sort of flowed together and bounced off each other perfectly. Kirishima was clearly more physical, wrapping an arm around Bakugou's shoulders or touching him on his arm or his back. Bakugou never yelled about this like he would with probably anyone else, instead choosing to silently glower while Eijirou finished his thought.

Finally it was time for the masks to be washed off, the three of you crowding around the sink in your cramped bathroom. Eijirou helped you wipe yours away first with some damp paper towels, delighting in being so close to you and your beautiful face. Bakugou opted to simply wash his own off in the sink, splashing cold water over his cheeks. He watched the little green flakes and chunks swirl down into the drain, some of them catching stubbornly on the porcelain surface.

He straightened and looked at his newly washed face in the mirror. He didn't look or feel any different, sans the fuzzy pink bear ears that still wrapped around his forehead. Bakugou tugged them off, stepping away from the sink so Kirishima could take his own turn in washing.

The blond watched the both of you finish up, Eijirou rubbing gently at his face while you patted toner into yours. There was something so mundane about it, even in your tight closet of a toilet space. He liked the little smile you took on as you gently slapped liquid onto your cheeks, and how Eijirou squeezed his eyes shut and gave little shakes of his head to escape from the rivulets of water streaming over his features.

Kirishima stood back up, taking a look at himself in the mirror much like Bakugou had done moments before. "Wait a minute—I still have acne!" He leaned in and closer examined a small cluster of raised bumps.

"Of course you do, ya goof," you said, snickering and setting down your bottle of toner. "It's just a clay mask. If you want magic, use calamine lotion overnight. That should do the trick."

"Why didn't we do that instead?"

"Because these are more fun. And a lot shorter."

Eijirou shrugged and pulled his own headband off, soft red bangs falling over his eyes. Katsuki took a second to admire it. What would it feel like under his fingertips? He wondered for a brief moment how soft it truly was before he ripped his eyes away again. No. No. NO.

"So are you going to rub my back again?" Eijirou asked, puppy-dog eyes shining at you hopefully.

"Maybe later," you said, sliding your headband over your head and undoing your hair. "Right now it's Katsuki's turn. And mine, if it's not too much trouble."

Kirishima sighed tragically, slumping forward. You grinned and went up behind him, rolling the pads of your thumbs into his shoulder blades. He tilted his head back, sighing and closing his eyes at the feeling.

"Babyyy," he said, drawing out the last syllable. "Don't tease me like that."

You giggled and kissed his shoulder. "I'll get back to you soon enough, just be patient."

Bakugou watched the two of you yet again. He had a strange feeling like this was more complicated for him than it should be. Why couldn't he just pick one of you to hate more than the other and move on? Why couldn't he decide which one of you he would rather be in your situation?

"Yo, Katsu," you said to him, bringing him out of his own head. "Get over here." You had sat yourself back down on the floor in the middle of your room, and Kirishima was stationed behind you.

Bakugou walked over and flopped down in front of you, unsure of what to expect.

"Lay down perpendicular to me," you said, tapping his shoulder.

"What? Why?"

"You'll relax more. Do it."

The blond grumbled a bit more before turning himself and laying down on his stomach. "Happy, dumbass?"

"Indeed." You began to work at his shoulders through the barrier of his shirt. Behind you, your boyfriend did the same, running his large hands over the muscles on your back. "How often do you get this done?" you asked the boy under you.

"What? A massage?" Bakugou was really trying to ignore how good your fingers felt on him, pushing and applying pressure in places he didn't even know he needed.

"Yeah."

"Never," he admitted.

"Wait, what?" Eijirou said from behind you.

"Yeah, how?" you asked, stilling your hands. Bakugou resisted the temptation to squirm under you to get you to resume what you had been doing. "That can't be good what with all the training you do."

"I have those foam rollers," he said. "They work just fine."

"Aw, come on," Kirishima said. Bakugou was glad his face was more or less planted on the floor so he wouldn't have to look up at him. "It feels so much better when you have someone else do it for you."

"Tch."

"Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki," you tsked, going back to your motions on him.

The blond quietly sighed through his nose, allowing himself for a moment to sink into the feeling of your fingers dancing over his muscles. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, it felt really nice. He was surprised at how skilled you were, alternating between your thumbs and your knuckles to provide the most pressure, working out tension as you went along. Your hands, which were so small compared to his and his friend's.

Maybe he was starting to like this a little too much.

You and Eijirou had picked up another conversation about nothing. Bakugou was more than content to zone in and out of it, picking up on your even voices. He listened to the little breathy sighs you'd let escape as the redhead pushed into your back much like you were doing to Katsuki. They were almost too cute, and the more he was left in his own mind, the less comfortable he became.

He began to shuffle under you, a part of him wanting to get up and leave, another willing himself to stay.

"You comfortable, Bakugou?" you asked him. "Want a pillow or something?"

The way you'd said his family name; Bakugou. He was an outsider. He shouldn't be here. He pushed himself up from the floor and out from under your hands.

"Woah," Kirishima said. "Where you going, man?"

"I need to leave." Bakugou rammed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and turned to your door.

"Wait, are you okay?" you asked, moving to get up too. "Did I do something wrong?"

Bakugou ignored you, adjusting his black t-shirt as he flung your door open and shut behind him.

You slumped back into Eijirou in defeat. "What is going on with him?" you lamented, eyes glued to the closed door.

Your boyfriend rested his chin on the top of your head, pondering as you pressed into him. "I have no idea. He's been acting weird for a while . . . . Could it be something going on at home?"

Your eyebrows scrunched a bit in thought. "I don't know about that. Do you think it could be us?"

Kiri shifted himself so he could lean in and look at your face inquisitively. "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. "It's just that . . . you and I are together and he's . . . alone. I mean, we're still friends, but he might feel . . . left out."

"Ohhh." Kirishima sat back again, pulling you further into his chest. "What should we do?"

You sighed, curling up against his bare skin. "I don't know."

...

Bakugou sat, finally alone in his room. What was happening? What was going on? What was wrong with him?

He hated this, these new feelings. The jealousy he felt whenever you and Kirishima were close and he was left to the side. He wanted to join you, feeling your arms wrapped around him and Eijirou's kiss on his cheek.

But he would never be able to.

Surely, you both would hate him if he said anything. You'd think he was just being sad and greedy, maybe even a creep. It would completely destroy your relationship with him, and he'd lose the two best friends he'd ever had.

Katsuki's bed dipped beneath him as he sat down onto it, placing his head in his hands. Infinite loops of yes and no spiraled forever around in his brain, willing him to just do something.

But he couldn't. There was nothing he could do. He'd have to choose either parting ways with you both or just feeling this way . . . forever, keeping it to himself. He was tired of it already. He wanted the feelings to go away. He wanted to stop hurting like this and being so confused. His rational mind told him to just turn and leave. It made sense. He'd be able to focus fully on his ambitions and become the best hero ever. And yet a tiny, stubborn little part of him knew, just knew that he wouldn't be able to go. There was something between the three of you, and even the tsundere-lord Bakugou Katsuki couldn't ignore it.

He laid back on his bed, closing his eyes. In the dark, he listened. But this time there was no sound. His mind wouldn't rest however, racing and screaming and hurting. It would be hard, but Bakugou would have to do it.

This would all just have to be his big secret.

⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙

[Little Secret]

[Disclosed]

Author’s Note:

No happy ending?? Well guess what, this is a three-parter. The epilogue/sequel/part three will be purely Kiribaku(+you) fluff, so get ready for that. I know I am!! Also remember Little Secret exists. CUDDLES!! and TICKLES!! YES!

Thanks for reading,

-Sugar

Taglist: @basicaegyo​ @iiminibattlehero​ @katsugay​​ @nabo39​​ @pyrofanatic​​ @sendhelpimstupid​ @sokkasangel​​ @xoxopam4​​

[skinks]

Do you have any works (i.e.; books, fics, poems, even movies, etc.) that inspire your writing?

ahhh thank you for this question!! I’ve been thinking about it for a few days, sorry this is so long. I hope this doesn’t sound too pretentious either, but who doesn’t like talking about the shit they enjoy?

In terms of the technical aspects, like style and structure, I love really visual and evocative writing. Clive Barker is great. I read a book last year called Days Without End by Sebastian Barry and he would occasionally bust out these fuckin gorgeous metaphors in the middle of the character’s very guileless narration, one that comes to mind rn is a giant herd of American buffalo stampeding over a hill, described as looking like bubbling molasses, and I thought holy shit, what an amazing way to describe something like that.

Then, and I’ve mentioned this a few times, but the Dreamboy podcast has absolutely beautiful writing, it’s lyrical and hilarious and blunt and horny and gross all at once in a way I wish I could do. One great metaphor I remember is describing a driveway as a “gray loaf”. Literally the way we’re introduced to the main character is him describing a recurring dream, with stuff like: “I open my mouth and the icy water rushes in, it hits the back of my throat and zooms down into my stomach. I feel it fill me up, and then it zig-zags its way through my intestines like a cold knife, and just before it gets to the back of my asshole — I wake up. And I throw off the covers and I look down, and my dick... is rock hard. Like — so hard that it’s actually like, bobbing up, and — oh fuck I’m late for work.” I dig those very nasty visceral descriptions of sensations, and how it doesn’t shy away from how bodies react in weird ways to weird things.

structure-wise, I’m really into writing where seemingly insignificant details are revealed to be more meaningful later on, long-form stories where everything fits together neatly. I think that’s why I like heist movies so much, Logan Lucky and Oceans 11 are great. I also like stuff where actions have real consequence, where you actually feel the stakes, y’know?

That last part about stakes doesn’t really apply to ithots because it’s super fluffy, but the small details thing, I was trying to do. I love the writing in shows like Barry and Fleabag for those aspects, or films like Hereditary, or Guy Ritchie’s better gangster movies. I tried to lay some breadcrumbs throughout the fic for stuff I knew I wanted to become significant in the last chapter, like the “you brought me weeds” thing in ch11, or their Olive Garden date in ch2. Or in ch6 at the aquarium there’s a line about Eddie rubbing his right arm if he stays in the pool too long, because I wanted to make a point about it and old breaks later. Richie saying “manhattan’s all shitty and cold this time of year” in ch1, then Eddie saying it again in New York. Everything Eddie talks about in his Big Speech lmao.

Pennywise appears to Richie as a werewolf in the novel (queercoding imo) so I say he feels like a dog “territorial and owned at once” in ch5, “a neglected dog” in ch6, follows Eddie like a dog in ch11 as well as hugging Eddie til he’s “squeaking like a dog toy”, shakes his head like a dog in ch12, feels like a dog with its head out the window, as well as saying his love for Eddie as a kid was “hairy and howling” in ch13, “lycanthropic” in ch15, and THEN it all culminates in him literally howling his love at the moon at the end, because he’s a dawwwwg but he’s a good one. Not a monster.

There’s a lot of that specifically with stuff Eddie says too, because I was kinda trying to show that he listens to Richie and values the stuff he says by having him parrot/emulate him a lot. Richie makes the Tozieritis joke in ch12 and Eddie says “There’s your Tozieritis” later For the Banter. Richie says “pull a groin, then?” in ch14 and that’s what Eddie tells him before the SNL show. Richie says “I’d have made a good cowboy” in ch5, so Eddie starts calling him “cowboy” in bed, the Die Hard quote comes back in ch13. Richie calls the Losers “chucklefucks” in ch9 and that’s the name Eddie calls them when he goes berserk in Atlanta, as well as him doing a Voice, saying “yessir” at the end because Richie says it all the time throughout the fic. And Eddie wearing Richie’s clothes a lot is a physical manifestation of that whole Thing he’s doing, kinda taking small parts of Richie onto himself. In a healthy way ofc.

So yeah, I’m into writing with good continuity, stuff like Archer or Arrested Development is the god tier for good continuity. I really wanted to try to do that.

as for like, mood and tone and visuals, I love surreal/liminal feeling stuff, I like how super hot lazy weather can feel otherworldly. Whatever feeling I get from watching The Green Mile, Donnie Darko, Happy as Lazzaro, Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line, or the parts in Ghibli or Makoto Shinkai movies where the cicadas are so loud and everything else is so still because it’s too hot to go outside. That hypnotised feeling. The illustrations in Shaun Tan’s book, Tales from Outer Suburbia, they were hovering in my head a lot, all the gold and long shadows.

The poems Snake by DH Lawrence, and Los Angeles/Boys by Rachel Sherwood. Definitely I Remember by Anne Sexton, since I put it at the start. The song Mad Man Moon by Genesis.

Also like, I write by basically imagining what I’d want to see if it were a movie, where the edits would be, what the camera’s seeing, what colour everything is. So I’d say the last two biggest visual inspirations would be the films The Fall by Tarsem Singh and Mandy by Panos Cosmatos. Idk how to describe it except that the imagery in those movies is the kind of stuff I see in my head when I close my eyes, like the line in ch15 about the stars falling to hang around in the canopy, that’s actually a dream I had when I was like 9 and the image always stuck with me. So yeah, all the surreal space stuff in Mandy or the strange nature in The Fall really speaks to me:

[lunatens]

mario kart

word count: 1937

genre: sO MUCH fluff

pairing: hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader

summary: best friends to lovers through the power of mario kart

a/n: okay so if y’all haven’t noticed i’m in a bit of a skz mood recently lol and I've been feeling especially soft about hyunjin recently like ugH I love him anyways please enjoy this v fluffy thing I was so soft while writing it. hopefully it makes up for me not posting too much the last few days/next few days!! <3 also im kinda proud of this so pls give it love

song rec: fireproof - one direction

~

you: [mario kart, pizza and movie night at my house in 10'?]

you send a text to your bestfriend (and neighbour) hwang hyunjin, hoping he'll be able to make you feel better. your other friend, felix, just texted to last minute cancel your plans to go to the movies (apparently this boy he just met, changbin, is more important than you) so you find yourself annoyed and alone on this friday night. normally you'd just hang out by yourself and watch netflix or something, but you're actually in the mood to socialize tonight. you've changed out of the cute outfit you had planned into your favourite pair of sweat pants and a random hoodie you just grabbed off the floor. you're now lying sprawled on your bed staring at your phone screen and waiting for hyunjin's response, which doesn't take long.

hyunjin: [ya of course. loser buys the pizza!!]

hyunjin: [is everything ok? what happened to ur plans with felix?]

you: [don't worry about it, just come over. bring blankets!!]

you close your eyes, mentally preparing to get up from your bed. a loud knock sounds from your front door, and you groan and roll off your bed. you open the door to a smiling hyunjin, clutching an armful of blankets.

"you know, you can just come in; you don't have to knock."

"i know, but i like making you get up to open the do-is that my sweater?"

you look down to realize that it is, in fact, hyunjin's sweater.

"i guess so. well, your fault for leaving it on my floor. do you want it back? i can go change,"

"no! no, it's okay, you can wear it," he responds, slightly flustered, a subtle blush on his cheeks. you turn to head to the living room, not wanting him to see your own rosy cheeks as you fight back a smile. you and hyunjin have been best friends for as long as you can remember, but recently you've found yourself craving his presence more, longing to be around him, butterflies in your stomach going crazy at the slightest touch. it's the classic dilemma; you don't want to ruin your friendship by confessing, but at the same time it's torture to just be friends when you want so much more.

you lead hyunjin to your living room where the two of you set up your usual nest of couch cushions and blankets (hyunjin giggles to himself when he throws a pillow at you and it hits you square in the face, but it's your turn to laugh when you throw one back twice as hard, hitting his stomach with a dull thump!; you're surprised an all out war doesn't break out). you flop down, tossing him a controller as you open the game.

"my parents are gone for the weekend, so we can be as loud as we want," you mention, turning up the volume on the tv. hyunjin wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively.

"not like that you idiot!" you say with a gasp, throwing another pillow at him and praying he can't see the redness of your face.

"can we pleeeeeease pick each other's characters?" he says, giving you his classic puppy dog eyes (he definitely knows they're your weakness). you narrow your eyes at him.

"fine, but ONLY if you promise you won't make me be wario again," you say as you trade off your remote. he giggles as you watch him carefully.

"waluigi isn't much better, jinnie!!" you pout, and he doubles over laughing. you choose cat peach for him as revenge (in his words, "i don't want furries in my mario kart,") and he makes a face at you, to which you simply smile angelically.

"best two of three?"

"like always," he says, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. you internally melt at how cute he looks, intensely focused on the screen and determination in his eyes.

~

you win the first round, throwing both fists in the air in victory.

"okay i would've won if you hadn't sent that stupid blue shell at me!!" he whines.

"okay sure, you keep telling yourself that," you tease.

round two begins, and hyunjin just barely passes you at the last second.

"haha!! yesss!!"

"you're so lucky i ran into a goomba on the final lap," you say; you and hyunjin are pretty equal in skill, so you often bicker back and forth, arguing about who's the real mario kart champion (although you know you're definitely better). you start the third race, both of you determined to win; neither of you really care about having to buy the pizza, the boasting rights are prize enough. at the beginning of the third lap, hyunjin elbows you, and you gasp in shock as you watch waluigi plummet off the edge of rainbow road. as competitive as the two of you are, neither of you has ever resorted to sabotage. as you're placed back on the track, you see hyunjin smirking and your brain whirrs, trying to think of a way to prevent hyunjin from winning. a thought occurs, and pushing the nerves aside, you lean over and press a quick kiss to hyunjin's cheek. out of the corner of your eye you see him freeze, his character veering off course allowing you to surpass him and cross the finish line.

"YES! i win!!" you gloat, buzzing from the adrenaline of winning and the fact that you just kissed hyunjin. you just kissed hyunjin. the realization sets in and you look at him in shock at your own actions. he's staring back at you; normally you can easily tell what's on his mind, but in this moment you have no idea what he's thinking.

"hyunjin i-i'm so sorry, i just-"

"did you mean that?" he cuts you off.

"what?"

"or was that just a diversion tactic?" he says, voice soft and serious, contrasting the playful mood. his eyes search your face for an answer, then he breaks out in a grin.

"haha, your face is so red; i'm guessing it was more than just a way to distract me..."

"okay fine, maybe--maybe i did mean it. maybe i think you're really cute and maybe i want to be more than just best friends with you and maybe i'm kind of really in love with you. and maybe your face is just as red as mine," you blurt out.

"well maybe i'm just as in love with you as you are with me," he says, and his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. you're not sure when his face got this close to yours, but you aren't complaining. for the second time tonight, you find yourself brave enough to lean in, eyes closed, to press your lips to his. the equivalent of a disney fireworks show is going off inside you as his soft lips fit perfectly against yours and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto him. you can't help but smile into the kiss, ecstatic and relieved that everything worked out and your days of pining and daydreaming and complaining to felix are over. you feel hyunjin's lips curl up into a smile too, and you both giggle as you pull away slightly, your hands lost in his hair and noses brushing as you look in his eyes.

"you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that," he says, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"then why didn't you" you question, playing with his hair absentmindedly.

"i thought you liked felix!! i was sitting around in my room moping all day because i thought you and felix were going on a date! i've never been so happy to get a text in my entire life," hyunjin confesses with a nervous laugh. you can't help but laugh at the situation.

"i can't believe you thought i liked felix!! i've been asking him for advice on what to do about you!"

the two of you erupt in giggles, nestled in the mess of blankets with limbs tangled around each other.

"we're so silly," hyunjin says between laughter, pulling you back towards his lips. "i can't believe i can just do this whenever i want now," he mumbles into your mouth, and you deepen the kiss, wanting to be pressed as close to him as possible after desperately wanting this for so long.

"you still have to pay for the pizza, you know," you mention in between kisses. hyunjin's head falls back as he lets out a groan.

"...i was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

"nope! i'll set up the movie while you call," you say, kissing his cheek before moving to get up. you don't make it very far before hyunjin pulls you right back into his arms, peppering your face with kisses.

"hyunjin! i have to get up!" you giggling.

"no you don't. we can just lie here forever," he says, continuing to kiss you.

"we might get hungry though," you mention, this time pulling yourself away for real (even though it's probably the hardest thing you've ever done) to toss him his phone while you pick out a movie.

~

you're curled against hyunjin's side, head on his chest, listening to his slow breathing and heartbeat more than the movie itself. the room is dark save for the glow of the tv and the streetlamps outside. there's a flash as the headlights of a car pull into the driveway.

"we're gonna have to get up to get the pizza, jinnie," you groan.

"shhh baby, no we're not," he murmurs (you ignore how your cheeks heat up at the nickname), and your front door swings open as someone enters your house.

"someone order a pizza?"

you recognize the familiar aussie accent of felix and he walks in carrying a large box, changbin following close behind. he places the box beside you and gives you a cheeky grin, flashing you a thumbs up. you blush, hiding your face in hyunjin's chest.

"ew, they're so gross and affectionate," felix pretends to puke, and changbin laughs. "lets get out of here binnie. catch ya later, y/n; don't have too much fun!" felix says with a wink.

"bye, felix!" you say, encouraging him to leave. the front door closes and felix's car pulls out of the driveway, leaving you once again alone with hyunjin.

"jinnie, how-"

"i texted felix real quick while you were picking a movie asking him to help me out, then called him but pretended i was calling the pizza place," hyunjin explains.

"you're so smart," you say, kissing his cheek in appreciation.

"well, i try my best. oh, y/n?"

"hm?"

"you look really cute in my sweater."

"i know. i hope you know you're never getting it back,"

"that's fine with me," he says tackling you in another kiss. you lie there for a while, lazily making out while the movie plays in the background, hyunjin's hands on your hips and yours in his hair.

"it's crazy how so much has changed in just one night," you say, pulling away for a second.

"mhm...although really y/n, you're still my goofy, loveable best friend. just now we get to do things like this," he says, pulling you back into the kiss.

"i love you, hyunjin," you say, breathless. you've said this to each other many times before, but this is the first time you're saying it seriously and romantically.

"i love you too, y/n," he whispers back, and you want to live in this moment forever; just you and hyunjin, the rest of the world is a blur.

[trash-the-tozier]

One Week Away (1/2)

Title: One Week Away

Length: ~13.7k words (7.7k for this part)

Summary: School is out for spring break, and the Losers are taking a week long trip to visit Beverly in Portland. Could there have been a worse time for Richie to realize that he was in love with his best friend?

Warnings: None? This fic is mostly just bill and richie being rowdy boys (explicit language, perverted insinuations, and general dumbassery), a bit of underage drinking

Pairings: Richie/Bill, established Mike/Stan, hints at Ben/Beverly

A/N: After I read the IT book, bichie shot way up my fave ships list. The fact that it took me 8 months to actually write a fic for the two of them is neither here nor there, but this fic was just a fluffy mess that was super fun to write! the next part should be up within a couple of days. Enjoy!! also posted to ao3 here

“Freedom!” Richie shouted, flinging his arms wide. “Spring break is upon us and we are ready to party, aren’t we boys?”

“In moderation.” Stan said, Richie whirling on him incredulously as the group laughed.

“Moderation?” He asked back, sounding the word out slowly. “Stanley Mudstick Uris, why do you hate fun?”

“I’m not a stick in the mud.” Stan insisted. He glanced up at Mike’s face, bumping his boyfriend with his shoulder to get his attention. “I love fun. Tell Richie I love fun.”

“Stan loves fun.” Mike said obediently, grinning when Stan winked at him.

“Gross!” Richie pulled an exaggerated face. “Leave me out of your bawdy personal lives.”

“Stan’s right.” Eddie chimed in, from where he was walking next to Bill. “The only reason we can afford this trip is because Beverly’s uncle is letting us stay at his place for free. We can’t like… Get drunk and destroy his house.”

Eddie was right, but Richie didn’t want to admit that so he simply crossed his arms and fell into step next to Ben. Usually, the Losers had to wait until summer rolled around to get together, Beverly’s uncle always arranging the trip, buying the bus ticket and giving Beverly some spending money before sending her down to Derry. She stayed at Bill’s house, the Denbroughs grudgingly having to extend their hospitality to a majority of the Loser’s Club as well, because having Beverly in town was so rare and so wonderful that they all wanted to spend as much time with her as they could.

Richie had always assumed that the adults were all on the same page about the vacation arrangements, but they weren’t; when Beverly’s aunt found out that she was spending nights at a boy’s house, she’d very nearly blown a gasket. She was angry about it for a while, mostly at Beverly’s uncle for allowing it--though Beverly took some of the heat by pointing out that she’d been friends with them for years and “hadn’t gotten pregnant yet”— and the annual trip was cancelled. But the Club collectively decided that if Beverly couldn’t come to Derry to see them, they would just have to drive up to Portland to see her instead.

“Is everyone packed?” Ben asked. He’d had his suitcase ready for at least a week, Richie knew.

“Nope.” Richie answered, grinning in the face of Ben, Stan, and Eddie’s collective disbelief. “Come on, guys! Everyone knows that all the best packing is done at the last minute. All of the things you forget to bring makes the trip unforgettable and exciting.”

“Like the time you went camping with my family and forgot all of your underwear?” Bill asked. His voice had the cadence of a joke, but was lacking the liveliness to pull it off. Richie decided to ignore that, beaming at Bill instead and looping an arm around his shoulders.

“Exactly like that!” He said happily, Bill barely cracking a smile back. They were on Bill’s street now, still walking in a pack. Everyone seemed to have made the silent decision to ignore the turning roads to their own houses and keep Bill company for at least a while longer.

Bill was down in the dumps. His girlfriend of nine months had broken up with him just the day before, and from what Richie heard, it hadn’t been pretty; Mike was the only one around at the time to actually witness it. Secretly, Richie was glad for it, not that he would tell anyone so. The ex-girlfriend, Erika, had never liked him, seemingly more so than all of the rest of them. As a result, Richie had always found her to be a bit of a bitch. He didn’t want Bill to be with someone like her. Outwardly, Richie made sure he was compassionate and sympathetic.

Sort of. He was just overall happy, and hoped his positive energy would help put a smile on Bill’s face too. The jury was still out on whether or not it was actually working.

They reached Bill’s house, Bill taking his backpack off at the door and flopping onto the couch with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Richie didn’t really understand why he was so torn up about the breakup, but Richie himself had never really been in a long-term relationship before, so maybe something about that made it different. Not that nine months was super long-term. Or maybe it was; nine months was how long it took to grow another human person, after all. It might be three years in “adult relationship time”, or something.

“This time tomorrow, I’ll be putting my arms around Bev and giving her a huge smooch.” He declared, dropping himself down on the couch next to Bill. He knew Ben was giving him a look but ignored it, elbowing Bill’s side instead. “You gonna give her a smooch too?”

“Sure.” Bill muttered, noticeably distracted.

“You seem like you need a smooch. Want one from me, Big Bill?”

“What?” Bill finally seemed to tune in to the question, his face a sudden, firetruck red as he lurched away from Richie on the couch. Richie heard Mike and Stan both laughing.

“Don’t be gross.” Eddie reprimanded, but phrases like that were said to Richie so often that they all but bounced off him.

“But I think he needs a smooch, Eds! Pucker up.” He told Bill, leaning in. Bill made a disgruntled sort of noise as he was all but pounced on, catching Richie’s forearms with his hands and holding him at arm’s reach.

“Don’t deny our love, Billiam!” Richie exclaimed, leaning all of his weight into his attack, and Bill toppled over backwards, Richie landing on him. Bill still had him by the arms, but that defense had backfired; now Bill’s hands were trapped under Richie’s stomach, and their faces were close. Bill choked out a laugh, the sound breathlessly needy for oxygen due to Richie’s weight upon his chest, but it was a laugh all the same, lighting up his eyes a little. They stared at each other for a moment, at a bit of a stand still, Richie relishing in the grin he’d managed to put on Bill’s face. He considered completely following through with his threat--Bill’s lips were mere inches away--but didn’t, pressing a kiss to the tip of Bill’s nose instead.

Bill’s face lit up pink, and he closed his eyes, turning his head slightly as he laughed again.

“Fuck off, Rich.” He said, his smile growing the slightest bit more as he said the nickname, glancing up at Richie, and Richie’s breath all but stopped in his chest.

Bill was pink from embarrassment, pink from Richie kissing him, but there was a light in his eyes and a smile on his lips, and god, Richie’s brain had gone completely blank, aside from a golden sort of happy feeling and a rush of exceptionally smitten-toned expletives. Bill was gorgeous.

Bill’s body was firm and slightly arched, still pressed against Richie’s own and Richie scrambled backwards, suddenly terrified that Bill could feel how hard his heart was pounding. His hands now free, Bill stayed laying on his back, crossing his arms over his face, completely covering his eyes, and Richie just looked at him for a moment.

“Well, he’s smiling.” Mike pointed out. “Maybe he did need that kiss.”

“Doctor Richie always knows what’s best.” Richie said, the words coming out more as a reflex than anything, and sounding a bit too preoccupied. Eddie made a face.

“Don’t call yourself that.”

“But I’m Doctor Richie!” Responding to Eddie was easier than sitting here in his own blushy embarrassment, and Richie jumped at the chance to tease him, puckering his lips so that the words were slightly muffled. “Do you need your meds too, Spaghetti?”

“You kissing me would actually send me to the hospital.” Eddie answered flatly, Richie jumping up from the couch and grabbing Eddie in a headlock.

“I’ve got to go home, and I’m taking Eddie with me.” He announced to the group, resting his chin on the top of Eddie’s head. “Anyone else want to help me pack?”

“I can’t go into your room.” Eddie protested, but he didn't try to struggle away. “I’m not getting my tetanus booster shot until October.”

Richie ignored the jibe, and after Stan offering to come along, they set off. Richie was surprised by Stan’s company, but once they got to Richie’s room and Stan the Man simply fixed him with a look, Richie knew that he wasn’t actually going to get any help with packing at all.

“What the hell was that?” Stan asked, sitting on Richie’s desk.

“What the hell was what?” Richie asked back, feigning innocence. Stan raised his eyebrows.

“I think he’s talking about you mauling Bill, Richie.” Eddie supplied, not entirely unhelpfully, and Richie let out a long groan, falling face first onto his bed.

“Shut… Shut up.”

Stan let out a sigh, and Richie could only imagine the expression on his face.

“So you admit it. You do like him.”

“No!” Richie scrambled up into a sitting position. A better stance to defend himself in, he figured. “It’s Bill. It’s just Bill; he’s my friend. So of course I like him, like, friend-wise. I’m a touchy guy. Kissing him on the nose isn’t a big deal. That’s all. No big deal.”

He desperately wanted this to be no big deal. That the elation he’d felt when he heard that Erika and Bill had broken up was just good riddance to an evil witch, and not the alleviation of jealousy. The lurch in his chest at the proximity of Bill’s face, at the touch of Bill’s body. It was all no big deal.  

Stan rolled his eyes, fixing Richie with a bemused expression.

“What?” Richie finally asked him.

“You’re rambling like an idiot, so I’m just waiting for your pants to catch on fire, liar.”

“Fuck off.” Richie said, while Eddie laughed. “He smiled at me, alright? I…”

“He smiled at you?” Stan gaped. “That’s your big defense?”

“I don’t like Bill, okay?!” Richie took a pillow from his bed and threw it at Stan, who just caught it from the air and threw it back. It knocked Richie’s glasses askew, only furthering Richie in his realization that he had no control of this situation; of this hole of realization he was digging himself in. “Just because… Just because I--”

“Because you can’t stop staring at him?” Eddie supplied. “Because you just, I don’t know, tackled him on the couch and kissed him on the nose?”

“I watched you look way too long at his ass yesterday.” Stan deadpanned. Richie threw another pillow at him, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

“You guys are delusional.” He insisted. “It’s nothing, I’m telling you. He’s smiled at me a hundred times. Maybe a thousand times! I don’t--”

Richie cut himself off, the realization that he's possibly been on the receiving end of a thousand Bill Denbrough smiles making his insides fill with a combination of affectionate mush and nervous butterflies. He covered his face with his hands.

“You’re pathetic.” Eddie informed him.

“He's cute.” Richie mumbled through his fingers. “I think he's cute, okay? But that's it! I think Eddie is fucking adorable, and that's harmless enough, isn't it?”

“Sure, that's fine, but you don't want to suck Eddie's dick.” Stan said flatly.

“Stan!” Richie yelped, falling off his bed. He hit the floor with his hip and his elbow and winced. “I wasn't fucking thinking about Bill's dick.”

“And now you are. You're welcome.”

“You're a goddamn menace.” Richie said through gritted teeth, and Stan just grinned, because yes, Richie was thinking about it now. He was thinking about Bill, his eyes closed and his face flushed, his skin pink all the way down his chest, his hands in Richie’s hair.

“Hey.” Eddie snapped his fingers in front of Richie’s face, the sound loud and close. “Don’t fucking have any fantasies while we’re here.”

“It’s Stan’s fault.” Richie mumbled defensively, and went back to lying face down, but on the floor this time. “He’s Bill. He’s one of my best friends! How am I supposed to be his friend if I can’t stop thinking about his ass?”

“I did it.” Eddie said with a shrug. “It wasn’t too hard. I mean, he had his thing with Beverly going on at the time, so I never said anything, but--”

“Never said anything! No kidding Eds, really? You liked Bill?” Richie looked at Eddie first, then to Stan, who seemed thoroughly unsurprised by the news. So unconcerned, in fact, that Richie realized that this wasn’t news at all. “When?”

“Since I met him, maybe, until a couple years ago.” Eddie answered with a shrug. “He kinda made me realize I didn’t like girls.”

“Oh, shit. Why didn’t you ever tell me that Bill was your sexual awakening?”

“Because you would have made fun of me.”

“Me? Why would I tease you about wanting Big Bill’s big--”

The rest of Richie’s sentence was muffled as Eddie stepped on his face. After the sixth joke at the expense of Eddie’s old crush Eddie and Stan declared themselves to be leaving, the both of them reminding him to pack a suitcase as they stepped out the door. But Richie just returned to his bedroom floor, watching his fan make slow circles on the ceiling and letting his mind wander. His thoughts never strayed far from Bill Denbrough.

It was late in the evening when his house phone rang. Richie sprang to answer it.

“Pip pip and tally-ho! Richie Tozier speaking.”

“Oh my god.” Came a voice, though there was an amused tone to it. “I miss your stupid ass.”

“Beverly!” Richie beamed. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, girl!”

“Right back atcha.” Beverly sighed. “I talked to Bill earlier, finalizing stuff, and he mentioned that you hadn’t packed yet. So I wanted to check in. Got that stuff in a suitcase yet?”

“Not… Exactly.” Richie was so far behind on the packing process that he didn’t even know where in his house his suitcase was. In the garage somewhere, maybe. Or in his closet. “But I don’t really need to bring anything, you know? I’ve worn your clothes before. I could do it again.”

Beverly laughed. “That might be a bit too fashion forward. I don’t think the city of Portland is ready for Richie Tozier in a sundress that definitely does not fit him.”

“Most cities aren’t.” Richie admitted. Beverly laughed again, a lull falling in conversation. Richie was about to open his mouth, figuring he’d realize where the sentence was going after he’d started it, when Beverly spoke up instead.

“So, about Bill.”

“Wha-what about him?” After thinking about Bill for the past couple of hours, it was weird to hear someone else mention his name out loud.

“Didn't his heart get completely curb-stomped the other day?” Beverly asked. Richie let out a breath.

“Oh, right.” The breakup.

“I asked him if he was alright, and of course he said that he was fine, but I'm not going to believe him. What do you think?”

“He's kinda sad, but he'll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Beverly sighed. “A girl like that isn't worth being upset over.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, though he knew Beverly couldn't see it.

“Yeah?” He asked hesitantly.

“Come on Richie. We all know you hated her.”

“She hated me first!”

“Everyone kind of hates you at first.” Beverly said, but there was an amusement in her voice that kept the blow from stinging. “But from what I've heard, she was a bit of a bitch.”

Richie let himself fall into one of the chairs in the living room, the phone cord barely long enough to let him sit down.

“I am so glad you said that.” He murmured, and Beverly burst out laughing.

“So you do hate her!” She exclaimed.

“She's a bitch!” Richie exclaimed back, Beverly falling into giggles across the line.

“I mean, I've never met her, but the way she always disregarded Bill's sexuality, but then always accused him of cheating whenever you guys hung out together, it's--”

“Wait, what?” Richie interrupted, positive he'd misheard her. There was a frown in Beverly's voice as she answered.

“How she told Bill he was just confused when he told her he wasn't only attracted to girls? They fought about it a lot, I heard.”

“Bill… Bill likes guys?” Richie asked slowly. He felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a steel beam. “He's only dated girls. He's not just into girls?”

“He…” Now Beverly was talking slowly, sounding concerned. “He never told you?”

“No.”

The silence was deafening. Richie was biting so hard on the side of his tongue that there was an ache in his jaw when Beverly spoke again.

“I just--I just thought--and all the other Losers know, I swear we've talked about--I would never out him on purpose, I just figured--”

“Beverly.” Richie said quickly, able to hear his friend spiraling.

“You two are so close, I just figured he would have told you.”

“I… Yeah.” Richie didn't know what to think. He and Bill had been friends for years, been close for years; he didn't blame Beverly for thinking that he would know something that Bill had apparently told everybody else. Something he had told all of the Losers but him. “No, he's never told me. Or like… Insinuated anything, even. We all make jokes to each other and stuff--hell, I kissed him on the nose today--but…”

Richie trailed off, his mind full of racing thoughts that overlapped and crashed into each other, conglomerating together into a huge mass of holy shit and and an overload of question marks.

“...you okay?” Beverly asked after a moment. The question drew Richie from his thoughts, and he gave his head a little shake.

“Yeah, yeah. But I've gotta pack, alright? I'll see you soon.”

Beverly was quiet for a long moment, as though she was considering Richie's attempt to escape the conversation and wondering whether or not to let him go.

“Alright.” She allotted, and Richie gave an internal sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow, Richie.”

The line went dead, but Richie stayed sitting in the chair, feeling slightly shell-shocked. Bill likes guys. Bill likes guys.

It took a long, long time for the knowledge to sink in, to feel like a reality, simply repeating the phrase over and over in his mind, going over what Beverly had said, wanting to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting the words. Then, after that, he knew he needed to let Bill know. Bill deserved to be aware of who knew and who didn't, trying to concoct a joke that wasn't too insensitive. Distraction came fast and frequent as he paced around his house, half lumping together some of the essentials he would need for the trip, half thinking about the fact that fuck, Bill likes guys. He didn't start genuinely searching for his suitcase until well past midnight.

“Rise and shine, fucker!”

The rude greeting cut through Richie's subconscious, and even in his barely-awake state, he recognized the voice as Eddie's. It was followed seconds later by violent hushing, and Ben's voice, considerably quieter.

“His parents are awake.”

“Oh shit, that's right.” Eddie muttered back.

“How fucking early is it?” Richie grumbled at the two of them, still unwilling to open his eyes.

“It's already after eight, you lazy asshole.” That was Bill's voice, and in spite of himself Richie felt a smile tug at his lips, opening his eyes a crack. The three of them were standing next to his bed, Eddie by his head and Ben by his feet, Bill in the middle. “We came to get you last. Mike already put your suitcase in the car.”

“How thoughtful. You guys doing all the work for me.” Richie extended his arms dramatically towards his friends. “I think you all should carry me to the car, too.”

Eddie slapped his hands down, telling him to shut up, while Bill laughed.

“Come on, get out of bed Richie.”

Richie stuck his tongue out. “No.”

“Bite me, Tozier.”

“Where, Denbrough?”

“Oh, fuck you.” Bill met his eyes, and Richie was delighted to see a bit of a blush on his cheeks. “Get up.”

“Make me.”

Barely a second passed, as though Bill was considering his options, and then Bill jumped on him.

Bill's landing hurt, bony limbs hitting bony limbs, Bill's elbow digging into his stomach. Richie let out a yelp, struggling under him, able to hear Bill's quiet laughter close to his ear. Then Bill's fingers found his sides under the mess of blankets, one hand traveling up his shirt, and Richie yelled out a curse.

He slid from the bed and onto the floor, where Ben grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Not fair!” Richie exclaimed. Bill sat up in his bed, a triumphant grin on his face, his hair wonderfully disheveled.

“Not my fault you're the most ticklish motherfucker in existence.” Bill said, and with Eddie leading the way, they marched him out of his room. He yelled a goodbye to his parents, and while he knew they would be upset with him for not stopping into their room to say a more proper farewell, now that he was upright, he was excited and ready to go. They were going to go visit Beverly.

Mike and Stan were kissing up against the hood of the car when they got there. Richie wolf-whistled as they walked up, but Stan simply took one of his arms from around Mike's neck and flipped him off. They all piled into the car, Mike driving and Stan in the passenger seat, Eddie clambering into the back row with all of the suitcases, leaving Bill, Richie, and Ben to squeeze across the middle row together. Richie found himself between the two of them, and while the drive was only going to take two hours, he began to worry about bothering them with his restlessness.

As it turned out, Ben was the more restless one, too eager to arrive and see Beverly again. Bill was an exact opposite, his head drooping, and after a mere fifteen minutes, he was asleep.

For a couple of moments his head simply lolled before Mike took a turn and he leaned, falling against Richie's chest. Unwilling to let Bill fall forwards, Richie reached an arm around Bill's shoulders, pulling him close. Bill let out a breath that sounded like a sigh, resting against him more comfortably, and Richie's heart leapt in his chest, realizing something that should have occurred to him last night, but had been largely overshadowed by the other news.

Bill liked guys… And Richie was a guy.

A wild, giddy excitement coursed through him for a couple of moments, looking down at Bill's sleeping face. He looked so pretty, his expression peaceful, his eyelashes resting against the soft skin of his cheeks. Richie's eyes caught on his lips, and he wanted to kiss Bill so much that it hurt.

A cough from the front of the car interrupted this wishful thinking, Richie looking up to see an expression on Stan's face that told him he wasn't exactly being subtle. Richie was equal parts annoyed and grateful by Stan's attempt to help him keep himself in check, sighing and directing his attention out the window instead. His mind wandered to his conversation with Beverly for the umpteenth time, remembering her surprise at his ignorance.

"You two are so close, I just figured he would have told you.”

Now that the shock of the information was wearing off, this bit was nagging at him. The completely unexpected secrecy. It was a selfish thought, the idea that Richie was entitled to Bill's life, to the privacy of Bill's thoughts, but he couldn't help but feel upset. Because this wasn't a secret that Bill was holding from everyone. Beverly had known, and from the way she had talked about it, so had everybody else. Bill had even told that she-devil of a now-ex-girlfriend. Bill had told everyone but him.

Which meant one thing: he didn't want Richie to know. The question was why.

Because he doesn't like you. His mind supplied, helpful as always. He didn't want you to think you had a chance. Because you don't.

That may be true, but that didn't mean Richie wanted to hear it. Richie knew that whatever the reason, he shouldn't even be troubling himself with this; he should feel bad for Bill, for just being broken up with. He should worry about his friend being sad. That should be his most pressing concern. Rationally, Richie knew he had no reason to feel so upset, and he recognized that.

He was upset anyway.

The ride was a short one, and before any of them knew it, they had arrived. It was easy to find Beverly’s uncle’s house because Beverly was standing in front of it, and began jumping up and waving as soon as they started up the street. Stan rolled down his window.

“Beverly!” He exclaimed at her, and she beamed, running up to the car as soon as they were in front of the house. The shout startled Bill awake, jolting up off him, looking out the window instead of looking Richie in the eye.

Beverly hugged them all and kissed their cheeks in the order that they left the car, and as a result Richie was third person to greet her, wrapping her tight in his arms and pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“I missed you so much.”

“I know.” She answered with a little laugh. She pulled back, looking him over, her expression a little more serious. “About Bill--”

“I haven't told him yet.” Richie said quickly. “I didn't really know how, but I--”

“Let me do it then. It's my fault anyway.” She said quickly, giving him a quick pat on the cheek before stepping past him to get to Bill, who had just gotten from the car. Richie watched them for a moment, Beverly hugging him before stepping back, pushing his bangs from his forehead, holding his hands, all while talking quietly. Bill's eyes widened, flicking to Richie for a moment, and a rush of fear went through Richie's chest, averting his eyes, jerking away to help Ben with the suitcases.

Mike was the last one from the car, lifting Beverly up in his arms to carry her inside. They crossed the threshold bridal style, Richie cheering and clapping for them, making both of them laugh. He was still trying not to look at Bill, because he could still feel Bill's eyes on him.

“Hey, boys.” Beverly's uncle was in the kitchen, catching their attention with the greeting. He was a short man, balding around the top, his hair light and thin. He had a nice, good natured smile though, and Richie smiled back at him.

“Thank you so much for letting us stay, sir.” Mike said, ever the gentleman, putting Beverly back down on her own feet. Everyone followed his lead, thanking him as well, but he waved them all off.

“Of course. I know how much Beverly cares about all of you. It just wouldn't be fair, otherwise. I'm going to duck out, and let you all hang out for the night, and I just have a couple or rules.”

They nodded in unison, and he laughed at them a little before continuing.

“Clean up after yourselves. No drugs, no sex, and if you're going to drink, do it in the house. But if you do, you'll have to pay me back for whatever liquor is gone, and don't any of you throw up on my favorite chair.”

He pointed, all of them following to see a well worn leather recliner in the living room behind Eddie. Eddie sprung away from it, and Beverly's uncle laughed again. That was the end of his list, greeting them all individually to get their names--or, to put faces to the names he'd heard from Beverly, to put real people to all the pictures he'd seen--on his way out. At the door, he paused.

“Check in with me before you go out anywhere.” He said, but this was directed at his niece only, Beverly nodding back. “And if you do get up to any shenanigans… Don't tell your aunt about them.”

The last sentence got a laugh from Beverly, and after that he was gone.

“He's staying the night at a hotel.” Beverly explained. “He said he didn't want to bother us.”

“He seems cool.” Stan said, and Beverly nodded.

“He is. My aunt is great too, but she's more protective, I guess. It makes sense that she would be, being my mom's sister. I'm just glad that he stuck around, even after they got divorced. I was a little nervous about him at first, but he's everything that my dad, you know… Wasn't. He makes my aunt's overbearing personality a little more manageable.”

They began moving their suitcases from the living room, trying to figure out where to stash their stuff. The house had two bedrooms, Stan and Mike instantly branching off into one of them. Richie ran into the second one, flopping onto the bed.

“If Richie's sleeping in here, I'm taking the couch.” Eddie declared.

“Eds! I thought you loved me!” Richie wailed, just for the drama of it, and Eddie let out a snort.

“I do, dickwad, but I can't share a living space with you. Your messiness makes my eye twitch.”

“Mind if we share the couch?” Beverly asked Eddie. “For tonight, at least. I brought a bunch of blankets over.”

“I'll stay in there too.” Ben said quickly, Richie's stomach sinking as he realized what that meant. There was only one other option.

“I guess we're roommates.” Bill said, throwing his hoodie at Richie's head. It landed there, covering Richie's face, and for that Richie was grateful. He still hadn't really looked at Bill yet.

There were sounds of the others leaving, and Richie was alone, he figured, letting out a long sigh. Then a weight settled on the mattress, heavy, near Richie's legs.

“So, uh…”

Fuck. It was Bill, goddamnit, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah?” Richie supplied, horrifyingly unhelpful.

“Beverly t-told you.” Bill said quietly, both matter-of-factly and questioningly at once, as though he wanted to know Richie's thoughts, but wouldn't change, regardless of what those thoughts were.

“I… Yeah.” Richie said again. It was achingly quiet for a second, and then Richie realized how shitty of a response that was, sitting up fast. The hoodie somehow stayed on his head, the strings hanging down in front of his face. “But like, it's fine. Of course it's fine. I'd be a gross goddamn hypocrite otherwise, and anyway, Beverly didn't mean anything bad by it, it was an honest mistake, she just thought…”

She just thought I already knew. The words got stuck in Richie's throat halfway through, because they led to a plethora of difficult questions, the front-runner being why didn't you tell me?

Then Bill met his eyes, looking fully at him for a moment before his face folded into laughter, the happy sound leaving him as he leaned slightly closer, his eyes falling closed.

“What?” Richie asked, unable to help feeling amused himself.

“You look hilarious.” Bill told him, reaching up to bat at one of the hoodie strings. It swayed in front of Richie's face, and instantly the tense and anxious mood was broken, Richie laughing too.

The seven of them spent the evening in the living room together. Beverly ordered pizzas and they piled onto the blankets she brought, talking, filling each other in on what they'd missed while they'd been apart. Beverly was in the middle about some story about her two young nephews--one eight, the other ten--when Stan stopped her.

“Hold on. If you couldn't keep coming to Derry because you were being left alone with us, then how come you're allowed to sleep over here?”

“Well, my aunt thinks my uncle is here too.” Beverly began, then adopted a slightly awkward expression, her eyes shifting to the side, with a bit of a grin. “And… She also kinda thinks I'm a lesbian now.”

“Are you?” Eddie asked, and she shook her head.

“What Bill and I had was very real.” She declared dramatically, draping an arm around Bill's shoulders. Bill laughed, resting against the embrace for a moment before she continued. “But I mean… I did kinda have a girlfriend for a few weeks, a couple months ago.”

Richie felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Beverly hadn't told him that--what was with people leaving him out about this stuff?--but he noted, with a slight feeling of relief, that it didn't look like she'd told anyone else, either.

“Yeah?” Mike asked, his eyebrows raised. The mood in the room was slightly tense; Richie could feel Beverly’s discomfort as she waited for them to respond to her confession, as well as the awkwardness from the rest of his friends as they tried for both supporting and nonchalant at the same time. Well, except for Ben, who was going for the complex mixture of supportive and brokenhearted.

“Yeah.” Beverly answered. “She was really cool, but we didn’t really click.”

“What’s kissing a girl like?” Eddie asked, a grin on his face. “Will I like it as much as my mom keeps insisting I will?”

There was a chorus of laughs, and just like that, the tension broke. Beverly reached over, ruffling his hair.

“I thought it was pretty damn great, but doesn’t seem like your thing.” She told him, winking, and Eddie grinned back.

Conversation shifted all over again, the seven of them wandering around different topics for hours while they slowly melted into the pillows and blankets around them. Richie was squished between Eddie and Mike, and was getting increasingly more comfortable the longer the night wore on, happy to be with all his friends. There was an indescribable, unbeatable feeling that came when all of them were together; a feeling of completeness, and Richie nestled himself in it, allowing it to glow within him, and when the early hours came, he felt himself drifting off.

When Richie woke up the room was dark, and all of them had been completely swamped in the mess of bedding and couch cushions that had gotten more haphazard as they'd all moved in sleep. Eddie’s head had shifted onto his stomach at some point in the night and was compressing his ribs and other organs in a rather uncomfortable way, Richie guessing that sensation was what had woken him up. He shifted towards the center of the group, pushing himself away from the couch with his legs and ramming his head into something hard.

Wincing and hissing out a curse, Richie found that the hard thing had been Bill’s knee. Bill was resting on his side, but at the collision he murmured in his sleep and rolled, laying now on his chest. And Richie was now faced with the realization that Bill’s butt was there, just there, right next to him. So he lifted his head up, and after a moment, plopped his head down onto it.

Bill shifted again.

“I, fuckin--” His voice was rough in the best way, sleepy and slightly confused. He lifted his head up just a bit, just enough to turn and see what was happening. When he did, he let out a sigh.

“I hate you, Richie.” He mumbled, but made no move to force Richie off him, and Richie just grinned.

“Love you too, Big Bill.”

“Yeah.” Bill’s voice was nothing more than a murmur; he must have been going back to sleep. “I know.”

Richie let his own eyes fall closed.

When he woke up again, it was late in the day. His head was on a pillow now, and Stan was staring down at him.

“Howdy, Stanley.” Richie said, putting a southern twang in the words. Stan nudged Richie's side lightly with his foot.

“Get up. Mike made food.”

It wasn't until Stan mentioned it that Richie noticed the air, smelling of warm waffles and bacon. He let out a groan, stretching and sitting up.

“I'm gonna marry your boyfriend.” He told Stan, who raised his eyebrows, a grin on his face.

“I'd like to see you try.”

Breakfast was amazing, and while they ate they tried to think of what to do with the day. All attempts at brainstorming got quickly derailed by other conversation, and it soon became too late in the day to put any grand plans into motion, settling on going to a thrift store with Beverly.

It was a fifteen minute walk, Stan and Mike entwining hands as soon as they all stepped outside. There was a chorus of faux hurling sounds from all of the rest of them, Mike kissing Stan’s cheek in retaliation to their teasing while Stan lifted the middle finger on his free hand and waved it around. Beverly stepped to the head of the pack to lead the way and fell into a conversation with Ben and Eddie, and Richie ended up behind them next to Mike. It was fine for a little while, listening to their talk and interjecting with something witty where he could, but he soon got tired of watching Ben and Beverly’s hands touch lightly before jumping away again, heaving a sigh and looking for something to do.

His eyes landed on Bill, who was on Stan’s other side and laughing about something. As nimbly as he could, Richie snuck behind him, reached around, and poked Bill’s cheek.

Bill blinked in surprise for a moment, as though he had to take a second to process what had just happened. Then his face broke out into a smile, a smile that was completely paralyzing, and he jabbed Richie in the neck in retaliation. Richie squawked in shock, jumping away, Bill’s loud laugh following him. They poked at each other all the way to the store, Richie ignoring the pointed looks he was getting from both Eddie and Stan.

As they entered the store, Richie more or less followed his friends as they wandered around. He was rather bad at buying himself clothes, having too much fun holding up odd clothing he found to show the others. Most were t-shirts in awful colors or with funny things on them, and ended up purchasing one: a bright orange shirt with badly drawn q-tips scattered in a pile, the words ‘JUST THE TIP’ curved over them in bold blue lettering. Richie said that it was hilarious. Stan said that as soon as they got back to Derry, he was going to burn it.

“Aw, you just wanna get me outta my clothes!” Richie said, putting on the southern bell voice he’d used towards Stanley earlier, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly and swiping a hand at him, showing off his horribly paint-chipped fingernails.

They left the store two hours later, none of them with many purchases, but the trip was still a fun adventure. Beverly suggested going to an ice cream parlor around the block. She had ended up with the most stuff, somehow able to sort through all the clothes to find cute, vintage things in her size. Richie suspected she had some kind of fashion-sonar ability.

Once they all had their ice cream in hand, they took a quick walk to the nearest park, squeezing together around a small picnic table to eat. Spring break in Portland wasn’t exactly warm per se, but ice cream was a year-round snack no matter what.

Richie only stayed seated for as long as it took to chomp down on the ice cream and demolish the cone--getting called a monster by Stan, Eddie, and Beverly for being able to use his teeth on something that cold--before hopping up again. Then he went back to bothering Bill like it was his job.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richie knew he might be acting annoying, or too obvious, or something otherwise related, but he couldn’t help it. He just--he couldn’t stop touching Bill, couldn’t stop wanting his attention, and didn’t have the self control needed to reign himself in. But even so, he supposed it was harmless, right? Hell, he was even making Bill laugh. That had to be a good thing.

The poking continued, quickly escalating to tag now that they had an entire park to run through, and while Richie’s legs were longer, Bill had better stamina. Bill’s hand connected with Richie’s back, interrupting his attempt to lurch away, causing him to trip on a little bit of grass and a whole lot of nothing and tumble to the ground.

Bill stopped next to him, bent forwards slightly and letting out a breathless laugh.

“Alright, Rich?” He asked, meeting Richie’s eyes. The fall hadn’t really hurt, but Richie stayed on his back, unable not to watch Bill’s parted lips as he breathed, the small line of sweat running down his cheek from his temple. Despite not getting an answer Bill didn’t ask again, reaching a hand down to help Richie up. Richie grabbed it, but tightened his grip and used it instead to pull Bill down.

That did hurt a little, the bony frames of two teenage boys colliding with each other. Bill tried not to fall on Richie, but Richie refused to move out of the way, and as a result one of Bill’s knees planted into Richie’s stomach. The other knee landed clear of him, on one side of his waist, Bill’s free hand hitting the ground hard next to Richie’s head.

“Jesus, Richie--” Bill started, but before Richie could get too caught up in having Bill hovering over him, he let Bill’s hand go and dug all ten of his fingers into Bill’s sides. The sound Bill made was a wonderful mix of a curse, a laugh, and a shout of his name as he tried to roll away from the tickling and grab at Richie’s hands at the same time. It was fun, Bill was laughing, skin touching skin as they wrestled in the grass. Richie got breathless fast, Bill pinning him to the ground and grabbing his wrists with a victorious sort of laugh.

“Do I win?” Bill asked, as Richie’s--admittedly, half-hearted--attempt to squirm away proved fruitless. Being in this position didn’t feel like a loss in the slightest, but Richie had a facade to keep.

“Bite me, Denbrough.”

“Where, Tozier?”

And that--that was too much, especially in the way Bill had said it, with the conquering grin on his lips. And maybe Bill could feel it, with the way his grip on Richie’s wrists slackened, the way his cheeks and neck began to flush.

Before Richie could react however, there was a wolf-whistle from the table where the rest of their friends were sitting, and the reality of the situation fully sank in. Bill shot up off him like a bottle rocket.

“This is the public indecency police!” Eddie called out. Richie didn’t have the energy to get up, laying flat on his back in the grass. He lifted up his arms to flip them all off for interrupting whatever the hell had just happened, and stared up at the cloud-scattered sky.

Dinner was mostly Mike trying to teach Bill and Ben how to do various things in the kitchen. Stan was watching, a little too enamored by Mike’s kind display of patience, and Eddie was flitting around in an anxious attempt to keep any cutting board cross contamination from occurring. Richie was just sitting on the kitchen table, watching Bill’s concentrated expression as he attempted to dice a clove of garlic, his staring interrupted as Beverly grabbed his arm and yanked him none too gently into the living room and out of earshot.

“You like Bill!” She accused. Before Richie could attempt any denials, excuses, or explanations, she continued in the same breath “--and you didn’t tell me!”

“I haven’t told anyone!” Richie protested. Then he realized he’d admitted it--though he wasn’t sure why denying it had even been a part of his plan--pushing his free hand through the mess of curls on his head. “Is it that obvious?”

“So obvious. Like… Kind-of-gross level of obvious.”

Richie bit down on his bottom lip, unsure of what he should or could say.

“This, uh… It’s new.”

Beverly’s face told Richie she didn’t believe him. Richie didn’t blame her. It wasn’t new, not really, just new to him in a realization kind of way.

“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I didn’t like, admit it to myself or whatever until the day before yesterday. I don’t… I don’t know. I already had a minimal freak out about it. We’ve always been close and stuff, but now it’s like I can’t leave him alone.”

Her expression turned to something more sympathetic. “Who else knows?” She asked.

“Well, Stan had to tell me, so him. And Eddie. And since Stan knows, I guess Mike does to. So, the only people that don’t know might just be Ben.” A brick fell into Richie’s stomach. “D’you think--you said obvious, do you think Bill--”

“Probably not.” Beverly said, placing a reassuring hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Probably not. Though, if you don’t stop pawing at him, he’s bound to figure it out.”

“I don’t think I want to stop pawing at him.” Richie admitted, and Beverly let out a little bit of a laugh.

“Of course you don’t. You don’t have a single bit of patience in you.”

“I can be patient!”

“I once saw you eat a marshmallow that was still on fire.”

“Why do I need to be patient?”

“Because he just got out of a nine month relationship.” Beverly had a frown on her face. “You said that he was kinda broken up about it. You don’t want to be a rebound, do you?”

Richie fell silent for a moment. He couldn’t help but feel that maybe, that might be worth it.

“No.” He finally admitted. “No, I don’t.”

[gracieheartspedro]

Stuck With Me (Steve Harrington x Reader) PART 1

HEY! So I guess I’m writing this series now. It’s gonna be great! I will try to update it as much as possible. It’s going to probably be about 4-5 parts. So, enjoy PART 1!

WORDS: 2455

WARNINGS: none?

I’M TAKING REQUESTS!! Ask me, private message, whatever. I write for all the stranger things cast (smut for the older people) and marvel. 

PART 2 He walked down the hall like a god. The girls fawned over him, giggling to each other as he strolled by. But instead of doing that, I looked him up and down and rolled my eyes. The word on the street (from what I learned from my only friend in this town so far), Billy Hargrove was bad news and I should stay very very far away.

So I stayed in my lane, grabbing a notebook and some pencils and headed to my first period. Luckily, that only friend, Jonathan Byers, was sitting in there with a girl who I could only assume was his girlfriend. She was standing in front of his desk, swinging his hands.

I met him two days before, when my uncle forced me to meet him and his younger brother, Will, and their mom Joyce. We ate dinner together and he and I bonded over music. He liked the Talking Heads and Pink Floyd which immediately won me over.

“Y/N Hopper has made her debut!” Jonathan says with a smile as I head in his direction. The small girl in front of him smiles genuinely, extending her hand. I drop my bag in the chair in front of them, and shake her hand.

“I’m Nancy Wheeler. Nice to meet you.”

“Wheeler? Are you Mike’s sister?” I question, thinking back to Jane’s boyfriend. Or crush. Or the guy she was obsessed with. Whatever he was, he was all she would talk about.

“I am. Guess Jane told you about him already?” Nancy giggles, twiddling her pencil in between her fingers. She was pretty, very pretty. Her hair short to her shoulders and curled slightly. Her shirt tight to her small frame, and of course, high waisted pants. An odd pick for Jonathan.

I laugh, “He’s a hot topic around the Hopper home.”

The teacher walks in as soon as the bell rang and everyone in the room started to get settled. That was until Billy Hargrove walks in with his small gang. I glance back at Jonathan who looks at Nancy, and we all in sync, roll our eyes. His tight blue jeans and grey shirt clinged to his frame like no other. I don’t know what it was about this boy, but he ignited a fire in me that I couldn’t control. His very appearance made me angry. So when he walks over to me and leans down to meet my eyes, I wanted to vomit on his shoes.

“You’re in my seat sweetheart.” He says smoothly, a curl dropping over his forehead. All his friends smacking their gum and raising hell, giggle behind him. I decide to play along. I glance at the back of the chair and around the desk, looking lost.

“Hm, I don’t see your name anywhere, so I think you’re just making shit up to get on my nerves.” I snap. I hear Nancy gasp a little, and everyone gets quiet. The teacher, at this point, doesn’t even care and is just waiting for someone to start throw fists.

Billy stands over me with a smirk, “Feisty little one. What’s your name?”

“Y/N Hopper.”

“You that Chief Hopper’s other love child?” He asks smartly. Everyone laughs.

“Nah, just his orphaned niece who is annoyed with you already. You should go sit down so I don’t have to smell your cheap Opium and cigarette smoke. It’s flooding my airways.”

I was usually this quick. Letting things slip from my lips was always something I had to be careful with. I didn’t need to be taken in and have my uncle tear me a new ass. Which had yet to happen. Yet.

Billy leaned down, our faces inches apart. I stare into his intense eyes, not flinching.

“You’re lucky you’re hot.”

With that he sat down in the back with his wolfpack, and I could settle my heart rate. No boy had ever called me hot to my face and I instantly felt gross.

Class started and ended quicker than I expected. I didn’t stand up until Jonathan and Nancy got up. Luckily we avoided the Hargrove Gang and exited the room. They both stopped with me at my locker, which is where I was picking up my math book.

“You really got him worked up…” Jonathan mumbled, before Nancy jumped in.

“And it was badass! If that banter continues, I will be excited for English every morning.”

I giggle, grabbing my belongings.

“Yeah, can’t wait to be harassed by him everyday now.” I turn away from my locker, leaving it propped open for a moment, as I adjust the strap on my bag.

Before I could say anything, Nancy and Jonathan turn quickly, their eyes widened by something behind me. I could fucking smell him.

The locker slammed shut and I turn to face him.

“You friends with those losers, baby girl?”

His face was so punchable in that moment, but instead I just pressed myself against the lockers. I pop up my tights-covered leg and cling onto my bag strap.

“Yeah, connected through family and friends.” I say, not making eye contact with him.

“Interesting.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him stare at me like meat, “You’re not like other girls at this school.”

“Fascinating.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl wear a Ratt shirt with mini skirt to school before.” I looked down at my outfit, suddenly feeling self conscious. He wasn’t wrong, most of the girls in Hawkins wore jeans and sweaters or rarely, a crop top, and here I was, wearing a jean jacket with an outfit a city girl at a club would wear.

“Well, I’m glad I could excite you Hawkins boys for the day.” I mumble, pushing my hair to the side and out of my face. I adjust my stance so now I’m standing in front of him, my arms crossed.

“Oh yeah, I bet.” He licks his lips before leaning closer to my face, making me step back a little, “You should watch what you wear. My friends chase after girls like you.”

“Well they should watch where they’re running, because I’ll send them falling on their asses if they come within 10 feet of me.”

“There’s that se-”

“Is he bothering you?” A voice behind me asks. I glance back and see a boy with fluffy hair and soft eyes looking at me.

“Yeah, has been all day.” I mumble, turning back to Billy’s now emotionless face.

“Leave us alone, Harrington. We don’t need to repeat what happened last time we were at odds with each other.” Billy spats, inching closer to me, to get closer to the guy.

“Oh, when your younger sister kicked your ass and I ended up saving the day? Please, let’s repeat that in front of the whole school.” The boy said with an exhausted voice. Billy growled a little, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His chest was close to my face, and I couldn’t lie, boy was toned.

The bell rang and I turned away as Billy made his way down the hall in the opposite direction. The boy still stood in front of me, smiling.

“Sorry, I’m Steve. Heard your Hopper’s niece and wanted to introduce myself.” He says, gesturing to walk beside him.

“Yeah, Hopper is quite well known ain’t he? I didn’t know he would be the hero of the town. He was always my embarrassing uncle who sent me $40 for my birthday.” I stutter a little, my palms getting sweaty. Cool it Y/N, he’s just a boy.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you. and yeah, he’s a pretty cool dude.”

“Uh, yeah, he is.” I mutter awkwardly as we arrive to my classroom.

“Oh sweet, we have the same class!” Steve says excitedly as we both walk into the small classroom. There were less than 10 people in the room all with dazed looks on their faces. I could tell half of them had hit one before class and they were all coming down from highs.

Steve pulled a seat close to his in the back and we chatted until the teacher started talking fractions and we knew we have to pay attention.

“I have an 85% in this class right now so I think it’s pretty easy. I don’t know how bad you are at math though.” Steve whispers, as the teacher, who looked like an old fat Rob Lowe, droned on and on about shit that had nothing to do with the lesson. Eventually, he shut up and let us work on random classwork.

“I am pretty bad at math, but excellent at English,” I explain, watching Steve scribble down numbers. I literally just wanted to watch him. He bit his lip, trying to think of ways to solve one problem and I casually glanced at him, trying not to weird him out.

“We should help each other then. I suck at English but decent at Math.”

“We can be a team!” I exclaim in a purposefully annoying voice, giggling as the rest of the class was quiet.

“I do have an essay due Friday, if you can help me after school?” He asked, looking up at me with his big brown eyes.

“You’ll have to come to my place because I have to be home for Jane. My uncle works until 8 tonight.”

He smiles, “Alright. I’ll give you a ride then.”

Hell yeah you are, Harrington.

-

The day flew by, which was good because I had constant anxiety I’d run into Billy and he’d say some weird shit to me and I’d feel like I would need to shower.

The dismissal bell rang and I headed to the parking lot. Steve said he’d be one of the last ones out because he had gym last period and he always got caught up, but I could wait outside for him and he’d find me.

Jonathan and Nancy came out holding hands, laughing at something. I smile and wave to them, and they walk in my direction.

“Hey, who’s taking you home?” Jonathan asks, pulling his keys out of his backpack.

“Uh, a friend I made today. He needed help with English an-”

“What’s his name?” Nancy asked a little too quickly.

“Steve.”

“Harrington?”

“That’d be me!” His appearance made me jump and I instantly wanted to curl up and die. He knew we were talking about him.

Jonathan instantly got awkward, dropping Nancy’s hand and balling up his hands. And well, Nancy got quiet.

“Am I missing something?” I whispered, so only they could hear me.

Steve cleared his throat, “Yeah, me and Nance used to date. But it’s cool, she’s with Johnny Boy and I am okay.” He places his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, patting it. Jonathan did nothing to deflect the gesture, just stood there looking at the ground.

“St-”

“It’s okay, Nancy. It’s been months, we are fine.” Steve says politely, smiling down at her.

Please, put a bullet through me, God.

After that, Nancy and Jonathan waved us a goodbye and ran to their car. Most of the other students had already left their spaces, and we were the last to leave. Except for one blue Camaro that sat fairly close to Steve’s BMW. Outside of it, was the none and other, Billy Hargrove with a girl on his hip. She was basically sucking in all his cigarette smoke as he whispered things in her ear. He didn’t see me at first, but when he did he yelled.

“Little Miss Hopper off with the Former King Harrington! Have fun you two! Use protection!”

I wanted to puke, but that surge of confidence ran through my veins, once again.

“Bye Little Willy Billy! Think about my cute outfit during your awful rendezvous tonight!”

I quickly got in Steve’s car and slammed the door, gesturing him to hurry up. He threw his bag in the back and we peeled out of the parking lot.

“You got a lot of balls, Hopper.”

“Bigger than his.”

“Jesus.”

“Little Willy Billy was pretty good, admit it.” I giggle, turning to face Steve as he drove towards town. He laughed a little, before glancing towards me.

“It was, I give you that. It’s even better when you say it. Your accent is cute.”

Cute.

“Us New Yorkers have weird accents. We emphasize things more than you mid-westerners.”

“New York, huh? You near the city?”

“Oh yeah. Bout 15 minutes without traffic. Me and my friends used to go to clubs in the city and tear up the town. Real fun stuff.”

“Really?” His interest was cute.

“No.” I laugh, “I was bout 2 hours from the city and rarely went. My mom hated it.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I am? It’s not like I don’t come from a long line of smart asses.”

Steve chuckled, “That’s very true.”

“You know me so well already.”

“A day with you is enough to get to know all of you.”

“Well,” I almost stop myself from saying it, but it slips, “Not all of me.”

His laugh was loud and he squinted his eyes when he smiled, “My goodness, I haven’t taken you on a date yet. We shouldn’t be talking about that yet.”

“I have no idea what you’re even talking about, Harrington.”

“Oo, nicknames now?”

“Yeah, you called me Hopper already I needed to call you by your last name, too.”

Steve looked confused, “I called you that?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“I didn’t even realize. It just slipped so easily.” He turned to look at me, a single piece of hair falling over his forehead.

I smile, getting closer to him. I push the piece of hair back, taking notice of two small freckles on his cheek. He is getting red, which only made me smile bigger. I turn around to his back seat to explore and calm his nerves a little. In the seat, I see a pair of Ray Bans.

“Rich boy!” I say grabbing them, nudging Steve’s side. I slip them on, before looking at myself in the mirror.

“My parents are rich, I’m not. And I got those for Christmas,” He watches me through the mirror, “And they look better on you!”

“It’s the outfit. I look like one of those girls in a Motley Crue music video.” I push myself up onto my leg and begin to pose a little, shrugging my jacket off and dancing to the hum of the song on the radio.

“A video girl in my car. I did not plan my Monday to be like this.”

“Well take it all in, Harrington. Your new friend is the hottest girl in Hawkins now!” I joke, tilting the frames down to meet his eyes.

“You’re not wrong.”

[hereliesbitches--me]

Rules

Hello There! Well if you’re here, that means you’re probably interested in me and me cat girl here, and for that I thank you!

While I’m not too big on specific rules, I suppose it’s best to have some little stuff that may clear up some questions in the future.

 First off, Both Mun and Muse are of age. 18+ ,

Mature themes will be present on here, and some aspects of Rosie, her life, and her habits may be triggering. Such as mentions of physical and emotional abuse, manipulation, rape, suicidal thoughts and tendencies,  etc. I try not to get too detailed but if you’re squeamish about it, follow at your own risk.

I do my best to tag triggers with things such as

tw: (insert trigger), but im not perfect. If ya see something that bothers you, let me know so I know what to tag for future reference. I won’t bite your head off for anything, i’m pretty understanding as long as you approach politely. I myself have no triggers, but please tag nsfw stuff.

The basic roleplay etiquette applies here just as much as anywhere else. Most people already know- no godmodding, metagaming,  etc. It’s no fun like that, and we’re all here to have fun, right?

Im open to just about anyone, mutuals and non-mutuals. Canon or OC muses. Even if we don’t follow each other, im happy to roleplay anything if you have an idea. 

Please, feel free to shoot me a message in the inbox even just to say hello when you follow, if you’d like. If you want to interact, and you send me a message like “Wanna RP?” please have something to suggest. Even something completely vague can lead to more, because I myself can suck in coming up with something on the spot. I’ll likely ask you personal questions about your muse, like what draws you to them and such even if you have a bio page and all that, I just like to hear different thoughts. A well rounded character is great, and if it’s in development I don’t mind exploring subjects and aspects.

I would definitely appreciate basic literary knowledge.

I’m fine with small mistakes here and there, but I have to at least be able to make sense of it.  If English is not your first language, I ain’t gonna bash ya for it. I’ll make do- though unfortunately, I’m a loser that knows only English. That’s all I can write in. I am on mobile most of the time, so sometimes formatted responses may take me some time to look into because it doesn’t translate well into mobile. Won’t keep me from following if I like your writing, but I am a simple gal ^^

. When it comes to following, I may not always follow back. But that doesn’t always mean I don’t want to rp.

 Like with multimuse blogs, I may have a bit of difficulty because there’s so much to take in, but I do try sometimes!! Also, as nice as it is, im not a person that likes to get involved in social justice post, political post, or drama/callout posts. To each their own, and I respect your opinions and your passion, but personally I don’t have the mental strength to be drained in the involvement of such things. I don’t mind ooc posts because I do them myself, but if the subjects become too heavy and repetitive, I will have to unfollow. I rather leave that stuff on a personal blog, not an rp blog. If there is something I do that bothers you, you are free to unfollow as well, but just because I unfollow does not mean our interactions have to stop. You can also just approach me directly and we can discuss it so I don’t make you uncomfortable, I don’t mind compromising! I hope you can understand! I don’t condone the gross shit like actual racism, -phobias, etc if its a real issue- then call it out, but when it comes to material being written, I personally don’t believe that people should be policed in what they write if they are not actually harm anyone, and that everyone needs to stay in their own lane. Thank you. 

I like to write in para format, personally.

 I like to get in depth and put a lot into a scene and scenario, so one liners aren’t exactly something I enjoy- Lest it’s for crack and such. You’ll probably see me fooling around a lot, but actual rp is usually done in paragraphs. I sometimes do and I sometimes don’t use icons. I have to draw mine out, mostly, I also use Aoshika from Wolf Guy as a face claim for expressions as well, but the issue is being on Tumblr mobile about 80% of the time blows up the icons out of proportion. Im sure you understand how long drawing icons can take. I apologize now if it looks ugly on the dash. As a partner, I’m not too picky about having icons or not as long as the quality of writing is good. Do you my dudes!

Speaking of writing, I’m horribly slow with replies. 

I apologize in advance, as I am a student in college and I’m working, I find it hard to get inspired to actually sit down and write. But I take long because I will not give anyone a half-assed reply, I make sure there is always something to work with. And if for whatever reason something I wrote doesn’t make sense for your muse in a scenario, just let me know! Im always willing to edit and change something . Even if I’m not writing replies, I’m always open to ooc chats and ideas to throw around about future scenarios.

In regards to shipping, I am Multiship, but I do naturally have my preferred partners. 

 Don’t let that turn you away though! I ship based on chemistry, based on interesting dynamics, and the likes. If you have an idea and you wanna ship, please let me know. I may not always be into it at first but who knows, it can grow on me! Rosie is bisexual so she has potential with both male and female partners, however how her behavior is between the genders varies in a relationship. You will find that Rosie has more sexual interest with the same potential romantic interest in men, and is much more romantically inclined than sexually interest in women. While she is generally open about male relations, she’s even more picky about females because its based more on emotional attachment. But both are absolutely possible.

A side note about Rosie is that depending on the stage in which she is met, and in what verse, loving her is not always easy.

She is an unstable woman underneath with trauma which has created association that expression of emotion is bad. She won’t always be the most loving and affectionate person at times as she drowns herself in responsibility, and she is not very direct in expressing her love through words, but rather through actions. Can definitely be a rough ride, but if you’re willing to go on an emotional roller coaster, so am I. ♡ I am also always open to platonic ships, friendships, hateships and all that kind of good stuff. Variety gives me life and makes everything more interesting.  Rosie has been even prone to toxic relationships.

When it comes to writing smut, understandably I will not write it with minors.

 In general, it takes me a while to be fully comfortable enough with a partner to write it, but I’m not closed off to the idea once we build up a good bond ooc and between the muses. Anything smut related is tagged under nsfw. Rosie is has a sexual addiction in a way, so she may be highly suggestive if she’s interested. I’m absolutely okay with fading to black if that is your preference!

On the note of Rosie’s sexual addiction as a hypersexual, please understand that she can be quite sensitive to it being brought to light. Its a shame to have such intrusive thoughts. Her emotions and feeling towards people can vary drastically- she can be completely indifferent to sexual thoughts towards a person, and then at some other time she needs it like a junkie. She may joke around her flirtatious conquest with friends, but it is not something she likes to get into. Also suffering from bipolar depression, her moods can vary drastically when dealing with particular people.

I like plot driven threads very much.

I find on the whim threads rather hard to keep up, and slice of life moments are only a rare indulgence.  I can indulge in all kinds of subjects, from the nitty gritty to the fluffy, whatever my partner might be interested in as long as we can discuss it.

Rosie was made from an original world, but she is an absolutely malleable character to any sort of fandom story. You can jump to mine or I can jump to yours, even if I know nothing about it. I’m more than willing to do research, go off of what you might tell me, and we can go on a journey from there! I need new stuff in my life. Please show me a new world .

Note that I usually do not like fighting threads.

They can be difficult for me, because while my muse is powerful, she is more often than not incredibly passive. Your muse is free to taunt and push buttons, but know well that she is fully capable of biting back hard. There are consequences for actions, but I do not like going into battle threads unless it’s plotted. For the sake of her children, or keeping her secrets, she is not afraid to kill.

PLEEEAAASEE!! Please Please Please understand that my muse and I DO NOT share the same views on things.Muse does not equal mun. Especially if there is tension between a muse and Rosie, and she gets snippy and harsh. She can be impulsive and say mean and offensive shit because she’s defensive.. and the shit she does is not always alright. Please understand I will not always condone what she does.. She is her own fictional person.

AAAND THAT SHOULD BE IT! Thank you so very much for reading, and I look forward to threading with you all!

[parkjmini]

dangerous waters (m) | pkjm

fratboy!jimin smut a sleazy fratboy thinks he could get any girl he wants, until he meets you word count: 2774 genre: smut SMUT!! SMUT!! S MU T  warning: sleazy jimin, dom!jimin, explicit language, oral

[a/n]: you’ve been warned!!! this is mature content read at own risk !! this is my FIRST smut EVER !! i apologize in advance if its super bad and super cringe like i have no idea wtf i was doing, i just wrote and props to ppl who write smut bc that shit is hard 

You had a huge biochemistry lab the next morning, a calculus test right after, and a literature lecture after bunch. Instead of studying for your classes and sleeping early, you were at some random fraternity party that your friend, Hoseok, dragged you to.

Parties weren’t ever really your scene. You were, a lack for a better term, a goody two shoes. You enjoyed staying in and reading. Cafes, libraries, and parks were your favorite places. You were an overall excellent student, almost top of the class with outstanding remarks. You studied whenever you had the chance to, it was the only way you were able to keep up with classes.

You weren’t completely cookie cutter though. Occasionally, you went to parties when workload was minimal and you didn’t despise frats/sororities. Some of your friends were in sororities and you usually went to their parties, not anyone you were unfamiliar with.

However, Hoseok begged you to join him at the campus’ most popular fraternity’s party. That specific frat had the cutest, hottest boys. They maintained the highest number of hook ups in one night and parties in one week. You avoided them at all cost because even though they were attractive, they were all assholes. 

Their parties were usually majority guys and a sprinkle of girls. You were extremely hesitant, but Hoseok wouldn’t stop messing up your lecture notes until you gave in.

“Geez, Hoseok. There are literally no girls here.” You whispered as you made your way to the kitchen. His laugh was barely audible over the heavy music they were playing. 

“They’re probably all upstairs..” He paused and pointed to the closed rooms. “In the rooms.” 

“That’s so gross.” You rolled your eyes and poured yourself a drink. Their fruit punch was spiked and you almost puked at the first sip. “This is gross.”

“Your tongue becomes numb after a few more sips.” Hoseok’s head darted towards the door. A small group of girls from the sorority down the street had entered. “Enjoy yourself, (Y/N).” He smirked before heading towards them.

“Hoseok---” It was too late. You lost your only friend to the crowd. Glancing around, you noticed that people were either drinking, smoking, or dancing. You weren’t really into any of that. You were regretting your decision of showing up.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped around your waist and spun you around. Your back was up against the side of the island in the kitchen. “Hey baby, I’ve never see you before. Is this your first time here?”

His brown eyes were eating you up as he scanned you from head to toe. You pulled the ends of your short dress down, trying to over up as much as your thighs as possible. “Yeah.” You mumbled.

He had a broad chest and his thighs were suffocating in his tight black pants. His arms were defined and bulged out of his white short sleeve. His hot body was pressed against yours and you tried to wiggle out of the tight space.

“I’m Jungkook.” He smiled. 

“And I’m leaving.” You lightly shoved him enough to get his body off of yours. 

“Oh, we’ll have fun. I promise.” His forearm trapped you to the island again. 

“You’re trying so hard, Kook.” Another boy laughed as he walked over and shoved Jungkook’s shoulder. He had fluffy black hair and soft cheeks. He was a little shorter than Jungkook, but shared the same thick thighs.

“Let’s see if you can get this one to budge, Jimin.” Jungkook chucked and walked off.

“How about you and I go somewhere quieter?” Jimin had the sexiest gaze. Something about him reeked of sex appeal. You had self control, however, and shook your head. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone at a party like this.”

“You’re right. I should go. I have a lot of studying to do.” You scoffed. At this point, you didn’t care that you sounded like a complete loser. You just wanted to stop all these thirsty boys from mentally undressing you.

“Oh, you’re one of Dorm J girls.” Jimin smirked. How did he know what dorm section you lived in? “You girls are always the hardest to crack.” 

“What?” You almost choked as he ran his hand through his hair.

“How did you find yourself here, baby? They’re rarely ever at one of our parties. Did you come with a friend or did you lose yourself on the way to the study hall?” He was slowly getting on your nerves.

You crossed your arms and tilted your head, adding a little sass to your movements. “I don’t know what stigma your frat or you have against us, but we aren’t just nerds who study all night.” That was ultimately a lie. You knew if you weren’t here, you would be studying.

“Did I offend you? You girls are usually very easily riled up. Did you not do well on a test today?” You weren’t sure what bothered you more, the horrible smirk on his face or the sarcasm in his words.

“You’re a no good frat boy who parties all night and probably got in to college because you have money. Sorry that I’m actually smart enough to get in without daddy’s money.” You rolled your eyes the hundredth time that night. Your heart sank as you saw a curious eyebrow raise. He smiled and nodded knowingly.

“I like the way daddy rolls off of your tongue. That was vulgar, Dorm J. You were really looking to hurt me, weren’t you? How many more vulgar words can I get you to say to me?” He chuckled menacingly. You gasped, not expecting his type of response. A light pink dance across your cheeks as you could no longer put up your front.

“I-I have a name.” You stuttered, your nervousness getting the best of you.

His face brightened up at how small your voice had become, “I do too and I’d love to hear you moan it all night.” 

You cleared your throat at his foul language. You weren’t having any of it. If he said one more thing to you, you’d get too weak in the knees to even stand correctly. You weren’t sure what made him so charming and alluring. It might’ve been the way he was staring at you with his lust filled eyes or how he licked his plumped lips after he sipped his drink.

“Red is a nice color on you, babygirl.” His voice turned raspy and low. He was teasing your natural blush and your hands immediately cupped your cheeks.

“I’m not your babygirl or your baby. You don’t get to refer to me as Dorm J because I fit the stereotype you’ve created. My name is (Y/N) and I’d appreciate it if you treated me like a decent human being rather than a piece of meat.” 

“(Y/N).” Jimin had to say it in the most seductive way. Your heart quicken at how much you loved hearing him say it. “What a pretty name. I’m Jimin. You’re really hot when you yell at me. Were you a part of a debate team?” You were.

“M-Maybe. Why?” Your eyebrows knitted.

“Because... so was the last girl I hooked up with from Dorm J.” He snickered. You crossed your arms and began walking away.

He grabbed onto your elbow and lightly pushed you back against the counter. “Oh, (Y/N), take a joke.” 

“It wasn’t funny.” You grumbled, melting at his touch. 

“You know what is though?” 

You blinked up at his gorgeous face, his plump lips twitched into his signature smirk, “what?”

“That you were still talking to me. You obviously have interest in me too, baby, or you would’ve pushed me off like how you did to Jungkook.”

You gulped. You didn’t think he was that observant. A huge part of you wanted to give up and kiss him already, but the small voice in your head knew he was dangerous waters.

“Why don’t you go talk to some other girls? I’m boring Dorm J and I’m being difficult anyways.” You thought maybe he’ll actually back off this time. You were talking him to his senses.

He merely shook his head, his hands gripped your waist and pulled you closer to his pelvis. “You don’t understand, do you? I like a challenge. I want you. I can tell by the way your eyes keep darting that you want me too, so go ahead, (Y/N). Just kiss me. Show me what a good girl can do.”

His words were so convincing and you can no longer hold in the heat at the pit of your stomach. You dove in, attacking his lips passionately. Your hands were holding his small face as you devoured him.

His hands were eagerly pulling your waist closer towards him, trying to find any friction. You placed your hand on his chest when you felt his tongue enter your mouth. Pulling away, you ducked your head out of embarrassment.

“Let’s go somewhere more private, okay?” He picked up your chin, lovingly. His eyes were incredibly thirsting over you. Jimin lead you upstairs to an empty room. He locked the door and walked towards you.

“I barely even know your name..” You were beginning to doubt yourself, trying to find the small voice to save you.

“You’ll be very familiar with my name by the end of tonight. I won’t let you forget it.” He gently pushed you against the door. Distracting you with a kiss, his hand traveled down to slid your dress up your thighs.

He pushed the tight fabric up until it rested on your hips. He rubbed you through your cotton panties, causing you to squeal a little. His kiss drank up your inaudible noises. Your hands held onto his wrist when you started to feel yourself get wet. You hated how easily your body reacted to his touch.

“Let’s see how wet you really are.” He smirked and kneel down in front of you. His face directly facing your panties. You bit your lip, driving him crazy as you watched him slide your underwear off your hips. 

You were soaked, a string of your lubrication detached from the cloth as he pulled them down. A low growl came from the back of Jimin’s throat as he saw your pussy aching to be touched. “Fuck, baby. If I knew you were this wet, I would’ve brought you up sooner.”

He waited though, trying to see how much longer he could drag the anticipation. Jimin placed your leg over his shoulder and his face came close to your exposed flower. His hot breath panted over your clit as you groaned for him to do something, anything.

“What’s my name?” He asked, innocently. His big eyes waiting for your answer. Jimin ruined you before he actually touched you. You were like pudding in his arms and his sensual expressions killed you.

You licked your lips, and barely made out, “Jimin.” 

He pulled your skin taunt toward your waist and you shuddered a little. “The music’s too loud, I don’t think I heard you. Come again?” He teased. Jimin saw how desperate you wanted him. Your cheeks were flushed and your mouth was slightly gaped open. You stared down at him with hooded eyes and your hand had to grip onto the door handle.

You looked so hot and bothered, it took a lot of self control for him not to shove his face into you. “Jimin.” You said louder.

“What a good girl.” He mocked you, but you didn’t have enough strength to argue back. His tongue licked your clit once. Your body shook and he had to use his free hand to push your waist into the door. He repeated his motion, licking and sucking at your sensitive bud. 

The sensations drove you insane. Your clit was more exposed due to the fact that Jimin was pulling your skin taunt --- a tighter feeling. Your hips fought against the pressure of his hand and slowly grind more into his face.

He was watching you unfold right under his tongue. He moaned at the feeling of your hips greedy for more of him. He started to insert two of his fingers, curling up into you instantly.

“Jimin!” You gasped, the feeling at the pit of your stomach building. You pushed his head up into you more and his fingers quicken, pounding and curling inside of you. 

The more he continued, the closer you were to your high. Your eyes were shut at this point, ready to release yourself. However, Jimin wasn’t going to let you cum that easily. 

He removed his fingers and got up. His chin was covered in your lubrication and he shoved his fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself. “Don’t you taste good, babygirl? Much better than that fruit punch downstairs.”

Jimin pushed you onto the full sized bed that sat in the middle of the room. He forced your legs open with his knee and settled between your legs again.

“Please, Jimin. Just let me cum.” You whined. A spark shined in his dark eyes and he kissed your inner thighs.

“Maybe. I mean you were being very difficult with me earlier. I don’t know if you deserve it.” He pouted and he held your legs further apart. You whimpered at his actions. “I love your little sounds, baby. Why don’t you call my name louder, so Jungkook can hear you downstairs.”

His tongue slipped into your dripping hole. “Fuck! Jimin!” You moaned and arched your back into the mattress. Jimin knew how to catch you off guard. His warm tongue drove you hysterical, causing your nails to dig into the sheets.

He savagely ate you out, as if he was starving. Jimin was excellent with his tongue, he knew how to work it. The thing pushing you to your edge were his stares though. He never broke eye contact when his face was bury into your pussy.

His orbs were dark and sexy, silently observing how he got you all worked up. His groans mixed with your airy gasps and the room grew hotter with every passing minute. He licked you up and down, flicking quickly at your throbbing clit. 

Jimin’s fit his fingertips into your hole, only allowing you to feel just enough. He pulled them all the way out, then aggressively back in. He repeated this motion, along with his rapid licks. “Uh, shit. Babygirl, you’re so wet for me.”

“I’m so-- close.” You exhaled sharply, your body shuddering at your approaching climax. At your warning, Jimin’s arms hook under your thighs and pulled you closer to his face. His nose was pressed up against your skin as you felt every hard, desperate lick. His hooded eyes watched your crumbling figure in front of him --- a new scene he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Cum, baby, ride my face. Let me taste how good you are.” Jimin chanted on and your hips shamelessly grind against his warm muscle. 

“I’m cumming, Jimin! Oh my--!” A beam of white blurred your mind as the intense pleasure began to rip through you. 

Your eyes were beginning to flutter shut, but he wasn’t going to allow that. “Look at me when you cum.” 

“Oh fuck.” You looked down at him, his face being squeezed between your shaking thighs. The sensations of his moving tongue rippled up your system and his brown eyes made you cum hard. 

You pulsated against him, your heat unraveling from a tight ball in your abdomen. The feeling of ecstasy and release exploded throughout your body, making it practically unbearable. You’ve never felt an orgasm that intense.

Jimin helped you ride out your high, until you absolutely couldn’t take the sensitivity anymore. He grabbed a napkin and wiped you up gently, an act that fluttered your heart a bit.

“That was fucking hot, I’ll admit.” He chuckled beautifully as he handed you your panties. Your eyes landed on the obvious tent in his pants and you cleared your throat.

“I guess I’ll get going now. I’ve got a lot of studying to do, right?” You taunted and pulled down your dress. Jimin let out another chuckle at your ridiculous attempt to mock him. 

However, you wanted to see him again and hoped that this ploy will get him to want to see you again as well. The dominance shifted, the tables have turned. 

“You owe me big time, Dorm J.” He groaned, a little mixture of sexual frustration and confusion. You seductively waved goodbye before joining the rowdy party again, leaving a rather flustered, yet aroused Jimin untouched. 

[a/n]: ok but forreal tho that gif is just so fitting w this im dying i love that gif || 

next part --> power trip

[eddiesrichie]

Supernatural Reddie AU

so this is just a short tiny one shot of supernatural reddie au. richie is a shapeshifter and eddie is a vampire. it’s cute and fluffy, and my brain held me at gunpoint to write it or i couldn’t go to sleep. hope you guys like it :) 

***

Richie Tozier walks slowly over to the stop sign, eyeing the crossroads. He glances down the pole, squinting his eyes and seeing the familiar red ‘X’ drawn in red on it. He looks through his coke bottle glasses, seeing the very tip of the Kaspbrak’s house.

He closes his eyes, slowing his breathing as his body begins to change.

He knows the alteration began by the heating on the bottom of his feet. It crawls up his feet and to his ankles, causing Richie to place a hand on the pole beside him to lean on. He grits his teeth at the pain, forcing the change to keep going.

It is at his knees now, and he his fingernails dig deep into the metal. He wants to scream, but he forces it down. He can feel each blood vessel turn into ice, freezing his body into ice and undead. A part of his lip begins to bleed from biting too hard, as his femur is suddenly snapped and turned into diamonds.

He whimpers, grabbing at his sides when the transformation reaches his internal organs. He’s breathing heavily now, tears threatening to stream down his face. He can barely see through his glasses, but he glances around to make sure no one is watching him.

A shout of pain bursts through his lips once the change meets his ribcage and lungs. The burn is excruciating, making him feel like he was on fire. He honestly would rather be set on actual fire, rather than fire that he can’t see – only feel.

“Eddie…Eddie, Eddie…” Richie mumbles through the pain. He thinks of his lover as the change takes away his last breath, and he fights to adapt to his new body. He takes unnecessary breaths, crying as the fire reaches his neck.

The pain finally makes him crumble, and he falls to his knees with a shout. He hears a metallic snap, and he lets go of the sign. He has to get used to his new strength and abilities.

He has his face in his hands once the change finally ends, claiming him as something new. He claws at the gentle grass, taking another breath. It gives him no relief, reminding him that he no longer needs oxygen to function.

He covers his ears. The sounds circling him are way too extreme, and he urges himself to get used to them. His nose is sensitive too, and he knows the location of every human being within five miles. He can smell Bill walking over to the Derry forest. He was probably going to visit Stan and Mike.

He scrunches his nose at the smell of Bill. He smells like death and not the revolting kind, but the actual, legitimate smell of a grim reaper. He doesn’t know how Eddie handles smelling that.

His fingers are sore, and he looks them over to find that sharp nails have replaced his old, blunt ones. He flexes them, trying to familiarize to his new body.

Once the noises aren’t so loud and the smells aren’t so intense, Richie stands up with a wince. He’s transformed into many supernatural beings in the past, but vampires always the hardest to get used to. Especially since it technically kills him to do so.

He instinctively takes another breath, rolling his eyes when he remembers that he doesn’t need to. He begins to walk on shaky legs down the street. The gravel crunches under his shoes, and he hears each pebble getting stepped on. He hears a baby cry from three miles away, and he hopes someone will shut them up.

He is thankful when he finally reaches his destination. He straightens up, trying to look normal. He walks up the driveway and to the front door, bringing a hand up to knock hesitantly on the wooden door. He winces at the knock, way too loud for his new hearing.

The door opens with a slam, and Richie wants to whimper in pain, but he only merely smiles at the wide woman who answers the door. “Hey, Mrs. K! Looking so fine as always!”

She looks him over with distaste, never have liked the Tozier boy. “Eddie is in his room – PG, Mr. Tozier! PG!” she squeals when Richie runs past her and climbs up the stairs.

He nearly bumps the shit out of his knee due to not being used to his new speed enhancement, but he stops in time. He’s transformed into a vampire quite a few times, so he’s at least gotten used to the speed factor. The hearing and smelling factors…he’ll never get used to.

“Eddiekins! Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie sing-songs at Eddie’s door. He only waits for a minute before opening the door. He skips in and closes the door softly behind him.

Eddie is sitting cross-legged on his bed with a science book in his lap. He scowls, “Stop calling me such weird ass names, Trashmouth.” Richie is thankful that he says it quietly.

Richie brings a hand to his chest with a mocking wounded expression on his face. “You wound me, Eds! My nicknames express my undying love for you! Get it? Cause I’m dead!”

Richie is on the bed and straddling Eddie’s lap within seconds. The science book is now on the floor after being thrown, but immediately Richie regrets doing it since the booming sound of it landing hurt the crap out of his ears. Though, it was getting better. “Shit,” he winces.

Richie smiles when small hands caress his face, and he opens his eyes to find Eddie frowning at him. Richie wants to cuddle in Eddie’s chest when he feels thumbs rub delicately by his ears.

His boyfriend is frowning, though, and he copies him, caressing the true vampire’s cheeks too. He runs a finger through Eddie’s brown hair. “What’s wrong, Eds? Got the wrong blood type for breakfast?”

Eddie chuckles slightly at the joke, but his face falls seconds later. His fingers roam Richie’s face and neck, running his fingertips along his cheeks, nose, and forehead. “I wish you didn’t have to change…I like you the way you are. I like it when you’re in your true form, and nice and warm.”

“Aw,” Richie coos, kissing Eddie’s cheeks and nose. “Cute, cute, cute! You’re so cute, Eds.”

Eddie smacks at his intruding face, though, he laughs as he does it. “I’m serious!”

“And I am too!” Richie defends. He slides down on his side, and Eddie turns so they can be face-to-face. Richie pulls Eddie closer by his shorts, bringing their bodies together. “You know? We’re going to be so cute, and we’re so close! We’re going to graduate, get our own apartment, and we’re going to be so cute together. It’s going to make the other losers gag. You’re going to have your coffin to sleep in-“

“I don’t sleep in a coffin!” Eddie gawks. Richie pokes at his side.

“I’ll have my secret dungeon where I’ll peel skin off me like the lizard I am, and we’re going to be so in love!”

Eddie makes a face, “That is so gross. I’m so glad you don’t change into someone else that often. Just the sound is disturbing.”

“It’s actually less painful than changing into a vampire. I actually die when that happens. Let me tell you, dying isn’t the best feeling in the world,” Richie jokes with a shrug. He scrunches his eyebrows when he sees Eddie frown at that, and he leans in and kisses the other boy.

He tilts his head to deepen the kiss a little, running his tongue along one of Eddie’s two sharp teeth. Eddie shivers at the sensation.

Richie remembers the time when Eddie’s fangs came in. They had been kissing at the quarry when Richie jumped at a sharp jolt of pain filling his mouth. He only has a second to realize that it was Eddie’s new fangs when Eddie was suddenly on him. Richie quickly figures out that he was bleeding, and bleeding in a vampire’s mouth was not entirely the best thing.

Eddie had attacked him, pinning Richie down in the grass to try to taste more of Richie’s blood, since he had been in human form at the time. Richie tried to nicely shove him off, but Eddie was like a leech – hanging on for dear life.

“Sorry, Eds,” Richie had whispered before bending his legs and using his own supernatural strengths to kick Eddie off him.

Eddie had been so embarrassed, that he nearly cried.

That had been when they were fourteen, and now they are seventeen. They are both seniors, four months away from graduating and leaving Derry to start their lives together.

Richie knows he doesn’t live nearly as long as Eddie, but he’ll use every minute that he has to spend it with his soulmate.

[peterjonesparker]

Hi I have a Spideychelle one shot prompt? Where Peter & MJ are studying and Peter stumbles on one of MJ's sketchbooks filled page to page w/ MJ's romantic, mushy, fluffy doodles of the pair of them. It's essentially MJ's own Spideychelle fan art album. MJ is horrified her secret is out thanks to her own carelessness. Hilarity (and romance) ensues

okay when i got this i immediately fell in love with it because it was so beautiful and dorky and awkward and perfect?? but it took me forever to write so i’m sorry for that but it was suuuuuch a cute prompt like omg wtf?? i’m sorry if this doesn’t live up to the prompt because they prompt was so great so i’m sorry.

It’s a regular Thursday afternoon at twelve twenty-two when Peter’s life gets flipped on its axis. He’s in the library, studying with Ned and MJ for their bio test right after lunch. He’s trying to focus on histone proteins but MJ’s curls keep falling into her face and she’s biting her lip every so often because she’s concentrating a bit too hard. He’s a bit too gone for her, honestly.

Then, MJ gets called to the office on the overhead speaker and Peter’s eagerly waving goodbye and following her movements as she packs her things. She lets out a sigh and a quick “later, losers” before taking off. Peter goes back to trying to study, but Ned watches a bit longer. So, it’s Ned who notices when her book bag, which MJ hadn’t fully closer, knocks against the bookshelf near the door and a book falls out. He walks over to pick it up, startling when he sees what’s on the pages. Ned quickly grabs the book and brings it back to Peter, slamming it down on the table, excited. “Dude, look at this!” Peter takes one last look at the definition of epigenetics before his heart falls to his stomach and his brain stops functioning.

There, in Ned’s hands, is MJ’s sketchbook. MJ’s sacred sketchbook. The one she carries with her everywhere. The one she’d left in decathlon practice at the end of sophomore year. The one she’d angrily pulled from his hands when he walked up to her the next day to return it, asking if he’d seen any of the pages. He’d said no, because he didn’t dare look. But now, here in front of him, are pages of drawings that Peter’s getting to see. They’re all of Spiderman.

“MJ totally has a massive crush on you!” Ned seems to think this is hilarious. But Peter’s heart has stopped. He is, quite frankly, over the moon about this discovery. He’s been nursing a hefty crush on MJ for the better part of junior year. To find out she may be more fascinated by him, granted the superhero persona he hasn’t told her about, than he originally thought makes the butterflies in his stomach rush around excitedly, begging to get out.

Peter looks up, still a bit shell shocked. Ned looks confused. Peter hasn’t told Ned about his crush on MJ. The only person who knows is Aunt May, and that’s because she once caught him in a compromising position with an incriminating name on his lips. (They don’t talk about that incident very often. But now, whenever MJ comes over to study, the door remains open. And May asks him about her at dinner.) Thus, Ned’s confusion is justified because Peter isn’t laughing about how ironic this is or how funny it is that MJ, resident badass, actually likes Peter, resident dork, without realizing.

Peter fakes a short laugh, shutting the book closed. “We should get this to her as soon as possible though. She might kill us, and I don’t want to die at seventeen.” Ned eyes him suspiciously, but he doesn’t say anything else about the matter. He just goes back to reviewing the bio material before the test that’s going to slay the entire class. (Their teacher isn’t very forgiving.)

At the end of the school day, when Peter walks up to MJ at her locker and hands her the sketchbook, she looks absolutely mortified. “You dropped it in the library.”

“Did you look at anything?” She shoves the book into her book bag, making sure it’s secure in its place so this doesn’t happen again. She won’t meet his eye.

“No,” he lies. He doesn’t want her to think of him as someone who invades her privacy. And he also doesn’t know what to say. Sorry that we looked at your drawings of Spiderman. Oh, by the way, if you have a crush on him, you should know I’m Spiderman. Also, do you want to go on a date with me?

That seems like…not the move. So, he just rocks back on his heels and presses his lips tightly together. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He gives her a quick wave and then tries not to sprint down the hall. Smooth, Parker.

But then he’s out on patrol later that day when his life gets uprooted again. He’s chilling on a rooftop, eating a GoGurt he got from the owner of the convenience store he stopped from being robbed, when he sees her. It’s Michelle. She’s walking down the street. She’s walking home a bit later than usual, which is odd. Then a man is grabbing her arm and pulling her into an alley, demanding her book bag.

He quickly descends the building and goes to save her, but the man is on the ground, clutching his groin and whimpering. MJ’s hair is falling out of its ponytail and her books are spewn across the alleyway. He webs the man’s legs to the ground and then goes to help her pick up her books. Then he sees her sketchbook. The same one that was sprawled out on the library table during lunch time. The same one he gave back to her at the end of the day. The same one with drawings of him as Spiderman in it.

This time, however, the pages were open to different drawings. Drawings of him. Not, like, Spiderman. Of Peter Parker. A drawing of him sitting in class, face resting on his hands. A drawing of his eyes, with his eyebrow floof on full display. A drawing of him in gym class, laughing. A drawing of him napping on his desk in his room. A drawing of him and Michelle, smiling at each other. A drawing of him kissing Michelle’s cheek.

Michelle grabs the book out of his hands, angry. “Do you always invade other people’s privacy, Spider Dude?” She is pissed, but she won’t meet his eye. (Not that she could see his eyes, anyway.) The words it’s Spiderman die on his lips as she starts to walk away. He doesn’t know what to do with this new knowledge, but he doesn’t want her to just walk away.

“Isn’t that Peter Parker?” She freezes at his words and he panics for a moment. Did she figure it out? Was that too much? Peter supposedly knows Spiderman from the Stark Internship. It should be fine. Right? Since he’s a dummy, he pushes. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“What?” Michelle whips around, scandalized. “No! Ew, gross!” She takes a deep breath. Peter’s thankful for the mask. She can’t tell he’s blushing furiously. (Also, she doesn’t know he’s Peter but that’s another issue.) “He’s just a friend.”

He scratches the back of his neck, smiling even though she can’t see it. “He’s just a friend who kisses you on the cheek?” Michelle scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. She tilts her head down, refusing to look at him. “Do you like him?”

“Why do you even care?” She finally looks up and he feels as if she’s staring straight into his eyes. “Don’t’ you have people you should be saving?”

He shoots a web up, which attaches to the fire escape ten feet above them. “You should ask him out.” Then he pulls himself up and he’s taking off. He’s not entirely disappointed with how he handled that. He honestly thinks it was quite smooth. Then again, he can’t hear Michelle’s internal monologue, cursing herself for being fascinated by weird dorks.

But Peter is sure that his plan will work. That MJ will ask him out now that Spiderman, her superhero crush, has told her to. But she doesn’t. Actually, she doesn’t treat him any differently than she has been for the last two and a half years. He’s disappointed so he does what he always does and starts moping. Ned notices very quickly.

“Dude, I can’t take you sighing after MJ much longer.” Ned flicks Peter’s arm during decathlon practice when it’s become quite obvious he isn’t listening to anything being said anymore. “She’s drawn pictures of you kissing her cheek. Just tell her you like her.”

“It’s not that easy.” Peter whispers, hoping no one else has heard them. He also hopes that the blush on his face isn’t as red as it feels. “She’s MJ. I can’t just say ‘I like you’ and leave it at that.”

“Then do something romantic, who knows?” Ned says, shaking his head. “Just so something so you don’t creep her out with all your staring.” Peter rests his head in his arms on the table. God, why is this so complicated?

He’s walking home from practice when he finally gets an idea. It’s probably too cheesy for MJ’s taste, but Peter’s always been a little too cheesy for MJ so it’s to be expected. Which is how he ends up making a web of a heart on the building right across from MJ’s window. Then he texts her.

She walks to her window, eyebrows scrunched together as she opens her window. “Peter?” She asks before noticing the heart. She looks all around and then he lowers himself down next to her window. She crosses her arms across her chest, smirk growing on her face. “Oh, Spiderman?”

“Hey,” he manages. He’s incredibly nervous but also so terribly fond of her in this moment. She’s just standing there in her ratty old t-shirt with the biggest shit eating grin on her face.

“You have a crush on me now?” She asks, stepping aside so he can enter her room. He does, grateful. The webbing is only so strong for so long. He really doesn’t want to ruin this moment by falling.

“Yeah.” But because he isn’t entirely sure she’s put two and two together (She probably has. She’s MJ, after all. But he’s not taking any chances), he pulls his mask off his face and smiles. “Yeah, I do.” Then she’s smiling so he’s smiling and she punches him in the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.” She eyes him pointedly so he knows she means both things. “You sure do take your time.”

“So is that a yes?” He asks, hopeful and doe-eyed.

“Haven’t asked me a question yet, Parker.” She takes a step toward him, smiling mischievously. She’s going to ruin him. He’s going to love every minute.

He laughs because of course she wouldn’t let him have this one thing. “Do you want to go out with me sometime, then?”

“Hmm.” She scrunches her eyebrows together tightly. “I’ll think about it.” She laughs at the scandalized look on his face and then there’s a knock on the door.

“MJ, it’s dinner time.”

It’s her father. So, she starts pushing Peter towards the window and he’s sad because she hasn’t given him a solid answer. But she’s not having it. “You need to leave, Spider Boy.”

“Can I just,” he stops halfway through the window and turns around. He leans forward, pressing his lips lightly against her cheek. She looks a bit shocked when he pulls back but there’s a small smile on her face. “Just let me know your answer.”

She chuckles and shoves his shoulder so he’s out of the window. “Bye, Peter.”

Later that night, he gets a text. I suppose I’ll go out with you.