#I've made too many tags here now time to shut my mouth and sleep

[ricksoo]

So uh

Kinda got carried away with other blogger's m2 template so...

Ye.

So anyways...

Which version of template is more intimidating lol

Left mewtwo template by @pokemon-ash-aus (tank you)

Right mewtwo template by @blues-sues (tank you too)

I might've tampered the template by a slight bit... hope you both don't mind. ^^'

And I refuse to explain who this two is 🥲

Add this in cuz why not

This one belongs to @kantaroth

Now,

Out of all 3 of em,

Which template is the most intimidating?

[theaspen]

summary : Jay seems to keep appearing in your alternate nightmares. He acts as your night in shining armor, always helping you in your sleep. But when you try to stop the nightmares altogether he doesn't like it.

Genre : Thriller, angst.

pairing : Jay x you

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of blood, death and suicide. If you are sensitive to these subjects please don't read!!

___________________________________________

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

____________________________________________

Authors note: It's honestly SO embarrassing that I'm posting this now LMAOAOAOA.

Uhm. I'm sorry. I hope you guys enjoy and leave some nice comments or feedback or anything tbh. And send me an ask, or comment below to be added to the tag list.

____________________________________________

Are you sure?” My uncle asks sceptically.

“Yes I'm sure.” I tell him firmly. 

This is the 10th time he's asked me this question today alone. What's a therapist gonna do? Besides, I'm sick of him pretending to care. 

“Uncle, I'm not really sure why you're so insistent on this. Is it because the press is outside? They want to interview you?”

It's a sharp dig at him and I know it. He's never cared about his own brother, never visited.

He scowls at me, “Careful, might I have to remind you that it isn't your father that's taking care of you, putting you in the best room with the best doctors.”

I glare at him as he walks away from the room. Well atleast the pathetic nice act is gone. 

Kyungsoo enters my room soon again, throwing a careful glance at my uncle. He was a big shot after all. With his more than successful firm.

“You good?” He asks.

“Yeah, um I think I'll just go for a walk.” I tell him rather shortly.

“Sure.” He says quietly, probably assuming I had an argument.

But truth be told, I'm avoiding him. I'm getting attached to someone who's just tolerating me for their job. It's not his fault I know but I can't get attached to those who won't stay once I'm up and gone. 

My mind goes to Jay for a tiny second. Hm. Maybe I should talk to a therapist. The dreams stopped for two days and usually I would be overjoyed at the idea of not just one but two full nights rest.

But I woke up feeling uneasy, I made a promise to Jay, someone who exists only in my head. But I made a promise nevertheless. 

There are so many things I want to ask him, so many. 

Why do I have no dreams? Why is it that I only ever have a blackout or nightmares?

Why is he saving me? 

I know I shouldn't, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. I look down at my fisted hands and open them. There are two sleeping pills, I stole it from a nurse's bag when she wasn't looking. 

Sleeping pills and I aren't the best of friends. Sure they help me not have a meltdown from not being able to sleep for almost 20 hours but they also give me the worst types of nightmares.   Which right now happens to be something that I need. 

“Goodnight.”Kyungsoo tries to smile at me.

I meekly smile back , eager to down the pills and meet the one person who actually wants me to stay.

_________________________________________

The pills go down my throat ten minutes later. The small light creates a shadow of me in front.  The shadows shift, turning and twisting and I watch fascinated as they give a performance for me. 

I'm not afraid, a part of my brain thinks. What are the shadows going to do? They've been with me forever. Taunting me, trying to manipulate me. I've never given into any of their tricks. I've never trusted them. 

But when I'm all alone now, in a tiny closet peeking out from the hole and watching the shadows linger my heart picks up its beat. 

They come and they disappear again and again. I look through the tiny peep the closet gives and realise soon as they go behind every nook and creek that they are looking for none other than me. 

 

My hands reach out to clasp my mouth shut. My body folds itself as small as it can possibly go. Will the shadows think to look here too?

I shut my eyes forcefully. My other senses heightened until I could feel everything around me. The musty smell of the closet, my fingernails digging into themselves.  My feet numb, paralyzed. 

My breathing becomes slower, my arms start to unclench. I think they're gone. I think I can get out now. Escape to a place where they can't catch me. 

Before I know it, before I can even pull my hands away from myself. There's a strange hiss that comes inches away from me. A hand grabs my ankle and pulls me hard enough that I don't have time to scream. 

My head bangs against the hard wooden doors as I'm being pulled away. The impact is so hard that I can only clutch my head and groan as the hands keep pulling me away, dragging me on the rough wooden floors.

The splinters catch on clothes and skin. My chin is bleeding, but I can't even stop. Can't even catch a hold of myself as I try to catch myself breathlessly.  

There's a sharp turn to the right, and that's when I know that the shadows aren't just pulling me along aimlessly , they have a destination in mind. 

My eyes scan around desperately trying to catch hold of something to stop. 

Just then, a hand- a solid, real and warm hand catches me. A sudden stop to the journey. 

I know who it is before I can even look up. I clasp my hands with his. The shadows aren't pleased, they hiss and linger around My ankles. 

But when his hand keeps tugging me in, the shadows start to dissolve, materialise into nothing, losing their power. 

Jay's hands pull me again, even when the shadows disappear, he doesn't let go and I don't either.

When I gain a little strength into my limbs I finally pull away from the embrace. I look into his eyes, they are wide and scared, maybe even more than mine.

“Thank yo-”

“Why didn't you come?? You made a promise and you leave me all alone here?!” Jay yells angrily.

I pull away completely.  I was happy to finally see him again, but seeing his bloodshot face. The look of absolute rage in his eyes makes me stop. Brings the familiar uneasy feeling back into my stomach. 

“I'm sorry.” I mumble.

Jay looks at my crestfallen face, and immediately his face softens. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I was just scared you left forever.” He says softly, “You're hurt a lot this time. Come here, let's clean you up.” 

He rips off a piece of his sleeves and starts dabbing it on my wounds.

His reassuring words don't chase away the moths in my stomach. 

“Jay..do you think I should see a therapist?”

Jay frowns at my words, “A therapist? What's that?” He asks curiously. 

“Umm. It's someone who helps you with your problems, like stress, anxiety…nightmares.”

Jay stiffens upon that. His hand paused on my chin. 

“But why…? I can save you. I save you every time.”

I shake my head,

“I can save you again, you won't even have to get hurt next time. Just trust me. That's all you need to do!”

I take his hands in mine, his eyes are trembling, 

“What happens when you can't?”

“..what”

“What happens when one day you can't save me? I can wake up, but what about you? What if something happens to you instead?” 

He shakes his head intently, “I don't care, I only exist because of you. If you're gone, then I'm alone again, I have no purpose.”

I stay silent at that, avoiding his eyes. 

The world around me seems to shift again, faster than it did before. 

“I think I'm waking up now.”

“Yeah.”

“Can't you…can't you appear in my dreams too? Not just nightmares?”

“I don't know.”

I can feel my resolve slipping at the sight of his tired face. He looks my age, but at this moment his face seems to have gone through a millenia worth of sadness. 

“I'll come back okay?” 

Jay just nodded. His fingers slip away from mine as he watches me disappear again. I never stay for long. He wonders whether it's because I can't or I don't want to. 

Jay fidgets with his fingers even after I'm gone. 

He thinks long and hard about how he could make me stay. Every time I've left, it's only because he saved me.

What happens when he makes me believe that she can't escape the nightmare anymore? 

________________________________________

Taglist : @sunjaylove @ryejigyu @keikeu

@excusemeimquirky @lollllllliiiiiiiiiiiipop

[marvelousbuckley]

Love letters anyone?

It's been a while since I've written pretty much anything and I'm so sorry about it. I've had some great times (like the paralympics, a new cat, great restaurants with my friends, starting work again) as well as not so many great times (tiredness, RSD, the cats fighting, dysphoria, bipolar disorder making me depressive lmao)

But! Today on the bus I wrote a new letter! There is still prompts I need to write about but this one was on my mind. The game is simple, you can send me a word and I'll use it as an inspiration for a love letter from Tommy to Buck!

You can find the new letter on AO3 or after this ❤️

Disclaimer, Tommy is horny lmao

-----

My sexy as hell boyfriend,

The sounds you made last night still resonate on my mind. They are haunting me, not leaving a single space for any other thought. I am literally incapable to concentrate on anything but the memory of your moans on the silence of your loft. It makes me stupid really.

We waited and I am happy that we did. But I can be honest with you now: sleeping next to you, seeing your beautiful body, being able to touch and kiss it, all of that while restraining myself to fuck you properly has been hell. You have been my personal little hell since we met. Do you know how hot you are? Making me burn with each word, each smile, each whisper. Flames destroying not only my mind and my heart, but my guts too.

Of course you know, the size of your jeans are really telling, Evan. I ask myself sometimes if you do it to make me weak, to make my mind shut down.

Do you want me to die of lust?

Do you have any idea what effect you have on me?

Do you find it funny to make me horny in public space?

Today I asked to stay on the ground. I cannot imagine being up there, not when I already touched the clouds with you. I always loved flying you know. And as much as I also loved sex, the sky has always been my favorite place on earth.

But now I'm here, thinking about you. About being in your arms, both naked, on a bed. No matter which bed, which home, which lifetime. As long as I'm with you.

This shift might be the hardest of my life sweetheart. Because you are everywhere I look, and nowhere I can touch. And only remains the absence of your warmth around my cock and the want. This voracious want.

I'm on my bunk bed, writing on my phone while all the others are sleeping. I'm pretty sure I'm blushing in the dark, nervous they would wake up and find me in a compromising state. I feel so dumb you know, like some horny teenager. It's the first time I actually write the word cock on a letter. Because yes, I will rewrite all of this on paper when I'll get the chance to. But I couldn't wait, couldn't risk losing this thing you make me feel.

I couldn't risk not to remember everything I'm thinking right now. Because you need to know, Evan, how you make me alive again.

Thinking about my mouth on your mouth,

Tommy

Tagging the friends ❤️

@searching-for-the-moon @herrmannhalsteadproduction @johanna-swann @captainwitharedstar

@goldenhxurs @girlwonder-writes @desert--moonchild @kinardsevan

@kinkley-are-adorkable-flirts @bangpop91 @v88sy @theotherbuckley

@rdng1230 @thatmexisaurusrex @judymarch15 @leandra-winchester

[buckybarnesdiaries]

fallin' all in you

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky takes care of you after a hella day.

word count: 1.216.

warnings/tags: none. bucky being the best man on earth.

author notes: as i said so, i didn't plan to post anything today but this is a product of my mix of feelings because of my period and the first time (of many) watching monday. i'm drunk too and i haven't re-edited it, so enjoy my little fluffy shit. i love you all. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list here.

It had been a hell of a day in the hospital, running from one side to another and attending a difficult surgery. As soon as you closed the door of your apartment behind your back, you took off your shoes and left them thrown along the hallway, leaving a path of clothes to the kitchen too. Conscious that Bucky would complain about the little mess you had done, you really didn't care about it. He knew you'd have a stressful and long shift. Grabbing a bottle of wine from your personal reserve, you opened it up before continuing your way to the bathroom.

The first sip came while waiting for the tub to be filled with warm, warm water, using one of those bath bombs your sister gave you with a floral smell and rose petal inside it. For a second, your mind blanked, keeping your eyes on the dense bubbles eroding in the middle of the crystal water until turning it completely white. Once it was ready, you didn't lose time on sinking your body to your neck, resting your back against the huge tub, closing your eyes while taking another gulp from the bottle.

The house was silent like a cemetery, just what you needed. Peace, calm, no noise. A minute to relax, feeling the pleasant temperature slackening the contracted muscles in your legs and arms. You rested your drink on the floor, next to the bathmat, to dip your hands and place them on your relaxed thighs.

You weren't sure if you were just too submerged in the nothingness of your mind for too long, after making your brain overwork during the day, or if you really fell asleep in the tub when you heard the front door being closed —but the fact was that the water was a little cold. Tilting your head to the hallway, you just waited with pouty lips and puppy eyes for Bucky to show up. And he did. He did show up with the same gesture on your face, causing in you an exhausted half-smile as he rested his shoulder against the wooden frame, crossed arms.

“Y'know? When I've come and seen all your clothes spread on the floor, I thought you were cheating on me”.

“Yeah, could be an option…”

“But then I thought… what a drag, right…? Fight, packing, move”. Bucky kissed his teeth while squeezing his bottom lip funnily.

“Uh—huh, don't have the energy to breathe, imagine having to bear with you… such a pain in the ass”. You joked, sitting up a little enough to rest your arms on the edge of the tub and your right cheek on them.

“Long day?”

He didn't need to ask and you didn't need to reply using words, the tiredness taking control over your face and body spoke by itself. Bucky removed his jacket to hang it on the doorknob and rolled up the sleeves of his t-shirt to kneel close to you. Beckoning his left forefinger to urge you to turn around inside the bathtub, you gave him your back, curling up your knees to your chest not knowing what he was going to do. But watching his flesh hand borrowing your shampoo, gave you a clue. His iron digits offered you the bottle of wine before taking care of his new mission.

Kissing the back of your head, Bucky focused on rub hand against hand to place them on your hair. His fingertips massaged slowly your scalp, starting by the roots and making some gentle pressure on your temples. It was like a dream, everything you needed at that moment —and everything you deserved. Your boyfriend was such a loving man whenever you needed him to, without asking him to pamper you, Bucky knew exactly at any second what to do to make you feel good, to feel better after a long, tedious day in the hospital.

He washed your hair without any rush, enjoying the intimacy between both inside the bathroom. And you could swear that you were about to fall asleep when he took the wine from you to take a sip and leave it close to the sink, on the floor. Grabbing the showerhead, as he took off the stopper, Bucky checked that the water had a proper temperature on his forearm. Not too hot, not too cold. Rinsing your hair with all the care and tenderness in the world, he helped you to finish your relaxation routine.

“You're a blessing”.

Your boyfriend chuckled because of the delighted purr you let out on his neck, whilst wrapping you in a cozy towel, carrying you onto his arms to your shared bed. Bucky left a kiss on your forehead, disappearing afterward to find one of his shirts to put you on.

“D'your hands hurt?” He asked then, staring at you drying your skin before wearing the piece of clothing he was offering you.

“They're good for now”.

“You sure?” You just nodded as he held them onto his palms to bring them to his lips and kiss them both. “What else can I do for you, darling?”

“Cuddle me?”

You couldn't help but pout again at him. Bucky leaned forward, pressing his lips on yours so loving that the gesture almost dizzy you. Licking his bottom one, almost brushing yours, he nodded one time.

“Lemme take my clothes off”.

You did, tucking in your side of the bed and waiting for him not more than a minute. Your boyfriend locked the front door and turned the lights off before meeting you. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as soon as his strong, toned arms wrapped around you, sticking his bare chest to your back. Bucky intertwined your legs and fingers together, spreading a bunch of tender kisses on the back of your neck.

“What I'd do without you?” You whispered holding back a yawn, feeling warmer by his body and caresses under the clean sheets.

“Wash your hair by yourself”. He chuckled, causing you to turn under his firm grip with a smirk showing up on your mouth.

“And also find my own clothes after the shower”.

“That's obvious”. Your boyfriend replied with a feigned deep tone of voice, stroking your cheek gently using his thumb. “Want to talk 'bout it?”

“About finding my own clothes?”

“Nah, 'bout washing your hair by yourself”.

You both laughed lively, still feeling like you were about to pass out at any moment, shaking your head. You couldn't help but sink your face into the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath of his strong scent under his jawline.

“Sleep now, doll… I take care of you”. Bucky murmured tightly embracing you.

His fingertips roaming your back —as if it was the first time he touched you, with so much delicacy and adoration— caused you to fall asleep in the blink of an eye. Bucky wasn't tired, actually, but watching you sleep peacefully under his caresses and soft kisses was his favorite thing in the world. He used to fall in love with you once and again every single day, but the trust you used to put on him every night when the noise and all the chaos were shut off (...), that made him feel sure that there wasn't a life for him without you.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and REBLOG!!!

tag list: @whatrambles @phoenixhalliwell @homesicam @marvel-diaries @amelia-song-pond @heartbeats-wildly @met4no1a @weenersoldierr @petlaufeyson @sillygamingartghost @wildflowergubler @isnt-it-loverly @zealouspursecowboydeputy @rvgrsbrns @artisancowbells @plagooey @tinylumpiaa @hemsbucky @bxmaaa @quxxnxfhxll @soldierstucky @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @hateinthemorning @asemistablehundredyearoldman @purpleelfwizard @twinerd14 @nikkixostan @stolenxkissess @wintersfilm @whoreforsamwilson @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm @baconmuffins1216 @28cnn @hxlyhoax @lieswithoutfairytales @angrybirdxx @clownerlyluv @kait-is-always-late @marvel-ousnesss @natashadeservedbetter @ebxny27 @fanofalltheficsx @spider-man-lover @masterlists101 @lewd-alien @warm-sensations @stealapizzamyheart @talk-on-the-street @theresnoplatypus

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings

[one-boring-person]

Can You Do Me A Favour?

Barney Ross (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: injury, drinking, sexual content implied, mentions of violence, swearing

Context: the reader is a member of the Expendables and has a crush on Barney. After a job, the two have some time together.

A/N: as promised, here is some Expendables stuff! I hope anyone who reads this will enjoy it! (Just a heads up: I have more Rambo and Escape Plan stuff coming, and most likely some more TLB content, too.)

Masterlist

(I'm also going to tag @yuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh in this, because they expressed interest in Expendables stuff earlier😊💛)

The cold water is pleasant on my heated skin as I cup my hands under the steady stream flowing from the tap, splashing it into my face when a suitable pool has formed in the space. A gasp escapes me from the stark contrast in temperatures, using my fingers to rub slightly at my skin, trying to work out the headache that has set in, only to hiss when I accidentally press into one of the new scars on the side of my face. Pulling back, I repeat my action, doing my best to distract myself from the plaguing thoughts in my head, still disgusted at myself for having them.

But even now, as I massage the contours of my face, I can't get the images of my boss out of my head. Not the sight of him taking out a ring of attackers using his revolver and sharpshooting skills, not the way his exposed arm muscles flexed with each movement, not the determined look on his rugged face and certainly not the fierce eye contact he made with me when he turned around again. At the mere memory of this, a flush of heat goes through me, eyes squeezing shut to force myself to blank them out, not quite realising that his stare is branded into my subconscious. Biting my lip, I shake my head, forcing down the picture of his muscular body and large hands on my body as he dragged me from the collapsing building, not five hours ago.

Growling, I reach over and grab hold of the beer bottle nearby, glancing at my haggard features in the mirror before taking a deep drink, wincing at the stale flavour, having had the drink for far too long. I can see the tension in my body, each muscle tight and uncomfortable, my posture ramrod straight and clearly wrong, my eyes clouded with exhaustion and what I can only assume is loneliness. 

As soon as I'd gotten in from the last job, I'd headed straight into the bathroom, grabbing a beer from the fridge as I went, needing to clear my head. Nothing I did could help, my head always circling back to that one person. Frustrated, I slam the bottle on the counter top, wincing when it shatters from the force, a particularly sharp shard slicing into my palm.

Damn him. Damn Barney Ross for getting into my head.

I clean up my hand, just bandaging it up when my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. Frowning, I look over at it, confused. Nobody calls me. Nobody, except my boss.

Picking up the phone, I groan to myself as I realise it is, in fact, Barney. For a second, I debate letting it go to voicemail, before I finally give in, accepting the call and placing the phone to my ear.

"Sir?" I greet him politely, wondering what he needs.

"How many times have I told you not to call me "sir"?" Barney's gravelly voice sounds through the phone, a low chuckle evident in his tone. I have to ignore the effect his voice has on me, the sound giving me butterflies in my stomach.

"Sorry, sir- ah, shit." I sigh at my own habit, "You alright?"

"Yeah, guess so. Just lonely. Figured you might be, too." He admits, tone going soft as he speaks.

"Bold of you to assume that." I tease, but continue, "Though you are, as always, right."

"Should tell Christmas that, might listen to you." The veteran laughs again, the joke drawing a similar reaction from me.

"We all know he listens to no one but himself." I quip back, still waiting for him to tell me why exactly he called.

"True, true." Barney's grin is almost audible, my mind instantly bringing up an image of that particular expression into my head, much to my chagrin, "You got any plans for tonight?"

Surprised, I take a second to reply, unsure of where this is going.

"No, it's too late. Ain't really got many friends outside work, anyway." I inform him, going out of the bathroom and into the lounge.

"Fancy coming over? I've got a couple of beers that need drinking, and the hangar is pretty lonely this time of night." 

His offer stumps me for a moment, though I am quick to recover, my mouth working before my mind can catch up.

"Yeah sure. I'll be over in twenty." 

"Great. See you then." He hangs up, leaving me wondering why the hell I accepted that, knowing how much I spend too much time thinking about him (in totally inappropriate ways considering he's my boss) anyway.

Annoyed at myself, I steel myself before going and grabbing a coat, pulling on that and my boots as I leave the flat, taking my motorcycle keys with me. I lock my door behind me, leaving the apartment block quickly, glad to have the fresh air on my face as I make my way over to my motorbike. Looking on it fondly, I climb on and kick out the stand, easily getting it revved up, the vibrating engine beneath me a pleasant feeling. 

Thankfully, the roads are mostly clear this time of night, cutting the twenty minute drive short by five minutes as I go at speed through the nearly deserted outer city. The hangar is usually a pain in the ass to get to, the traffic in the roads leading up to it almost always horrific, so I am only too happy to be able to go much faster now that there's not many other drivers around. With the wind rushing around me, I find that my head clears a little, my attention on navigating the roads rather than the thoughts of my boss doing things to me I'm sure he'd find grotesque in nature. 

I arrive quickly, pulling into the hangar slowly, knowing Barney is most likely in the plane, as he usually is. Stopping the bike, I put it in park before climbing off, hanging my helmet on the handlebars as I do so, taking the keys with me as I walk over to the old plane. Nearing the aircraft, I frown a little at the sight of the new bullet holes riddling the side of it, unaware that we'd taken so much damage earlier in the day. Sighing, I go inside, ducking in through the small door, only now hearing the music playing from the stereo in the cockpit.

"It's gonna need a new lick of paint." I call out to Barney, who I can see sat in his seat, the muscular man turning to look at me as he hears me.

"It's been a long time coming, so I'm not complaining." He replies, grinning at me as I walk into the cockpit, dropping into Christmas' usual seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach from his stare on me again. As I enter, he rakes his eyes over my body, subtly taking my every curve in from where he is.

"Fair enough." I shrug, leaning back slightly, having missed his look, "Got a beer?"

"Yeah, here." Barney hands me a bottle, opening it for me as he does so.

"Cheers." I thank him, taking a deep drink from it as he chuckles lowly, voice sending a bolt of heat through me.

"You're starting to sound like Lee." He remarks, sipping his own bottle with a smirk.

"Should I take that as a compliment? Or an insult?" 

"Up to you." He looks over at me.

"Eh, I'll take compliment. You two get along like an old married couple, after all. Must mean something if you're comparing me to him." I decide, teasing him.

Barney laughs at my comment, lifting his bottle.

"I can agree with that." He hums, staring out of the front window.

For a couple of moments, we sit in companionable silence, drinking our beers, Barney eventually lighting a cigar. Taking a deep inhale, he offers it to me, which I decline, choosing to finish my drink instead.

"What do you usually do after a job?" Barney suddenly asks, glancing back at me.

Surprised, I think over the question for a second.

"Nothing, really. I get myself cleaned up, have a drink, then get some sleep. I don't do much else with my life." I tell him, knowing how pathetic I sound.

"What, you haven't got anyone you can hang out with?" He questions, seemingly confused.

"No. As I said before, I don't really have any friends outside work."

"Really? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

I shake my head, grimacing at the turn in conversation, just missing the slight darkening in his eyes as he looks me over once more.

"Huh. That surprises me." 

Lifting an eyebrow, I look across at him.

"Why?"

He shrugs, making eye contact with me.

"Well, you seem like the person who wouldn't struggle to make friends. You're kind, funny, pretty. You know how to behave in the right situations, you're a good friend to have." He clarifies, seemingly unaware of the impact his words have on me, my heart throbbing as I listen to him, longing building up in me again.

"You think so?" I ask, not quite believing him.

"Yeah, I do." He frowns, looking over at me, "Why, don't you?"

I don't reply, knowing my answer well. He doesn't push it, observing me carefully, his gaze making me blush furiously.

"What'd you do to your hand?" The veteran suddenly asks, gesturing to my bandaged appendage.

"Hm? Oh, I just cut it on some glass back home." I inform him, flexing my hand a little, only to wince at the sharp spike of pain. 

Wordlessly, Barney reaches across and takes my hand in his, his touch setting off sparks through me despite the gentle nature of it. Pulling my arm closer to him, he runs his fingers lightly over my skin, the rough calluses rubbing over the palm of my hand, each stroke making it harder for me to fight off the rising need within me. Being this close to him, able to smell him in nearly every surface around me, feeling his hand on mine has sparked the feelings I've been suppressing as long as I've worked with him. 

Awkwardly, I pull away, swallowing tightly, trying to suppress the urges I'm suddenly feeling, needing to get myself together again. He doesn't stop me, his dark eyes regarding me quietly, observant as always as he seemingly considers something, his gaze sliding over me once more. After a moment, he puts out his cigar, leaning back in his seat.

"Mind doing me a favour?" The muscular man cocks his head at me, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"Er, sure? What do you need?" I agree hesitantly, knowing that expression means only one thing: he's got something up his sleeve.

"Check that control panel up there, would you? It's been giving me trouble for weeks." Barney's eyes are glittering now in the dim light, clearly up to something.

"What, now?" I frown, confused by the instruction.

"If you wouldn't mind." 

Lifting an eyebrow, I place my beer down and get to my feet, awkwardly reaching up to check the panel, which just so happens to be right above his head. I try to keep my body from leaning across him too much, but this is made difficult when I realise that the particular problem lies in the switches even further over. As I go to flick them, a pair of hands takes hold of my waist, suddenly yanking me down towards the chair.

Yelping in surprise, I feel my eyes widen as Barney pulls me down onto his lap, hands tight on my hips, pressing my back flush against his chest. His nose instantly finds my neck, the older man nudging at my skin until I tilt my head to give him access, goosebumps spreading across my skin as I try to process what the hell is happening, my brain short-circuiting with every one of his breaths. They fan out over the sensitive area, my own hitching in my throat as his scruff scratches over my skin, his lips not quite touching me yet, though I can feel their every movement. 

I try to get back up, unwillingly, only for him to loop one of his arms around my front and slip his hand under my shirt, flattening his palm on my stomach to hold me against him.

"I'm not blind, you know, (Y/n). I've seen the way you look at me, the way you behave differently when you're with me. You're not as subtle as you hope." Barney practically purrs into my skin, his smirk obvious against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as I try not to groan.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, sir." I manage out, not quite catching the sound of anticipation that escapes me when he suddenly presses his lips against my ear, whispering into it.

"Really? I think you know very well what I'm talking about." He grins to himself, the hand on my stomach running down to ghost over the waistband of my jeans, my body tensing in his grip, "Want me to demonstrate for you?

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part VI/VII)

"the downfall"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst mostly

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @sunshineandshadows @missmulti @accioweaslcy @andreaareynoso @georgeweasley16 @dianarte @skarlettmikaelson

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

Warnings: language, allusions to sex

A/N: my apologies for keeping y'all waiting for this one darlings, but here comes the next part YAYY! Enjoy <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part III: shock therapy

Part IV: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

He had left me in the room that morning, alone, with regret and guilt straining my chest, with embarrassment and panic heaving over me, my only company being a terrible headache and a sore body.

I was still waiting for him to come back. Of course, he still lived in the apartment, but the day after, he slept at Shell Cottage because Bill needed help with the chores, and the next night at the Burrow because Molly had asked to keep an eye on 'the kids' —the kids being Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione— while she and Arthur were off to visit Andromeda, and at Lee's because Angelina was away and they were going to have a boys' weekend; in summary, he managed to avoid stepping into the flat while I was in there for an entire week.

I would be lying if I said the idea of moving out hadn't crossed my mind, but I knew I was being dramatic— we were being dramatic; we were adults, even if we forgot about it more often than not, and adults talk things out, so I decided to confront him at the only place I would manage to corner him; the shop.

When I descended from the office on the second floor, I spotted the ginger turning the 'CLOSED' to face the glass door. "Oi!" His head snapped to me as I climbed downstairs and he instantly walked to the shelves on the opposite side. "Can I have a word?" I requested, following him, only for George to move on to another shelf.

"Right now I'm quite busy." He replied, seemingly absent-minded as he pretended to check the products in front of him.

"This is important." I insisted, moving to stand besides him.

Not fast enough, though, because he was off to yet another part of the shop as soon as I got close. "I'm sure it can wait."

"You know it can't," I assured intently, stalking after him, only for him to speed up his own pace, moving from product to product without stopping too long in front of him. "George I'm- Oi, stop! We need to talk about this!"

"Well maybe I don't wanna talk about this!" He exclaimed, taking big steps under one of the stairs in order to shamelessly dodge the hand with which I had reached out to stop him.

"George Weasley don't run away from me!"

"I'm not running away from you!"

"You're literally RUNNING AWAY!"

He stopped circling the counter and stood across from me, slamming his palms over the till. "ALRIGHT, LOVE!" for the first time, I didn't like the way the name dripped off his tongue. "Let's talk about how we accidentally FUCKED! That's what you want so badly, isn't it?!" Flush crept up his neck and ears, and I couldn't tell if it was from anger or from timidness. "Go on, darling, lead the bloody way!"

I felt my own cheeks going red, partly because of his straightforward statement but also because I genuinely had never heard George raise his voice like he had just done.

"Cat's got your tongue now?!" My stuttering seemed to fuel his anger more. "C'mon, Y/n, talk! You wanted to talk!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, GEORGE!" He clenched his jaw as his freckles drowned in a sea of pinkish red. "Yeah I want to talk! 'Cause that's what grown-ups do! We don't know how to act around each other so we just don't spend time together anymore— Fuck, I've barely seen you! AND WE. LIVE. TOGETHER!" I emphasised each word with stomps. "We can either pretend it didn't happen or talk it out to make sure we're on the same page, you choose but for Merlin's sake, don't avoid me!"

"OKAY!" His eyes widened, surprised at his own tone, and then he repeated in a softer, self-conscious one, "Okay." He breathed deeply and then added. "We're on the same page, right?" His eyebrows raised as he looked into my eyes. "It was... A mistake."

I should have noticed the uncertainty and hope in his voice, but I panicked and was too quick to respond, "Yeah! A massive mistake." My words stung my heart and, to my dismay, his own just as much. "Can we go back to being friends? Because I'm going crazy without you." I blamed our watery eyes to the argument we had had, and not to the fact that it had been a mistake.

He circled the counter and walked to me, hesitating before pulling me into a hug. "Can I...?" I tugged him closer, wrapping my arms around his middle. It took a moment for him to ease into my embrace, and I could tell we had fucked up our friendship for good. "It's alright, we'll make it right again." His words made me squeeze him tighter, as if he was about to vanish from my side.

And from then, we tried to make it right, we tried so hard, because it seemed so easy to make it wrong again.

Everytime we stood too close, everytime he leaned on to whisper something, everytime I helped him with his tie, our eyes would fall on each other's lips; I would sometimes drift off the conversation, staring too much at his mouth and hands, wandering if they would feel just as amazing as they had done while we were drunk.

"Y/n are you listening?"

"Uh yeah- I mean, no- sorry, what?"

I was so focused on trying to hide it that I didn't notice George was in the exact same situation, meaning that neither of us could give in, because we would go down together. In all honesty, it was doomed to happen at some point, we were just delaying the inevitable.

The moment came the last night of January, when George showed up in my room due to a really rough nightmare, and I, as always, invited him in so we could lay down together.

"Isn't this... Weird?" He murmured as we scooted closer. We had kept physical contact at bay for obvious reasons, and cuddling had been off the table since New Year.

"It doesn't have to be." I replied, my voice as quiet as his. "We've done this a thousand times."

"Right." He cleared his throat, averting his eyes from mines as we shifted in our places ever so slightly, trying to find a position where the situation turned less awkward.

And it happened, my mind got lost on the way his neck tensed, on the damp locks hanging over his forehead, sweaty due to the nightmare; on his plump lips, which he had just wetted with his tongue in the most subtle way. It was a nervous habit of him, something he would usually do, but that didn't make it any less hot.

"George..." I called his name without noticing, my heart hammering violently against my chest when his gaze landed on my eyes, quickly falling on my lips.

The next thing I knew was that he was holding my thigh over his hip, his other hand on the back of my neck while we shared a hungry kiss that, as soon as my hips involuntarily rocked against his, turned into something more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

The next morning we swore to each other that it was just another accident, that it would happen again.

And the next one too.

And the following.

The fifth time that happened, we agreed to call the situation a 'friends with benefits' kind of thing, well aware that it was an euphemism for the downfall of our friendship.

I had longed to be hers for so long, and it that moment, as I lay by her side in her bed, that wish seemed so close yet so far; I could reach out and my fingertips would touch her skin, yet I had never felt that distant towards her.

The moment my eyes were averted from her form, her gaze was laid on me. "You don't have to go."

"I know." I replied in a mumble, already sitting up and reaching for my pants. "But soon we'll have to get up, so I might as well do that and let you sleep." I didn't want to turn around, I didn't want to see her beautiful irises pleading for me to stay by her side, because I knew I would.

I saw on my peripheral vision her fingers attempting to carefully wrap around my wrist, and I was quick to stand up and walk to the door; sadly, I did not miss Y/n burying her face into the pillow, her hands fisting on the fabric ever so subtly.

She tried to hide her tears like that, and I agressively wiped mines as soon as I reached the corridor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Morning, lady!" I light-heartedly greeted Y/n without turning my back to the making of our breakfast when I heard the steps approaching the kitchen.

In the morning it was easier to pretend everything was back to normal; usually, the refreshing sunlight and the drowsiness provided by a night of sleep were enough to wash away the sad truth of our relationship.

"Good morning, sir." She responded with a yawn, rubbing her eyes as she walked to stand besides me, leaning against the counter with her arms folded. "Smells good." She commented, leaning on to take a peek at the scrambled eggs.

I was about to make a cocky, playful comment when it dawned on me what she was wearing; it was my jumper, one of the old ones that I exclusively used for pyjamas.

I knew she didn't do it intently; I had left it on the floor the previous night, and it was probably the first thing she grabbed, but it struck a nerve.

I had seen a similar scene way too many times before; a sleepy, dishevelled Y/n entering the kitchen with an ugly Weasley jumper as only clothing, ready to start the bickering with an almost identical version of me who would be making breakfast.

My head then travelled to the thought that lately crossed my mind more often than not and my heart clenched; In Y/n's eyes, I was, most likely, just a poor replacement for Fred.

"You alright?" That worried furrow appeared between her brows too often lately. We were both walking on eggshells, and it got me on my nerves.

"You don't have to ask if I'm alright every time I'm quiet." I hadn't meant it to come out harsh or curt, but it definitely did.

"You're not quiet, you're overthinking." She responded with a tinge of hostility.

"What's to overthink?" I fought the need to raise my voice.

"Dunno, you tell me." She squinted her eyes with a scrutinising gaze directed to me.

"Can we not do this?" I almost pleaded; heated arguments had become a usual thing between us —yet another sign of the unfixable problem we refused to address.

Y/n was about to reply something that would lead us into a fight when the doorbell rung. "Mister Weasley?" I took that as a cue to go open the door to Verity, already dressed on her uniform. "The Valentine's Day products arrived, should I unpack them or..." Her eyes flickered behind me and her cheeks heated up. "Y/n—" When I looked over my shoulder, I felt my own face flushing out of embarrassment. Y/n was still my employee and Fred's ex, so Verity catching a glimpse of her dressed in my jumper wasn't the best thing for any of us. "I— am I— sorry, am I interrupting?"

"You're not interrupting." I assured her with a reassuring smile. "Leave the boxes on the puking pastries section, we'll be down in ten."

"Alright, sir." Her curious gaze travelled to Y/n one last time, and with that, she was rushing back down to the shop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

The ache that had appeared on my chest the day after New Year would end up killing me, or at least it felt like that.

I had a dreadful gut feeling of knowing what caused that pain, but my mind refused to believe it was that, and kept pushing the sensation back into my heart day by day.

George had gone to relocate the puking pastries in the upper level of the shop so I could prepare the section with the Valentine's Day products.

My eyes dawned on the small packages of Amortentia. I knew it was a terrible idea but I needed to know.

I took a look around, making sure Verity wasn't near and George was up still, and brought one of the Amortentias under my nose. It didn't take long for the scents to besot me, and I had to put all my will on not to fall under the potion's spell.

The first smell to reach my nostrils was gunpowder; my heart skipped a bit when the next scent was vanilla.

Then strawberry and chocolate; candy floss cupcakes and George's cologne.

The tiny, heart-shaped bottle fell from my hands, scattering all over the shop's floor. "Shit!" I rapidly kneeled to pick the shattered glass when I realized it had echoed in the empty establishment.

"Oi! What was that?" George descended from the second floor, using the ladder. "Oh shit—" his hands took a hold on my bicep and pulled me away from the pool of pinkish pearl liquid that seemed to be attracting me. "Don't!" He warned Verity, who had attempted to jog in the potion's direction too. "Verity, can you bring me my wand?" The girl complied running up to the office.

In Verity's absence, George took the chance and cupped my cheeks, tilting my head up to check my eyes. "You alright?" I managed to give him a slow nod, my mind buzzing with the newly acquired information. "Getting the Amortentias was a bad idea, wasn't it?" I nodded again, producing a frown between his eyebrows. "No 'told you so'? Are you sure you're alright?" He chuckled nervously, his hands falling to his sides right in time for Verity to rush back to us.

"Here, Mister Weasley!"

"Thank you, darling." He politely replied, taking the wand and restoring the potion bottle in a swift movement. His eyes peeked at me again; I could see the worry growing on him. "Y/n-"

"I'm gonna go wash my face." The words hastily left my mouth before I dashed off to the restroom.

I closed the door behind me and took a look at the mirror; my pupils were blown and my cheeks pink. I ran the tab and splashed the water on my face a few times until the potion's mild effect was gone and my mind clear.

It was in that moment that it dawned on me that I was in love with George Weasley.

[jamesbuchananbarnesslut]

Monster Hunter Ch. 1

Pairing: Will Ransome x Female Reader

Words: 1,516

Summary: The year was 1893 in Aldwinter Essex and William Ransome, vicar, has been battling with his towns people and the myth of monsters. Especially, after strange things keep happening in town, most recently an earthquake and even children and locals reporting the sighting of a blackwater beast. Although Will, himself doesn't believe in monsters he's been struggling to convince the town people otherwise. The problem further escalates when men of the town all begin having similar dreams and describe the same woman appearing in them. After each person has these dreams, they seem to be weaker either physically or mentally and, in most cases, have been found dead. The dreams also only started occurring after a new spinster named Y/N moved in on the outskirts of town. With all the increasing rumors, Will is forced to step in and begin to decipher what's happening especially whether he believes these things are real.  

Warnings: yes there is smut in the first piece, but it’s just with Will’s wife. Fingering and P in the V

Tiny Tag List: @venusofthehardsells @spooky1980

Notes: This story first of all wouldn’t be happening without @venusofthehardsells she was the on who first introduced me to these Tom Hiddleston photos. Which in thus created a thirst and need for a fic. But the fic is now a series! I also have not actually read The Essex Serpent and have no idea how the show is going to go, so this is my OWN interpretation and telling of his character. Please enjoy, like, reblog, and leave lots of comments!

Master List

Series Master List

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

Will's P.O.V

I had spent another long grueling day arguing with the members of my communion about whether the myths and monsters circulating our small town were real. The rumors began last summer and only thus worsened. I'm at my wits end with it all, and just need a way to qualm what the town is currently feeling. As I worked my way back into my office, I couldn't help but think that the new spinster, Y/N, on the outskirts of town had to have something to do with this all. Considering she had moved in around last summer when the blackwater beast stories first presented themselves. But now that she, herself, was appearing in men's dreams, and then a lot of those men found dead. It was suspicious and she surely has something to do with it all, maybe if not monsters and myths than some type of black magic or witchery.  

By the time I made it back to my office I couldn't help but pull out my hidden bottle of gin and pour myself a drink before I sat down. I manage to swallow the drink all in one swig and end up pouring myself another. Sitting down at my desk with the bottle, I press my fingers to my temples and hunch over the desk. Pondering what's been happening to my small town and why everything's suddenly topsy-turvy. I also can't help but think about how this is going to further affect the towns faith in God, especially thier view him. While my thoughts are still swirling, I throw back my second drink and decide to pour another.  

As if I have a chance to relax though, there's an overflowing pile of paperwork on my desk I still need to sort out. As well as a stack of mail that's been neglected for far too long. That's when I decide it's time to down my third drink and start sorting through the paperwork and at least categorizing it. By the time I finish organizing I have a stack of marriage certificates, christenings, new memberships, and even a decent amount of death certificates. The mail will have to wait until the morning I haven't been home all week; I keep falling asleep in my office or waking up somewhere in the pews. But I know my wife is beginning to worry and I should probably make my way home before I get stuck here.  

I pour myself one final drink for the road, throw it back and begin to push myself to my feet. I tuck the gin back in its hiding place within the bookshelf and begin to shut down the building while heading out. Specifically, blowing out all the candles, turning off oil lamps and locking the doors. Even in a buzzed stupor those are things I never forget.  

I stumble down the steps of the church and make it to the cobblestone street heading towards home. Even though there aren't many streetlamps providing light, there's a clear sky and a full moon making everything gleam and glisten in the dark. As I continue my march home, I pass one of the local pubs and see none other than Y/N, herself outside it. Conversing with John Smith, one of the older blacksmiths. It seems to be a deep intimate moment, that I interrupt by holding my gaze towards them too long. Catching their attention and weird glares back. I tip my head to them and continue walking, hoping I haven't soured their mood.  

By the time I make it home, I can see all the oil lamps are off and two candles going, one in my bedroom meaning the Mrs.'s is up reading or waiting for me. And one in the kitchen, she must have put leftovers out for me. How many times has that this happened this week? I don't want to disturb anybody, so I enter the house through the rear door that leads directly into the kitchen. There's a plate of cold food on the table for me, that I scarf down ravenously. With how little I've been home; I really haven't been eating either. Once I'm done, I rinse off the dishes, setting them aside to be washed in the morning and blow out the candle.  

I slowly make my way upstairs and begin to plot ways to get myself out of this argument with my wife. Maybe because the kids were still sleeping, she'd put off the spat and wait till she sent them off too school or her parents. Either way I wasn't prepared to walk in and find her sitting naked in the candlelight. It's almost like she knew I'd finally make my way home tonight. That or she's been truly waiting each night like this for my return home. Either way I didn't deserve a woman as good as her.  

Her sultry voice broke my shocked stupor, "I was beginning to wonder when I'd ever see you again."

I run my hands through my hair, a nervous habit, and work up a response, "you know, I can't rest easy until I convince everyone that this blackwater serpent isn't real. And now I have reports of Y/N appearing in men's dreams and a lot of those men begin found dead within a couple days or weeks shortly thereafter."

I must have been running my mouth because by the time I look to my wife again she is already up from the bed and stripping me of my clothing.  

"I understand that this is a huge deal honey, but you can't keep burning the candle at both ends and pushing yourself like this," she states while finishing pulling the reaming clothes from my body. "Come, join me in bed maybe if I provide my wifely duties, I can help break you out of this stump." Which is followed by her hands caressing my chest and moving up towards my neck, face and into my hair. Where she pulls my gaze to hers to get a clear look in my eyes. I know she can see how tired and stressed out I am.  

I let her pull me into bed, she makes it so I land on top of her, and I can't help but agree that now would be a good time to have sex. It also means she isn't mad or at least she's trying to amend things this way instead. I begin to kiss her and settle myself in between her legs where my member begins to harden against her. Our kissing becomes passionate, and I feel her entrance slicken. I slide my fingers along her slit and begin to spread her wetness around causing mewls to spill from her mouth into mine. Once she's decently wet, I slip a finger and then two into her, working them at a steady pace. While I move my lips to her chest and tell her she must quiet herself or else she'll wake the children in a hushed mummer.  

After I feel her cum around my finger, I work that same hand over my member, making sure to get it nice and wet. Then I line myself up with her entrance and push in slowly, while putting my hand over her mouth.  

"You just can't help yourself tonight my dear," I mumble into her ear while giving her a chance to adjust to my member in her. She bites my hand, a clear sign I need to get a move on, and I begin to push myself in and out of her tight channel. The pace isn't slow for long though and I begin pounding into her. Her whines spilling out but muffled behind my hand.  

"I know your close again, cum with me yeah?" She nods and with that I drop my hips lower changing the angle. Which immediately triggers her orgasm, causing her tight channel to milk me and pushing me into my orgasm. I pump my seed into her and then roll of to the side. Pulling her tightly into my arms I drift off into sleep thinking about Y/N, John Smith, and the rumors circulating our small town.  

[heresathreebee]

Brackish and Briny Waters (five)

[Ralph Lamont x Female Reader]

Summary: Ralph apologizes and you've got baby brains, but sometimes life does nothing but kick you down. Previous Masterlist Next

Tag(s): 16+ | 1.7k words | more angst, baby fever, alcoholism, ghostly vibes

AN: GODDAMN Part 5 took me a lifetime to finish. As always no beta readers just poorly side eyeing this by myself and hoping it makes sense

THE NEXT MORNING

You barely stir when you hear the door open. You've all but forgotten last night, and yet you flinch when Ralphie tries to cuddle with you. He sighs somewhere near your ear and hugs you from behind anyways, lips brushing the nape of your neck and breath fanning over your back as he simply lies there, quiet as the grave. 

There's no bruise but you can still feel his hand gripping your arm from last night. "You're being a huge dick…" 

"... I know." 

That is not good enough. You roll over to face him and watch his face twist when he notices the tract marks of dry tears on your face. He swallows and almost unconsciously takes your hand, smoothing his thumb over the back of your palm in a way that was meant to comfort him rather than you. 

"I'm sorry." He opens his mouth again but he flounders for words. After a deep breath he continues. "We can't call Reagan. Because he won't do anything for us…" 

You wait impatiently for him to explain. 

"Sweetheart, if we called Reagan last night, he would have fucking laughed at us. It is step one down that slippery slope to the couple who cried wolf." He put a hand on your shoulder and looked you in the eye, "do you really think he would have done something?" 

You think about it. If Ralph hadn't stopped you from calling him, what would you have said to Reagan? 

I smelled exhaust fumes. Not an emergency, he would say. 

I think he found us. What do you want me to do about it, too late now, he would ask.  

We're in danger. I'll send a squad upstate, they should be there in 4 hours, he would joke. 

"It was real," you insist. "I smelled fumes." 

"I know. I believe you." 

You squint at him threateningly and he doesn't give an inch. He doesn't seem like he's mocking you. 

Ralph could be an asshole, but Reagan was infinitely worse. At least one of them gave a shit about your safety. The realization Ralph was right scared you more than anything. You were alone in this… 

Well, alone together. 

You sigh and bury your face in his neck. Your hair is tangled as shit and probably tickling his face, but your husband simply wraps you up in a tight embrace and holds you against him. It's all the apology you need. 

END OF THE FIRST MONTH

Adjusting to your new life hit you like a sack of bricks early on a Monday morning. You woke up from a dream where you still lived in your tiny little apartment two minutes walk from everything. In a reality which felt more like a fever dream, Ralph was late for work, donning a tie and tweed jacket and kissing you goodbye for the day. 

You never realized how much space there was in the new master bedroom. In the apartment, a queen sized bed nearly touched the walls and barely left room to creep around two night stands and a dresser, but in the new house you had room to lay on the floor and stretch, maybe put another piece of furniture in here like a bookshelf or something. 

And the whole damn house was like that. You had an entire second floor to claim as your own! There is almost too much space… too much space for just the two of you. 

God there's that thought again drifting into your mind unbidden, unfurling like a fern at the first droplet of sunshine. How many people does it take to turn a house into a home? Three should be plenty, your mind offers. 

You busy yourself with measurements, regrouting the loose tiles in the kitchen floor, and scrubbing the blackened hell out of that downstairs bathroom. It seems to come to life beneath your hands and you can feel yourself getting excited to show guests the improvement. 

The thoughts of turning your little twosome family into three persist over and over until you can't stand it any longer. Maybe it's finally time… 

Ralph's late getting home by 5 minutes instead of 5 hours but he still looks tired. No mud tracks on his pants or hard set eyes. He's halfway up the stairs before you realize he's probably going to bed early. 

"Hey!" 

Ralph stops like it pains him. His head sags and his hold on the railing is tight like he'll fall if he lets go. The way he's wobbling he might. He is barely able to meet your eyes as he glances over his shoulder and when he does he simply grunts. 

"I made dinner," you squeeze your hands together behind your back, "angel hair pasta and that sauce you love." 

Ralph's eyes flicker in thought. "Be down in a second." 

You wait nervously to see if he does come down. What if this is a bad idea? What if he doesn't take you seriously? Oh god what if he hates it, what if he calls you an idiot for even considering it? 

Ralph does come back downstairs, hair wild from running his fingers through it. He seems to gain a small amount of energy while eating, not wanting to talk himself but asking how your day has been going. 

You're definitely rambling right now. Ralph listens and listens, chuckling along but at some point he grows concerned and envelopes your hand with a worried expression on his face. "Jesus, I've never heard so many words come out of your mouth at once, it's like you're writing a dissertation over there. Are you OK, baby?" 

You snap your mouth shut. God, you hadn't even come close to talk about kids for all your rambling. And then there was that weird smell… 

Your blood runs cold as you recognize it. You lean a little closer to Ralph and he almost instinctively flinches away. If there's one thing you are sure of, one thing you could swear on god– Ralph Lamont has never flinched away from a kiss before. So he has something to hide. And that something has a sharp scent and explains his slow reactions and tired eyes better than anything else could. 

"Have you… have you been drinking?" 

It's the way he can't meet your eyes when you ask him. You know. It's beyond out of character, so much so that it's confusing and a little frightening for you. 

A little drink here and there is, to you, to be expected especially considering the wealth of your new company. So why hide it? Is there something else he's not telling you?

You suddenly feel sick and too hot, ripping your hand away from his and getting up to leave the table. 

He knows you get in your head sometimes and practically yells your name to stop you. "I'm… I don't know why I…" 

Ralph sighs and buries his face into his hands, ashamed. All this suspense is twisting knots in your stomach. You sit back down gingerly, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. 

"Ralph," you warn, "you had better start explaining yourself right now before I lose it." 

Ralph stares a hole into the table and worries his lip. The truth is he doesn't know what to say because he doesn't know why he did it. The students are easy, you are easy. Even in the toughest of times, at his lowest, he didn't drink so… what the fuck was coming over him?, he asked himself. 

Something clicked. It rolled like fire in his belly given dry wood, smoking curling to the top of his throat and out of his ears. "They hate me." 

"Who? Who hates you?" 

"Everyone." 

You looked him in the eye for the first time tonight and saw something dark looking in there. It makes you uneasy. "What makes you think they hate you, baby?" 

Ralph's grip on his fork tightens until his knuckles are white before he gingerly sets the dishware down and deflates. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with a sardonic grin. 

"You wouldn't understand… and how could you? You never leave the house." He looks at you and there's a growing instability rising in his movements. "You… you don't see it. It started out as little nothings that I could ignore because it didn't matter that they didn't like me: I was new.  

"Then it became lots of these little nothings. Staring and whispering and hushed silences. Tip toeing language and poking and prodding and testing me and my limits and it just… it just… it never got better…" 

Rumors. It dawned on you that his frustration seemed intimately familiar to you as you had had to change schools once or twice due to a few terrible rumors that snowballed and got way out of hand. And you can imagine the sort of rumors that accompany a man with little interest in making friends who has a wife nobody knows anything about. 

If you wanted to stay here long, you would need to change a few minds. You set aside your fear for a moment and make him look at you. You can see the unshed tears in his eyes and feel pity for him. 

"I want to do that dinner party," you announce. "With all that's gone on, you probably didn't have the grand introduction you deserve. Let me show them how much you mean to me." 

Ralph's shaking his head but he already knows you'll win this fight. For him it feels like begging for something he doesn't even want. He agrees because he already promised you could when you were ready and you needed to find new friends asap. 

His sleep that night is fitful and the room's shadows seem to reach out like claws seeking his immortal soul. When the haze of whiskey finally dies down in his system he sleeps dreamless and wakes to feel somehow more hollow with despair than before. 

Ralph Lamont has the distinct feeling things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before anything gets better…

@werwulfy @fundamentally-lazy @escape-your-grape @mimiscappinisideblog @go-commander-kim

[dean-winchesters-gardian-angel]

The Same bed - Chapter 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Friends are there to help each other out, but can they help falling for each other when all the long days they spend together turn into late nights they have and their reliance on each other.

Word count: 2544

Warnings: Fluff, angst, description of blood and injuries, nightmares, slow burn.

A/N: Chapter 4! Off we go. Read it enjoy and I’ll see you on the other side. There’s also a tag list, so be sure to tell me if you want in, as well as a masterlist so be sure to check it out. As are the latests, Unbeta’d all mistakes are mine.

Series masterlist 

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Dean didn't sleep that night, too busy cursing himself for hurting Y/N and simultaneously afraid he may have a nightmare. He had gotten up several times with the intention of going to her room and seeking forgiveness if she'd give it to him, though he wouldn't blame her if she refused. Instead, he'd pace around his room or make it as far as her door before heading to the bathroom to wash his face rather than knocking.

The next night Dean had been too exhausted to stay awake, now accustomed to getting around 8 hours he passed out some time just after 2 in the morning while everyone else slept soundly. Dean managed to get just over an hour of shut-eye before waking up to one of his worst nightmares. He jolted up with a scream though quickly cut himself off as to not wake anyone. Nevertheless, he was half a scream too late as Y/N sat up in her own bed wanting to go check on him but refused due to her own stubbornness.

Dean mumbled a 'son of bitch' before getting up and making his way to the kitchen to get started on some coffee. Dean was given about 2 hours to contemplate his idiocy towards Y/N before his brother found his way to the kitchen.

"Dean?"

"Huh? Hey, morning."

"Man, you look like trash."

"Oh, thanks you're not so bad yourself in the shorts." Sam looked to his running shorts before rolling his eyes.

"You always did give me a hard time for wanting to stay in shape."

"Hunting keeps you in shape, not some little jaunt you do every morning. Hey, speaking of, have you found any new cases seems like forever since we've killed a deserving asshat."

"I've been talking to Jody and Donna, they've got a lead on a vamp nest, said they're heading out in two days and we're more than welcome to tag along."

"So, tomorrow. What time."

"They wanted to hit it just after sundown. So, we would leave tomorrow morning if you're interested."

"Oh, I'm interested, give me some' to kill."

"Dean are you sure you're okay. You usually become self-destructive when you've got something going on, something you need to talk about."

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"I'd mention that Y/N isn't sleeping in your room anymore, but I think that'd just make you mad considering that's probably what's bothering you."

"So much for not mentioning it." Dean swallowed what was left in his coffee cup before washing it and setting it in the dry rack. He made his way back to his room hoping his brother would take the hint and leave for his run, which he did. Once he heard the bunker door shut Dean went back to the kitchen to have another cup of coffee. As he sat down the sound of footsteps padding down the hall alerting him that Y/N had awoken. Dean straightened his posture as she entered the kitchen making her way to the cabinet to fish out a mug without making eye contact.

"Morning Y/N."

"Oh my god! It speaks." She filled her mug before walking out having not looked him in the eyes once. Dean rested his chin in his palm kicking himself for having hurt her. After a deep sigh, he dragged his palm over his face closing his eyes momentarily allowing them some rest from the lights of the bunker. Dean strolled his way to Y/N's room and knocked on her door. He heard her sniffle some before the door swung open, Y/N standing in front of him, eyebrows raised clearly on her last nerve.

"I just wanted to let you know we've got a case tomorrow, with Jody and Donna, we've got to leave early-ish so, you know, you might want to pack today so you're not rushing. Anyway, just keeping you in the loop." Y/N looked at her best friend whose eyes were tired, red, and glossy, staring at the ground in front of him. She missed him, but she didn't know why he was angry at her.

"Thanks." She turned away from him intent on closing her door to block the view of the broken man she so deeply cared about and wanted to help, and he spoke.

"Y/N."

"Yeah?" Dean swallowed trying to think of what he wanted to say to her but came up with nothing. There wasn't anything specific he wanted to tell her in that moment he just wanted to be with her. In the same room sitting next to her, looking at her. He wanted to spend time with his best friend whom he had been missing lately but if there was one person more stubborn than Y/N it was Dean.

"Nothing...nothing." With a sad smile and a sigh, Dean walked to his own room with the aim of avoiding her, once again, all day.

Dean listens as Y/N played her music in her room and smiled when the Grease love song came though it wasn't given a chance to finish before Y/N skipped it. He could hear his brother and Y/N talking in the library during the day occasionally finding something funny as they giggled in unison. He missed having her, missed being the one laughing with her, or even just talking with her.

Nearing the end of the day, Dean made his way out of his room for the first time that to grab a snack before trying his hand at some forty winks, wanting to be rested up before their hunt tomorrow. The energy of the room sizzled to nothing as he entered the kitchen. Sammy and Y/N were sitting next to each other looking at pictures of haircuts on the internet.

"Seriously Sam, I've been cutting my own hair my whole life. Just let me add a little shape to it. A little trim here and there I can make you look like the handsome devil you really are."

"I'm not letting you cut my hair. I don't trust you not to just cut it all off. Besides, I don't—" Both their eyes looked up to Dean as he stood in the doorway observing their interaction. Once he noticed their gaze he moved to the counter, pulling a bowl from the cupboard and reaching for the box of cereal.

"Sam and I made pasta if you're hungry for real food." Dean looked over the noodles as his tummy growled, licking his lips.

"Dean, just have some, we're not gonna finish it. It'll just end up going to waste." He hesitantly looked over his shoulder forcing a smile to Y/N who had the smallest one of her on her face. She watched him as he traded his bowl for a plate. Dean plated himself some of the homemade food before Y/N gestured at the spot in front of herself and Sam along with the parmesan on the table. Dean took a seat not wanting to be impolite more so than he'd already been.

"Anyway, I'm trying to convince Sam to let me trim his hair."

"You're not touching my hair with a ten-foot pole."

"Oh, come on Sam it grows back. You'll see, it'll look really good and you won't even want to grow it back. Won't be in your eyes anymore, won't distract you during hunts, monsters won't be able to grab at it. You know I make a good case."

"Sure. But you're still not cutting my hair." Meanwhile, Dean was silently moaning at the flavours on his plate. Y/N watched as the eldest closed his eyes savouring the taste, before he spoke, displaying his voice to them for the first time since the early morning.

"This is kind of amazing. I don't think I've ever had spaghetti this amazing. What jar did you guys use?" Referring to the sauce that had his taste buds dancing on his tongue.

"Actually, Y/N made the sauce."

"My mum used to make these gigantic pots of spaghetti sauce and freeze it so we could have it whenever we want. I was missing it, so I made some from memory. It's not hers but I think it turned out alright. I know I missed something, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was." Dean looked up, his mouth full, to the women speaking, no longer focusing on him rather in her head desperately searching for the missing ingredient, as he swallowed.

"You made the sauce? From scratch?"

"Uh-huh. Yeah, I mean it's not really that hard just time consuming, you have to let it simmer for a little bit, but I think it's worth it. Once in a while at least."

"You mind if I have more?"

"Go right ahead. Sam and I both already had seconds." Dean finished what was left and helped himself to more before moving back to his spot at the table.

"Sam promised to make me the 'Winchester Surprise' one day? Said you used to make it for him." Sam looked to his brother who reminisced, thinking back to the worst meals he had prepared for his baby brother.

"It was terrible. Sam that's — to repay her for this. Seriously Y/N you won't want to eat anything we make for the rest of your life. It was god awful."

"As much as I believe you because I do, by the description, Sam gave me, oh boy, I'll still be the judge of that." Dean chuckled at her retort missing her effortless comebacks and modesty when it came to the things she was good at, though he found it frustrating when she didn't accept the compliment he'd give her. He wanted her to brag about how many Djinns she could kill in a week, or in this case how good the sauce was instead of saying it wasn't perfect, so he'd done it for her, telling his brother when she would do something 'awesome', as he'd put it, that made him feel proud to call himself her friend. The guilt he felt was sudden and overwhelming. Even after he'd gone days without speaking to her, after pushing her away so abruptly, she was still offering him dinner, the conversation, the casual smile, the eye contact. How he longed for her eye contact. She had always been able to communicate with him with her eyes. He craved her gaze, how her orbs would sparkle when she was happy or grow dark when hooded with anger. But the thing he loved the most about her eyes was the fact that when they looked into his, it was like nothing else mattered. He could see he had her attention, and he wouldn't want to look away.

"I'm—ehem— I'm heading to bed, didn't sleep well last night, gonna try to rest up before our hunt tomorrow." Dean looked to Y/N who had a saddened look on her face, clearly angry and confused as to why Dean wouldn't let her help him. When he noticed the look on her face, he realized his words and quickly made up an excuse for why he couldn't sleep hoping to ease Y/Ns mind indirectly.

"Maybe it was a full moon, could never sleep well during a full moon."

"Full moon was last week Dean." Y/N answered him with an unreadable expression along with it. He didn't respond in an effort to save what dignity he had left. He forced a smile in Y/Ns direction as he passed by, once he'd finished cleaning his dishes.

"You mind telling me what's going on between the two of you Y/N?"

"Honestly Sam I haven't got the slightest."

"I know you two were sharing a bed... was that like—"

"If you're suggesting that we were a thing then no. He slept better when there was someone in the room with him, so I was that someone. Then out of the blue, he got distant and said he didn't need me anymore so." She shrugged not sure how to further explain their recent exchanges. "I know he's not through with the nightmares though because I heard his screams last night. I didn't check on him 'cause I was angry at him saying they were done, and he didn't need me anymore, but it was petty. I wanted him to stew in his nightmare, remember how bad they were before I told him I'd stay. I just don't understand him, I didn't do anything to warrant his actions. I haven't bothered asking why he's mad at me and even if I did, he'd just ignore me some more so what's the point. He's being a child. He's acting like I killed his brother when really all I'm trying to do is cut his hair." Her joke succeeded in lightening the mood as Sam chuckled moving to the sink to clean off his plate.

"You're a good influence on him, you know?"

"Why's that."

"Well for starters, he washed his plate."

"Oh yeah, I yelled at him this one time for leaving a mess, which I'm pretty sure was actually mine from the night before, but he hasn't left dirty dishes since so I guess it all worked out." Sam outright laughed at that before excusing himself to prepare for bedtime.

By the time 8 o'clock rolled around the bunker was silent, everyone in their respective bedrooms reading or watching a little telly before getting some rest. Due to the lack of sleep the nights prior and the upcoming hunt, Dean closed his eyes tight willing the nightmares away as he gripped his sheets. It didn't take him long to doze off though and it didn't last long before he was startled awake by Y/Ns voice. "Dean! Wake up!" She looked terrified, holding Dean down by his shoulders. "You idiot. Get up."

"Y/N? Why? What's—" She dragged him out of bed to the bathroom.

"Look at your hand Dean." She could hear the anger in her voice frustrated with him for refusing her help. The help they both knew would work. Dean looked down at the palm she hadn't grasped as she marched him down the hall like a child in trouble. It was bleeding, trailing down his fingers, shards of dark glass still imbedded in the tender skin of his palm.

"How did—" It came out as a whisper, laced with sleep as he did his best to orientate himself. Y/N turned on the light in the bathroom before forcibly sitting him on the lid of the toilet.

"You must have grabbed the beer bottle on your nightstand in your sleep." Y/N had pulled out the first aid kit they had stored under the sink along with a pair of tweezers, kneeling in front of the older Winchester.

"Y/N you don't have to—"

"I swear Dean if you tell me you don't need my help one more time I swear," she looked up from his palm to glare at him, "I’m going to tie you down until you get past... what ever this is." She didn't break eye contact with him until he nodded, shamefully looking down at the injury he only now started to feel.

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Chapter 5 ~~ Out now!

Tag List: @akshi8278​ @bargedog @just-someone-difficult​ @mila-dans​ @valhallavxlkyrie​

Series Tags: @autobotgirl15-blog​ @classyunknownlover​ @laycblack​ @lovememisha​ @music-is-all-i-need​ @redbarn1995​ @wellfuckmyexistence​

[letitrainathousandflames]

ILL INDULGE!! Alpha-17 + escaped from Empire + being comforted from a nightmare?? I've got more once I finish some mother's day things!!

THANK YOU! Here goes:

-

Rating: Teens and Up

Tags: PTSD, Nightmares, Crying, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Reader/Clone

-

Ever since the two of you had moved in together, Alpha-17 had been sleeping on your couch rather than your bed, despite your insistence for him to join you in the bedroom.

Don’t get it wrong, he would give you everything you could want and more as the loving boyfriend he was, and this was literally the only thing that bothered you about him.

(“I’m a noisy sleeper,” he would say every time, “I’ll end up keeping you up. Can’t do that to my cyare, now can I?”)

The two of you have been living together since... well, since he had to escape the Empire and you had met him, working as a bounty hunter so he wouldn’t starve and maybe be able to eventually pay for a one-way trip to the outer rim, as far from the capital as possible.

When he asked where he could find shelter for the night for fifty credits at the bar you were working, you looked at this man, his unshaven face and exhausted eyes and told him that not even the cheapest places would take such small pay... but he was free to crash at your couch for the night.

And so he did. Thank the stars, he accepted your offer to crash at your place whenever he needed or his job took him close to your planet again, and every time the two of you met - including the one occasion you had to help him fix some nasty work-related wounds - you grew closer. One night after a few sips of Corellian wine you ended up sharing a long, tender kiss and before you knew it, you were straddling him, grinding on his codpiece and-

Well, let’s just say that your friendship to the clone had some extra benefits after that.

The steamy nights of mindless sex led to long conversations afterwards, and lazy mornings with breakfast in bed, the whole process so organic you took a while to realize that you two were no longer two strangers sharing the same space and occasionally fucking each other senseless: you were dating.

-

Which brought you back to now.

“I’m your girlfriend, Alpha.” You cross your arms, rubbing at them with hurt clear in your voice “I wanna sleep together. Please, I swear I won’t mind some snoring.”

Alpha looks away from you, fixing up a pillow on the couch and the blue blanket you would always lend him for the night. His entire demeanor is awkward, his jaw set and his throat bobbing as he swallows down, gritting his teeth.

“It’s-” he hesitates to then lightly punch the pillow in place “it’s not snoring, I just- I like having my space.”

“Alpha...”

“Just let it go.” Alpha’s tone is harsh but it softens quickly “Please.”

You huff, shaking your head and turning your back on him to enter your bedroom. You can’t help feeling rejected and upset, huffing a breath.

“Fine. Goodnight.”

“Goodni-”

You click the door shut before he can finish, undressing and angrily throwing your clothes to the floor before shoving your head into your long sleeping shirt and climbing into your bed.

You just wanted to have him near you. It was cute having him out of your room before you two admitted to each other and yourselves that you were actually dating, but now it feels just stupid. You would understand him not staying if he had to leave for some early mission, but having him at your place for the night, sleeping on your couch when your room is about five steps from there is ridiculous.

You wanna snuggle to him just like you do after sex - although even then, he sneaks out of the room as soon as you are asleep. You wanna wake up looking at his handsome face and his beautiful brown eyes.

You shove your feet under the covers and press the remote on your nightstand, turning the lights off. The room becomes dark, and you are still thinking of what could possibly be the reason for Alpha not wanting to sleep with you when you hear two soft knocks on your bedroom door.

You sit up, turning your small nightlight on and piping out:

“Yes?...”

There is a long stretch of silence before alpha’s voice comes through, small and sheepish:

“It’s me. I...” he cracks the door open, and the dimmed light of the living room spills through the opening, “...can I still sleep with you?”

You straighten yourself up, all your anger vanishing in an instant while you toss the covers to the side, nodding repeatedly:

“Yes! Yes, you can! Please... come in.”

Alpha walks in, dragging his feet on the floor, his chin dipped down and his gaze low. He is carrying his pillow under his arm and wearing only his black sleeping pants.

“Hey there, handsome.” you say affectionately as he shuffles to your bed, placing his pillow next to yours

“Hey.” Alpha climbs on the bed, shimmying close to you and snaking his arm over your middle, nuzzling at the crook of your neck; he feels incredibly warm, making you melt at his touch “Moons, you smell so good.”

You giggle, throwing the covers over you both and snuggling up to his muscular chest as he lies half-sitting on your bed, your palm resting over his stomach. He’s one to say it, his warm body smelling of your soap and something distinctively… his. A scent that makes you feel safe and at home.

“So do you.” You press a kiss to his face, fixing your pillow so that you can lift your upper body as well, letting his arm drape over your shoulders as you sit up, pressing yourself to his side “What made you change your mind?”

Alpha stays quiet, his chest moving slowly with his breath. The more your eyes get used to the darkness, the better you can see him even with only the dim nightlight on. He brings a hand to your face, cupping your cheek.

“I love you. I don’t want you to think I don’t.”

You wince at the restlessness in his gaze, shaking your head:

“Alpha, I never said-”

“But” Alpha interrupts you, and you can distinctly notice the tension tinging his voice, taking over his features “I need you to know that this isn’t about me snoring, or moving around too much, it’s just that...”

There is a pause where he clicks his tongue and he turns his face away even though you can barely see it in the poorly-lit room.

“...I have nightmares. And sometimes I-” he pulls his arm back from over your shoulders, swallowing down as his breath hitches “sometimes I wake up in a frenzy, kicking and screaming. It’s not pretty. I don’t want you to see it. It’s why... it’s why I’ve been hiding away from you.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes going wide in shock. Of everything, you did not expect this to be the reason why he wouldn’t sleep with you. All this time, you had thought he just didn’t want to get attached to you, and…

You bring a hand to his face, cupping his jaw and watching as he reluctantly draws his gaze back to you, low and timid.

“What kind of nightmares?” you ask, trying to understand more and immediately regretting it as he purses his lips tightly, swallowing down in clear discomfort “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

Alpha places his hand over yours – his fingers calloused from years of combat and firing blasters. His tone is hushed, a low murmur that matches his sheepish expression.

“I just… don’t wanna scare you if it happens.”

“Oh, love…” you lean closer to him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth to then lay your head on his shoulder, looking up to him “You won’t scare me, I promise. I’ll be here for you, and we’ll get through this together, okay?”

Alpha’s hands met your back, wrapping you in a tight hug. He exhales heavily with a hum, muscles losing tension as the air leaves him. One of his hands move up to your nape, fingers caressing your scalp.

“Stars, I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve someone like you.”

-

Alpha ends up spooning you, one leg draped over your waist and his arm clutching you flush to his body. You are surrounded by warmth, hearing the gentle sound of his breathing. This feels so… intimate, more so than the many nights of steamy sex you two had shared. Sleep weights your eyelids down, and your mouth parts open, every inch of you loosening into relaxation. The thoughts swirling in your mind lose form, dissolving into nothing, and you sink into sleep with a content hum.

You don’t know how much time has passed. You don’t know what time it is. All you know is that its definitely still night as you are jolted awake by a blood-curdling scream.

Panicking, you sit up in bed to another scream in a voice you know too well. Alpha. Alpha is screaming right next to you, and you scramble for the nightlight switch, turning it on and whipping your head back to look at the man lying next to you.

Alpha seems to have tossed the covers, lying on his side with his back facing you. His whole body is curled tightly in a ball, biceps jutting up as his hands clutch at his head, his fingers buried in the dark hair as they grip and tug at it. There is a sheen of sweat glistening over his skin, and his face is all red.

One of his legs give a sharp kick towards the end of the bed, and the other does the same, as if he’s fighting an invisible enemy. He screams again, loud and full of agony as if he is being stabbed.

“Al-” his next scream ends in a sob, and as he rolls over to lie on his back, you see his eyes wide open, tears running rivers over the bridge of his nose and down the curve of his cheek “Alpha, love, what’s wrong?!”

Alpha squeezes his eyes shut, his sobs making his whole body shake and his chest shudder as his head lolls side to side over the mattress. He covers his face with his hand, whimpering and crying nonstop, his words muffled by his palms and distorted by his hitching breaths.

You can manage “m’sorry, so sorry-”, “-all dead-”, “-forced me to-” as you sit on your haunches, placing a hand on his chest that is damp with cold sweat. Your free hand goes to pet his hair with light, soothing strokes.

“Love? You had a nightmare. Can you hear me? Y-you’re safe.”

Alpha’s breathing is ragged, and he drags his hands down his face; you can see his eyes, wild and lost, eyelashes wet with tears that spill down his face. His voice comes from between his fingers, small and terrified.

“-said we were betrayed, we had to follow orders, I never wanted to-”

You gently push his hands to the side, cupping his face instead and looking deep in the brown eyes that dart back and forth. As scared as you are, you manage to speak in a firm, mostly collected tone.

“Alpha, you’re safe. You’re with me. I got you. Hm? I got you.”

Alpha looks up to you, his teeth chattering and lower lip trembling. His entire face is wound in utter despair.

“…it was all my fault.” he breathes it out as if it’s a single word strung together, sucking in a harsh breath “their blood’s on my hands” more tears spill from his eyes as he squints in pain “I can still hear their screams…!”

You have questions, hundreds of them, but you know better than asking them now. Instead, you cup Alpha’s face more firmly, leaning closer so that he has no choice but to look at you and hopefully be brought back into reality.

“It wasn’t your fault. You did your best. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I didn’t, I should’ve been faster, I should-”

“Shh…” you press your forehead to Alpha’s “Breathe. Just breathe, Alpha.”

“They needed me, and I-”

“I know.” you say reassuringly “I know. Breathe.”

You don’t know. Not really. You had noticed the hint of blue lines that tinged his armor under the noticeably fresh coat of dark silver the day you two first met. The way it resembled a mandalorian’s, but the helmet was unmistakably a clone trooper’s, and the black shirt he wore under it actually had the republic’s crest on it.

It wasn’t that difficult to do the math and realize he was probably a clone trooper of the fallen Republic, which makes him a deserter and a traitor to the Empire.

Alpha is slowly becoming less frantic and agitated, his screaming ceasing and turning into a long wail that ends in more desperate sobs, his teeth grinding and his hands trembling over his chest.

“I never asked for any of that- I never-”

“Shh… I know…” you lean down over Alpha, covering his upper body with yours like a blanket, feeling the way his chest heaves for air over and over as you keep your forehead pressed to his “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

The two of you stay like this for a long time, and after what feels like an eternity, Alpha’s breathing starts slowing down, his back no longer tensed up in an attempt to arch off the bed sinking back down on your bed. He is still shivering, beads of sweat glistening on his face.

And then his hands reach up to the small of your back, hugging you tight enough to almost push all air out of your lungs. He shifts his head to the side, pressing his cheek to yours and sighing heavily.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbles quietly “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this… I must’ve scared you to death…”

“No, no.” you whisper just as quietly “I’m glad I was here to help you through it.”

Alpha sighs again, hums to then gently roll the two of you on the side, keeping you close still. He looks exhausted, but at least he doesn’t seem to be panicking anymore. His eyes are weary, puffy and red, and his face is flushed, hair messily plastered to his forehead. Th sight of him makes your heart clench painfully in your chest.

“Do you always have those?” you ask in a hushed tone, tracing his jaw with your finger “Every night?”

Alpha purses his lips, swallowing down.

“Not every night, no. But with more… frequency than I’d like.”

“Do you wanna talk about-”

“No.” he cuts you off sharply to then soften his tone “Not now. M’sorry, I still need… time, I guess.”

“Hey, don’t apologize.” you brush his hair off his forehead, running your fingers through his hair “Is there anything I can do for you? Hmm? To help you with this?”

Alpha seems pensive for a moment, and he looks up, indicating your hand caressing his head.

“This is a good start.” he pulls you even closer, pressing you flush to his body “This, too.”

You chuckle, stifling a sob. Alpha’s relaxed expression shifts into a distressed one as he notices the tears in your eyes.

“Oh, no, no, don’t cry, cyare.” He kisses your cheek, reaching for your nape “What’s the matter?”

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“Nothing, nothing, I just…” you snuggle against the crook of his neck “Just wanna make you happy, Alpha.”

Alpha presses a kiss to the top of your head, his whole body loosening up with a long exhale of his.

“You already do. More than I ever thought I could deserve to be.”

[spicycreativity]

Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 10

Chapter: 10/12 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag Excerpt: "I'm the scary one," Remus muttered in Janus' ear. "Not you. So don't ever scare me like that again, okay?" Janus considered the humor-to-consequences ratio of falling limp in Remus' arms and decided it wouldn't be worth it. "I won't."

If it all falls down, falls down, falls down

I can warm a crowd, I can make them shout

I can juggle verbs, adverbs, and nouns

I can make them dance 'til they all fall down

Janus woke up exhausted, which really wasn't fair considering the amount that he'd been sleeping lately.

Someone was stroking his hair, which was nice. Probably Remus. Remus wouldn't care that Janus' hair was stiff with dried sweat and that he hadn't brushed his teeth in who even knew how many days.

He shifted and nuzzled Remus' thigh.

Realization dawned slowly. Remus' nails were longer than this, Remus didn't smell like this, Remus had never sat still like this.

Janus couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed at the mix-up. He was too tired and sore to really care who was petting his hair like this.

Except that it was probably Patton.

Subconsciously, Janus pulled the teddy bear closer to his chest. It had to be subconscious, because he would never cuddle a stuffed toy on purpose.

Janus opened his eyes.

Patton withdrew his hand like he'd been burned. "I'm sorry," he said, cheeks coloring. "Did I wake you up?"

Janus shook his head. His skin still tingled where Patton had touched him and he wanted it back so badly , but he didn't know how to ask.

"Remus made me promise I'd go get him next time you woke up. Well. Logan made me promise. Remus threatened me. Anyway!" Patton was already halfway to the door.

He was gone before Janus found his voice. "Don't go," Janus whispered to the air.

A moment later, Remus came barreling in with Logan in hot pursuit. Then came Virgil, then Patton again, and finally Roman.

Logan lunged forward to try to catch the back of Remus' shirt, but he was just a split second too late. Janus braced for impact, but Remus only fell on his knees by the bedside and pulled Janus into a tight hug.

"Awww," Patton cooed from the doorway.

"I'm the scary one," Remus muttered in Janus' ear. "Not you. So don't ever scare me like that again, okay?"

Janus considered the humor-to-consequences ratio of falling limp in Remus' arms and decided it wouldn't be worth it. "I won't."

Remus pulled back and made a lewd hand gesture. "Scout's honor?"

Janus manipulated Remus' fingers into the correct position and held his own hand up as well. "Scout's honor."

Remus nodded in apparent satisfaction, so Janus grabbed his shoulder and used it to haul himself upright. Virgil and Patton fidgeted by his desk while Roman leaned against the doorway and Logan hovered behind Remus.

"Well," Janus said, trying to sound better than he felt. "As you can see, I've died. Virgil will handle my estate, so please direct your concerns to him."

"Like I want all your pretentious steampunk crap," Virgil mumbled, looking around at the leather and brass and hardwood.

"It's art deco," Janus and Logan said at the same time, albeit with very different intonation.

Janus squinted at Logan, who seemed to take this as his cue to speak. "You need to eat something."

"Like a dick!" Remus crowed.

Janus sighed, expecting an uproar, but nothing more dramatic than general collective eye-rolling and awkward throat-clearing occurred in response.

Logan carried on, "Something light like chicken broth or dry toast." He cocked an eyebrow, indicating that this was a question.

"Goodness, however shall I choose," Janus said, trying and failing to keep the venom out of his voice. He did better on stage than he did under a microscope, yet here everyone was, studying him. It was all he could do not to squirm.

Patton's voice echoed in his ears suddenly:

He never asks for anything, he just talks around it until you figure it out on your own.

"Could you…" Janus balled both hands into fists. "I want…" He squeezed his eyes shut and expelled a breath through his nose."I just love that you're all in here staring at me. It's not awkward at all. " He fixed his gaze on the ceiling, only just managing to hold back a frustrated curse. Another failure. Another reason for the others to go back to hating him.

"Oh, gosh!" Patton said, but he didn't sound hurt or angry. "We're sorry; it's probably overwhelming to have us all in here at once, huh?"

Janus nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The feeling had grown uncomfortably familiar as of late.

"We'll let Logan look you over," Patton said. He shuffled out of the room after Roman, waving for Virgil to follow him.

Remus winked and wiggled his tongue at Janus. "Have fun playing doctor." He bounded out and shut the door behind him.

"So," Janus said, fidgeting with one of the teddy bear's ears. "He and Roman can stand to be in the same room as each other now?"

"It helps that they were both quite worried about you," Logan said. A pause. "As was I." He preoccupied himself clearing off a space on Janus' nightstand, willing a plate of dry toast into existence, then methodically taking the cap off a bottle of Gatorade and inserting a white bendy straw.

"Plastic straws are killing the sea turtles, you know," Janus said.

Logan looked at him, puzzled. "Rest assured, this one will not and indeed, cannot find its way into the water supply." A moment later he said, "Oh. You were making a joke."

"It's polite to laugh."

"Please excuse my rudeness, then."

Janus smiled. "I think Remus likes you," he said to cut the tension.

Logan tilted his head at the nightstand. "Why?"

Janus took the hint and began pulling the crust off a piece of toast. "I just have a feeling."

"Hm." Logan thinned his lips, but did not press the issue.

"Logan?"

"Yes?"

"What happened? When I was…"

"Incapacitated?"

"Sure."

Logan pushed up his glasses. "You were in a state of delirium for approximately five days. What is the last thing you remember?"

"Clearly? I had a conversation with Patton about… certain choices I had made in regards to Roman." Logan raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt. "It gets hazy after that. You and Patton were in my room, I think. And… I'm not totally sure this happened, but I seem to recall trying to apologize to Roman."

Logan nodded. "You did. Then you fainted in his room, and the ensuing chaos actually led to the temporary resolution of several interpersonal conflicts we had been experiencing."

"Just according to plan," Janus said, steepling his fingers. Logan didn't laugh. "Another joke."

"Please eat your toast."

"Alright, alright." Janus finished picking the crust off one slice and took a hesitant bite.

"Good." Logan nodded in approval. "To further answer your question, Remus has enacted a truce with Patton, Roman, and Virgil. Which essentially means that he agreed to 'tone down' his more distracting behaviors and the others would refrain from, ah…" Logan checked his note cards. "'Getting their strawberry-flavored edible panties in a twist'."

Janus nearly choked on his toast and made a hasty grab for the Gatorade. "How sweet."

"Yes, the sugar content of Blue Cherry Gatorade is regrettably rather high-- Oh. Yes, I suppose it was rather nice of everyone. Virgil also ceased his self-isolation for the sake of seeing you and talked a little about his feelings, as did Roman."

"Hmph." Janus shoved the rest of the toast in his mouth so he wouldn't have to talk. It had been his goal to fix everything, but not quite like this. Not at all like this, actually. He had become another piece on the chessboard, and not even a powerful piece like the queen. No, he was more like a bishop, moving laterally to move forward. And now he had no idea how to get what he wanted.

"Interestingly," Logan said. "I believe it was your involuntary display of vulnerability that led the others to treat each other more gently.

"I get it, I'm the hero," Janus said sourly. Hooray, he'd solved Patton's problems by running around like an idiot. How impressive.

"I was… I was trying to make you feel better."

Janus smiled despite himself. "Thank you. Really."

"Something is bothering you," Logan said. "I can't tell what it is. I had thought you might feel embarrassed, but you are handling matters very calmly, despite the fact that you have a tendency to raise your voice and lash out when agitated or threatened. This leads me to believe you are experiencing a different negative emotion, but I cannot identify what it is or why." Logan paused and cleared his throat, his eyes downcast. "This bothers me because you are my friend."

"I couldn't possibly be tired," Janus snapped, realizing a split second later he'd inadvertently proven Logan's point. "Oh."

Janus sighed and flicked over his metaphorical king, albeit in his own way. "I'm not thinking about all the ways a relationship with Patton could go horribly wrong."

"But you have a relationship with Patton--" Logan's eyes widened. "I see. Are you concerned that your feelings are unrequited?"

"Well, that and the opposite."

"I don't follow."

"Virgil told me that if I break Patton's heart, he'll break me . Literally."

"You're afraid of Virgil ?"

Janus ran his fingers over his temple and took in a breath while he waited for Logan to put the pieces together.

"You're afraid you'll hurt Patton."

"I'm not exactly known for my communication skills."

"Have you tried speaking sincerely instead of hiding your intentions with sarcasm?"

"No , the thought has never crossed my mind."

Logan smiled. "It was a joke."

Janus didn't hiss at him.

Logan continued, "I do think you should try to be honest with Patton."

"Easier said than done."

"But it can be done."

"I'll...think about it." Janus waved a hand to dismiss the topic.

[eddieeatsass]

The Truth Is That I Think I've Had Enough

Summary: For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was fully planning on taking advantage of it. He invited Richie on a camping trip, just wanting one night where he could pretend, but Richie had different plans. Pairing: Stozier Rating: E Warnings: Eventual smut, explicit language

Read on AO3

When it came to the list of things Richie wanted to be doing on Valentine’s Day, Stan knew camping was not high up on the register. Richie was a city boy through and through, but he was also a loyal friend, so when Stan suggested they go camping for the weekend, Richie had gone along with it.

They were both single, after all, and it’s not like they didn’t hang out every other day of the year… so why should Valentine’s Day be any different?

Well, as far as Richie was concerned, it wasn’t. But Stan may have been indulging in his yearning just a little bit. For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was going to take advantage of it. So sue him if he wanted to pretend for one night that things were different.

But the truth still stood that Richie knew nothing of Stan’s pining, and nothing about camping, which made the trip a little tricky. They’d gone camping a few times when they’d been kids, tagging along with Stan’s parents who had done most of the handy work. All Richie and Stan had worried about was how toasted to make their marshmallows in pursuit of the perfect smore.

But now Richie was standing before him, gazing between the crumpled tent on the ground, and Stan’s awaiting expression, clear confusion boggling his mind.

“You gonna help or am I doing this all on my own?” Stan asked with light laughter.

“Uhhhhhhhhhh…” Richie drawled, unsure of how to proceed. “I mean yeah, of course, I just don’t quite... know... how.”

Richie picked up one of the objects sitting atop the tarp-like material. He jumped back when what started as a small bundle of sticks suddenly snapped out into a series of rods.

“Careful Rich! I didn’t plan on losing an eye today. We don’t have the medical equipment for that.” Stan warned, making sure to keep an ease to his tone so Richie knew he was teasing.

Richie nodded earnestly, taking more precaution as he began to snap the sticks into one long rod.

Stan knew what he was doing well enough to not need instructions, but Richie’s every move was a gamble between helping, or causing the whole tent to deflate. Stan finally took pity on him and assigned Richie the easy task of getting their blow up mattress out of the car, figuring it would be easier to finish the tent without Richie’s helping hands.

Their tent was generously sized, large enough for a twin person air mattress, and then a little extra room for their cooler and bags. Stan assured Richie that there were no bears in the area, so it was safe to sleep with their food alongside them, but Richie was still hesitant. He soothed himself by insisting that Stan sleep on the side closest to the cooler. If a bear attacked, it would be Stanley’s job to keep Richie safe. Stan’s heart fluttered a bit at the trust Richie instilled in him, no matter how hypothetical, or how unlikely he’d be to actually win a fight against a bear. Stan chose to keep both of those hypotheticals to himself and let Richie think him brave.

When Richie trekked back from the car, heavy box in one hand and air pump in the other, Stan was all done setting up the tent.

“God, why is this so heavy!?” Richie complained, plunking the box with the air mattress at their feet.

“It’s the price we pay for comfort.” Stan said, amused.

“At least we don’t have to blow this thing up with our mouths.” Richie conceded, giving the box a swift kick in retaliation for making his arms hurt.

“Psh, you don’t have enough air in your lungs.” Stan teased, taking the pump from Richie’s outstretched hand.

“But I have the blowjob lips to make up for it. One wrap of these puppies around that nozzle and it would blow itself up.” Richie made obnoxious kissing noises, too distracted by his obscenity to notice the way Stan’s cheeks heated up. His pulse pounded in his ears as thoughts of Richie’s lips wrapped around something else crept into his mind.

“Richie, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but blowjobs don’t involve any actual blowing.”

“And how would you know that, Stanley?”

“I’m a virgin, not an idiot.” Stan deadpanned.

Truth be told, Stan wasn’t as much of a virgin as his friends thought he was. He hadn’t done much, but because of his religion and strict parents, they’d all assumed Stanley hadn’t even kissed anyone yet. Low and behold it was at Jewish summer camp that he had experienced his first kiss, and his second, and so on. He’d even gotten to second base on the very last day of camp with good ol’ Patricia Blum.

But Stanley was a private man, and as respect for Patty, he hadn’t gone around spreading word of their affairs, even though he was secretly dying to tell Richie and see how far his jaw dropped when he found out Stan had gotten more action than he had. Trashmouth never shut up about sex, but they all knew he’d never had any. Stan wondered if Richie would ask Stan for tips, or ask him to demonstrate how he’d groped Patty down by the lake that day. He could show Richie a thing or two, teach him how to be soft and gentle with his fingers.

“Looks like the sun is already starting to go down.” Richie noted, peering off towards the cliff that overlooked the valley. They’d gotten prime real estate thanks to Stan’s knowledge of the woods. He knew exactly where to go where they wouldn’t be disturbed by other campers.

“We should start a fire.” Stan decided. He’d had enough training in the boy scouts to know it was always better to start your fire before the sun went down. It saved you a lot of annoyance, frozen fingertips, and a much harder time finding resources by flashlight.

“Rich, can you gather some twigs for me? About this big,” Stan picked one up that was by his foot. “and make sure they’re dry.” He handed the stick to Richie, who immediately brought it to his forehead in a fake salute.

“Aye aye captain!” Richie stiffened his limbs, swiveling around and doing his best army march impression as he wandered off in search of sticks.

While Richie was away, Stan got to work on setting up a makeshift pit for the fire to be contained in. He gathered as many rocks as he could find nearby and set them up in a neat little circle. Once Stan was satisfied with his work, he moved on to blowing up the air mattress inside their tent.

As he connected the pump to the mattress and began the repetitive motion that would surely leave his arms aching, he let his mind wander.

In hindsight, there was probably a much subtler way Stan could have found to spend Valentine’s Day with Richie. He’s sure if he’d offered up their usual Chinese food and ‘The Princess Bride’ (Richie’s all time favorite movie no matter what he says to the contrary), Richie would have pounced on the idea. So why had Stan felt the need to make it into a whole thing?

Well, he knew why, but he didn’t want to admit it. The knowledge was coated in shame and guilt, but it was still buzzing in the back of his head like a bug he couldn’t squish. Stan wanted this to be a date. Maybe he even liked pretending it was. He knew that wasn’t fair, but he didn’t have much control over it. If they’d done the same thing they always did, it wouldn’t have felt special.

Once the air mattress was completely inflated, and the pump tucked back into its box, Stan let himself fall forward on to the air filled PVC with an auditory oof.

Face down in the uncomfortable fabric, Stan felt like it was where he deserved to be. Lovesick, lying, dirty little-

“Yo, Stanny, I got your sticks!”

Stan steeled himself, tucking away his intrusive thoughts in favor of less intimate ones.

When Stan exited the tent, he wasn’t expecting to come face to face with a mountain of sticks. Standing before him, Richie was covered in dirt, twigs sticking out from his bush of hair, and arms full of branches towering high enough to shield half his face.

“Get in a fight with a tree?” Stan teased, hurrying forward so he could take half the stack from Richie’s shaking arms.

“Yeah, the tree won.” Richie answered with a matching tone, causing Stan’s heart to flutter traitorously.

“We didn’t need this many, you know.”

“I know, but I figured better safe than sorry, right? What if we suddenly need to build two fires? Or three? Or maybe even a fourth? What if we get stuck out here forever and need to provide heat to the village we create to survive. Our children deserve fires too, don’t they Stan? Don’t they?”

“We’re having children?” Stan questioned, beginning to place the sticks in the small fire pit he’d made.

“Yes.” Richie answered definitively as he plopped down beside Stan.

“I’m not sure that’s anatomically possible, but sure, I’ll play along.” Stan delighted.

“Okay, so we’re gonna have two kids. Twins.”

“Of course.” Stan nodded seriously, entertaining Richie’s wild imagination.

“One girl and one boy, or, you know, whatever gender they wanna be. We ain’t gonna be those kind of parents.”

That roused a laugh from Stan, knowing too well how strongly Richie’s opinions on parenting styles were. Richie had thought long and hard on what kind of parent he wanted to be in the future. You wouldn’t think Richie Tozier was a sap when it came to children, but tiny tots had him wrapped around their fingers. Richie had been dreaming about starting a family since they were kids, and Stan was no stranger to being ‘the wife’ in the equation. Richie had organized many imaginary weddings for them when they were young. They’d been married seven times in total, and had played house more times than Stan could count. It was almost enough to fuel Stan’s late night thoughts that Richie might actually reciprocate his feelings.

“We’ll name them Pizza and Macaroni.” Richie declared.

“Why in hell’s name would we do that?” Stan scoffed, grabbing the box of matches from his pocket. He ignited one and flicked it into the center of the pit.

“We’re creating a new society, Stan. There are no rules, no norms. Pizza and Macaroni could be the new standard for names. Imagine.”

“I don’t want to.”

Richie wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulder and pulled him in close, leaving little room between their faces for Stan to breathe.

“Imagine.” Richie repeated with extra vigor.

“Fine.” Stan closed his eyes and paused for a moment. “I’m imagining it.”

“And? It’s beautiful, right?” Richie asked excitedly.

“Oh, oh god, Macaroni just stabbed Pizza with a fork. He’s bleeding everywhere! There’s no paramedics around, the town consists of just us and we never got any medical training. I’m holding our son, Richie. I’m holding him in my arms, oh god, his blood tastes like tomato sauce Richie-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Richie laughed, wrestling Stan to the ground and pinning him in place. “Take it back! Do not eat our son, Staniel!”

“But he tastes so good.” Stan giggled, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Spit him out! Spit him out or we’re getting a divorce!”

Stan finally peeked one eye open, seeing Richie’s bright smile hovering over him and dark curls falling into his eyes.

“You’ll have to divorce me seven times then.” Stan challenged with a quirk to his eyebrow.

“Huh?” Richie’s face contorted as he tried to pinpoint Stan’s line of thought.

A piece of Stan’s heart detached from itself and fell into the pit of his stomach. Of course he didn’t remember, why would he?

“Nothing, never mind.” Stan laughed shallowly, shrugging Richie off and rolling back on to his feet. He stopped to check that the fire was successfully catching and was moderately pleased with the small flames he saw licking at the sticks. It should continue to grow if they left it.

“Are you hungry?” Stan asked over his shoulder, using it as an excuse to detach himself from what had just happened.

“Uh, yeah, I could go for some food.” Richie answered, mild confusion still evident in his voice.

“Cool, I brought hot dogs and beans-”

“I think I want smores.” Richie’s voice suddenly rang from beside Stan, causing him to jolt. Richie just laughed at the reaction, cutting in front of Stan and jogging towards their tent.

“You can’t have smores for dinner, Richie.” Stan chastised.

“You’re not my mom!”

Stan once again found himself fighting back a smile as Richie’s figure disappeared into the tent.

An hour later Stan found himself sitting on a log they’d rolled over from a nearby fallen tree. He was holding a stick over the fire, a marshmallow precariously hanging from the end of it. The sky had darkened to a navy blue, pin pricked with stars and constellations they had yet to discover.

Stan moved the marshmallow a little farther above the flames, keeping it from getting charred like Richie’s own marshmallow, which was engulfed in flames.

“I can hear you judging me.” Richie quipped, keeping his eyes on his marshmallow as he brought the flaming gelatin towards himself and began erratically blowing it out.

Stan kept his laughter locked behind his lips.

“It’s just… so unnecessary.” Stan responded.

“It’s not unnecessary! It’s fully necessary! This is the only way to get the perfect marshmallow!” Richie defended.

Stan looked over at the gooey black orb Richie was shoving between two graham crackers. He made a fake gagging noise while sticking out his tongue, finally letting his laughter free when Richie punched him playfully in the arm.

“The perfect marshmallow will never include scorch marks.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” Richie took a stubborn bite of his smore, reaching out with his free hand and tapping Stan’s stick.

Stan watched in horror as his flawlessly roasted marshmallow disappeared into the flames of the fire, immediately disintegrating into nothing but sticky residue.

“Saboteur!” Stan yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Richie’s chocolate covered face.

“Moi!?” Richie gasped, throwing a hand to his chest dramatically. “I would never! But, I am not a heartless man. Please, as condolences for your loss, will you accept the other half of my smore, monsieur?”

Stan wanted to cringe at the terrible french accent Richie adorned, but his cuteness won over and Stan was just left smiling.

“I suppose I’ll eat your ash-cookie.”

“I’d rather you eat my ass, cookie.” Richie shot back without pause, winking slyly as he scooted closer to Stan on the log.

The air around Stan began thickening, heating him up from the inside out and causing his brain to melt just slightly. He watched in slow motion as Richie’s fingers brought the half eaten smore up to Stan’s lips. It should have been gross; Richie’s face and fingers had remnants of chocolate on them, the smore was falling apart and showcasing the awfully burnt marshmallow, and Stan had a strict ‘no-sharing-food’ policy because he didn’t like sharing germs. But regardless of all of those reasons to pull away, Stan found himself leaning in closer.

As soon as Richie’s fingers brushed Stan’s lips it was like something inside him took over. Stan raised his hands to hold Richie’s wrist, and then cocking his head so he had a better angle, he raked his tongue over Richie’s fingers as he gathered all the chocolate he could. It was a lewd gesture, one Stan would never imagine doing any other time, but something about the flickering campfire and the stillness of the wind made him feel like he wasn’t in this world anymore. He was in a world where he could make Richie want him.

“Uhm…” Richie’s shaky breath brought Stan hurtling back to reality fast enough to leave him dizzy.

Stan quickly let go of Richie’s arm, pulling away both physically and emotionally as he chewed his smore with vigor.

“You’re right.” Stan said through a mouthful of goo. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

Richie just stared in awe as Stan tried to swallow past the sticky chocolate and marshmallow that stuck to his teeth in defiance.

Once the residue of his humiliation was all swallowed down, Stan stood abruptly, stretching his arms high above his head and producing a fake yawn.

“Jeez, I’m tired already.” Stan lied, hoping Richie would go along with it.

“Makes sense, we did have a long day of travelling.” Richie answered towards Stan’s turned back.

Stan let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. As he let his arms drop, so did his shoulders, and some of his tension along with it.

“I’m gonna go change into my pajamas.” Stan stated, leaving hurriedly before Richie could respond.

Once in the tent, and hidden behind its nylon walls, Stan was finally able to process what he’d just done. As he slowly changed into his pajamas he went over the course of events in his head, wincing as he recalled the way he’d indulged so passionately in such a platonic touch. It had felt so good in the moment, convincing himself he saw lust in Richie’s eyes, but the remorse he felt now settled over him like a blanket. He didn’t want to ruin his friendship with Richie, he couldn’t, he had to keep himself together.

Stan was startled out of his stupor as the zipper of the tent began to open. Stan quickly pulled his sleep shirt the rest of the way down, hiding away his body and his thoughts alike.

“You decent?” Richie asked teasingly before opening the zipper any wider.

“Yeah.” Stan responded, warmth already licking back up his chest.

Richie opened the tent the rest of the way and as he climbed in Stan could see that he’d put out the fire. He felt a weird swell of pride that Richie had remembered at least some of the camping basics Stan had taught him.

He’d averted his eyes as Richie changed, had curled in on himself as Richie leaned over him to reach their stuff, but now he was laying next to Richie’s warm body with no way to escape. Their proximity seared into him like a burn that he was far too aware of.

“You know, this was way more fun than my usual Valentine’s Day.” Richie offered into the silence, gazing up through the skylight that allowed them to see the stars.

Stan’s heart threatened to break out of his chest.

“The past few years I’ve usually spent it with some equally lonely one-night-stand. The sex was never good enough to make the next day worth it.” Richie admitted.

“Why not?” Stan piped in.

Richie thought for a moment, allowing the silence to lull them a little bit deeper into the comfort of night.

“I’d wake up feeling disappointed because the person next to me was never who I wanted it to be.”

Stan’s ears perked up. He angled his body towards Richie, cushioning his head in the crook of his bent elbow as he contemplated his friend’s profile. This was the first time Richie had ever alluded to having a crush.

“Who did you want it to be?” Stan asked shakily.

Richie turned his head towards Stan, locking eyes with him and seeming to search for something.

“What about you?” Richie asked, flipping the question around without answering it.

“What do you mean?”

“Who would you choose to wake up to every day?”

The question leered above their heads, threatening to fall and crush the thin veil of tension that had formed between them.

Stan gulped audibly, wanting nothing more than to shy away from Richie’s gaze, but he held strong.

“It doesn’t matter, they don’t want the same thing I do.”

“How can you be sure?” Richie murmured challengingly.

Stan’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water as he tried to wade through the chaos in his head.

“All I know is I’m glad I’m waking up next to you tomorrow.” Richie said, turning his head back to the sky.

Blood pounded in Stan’s ears as he tried to decode Richie’s words. Was he saying what he thought he was saying? Or was Stan just reading into things, spurred on by his unrequited feelings and juvenile hope?

“I’m glad too.” Stan breathed out.

Richie didn’t miss a beat before answering.

“Glad enough to kiss me?”

Stan’s entire body froze, something inside him shattering as the butterflies finally escaped his stomach, filling up their tent until Stan couldn’t see anything but Richie.

Slowly, as if scared one wrong move would make Richie run, Stan propped himself up on his elbow, peering down at Richie’s expectant face. He kept his pace steady as he slowly dipped down and braved a single kiss.

It wasn’t much of anything, just a chaste peck, a quick dip into the pool to test the water. But that one kiss was enough to erase all of Stan’s trepidation, leaving him as bare and open and vulnerable as Richie was. And it felt liberating.

The next few minutes passed by in a flurry. Richie surged up to reclaim Stan’s lips, no longer just a peck but now a full-blown kiss that left Stan’s legs shaking. Richie flipped them over so he was hovering above Stan, using his leverage to kiss up Stan’s neck, the line of his jaw, and back to his lips. It was quick to turn feral, their teeth clanking against each other as desperation took over. Stan had never felt so terrified and turned on at the same time, his hand trembling as it fisted into Richie’s lush curls and pulled him closer.

Stan’s breathing was labored, his swallows dry as he tried to steady his quickening pulse. Richie was everywhere, blanketing all of Stan’s senses. The smell of Richie’s laundry detergent swirled around them, melding with the lingerings of their campfire. His tongue tasted sweet like the chocolate they’d eaten, and the sound of Stan’s own meek noises were swallowed up by Richie’s own deep growls. If all that wasn’t already over-stimulation enough, Richie’s was consistently rutting himself against Stan, causing his arousal to become less and less subtle with every passing moment.

Stan broke away with a heaving breath, peering up at Richie through hooded eyes.

“I’m a virgin.” Stan blurted.

Richie stared deeply into Stan’s eyes, churning his gut with intensity until what felt like several minutes had passed. When Richie finally spoke again, the sound nearly startled Stan.

“Me too.”

Stan smiled, thankful that Richie felt safe enough to be honest with him. He reached a hand up and gently cupped Richie’s cheek, who immediately leaned into the touch.

“We don’t have to, uh, do anything.” Richie stuttered out, his eyes gently closing as he relaxed into Stan’s hold.

“I know. But if you wanted to…” Stan trailed off, leaving the offer open-ended.

Richie’s eyes popped back open, searching Stan’s face for further explanation.

“I brought stuff… uh… just in case. I guess I was kinda hopeful about tonight.” Stan admitted, averting eye contact. “Can I make a confession?” Richie whispered, his voice going a bit rough at the end. “I was kind of hopeful myself…”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Stan asked.

“I sort of fantasized about the way tonight might play out. I’ve had some… personal experience with receiving, so I made sure to clean myself in case my wildest dreams suddenly came to fruition. But I can also top! Uhm, if that’s your preference.” Richie rushed in addition.

“Personal experience? I thought you were a virgin?” Stan’s tone held a lick of jealousy, which he tried to cover up by clearing his throat.

In response Richie held up his hand and wiggled his fingers, hoping that Stan got the message.

“Fuck that’s so hot.” Stan groaned, letting his head fall back against his pillow. He felt open mouth kisses being peppered down the column of his neck and keened embarrassingly loud.

“I’ll be honest, the thought of splitting you open on my cock does sound appealing.” Stan murmured.

Richie’s head shot up, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Stan thought he’d said something wrong until Richie was suddenly shucking his clothes as quickly as possible, dizzying Stan with his pace.

“Slow down! Rich- Richie- there’s not that much room in the tent!” Stan laughed, trying (and failing) to get Richie to sit still. When he finally stopped moving, Richie was stripped down to his underwear.

It’s not like Stan and Richie had never seen each other in their underwear before, but apparently context did a lot, and in this context Stan’s whole body was thrumming at the sight.

“Fuck, we’re really doing this, huh?” Stan whispered, trailing his gaze down Richie’s lean torso.

“Only if you want to.” Richie assured.

Stan wanted to. He wanted it more than anything. But words were failing him as he took in this brand new Richie, bathed in moonlight from the tent’s open skylight, eyes wide and vulnerable with lust.

So instead of talking, Stan took action. He locked eyes with Richie as he began stripping off his own clothes, doing so much slower than Richie had. It was purposeful, a confirmation that he was all in. Their gaze didn’t break until Stan was bared to the same degree as Richie, his navy blue boxer briefs a stark contrast to Richie’s hot pink flamingo print.

Stan was the one to surge forward when their tension peaked, knocking Richie on to his back and giving himself room to straddle him. Richie’s hands were slow burning coils against Stan’s skin, lighting him up everywhere they touched. Stan rolled his hips down experimentally, feeling Richie’s responding twitch between the thin fabric that separated them.

“Off.” Stan demanded, pawing at the waist of Richie’s offending boxers.

Richie complied, but did one better. In the same fail swoop, Richie hooked his thumbs under both of their waistbands and pulled them down in conjunction.

The action resulted in a collective moan as their oversensitive cocks finally broke free and rubbed against each other.

It didn’t take long for Richie's hands to slither back up their thighs and in between them, grabbing them both in one hand. Stan hissed at the contact, clenching his teeth in an attempt to hold back the wave that already threatened to crash over.

“Fuck, Stanny. Who knew you were packing?”

The comment was so un-sexy it made Stan puddle into laughter, his head falling to Richie’s shoulder as the chest underneath him rumbled in tandem.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’m very good at this whole dirty talk thing.” Richie admitted between giggles.

“I don’t want dirty talk.” Stan murmured, placing a gentle kiss on Richie's temple. “I just want you.”

Richie nodded, evidently calmed by the notion that he didn’t have to perform, he just needed to be.

Richie experimented with another flick of his wrist, causing Stan to jerk away instinctively.

“Rich- if you keep doing that I’m not gonna last.” Stan admitted.

“Damn, I’m that good?”

“Shut up and teach me how to finger you.” Stan smirked as he wiped the smile right off Richie’s face.

“It might be better if I just… show you.” Richie shifted out from under Stan and got to his knees.

“You said you have lube…?” “Oh!” Stan exclaimed, bouncing up and reaching for his backpack. He immediately procured the lube and condoms he’d brought.

“Thanks babe.” Richie said casually, missing the way Stan spluttered at the pet name.

Richie reached for the lube as Stan tried to recover, but he didn’t have much time to do so as he watched Richie squeeze a little bit of lube on to his fingers and immediately reached behind himself.

Stan’s heart went mad, bouncing against its confines like it was a prison. He couldn’t help but stare at the way Richie’s face contorted into an all new type of expression, one Stan had never seen on anyone’s face before.

His eyes trailed down Richie’s torso, stopping to admire the way his thin body strained around muscle, how his pale chest flushed pink with arousal, and the delicious way his cock stood to attention just begging for praise. But it was the space between Richie’s spread thighs that mesmerized him, where he could see his hand moving behind him.

Without thought, Stan’s hand drifted to his own cock, acting on instinct as his mind went hazy. He held it gently, not stroking it so much as just giving it the pressure it craved. He watched as Richie’s index finger disappeared inside himself, making Richie moan lewdly.

Richie didn’t take long to get all three fingers inside himself, getting more and more into it as the minutes ticked on. Richie now had his eyes shut and his head thrown back as he fucked himself down on his digits. Stan almost didn’t want to stop him, wanted to see how long Richie could ride himself until he made himself cum, but even more than that, he wanted to feel Richie’s tight heat constricting around his shaft. “So are you gonna let me fuck you or what?” Stan’s voice seemed to jostle Richie out of whatever place his mind had gone to, causing him to look around the tent for the culprit of his ceased pleasure.

“Stanny, fuck, please-” Richie’s voice was completely hoarse as he crawled towards Stan eagerly. “Come here, let me take care of you.” Stan ushered Richie forward, pulling him flush against his chest and kissing him as passionately as possible.

“I want you to ride me.” Stan whispered against Richie’s lips.

“Yes, please.”

Stan laid back down, pulling Richie on top of him for the second time that night.

They kissed for a while longer, grinding into each other as Stan’s cock teased at Richie’s entrance. Keeping their lips locked, Stan reached for his condom, tearing it open expertly and bringing the latex down between their bodies.

Richie sat up on his knees, giving Stan room to roll the condom down over his dick, but as soon as it was situated snug against Stan’s pelvis, Richie wasted no time coating it in lube. He threw the bottle behind him, moving impatiently as he fumbled to line Stan’s cock up with his hole.

“Rich...” Stan reached for Richie’s free hand and entwined their fingers. The gesture gave Richie pause and he finally let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I’m just… I’ve wanted this for a long time.” Richie said quietly.

Stan’s heart swelled. He squeezed Richie’s hand in reassurance.

“Me too, but that doesn’t mean we have to rush. I’m not going to suddenly change my mind, we can take our time with this.”

Richie bowed his head, a shy smile flashing pearly teeth. Stan took the opportunity to slink his own hand around his cock, joining Richie’s. Together, they held it still as Richie slowly sank down until the head popped past his rim.

They both gasped as the new sensation washed over them.

Richie started cursing under his breath, sinking down a little bit lower every few seconds until he was fully seated in Stan’s lap.

Stan held an iron grip on Richie’s hips as he tried to ground himself, the feeling of Richie clenching around him almost too much to bare.

“Why haven’t we been doing this all these years.” Richie whined, pulling himself up until the head of Stan’s cock threatened to slip out, before pushing back down at a satisfyingly slow pace.

“Because we’re idiots.” Stan answered, raising his hips to meet Richie as he came down.

“H-huge idiots.” Richie agreed, nodding along with his thrusts.

“We have a lot of - hnnnng fuck - a lot of time to make up for.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Rich, I would literally stay in this moment for a lifetime if I could- ahhhh.”

“Your dick might shrivel up.” Richie noted, speeding up his rhythm upon hearing Stan’s moans.

“Worth it.” Stan swallowed thickly, getting lost in the sight of Richie’s cock bouncing against his stomach.

“I wanna suck you off.” Stan blurted, no longer able to filter his thoughts through the haze in his brain.

“Fuck, Stanny- you’re so perfect- nnnnggggg ohmygod-” Richie’s entire body tensed up as he reached his peak. Stan watched as his cock twitched, releasing strings of cum that shot impressively far. The feeling of Richie clenching around him paired with the sight of him completely unraveling tipped Stan over the edge along with him.

His orgasm felt like it lasted a lifetime, draining every ounce of energy out of him and leaving Stan completely boneless by the end. He vaguely processed Richie slipping off him, heard the sound of the tent unzip, and then felt the warmth of Richie’s body saddling back up beside him.

“You okay there?” Richie’s voice drifted through the tent, but it still felt light years away. Stan nodded meekly, his bearings just starting to come back.

Stan peered down at his spent cock, giving it a small nod in appreciation for its performance.

“Where’s the condom?” Stan asked drearily.

“I put it outside the tent.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Would you rather we sleep with it next to us?” Richie asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Mmmmm- shut up and spoon me.” Stan grumbled, turning to his side and pulling Richie’s arm over him.

“As you wish.” Richie whispered.

[cocastyle]

The In-Between Chapter 4

Stranger Things x It Crossover

with some Bill Denbrough x reader

Word Count - 5,710

Warning - cursing (if some people don’t like that kind of stuff)

A/N- ahhh chapter four is here!! so I got a little carried away with this chapter and had to cut it down (this only means that chapter 5 is already partially written so yay). this is a pretty action packed chapter, but I hope you guys like it! we are so close to the Party and the Losers’ Club meeting🤩I’m super excited!! thank you for all the love and support!

if you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

T H E I N - B E T W E E N

Intro The Losers’ Club The Party Prolouge 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue

As much as it pained the Losers to have to wait another day to save Mike, they knew it would be no use if they went into the whole situation more tired than they already were. So after getting the few hours of sleep that they could and having to go through another dreadful day of school, you could say they were a little impatient by the time there was only a minute of the school day left.

Y/N bounced her knee up and down, her toes being the only thing touching the ground as she violently shook her leg. Her eyes were trained on the clock at the front of the room and she was biting her lip nervously, the only thoughts she could think of being that she wanted nothing more than for the school day to be over.

Bill watched the girl silently from his assigned seat across the class. Back when the teacher had allowed them to sit anywhere, the two had sat side by side. However one pair of girls had ruined it for everyone the day they kept talking during class which meant the teacher could think of nothing more to do than create a seating chart.

Y/N was placed at the front of the room while Bill was in the back, but Bill didn't complain. He would've liked to sit next to the girl, but luckily for him, his spot in the back gave him the perfect side view of the girl's face, allowing him to admire her from afar without her even noticing.

In that moment, his eyes kept flickering between the clock and Y/N who he hesitated on a little bit longer each time. It was only when the bell rang that Bill seemed to snap out of his thoughts and he was quick to get up from his seat and race over to Y/N, grabbing onto her hand and dragging her out of the room as the teens raced to find their friends.

Neither of them had to go to their lockers and it seemed the other Losers didn't either because Beverly, Richie, Eddie, Ben and Stan were already waiting by their bikes when the two made it.

"Finally! You two just couldn't save your make out session for later, could you?" Richie asked causing both teens to simultaneously blush and glare at the boy.

"Shut up, Richie," Y/N muttered as she reluctantly let go of Bill's hand and got onto her bike. "Come on. We can go to my house."

The others nodded and not even fifteen minutes later they were at Y/N's house, locked away in her basement with papers and pencils on a huge table in front of them.

"The portal you guys saw," Y/N began as she took a piece of paper and drew a long line across the middle of it, "it goes to a place called the Upside Down. I know I've mentioned it before, but I don't think I've ever really explained it. One of my past teachers once explained alternate dimensions like this. Think of this line as a tightrope and the tightrope represents our dimension."

Y/N drew a little stick figure on top of the tightrope before saying, "For an acrobat, they can only go backwards or forwards along the rope since the rope is flat. They can't turn upside down or they will fall off."

She then drew a tiny dot on the rope. "This is a flea. Now the flea is different than the acrobat. It can go forwards and backwards, but it can also go up and down meaning that it can get into the other dimension. The portal is like what makes us fleas, allowing us to cross over into this other dimension if that makes sense," Y/N explained.

"I'm confused," Stan muttered. "How does something like that even exist?"

"We don't know. It's just kind of been there and we don't exactly know why it's all decay either," Y/N replied.

"Why do we have to be fleas to go into the Upside Down?" Richie asked gaining everyone's attention. "I don't want to be a fucking flea!"

"What? Richie-" Y/N began as she shook her head.

"I don't want to be a flea, Y/N!" Richie exclaimed while Eddie shook his head at the boy.

Before Richie knew what was happening, Eddie had whacked him on the back of the head. "You idiot, we aren't going to turn into fleas. It's just a metaphor, dumbass," Eddie said with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh," Richie said as his eyes lit up in realization. The others just shook their heads in disbelief.

"So what's the game plan then?" Beverly asked.

"Yeah, how are we going to save Mike? We can't all go to the Upside Down, right? What if the portal closes?" Ben asked although Y/N knew he only asked because he didn't want to be the one to go into the portal.

"That's where my experience with the Upside Down comes into play. Now I've only been in there once, but I know enough to make my way around and stay safe. We don't need everyone going, so I'll just go and have a rope tied to myself so that you guys can pull me back if I yank hard enough," Y/N explained.

"I-I-I'm going w-w-with," Bill declared causing the young girl to look at him with raised eyebrows.

Y/N let out a small laugh before shaking her head as she smiled at the boy, "No, you aren't."

Bill furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. "I-I-I'm going, Y/N," he insisted.

The girl shook her head. "You don't get it. I am the only one who knows what this place is like. I'm not about to bring any of you, especially you, into that place. It's just not happening," Y/N told him.

"I-I-I will be fine b-b-because I'm with y-y-you, but I w-w-will not let y-y-you go in there a-a-alone even if you d-d-do have experience w-w-with this thing," Bill said, crossing his arms as he gave the girl a serious look that told her he wouldn't back down.

Y/N frowned, obviously not pleased with Bill's decision, but nodded. "Fine, but you aren't allowed to leave my side even for a second, got it?" she asked.

Bill smiled and let his arms fall back down to his side. "W-W-Wouldn't want to be a-a-anywhere else," he said. Y/N felt her face heat up at that and she quickly looked away while the others all looked at her in amusement.

"So what do we need to do now?" Eddie asked.

"Well we can't exactly just waltz right into the Well House," Y/N explained. "We're going to need supplies like weapons of any kind, flashlights, masks and rope."

"Lots and lots of rope."

- - -

"I can't believe you're doing this," Eddie muttered, his face pale as he stared at the pulsing goo in front of him that lined the basement wall of the Well House. He looked as if he might puke or pass out. Maybe even both. "That thing looks like an infection just waiting to happen."

"Oh, hush. They'll be fine. It's just decay anyways," Beverly noted from where she was tying the rope around Y/N's waist, remembering what Y/N had said about the Upside Down being a world of decay. She finished tightening the rope before standing back and looking at the girl who grinned at her.

"Be careful and go kick some demogorgon and It ass while you're at it," Beverly told the girl. Y/N smiled and the two girls high fived before Beverly gave her a quick hug just in case something were to happen.

"Remember, we are just trying to figure out what is going on in there and hopefully you guys will find Mike while you're at it. No unnecessary fighting if you can help it," Stan said.

Y/N nodded and the two did a small fist bump before Y/N turned to see Bill talking to Richie, Eddie, and Ben. Her eyes locked with Bill's and she gave him a small nod. "Ready?" she asked.

Bill nodded and pulled his bandana up and over his mouth and nose, a technique Y/N had advised him to use to keep the decay out of his lungs. "Ready," he nodded.

Y/N nodded back and put the bandana over her mouth and nose as well before looking over at Richie, Eddie, and Ben and saluting then. Eddie chuckled and waved to the girls while Ben quickly saluted her back. Richie tried to hide his small smile as he rolled his eyes at the girl, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling at her goofiness and looked to the ground.

Bill lightly grabbed onto Y/N's hand, instantly gaining her attention for a moment. Their eyes locked and he squeezed her hand slightly before she squeezed back. The two then looked before them and took a deep breath before pushing their way through the goo portal, the ropes attached to their waists staying on the other side with the Losers where a huge pile of rope they had managed to find from town laid by their feet.

It took about a minute for the two to break out of the other side of the portal and about fifteen seconds for their eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness around them. Y/N shuddered at the sight before her, the familiar sight of decay in front of her bringing back too many memories.

Bill let out a small gasp, his eyes wide as he looked around and muttered, "What the hell. . ."

Y/N ignored the boy and was quick to flip on her flashlight. "Let's go," she said, her hand still tightly holding onto Bill's as she took a step forward.

She held onto him so tight that Bill thought his hand might break, but he knew she was just afraid and thinking of her many experiences with the world they were in so he held her back just as tight and rubbed a thumb along the top of her hand.

Bill followed at her side and pulled his flashlight out as well as the two began to walk deeper and deeper into the Upside Down. Bill didn't know what to think as he looked around, still shocked at the place that was before him.

They seemed to be in the Well House still, or at least a version of the Well House. Bill had thought the house was already broken down, but this just proved how much worse it could be where half of the building was practically crumbling to ashes while everything was covered in a grayish green decay.

The teens quietly made their way up the stairs of the basement and began to make their way towards the front door, making sure to be quiet enough not to let It or the Demogorgons know they were there.

"We should check outside first. Mike's bike was left outside, so maybe we could find clues," Y/N told him in a whisper and Bill nodded in response.

Luckily the door was already open so all the two had to do was step over some of the broken wood from the door before they were outside. Bill almost gasped louder at the sight of the outside world.

Just like Y/N had said, the scenery around him reminded him of Derry. There were buildings and streets identical to the ones he was used to seeing every day. The only difference was that this landscape was covered in decay and a green and gray tint to everything.

Bill could only stare in shock, so Y/N gently tugged on his hand as she pulled him forward. They couldn't afford to get distracted or separated. Not in a place like this.

The two walked down the front stairs and Y/N dragged Bill over to the same bush that Mike's bike had been in, only the bush was nothing but a bunch of broken twigs while all that was left of a bike was the rusty handles broken in pieces on the ground.

Y/N frowned and bent down to pick a metal piece up. She stood up and studied it for a minute before looking up and around at the scenery in front of her. She was quiet as she looked around, her eyes scanning the area as if she were waiting for something to happen or looking for clues to anything alive having walked through these parts.

Her questioning gaze was soon answered when a small almost screeching noise came from the house behind them. . .the same house they had just walked out of.

Y/N's eyes widened while Bill stilled beside her. "W-W-What was th-th-that?" Bill asked as he looked to the girl beside him confused.

Y/N shook her head and turned to look at the house, but as soon as she heard what sounded like claws scrapping across the ground as something started running through the house, she immediately burst into action.

Her grip tightened on Bill's hand and she bolted, yanking the boy forward as she yelled, "Run!"

All she could hear was her own heart beating in her chest and the cries of a demogorgon as she ran. She knew Bill was yelling at her, possibly trying to figure out what was chasing them and what they were going to do, but she wasn't able to function or process his words so all she heard was a muffled voice yelling from behind her.

Y/N didn't know where she was running as they rushed forward, but she knew that she had to find somewhere to hide, someone where the demogorgon would have trouble finding her. Why she thought the creepy woods was a good idea, she had no idea. But then again, everything in the Upside Down was creepy so how could the woods be any different?

"This way!" Y/N yelled as she pulled Bill into the forest with her. All the trees were bare of leaves, some of them even having branches and twigs broken in odd angles, but there were so many of them bundled together that it was easy for the girl to find them a hiding spot between two large trees towards the middle of the woods.

Y/N had to remind herself to keep her breathing low, that it didn't matter how scared she was. If the demogorgon heard her breathing, then it would be able to find her. It took a second but she finally managed to get her breathing to almost inaudible.

The only problem was Bill who was holding onto her hand with a deathly grip as his other hand held onto his chest. His eyes were looking around frantically and his breathing was almost so rapid that his body shook with every breath.

Y/N frowned sadly before quickly turning her body so that she was in front of the boy. Her hand was quick to go over his mouth, instantly making his breathing ten times quieter. Bill stared at her with wide eyes and she tried to remain calm as she looked at him.

Sweat was dripping down both of their faces and fear was evident in their eyes. Bill shook below her touch and Y/N gave him a sympathetic look before letting go of his hand so that she could brush her hand through his hair, a small gesture she always did when she needed to calm him down.

It seemed to help a little bit and he just blinked and watched her silently as she kept her hand over his mouth. Once she knew he was calm enough for her to look away, Y/N peaked her head out and around the tree so that she could look back in the direction they had just come from.

A snap of a twig had her pulling back and practically launching herself at Bill, the two huddling together as Y/N kept her hand over his mouth and bit her lip to keep herself quiet. Both teens were shaking as they heard the crunching sound of dead twigs and leaves and Bill squeezed his eyes shut before leaning into the girl more, never having felt this scared except for three years ago when they had fought Pennywise.

He hadn't even seen the thing, but it didn't take much for him to realize why Y/N was so freaked out and the sound it made only added to his own fear.

The two were so quiet that the crunching of the leaves and twigs was the only sound that filled the air. So when the sound suddenly paused before starting back up again and growing distant as it did, the two knew they were safe. Y/N waited a moment after the sound had disappeared before pulling away from Bill and looking around the tree.

She let out a small sigh of relief once she saw that the coast was clear and she turned back to Bill before pulling her hand away. Their noses were touching from how close they were, their rapid breaths mingling together as they stared at each other.

"W-W-What was th-th-that?" Bill asked, his eyes frantically searching Y/N's as if they held the answer to his question.

"A demogorgon. Something you do not want to meet," Y/N breathed out. She let her eyes flicker over Bill's face before she looked at him worriedly and used a hand to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing his skin as he leaned into her touch. "Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

Bill instantly nodded. "Y-Y-Yeah, I'm okay," he told her before he reached up and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. "Are you okay?"

He knew how much the Upside Down and the creatures inhabiting it had affected her. There had been countless nights where she had showed up knocking on his window with tears in her eyes and where he had held her in his arms as she cried and shook in his hold from how frightened and upset she was. Bill had never minded much especially since Y/N returned the favor whenever he had nightmares of Georgie and It.

Y/N let out a shaky breath and nodded her head, "Yeah, I'm-"

Her sentence fell on deaf ears as an ear piercing scream filled the air. Y/N instantly tensed while Bill looked at her confused. Y/N ignored the boy as she quickly pulled away, her eyes wide as she looked around. "That scream. . ." She muttered making Bill furrow his eyebrows.

"W-W-What scr-" Bill didn't get to finish because Y/N's wars were suddenly filled with another scream that made her eyes widen.

"It's Mike!" she cried out. "This way!" Before Bill could even get up, the girl had bolted and by the time he was up, she was already gone.

"Sh-Sh-Shit," Bill muttered as he realized him and Y/N were now separated. "Y/N!" he cried out, but there was no response. Knowing there was no way in hell he would be leaving without her, Bill took a deep breath before running in the direction she had went, silently wondering to himself what screaming she had been talking about.

The screaming may have not been real for Bill, but for Y/N it was very real. So real in fact that she didn't even think twice about running off to find Mike. She knew about the horrors that came with the Upside Down so she could only imagine what was happening to him at that moment.

However, it wasn't until she reached a small clearing where Mike was standing with a blank expression on his face that she realized she had been tricked.

"Mike?" Y/N called out, confusion laced in her voice. Upon realizing it was him, she let out a sigh of relief and ran over to the boy, a smile on her face. She reached the boy in a matter of seconds and was quick to wrap her arms around him in a hug. "Thank goodness you are okay! I don't know what I would've done if I-"

The girl fell short as she realized Mike wasn't hugging her back. Confused, Y/N pulled way to see that Mike was staring at her with a blank look on his face, his eyes wide as he just stared at her in silence.

"Mike?" Y/N questioned, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. "Come on. We don't have time for games. We have to get out of here."

Y/N turned to leave but before she could even take a step, Mike's hand was suddenly grabbing onto her wrist before he let out an eerie laugh.

"Oh, but games are so much fun, Y/N," a voice that didn't belong to Mike told her. The girl tensed at that and slowly looked behind her to see that Mike had disappeared and been replaced by It.

The clown grinned at her, his sharp teeth shining as his eyes stared at her. "We can play a game," It suggested while Y/N shook her head and began to pull against It's iron grip. Tears were in her eyes as she struggle, but It didn't seem to notice. "The other kids love my games. You can float too, you know. You'll float too. You'll float too. You'll float too! You'll float too!"

It's voice was so loud that Y/N's ears hurt. Letting out a strangled cry as tears began to stream down her face, the seventeen year old tried deservedly to escape his iron grip. It just laughed and Y/N's eyes widened when the clown's mouth opened up to reveal rows of sharp teeth.

Just when It was about to clamp it's teeth into her arm, Y/N remembered the rope around her waist and yanked on it before using her leg to sweep It out from under his feet.

On the other side of the portal to the Upside Down stood the Losers' Club who were all staring at the portal ahead of them with frowns on their faces. "You think they're okay?" Stan asked quietly, his voice just above a whisper.

As if having heard his voice, the rope that belonged to Y/N suddenly began to move forward faster than any of them had seen. Beverly's eyes widened and she quickly grabbed ahold of the rope, only then realizing that Y/N was tugging against it to signal that she needed them to get her out.

"She's pulling on the rope! Y/N needs help!" Beverly exclaimed, the others' eyes all widening as they hurried over to the girl and began to pull on the rope.

Y/N let out a small sigh of relief as she began to run, the rope pulling back against her not only helping her run faster but also telling her that her friends were trying to help her.

She had lost It a little ways back, but Y/N was no fool and knew that he was not far behind. Stumbling through the woods, Y/N was barely paying attention and accidentally slipped onto the ground.

The girl let out a groan as she sat up, but it was only then that she realized the tugging on the rope had stopped. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, a small panic rising in her chest as she hesitantly reached out for the rope and began pulling on it. It was as if the rope was as loose as could be and before she knew it, Y/N came face to face with the frayed end of a rope.

The rope, her way back home and the connection to her friends, had been cut.

"No," Y/N muttered as she felt the bubble of panic rising in her chest. "No. No. No. No."

"Y/N, please don't run! We can all be friends down here!" It's voice sang from a little ways away causing the girl to drop the rope in her hand and scramble to her feet.

Y/N didn't know where she was going at this point, the rope not being of any help anymore. Everything in the woods looked the same and the longer she ran through it, the more scared and upset she got. She just knew that she had to get away from It.

She hadn't even realized she was crying before her vision got so blurry that she was literally just stumbling around. Her breathing was heavy as she ran forward, her eyes flickering all around her.

Hadn't she passed that tree a minute ago? Why did everything look so familiar? Wasn't that the place her and Bill had hid from the demogorgon?

Y/N froze at that. Her eyes wide as she realized Bill was no longer with her. When had that happened? She didn't know whether to be relieved since he didn't have to deal with It or scared because she didn't know what was happening to him.

"Bill!" Y/N cried out frantically, tears streaming down her face even more as she suddenly became frightened for Bill's life. "Bill!"

A loud screech from behind her made her jump as she realized both the demogorgons and It were now after her. Knowing she had to find Bill, Y/N took a deep breath before running back into the thicker parts of the woods, making sure to still run away from the creatures that were following her.

"Bill!" Y/N yelled as the branches on the trees scratched her face and pulled at her hair. "Bill!"

She ran through the thick trees for a second longer before she suddenly came stumbling out into a small clearing. No sooner had her feet touched the ground that something came barreling into her side causing her to hit the ground as she let out a scream of terror.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut as she began to cry, knowing that this was it. A fucking demogorgon had gotten her and she was about to die. She really hoped Bill had found his way out, that he had made it back to the others and that they would work with her friends from Hawkins to kill these motherfuckers.

"Y/N?"

The girl's thoughts were hushed at the sound of her name and she slowly blinked her eyes open to see Bill propped up above her. "B-B-Bill?" she questioned, still leaning back slightly and shaking because she wasn't quite sure if this was actually the boy that had stolen her heart or some sick hallucination caused by the clown.

But then she saw the rope attached to his hip and the concern in his eyes as he gently reached up and cradled her face in disbelief before hugging her tightly. "F-F-Fuck. Don't sc-sc-scare me like th-th-that," he muttered as he held her close to his body, stroking her hair and pressing a kiss to her temple as he did so.

And she knew it was him.

A loud sob left her lips as she clung onto the boy, a feeling of relief washing over her at the fact that he was okay. However, the two didn't get long to comfort each other before a loud almost howl like screech filled the air.

Y/N perked up at that, instantly remembering why she had been running in the first place. "We have to go," she told him before she grabbed onto the rope around his waist and began to yank on it. Within a couple of seconds, the rope was starting to pull Bill up onto his feet and through the woods. Bill was quick to grasp onto Y/N's hand and the two began to run as fast as they possibly could in the direction the rope was pulling them.

It didn't take long for them to exit the woods, the Well House coming back into sight. Y/N silently wondered if the house had been that close all along and if the woods had just been a trick of her mind.

A red flash of lightning came from behind them and Y/N felt the hairs in the back of her neck stand up. She hesitantly looked behind her before gasping at the sight of the Mind Flayer, a creature from the Upside Down that she hadn't seen in two years. She had thought he was dead.

"We got to go!" Y/N exclaimed, pulling Bill along faster towards the house. A howling screech filled the air before it was followed by another one and then another. It didn't take much for Y/N to realize that the Mind Flayer had sent a herd of demodogs after them.

"Shit," she muttered as she pushed Bill into the house, glancing back to see a herd of demodogs and demogorgons running out from the woods they had just come from with the Mind Flayer right behind them.

Bill looked outside as well and his eyes widened before he quickly grabbed Y/N's hand and began to pull her towards the basement. The two could hear the creatures that were hot on their trail and for a second they both even swore they heard the sound of Pennywise laughing from behind them.

But then they saw the flashing portal and didn't even think twice before lunging inside, the two flying through and onto the floor of their world causing the Losers to all jump back in surprise.

"Holy shit! You guys okay?" Beverly asked as she hurried over to help them up, but neither of them made a move to get up. Y/N had started to cry while Bill held her close to his body, his eyes trained on the portal in front of them as if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Guys? Why aren't you talking? What's wrong?" Ben asked worriedly.

"Yeah, what the fuck happened in there? And why the hell was Y/N's rope cut?" Richie questioned in anger as he held up the frayed end of the rope that had been on their side.

"What about Mike? Did you see Mike?" Eddie asked.

The questions all came barreling at the two, but neither were able to process just what their friends were asking. Y/N was shaking as she held onto Bill, the boy shakily holding her back as both of them stared at the portal in front of them.

Just then, the lights above the group began to flicker causing everyone to look up confused.

"Oh no."

The Losers all froze and turned to look at Y/N, their faces paling slightly at the look of sheer fright and panic on her face. "What's wrong?" Stan asked, not knowing if he actually wanted to hear the answer.

However, he got his answer sooner than he expected when a slimy looking hand pushed its way through the goo portal on the wall. Before any of them could blink, the face of a demogorgon appeared, it's whole face opening up like a flower to reveal rows of teeth as it screeched at them.

Everyone let out a scream while Richie yelled out, "What the fuck! What the fuck!"

The next few seconds were a blur as everyone scrambled towards the stairs, tripping over each other as they did. The demogorgon chased after them, but somehow the teens were able to be just a step ahead of the creature.

They ran towards the front door and Y/N quickly pushed her friends outside before they all stumbled across the front yard. The demogorgon was right behind them and Y/N pushed her friends across the street only to trip and land just on the other side of the road.

"Y/N!" Bill cried out once he saw that the girl had fallen behind. He went to run back, but it was too late, the demogorgon was already standing above the girl with its mouth opening up even wider if that was even possible. Y/N whimpered and tried to crawl away but the demogorgon's hand was suddenly latching onto her ankle.

But its hold on her disappeared almost as quickly as it had happened. The hold was suddenly ripped away as a car came barreling past the group, the front of it hitting the demogorgon so hard that the creature went flying back.

The Losers all blinked in surprise before looking to the car that had stopped in front of them. Y/N was breathing heavily as she pushed the strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail out of her face.

Her lungs and ankle were on fire as she looked up at the car and she was shaking out of fright, but she still managed to smile as the window rolled down to reveal that face of Steve Harrington. The boy ran a hand through his hair before glancing down at Y/N who was lying on the ground still.

"L/N, still don't know how to stay out of trouble I see," he mused, the corners of his lips twitching up slightly as he looked at the girl.

Y/N let out a laugh of relief that had the Losers all looking at her with wide eyes, wondering how the hell she was able to laugh after what had just happened.

Then they saw the smile on her face and the way she looked at the boy as if she couldn't believe her eyes and they knew this person was obviously important to her and she was relieved to see him. This all together made them look to the boy confused, wondering just who the hell this guy was.

"Harrington, still don't know how to drive I see."

* * *

Tag List

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[lovebitesimagines]

Flames

Requested by @2heures

For a request where Thomas constantly is looking out for the reader because the reader prefers to go out and deal with rough/dangerous business by (herself) . Maybe sometimes she does need a little help. Thanks :)

I am so sorry that this is up later than expected! I may well re-do this idea at a later date, as I'm not sure if I'm 100% happy with how I've done this. I had so many ideas, I struggled to get one cohesive idea straight haha. I do hope you enjoy it, and I hope I've done this idea justice. 

Masterlist.

Tag list: @2heures @biba3434

Wanna be on the tag list, for any series? Lemme know!

Warnings: Fire, violence.

You’re head strong, and prefer doing business yourself. But sometimes, things don’t always go to plan.

It went without saying, that your marriage to Tommy Shelby, came with its fair share of excitement. Although, an outsider would be more likely to label your marriage as ‘dangerous’ ‘unstable’. You thought that was bullshit.

Yes, you knew what your husband was. You had been friends for a while, before your relationship had blossomed into something more. It was something that neither of you had seen coming, yet it had happened as quickly as a racing car and neither of you wanted to put the brakes on. You worked well together, the other half of you that neither of you realised was missing. You balanced each other out well, complementing the different quirks of your personalities. The Shelby family had welcomed you with open arms, relieved that Tommy had found someone who had settled so well into the family dynamic.

Yet you would be lying to yourself if you said you were never worried about Tommy. You had spent countless nights lying awake in your bed, watching the darkness slowly disappear into daylight, waiting for him to arrive home safe. When he did, you would feel relief wash over you as if you wore stood under a torrent of water, as you returned into his embrace, showing him with a million ‘I miss you’ kisses. But on those odd occasions, when he didn’t return home until the next day- or worse, the day after that- you would be restless with worry, unable to sit still or sleep. Your mind would be running wild, a concoction of dark thoughts and pictures appearing every time you closed your eyes.

You had taken it into your own hands, on more than one occasion, to face the danger your husband did. You knew how to handle a gun, how to fight and how to negotiate. Your way with words, and talent with your fists, was one of the things that made Tommy fall for you. Yet, your stubbornness and overwhelming desire to protect those you loved, did lead you to make rash decision, and go blindly into situations without assessing the danger first. This was often met with loud voices, and altercations. Tommy despised it when you did this, yet you loathed him walking head first into these situations. These differences in opinions often led to heated arguments between you both.

He hated it when you tried to deal with the rough side of business alone, so often you had to sneak behind his back to do so, although Tommy always found out. You knew the business inside out, including the people that Tommy associated himself with. You knew how to wrap them around your little finger, make them feel like they were safe, and then get them where it hurts. The Peaky Blinders adored that about you. All of them except one.

Tommy.

You knew what you were doing was wrong, sat across the table from Darby Sabini. His greasy black hair made your skin crawl, his pencil thin moustache twitching slightly as he glared across the table at you. A single oil lamp was lit in between you both, the dust that floated around the room highlighted by the flame. You ignored his henchmen, who stood behind him, arms folded, and frowns etched upon their faces. It was adorable, you thought, their pathetic attempts at seeming threatening.

“I must say, I was surprised when you asked to meet me Mrs. Shelby” Sabini drawled, leaning back in his chair. The aura of confidence that shrouded him, caused a sick feeling to bubble in the pit of your stomach. You hated men like him with a passion. He pulled up the cuffs on his shirt, before continuing to talk. “Usually it’s the man that does the business see”.

“You obviously haven’t researched your enemies that well, Mr. Sabini” you let his name tumble out of your mouth as if it was poison, not wanting to keep it behind your lips any longer. You mimicked his leaning back in the chair, wanting him to get the impression that this was a relaxed situation. It was nothing but. He couldn’t see the gun that was hidden in a holder, wrapped around your thigh, under your dress.

“That’s what you think, Mrs. Shelby” Sabini drawled, his voice sending uncomfortable shivers down your spine. He leant forward, his eyes glaring into yours, not even blinking. His henchmen took a step forward, and suddenly the atmosphere changed. A chill crept around the room, and you instantly knew that something bad was going to happen. Sabini pulled out a gun from his pocket, pointing it at you. “You think that I don’t know you?”

“You know nothing about me” you whispered, not breaking the eye contact that you both maintained.

“Oh I know everything about you, (Y/N). I know that you think you’re better than me. Smarter than me” his voice rose as he spoke, he stood up slowly and made his way over to you, the gun pressed to your forehead. The metal was harshly cold against your skin, your heart stopping in your throat. You had massively underestimated this man, and now you knew you would pay for it. “I suggest you stay still Mrs. Shelby, or this will hurt a lot more”.

His henchmen made their way towards you, pulling rope from their back pockets. It was soon tied tightly around your wrists and your legs, cutting into your skin. Panic spun in your stomach, as you tried to push the anxiety down. How did everything go so wrong, so quickly?

“Why did you call this meeting exactly, Mrs. Shelby?” Selbini growled in your ear, pressing the gun harder onto your forehead. You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly. “You think you have any place in mens’ business?”.

The gun pressed harder into your skin.

“I like meeting my husbands potential business partners. See if they’re worth risking everything for” you retorted, hoping your voice didn’t break and give away the fact that you were incredibly nervous. You knew your confident front was slipping, it had in fact been doing so since the chilling pressure of the gun was pushed against your forehead. Selbini laughed cruelly, before walking away. His henchmen were walking around the room, pouring a liquid substance all over the floor. It took a few, brief moments before the smell hit your nose.

Petrol.

Panic.

“We’re going to leave you here to burn Mrs. Shelby. Just like you fucking Peaky Blinders let everyone else fucking burn” he snarled, turning to face her briefly as he stood in the doorway. “I wish it didn’t come to this”.

He drew a match against the door frame, dropping it to the floor. The floor ignited instantly, the trail of petrol bursting into flames. The room was illuminated by the threatening orange glow.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

You were trapped.

Flames began to lap at the walls around you, like a hungry kitten in search for milk. It cruelly cackled at you, taunting you, making you aware of your fate. Thick clouds of black smoke masked your vision and choked your lungs. You desperately pulled at the rope which bit into your skin.

It was hopeless. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t breathe. Time was passing by too quickly, and any chance you had of escaping the fiery furnace was slowly becoming non-existent.

You began to slip in and out of consciousness, overcome by the smoke which took residence in your lungs. You were unaware of how long you had spent in the room. Ten minutes perhaps?

Your vision slowly began to fade, your eyelids gradually shutting closed. You felt yourself getting lifted up, and heard panicked, angry voices fill your mind.

Blackness.

You awoke to sunlight bathing your skin, the arms you felt still tightly wrapped around you, the sensation familiar and comforting. You blinked several times, adjusting yourself to the uncomfortable glare of the sun rays. Your body ached, as if you had been run over. Your lungs stung, smoke still remaining. You pushed yourself up, violent coughs forcing their way out of you, each one feeling like a punch to your chest.

“(Y/N)!” you heard a familiar sounding voice whisper from behind you, their voice choked with uncharacteristic tears and worry. You would know that voice from anywhere. You turned to face them, your vision still slightly hazy.

Tommy.

His arms tightened around you, as you brought your hand up to caress his cheek, his skin smooth under your touch. The dampness of his tears gently tickled against your fingers, your heart sinking at the sensation.

“I thought I lost you” he whispered, his eyes closing at his confession. “Seeing the building up in flames, I-I-“

“How did you know I was in there?” you asked, your voice croaky.

“Do you really think you step out of the door, without some form of protection?” his fingers ran through your hair, his eyes searching yours. “I’ve always got you”.

“I love you Thomas Michael Shelby” you whispered, pressing your lips gently against his.

And you knew, that you would always have him.

[timep3tals]

Hey I've seen your blog and let me just say omgiloveitsomuch!!! I read your work on AO3 and then I got Tumblr and I found you and omg I was so happy!!! I wanted to request a little ficlet cos I love your writing- Peter accidentally steals Tonys hoodie and goes to school with it and feeling kinda guilty but then like it ends up comforting him through the day?? He tries to give it back but Tony just tells him to keep it. Sorry that it's so specific. Do what you want with it. Love your writing bye!

hey babe, thanks so much! i’m really glad you enjoy it, it means a lot!!

Spending a school night up at the tower usually wound up being a horrible decision that Peter couldn’t quite seem to resist from making. Not that spending time with Tony and Pepper was a bad thing, not at all! It’s just Tony and Peter tend to accidentally bring out the worst tendencies in each other self-care wise.

Namely, staying up far too late and sleeping in until three or later in the afternoon; rinse and repeat.

This time, it was totally an accident — Peter had been out as Spider-Man, wound up in Manhattan (don’t ask, he already got bitched at by Tony for leaving his “territory”), and got stabby-stabbed by some wicked fast dude trying to steal from Stark Industries. 

Naturally, Peter stopped him, but FRIDAY had already told Tony what was up, and so Peter spent the wee hours of his morning getting fussed over by his mentor, when he kept insisting, “Really, Mr. Stark, I’m fine! It’s already healed over!” Because it was, thank you very much.

By the time Tony’s internal Mama Bear had retreated back to her cave and let his death grip on Peter go, it was three sixteen in the morning, and Peter crawled into his bed to very promptly pass out.

So, really, Peter wasn’t to blame for the frantic rush to school that next morning when he woke up fifteen minutes before first period. Thankfully, Happy already picked up his backpack from Aunt May’s apartment, so he snagged it and a stray hoodie off the couch so he didn’t freeze to death in the sixty-degree weather (thanks spider-genes and your crap thermoregulating), and was out the door.

Happy drove like an absolute madman to get him to school on time. Peter didn’t wait for the car to pull to a complete stop as he leapt out with one shoe half-on and the other untied, shouting a quick, Thanks Happy! over his shoulder before bursting through the doors.

Right as he entered the classroom, the bell rang, and Peter smiled victoriously as he slid into his spot beside Ned.

“Dude,” Ned whispered, “you’re so lucky you got here when you did. Ms. Warren’s on a warpath with those tardies lately.”

“Don’t I know it,” Peter hissed back. “I just had a little… incident, last night, and you know how Mr. Stark is.”

“Is that why you’re wearing his hoodie?”

“What? I’m not—” Peter glanced down at the hoodie, and his mouth clicked shut in shock. In bold, white letters, the hoodie read Stark Industries, and Peter had seen Tony wearing the sweatshirt enough to know on the back, in the same lettering, was T. Stark. “Oh crap.”

“Flash is gonna go nuts when he sees,” Ned said sympathetically, and patted Peter’s back. “I have a jacket you could borrow?”

Slowly, Peter pulled the hoodie up over his nose. The potent scent of metal and something muskier that was distinctly Tony rushed in to greet him. It smelled like home, of late-night spaghetti dinners, of strong hugs when the world became to heavy to carry, and of early-morning lab binges when Peter’s hands itched to do something and gentle words guiding him in the right direction as he worked.“No,” Peter said, before he really thought it through. “No, it’s fine. I’ll give it back to Mr. Stark after school. It’s an internship night anyway, so I’ll be going back to the tower.”

Flash, naturally, made Peter’s life hell. Or tried his level best to, but Peter felt remarkably untouchable today. Nothing Flash could say phased him in the slightest, especially not with the gentle scent of dad lingering in the air around him from the hoodie.

“Come on, Penis,” Flash crowed behind him. “Why does your shirt say Tony Stark? Are you really that desperate to prove you know him? Come on, Parker, own up to your lies!”

“I have nothing to own up to,” Peter replied smoothly, fiddling with the drawstrings on the hoodie. “It’s his sweatshirt. I’m wearing it. Move on.”

Flash refused to move on, but Peter ducked his nose into the sweatshirt and continued on with his chemistry homework. Most of the day went as such. What Flash would say that usually grinded on Peter floated past like the breeze, replaced with the distant comfort of Tony.

Peter always had felt safe around Tony — felt safe, and loved, and cherished, and most of all, as though he had a father to turn to again. Even if Tony didn’t think the same way, Peter clung to those tiny tendrils they shared, dancing the delicate line so he didn’t overstep boundaries.

So with Tony’s hoodie, Peter felt practically invincible. As though he was standing on top of the world, where nothing but the solid ground under his feet mattered anymore.

However Peter did feel a little guilty. He’d seen Tony wearing the hoodie often enough to know it was one of his favorites (a present from Pepper when Tony saw how many of their employees had a hoodie, and he didn’t). When Peter arrived at the tower (Happy wisely didn’t comment on the hoodie), he hurried to the lab as FRIDAY directed, pulling the sweatshirt off as he went.

“Good afternoon, kid,” Tony greeted from where he was bent over his desk, sketching away at a new blueprint. “School went okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, surprised at the fact he did have a good day. Tony also looked a bit surprised when he poked his head up from the project he was working on. “It-it was good.”

Holding out the hoodie, Peter cleared his throat. “I brought you back your hoodie. Sorry for stealing it.”

“I didn’t even realize it was gone.” Gesturing to the table, Tony said, “Set it down.”

With some reluctance, Peter did so, and tossed his backpack on his desk. Tony insisted Peter get any homework he had for school done before they can do internship stuff. He felt Tony’s eyes on his back, studying him.

“Did you want one of your own?” Tony finally asked. “Kid, all you have to do is ask. Seriously, it’s like you forget that I’m a billionaire—”

“I don’t want my own,” Peter interrupted.

“Then why steal mine?”

“Well, I overslept, and was in a hurry so I didn’t realize it was your hoodie that I grabbed, and then Ned pointed it out when I got to school and offered me one of his jackets but this hoodie smells like you so I really didn’t want to take it off, and oh my god, did I say that out loud?”

The absolutely massive grin on Tony’s face told Peter that yes, he definitely said that out loud. Oh, god.

Burying his face in his hands, Peter groaned. Tony rounded the table and clapped Peter on the back, the grin ever-present on his face when Peter peeked out through his fingers.

“Do I need to start leaving clothes out for you? Maybe spray my cologne on your shirts? Smear a little aftershave on the collar?”

“Stop being gross!” Peter complained. “It was just one day, one hoodie! It was comforting, so please, get over it!”

“I can’t get over that,” Tony told him. “Wear the hoodie, kiddo. I have more than enough where that one came from. My closet es su closet.”

Peter pouted at him. “That’s a disgusting use of the Spanish language.”

“I know. Point still stands.” Tony sobered a little, pressing his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. “I want you to feel comfortable, Peter. You being happy and comfortable are my main priorities. If wearing my hoodie helps get you through the day, feel free to raid my closet at any time, okay? I won’t even make fun of you.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Okay, maybe a little. In a good way. That hoodie is probably huge on you.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter turned back to fiddle with his backpack, awkwardly pulling out his chemistry homework. Still, a little smile pulled at his lips he couldn’t quite wipe away, warmth blooming in his chest as Tony stood beside him.

“Kinda is.”

“Knew it. Now, what homework do you have today?”

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