#Henry the pining flight attendant

[sophie1973]

Sentence Sunday

I was tagged this week by @onthewaytosomewhere, @stellarmeadow, @iboatedhere and @tailsbeth-writes. Thank you lovelies, and tagging you back.

Today I'm offering a snippet of what I called the 'Plane fic', although it has a title now : 'And if this ain't love (why does it feel so good)'

Think Captain Alex, Flight attendant Henry, colleagues with benefits (aka : pining idiots in love), severe turbulences, mechanical difficulties and life affirming sex (after the flight, not during the turbulences, obviously).

Coming this Thursday October 24 if all goes well.

Snippet and tags under the cut

“How is it looking?” Henry asks, keeping his tone neutral and professional. “Good,” Liam answers. “Shouldn’t be over three hours and thirty minutes, and sky is clear, although the weather report is not so encouraging over NYC. But it might clear out by the time we get there.” “Alright. Let me know if you need anything,” he says, his voice betraying more than he intends. Unable to resist, his hand finds its way to Alex's shoulder, squeezing gently., It's been a week since they've seen each other, and the touch, however brief, feels electric. Alex's eyes lock with his, and suddenly the cramped cockpit feels overwhelmingly intimate. Unspoken words pass between them, and Henry bites his lower lip and exits before doing something monumentally stupid, like climbing on his lap and kissing him senselessly. They have known and worked with each other for the past two years. They’ve been sleeping together for the last six months. No strings attached, no complications.

Tagging with no pressure : @firenati0n @thighzp @kj-bee

@miharaikko @wordsofhoneydew @swoonoveryou3 @caterpills

@miss-minnelli @orchidscript @blueeyedgrlwrites @bitbybitwrites

@myheartalivewrites @priincebutt @suseagull04 @14carrotghoul

[firstprince-ao3feed]

And if this ain't love (why does it feel so good)

by Sophie1973 "Hey Henry, fancy having dinner once we touch down in NYC?" he asks casually. Liam scoffs. "More like 'if' we land in NYC at this rate." A tense silence follows before Henry responds, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. "Are you seriously asking me on a date while you're battling severe turbulence at 6000 meters in the air?" Alex smirks. “It’s 20000 feet, sweetheart, and now is as good a time as any, right?” Words: 8042, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 15 of Inside These Pages (You just hold me) Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, Red White & Royal Blue (2023) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Liam (Red White & Royal Blue) Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Pilot Alex, Flight Attendant Henry, Friends With Benefits, Fluff, Smut, Explicit Sex, a bit of angst, Henry is a pining idiot, Alex is a romantic sap, co-workers sleeping together to boyfriends, severe turbulence and mechanical problems, Happy Ending via https://ift.tt/lHsjGnZ

[tremble-in-the-hips]

All right, you asked for it. A fucking Picture of Dorian Gray fanfiction I wrote in high school. Pine away, gays.

Dorian’s leg bobbed furiously. The cigarette between his fingers smoldered to an ashen stub. On his velvet purple couch, he stretched out, perplexed by the painting strung above the fireplace. He shuddered as his own oil-glazed eyes peered at him. 

They weren’t really his eyes, he thought. The eyes belonged to Basil, whose skilled hands opened the window into Dorian’s soul, now sitting on the mantle. Dorian felt Basil’s presence in the canvas. His hands, cramping around a paint brush; his one eye open as he perfected his vision; his dark hair falling in clumps in front of his eyes. The concentration and adoration Basil put into creating the image was powerful. As he stubbed out his cigarette with a flick, Dorian felt the artist’s careful scrutiny staring back at him as he sat. He rubbed the back of his neck with a chuckle as he thought of being in Basil’s studio just that afternoon. 

“Don’t listen to Harry,” Basil had warned. They were standing, a breath apart in the waning sunlight. Anxiously, Basil dug beneath his fingernails with a pencil to dislodge layers of crusting paint. 

Dorian had scoffed as he straightened his cuffs. “Basil, I’m beginning to see a pattern,” he chuckled. “For someone you trust, you condemn Harry rather harshly, don’t you think?”

Basil smiled politely. Dorian’s smile unraveled. “What,” he cried, “have I said something amiss?”

Basil met Dorian’s eye and laughed as he clasped his rough hands around one of Dorian’s. “No, never, my dearest,” Basil cooed, “I only wondered when I claimed to trust Harry.”

Dorian bent towards Basil. Concerned, he whispered, “You doubt his loyalty to you? Your friendship?”

Basil shook his head with a grin and laid a firm hand on Dorain’s shoulder. Head bowed, he turned back towards the painting on the opposite wall. “That, I don’t doubt,” Basil proclaimed, “ours is a friendship more like a commitment than marriage. We’ve seen too much together, know too much about each other. He will take my secrets to the grave with his cynicism and darkness which he so loves to spread,” he muttered. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

Dorian eyed Basil playfully. “So, your lack of trust stems purely from experience? One too many nights of debauchery spent face down in a ditch due to one nefarious Henry Wotton?” Dorian stepped forward and took up all of Basil’s view. “Too many secrets falling out of his pockets?”

Basil chuckled and pushed Dorian away. Dorian giggled and shoved him back. The two poked and pulled on one another until Basil brought his hands over Dorian’s cheeks and held him back, both of them laughing raucously. (Seated on his couch, Dorian grinned at the thought.) Basil sighed and the air was calm. “Maybe,” he replied simply. 

Dorian clasped Basil’s shoulders and shook him once. “My God, Harry dares to decry marriage when he is married to you!”

Basil leaned heavily on Dorian’s shoulder, guffawing as his knees gave out. Wiping joyful tears from his eyes, Basil sighed, “Oh, but only Harry would believe a friendship akin to marriage worth cherishing and the only truly good purpose for marriage besides politics.” Basil stood up straight, eyeing Dorian from beneath his curtain of hair. “More than anything, the man is quick to decry romance.”

“Ironic, for a man with cynically romantic notions,” Dorian cried with a laugh. He looked adoringly at Basil. “What would he think of a friendship akin to romance?”

Basil bit his lip, eyes wandering absently to his left. He scoffed, “More than likely shaking his grim head at us.”

Dorian huffed, emerging from his revere startled and breathless. Friendship akin to romance, he thought, what a delightful delusion. He could hear Henry Wotton’s voice repeat such a sentiment in his head. He shuddered. He sometimes did find Harry outrageously grim, even when he followed Harry with a childlike curiosity and adoration. As embarrassed as he was, he found himself smitten with the lord; Wotton was handsome and charming and enticingly treacherous. Whatever Wotton said felt like honey, despite later burning like vinegar. 

Basil’s warning had shaken him. Dorian paused, considering how the night was to proceed. His party, which was to include Basil and Dorian, were to head to the theater after the club and witness one of Sybil’s first performances after their proposal. He was torn, intrigued and terrified by Harry’s promise of disappointment from Sybil’s love. Part of him wanted to continue heedless, so infatuated was he with Sybil; yet he felt hesitant, and chanced leaving Sybil if he got scared. 

It felt real, his love for Sybil. More real than even Harry’s cynicism could penetrate. 

Could there be a potential for failure in a feeling so strong? If only he could explain it to Harry! He paced the living room, drawing up articulate analogies. His satisfaction with Sybil was as permanent as the spring bloom, as lingering as a smoke cloud from a pipe, as tender as Basil’s affectionate brush stroke. 

Dorian skidded to a halt in the doorway, hand clutching his chest. Why do I still think of Basil? he thought. He flopped into a lounge chair, groaning. One of his servants came to him, mumbling about the arrival of Harry and Basil (did his heartbeat quicken?) to take him to the club, then the theater. His heart thumped as he plucked a flower from a vase on the counter and twisted the stem clean off. He pocketed the newly fashioned corsage. A beautiful tiger lily, muted orange with maroon spots. 

. . . 

His corsage lay crumbled in his hand. His entire body felt heavy, as if sinking into the earth. The theater box, already half empty since the second act, felt cold and bitter. 

Henry put it best. “Terrible,” he stated factually, “just terrible. Ah well - flames burn out. Such is life, such is theater.”

“This isn’t right,” Dorian gasped, barely looking up from the flower in his hand. He studied the creases in the petals. He attempted to smooth them out with his thumb, growing annoyed when the petals curled around his fingers. He huffed, “she must be ill, or upset, or possibly inebriated, or-”

“Oh dear, sweet Dorian,” Henry sighed, laying a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian barely looked up. “We both know those possibilities aren’t true,” Henry crooned. With a sniff, he looked toward the stage exit. “You’ve got to hand it to her thought,” he sighed, “she loves you. It’s clear in her face, the way she looked out into the audience, the way she breathed. That’s love. But it’s normal love, average - and acted love will always be more potent. Or at least it will present better on stage -”

“Where’s Basil?” Dorian cut in, shrugging off Henry’s hand with an irked groan. 

“Home by now,” Henry relayed in a monotone, “he left partway through the curtain call, had to attend to a friend or a casserole or his own melancholy or something.” Dorian heard the click of a pocket watch opening. “Well,” cried Harry conspicuously, “your Juliet has more than likely returned to her dressing room now. I suggest you have a chat with her.”

Dorian grit his teeth, prickling against his clothes and skin. His annoyance felt like bile rising in his throat and he felt like spitting. Suddenly he was up, throwing the corsage against the floor. Through the unsettled curls of his hair, Dorian saw Henry step back with wide eyes and a smile.  

“Dorian, love, what’s got you flying like this?” he questioned playfully.

Dorian huffed and crossed his arms. He felt inflamed, like a deceived child. Was this the product of love? A loss of sense, a loss of purpose? Sybil was supposed to be Dorian’s greatest prize, the person for him to be proud of forever. When she flitted across the stage, he wanted nothing more than to claim the moment, claim her, with a fiery passion. She was something to behold (in her prime, Dorian thought bitterly, which seems to have ended) and she was something he wanted to behold constantly. 

Dorian flew, a trail of orange tiger lily petals falling at his boots. He felt confident in his ability to tell her just how he felt and nervous of her reaction. But he was angry! Truly angry! To watch her perform on any other night was to watch the gods of grace and whimsy in flight. What would become of the world, his world, without her gift, his pride? For her to fail or give up performance would be like if Basil put down his brush. 

Dorian hovered hesitantly in front of Sybil’s dressing room. He could feel his heart clattering against his breastplate. He reached for the doorknob and felt his ill intentions bubbling in his throat. She’s a charlatan, Dorian thought wickedly, and I am a willing sucker to her ruse. She embarrassed me in front of my friends! She doesn’t deserve my advances, my praise. What a failure! I’ll see to it she realizes the shame, the embarrassment. I mean, what would Basil think - 

Dorian’s hand shook violently as he grasped the doorknob. His breath escaped in sharp gasps. His grip loosened. To his left, he peered through a window and a vision formed of his own living room through the darkness. In the projection, he saw Basil smoothing the ruffles in Dorian’s jacket. His face was splattered with paint and a playful smile pulled his lips. 

“You really are a wonder, Dorian,” Basil’s voice echoed. Dorian’s mirror image blushed. “So youthful, yet so open; so beautiful, yet so kind.” The vision of Basil looked away from the vision of Dorian and stared, knowingly, at Dorian in real life. Terror gripped Dorian and shame overcame him as the vision smiled at him, concern in his eyes and a slight, adoring tilt in his head. The vision whispered, “I can always trust you to handle important things with care and thoughtfulness. It’s what I like best about you.”

Dorian let go of the doorknob and stared at it pointedly. His face twisted and released. What was my plan? he thought. What would I have accomplished with such anger?

The door creaked open and Sybil’s heart-shaped face appeared like a moon over the horizon. She beamed. “Oh, love!” she yelped and pushed the door open.

Dorian looked forward and straightened his back. He swept his hair back and gave Sybil a polite smile. “My dearest,” he muttered shyly. 

“I was hoping I had seen you on the balcony,” Sybil squealed with delight. She stepped into the door frame and swept her hand over the room. “Will you join me, good prince?”

Dorian met her eyes and sighed, feeling light and giddy. Despite the embarrassment, his physical feelings for her were strong. Sybil held her hand out for Dorian to take. Before he reached out, he thought of Basil’s unruly dark hair and affectionate smile.

The right thing? Dorian questioned fearfully. He took Sybil’s hand delicately and kissed her fingers. “I would, darling,” Dorian chuckled, “but I must attend to personal matters.”

Sybil recoiled slightly, but soon returned a polite smile. “Oh, that’s fine. Before you go, I was wondering what you thought of my -”

“You were lovely,” Dorian cried, “and I will explain away my hastiness later!” He leaned forward and gave her a sweet kiss on the lips. Once he was out the door, he began sprinting down the street. 

. . . 

Basil’s door flew open and he laughed with surprise and delight before pulling Dorian into his embrace. “I’m more than shocked,” Basil cried, “you came back for me! The night is alive with clubs and youthful spirit and you come to these unlit suburbs.” Basil sighed and leaned against the doorway to his living room with a jaunty grin. “Of course, the night’s youth allowed you to deduce that I had returned home.” Basil raised the wine glass he had been holding in respect. “You know me too well,” he chuckled. 

Dorian giggled, “have you been drinking, Basil?”

Basil bit his lip against a smile and moved the glass behind his back. “Who’s to say,” he deflected, barely containing his laughter.

Dorian clasped Basil’s shoulder with a grin. “It’s no matter anyway. May I?” Dorian inquired, pointing lazily at Basil’s glass.

Basil shrugged and handed his glass to Dorian. “Why not? Here, have a head start.”

Dorian blushed, touched by the gesture. He took Basil’s glass, raised it to him, and took a sip. It felt like stinging, sweet ginger as it ran down his throat. 

Basil poured another glass in the corner of the room. He eyed Dorian kindly. “I’m terribly ashamed of my behavior tonight,” he admitted, “I’m sorry for leaving the theater without so much as a goodbye. Sybil’s performance was important to you.”

“Whatever you are sorry for, you are forgiven, believe me,” Dorian assured, “I was only worried for your well being.”

Basil looked away, smiling to himself. “Thank you,” he whispered, “though, you could have called. You didn’t. You ran here. I’m curious as to what compelled you to do so.”

Dorian laughed. “I’m curious as to why you fled when you claimed you were eager to join us!”

Basil shrugged with an innocent smile, his lips touching his cup. Chuckling, he said, “I’m still not sure. I thought myself a bore on such a joyous night. Shakespeare often depresses me.”

Dorian nodded attentively, sipping at his drink. “I believe that is his point actually,” he wondered. “The dramas are meant to strike a chord with our humanity, to tell a story of unrequited or unfulfilled romance.”

Basil scoffed, staring into his swirling glass. He met Dorian’s eyes tenderly, sighing, “My dear, often it is the romance that depresses me.”

Dorian turned his head, brow furrowed, and Basil laughed, “it is nonsensical to anyone but me. I find myself incompatible with romance. I don’t hold onto relationships. I am quick to turn inward, quick to anger, and unable to respond to a lover’s cry for attention.” Basil huffed with eyes downcast. “Lovely, lovely Dorian, I am impossible to love.”

The room stood quiet. After a moment of discomfort in silence, Dorian sat on Basil’s dark green couch and beckoned to Basil. Basil shuffled over with tepid steps and flopped into the seat next to Dorian. Dorian turned his shoulders towards Basil and took his hands. He turned them over, lightly drawing on Basil’s palms with his thumbs. He whispered to Basil, “I left the theater tonight after the show because I was inspired by the idea of what you’d think of my actions.”

Basil leaned back against the arm of the sofa, surprise alight in his eyes. His lips drew taut as he tried to suppress a smile. “Go on,” he whispered.

Dorian cleared his throat. His palms were sweating and he cupped them lightly around Basil’s, trying not to dampen them. “I was inflamed,” he continued, “both by Henry’s words and the events at the theater. I felt mean like a snake, wanting to lash out.” Dorian chuckled darkly. “I thought myself deserving better. I thought of telling Sybil so, harshly if need be.”

Basil stared at Dorian with concern. He looked down, grasping at empty words. “I’m . . . sorry to hear you were in such a state, possessed by evil like that.” He clasped Dorian’s hands gently. “I am, however, proud and delighted that you thought of me and made a better choice.”

Dorian averted his gaze, beaming. “It seems I think of little but you lately, Basil.”

Basil blushed deep red and his face lit up with a delirious smile. Dorian hopped closer, encouraged by Basil’s response. He took a shaking breath, continuing, “Basil, whatever compels you to believe you are impossible to love, it is a false pretense; you create beauty out of nothing; you adore your friends with great and genuine enthusiasm; you corale me towards the right path,” Dorian declared. Running a hand through his flyaway hairs, he leant towards Basil with a serious look. “Despite my influences, you get me to see what is right and good with only the thought of your care, your kindness, and your love for me.”

Dorian let out a final breath. Basil’s eyes were locked with his, shining with earnest and insane happiness. His head rested relaxed to his left and he rubbed Dorian’s hands between his fingers. Dorian’s heart quickened and he looked away, clearing his throat again. Timid, he looked into Basil’s eyes. He whispered, “Who are you to say you are immune to romance? What about us? Fools in a friendship akin to romance?”

Breathless, Basil reached out, cupping Dorian’s face gingerly in his hands. Dorian lightly traced his fingers over the back of Basil’s hands. Basil shook his head in disbelief. He rubbed his thumb along Dorian’s cheekbone. “I,” he stuttered, “I, you, you’ve surprised, I’m . . .”

Dorian slid his hands down the length of Basil’s arms and dug his fingers into Basil’s shoulders. “Whatever you’re planning to do or say,” he breathed, “do it now. I despise suspense.”

Basil burst into laughter and Dorian joined. When both had caught their breath, Basil pulled Dorian towards him for a kiss. Dorian closed his eyes, sinking with relief as he wrapped his arms around Basil’s neck. Basil ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair and let his lips drag over Dorian’s sluggishly, intoxicated by the intimacy. Dorian pressed his forehead to Basil’s and Basil pulled back, gasping for breath. With a grin, Dorian nuzzled Basil’s nose, causing the two to giggle with childish giddiness. 

“Do you believe you’re wrong now?” Dorian cooed. “About being incompatible with romance?”

“Possibly,” Basil retorted, playing with one of Dorian’s curls. 

“I think you’ll do fine,” Dorian sighed, catching Basil’s eye and grinning. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a stem of lavender. Basil’s brows drew together in a question and Dorian explained, “I pulled it out of the vase at the theater..” Basil rolled his eyes and Dorian flicked his nose. “Enough,” he laughed, “I’m trying to perform an incredibly romantic gesture.”

Basil laughed heartily. “Okay,” he cried, “you’ve gotten me to believe in love again. Happy?”

Dorian beamed, “Always, with you.”

[poiregourmande]

under the cut, you’ll find: shyan, genderbent shyan, shyanara, maryan, styan and steshyan.

@anotherlostblogger​ | sitting pretty | femslash ryan/shane | explicit | 8k | There’s no way Ryanne Stephanie Bergara wasn’t straight...and Shane had had enough of femmes, thank you.She wasn’t interested. Not even a little.

@anotherlostblogger​ | triangulation | ryan/sara/shane | explicit | 15k (wip) | Ryan's one of the leading crime reporters for The Feed when Shane transfers to their paper. It's only when he hears rumors that Shane is not what he seems that he decides to intervene, for better or for worse. (70s AU)

@blacktofade | this boy is a bottom | ryan/shane | explicit | 2k |  It happens just after they file the incorporation papers for Watcher Entertainment, which makes it the second most irrational decision of Shane’s life.

@uneventfulhouses | her lips are like the galaxy’s edge | marielle/ryan | explicit | 2k |  Up, and up, and up they go, slowly. Ryan loves the view, can’t get enough of it, really, but right now, Mari pulls him in close, looking at him with those dazzling peridot eyes and Ryan gets lost, doesn’t know rhyme or reason or anything at all.  “I love it up here,” she whispers. “We’re so far away from everything.” Her hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb soft over his bottom lip.  “You wanna be far away?” he asks her. She smiles, soft and sweet, lips so pink. His right hand settles on the soft expanse of her thigh, high up, where only he gets to touch. or; things get a little spicy on the ferris wheel

@uneventfulhouses | ‘cause there’s no nicer witch than you | ryan/shane | mature | 4.9k |  Ryan rolls his eyes, reaching up to grab Shane’s hand, tugging him down. Shane goes. He stretches out on the blanket, right in front of Ryan and he waves his hands over Shane’s body, like he’s performing a ritual. Like in movies. Shane laughs.  “What are you doing?”  Ryan smiles at him, eyes dark. “Magic.”  Shane laughs again, rolling his eyes. Whatever makes Ryan happy, Shane will follow a long for a bit. “Are you hexing me?”  “I’d never,” Ryan says. His smile is...mischievous, a little like he knows something Shane doesn’t. or; ryan makes a believer out of shane

@sequencefairy | you’ve ruined peaches for me | ryan/steven | teen | 2.9k | Steven eats the bushel of peaches one by one. Sometimes he has one first thing, with the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window, juice dripping down his wrists as he leans over the sink. Sometimes he comes home from visiting a local landmark and needs a snack. One time he takes one in his bag when he drives out to the edge of Lake Ontario and sits on a rock, listening to the waves and watching a sailboat tack in a lazy loop. On another morning, he stands again at the kitchen sink, peach cradled in his palms. He brings it to his face, inhaling the soft scent. It’s perfectly ripe.Or: A misunderstanding leads to a revelation.           

@uneventfulhouses | ceiling fan | marielle/ryan | explicit | 1.3k | When she looks over at Ryan, he’s busy rolling another joint. Mari’s thirsty, hungry, but all she wants to do is smoke this, and then let him press his body against hers, let him fuck her til she aches from it, til her back hurts and her hips twinge.

@sequencefairy & @uneventfulhouses | wind me tighter than a wire | ryan/shane | explicit | 5k | “I just think,” Ryan says at lunch over their shared table, “that I kinda want him to fucking ruin me, you know?” Shane accidentally tries to inhale his La Croix. Ryan stands quickly to help him as he chokes, but Shane waves him off, setting the can down with shaking fingers. “You okay, man?” Ryan asks, all solicitous. Like he wasn’t the cause of Shane nearly drowning in far too expensive, grapefruit flavoured sparkling water.“Yeah,” Shane answers, hoarse. He feels faint and there’s a roaring in his ears that he attributes to the momentary loss of the ability to breathe. Or: Ryan’s like, “I’m just aesthetically attracted to some men in particular,” and “I don’t want to do anything about it,” and “alright, maybe, sometimes, I think about getting lovingly railed by Henry Cavill while I jerk off but who doesn’t?” and Shane is maybe losing his mind about it.            

@voltairesdick | on the line | ryan/sara/shane | explicit | 4k | Ryan’s been away in New York for two weeks and he’s hated every second of it. He doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, since he’s over there for work, all expenses paid. Ryan's been attending meetings and pitches and meeting with producers and whatnot, stuff Shane would rather not do if he had the choice, but he’s hated it. Sure, the food’s pretty great, Ryan could eat New York pizza until it comes out of his ears. And he guesses the views are stellar, so he's had the chance to flex his photography muscles in his downtime; NY architecture is way more photogenic than LA skyscrapers and white brick. Plus, he secured loads of projects down and finalised important shit, like he was supposed to on this trip. But being away from Sara and Shane, and even their little orange furball has been miserable.

@a-slow-disaster | got nothing to lose but emptiness and hang-ups | ryan/sara/shane | explicit | 17k | “My girlfriend wants to have a threesome,” Shane tells him. “A, uh—a ménage a trois, if you will.” Ryan absolutely will not. This is not a place for such conversations, even if they were the kind of friends who have them—and they aren’t. There’s nowhere Shane could say that to him and have it be normal, but in this place it strikes Ryan as particularly unseemly.“Shane, this is a haunted prison,” Ryan says helplessly, the way you might say sir, this is an Arby’s.

punk_rock_yuppie | stay the distance | ryan/shane/steven | explicit | 10k | Shane and Ryan attempt to woo one Steven Lim.

@sequencefairy | and then some | ryan/shane | explicit | 2k | “I’m willing to delay coffee,” Ryan says, and rolls Shane over so he can straddle Shane’s hips. Now he gets to look down at Shane, which is also a novel situation. Here’s to the new decade and getting new perspective, and all that, Ryan thinks. He’d tell Shane about this brainwave, but Shane’s shifting underneath him and it is all kinds of distracting.“How noble of you.” Shane’s hands settle on Ryan’s hips, fingers slipping up under the soft t-shirt Ryan was sleeping in. Shane’s hands spread out against Ryan’s lower back, palms warm against Ryan’s skin.“I’m very noble, excuse you,” Ryan complains.It's late on New Year's Day and they've woken up hungover and Ryan is feelin' frisky.

@sequencefairy | walking on a string | ryan/shane | explicit | 3k | As he’s reaching over his shoulder with his loofah, to soap the back of his neck, Ryan’s thoughts stray, as usual, to Shane. Shane and his shoulders; the way they shift and move beneath his shirts. Shane’s hands; capable, deceptively-delicate, long-fingered, big enough to wrap all the way around one of Ryan’s wrists.Ryan's pining, he knows, but it's just that Shane is well, Shane.

@sequencefairy | information action ratio | ryan/sara/shane | explicit | 8.9k | “She really tied one on, didn’t she?” Ryan mutters, as Shane’s hauling Sara back in. She’s giggling and stumbles into Shane, but she still manages to hear Ryan. “I’ll show you tied one on,” she says, which is a nonsense phrase, but, for some reason, it sticks in Ryan’s brain. He can feel it burrowing into his grey matter, wonders when it will come back and what it will bring with it.He decides, later, after they're all lying in a sweaty tangle, that it was the way she said it; eyes dark and knowing, certain of the way the remark would land.The one where Ryan wants to be tied up and Shane and Sara help him out with fulfilling that desire.            

@ebonybow | fall through | ryan/sara/shane | explicit | 8.3k | Ryan unlocks his phone, sliding it across the table so Shane can read the messages from Byron, timestamped twenty minutes earlier.“Sorry man, our flights are grounded because of some freak storm. Waiting to see if we can get one out tomorrow,” Shane reads aloud, and Sara pouts down at the screen. “Fuck. Sorry, Ryan,” he says, and Sara echoes the sentiment quietly, sipping from her own mug. He can smell her ginger tea from here. He clears his throat and can taste it on the back of his tongue.

[melodramaticfanatic-blog]

Fic Recommendations

Since my own writing is 

right now, I thought I’d put out some things I’ve been reading while waiting for my emotional and creative processes to get their shit together. (And yeah, they’re mostly Bucky. I regret nothing.)

If You Leave Me Now  from @sugardaddysebby - Summary: You realized your marriage with your husband Henry had run its course when you discovered his various love affairs. You wanted to leave him but not without giving Henry a little taste of his own medicine involving his preferred mechanic Sebastian. Pairings: mechanic!Sebastian x reader,  rich husband!Henry x reader - This is SO GOOD. Mechanic!Seb is such a mood. Smut involved

Let Me Love You  Another from @sugardaddysebby - Summary: Working as a waitress in New York doesn’t really pay the bills. One of the regulars has grown fond of you and wants to help you monetarily. He’s not from that side of town, more of the upper east side, and more importantly, he wants to be your sugar daddy. Pairing: SugarDaddy!Sebastian Stan x Reader - Another that is SO GOOD...with more smut 😁

Fly Me to the Moon  from @jaamesbbarnes - Pairing: Pilot!Bucky Barnes x Stewardess!Plus Size!Reader Summary: When you signed up to be a Flight Attendant, you thought that the worst things you could hear were comments about your weight that doesn’t fit standards. But you had no idea that the worst part of your job would be Bucky Barnes, his charming ways and his knowledge for your sweet tooth. Warning(s): Fluff, teasing, slight mention of eating disorders and self-depreciation, language, mention of sex.  - I can’t even with this series and it just started! 😍 Protective pilot Bucky is everything I didn’t know I needed

Curves and Edges  another by @jaamesbbarnes - Pairing : Lance Tucker x Plus size gymnast reader Summary: In desperate need to blow off some steam after work but too broke to afford proper advanced classes, you ask your gymnast friend if you can practice aerial silks at the gym she goes to. Little did you know her infamous coach Lance ‘the fucker’ Tucker would also make your life a living hell. Warnings: fat shaming, language, Lance being his dick self, teasing, usual mutual pining, and maybe definitely smut at some point 😉 - I am a ho for some Lance Tucker despite his being a huge dick...and this was dick Lance at his best

His Best Girl from @stuckydealer - Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Bucky Barnes was a man that grew up with very little, so when his bank account suddenly had more digits than he’d ever imagined, he didn’t know what to do with it. Until you. - Sugar daddy Bucky has now become my relationship goal. This is a work of art and I’m addicted despite there only being a prologue and 1 chapter so far.

Espresso from @whyisbuckyso - Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected. - The nickname, the pining, the dates!! This series is EVERYTHING! Plus I am dying to know what’s on the cups!?!?

Everything has Changed by @buckyywiththegoodhair - In which everything changes when you discover Bucky’s true feelings for you in a very unconventional manner. - This series yanks my heart out of my chest and feeds it to me and I’m just like...yes, thank you. More please. 

Make Me Believe from @imhereforbvcky (which won’t tag for some reason) - Summary: You keep meeting Bucky Barnes in unexpected places around campus and he keeps acting like you know each other, like you’re dating. As your friendship grows, you find yourself wishing he’d do more than pretend. - He can pretend we’re dating anytime. 

Tripping for You from @bloodiedskirtts - Summary: It’s Y/N’s sophmore year of college, and she’s never had a boyfriend before. But all that will change when her best friend Steve finds out about her crush on him. Determined to prove she doesn’t care for him, bad boy Bucky Barnes comes up with a genius plan. To prove she’s over Steve and he’s not “pussy whipped”. Warning: Fake Dating, Angst, Smut in some chapters so 18+. The NSFW chapters will be marked with an * A/N: Based on the book/film To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before - I read this before seeing To All The Boy’s I’ve Loved Before and tbh I liked this better 😝

The Avengers Read Thirst Tweets from @bucketbarneslove - Summary: The Avengers were told that doing this video would be good press, but considering that Peter Parker is the only one who has actually read a thirst tweet before, most of them are in way over their heads.Warnings: Some mostly tame thirst tweets, occasional swearing - Some of the funniest shit I’ve ever read. It captures everyone PERFECTLY

Master list of @propertyofpoeandbucky - I’m just gonna give you the whole enchilada on this one cause I’ve read basically the whole thing. Though I will point out In Front of the Camera as that is going on currently and is AMAZEBALLS

Break a Leg from @sunshines-fics-legit - SUMMARY: When Y/N is running late for an interview for her dream job, she runs into none other than Chris Evans (literally). After some brief moments of panic, and one ruined shirt later, he manages to help her through the ordeal. Although, not before someone at the company she’s interviewing for recognizes him and alerts the staff he’s there. With you. After Y/N gets the job due to this misunderstanding, Chris decides to take on a role at the company to keep the charade going. Friendship, general hijinx, and even a little romance ensues. - Cute Chris Evans is cute. I like it a lot (in Dumb and Dumber voice)

Love Retreat by @captainrogerss - Summary: When you’re invited to a couples’ retreat at work, you say yes to avoid further embarrassment, despite being tragically single. When you tell your friends about the situation you’re stuck in, Bucky comes to the rescue, offering to pretend to be your boyfriend and also have himself a free vacation to the Cayman Islands. (Fake Dating AU)  - So I might, maybe, have a little thing for fake dating? BUT IT HURTS SO GOOD

Soap Dish by @buckyforbreakfast - Pairing: Bucky Barnes x ReaderSummary: You thought Bucky just had a thing for your soap, turns out he just had a thing for you.Warnings: nudity, bathing together, language - It’s too cute. I can’t handle it

Helping Hand(s) from @becaamm - Summary: You and Bucky had been sharing a room since the two of you got into college, and he knew more about you than you’d let people on. That included a bit of your sexual life - or, more accurately, the lack of it. When you can’t reach your orgasm alone, he offers you a pair of helping hands. Warnings: Alternate Universe – College/University, Roommates, Vaginal Fingering, Dirty Talk - The kind of friend every girl needs really.

Lance Tucker’s Sex Coaching by @lancefvcker (also won’t tag) - Summary:  After your only ever boyfriend decides its time to call it quits, you’re very reluctant to get back out into the dating game. Especially with your inexperience in the bedroom. But when your roommate and best friend Lance Tucker offers you sex lessons, who are you to deny such an opportunity? Warnings: Very NSFW (duh?) - I don’t know what to say beyond DAMN!

Fight For You by @revengingbarnes - Brooklyn, New York. At the annual local boxing championship, Y/N is the leading medical specialist on call. It’s a whole new environment, and despite the drastic change, she loves it. Bucky Barnes is the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. Virtually undefeated, this tattoo artist by day, boxer by night is someone that is now fighting his way into Y/N’s head. And she’s helpless in front of his winning streak. Pairing: Boxer!Tattoo Artist!Bucky x reader - I just... UGH!! 😍

There’s about a million others that I can’t think of or find right now so don’t be surprised if I get around to posting more suggestions. Go read!!

[skeletonscribbles]

I Burn, I Pine, I Perish (Chapter 1)

10 Things I Hate About You, but Reddie? It’s more likely than you think.

Title: I Burn, I Pine, I Perish Pairings: Reddie, Benverly, Mike/Bill/Stan Rating: we’ll call it a cool T for now Chapter: "I Want You To Want Me” (Ben) Summary: Padua High School, 1999 “But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you; Not even close; Not even a little bit; Not even at all.” or: when no respectable gays will date Eddie “Shrew” Kaspbrak, other, less respectable gays are forced to come out of the woodwork.

Read on Ao3!

Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Finale

Ben Hanscom, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, was completely, totally, and utterly lost.

It was his first day at Padua High School, the public institution that the children of several of Maine’s small towns (including Ben’s new home, Derry) attended because said towns couldn’t afford to maintain their own high schools. It was also November, which meant that Ben was particularly conspicuous in that everyone else knew exactly where they were going, and he couldn’t even get it together well enough to find the guidance office.

He should be better at this by now. He was no stranger to transferring schools. His mother had been jumping from job to job since before he could remember, chasing higher paychecks and a better life, and that had meant that Ben’s adolescence was sort of a patchwork quilt of new schools and missed experiences. He’d never been in one place for long enough to really have friends, but that was okay. He knew that he’d get there eventually. For now, he was content with his mother, his cat, and his books.

No book in the world, though, could have prepared him for the enormity of Padua High School. This was the biggest school he’d ever attended, and so he reasoned that it was probably not the most embarrassing thing for him to be too turned around to find his counselor.

Still, he had a little time before the bell was set to ring. He could try.

“Um, excuse me,” he said timidly in the direction of a group of students, “I was wondering, um, if you could help…”

One of the students turned around, and Ben immediately realized that he’d made a mistake in choosing this clique to talk to. The boy he was looking at had rodent-like features, greasy, dark hair with frosted tips, and mean eyes. He sneered back at Ben, gaze dropping to the library copy of Harry Potter Ben had clutched to his chest.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, nerd?” The boy snatched Ben’s book out of his hand. “Wizards? That’s the gayest shit I’ve ever seen, and I have Eddie fucking Kaspbrak in my study hall.”

“You should set him up with this moonface,” another, taller boy jeered. “They could have wand practice together.”

“Shut up, Patrick. No one wants to hear about your fag fantasies.” A third boy shoved the second boy into the lockers. “And Henry, make this quick. We don’t want to be caught talking to trash for any longer than we have to.”

“Can I have my book back?” Ben tried, knowing full well that asking wouldn’t work.

Henry (of the rodent face and frosted tips) dangled the book in front of Ben’s face. “Oh, yeah, I’m just gonna let you leave with this dumb book. NOT.” He pulled the book back before Ben could grab it. “Do my homework for the rest of the year and you can have it.”

Oh, hell no. Ben wasn’t going to get himself stuck with a chump punishment on the first day.

“Give me my book,” he insisted, holding out his hand.

“Are you deaf?” Henry said, speaking slowly and loudly.

“I heard what you said. No deal. I want my book.” Ben punctuated his demand by ripping the book out of Henry’s hands. Henry stumbled backwards.

The expression on the boys’ faces had turned murderous, and it occurred to Ben that he might have made a huge mistake.

“You’re dead, nerd trash,” Henry roared, reaching for something in his pocket.

“After school, you idiot.” The third boy, who seemed to be the group’s ringleader, threw a hand out in front of Henry. “You can’t get caught with a knife again or you’ll get expelled. Idiot.”

The bell rang, and Ben began to back away.

“You’re dead,” Henry repeated, before following his group down the hall. “Dead.”

Well, Ben thought, I’ve made worse first impressions.

“Hey, Harry Potter kid!” A voice called out from down the hallway. Ben turned around, half-expecting it to be Henry again with a fresh round of threats.

It wasn’t, thank God. It was a dark-skinned kid in an X-Files t-shirt. Ben eyed him suspiciously.

“Me?” Ben asked carefully.

“Yeah.” The guy caught up with Ben and clapped him on the shoulder. Two other kids were now approaching from the end of the hallway. Ben feared the worst.

“What do you want?” Ben gripped his book tightly. “You can’t have this, it’s from the library.”

“Want?” The dark skinned kid laughed. “No, buddy, we just wanted to tell you that what you just did was freaking awesome.”

“Oh” Ben blinked. “It was?”

“Yes.” One of the other two boys stepped forward. He was dressed in a style that could really only be described as business-casual, and Ben thought he looked kind of funny next to the kid in the X-Files t-shirt, in an Odd Couple sort of way. “You just stood up to Padua’s biggest and meanest pack of idiot bullies.”

“They’ve been after us for yuh-years,” the third boy chimed in. Ben hadn’t noticed him, really, until he spoke, but once his attention had been called to the boy, Ben didn’t feel like he could focus anywhere else. There was something incredibly compelling about this quiet redhead, somehow. “Huh-how’d you do it?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t really know. It’s my first day - I guess I just didn’t want them to mess that up.”

The other three exchanged delighted looks.

“First day,” beamed the dark-skinned boy, “that means you’re our tour for first period! Awesome. “Mike Hanlon, at your service.” He stuck out his hand for Ben to shake. Ben took it gratefully.

“Ben Hanscom.”

“Buh-Ben,” the redheaded kid smiled. “Nice. I’m Buh-Bill Denbrough.”

“And I’m Stanley Uris,” finished the business-casual boy, “but you can call me Stan. Pleasure to meet you, Ben Hanscom.”

“We’ll take you up to guidance, if that’s cool,” Mike offered. “It’s kind of impossible to find, otherwise. Mr. Keene keeps himself tucked away at the back of the school so that kids don’t bother him.”

“He’s wuh-writing a p-p-porn novel,” Bill volunteered helpfully. (Ben did not find this information helpful, but he appreciated the thought.)

“Thanks?” Ben said tentatively, looking between the three boys. “I appreciate…I mean, schools usually send me off with some weirdo from AV club, so.”

Mike covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, and Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, embarrassed.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with AV club!” Ben corrected hastily. “But…y’know what I’m saying. Right?”

“We know, yes,” Stan muttered, still a little red around the ears. “It’s one thing to be a geek, and another to talk incessantly about it.”

Ben nodded, relieved that they’d followed his train of thought. Mike was still laughing.

“Oh, man!” Mike wiped his eyes. “This guy’s got your number and he doesn’t even know you, Stan, holy cow…”

“We can’t all be on the football team, Michael,” Stan snapped.

“Let’s guh-go see Keene,” Bill insisted. “We’re l-late.”

Ben followed his new acquaintances up two flights of stairs and down a narrow hallway to the guidance office. He felt strangely comfortable in conversation with them, especially when Mike, a fellow Harry Potter fan, switched the subject to Hogwarts Houses.

He wondered if this was what people with friends felt like every day. If so, he couldn’t wait to have friends.

The 12th grade guidance counselor, Mr. Keene, was waiting for them when they reached his office. He was pretty average in appearance, as stocky, thin-haired middle aged men went, but there was something about his countenance that Ben felt deeply unsettled by. He couldn’t put a finger on exactly what that was, though.

“Hanscom?” Keene asked, pushing his glasses up his nose to read the schedule in his hand.

Ben nodded, surreptitiously wiping his sweaty hands on the bottom of his plain red t-shirt.

“This is yours.” He handed Ben the schedule. “I see you’ve already met the three stooges; they’ll tell you where to go.”

Mike and Bill grinned from where they stood in the doorway. Stan scowled, adjusting the collar of his button-down shirt.

“That’s basically all I’ve got for you,” Mr. Keene continued. “Looks like you’ve been to a lot of schools, so you know the drill. Same little asswipe shit-for-brains everywhere.”

Ben swallowed. “Uh.”

“Now, if you boys would be so kind,” Mr. Keene dismissed them with a wave of his hand, “I have a novel to write.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” promised Stan, dragging Ben out by the arm.

Once they were out in the hallway, Mike and Bill collapsed into giggles.

“Cluh-classic Keene,” Bill sighed, putting his hand over his heart.

“You know, when you guys said ‘porn novel’ before, I was a little lost, but I get it now, definitely.” said Ben, looking over his schedule.

“Dude, let me see.” Mike held out a hand, and Ben passed over the piece of paper. “You’ve got English first. Stan, you’re in there, right? With Mr. King?”

“Yes.” Stan looked less than enthused. “With Mr. King, and Tom Rogan, and Patrick Hocksetter, and–”

“Tuh-touchy little Eddie Kuh-Kaspbrak, and fuh-fuh-fucking Richie Tozier.” Bill rolled his eyes. “We know, Stan. You only compluh-ain about it every d-day.”

“No Bowers though,” Mike asked quickly, “right?”

“No.” Stan huffed. “He’s in remedial English. Good thing, too.” He turned to Ben, fixing him with a serious look. “Rogan’s probably too self-absorbed to remember what you did this morning, and Hocksetter’s mind is an incomprehensible void, but Bowers will never forget, and will probably kill you as soon as he gets you alone.”

Oh. They were talking about the bullies from before. “Sounds like a really good time.”

“Anyway, you’ve got Spanish second period. I don’t think any of us are in that one,” Mike continued.

“Fuh-French,” Bill said, gesturing between himself and Stan.

“And I take Latin,” Mike said, “so Stan’ll walk you there, and then you’ll be on your own for a bit.”

“It’ll be luh-lunch after that, so juh-just follow the crowd,” Bill added.

“Are you ready to go?” Stan was looking at Ben again, and Ben couldn’t help but straighten up under his gaze.

“Sure.” Ben turned to Mike and Bill. “I’ll see you guys at lunch?”

“You know it.” Mike smiled, giving Ben a thumbs up. Bill nodded along.

“Great, wonderful, awesome, okay, let’s go.” Stan said exasperatedly. “I want to get this over with.”

Mike and Bill departed for their own classes, and Ben was left to follow Stan, who walked inhumanly fast.

“The library’s over here.” Stan gestured towards a large set of double-doors as he passed them. “AV meets there, and so do the Future MBAs…although I am not on speaking terms with them at the moment.”

“What happened?” asked Ben.

Stan scrunched up his face, obviously still upset. “They found out I owned Backstreet Boys apparel.”

Ben thought of all the New Kids on the Block stuff he had at home, and felt a sense of solidarity with Stan. “That’s it?”

“They’re a vindictive bunch,” Stan muttered. “I didn’t even buy the damn visor for myself. Mike got it for me as a joke. A joke,” he repeated, checking in with Ben to make sure he got the point.

Ben decided against bringing New Kids on the Block into the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead, “they sound like they suck.”

Stan pressed his lips together into a thin line. “They do suck. And they’ll pay for exiling me, certainly. I have plans.”

They walked quietly together for a moment. Ben wondered, idly, if Stan had ever killed a man.

“This is the cafeteria.” Stan finally broke the silence, and Ben let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

He didn’t hear anything else Stan said about the cafeteria, though, because at that moment, the most beautiful girl in the entire world walked by.

Ben had never really paid much attention to girls at his other high schools, partially because he knew that he wasn’t going to be around for very long, and partially because he’d never met a girl that was more interesting to him than a book. He knew intuitively that this girl was going to be the exception. She had ferocious red hair, freckles that wound in constellation patterns across her face and down her back, and the kind of green eyes that Ben imagined J.K. Rowling was thinking about when she described Harry Potter.

He couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted her to look at him. On the one hand, she was the most incredible person he’d ever laid eyes on in his life. On…well, on the same hand, he was absolutely terrified of her.

He’d stopped walking somewhere along the line, too caught up in the girl to notice that he was standing still in the middle of the hallway like an idiot. Stan noticed, though, and was not amused. He smacked Ben in the arm, effectively ending his reverie.

“No. No way.” Stan shook his head. “Terrible idea.”

“Who is she?” Ben asked faintly.

“Beverly Marsh,” Stan replied. “Sophomore. She’s a goddess among mortals, obviously, and like a goddess, she has very little interest in us lowly normal kids. You’re better off forgetting her.”

“How am I supposed to forget about her?” Ben wrung his hands. “Her hair…”

“Look, buddy.” Stan stared flatly at him. “Even if you figured out how to make her pay attention to you, you couldn’t take her out. It’s popular knowledge that she doesn’t date.”

“Why not?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Who?”

“We’re here,” Stan said, pulling open a door at the end of the hallway and ushering Ben in to meet Mr. King.

Mr. King was a grey-haired, no-nonsense sort of fellow with a very stern face. He stopped speaking when Stan and Ben walked in, and looked over at them disinterestedly.

“New student, I presume,” he said in a bored drawl. “Mr. Uris, kindly do the honors.”

“This is Ben Hanscom,” Stan said, gesturing to Ben. A chorus of ‘hi, Ben’ rang through the room. “Be nice to him. Thanks.”

“Take the desks at the far side of the classroom, you two,” said Mr. King, “and let’s get back to Hemingway, shall we?”

Ben took his specified seat and looked around. A gangly, gawky kid near Stan was throwing paper clips in Stan’s direction.

“Stanthony!” The kid whispered, comically loud. “Stan! The! Man! Introduce me to the new kid!”

“No,” said Stan in a heavy monotone.

Unfortunately for Stan, this didn’t deter the kid; rather, it prompted him to instead lick his hand and reach out towards Stan’s desk. Stan recoiled immediately.

“Disgusting,” he hissed. The gawky boy giggled. “Ben, this is Richie Tozier. Don’t waste your time with him.”

“What’d I do to deserve that intro?” Richie squawked indignantly. Stan buried his face in his hands.

“Mr. Tozier,” called Mr. King.

“The office, yup.” Richie winked as he slid out of his seat. “Catch ya later, Ben Handsome.”

“Thanks?” Ben replied, unsure of whether or not he was supposed to feel flattered.

“Let’s proceed without distraction, please.” Mr. King sounded annoyed. “I’d like to hear thoughts on the relationship between Frederic and Katherine. Mr. Rogan, did we read the book this time?”

The ringleader of the group of bullies from earlier looked up with a lazy smile. Ben quietly moved to slide his Harry Potter book into his bag.

“I was proud of my boy Freddy for gettin’ some–” Tom began, but was almost immediately cut off.

“Alas, we did not, in fact, read the book this time.” Mr. King massaged his temples. “Someone else, then.”

“Well, it’s obvious that Hemingway hates women.” A small, sweet looking boy near the front of the classroom crossed his arms. Ben noticed with some interest that the boy was wearing a fanny pack.

“We don’t have to do this today, Mr. Kaspbrak.” Mr. King looked, for all intents and purposes, like a man ready to quit his job immediately, but that was the furthest thing from Ben’s mind in that moment.

Hadn’t Stan said the name Kaspbrak before…?

“I think we do, though,” continued Fanny Pack Kaspbrak. “Katherine’s whole mission is to get pregnant? Really? And then when she can’t deliver the baby, she just…dies? Like, okay, Ernest, is that really all that you think that women are good for -”

“That is all that women are good for, though,” said Tom Rogan suddenly, sitting up and staring at Fanny Pack. “You’d know that, too, if you weren’t the world’s faggiest little bitch.”

“Office. Both of you. Now.” Mr. King crossed to the door and pushed it open for them.

“What did I do?” Fanny Pack spluttered.

“Just go, Kaspbrak.” Mr. King sighed. Ben turned to look at Stan, who shrugged.

“That’s Eddie for you.”

Eddie.

Eddie Kaspbrak.

The reason Beverly Marsh didn’t date.

Ben put his head down on the desk, and hoped to God he wouldn’t have to buy a fanny pack to impress this girl.

—-

When lunch rolled around, Ben felt a little sick with nerves. Given the size of the school, it was unlikely that he’d run into either Henry Bowers or Beverly Marsh in the cafeteria, but he was equally nervous about both prospects.

Fortunately, Mike found him first.

“Ben!” Mike pushed through the throng of students. “Como se dice, dude, how was Spanish?”

“Good enough for me to confidently be able to say that you’re terrible at Spanish,” said Ben, a little numb from being jostled by the stream of students jockeying towards the cafeteria.

“Yeah, that’s true.” Mike shrugged amiably. “Any familiar faces?”

“Not really. No you, no Stan, no Bill…I guess the teacher did call for that Richie kid, but he didn’t show. I think he was still in the office.”

“He skips sometimes, too.” Mike looked back at Ben. “You buy your lunch?”

“Bring,” said Ben. “My mom likes to make it. Makes her feel useful.”

“That’s pretty cool of her - and a good thing, too. Padua food is crap.” Mike brought Ben around a large group of people and through the cafeteria doors Stan had pointed out earlier. “We all bring our lunches, too. I assume you’re hanging out?”

Ben suddenly felt warm. “With you, Bill, and Stan? That’s okay?”

“You bet, buddy.” Smiling, Mike led him to a table near the back of the room. “Here he is, boys!”

“You muh-made it!” Bill cheered. “How’s it been?”

Ben sat down, pulling his bag lunch out of his backpack, and thought back over the last two periods.

“Well, English was…interesting.”

“I told you that class was terrible.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“And then in Spanish, we…” but there was no way Ben was finishing that sentence, because he’d just seen Beverly Marsh across the room, carrying a tray of food and looking like a literal angel.

“Earth to Ben, come in, Ben,” called Mike. “Who’re you looking at?”

“Oh, right, he’s fallen in love with Beverly Marsh.” Stan shrugged and took a small bite of his sandwich.

Mike and Bill exchanged an astonished look.

“All right, all right!” Mike clapped him on the back, nodding appreciatively. “Dream big, buddy.”

“She’s really nuh-nice,” offered Bill, smiling kindly. “We were uh-in the school pluh-uh-ay together once.”

“Oh yeah! You kissed her! Nicely managed, my man.” Mike and Bill high-fived messily over the table.

“We’re just going to ignore her whole Eddie pact, then?” asked Stan, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, shit, I forgot.” Mike’s smile disappeared. “Man, she’s gonna be single for life.”

“Eddie pact?” Ben asked, trying not to sound desperate.

“It’s not huh-huge, really.” Bill shrugged, sipping a Capri Sun. “Eddie went through some kind of bad buh-buh-breakup a year or suh-so ago, and swore off d-dating. Buh-Bev’s his best f-f-friend, so she swore off d-dating too.”

“Until he dates.” Mike corrected. “Beverly will start dating again when Eddie starts dating again.”

“So all we have to do is set up Eddie Kaspbrak?” Ben grinned. “I think I can manage that.”

“Okay, no. Two things.” Stan folded his arms. “One, she still doesn’t know you exist. Two, you’re not going to find a date for Eddie.”

“Why not? I bet some of the girls think he’s cute,” said Ben, looking at Beverly again.

“Yeah, bud…he doesn’t swing for that team,” said Mike, scratching his head sheepishly, “so that limits your pool a lil’ bit. And then there’s the fact that he’s not known for being, you know, super nice.”

“The nicest name he gets called is Shrew,” Stan said bluntly. “No respectable gay is going to date the Shrew.”

Beverly had sat down at a table near the front of the room. The table’s only other occupant was Eddie Kaspbrak. They were conversing about something.

“What subjects does Beverly take?” Ben changed the subject.

“She’s in Fuh-French class,” offered Bill. “She’s not very guh-good.”

Ben’s face lit up. “That’s perfect!”

Bill, Stan, and Mike all squinted back at him, confused.

“So in order to be the girl of Ben Hanscom’s dreams,” Stan clarified, “you have to have red hair, bad taste in friends, and speak French poorly.”

“No, no.” Ben waved his hands in front of him. “No. I’ll tutor her in French. That can be my in.”

“I don’t think that’s as good of a plan as you think it is,” Mike warned, opening his water bottle.

“Why not?” Ben asked, indignant.

“You don’t take French.”

“I can learn.” Ben balled up his paper bag and tossed it towards the trashcan. Instead of going in, it hit one of the kids passing by. The kid turned around, fists clenched - and of course it was Henry Bowers, of all the hundreds of kids at Padua High, of fucking course.

“Run,” advised Bill, and they all grabbed their stuff and high-tailed it across the cafeteria, with a howling Henry in tow.

They finally lost him over by the football stadium bleachers.

“Why did we take you on again? You clearly have a death wish,” wheezed Stan, leaning up against one of the metal supports.

“Did someone say death wish?” A head of curly hair popped up from where it had been resting on the grass. Ben recognized Richie Tozier’s freckled face and stupid glasses, and stifled a laugh - so Richie had been skipping, after all. “Stan the Man!”

“Can I not have one moment of peace?” Stan groaned, banging his head against the support. “Can I not just be left alone?”

“The universe huh-hates you, Stan,” Bill agreed solemnly.

“It hates all of us today. Especially you, Hanscom, and your impossible French tutoring scheme.” Mike plopped down on the grass by Richie, and everyone else followed suit.

“French tutoring?” Richie asked, “like…french kissing, tutoring?”

“There’s not an ounce of romance in your entire body, is there?” Stan asked, folding his arms over his eyes.

“I don’t know about ounces,” Richie grinned, “but I have a couple of good inches, and I’ve been saving them for your mom.”

“I thought you were gay, Tozier,” Mike remarked, throwing a handful of grass in Richie’s direction.

“I mean, a little. Like Freddie Mercury.” Richie kept smiling, nonplussed. “I like both.”

A lightbulb went off in Ben’s head. He scooted over to Stan and started whispering.

“Remember earlier, when you said no respectable gay would date the Shrew?”

“Yes.” Stan rolled his eyes. “I stand by it.”

“What about gays that might be…less respectable?”

It took Stan a minute, but the lightbulb eventually went off for him, too. He looked at Ben, and then at Richie, and then down at his own hands, clearly thinking it over.

When Stan looked back up, Ben expected him to shoot the idea down immediately…but instead, he smiled, huge and terrible.

“Suddenly, I’m invested in your stupid crush, Ben Hanscom. That would be fucking hilarious. Let’s make it happen.”