#I think if he didn't kill himself tight away something like the sweater breaking would send him over the edge

[wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt]

After Wilson dies, House wears his McGill sweatshirt for weeks, refusing to take it off except to shower every once in a while. Eventually, it stops actually smelling like Wilson, but if House brings the worn fabric up to his nose and takes a deep breath with his eyes closed, he can trick his brain into thinking he can still smell him. At night, he soaks the threadbare collar with the salt from his tears as he pulls it up over his eyes. He presses the fraying sleeves against his lips and resists the urge to pull the strings out with his teeth. Eventually, the red lettering starts to crack, and he ends up curled into a ball, refusing to move so that he doesn't risk damaging it more. The fabric becomes so thin that he can see his thumb through the other side when he pushes on it, and that's how he knows its time. He decides he wants to be buried in it.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: ERICAAA!!! FRICKIN FINALLY!! Less important note, but when writing about Y/n, El and Max, I wrote "the three friends" and autocorrect literally changed "friends" to "fruits". Yelmax confirmed 💀

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"It is fascinating what twenty bucks will get you at the County Recorder's Office," Robin reports, unfurling what looked to be a familiar layout on the break room table. "Starcourt Mall. The complete blueprints."

"Not bad," Dustin smirks from her left.

"So this is us," she points to a familiar-looking room before gesturing across the map. "Scoops, and this is where we wanna get."

"Yeah, I don't really see a way in," Steve mumbles from his seat at the table.

"There's not. If,"

She rips away a layer of the blueprint, revealing a vastly complicated map of air ducts, pipelines, and detailing that made up Starcourt.

"you're talking exclusively about doors."

Dustin looks at her with excitement growing in his eyes. "Air ducts!"

"Exactly," she smirks, making her way to the whiteboard to retrieve the magic marker. "Turns out, this secret room needs air just like any old room and these air ducts lead all the way" she circles the secret room in question, drawing one, interrupted line right back to, "here."

Dustin and Steve finally tear their eyes away from the map and follow Robin's mischievous eye. All the way to the air duct tucked away in the far corner of the Scoops Ahoy break room.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

To their surprise, a screwdriver had been harder to find than a ladder but soon enough Steve had managed to reach the air vent and unscrew it from the wall. But as he stood here now, peering down into the vent he quickly realized they were now facing yet another obstacle.

"Flath'ligh'?" Steve asked, finally removing the screwdriver from his mouth and shaping it for the small torchlight Dustin had waiting. "Thank you,"

The flashlight turns on with a tiny click and a soft yellow light bounces down the narrow metal tunnel, enunciation the frown on Steve's face.

"Yeah, I don't know man, I don't know if you can fit in here, it's like... super tight."

"I'll fit," Dustin smirks. "Trust me. No collarbones, remember?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Robin asks.

Steve jumps down from the ladder, turning to Robin as Dustin begins the climb and gives her a nod.

"Oh, he's uh, he's got so disease," he frowns thoughtfully, racking his brain as he tries to recall the word. "It's chrydo... um... something, yeah I don't know. He's missing bones and stuff, he can bend like Gumbo."

"You mean... Gumby?"

"I'm pretty sure it's Gumbo," he snorts.

"Just shut up and push me!" Comes Dustin's muffled voice from the vents.

By now he had wormed himself halfway in, his bottom half sticking out of the wall and still propped up on the latter while they had been talking.

"Okay,"  Steve huffed, motioning knowingly to the kid's feet and turned away from Robin.

She watched with a tired, lazily bemused expression as Steve grabbed a less than sturdy hold of the kid's feet and attempted to push.

"Not my feet, dumbass, push my ass!"

"Uh, what?"

"TOUCH MY BUTT! I DON'T CARE!" Came Dustin's impatient scream from the walls.

With a heavy grimace, Steve hesitantly began pushing against Dustin's rear end and his muffled anger grew louder.

"I'm pushing!" Steve argued.

"PUSH HARDER!" Dustin shrieks as he attempts to inch further into the metal vents. "You're playing with my legs!"

"I'm not playing, I have terrible footing!"

"Come on!"

Steve finally makes it to the top of the latter, Dustin's legs bunched together over his shoulders and locked under his arm as their voice continued to shout over one another.

"I'm gonna just shove you, ready?"

"Just shove me?"

"One, two..."

"Shit!"

"That work?"

"One more time,"

Robin rolls her eyes, finally turning away when she hears the sudden rapid chimes of the customer bell out front and all too familiar patron.

"Ahoy, sailors! All hands on deck!"

Through the partition window, Robin meets eyes with none other than Erica Sinclair who flashes her an exaggerated salute and rings the bell knowingly.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Laughter and joyful screams filled the chlorine-soaked air, the smell of the pool lingering with sunblock was strong enough it wafted all the way to the parking lot where the majority of the Party now stood at the Hawkins pool. It looked quite different than it had the day before when Y/n, Max, and El had last been, but the tension weighing down the atmosphere seemed just as heavy and ever-present.

The storm had of course long since lifted, and the sun was now beating down heavily on their backs as they took shelter behind a Rust Red AMC Hornet, all eyes across the lot on the occupant in the lifeguard chair.

Billy.

He was squished underneath the bright red beach umbrella, hidden underneath a baseball cap, thick shades, a long-sleeved sweater, and a white beach towel draped over his legs where they poked out into the sun. He was completely covered.

"I don't know," Max begins, peering through the group's binoculars. "He looks pretty normal to me,"

"Normal?" Lucas scoffs. "How many times have you seen him with a shirt on?"

Y/n smiles weakly from where she stands in between him and Will. Max lowers the binoculars, conceding a wince.

"I mean, it's a little weird,"

"More than a little," Mike nods. "He was in a tub with ice. The Mind Flayer likes it cold. Plus everything El saw—"

"But he's lounging at the pool," Max argues, doubtfully. "Which is like, the least Mind Flayer thing ever,"

"Not necessarily," Will says, pulling everyone's attention. "The Mind Flayer likes to hide. He only used me when he needed me. It's like... like you're dormant. And then, when he needs you,"

All eyes return to Billy.

"...you're activated."

Y/n gulps, shifting on her feet from where she had previously stood rooted to the spot. Ever since that dreaded Halloween night the previous year, nothing seemed to have been the same. The Mind Flayer had set his sights on Will, and in turn, her. Slowly but surely, he had infected all of their lives as he had the town of Hawkins; spreading his rot and poison, and his hate. She could still feel it sometimes; the pain of Will's nails raking into her face and leaving behind the faded scar that had already long since disappeared.

Her eyes dart back through the fence at the suspicious-looking lifeguard and her insides twisted further into a sickening knot. The thought of the Mind Flayer's possible return was enough to drain the color from her face and leave a chill in the humid, sticky summer air. Her mind was running rapid with fear but the sound of Max's voice was enough to return her to earth.

"Okay, so we just..." she shrugs, looking back over towards her brother. "wait until he gets activated."

"No," Mike says with the shake of his head. "What if he hurts someone?"

"Or kills someone?" Will counters, and the Wheeler boy nods.

"We can't take that chance. We need to find out if he's the host,"

"Well, how do we do that?" Lucas asks.

The Party falls silent. The weight of the air growing heavier and heavier as it dawns on them. And one by one, each pair of eyes trickle over to the only present Henderson sibling in the Party. Her head is hung, propped-up against the hood and when she senses the eyes on her she straightens, breathing a sigh. But Will was already shaking his head.

"What? No, no way," he says to Mike and the others, Y/n already turning to him. "No, Y/n, I don't think it's a good idea,"

"I don't like it either," Y/n fretted. "but it's our best chance. The Mind Flayer hates me, and I can push his limits. It's the fastest way."

"And if, by some random chance, Billy isn't the host?" Will countered gently. "He'd find out about you,"

Y/n didn't have a reply for that. Truthfully, she didn't know whether to be relieved or angered he had cornered her. She just stood there, frowning at the concrete sidewalk biting her lip thoughtfully. She tried to think of a way to use her abilities subtly, but all her experience with heat came from seismic blasts or concentrated bursts from her hands. If she attempted that on Billy, he would surely know it.

"There's gotta be another way," Mike cuts in. "I mean, a safe way that doesn't risk you getting hurt or discovered."

Y/n and Will - even El - shoot him a funny look and he shifts under the sudden attention, guiltily.

"What about the sauna?" Lucas says, lighting up.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, it's perfect!" He grins, stepping out from around the car and motioning for Will and Mike. "Come on,"

Seemingly catching onto Lucas's idea, Mike wastes no time in following. And Will hesitantly steps away, sending Y/n and his friends an apologetic shrug.

"Where are you going?" El called after them, exasperated.

"Sorry! Boys only!" Mike throws over his shoulder.

Max scowls after them. "Seriously?!"

"Just trust us!" Lucas cries.

"We'll be back," Will shrugs again. "... I guess."

The three friends sigh, throwing less than impressed looks at the retreating boys. Privately, Y/n wondered if Mike stood any chance of harm just from her glaring at him in this moment. She hadn't shared these feelings with anyone, but since reuniting with Will something had been troubled Ling him and he wouldn't say what. She could spot it right away, the shift in demeanor but she knew it was something different from the return of the Mind Flayer somehow. And she believed it had something to do with Mike.

He was acting differently around him. He had been for some time now, as she had with Max and even El but this was different. Something had happened, and because Will was, well, Will, he was clearly trying to put aside for the sake of everyone's safety. Y/n couldn't really blame him there, but she wished he would open up to her. Tell her what was wrong.

And she wished more than anything she could fix whatever Mike had clearly broken.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"All we gotta do is wait until the pool closes and everyone leaves," Lucas begins, guiding his friends through the first layer of the men's locker rooms. "And then get him from here..."

He steps forward, quickly ripping open the secondary door. The three boys scurry inside, and Lucas's friends quickly seem to catch on to his plan and a small smile grows on Will's face.

"And get him into here," Lucas eagerly rips open the sauna door, expecting to see nothing but steam but his luck had run out.

Five sweaty adult men in towels sat packed in the sauna like sardines, scowls on their faces for the three party members who interrupted their steam. "Hey! Shut the door!"

-"Come on, kid!"

-"Shut it!"

Lucas finally broke from his stupor and slammed the door shut, shuddering.

"I think I just threw up in my mouth,"

Will nodded with a grimace, but shook it off when his eyes landed on the wall beside the door.

"The controls!"

Mike's still bulging, haunted eyes finally broke away from their zoning out and jumped to the wall where Will was pointing. His face lit up.

"We can control from the outside, it's perfect!"

"Do you think it'll get hot enough?" Will asks, feeling more and more relieved by the second. "Like, "Y/n" hot?"

His friends immediately stopped, looking to him with a deadpan expression. Will scoffed at them. "You know what I mean" he snarked, not in the mood though he was trying to ignore the hint of a blush creeping up on his skin.

"Nevermind that," Lucas says. "Look right, here, 220 degrees. That's definitely enough."

"Okay, so we just need to figure out how to get him into here," Will nods towards the sauna door.

"Precisely."

"Then we lock him in," Mike says.

Lucas nods. "-heat him up,"

And Will manages another somewhat relieved smile. "-and no matter what happens, we'll know for sure."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Erica descends from the latter, the flashlight in her hands flicking off with a loud click as she strides up to the break room table where her recruits stood waiting. The group had taken a calculated risk I confiding in the young girl, but she was smart and demanded the information and why they needed to know if she could fit into the air duct in the back room. So here they stood, waiting with anxious breath for her verdict.

"Yeah, I don't know," she says, propping herself up on the edge of the table rather unimpressed.

"You don't know if you can fit?" Dustin asks.

"Oh, I can fit. I just don't know if I want to,"

"Are you claustrophobic?" Robin tries.

Amused, Erica gives the young woman a pitiful laugh. "I don't have phobias."

"Okay, well," Steve begins with a shrug. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is I still haven't heard what's in this for Erica,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Steve slides another banana boat ice cream float across the table, joining the already plentiful dairy banquet laid out for the Sinclair girl. She merely gave it a single, disinterested glance and slid it back.

"More fudge please,"

Nobody said anything. And Steve just stared back at the table with tired, glazed-over eyes before Erica sent him a dismissive wave.

"Go on,"

He gave a sigh, and left the booth with the Banana boat in hand, and retreated to the counter. Robin took that as her cue and pulled out the marked-up blueprints she had at her side.

"Alright, you see this?" She points from the circle marked Scoops Ahoy and trail connecting over the flipped map. "This is the route you're gonna take. Then we just wait until the last delivery goes out tonight then you knock out the grate. Jump down. Open the door."

"Then you find out what's in those boxes?" She asks.

"Exactly,"

"And you say this guard is armed?"

"Yes," Dustin quickly nods. "But he won't be there,"

"And booby traps?"

"Booby traps?" Robin echoed.

"Lazers, spikes in the wall,"

Robin couldn't help but give a small laugh, but Erica was all too serious. She turned to the two with a serious look.

"You know what this half-baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child endangerment."

"We'll be in radio contact with you the whole time-"

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" Erica stops her. "Child. Endangerment."

Robin sighs, ignoring the knot wanting to twist in her stomach. She knew she was right, and Robin supposed she just didn't want to admit to herself what they were asking not only of themselves but the young girl.

"Erica?" Dustin began. "Hi, uh... We think these Russians want to do harm to our country. Great harm. Don't you love your country?"

"You can't spell America without Erica," she shrugs, taking a long and loud sip from her complimentary Scoops Shake.

Dustin just blinks at her response and concedes with a nod. "Uh... yeah. Oddly, that's uh... weirdly true, so... so! Don't do this for us! Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man. Do this for America, Erica."

Erica, who had been slurping her drink through her straw throughout his entire speech, finally finished it off and shivered, sending him a smirk. "Ooh! I just got the chills."

Dustin smiled proudly.

"Oh, yeah," she quickly corrects, her smile falling. "From this float. Not your speech."

His smile falls right off his face.

"You know what I love most about this country?" Erica began. "Capitalism. Do you know what capitalism is?"

Both Robin and Dustin mumble a 'yeah'.

"It means this is a free market system, which means people get paid for their services depending on how valuable their contributions are. And this seems to me that my ability to fit into that little vent is very, very valuable to you all. So-"

Robin and Dustin share a worried look.

"-you want my help? This U.S.S. Butterscotch better be the first of many. And I'm talking free ice cream for life,"

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Lifting Up Auvionna "Auvi" Smith:

Muslim Aid - Save Palestine Emergency:

Help Latino Community on Lake Street:

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag List:

@dickkwad @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely-blog   @peeperparkour @ba-responds ​ @bibliophilesquared @blogforhoes @witch-of-all-things-soft @shawkneecaps @whothefuckstolemykeds @daughter-of-the-stars11 ​ @stranger-things4 @kpopanimegirl ​ @nightbu-g @lozzybowe @gizmofishersupremacy @spiderbitch69420

❥ Let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist! ❥

[xneens]

love me, hate me - part one

Warnings: swearing, angst if you squint, mild violence

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Who knew Ransom would get so worked up about a few stolen beers?

Or: In which he's a sucker for you but those were his favorite beers.

He didn't know why he put up with your shit. If you had been anyone else, you'd be working at a dead end job that barely covered your bills instead of walking around the mansion in your brand new Lois Vuitton purse, Jimmy Choo heels that screamed for him to fuck you, and a tight dress he wanted to tear off.

You even had the balls to call him Hugh, a name he specifically reserved for the help. When he informed you, you had rolled your pretty powdered eyes, sneering at him for being an inconsiderate asshole before asking why he wasn't calling himself Hugh due to the massive help sign that was disguised as his cashmere sweater.

Ransom didn't know if he wanted to hurt you or make you his. He preferred the latter but with the way you were pushing him, he wouldn't be surprised with himself if you somehow found yourself in the backseat of his car, tied up and awaiting for him to fuck you senseless. If you had been anyone else, he would ruin your life without hesitation.

He tried to hate you, he really did and usually, it wouldn't be hard for him to hate someone. Most of the time it barely took him a glance for him to decide to loathe the person. But as he tried harder to hate you, forget you, and ignore you, the more you wiggled your way into his every thought. Even then he couldn't hate you. It made part of him want to ditch family gatherings where he knew you would show, being Meg's best friend, and another part of him was exhilarated.

You on the other hand dreaded being dragged into another Thrombey's family gathering where it all ended in arguments and racists comments. The only people you were able to stomach were Harlan, his adorable nurse, Martha, and of course, your best friend Meg. Whenever the conversation began to look like a shouting match, the two of you would sneak away to get high with the maid, Fran.

Ransom was an asshole, a hot, smoldering asshole with enough snarky remarks that would make any sane person hang themselves. You knew he wasn't a fan of yours, which was only good news for you; you hated him, too. The expression "there's a little bit of good in everyone." applied to everyone except him, not that you weren't surprised. Truth to be told, you wouldn't put it past him to kill a family member if they pissed him off enough.

With the number of jabs you made at his expense, you were shocked he hadn't ruined your life yet. Maybe you had a death wish dangling over you, or maybe you just liked pushing him but you made it your little mission to ruin his evening since yours would be the second he stepped in the room.

Meg nudged you with her elbow, leaving a sore spot on your ribs. You gave her a dirty glare, looking up from your Instagram feed. She motioned to the large mansion ahead, the car slowing. "Okay, the plan is to get drunk, but not enough for my drunk relatives to notice and once they're having one of their dumb-ass debates, we sneak off to Fran's room and smoke a few. That sound good?"

Stretching, you nodded, tucking your phone away. "Yeah, that's fine. Remind me how I ended up spending Thanksgiving break with you, again? What did I ever do to deserve such a punishment?"

"You crushed your parent's wishes on becoming a lawyer, instead became an Instagram model, and the holidays with them are too long for you to hear how their daughter could've convicted criminals instead of posting bikini pics," Meg replied, grinning at your sarcastic pout. She stopped the car right beside her mom's. "Come on, it won't be that bad."

"That's what you said last time. Do you not remember how that little reunion ended?" you asked, opening the car door and getting out. The little gravel on the cemented driveway crunched under your new heels, making you grimace.

Meg shut her door, grabbing her purse. She waited at her side of the car and you both walked up to the door. "Actually, I don't. I'm surprised you can especially with all the weed you smoked."

Rolling your eyes, your mind wandered to the man who had killed your buzz. "Your asshole of a cousin ruined my buzz just by opening his mouth. He could be so much hotter if he never utters a single word ever again."

"Please stop talking about Ransom, it's making my lunch come back up." Meg whined, her feet trudging up the steps. Your heels clicked on the wooden porch. "Which reminds me, he kept asking if you were going to be here. Be careful, he might have a little trap to humiliate you in front of my family. If that happens, just knee him in the balls, and we can go to Cabo or something."

You made a face, cringing just thinking of Ransom asking about you, let alone imagining some kind of plan to embarrass you. "Ugh, what a dick. It's time like this that I regret not going back to my crazy family for holidays."

"You'll be fine. Hopefully. Let's go see Harlan." she opened the door, taking off the lush coat draped over her shoulders before placing it on the spacious coat closet by the entrance. She held her hand out for yours and you slid it off handing it over for her to hang up.

Martha greeted you before you could take another step, the Latina smiling at both of you. "I'm so glad both of you are here. The rest came in before you and they've been bickering since."

You both gave her knowing smiles, the loud discussion so heated you could hear it from all the way across the house. Meg sighed, snaking an arm around yours and Martha, pulling you towards Fran's quarters. "Looks like Harlan will have to wait. I'm not going in there sober."

Martha shook her head, slipping her arm out from Meg's grasp. "Sorry, I don't drink and I have to serve them before they get any rowdier. Between the three of us, I'd rather not see another fist brawl this holiday."

You let out a dry chuckle, fixing the hem of your dress. What were you thinking wearing such a tight dress to a party where Richard Drysdale would mentally undress you with his beady eyes. "We'll come with you, now won't we, Meg?"

She groaned, getting pulled by you, her feet dragging on the hard floor. "We're spending Christmas at your parents' house. You can suffer the family drama because I've had it up to here with mine."

"Oh, you big baby." you teased, following Martha to the living room with Meg in tow. You'd think with all the drama she endured from her crazy mother she'd be able to handle a little more from her crazy relatives. "Wanna mess with that racist, whiney troll?"

Meg's lips lifted into a smile. "That's why you're my best friend."

Martha took a turn towards the kitchen instead of the living room, leaving you and Meg to enter the roomful of crazies alone. Some heads turned but not enough to stop the little debate happening.

Jacob sat at the uncomfortable seat in the corner of the room, watching and tapping the screen in front of him, his eyes never tearing from the device. Linda and Donna sat side by side while their husbands had a screaming match with the other. Joni stood by the fireplace, sipping her wine, and occasionally input some random Pinterest inspirational shit. Your eyes landed on the man you thought would take his sweet time arriving.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale sat at his self-proclaimed seat, eating his Biscoff butter cookies, a smirk evident on his face as he watched you walk into the room. He tried to ignore the way his heart raced, blaming it on the cookies and his seven-month dry spell.

You broke free from Meg's arm, pouring yourself a flute full of champagne, swallowing every last drop before making your way to the plush couch, sitting beside your best friend. Your perfume whiffed in the air as you passed Ransom, making him sit up in his chair. You sat close enough for him to reach over and touch you, but he didn't.

Linda gave you the warmest smile she could muster, interrupting the men's argument to greet you. "Hello, darling. Glad you could make it. At least now there's someone in the room with half a brain."

Walt sneered at his sister before giving you a half-hearted smile. "Hey, kid. Your dad still adamant you become a lawyer?"

"Yup," you answered, pulling out your phone, seeing a bunch of notifications from said person. "Why else do you think I let Meg kidnap me, Walt? No offense, but Thanksgiving at the Thrombey's doesn't classify as peaceful or relaxing."

Ransom guffawed, earning glares from his family members. He smirked at you, biting off a piece from his cookies. "Finally, someone who speaks the truth. No wonder she's his favorite."

That subject launched another debate: deciding who was Harlan's favorite. It was no doubt, Martha was but you did come at a close second. Ransom knew, and he didn't want to miss an opportunity to watch his relatives fight. He was a dick that way. He glanced at you, seeing your phone light up as you whispered a secret to Meg. You ignored the phone call, turning over the phone.

While the rest of the family argued, you left Meg's side, getting up from the uncomfortable couch, and walked out of the room. Ransom watched you, licking his lips at the sight of sashaying, hips swaying, and heels clicking. The crotch of his pants grew uncomfortably tight.

Meg watched him watch you with narrowed eyes, suspicious by her cousin's behavior. He may be 33 but he still acted like a teen, and with her best friend pushing him, there was no telling what he'd do. "If you do anything stupid or remotely offensive to her, I'll make sure to send her your head for her next birthday. Maybe she'll have it taxidermied, and hang it up."

Ransom smirked, tossing the last of his cookie in his mouth, chewing as he looked down at his cousin. "That'll only give me a view of a lifetime. My, this college you go to doesn't seem to teach manners does it? Charming as ever, Meg."

She scowled at him, getting up in the middle of the argument. She couldn't stop whatever he was planning if she didn't know what he had in mind but she wasn't going to ruin this holiday for her best friend. Meg followed you to the kitchen, seeing you take a shot glass from Martha. "Drinking already?"

"Don't judge me. Lemme wallow in the warmth and love of the alcohol that your family isn't capable of," you replied, drinking the clear liquid, grimacing as it burned your throat. Martha handed you the chaser, her timid personality making her put a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Thanks, Martha."

Meg took the bottle of vodka, pouring herself a shot before offering it to Martha who had shaken her head. "You sure?"

She nodded, placing the bottle back in its place. "Yeah, I don't need to be drunk when serving those people. It seems like it's even worse out there than before."

"Thank Ransom. That bastard decided to start another fight just by opening his mouth," you said, sipping on a glass of water. Sniffing the room, you smelt the Thanksgiving dinner Martha had to cook by herself. You knew she had to make a special meal for Ransom since he wouldn't dare put the traditional food in his mouth. Too bad, it'd shut him up. "Why is he here, anyway? Isn't he usually the last one to get here?"

"Usually, but he came with Linda and Richard. Don't worry, you're not the only confused." Martha answered. The oven timer beeped and she opened it, taking out the pumpkin pie. She held it out. "What do you guys think?"

"Looks delicious," Meg replied, looking around the room. The sun was setting and soon you would have to face Ransom again, for dinner. "Do you need any help, Martha? We could help you set up the table or something."

"No, it's fine. I have everything taken care of," she said, nearly dropping the big turkey. Meg helped her, carrying it to the counter. Martha smiled sheepishly. "I guess I could use some help. Meg, do you mind stirring the gravy? And [Y/N], would you please place some knives at the table?"

Both you and Meg nodded, helping the poor nurse. Harlan must've let Fran have the day off or else she'd be all over this. Meg grabbed a plastic ladle from the drawers while you took a handful of knives, leaving the kitchen and walking to the dining room. The long table had been filled with plates, glasses, and napkins, the only thing missing was silverwares. Harlan would have to give Martha a raise.

You had just placed the first knife down when Ransom came in the room, leaning against the arch, arms crossed as he took you in. Watching you, he realized he might have a knife kink, only when it comes to you. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to make some kind of remark.

When he didn't, you sighed, tossing a knife onto a clothed napkin. "Yes, you pretentious asshole?"

He chuckled, pushing himself off the wood and walking towards you. "Hello to you, too. Why exactly are you doing that? Shouldn't that Mary girl be taking care of everything?"

Oh, the urge to stab a knife in his face--it was almost too much to resist. "It's Martha and unlike you, I'm nice enough to offer help rather than be a lazy prick who no one loves. Karma's gonna bite you in the ass one day, baby."

Ransom snorts, walking up next to you, so close you could feel the heat coming off of him. "You know, my dear cousin mentioned something about some prank she thinks I'm going to pull on you. Do you know what's going on in that stoned brain of hers?"

"Ransom?" you asked, making your way around the large table, placing knives where they belonged. Gritting your teeth into a smile, you turned to him. "I mean this in the best way possible: fuck off."

He would never dare admit it, to himself even, but that hurt him a little. Not enough to break his smug exterior. "Aw, I like you, too, sweetheart. Hurts when you don't admit you do, too. Want some help on the other silverware?"

Your jaw dropped, the knife slipping through your fingers and Ransom caught it quickly. He placed the knife on the empty, designated napkin. "You're fucking with me."

"No, but I sure would like to fuck you." he grinned, the hidden objective twinkling in his eyes. You rolled your eyes, returning back to the kitchen with Ransom following. "Can't a guy help out around here?"

Ransom grabbed your hand before you could push the kitchen door open. He gently led you to the dark, almost hidden hallway beside the dining room. You snatched your hand back, your elbow grazing the wall behind you. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Spending time with my favorite person," Ransom answered, the smirk gone as he backed you to the wall behind you, leaving you no room to escape. Not that you wanted to. His eyes dropped to your lips, only to darken when yours flashed to his. "Why're you so special? Why do you keep invading my thoughts, my dreams, huh? What're you doing to me?"

That made you smile, amused he couldn't stop thinking about your body. You drag your manicured finger down his blue sweater, earning a shaky breath from him. "Glad to know you have wet dreams about me, Hugh. Hmm, what do you get off to, anyway? Degradation? BDSM? Or are you vanilla in bed? With the way you act, it makes me wonder if you even have a dick."

He growled, slamming you into the wall so hard your head made a loud thud. You'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on a bit. You did like it rough. "Your a guest here, act with respect, [Y/N]. Close that mouth before you say something you'll regret."

"Wouldn't you like it if I used my mouth for something useful?" you breathed, hands resting on his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. His eyes drifted to your lips, tongue darting out to moisten his own. "Yeah, you would."

"What that mouth do, sweetheart?"

You heard the oven timer ding and you smiled, moving your lips to his ear. "Eat."

—

His thigh brushed against yours, a hand "accidentally" landing on your bare thigh, his fingers wrapping around the leg. You flashed him a hard smile before moving your thigh away, almost kicking his wife across the table. You scooted closer to Ransom, hoping to avoid his father's uncomfortable advances. If it wasn't for Linda, you would've stabbed the knife you were holding in his hand.

Apparently, you scooted a bit too close to Ransom for him to raise an eyebrow at you, the hint of a soft grin appearing. You glared at him. "Don't."

Ransom chuckled softly, moving closer, close enough for your shoulders to touch. "Now who likes my company?"

"I do like your company... said no one ever." you snapped, keeping enough distance from Richard's wandering hands. If you could, you would've rip his fingers off, but the Thrombey's were too powerful. Ransom threw you a glance, looking between you and the gap between your chairs. You grit your teeth. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

You pushed away from the table, frustrated with everything about your situation. Tossing your napkin on your plate, you stood up, catching everyone's eye. "Excuse me."

Meg was in the middle of eating her share of the turkey, looking up with a piece of the skin hanging from her mouth. If you hadn't felt so uncomfortable, you would've laughed. She sat up, tilting her head in question as she covered her mouth. You shook you head, assuring her you'd be fine.

Ransom's eyes followed you as you walked by Harlan, giving him a gentle peck on the cheek and a hug before walking out of the dining room. He didn't think he'd ever be jealous of his grandfather. He waited a few seconds before following you, Meg's narrowed eyes watching him as he walked with purpose—he just didn't know what that was yet.

He heard your door slam before he could take a step up the stairs, leaving him confused on what to do. Ransom knew you would reject his company, not that he would blame you. Yet, he felt a little pang in his chest that he ignored, blaming it on the salty turkey. He'd have to go to the doctor soon, check out what was going on with his heart. It might be something serious like palpitations.

Sighing, he went to the kitchen, grabbing a beer and dragged his feet back to his room, trying to forget about the effect you had on him.

It didn't work.

—

Crawling out of bed, you tiptoed down the hall, careful not make a sound as you made your way downstairs. The stairs were loud and you cringed, hoping everyone was deep asleep. Meg had passed out after smoking Fran's stash, plopping down on her bed in your shared bedroom. She reeked of weed and that hadn't help you sleep at all.

You snuck into the kitchen, the soft counter lights bright in the dark room. Walking over to the fridge, you pulled it open, seeing Ransom's alleged "best" beer right at the front. Rolling your eyes, you grab one, popping the cap off. You took a sip, agreeing with the asshole; it was great beer.

Unfortunately, he chose that right moment to have a midnight snack. The kitchen door opened and Ransom was greeted by the sight of you drinking his beer in your tight tank top and booty shorts. It was enough for him to lose it.

Angrily, he walked up to you, snatching the beer from your hand, some of it dripping on the floor. He held it up in front of you with a sneer on his face. "What the hell do you think you're doing with my beer?"

You flinched when he threw it across the room, the shards sprinkling out on the floor. If his yelling hadn't woken up anyone, that certainly would've. Rolling your eyes, you sighed, crossing your arms. "Don't you mean Harlan's beer? It's not like you bought that beer from your own pocket since you don't do shit."

"Oh, I don't do shit? Unlike you I don't depend on horny men and lesbians for likes in order to keep a roof over my head." he spits, pushing you back against the counter.

"No, you just take money from mommy and daddy." you fired back, amused by his anger. You decided then you had a death wish. Or maybe it was just hot seeing Ransom so riled up. Either way, you weren't complaining.

Ransom growled, hands gripping your waist so tightly you were sure it would leave bruises. "Shut up."

Smirking, you lean towards him, lips hovering his. "Make me."

Before he could kiss you, you shoved him away, took another beer from the fridge and walked away without giving him a second look. Ransom stared after you, gripping the kitchen counter.

This wasn't over.

part two

[anxiouspotatorants]

HOLD UP!!! You immediately had me at the "Twilight AU but Rory is the vampire" here 👀👀👀👀. Color me intrigued AND inspired.

Ok so first off, the 'reveal' conversation. The COMEDY potential!! Just Jess being overall nervous but also pretty curious to know about what Rory as a vampire is like, whereas Rory is trying pretty hard to make him be more afraid and to hopefully get him to run away screaming so she can have some reason to tackle him, but this guy just isn't budging!

The shiny skin reveal! Like first off, THIS CAN'T BE THE SAME WITH EDWARD BECAUSE RORY'S NOT PLANNING ON STRIPPING IN FRONT OF JESS HERE (no matter how much she might like him despite her better judgement). Imagine the complete lack of suspense when she just uncovers her arm and shows Jess how it sparkles into the sunlight.

Rory: This is the skin of a killer, Jess!!

Jess: Wow, didn't know murderers had a continuous discount at Claire's for silvery glitter.

Rory: 😒

JESS WITH THE ICONIC GOOGLE SEARCH. THE DREAMS ABOUT RORY COMING IN WITH THE FULL DRACULA GETUP, MENACINGLY LEANING IN TO BITE HIM AS HE TAKES HIS "Paint me like one of your french girls" pose. Jess waking up from it not knowing whether he's scared or has just figured out a new kink for himself.

Jess dodging all of Rory's attempts to get him to stop wanting to see her by just coming in and asking her all of these questions while they're in the middle of the recess crowd in school. Rory giving up after the fourth attempt and answering all of his questions in a hushed tone.

Jess: So you can read people's minds?

Rory: Yes, except for yours. I still haven't figured out why though.

Jess: Huh, maybe Liz's all-round smoking diet during her pregnancy had its benefits after all.

Rory: Jess!!

I'm not sure whether I'd want Rory to be an older vampire like Edward or a more newly-made one, and in this case Lorelai is potentially still human but knows about Rory's condition despite Rory trying to keep her in the dark about it when she first turned. They still haven't found a way to break it to Richard and Emily though, despite their various brainstorming sessions over it.

Lorelai: We could get them drunk and just announce it to them!

Rory: Wonderful, and they'll accept their formerly estranged granddaughter as an undead creature.

Lorelai: Hey, you only asked how we should tell them, you never asked about how they'd handle it.

Jess just straight-up asking if she would eat the bullies in the high-school. Rory vehemently replying that no, she doesn't eat people, she just drinks the blood, but if he must know,......yes she drank from Chuck Presby once because she was angry and hungry and his blood almost tasted like Gatorade, so she's refrained from trying out the other bullies' blood. No, Chuck doesn't know what happened, he just thinks some girl went a bit too far with her hickey.

Jess and Rory talking to each other late at night and organizing a "studying" session where they just end up watching various B-movies, and sometimes Jess ends up falling asleep on the other side of the couch while Rory looks on at him and look, she's not being creepy here, she's just sitting on her side admiring this insane boy who still hasn't woken up one morning and decided that being friends with a vampire girl isn't in fact one of the smartest choices he could make in his life, and she can't help but like him because of that, ok? Also she really needs to hear more of his thoughts on some of the other American classics, it's imperative.

Rory ending up protecting Jess from an ongoing car that almost hits him instead of the whole "other vampire craves his blood" storyline but Jess ends up spraining his arm when he fell to the ground and Rory just feels guilty that she couldn't have saved him in a better way and tries to avoid him after that. Unfortunately she can't because this dumbass is walking along her trail in the nearby woods with his arm in a sling and goddamn it Jess, you're scaring away the deer!!

Yes. A thousand times yes. To all of this. The comedy. The pining. The Google search idea and elder Gilmore announcement. Yes to it all. But may I raise you some alternatives/more ideas:

In the books the sparkling looks more like the vampires are on fire. So when Rory reveals some skin in the sunlight, Jess is like «Shit, stop doing that do you have a death wish?!» and Rory just gives him a shit eating grin and waves her arm in and out of the sunlight. Also what if she doesn’t strip but takes of her sweater to reveal a t-shirt and Jess has a momentary heart attack thinking a vampire was about to flash him? All this being said the Claire’s silvery glitter scene is too good to replace ;-;

There just has to be a point while they’re close friends that Rory tries to impress/scare Jess by pulling him over her shoulders and carrying him while she speed runs. But when she tries to say something badass or seductive she has a brain fart and the only thing that comes out is: «Hold on tight... spidermonkey.» Jess doesn’t get to react before she runs, and when she’s finished the first thing he does is puke (apparently it’s hard to get used to that running according to SMeyer). Rory: «Oh no I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done it, it was stupid and now you’re hurt and-»

Jess: «Spidermonkey???»

Rory: «oh, you’re fine.»

Jess: «SPIDERMONKEY????»

Rory: «I’ll just leave you here for the bears,» and walks away.

I’m not sure what her vampire origin story should be. It could be all the Gilmores are vampires and they bite each other at a certain age after procreating (and the eldest Lorelai decided to be an asshole and bite Rory early) or it could just be Rory like you said. In that case maybe Christopher became one and bit Rory because he wants her and Lorelai and him to be one big happy family of the night? But Lorelai refused and Rory protected her? Or maybe it was a stranger who passed by Stars Hollow?

Jess questions Rory’s humanity not after being saved by a car crash (pre friendship that is, I still think your idea should come in afterwards) but because he consistently skips school and on a sunny day («How can I lock myself in a stuffy dusty dark room on a day like this, uncle Luke?») he comes upon Rory hunting and eating a dear. That and/or she saves him from the swan. And because it’s Rory and she’s a clumsy new-born she saves him by speeding over and suckerpunching the swan so hard it does an action movie sweep miles into the forest.

Rory’s cover for sunny days in Stars Hollow is that she’s staying at Chilton longer for an assignment, or in the case of her still going to ST High it’s visiting their library for resources. Because she hates missing school, that cover is usually true, and she just refuses to go into any spot with sunlight:

Rory: «I have this skin condition, I have sun allergy»

Madeleine or Louise: «That’s not a thing is it»

Paris: «It is [starts infodumping]»

She usually locks herself in the darkest corner of the library and speeding away in a flash at closing time before anyone can spot her.

Rory has lost count of the amount of times Jess has dared her to drink from him. She refuses because she’s scared if hurting a friend:«What if I taste your blood and it’s so good I can’t stop? Like it tastes like heroin or ecstasy or coffee?» Jess usually counters with either «If you could resist Chuck Presby you can resist me» or «What makes you think I’d taste so good, huh?» Rory always ends up thinking she would have a blush right now if she was still human.

Jess wants to be a vampire too because hey what else does he have a chance at doing in life? But Rory refuses because she sees the potential in him and what he can be, and doesn’t want to take his chance at a good and normal life away from him. But at some point they get into a dangerous situation where Jess’ only options are death or vampyrism and Rory finally gives in. Also this is our AU and we get to decide which Twilight vampire-rules apply and in this AU vampires age mentally (it’s a bullshit excuse SMeyer and you know it).

This one depends on the origin but hey it’s an idea: While Rory was still a new new-born, her and Lorelai locked themselves up in the crap shack for a full week watching all the vampire movies they could in search of information that could help them. Rory decided to do empirical experiments too, and had garlic food, got a cross close to her, wore silver and stabbed her arm a wooden stake. The garlic food (like all food now sadly) tasted crap but didn’t kill her, nor did any of the rest. The wooden stake hurt but it healed fast.

Rory gets both Lorelai and Jess to order insane amounts of food just to watch them eat it because she misses the taste and needs to live vicariously through their tastebuds. In the AU where both Gilmore girls are vampires, they order so much food because they have no idea what the normal amount is (chaotic vampire Gilmores for the win).

Also I did not realize how well Bella and Edward’s powers fit Rory and Jess? Like of course Rory would be a mind reader and of course Jess’ thing would be an all-encompassing shield. Sometime when he’s still human and «bugging» Rory she poses the theory that maybe his head is just empty and doesn’t have any interesting ideas. Jess pretends to be hurt (okay he’s a little hurt but he’d never tell her that) and Rory immediately falls into apologetic mode.

Rory wants to go to prom because it’s a human teenage activity she refuses to miss before starts figuring out what to make out of her vampire life. Jess isn’t hyped for it but promises to get tickets. They end up both going as vampires because that altercation happens a week or so before. Jess struggles with not eating everyone in sight but he sticks close to Rory and they leave without a single drop of blood on their hands.

Also Luke as Charlie! Paying attention to the beat attacks and being the only one who noticed that Rory doesn’t actually eat the food on her plate anymore (her mom eats her own plate then switches it with Rory’s) and when Rory and Jess reveal the secret he momentarily closes down and has to take a fishing trip to process everything. But he comes back a ride or die wanting to protect the poor kids.

I also feel like there should be multiple moments where one is insanely attracted to the other and questions this attraction strongly. Like Rory crushing on Jess and wondering if it’s bloodthirst or just the last remains of her human teenage hormones. And Jess being full on into Rory while still acknowledging the fact that it could be some vampire seduction powers, but what the hell does he care? There’s a cute undead bookworm right there and if he has to go he doesn’t mind dying to be a pretty girl’s lunch meal.

[shawnpetermuffins]

Another Night In

A/n: this is my first smut, so keep that in mind. This is also unedited, but enjoy.

Summary: You and Shawn were just gonna have a night in with the boys. How did it turn into scary movies and... strip uno???

Warning: smut (oral, female receiving)

***

“You okay with the boys coming over tonight?”

“Of course! Why on earth would you ask me that?”

“Well, I know you’re here to see me, and-”

“Hey, just because I’m here for the week doesn’t mean you can’t still hang out with your friends. Hell, you could go out and I’d stay here if you wanted me to.”

“But that’s not fair to you. You don’t know your way around Toronto and-”

“I never said I was going to leave. I’d probably read or watch a movie or something. You don’t have to entertain me all the time.”

He nodded, “okay. Well, we’re probably just gonna watch a movie or something. But, are you sure? Because I feel bad. You leave in a couple days.”

I shook my head, “No sir. You are not going to think about that. Just think about the fact that I am here now, and I want you to spend some quality time with your friends.”

“Hey, y/n! You gonna join us?” Brian called from his seat on the couch. I was in the kitchen with Shawn, helping him with the drinks and popcorn. I told him that I was probably just gonna retreat to his room so they could have their space. He reluctantly said that was okay.

“She won’t watch it, Bri. I tried getting her to stay. She’s not about it.” 

“What are y’all watching?” I asked, setting the popcorn in Shawn’s lap and resting my hands on his shoulders. He looked up at me and puckered his lips, begging for a kiss. I leaned down and pecked his lips softly. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed.

“Conjuring,” Matt finally answered.

“Yeah,” I shook my head, “Absolutely not. I’m not about that life.”

And yet, here I am, stuffed between my boyfriend and his best friend "watching" the Conjuring. My hands are covering my face and they're both trying to pull them away. They succeed just in time for me to see quite possibly the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life and I screamed, jumping from my seat. "Nope. Not today, Satan." I said, shaking my head, my eyes shut tight.

Laughing, Shawn pulled me into his lap and kissed my forehead. "You're fine."

I clung to his shirt, my head buried in his neck. "I hate you so much. I'm breaking up with you. This is the worst thing in the world. We're done."

The boys were laughing, at my outburst or the fact that Shawn was now stammering like an idiot at the mere mention of breaking up, I don't know. "Let the girl go, Shawn. She looks like she's about to cry." Ian chuckled.

"I am crying!" I mumbled into his shirt, patting at my under eyes.

"Oh, lovie!" He reached for my face and wiped at my fallen tears with his thumb. I whimpered softly and fell into his touch, but a scream emitted from the screen and I flinched. "Nope. Nope. Nope. That's it. I'm out." This time he let me go.

I was alone for all of about twenty minutes before Shawn knocked on the bedroom door even though it was open, all the lights on as I sat on his bed, laptop in front of me. I paused the video and looked up at him. "Yes?"

"You okay?" He entered the room and sat in front of me on the corner of the bed.

I nodded. "I'm okay." I put my laptop on the nightstand.

"I'm sorry we made you watch that."

"It's okay, bubs."

He reached for my hand. "Are we okay? You weren't serious about breaking up, right? His voice was low, seeming scared of my answer. My free hand found the nape of his neck, and pulled him to my lips. "We are definitely okay. I'm not letting you get rid of me that easily."

"He relaxed against my lips and kissed me again. "Thank god." Minutes passed and we were still pressed against each other. He had me laid out before him, his knees separating my thighs. I hummed against his mouth and his tongue soon found mine, and I found salvation in the taste of him.

"Oh gross!"

We pulled away instantly and I tried to cover up my embarrassed laugh. "Go away, Ian." Shawn grumbled, running his hands over his face.

"You could t wait until we left to have at each other?" He laughed, leaning against the door frame.

"Did you need something?" Shawn asked, completely irritated.

"The boys and I just wanted to know if you were down to go eat. Unless you've got other plans for that." He smirked and I felt my cheeks grow hot; I laughed despite myself.

"Shawn?"

"It's up to you, hon." He took my hand that was resting my lap and played with my fingers.

I rolled my eyes at his answer. "Sure," I answered Ian. "We'll meet you?"

He nodded. "I'll text you where we're going."

When I heard the door close, I went over to my suitcase and rummaged through it to find a shirt. "Why don't you just wear what you have on?" Shawn asked, pushing his hair out of his face.

I looked down at my too big shirt and leggings. "I look frumpy." I found the sweater I was looking for and smiled. I still felt his eyes on me when I started to lift my shirt from my chest. "Turn around," I whined.

"Y/n! I have seen you naked plenty of times. You're just changing your clothes." He said, but turned around anyway while I slipped into a pair of black jeans and my sweater.

"You're good, bubba." He turned back to me, smiling. "What?" I ran my hands roughly through my hair to get rid of the tangles, and he walked over to me, resting his hands on my hips.

"Nothing, I just... really love when you call me that." I hummed in acknowledgement and my fingers found purchase in his hair. "I don't think I could fall for you anymore," he said softly. "My beautiful cherry blossom. With your cute little fake eyelashes and what not."

I furrowed my brows at him. "I'm not wearing fake lashes. It's just mascara."

"What?" He took my face in his hands, looking at me intensely. "My god, you really are just that beautiful." He shook his head. "Wow, I really hit the jackpot with you."

---

"So, what are the rules? I've never played strip uno before." We were all sat on the floor of Shawn's living room, the boys all with a beer in front of them, but I stuck with water, not really in the mood to drink. Shawn handed me the uno cards and I shook them out of the box, starting to shuffle them.

"0 and 5 are the only regular cards that you take clothes off with," Brian explained. "Skip means you miss your turn, but still have to get rid of an article of clothing. Color change means you get to pick which item everyone takes off. And I'm assuming we'll go clockwise, so if you get a draw two, Matt has to draw two cards and put two clothing items back on. Same goes for a draw four. Reverse, the person that went before you - Shawn, in your case - has to take something off. The rest of the game is just like normal. The one with the most clothes of wins."

"You sure about this, hon?" Shawn asked me , surely skeptical.

"What?" I kissed the underside of his jaw. "Nervous about them seeing me naked?" I started dealing out cards to everyone, not really looking for him to respond, but seeing his face turn red from the corner of my eye. "Brian, you want to go first?" I asked, it was his idea after all. I flipped over the top card from the deck and placed it in the middle of the coffee table where everyone could see it. I scooted farther away from my boyfriend so he couldn't see my cards and he frowned, bringing a large hand to my thigh and squeezing gently. "Such a baby," I muttered to myself. We went around the table twice before anyone lost an article of clothing, and much to Shawn's dismay, it was me.

"Matt, I swear to god, I'm gonna kill you." He scowled, looking his friend dead in the eye, seriously furious about Matt's decision to put down a reverse. I just shook my head and put my cards face down on the table before ridding myself of my shirt. I placed it behind me on the couch and looked up only to find the guys gaping at me. Shawn cleared his throat when he noticed and their eyes all quickly reverted back to the cards in their hands. I placed a five down and nudged Shawn's shoulder. He wasn't paying attention to the game though, his eyes, like his friends'eyes just seconds before were trained on my breasts, not that I was at all surprised. "Eyes are up here," I lifted his chin. "It's your turn."

He looked down at the deck, blinking a few times. "Sorry." He placed a card down, but I shook my head.

"You're forgetting something, rockstar."

"I am, eh?"

I lifted my card. "I put down a five. Off with the shirt, Mendes." When he didn't move, I let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine, I'll help." I reached for the hem of his shirt, but he swatted my hands away.

"I got it." He handed the shirt to me and I squinted at him in confusion. He just shrugged, "You're gonna end up in it later anyway," he said in explanation.

I shrugged and nodded, knowing just how right he was, and the boys all stifled their laughter at the very slight innuendo. A few more times around and I'm in my bra and panties, Shawn is in his boxers and socks, Ian in just his boxers, and the other still have everything on but their shirts.

"I swear, Brian. She better not lose anymore clothes or I'm gonna kick your ass." Shawn threatened and I hit his chest.

"Stop it!" I turned my attention to Brian. "He's kidding."

"Like hell I am. This," he pulled me into his lap and I was a giggling mess. "Is mine." His lips connected with my bare shoulder. "Matt," he nodded in his direction. "Your turn." Matt put down another reverse and I felt Shawn tense up behind me. He breathed out his nose and Matt let out a rushed 'I'm sorry, it was literally my last card.' I watched Shawn chug the rest of his beer and I put my cards down, reaching for the clasp of my bra. "Please, baby, dont." He begged, eyes closed.

"Its just a game, Shawn."

He groaned and lifted me from his lap. "I need another beer. Anyone else?" He asked, pushing himself up from the floor. Everyone shook their heads. When he came back to see me braless, covering myself with my arms, he let out a low 'my God' and hurriedly sat me back in his lap, wrapping his arms around my chest, covering me a hell of a lit better than I was doing. "Did you already go?" He asked, pressing his lips covered the side of my neck and I nodded. He set his card down and was followed by Ian putting down a reverse. He laughed, "Thank god!" He pulled a sock off and slammed a draw two on the table. "Put some clothes back on, baby girl! Boys, close your eyes," he said and they did. He took the opportunity to hand me back my bra and I clasped it around myself. "I'm sorry," he said lowly, handing me his shirt. "I had to."

---

I was throwing out the left behind beer bottles when Shawn came behind me and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist. "You're beautiful." He mumbled into my hair, kissing the side of my neck. I bit my lip and placed my hands over his. I was still in only his shirt and my underwear. "I didn't like the way the boys were looking at you all night." He said, slipping his hands under the top. "They were all over you." His teeth sunk into the shell of my ear and I let out a tiny moan. "Can't have that. You're my baby."

"Little jealous, are we?" I lifted my hand to play with the curls on the nape of his neck, pressing his face deeper into my skin. He only grunted his answer.

"I'm the only one that gets to look at you like that." He turned me around in his arms and lifted me up, placing me on the cold counter. I let out a soft squeal. He cupped my breasts over my bra, "the only one that gets to touch you like this. The only one that gets to see you uncontained and mumbling incoherent nothings into my ear as I ram steadily into you." His fingers slipped into the waistband of my panties, teasing my already sensitive area. "The only one that gets to watch you feel the most intense pleasure you've ever felt in your life." A single finger slipped inside me as he slid my panties to the side and I gasped, he took the opportunity to add another finger and connect our lips, his tongue soon battling with mine for dominance.

I soon became a moaning mess, not knowing what to pay attention to, the hand that was kneading my breast, or the hand between my legs that was doing way too good a job of teasing me. "Shawn," I let out a strangled moan as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of me. He added a third finger and I slumped against him. "Oh god," I bit into his bare shoulder, reveling in the sensation of his fingers painting me in feeling. His mouth soon swallowed my his name from my lips, as his pace became teasingly slow. I whimpered, "faster. Please." I begged. He sped back up only for a second and I came undone all over his fingers.

He let out a gentle hum and pulled out of me. I watched with lust filled eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and groaned, seeing him lick me from his skin. "So good," he grasped before getting on his knees and spreading my legs wider, his head burying itself between my thighs, licking and sucking me clean. The noises emitting from him were dirty and only made me want him even more. He pulled back a minute later, chin wet, and he pulled me from the counter. I held onto his shoulders to support myself on my wobbly legs. He rubbed his chin with his thumb and held it it against my mouth, begging me to taste myself. I moaned around his calloused skin and his eyes fluttered shut. I let out a loud 'pop'when I let go of his thumb. I looked down and frowned at how seriously hard he was for me.

"Let me take care of you now," I reached for his boxers, but he shook his head.

"No, honey. I'm not done with you yet." I bit the inside of my cheek and he continued to speak. "I want you to cum so many times tonight that the only way you're getting out of bed tomorrow is if I carry you."

"Shawn," I gasped.

He quickly picked me up, bridal style, and I laughed into his shoulder. "Bedroom," he growled into my neck. "Now."

***

A/n: well that was something. I hope you enjoyed reading it because I enjoyed writing it. Feedback is always encouraged! Thank you!

[himbowelsh]

For BabeRoe: Five times Babe caught one of his friends wearing his clothes and very much minded and one time he didn't mind at all.

AN: these five times prompts always take me a long time bc, well, i’m essentially writing six fics, but i LOVE them and i love writing them!

The fault might lie with Babe, if he'd been idiot enough to leave his clothes lying around where anyone could pick them up. The thing is, he didn't. Bill is anal about keeping laundry in its proper place -- “in your drawers or in the basket, the hell is this, rocket science?” Babe doesn't get the chance to leave articles of clothing lying around anywhere except his disaster zone of a room, and if he somehow manages to leave something behind, it never stays there for long.

When he traces it back, his friends’ awful track record of pilfering his clothes starts with Julian.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Babe demands, striding into the studio (their glorified term for the rec room they all spend their time in when they want to hide from their responsibilities). His question is accusatory; he doesn't care. There is no good reason for Julian to be sitting cross-legged on the couch, soaking wet, in nothing but a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt.

Neither articles of clothing belong to him. Babe knows this, because he is the house’s unofficial Laundry Guy. He's dealt with Julian’s mess of a wardrobe to recognize when his friend is wearing his own clothes and when he isn't. Right now, he definitely isn't, because that's the same sweatshirt Babe wore to the movies a few days ago.

And those boxers… also do not belong to Julian.

“Julian,” he repeats when his friend seems too caught up in his phone to look up at him. “Where did you get those?”

“Hmm?” Julian glances up, looking surprised -- as if he’s just noticed Babe’s presence, the faker. He shrugs thin shoulders concealed in Babe’s sweatshirt and leans back into the couch. “I got caught in the rain. These were the only dry things I could find.”

The storm outside is a killer. It swept in out of nowhere, while Babe was lucky enough to be inside the house. He heard Julian stumble through the front door a few minutes later, but he never considered the implications of his friend getting caught in the storm until now.

Staring down Julian, wearing his sweatshirt and his boxers, he's not sure what to say. A part of him feels defensive; another part feels a little violated.

“You're wearing my boxers,” he emphasizes, as if this justifies every baffled emotion swirling through his head.

Julian glances down at them, shrugs, and twists his pale legs beneath him before returning to his game. “I thought these were Bill’s, to be honest.”

Bill doesn't wear checker-patterned boxers. Bill wears solid colors, the Italian flag, and (on rare occasions) briefs. Babe would love to not have to know this, but now he kind of wishes Julian did.

“Am I…” He pauses, hesitates, wondering if he's breaking some sort of unspoken friendship rule. Or just a house rule -- no one wants Julian going commando on their couch. “Can I ask you to take off my underwear?”

“Sure. You can ask.” Julian sounds almost bored, but when he looks up at Babe, there’s a smirk on his lips. “Don't mean I'm gonna do it.”

Torn between defeat and fury, Babe styles for the least-offensive option and just stalks away. He doesn't want to throttle Julian, but if he has to look at him wearing his underwear anymore, he's not going to be able to be held responsible for what he might do.

He loses this round. At least, he thinks, it's just one (weird) isolated incident.

He thinks wrong.

He’s just stepping through the door when he comes face to face with a sight he could have gone his entire life without seeing. (Okay, maybe not -- he’s seen it before, and he’s not happy about it but he knows it’s inevitable that he’ll see it many times again before he dies.)

“Dammit, Bill, will ya put some pants on?”

Bill waves a hand over his shoulder, not even bothering to glance up at Babe. He’s laser-focused on running the vacuum back and forth over a particularly stubborn spot in the carpet. He’s been whining about that stain for weeks now, ever since Julian dropped a taco (and then picked it up and at it). Today, he’s finally decided to do something about it.

While dripping wet, wearing absolutely nothing.

Babe shields his eyes and walks straight into the coat rack, because of course he does. It’s that kind of day. “I don’t need to see your bare ass!”

“I didn’t need to haul your stupid scrawny ass up to bed when you got wasted on tequila bombs, tried to go skinny dipping, and hit your head in the pool. Did I? Fuckin’ no, but I did it, because I’m a great goddamn friend.” Bill leans down to train the suction right on the stubborn stain. Babe feels like he’s been dropped into a very screwed up production of Macbeth.

“I swear to god,” he says, still fumbling to figure out where the stairs are with his eyes closed. He’s touching something that might be a fur coat, but could also be Spina’s chest. “If you don’t put some clothes on now I’m calling Frannie.”

“She loves my ass.”

“I’ll take a picture and send it to everyone, then.”

“I’ll strangle you.”

Babe doesn’t even know where his phone is, let alone which direction Bill’s standing. He also doesn’t want something that horrifying on his phone. It might melt, or explode, and none of his awful friends will buy him a new one.

“Bill,” he finally sighs, slumping in defeat. “Just put some pants on. Please.”

Bill considers this question for a long moment (way too long, in Babe’s opinion) before snorting. “There’s a t-shirt and shorts in the bathroom. I saw them when I got out of the shower. Go get ‘em.”

He’s so eager to not have to stare at his friend naked any longer -- and, frankly, to have an excuse to leave -- that Babe scrambles to the bathroom. He doesn’t look at the clothes he grabs off of the towel rack. All he registers is that they’re a t-shirt and shorts, actual clothing for Bill to wear so he doesn’t traumatize the nice old couple that lives next door. (The curtains were wide open. How the hell could Bill be doing that in full view of the whole neighborhood?)

He makes it back to Bill in record time, and flings the wad of clothes at him like he’s scoring a winning touchdown in the Superbowl. He keeps his eyes screwed shut until he hears the vacuum switch off and Bill sigh.

“There. I’ve got clothes. You happy now, Heffron?”

Babe finally risks opening his eyes, and doesn’t bother stifling his sigh of relief. The shirt is too tight and the shorts are too short, but Bill’s full moon is no longer offending everyone and their mother. Babe is content up until the moment he realizes something that kills and buries his good mood.

“Hey, those are my clothes!”

Bill just casts a wink over his shoulder. “You gave ‘em to me.”

The vacuum switches on again, drowning out Babe’s groan of frustration.

Of all the people he expected to stab him in the back, Spina was the most unlikely suspect. Spina is the nicest of them all. He’s loyal. He’s a stand-up guy. He has a closet full of comfy clothes all of his own.

Babe doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this.

“Spina! Buddy, you've betrayed me!”

Spina just shrugs, pulling Babe’s baggy sweater (which isn't quite as baggy on him) tighter around his shoulders. “It's freakin’ cold, Babe. Sorry.”

The heat has been off all weekend because someone (no one wants to say Bill, but two people pay the bills in this house and Fran has never missed one in her life) forgot to pay the company. This wouldn’t be such a bad thing, except it’s the middle of winter, and Babe is pretty sure humans need warmth to survive. If someone doesn’t get the heat turned back on soon, the rest of the house has made it clear that they’re going to murder that someone and use him as a human fire log.

So Babe can understand why Spina would be wearing a sweater, just not his sweater. “Come on. That’s the one Gene got me for Christmas!”

“Why d’you think I’m wearin’ it now?” Spina demands. “It’s the warmest thing in this goddamn house.”

Gene is from Louisiana, where the coldest they get in winter is still enough to melt ice cubes. His experience of northern winters have been nothing short of a horror story, so he’s become an expert in remaining a human furnace at all costs. He’s always wearing the warmest clothes, and he gives them as gifts too. Gene’s sweater might be the only thing standing between Babe and life as a human snowman, and currently that sweater is on Spina’s ungrateful back.

“Buddy, I love you,” he says, “but take off your clothes.”

Spina wraps his arms tighter around himself. He sees the glint in Babe’s eyes, and he’s ready. “I can’t do that, Babe.”

“Spina --”

“No!”

Spina lets out a yell as Babe tackles him. They both go tumbling off the couch in a ball of flailing limbs, hollering bloody murder all the way. When they hit the floor, it’s a wrestling match. Babe has got a good grip, but Spina’s not going down without a fight.

They wind up tearing the sweater, messing up the couch, and Babe smacks his head against the coffee table. When the stars clear from his vision, Spina is already sprinting from the room.

Well, at least they exercise is keeping them warm.

Just as Babe is starting to think he has the worst friends in the world, they still find a way to surprise him.

He steps out of his bathroom in full-on Spiderman regalia. He’s got the suit; the mask; even a tiny miniature “web shooter” that really sprays silly string everywhere. Smokey Gordon’s costume birthday bash is going to be wild, and Babe is ready for it.

He stops cold in the doorway when his eyes land on his two friends, clustered together in the middle of the kitchen. Liebgott is stooped over, his head buried in the fridge, muttering to himself as he paws through their leftovers. Grant has hoisted himself up on the counter, and is swinging his legs while munching on Bill’s favorite potato chips.

They’re both wearing Babe’s clothing.

Grant has stolen Babe’s favorite yellow and orange striped t-shirt, matching it with basketball shorts, with a bright red Phillies hat backwards over his messed-up hair. Liebgott is in a striped button-up, and wears a pair of skinny jeans that do not fit him at all. He has his hair slicked back, and looks all the more uncomfortable for it.

For a second, Babe can only gape. Then he tries to inhale, chokes on air, and remembers how to use his words again. “What the hell are you assholes doin’?”

Chuck raises a nonplussed eyebrow. “What’s it look like? We’re dressed up.”

If he’s being honest, Babe has no clue what the hell it looks like, but he knows one thing for sure. “You raided my closet!”

Liebgott emerges from the fridge, half a pickle hanging out of his mouth. “We’d agreed that we'd all go as each other. I'm Grant, can't you tell?”

“The correct question,” pipes up Grant, “is what are you wearing?”

Babe glances down at his (amazing) Spider-Man costume, then back up at his friend's again. His eyes are close to bugging out of his head at this point, but he doesn't care.

“If you're Grant,” he says to Liebgott, “why the hell are you in my shirt?”

“Because this guy wouldn't let me anywhere near his closet.”

“Do you think I'm an idiot?” Grant stares and Liebgott hard, daring him to answer. Liebgott opens his mouth, closes it again, then tries one more time before giving up. Grant smiles. “Not to mention, you're the one who left your door unlocked.”

“Yeah,” agrees Liebgott. Babe gets a very good view of the half-chewed pickle in his mouth. “Who's really at fault here?”

Babe gapes at them. His eyes swivel between Grant and Liebgott. He opens his mouth, makes some weird noises, chokes on his own spit, and realizes that nothing he says will make a difference. It's his own fault for agreeing to do anything with these two in the first place. Great as they are, Babe always winds up the butt monkey in their trio, and even though he doesn't like it, he also doesn't know what the hell to do about it.

Finally, he sighs. He's not going to argue; they've got a party to get to, dumb costume arrangement or not. “You like superheroes,” he says, pointing at Liebgott. “Now let’s move, I ain't gonna be late because of you idiots.”

He storms out of the house, Grant and Liebgott following behind him. Liebgott brings the pickle jar.

All he wants is a glass of water. A parched throat is the only thing capable of dragging him out of bed after a long, trying day spent learning to kickbox from Toye. (Babe relearned two things that he already knew: he is not made for kickboxing, Joe Toye is a beast.)

Swallowing stings, and his mouth is dry as the Sahara desert. When he finally manages to haul himself out of bed all his muscles protest. He knows he'll have one nice collection of bruises tomorrow, but he'll wear them like battle scars. They'll hurt like a bitch, but the defeat will just be a reminder of why he should avoid getting into the ring with someone who could probably benchpress him. (Not that Babe is one to shrink from a challenge, but Toye is his friend, thereby it's okay not to want to fight him.)

He stumbles out of his room on feet that feel like lead blocks, and is halfway down the hall when he realizes that he isn't alone. The hallway light is on, illuminating a figure standing in the doorway of the living room. A head full of curls is silhouetted against the dim light; a black t-shirt hanging just above to the middle of bare thighs. Babe blinks hazily for a moment, brain not quite registering what he's seeing, before he recognizes the person in front of him.

“Frannie?”

“Babe.” Fran’s silhouette is backlit against the dim hall light. She is frozen in place, torn between looking awkward and guilty. She does a weird side-step to block the living room doorway, which does nothing to disguise the oversized band t-shirt she is wearing. Babe’s eyes settle on the worn logo, and he feels a familiar exasperation creep over him.

“Tell me that's not my shirt.”

Fran hesitates for a moment before answering, “I’d love to.”

“Are you wearing anything under it?”

Another pause, too long to be interpreted as anything other than the negative that it is. Fran’s lips purse, and she tilts her head like she's considering the question. “Well...”

That's all Babe needs to hear. He holds up both hands, doing an about-face before he can see any more than he needs to. If Fran is standing there half-naked in the shirt Babe left lying around the living room this morning, chances are that Bill is just inside the living room -- probably less decent than Fran, filthying up the couch they all share.

It's par for the course for his friends at this point, but Babe is still disgusted.

“Oh my god. I'm moving out.”

“Good luck finding someone else who’ll take you,” Fran calls out to his retreating back. Then, after a beat -- “This shirt is really soft! What detergent do you use?”

Babe’s bedroom door slams behind him. He never gets his glass of water.

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

In the hazy morning light, it's hard for Babe to make out much; but the figure of Gene standing over the coffee maker, wearing nothing but an oversized Phillies t-shirt, is impossible to miss. For a second Babe isn't convinced he's really awake. It would be all to easy to dream of a sight like this.

Then Gene turns around, smiles at him, and Babe knows this is no dream at all. “Do you mind?”

In spite of himself, Babe feels a grin spreading across his face. He sidles into the kitchen, not bothering to flick the light on, and loops his arms around Gene’s waist. Gently, he presses Gene back against the counter and leans in to capture his lips.

Babe’s mouth is still dry. Crust stings the corners of his eyes. The both have morning breath, and Babe’s half-awake brain makes everything feel hazy and out of focus.

But he knows the contours of Gene’s lips as well as the back of hand. The taste of him, the hand cupping his cheek, the eyelashes fluttering against his own -- this is all very, very real. The best way to wake up is with Gene’s lips on his, Babe decides.

When they pull back, Babe can feel a small flush on his face. Gene’s lips are still quirked, like Babe’s told him a funny joke, but his eyes are gut-wrenchingly gentle.

“G’morning to you too, cher,” he mutters, and Babe grins.

His boyfriend can wear his clothes any time he wants.