#ianowt imagine

[sammythelover]

[hopefulfuturenovelauthor]

Charlie Boy

Stanley Barber x reader gn

song- Charlie Boy by the Lumineers

about 1.2 k words

warnings: language, mentions of Stanley’s father, Stanley’s bruised eye, I can’t think of anything else but if I need to add something let me know.

“Don’t go to war, firstborn in ‘44,” you walked around the room, collecting a mound of blankets from the couch. 

“And Kennedy made him believe, we could do much more,” the soft fabrics clung to your arms, still a little wet from the pouring rain. Running around the block to get here without an umbrella had not been your brightest idea. But that didn’t stop you anyway.

“Lillian, don’t hang your head, love should make you feel good,” you let the blankets fall from your arms at the foot of the bed. You grabbed the fluffiest from the pile and carefully laid it over the boy lying on his side. 

“In uniform, you raised a man, who volunteered to stand,” you gently patted his head of curls, taking your other arm’s sleeve to wipe away stray tears.

“Ohohoh, ohoh, ohoh, 0hohoh, ohoh, ohoh,” he laid there still unmoving as sadness pooled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks. You stepped away only slightly to hear him whine as you left to turn off the lamp a little ways away from his bed.

“Play the bugle, play the taps, Make your mothers proud,” you returned back to his side as you softly brushed at his tears, painfully avoiding his bruised cheek and eye. Stanley’s hands grabbed yours as he tried to pull you down beside him.

“Sweetheart, I’m soaked. I’m just going to get you wet,” you said.

“I don’t care,” Stan said raggedly, “just hold me while you sing.��

“Okay,” you whispered before crawling into bed beside him, placing a second blanket over the both of you, the one he already had separating you so he would stay dry.

“Raise your riffles to the sky, boys, fire that volley loud,” you stroked his head as faced away from you.

“News was bad on Upland Ave, Metuchen mourn our loss,” you sang out to the quiet of the room. Stanley’s sniffling had become fainter.

“Sons, rebelled, while fathers yelled, and mothers clutched the cross,” your arms slowly wrapped around the poor boy beside you, comforting him the best you could.

“Ohohoh, ohoh, ohoh, ohohoh, ohoh,ohoh,” you hummed out as Stan bundled into the blankets you gave him, swadling himself in the warmth that them and you provided.

“Play the bugle, play the taps, make your fathers proud,” you voice was starting to fade away and Stanley’s breathing evened out. 

“Raise your riffles to the sky, boy, fire that volley loud,” you finished the song, leaving a silence that was neither comfortable or uncomfortable. Regardless of the suffocating feeling, you felt left trapped in the house that was both a blessing and a curse. You rested your head against his. The strands of curls brushed your face as you tried to relax.

“I like when you sing,” he whispered.

“I like when you sing too,” you responded neutrally, uncertain of how far this conversation would go.

“It’s better when you sing,” Stanley said, “you only sing when I need you or when you think no one is listening. It makes you sound like an angel.”

“How come?” you asked.

“Because you always come when I need you and the way you can calm me down so easily makes it all seem… etherial.”

“That’s some high praise,” you responded against his curls.

“It’s true,” he replied back. You sat in silence for a few moments before Stanley broke it again. “How do I sound to you when I sing?” curiosity filled his voice.

“Like a rat choking on pesticide,” you said monotonously, as your emotions ran wild in the madness of your head.

“I’m being serious,” Stan said through a giggle, still not choosing to turn and face you.

“You sound normal,” Stan shifted against you antsily, expectantly, as if he wanted to hear something as meaningful as he had said to you. “You sound like yourself.  You can hear your personality each time you belt out a chorus, or forget a word, or your voice breaks. All I hear is you, and it’s wonderful. Because your my favorite thing to listen to, even if at times you do sound like a rat choking on pesticides.”

Stanley stayed quiet. Time passed and in your head you could hear the ticking of the clock in your brain, the countdown until one of you broke the silence or fell asleep.

“If I wasn’t so emotionally tapped, I’d confess my undying love for you.”

“If you weren’t so emotionally tapped, I would have already spun you around to face me,” you answered back.

Stanley wiggled out of your grasp as he shifted about. After a few attempts he finally flipped over with what would have been minimum effort if he had succeeded the first time. Glossy eyes stared at yours, one surrounded by the purple bruise. His smile was contagious most days, but not this one, not while he was hurt.

“I know you turned, but you are still absolutely drained after today,” you said, scooting back to get a better look at him.

“Yeah, but I wanted to see you too. You're comfy and cozy and everything, but sometimes seeing is believing even when you ground me.”

“I will take comfy and cozy as a compliment,” you stated.

“You should. You smell nice. It makes it very easy to get all warm and toasty when the person smothering you smells like a freshly baked Christmas cookie.”

“That was…,” the words weren’t coming to your mouth right away. “Random. Very fucking random, but okay. You smell like weed and hormones so, you know at least I don’t smell like that.”

“God, I wish I smelled like you. However, it gets very difficult to be around you when I’m high. I get the munchies and sadly I can’t chew on you like I could a cookie.”

“Okay,” you said trying to reel the conversation back in, “I think that is enough talk tonight. You need rest, Stan. I need rest. We both need some time to just fucking be without the whole god damn world breathing down our necks. So just try and get some shut eye for me, will ya?”

Stanley’s thin lipped and tired smile was thrown your way as he moved forward to rest his head just below your neck. His untamed curls brushed against your chin as he snuggled into you, arms wrapping around your side as he relaxed. 

Without much thought, you placed a soft kiss on top of his head and returned the embrace. Your arms drifted from under his to wrap up and around his back. Your fingers made small circles on his shoulders as he hummed with his eyes closed.

“I love you so fucking much,” he said.

“I love you too, Stan.”

“So fucking much?”

“So fucking much, and much much more.”

You both fell asleep shortly after. The warm smell of cookies filling Stan’s senses as the refreshing smell of his citrus shampoo wafted from his hair and into your heart. A blossoming comfort engulfed you both in the sweet smells of an inviting winter and a revivifying spring.

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Wilbur’s 2.5k Follower Celebration!!!

i am still in complete disbelief that i somehow reached 2.5k followers??? thank you guys so so so much!! i know i’ve been really sporadic recently about my posting schedule, but i think im finally getting back into things, and just the fact that i didn’t lose followers when i went months without posting means so much to me. i still can barely believe that people actually like my writing!! and to all of my new followers, thank you so much for giving lil old me a chance, and i hope you enjoy your time here on my blog!! i love you guys so so much!! 💕

tagging some amazing mutuals: @mrs-march-ahs @mystic-writings @kelthebarb @doctorkest @rainbow-kreations @paranoid-spotlight-everest @foaming-atm @mlm-idiot-fanfics @txngledbxnds @autistic-and-radical @spidergirlmcu @mossybank @ahsxual @darthwheezely @greenduvet @twinkiemaximoff @tatestripedsweater

(i may not be the best at actually talking to most of you, but ur noticed and appreciated :D)

this event will be open from 11/10 - 11/14!!

🌷- character match-up: tell me about yourself, and i’ll tell you what character i ship you with!

🌸- dialogues: give me a character and a prompt, and i’ll write a short dialogue/blurb about it!

🌺- song 4 song: give me any number of song recs, and i’ll give you the same amount of song recs!

🪷- headcannons: give me a character and a prompts, and i’ll write a few headcannons about it!

💐- sneak peek: i’ll post a sneak peek of one of my upcoming fics!

🌹- who are you: send me your big three signs, and a fun fact about you, and i’ll tell you which character you remind me of!

*for match ups and who are you, you can specify what fandom and gender you want (must be from a fandom i’m currently writing for)

*for dialogues and headcannons, it must be for a character i’m currently writing for

[hearthaleydunphy]

liz’s masterlist!

harry potter

i am not okay with this

marvel

f1

stranger things

[there-was-a-hole-here-itsgonenow]

“So. Finally figured it out. The reason I don’t like Stan.”

Many producers and directors of Stranger Things were also involved in I Am Not Okay With This.

Imagine getting a scene that resembles this scene for Will and Mike, with Mike in the place of Syd.

“I finally figured it out. The reason I don’t like El.”

[strawberryloveyyy]

If I could inject this into my blood circulation thingy I would

All I Need My Baby (And A Cigarette) - Stanley Barber

word count: 12,795 warnings: swearing summary: (y/n) (y/l/n) and Stanley Barber may be neighbors, but they haven’t been friends since they were children.  Stan plans on changing that, even if (y/n) is a bit more of a popular girl now.  He’s pretty convincing though… and charming… + based (very loosely) on this song ___

Keep reading

[heartsforcece]

BLOG OPENING

my name is ceder, or u could call me cece/cc.

i go by any prns

i write one-shots, hcs, imagines, etc

the fandoms i write for are :

- jurassic park/world (including camp cretaceous)

- south park (always aged up)

- stranger things (won't write will with f reader)

- it (i won't write richie with f reader)

- mbav

- ianowt

- harry potter golden trio era

- tbp

- mphfpc (book for some characters, movie for others, or both)

- wednesday

- the boogeyman (2023)

[jellycolors]

𝘸𝘺𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘴𝘥

���𝐢𝐤𝐞/𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥

[canislupus-exe]

Sore Sides | stanley barber

fandom | I Am Not Okay With This

character | Stanley Barber

reader | no pronouns used

requested | Anonymous

warnings | n/a

word count | 1,018

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

summary | A  image with Stanley barber x reader where Stanley finds out the reader is ticklish and tortures them the next few days by tickling the reader aLl the next few days, and can you show when Stan tickets them. Thanks.

editor | @feliscatus-exe

>> back to prev <<

Keep reading

You laid contently on your best friend's bed, staring up at the ceiling as he and your other best friend lay on either side of you. The alarm on his nightstand began to buzz, alerting you that it was 6:30.

“Ugh… I have to go.” Sydney said as she sat up from the bed.

“Boooooo.” You replied. She laughed as she grabbed her backpack.

“I have to babysit.” 

“Yeah yeah I know. I’m just giving you shit.” You said, not moving from your comfortable position.

“Seriously? Neither of you is going to walk me out?” She asked. You looked at Stan, and since he wasn’t moving, neither were you. You looked back at Syd and shrugged.

“You guys are the worst.” She said as she began to walk out.

“See you later assholes.” She called through the now shut door.

“Byeeeeeeee.” You yelled after her. You sighed contently as you shifted your position, getting even more comfortable. You glanced over at Stanley, seeing he still hadn’t moved. 

“Did you fall asleep?” You asked. He grunted and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Come on! We’re supposed to be hanging out.” You said. He groaned and rolled over. You frowned before poking his side. He turned his head and glared at you.

“Why would you do that? Disturb me when I was resting oh so peacefully.” He said. You could tell he was joking by the tone of his voice. You snickered and continued poking his side.

“You’re such a pest.” He said with a smile before sitting up. You decided not to let this go quite yet as you now jabbed both your index fingers in his side.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” He said, jamming his own fingers in your sides. You gasped as he began to furiously tickle you. You attempted to push his hands away but lost yourself in a fit of laughter. You could see his evil smile in the corner of your eyes that began to well with tears from giggling so hard. It took far too long to pry his hands from your torso.

“Wow, you’re really ticklish.”

“And you’re a fucking dick.” You said in between breaths. He laughed before reclining on the pillows laid across his bed. His eyes stayed focused on you as he formulated a devious plan in his mind.

>>timeskip<<

Your tray clattered on the cafeteria table as you sat down. Your face held a scowl as you stared at the terrible food they had the gall to call “pulled pork.” You silently cursed yourself for forgetting your lunch at him before deciding that there was no way in hell you were gonna eat this. Your carton of chocolate milk was just gonna have to do. 

You watched as your friends approached the table and took their respective seats, each with their own trays of awful school lunch. They’d opted for the smarter option and grabbed hamburgers. It was hard to go wrong with cheese and meat between two slices of bread, yet they seemed to manage all the same. You pulled open the top of your milk, bringing it to your lips without a second thought.

Stan smirked and couldn’t help but get a terribly evil idea. He leaned over and began to tickle your sides, causing your eyes to widen. The milk had already passed your throat when he decided to cause trouble which elicited a violent coughing fit combined with your laughter. Tears stung your eyes even quicker than they had last time as you tried your hardest to push away his hands.

“What the hell are you doing Stanley?” Sydney asked. Stan laughed and stopped, finally giving you mercy.

“(Y/n) is ticklish,” Stan replied. You grabbed your water bottle to clear your throat, wiping the tears from your eyes as you did so. You took a minute to gather yourself before shoving him.

“Why the fuck did you do that!?” You shouted. He shrugged before drinking from his own chocolate milk.

“It’s funny.” He said. 

“I could’ve choked and died you know.” You said, shooting him a glare. His only response was a large smile.

>>timeskip<<

A few days had passed and Stan continued with his awful tickling. You had no idea why he kept doing it, but it was safe to say it gave him enough reason to steer clear of him. This, however, was proving to be difficult considering he was one of your grand total of two friends, and the only one with a car. You chewed your lip, searching the lot for his yellow ford. You saw it stalled out in a spot, which meant he was still getting out of class.

You felt fingers dig into your sides and move around rapidly, creating the feeling that you had become so used to. Even still, you couldn't stop yourself from laughing. You tried pushing his hands away but were too weak. You were beginning to feel like you couldn’t fight this anymore. You let yourself fall into his arms, your legs betraying you as he continued tickling. But once you were so close, his hands grew still. After a minute of composing yourself, you were still in his arms.

“You stopped.” You said, looking up at him. He looked down, his cheeks flushed red from how intimate the position was.

“Y-Yeah.” He replied. You stood straight up, wondering what had come over him.

“Are we hanging out at your place or not?” You asked. He gave a quick nod before walking to his car, which you gladly followed him to. Once you were seated and buckled in, you looked over at him.

“Seriously though… Why have you been tickling me so much?” You asked. He glanced at you before shrugging.

“I… I think your laugh is cute.” He said, almost too quiet for you to hear. You didn’t know what to say. You’d never expected that response. After a few seconds of silence, you replied.

“Next time why don’t you just try being funny.” He gave a small chuckle and you realized… His laugh was pretty cute too.

[moonlit-imagines]

warnings:

a/n:

requested by anonymous

“This class is literally a nightmare.” You slammed your textbook with the homework still inside and leaned back on her couch, exasperated by the math problems you had yet to solve. Syd chuckled through a sigh and did the same.

“Maybe we should just take a break.” She suggested and grabbed the TV remote.

“Way ahead of you there, Sydney.” You leaned to the side and rested your head on her shoulder, ready to watch whatever she put on as long as it distracted you from the homework due tomorrow.

“Hey, y/n?” Sydney waited for you to turn your head and look at her and the moment you did she moved in to kiss your lips for a split second. “That was all.”

taglist: @ripoffadora // @ravenmoore14 // @yukh3ic0re // @ofthedewthesunlight // @brutal-out-here // @blleuu //

[starrywatermelon]

Me: :(

Some random person I don’t know: *likes my fanfic/post*

Me: :)

[sunny-d3]

DIRECTORY

secondary blog | request form rules | request forms, requests are open

h2o masterlist

here

i am not ok with this masterlist

here

it masterlist

here

vampire diaries masterlist

here

criminal minds masterlist

here

celebrity masterlist

here

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Fic Masterlist Pt. 2

requests are open!

*=smut (i will not write smut about minors)

all lowercase titles w/o character at end = blurb

American Horror Story

manipulating tate to make him cry

comforting maggie

Bottoms

loser!virgin!hazel headcanons*

Pervert - Hazel Callahan*

Unrequited - Hazel Callahan

Blind Date - Hazel Callahan

overstimulating hazel with a vibrator*

shotgunning with stoner!hazel

fucking hazel dumb*

scissoring in hazel's car*

Sleepover - Hazel Callahan

hazel being really shy around you

hazel touching herself to the thought of you*

Wet - Hazel Callahan*

Relax - Hazel Callahan*

Hell Is A Teenage Girl*

Criminal Minds

Deadpool

Harry Potter

Heathers

helping veronica cover up heather’s murder

I Am Not Okay With This

It

Marvel

Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children

Outer Banks

I Don’t Hate You - JJ Maybank

Little Miss Perfect - JJ Maybank

What If It Doesn't End Well - JJ Maybank

Manta Rays - Sarah Cameron

Enchanted - JJ Maybank

jj never knew love before you

gun kink with jj*

We're Still Not Friends - JJ Maybank*

drunk jj being an idiot

dancing drunk with jj

I’ll Always Catch You When You Fall - JJ Maybank

Closet - Sarah Cameron

Scream (Movies)

ethan getting head for the first time*

ethan being insecure about his size*

jealous ethan*

ethan is desperate for your attention*

spoiling ethan on his birthday*

Audience - Ethan Landry*

aftercare with ethan

Exhausted - Ethan Landry

accidentally finding ethan’s ghostface mask

teaching ethan how to kiss

telling tatum you like her

Can You Keep A Secret? - Ethan Landry*

accidentally finding ethan’s ghostface mask pt. 2*

phone sex with sub!ethan*

Small Talk - Ethan Landry*

edging and overstimulating sub!ethan*

Samantha - Sam Carpenter

Bodybag - Ethan Landry

Teach Me - Ethan Landry*

ethan comforting you on your period

subby ethan*

proposing to ethan

Slacker - Tara Carpenter

first kiss with ethan

stepcest with ethan*

kissing ethan in the rain

Scream (Series)

Stranger Things

The Darkest Minds

The Last Of Us

helping abby grow comfortable with physical intimacy

fucking abby with a strap for the first time*

Can’t Get Off Without You // Abby Anderson*

The 100

Clarke Secretly Dating Raven's Sibling

Timeless

Voyagers

Willow

X-Men

Yellowjackets

[livi-the-werewolf]

Distant

Summary: Stan seems to forget about you after befriending Syd.

A/N: i, of course, feel in love with stanley barber so here we are. would also be open to requests for syd or dina. also i’m sorry if this is a little choppy, i had some trouble with it. 

Warnings: cussing

I let out a huff, staring at Stanley from my place in front of my locker. He was packing up, and rather quickly. Anxiety weighed on my chest, doubts rearing their way into my thoughts. I’d never been so nervous to talk to him before, despite harboring a crush on him for almost a year. After a moment longer of hyping myself up I finally began walking over to him.

“Hey, do you think you can hang out later?” I asked as soon as I was next to his locker, playing with my sleeves nervously.

“Ah, I don’t think so. I have plans after school,” he replied. I felt my face fall.

“Oh. Maybe next time then.”

“Totally,” he assured, giving me a smile. He moved to walk away before I quickly spoke up again.

“Is everything okay? I feel like I never see you anymore,” I questioned, forcing a chuckle. He turned back towards me.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, there’s just been a lot going on,” he explained.

“With Syd?” I asked hesitantly. His eyes widened for a moment, almost resembling a deer caught in headlights.

“Yeah,” he whispered, giving me an apologetic look. He looked over at the doors, obviously anxious to leave. 

“Talk to you later?” I offered.

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, love you!” He called out, running to the exit and out of my sight.

“Love you too,” I whispered, feeling disappointment swell in my chest. The sweet phrase used to make me blush and butterflies form in my stomach but now it only reminded me of how a relationship with Stan was beyond my reach. 

I began to walk out of the building, making my way home. Throughout the walk home I allowed myself to get lost in my thoughts. All I could think about was Stan. How much I missed him. How I so badly wished I could be his first priority like Syd was. How I’d had a crush on him for what felt like forever, and found his love unattainable, but she comes and has won his affection in a fraction of that time. 

Once I finally made it home I walked directly into my room, closing the door. I felt my body untense, finally allowed to be sad in the safety of my room. I dropped onto the edge of my bed.

I let out a sigh, letting my head falling into my hands. My mind drifted back to Stan. I couldn’t help but feel like he’d replaced me. As if I was some placeholder for someone better. Soon enough tears had began to slip down my cheeks. I let out a soft, “Fuck.” I sniffled, attempting to stifle sobs but being unsuccessful. My shoulders shook and I couldn’t help but think about was how pathetic I must’ve looked. 

I heard my door creak. “Hey.” I looked up, seeing Stan staring at me from the doorway. Concern was etched onto his features. I wiped at my cheeks harshly, trying to hide any evidence that I was crying even though it was far too late. “I knocked but no one answered,” he explained lamely, standing awkwardly. 

“Are you okay?” He whispered.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you have plans with Syd?” I asked, ignoring his previous question.

“Y/n,” he started softly.

“I don’t want you missing out on hanging out with her because you feel like you have to comfort me or whatever. I know how much you like her,” I cut off, staring at the floor in front of me and wiping at my cheeks once again. He sat next to me and I could feel his gaze on me.

“Well first of all, I’m not into her. At least, not anymore. And second of all, and I’d never just abandon you, especially when you’re like this, to go hang out with someone else,” he explained. I stole a glance at his face, watching as realization washed over his features. “Except that’s exactly what I’ve been doing,” he whispered. His eyes met mine, they were shining with guilt. “I’ve been really shitty to you lately,” he stated. I began to shook my head. “No, don’t do that thing where you pretend I’m not being a dick when I totally am, you deserve better than this, babe.” His words cut off my attempt at denial. “I’m really sorry,” he whispered, his eyes meeting mine.

“I forgive you,” I whispered back. He let out a grin, his eyes lighting up. He wrapped his arms around me tightly. I hesitated, surprised by his actions before hugging him back. We pulled away before I suddenly remembered what he had previously mentioned. “So, you don’t like Syd?” I questioned, attempting to sound casual.

“Yeah, we figured we’re better off as friends,” he explained, “and besides, I like someone else.” I felt myself deflate.

“Oh.” Once again my hopes were destroyed. “Who?”

He didn’t respond at first, simply staring at me, a small smile on his face. “You.” I felt my breath catch in my throat, my mind suddenly racing with thoughts. 

“You can’t joke around about that.”

“I’m not joking,” he replied. We held each other’s gaze before I glanced down at his lips. He leaned forward, capturing my lips with his. I smiled into it, almost in denial that it was actually happening. 

“I really, really like you,” he whispered, once we’d pulled away.

“I really, really, like you too, Stan.”

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

wrong

pairing: stanley barber x reader

warnings: drug use (of course), spoilers for season finale, arguments, cursing

word count: 2.2 k

synopsis: in which stanley is in love with his best friend, and y/n has had enough of the distance.

—

Stanley Barber remembers vividly the first time he ever got high.

He was barely 13 when he found his father's stash in the old china chest in the corner of the dining room, and it took him a couple months to gather the courage to actually use it. His mother was gone, claiming to be at the neighbor lady's house for a "wine night"; he later found out that she went there to sleep with the neighbor lady's husband. He couldn't blame her for the affair, though.

Looking back on that night, he sounds a little pitiful. He was by himself, coughing and choking on the burning smoke. He laughed and talked to himself until he passed out, content and calm. It wasn't an overwhelming high, or an exhausting high, or even a powerful high, but he would never forget that night.

The next morning, he woke up with a foggy mind, burning eyes, and a wide smile. He strutted proudly out of his house that morning, his satchel dragging behind him, and quickly caught up to his neighbor, Y/N, who had her baggy hoodie bundled in her arms, wrapped tightly around her middle as she sluggishly walked down the wet sidewalk. He remembers the sour look on her face, her eyes downcast and heavy as she grumbled about how early it was. She gave him an incredulous look when he told her about his escapades the night before; she didn't believe him. A part of him was offended when she started laughing, brows cocked with judgment in her eyes.

"I swear," he said. "I'll prove it to you."

She just rolled her eyes, nudged him with her elbow, and scoffed.

"Sure, Stan."

Later that night, he took her to the basement, offered her a joint, and the rest is history.

That was also the night that Stanley Barber finally admitted to himself that he liked Y/N.

He knew that night they first got high together. He knew when he saw that blissful smile on her lips, when her nose scrunched up when she laughed, and when she fell asleep on his arm, features happy and carefree and relaxed. He knew when they woke the next morning, her eyes swollen with sleep, that he would do anything to see her that happy again.

Now that he's (almost) a man and in high school, he can assuredly say that he loves her.

But Stanley Barber, to put it lightly, is weak, riddled with anxiety and self-doubt, so he's never had the courage to tell her how he feels. Every weekend for the past three years, he has wanted to confess his undying love for her, like in the movies. He's thought about it so many different ways; maybe one night he would hold a boombox outside her house, or he would just gather the courage to kiss her. He dreamed of her, holding his hands one night after getting high, and while he was rambling about the meaning of life, she would cut him off by kissing him, her lips tasting like weed and Oreo's and something that is just uniquely her.

But that never happens.

In his junior year of high school, he is confident for once in his life, and he asks Syd out. He never really considered why he wasn't nervous when he asked Syd out. Perhaps, it was because he was certain she wouldn't say no, or, and this is the more likely scenario of the two, he didn't really care if she shot him down. He didn't care if Sydney refused his advances because she wasn't really the one who he had feelings for; she wasn't the one who occupied his every thought. Sydney wasn't the one who held his heart. God, that sounds stupidly sappy. He hates himself for even thinking that.

But he could learn. He could learn to love her as much as he loves his best friend.

Or at least that's what he tells himself.

Nevertheless, he started seeing more and more of Sydney Novak and less of Y/N. He tried not to notice, but he did. (Of course, he did). Y/N would claim to have to stay in class for lunch to finish a project, and then, she started walking home after school instead of riding home with him. Soon, she stopped showing up to their weekend hangouts, which were once filled with smoke, laughter and blissful stories.

It was a good thing, he told himself over and over. It was a good thing. He needed to get out of that relationship. It was starting to take a toll on his mental health. He eventually started to push Sydney into the void that Y/N once had.

When Sydney told him about her mind powers or whatever, it was just another thing to distract him.

That's all everything was anymore: a distraction from his feelings.

Then, it all went to shit. All those distractions and excuses he made came crumbling down.

It's the night of Homecoming. Sydney left him for Dina as soon as they got there, but he didn't expect any different. Y/N isn't there; no one asked her, and he hadn't bothered seeing if she would want to go with him and Sydney, since she hadn't bothered talking to him for the past weeks, even though it was basically his fault. He doesn't dwell on that thought. Then, Bradley pushed Sydney too far, and well... he lost his head. The drive home is a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and blood. He couldn't find Sydney.

He comes home that night to see Y/N lying on his bed, feet propped up on his pillow with too-big socks slipping off her heels. She doesn't move when he kicks his shoes off, unbuttons his shirt; she doesn't look at him, not even when he slips under the covers beside her.

"How was your night?" He asks, but she doesn't answer, the sound of her shallow breaths being the only sound in the room, besides the buzzing from the old lights by the bar. He sighs. "My night was great. Thanks for asking."

He wants to burst, anger and insecurity making it hard for him to breath. He wants so badly to tell her everything: what's been going on with Sydney, with Bradley; he wants to scream until his lungs give out because he just feels like no one can hear him, or even notice him for that matter. He wants her to know how much he wishes she was with him tonight, how she makes things easier for him. He just wishes she could understand, but she won't, and she never will. Why? Because he is a scared little boy, and that's all he'll ever be.

"Don't be a dick, Stan," she mutters, words slurring together slightly.

"How high are you?"

"Too high," she answers, trying to keep her composure. That's when he notices her legs twitching, her barely open eyes, a half eaten Cosmic Brownie and a crumpled water bottle on the ground.

"Do you need to throw up?" He asks tiredly, knowing how she can get when she's had too much, and, judging by her sluggish movements, she's nearly there.

"No." She says.

They sit in silence, and for the first time in the history of their friendship, it's awkward.

"I'm mad at you," she says suddenly. "I am very angry with you." Her voice breaks toward the end. He can't see it, but a tear slips down Y/N's cheek, wetting her hair.

He never noticed how much of an effect it had on her when he left. Stan was her only friend, and the fact that he left her alone for some other girl made her understand how fragile she feels without Stan beside her. She hates how dependent she is on him, so she did what any other person would do: pushed herself away. She always thought that it was always going to be just her and Stan, but she was sorely mistaken. It was petty, really. It started off with little things, like being snippy whenever he brought Syd up; then it escalated, and it eventually got to the point where she would leave whenever Sydney was going to come over.

When Stan told her that he and Sydney slept together, it was over.

Y/N hated how many tears she cried for him. She hated the fact that she was never good enough for him. She hated having those stupid memories with him, and she hated the fact that she still loved him. Despite the fact that he seemed to care so little about their friendship, despite the pain he put her through, she couldn't get him out of her head; she couldn't sleep without dreaming of him, and her days were plagued with thoughts of him.

And it broke her to see him so happy with someone else.

So, she cut herself out of his life completely because surely, she would be fine on her own, right?

Once again, she was mistaken.

Despite how hurt and resentful she was, she could not stay away.

"Why? Is that why you've been avoiding me? I haven't seen you in weeks, and now, you come around when you need a hit. And you break into my room and use my stash. What the hell, Y/N? You're angry with me? I should be angry with you," he spits, sitting up quickly.

She shakes her head, breathing out through her nose. She turns onto her side, facing away from him. He feels his face heat up, anger and frustration seeping through every pore, but behind all that—the hurt and the resentment—he feels empty and broken.

"Fucking look at me, Y/N," he grits out, his emotions getting the better of him. Stanley has always been a picker; he pushes and pushes until he gets a reaction out of the person. He did the same with Sydney at the bowling alley (and he nearly got his head taken off) and he does the same with his father. Maybe it's to get a reaction or attention.

"Why are you angry with me? Huh?" He asks again, poking her and pulling at her arm to make her look at him.

"What is wrong with me?" She sits up suddenly, making them nose-to-nose. Stan visibly recoils, brows furrowing and lips twitching. She looks tired, her shoulders sagging.

"What?"

"What is so wrong with me, huh?" Her bottom lip trembles, and tears swell in her red, hooded eyes. "I have been with you through everything, with your dad, your mom—" She looks down at her trembling hands, snot dripping from her nose. She wipes it away with the sleeve of her sweater, sighing weakly. "Then, suddenly, that's not enough, and you ditch me for Sydney fucking Novak, and you—you..." The words die on her tongue, and she looks so sad, her lips puckered to keep from crying any more. "You kiss her and hug her and—" She swallows, pain etching her features. She curls into herself, hugging a knee to her chest. "What is so wrong with me?"

Stan is in absolute awe. He wants to pull her into his arms and sink into the comforter, kissing her, but he can barely move, his heart racing in his chest. He stutters, looking for the right words. This is it; this is the moment he has been waiting for. The past three years he has dreamed of her baring her heart to him, professing her undeniable love for him, but he can't even speak. He is, for once in his life, completely at a loss for words. Whether from frustration or elation, he doesn't know, but he can feel tears forming in his eyes, nose burning and skin clammy. He lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding on to, his heart racing.

He shakily puts his hands to the crook of her neck, holding onto her warm skin like a lifeline. He looks down at her lips; they're tucked into her mouth, teeth biting at them nervously. His thumb traces the bottom lip, easing it out from her teeth. She looks at him with anxious eyes, wide and pleading for him to make a move.

And he does.

He kisses her.

It's not what he expects, really. There isn't any fireworks or chills, and it doesn't leave him gasping for breath. No, in fact, it feels like he's breathing for the first time; it fills him with warmth and security and such relief. And as she holds onto him, her arms wrapped tightly around his middle, he has never felt more at home. He has never felt so content and peaceful.

"Absolutely nothing," he says after they pull apart, resting his forehead against hers. It feels like there has been a weight lifted off his shoulders. He runs his thumb over her cheek, wiping away tear marks from her skin. She sniffles, leaning into his touch. He kisses her nose, a wide smile creeping over his features.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with you."

[19tozier]

bowl for two (stanley barber)

warnings: WEED, being high, this is fully inspired by the first time i ever got high with my boyfriend, its kinda self-indulgent but pretty sweet imo

inspired by the song bowl for two by the expendables

you couldn’t really place exactly when you’d shifted from thinking marijuana was bad to wanting to try it.

when you were younger, the idea of ever getting high was incomprehensible to you. you’d been taught that weed was an awful gateway drug and that it would ruin your life if you ever so much as looked at it, and so all throughout your childhood and teen years you were terrified to try it.

it got easier to accept your curiosity about it the more you grew up, mostly because it was all around you. tv shows, movies, any party you went to, it was there. and you began to realize that weed wasn’t necessarily the devil’s drug that you’d been taught to believe.

you can admit that a lot of that acceptance had come after you’d started dating stanley.

at first, it had bothered you how often he got stoned. it scared you and made you think that something bad was going to happen to him. but slowly, you saw just how much more relaxed and happy he could be when he smoked. it was like his troubles melted away with his giggles.

he’s the reason you wanted to try it.

you don’t tell him about it for a long time, content to just watch him get high. every time he offers you a hit from his blunt, and every time you politely decline even if you desperately wanted to. you wanted to wait until it was the perfect time.

you needed to mentally work up to actually smoking. plus, you’re hesitant to ever drive while stoned, so it needs to happen on a night you don’t have to drive home.

this is all to say that it ends up being that you and stanley have been dating for over a year by the time you actually accept his offers.

you’re curled up on stanley’s bed one night, watching him puttering around his room. it’s late, only his bedside lamp casting hazy orange light over you both, and it’s raining softly against his window. your parents think you’re spending the night with dina and syd and his father is once again gone. there’s no place you need to be.

you’re so ready to get high tonight.

it really is the perfect opportunity. you don’t have to drive, his dad isn't here to ruin the experience, and you’re so cozy and comfortable you could melt. and, the most important part, you’re with the boy you love. who you know will take perfect care of you.

it’s like clockwork now; stanley finishes whatever he was doing and returns to you in the bed. he’s already fishing out a blunt from his tin before he’s clambered under the sheets and slotted himself against your side.

you watch silently, in awe, as he lights the blunt and takes a slow, careful drag, blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling. the curve of his throat when he tilts his head back is as gorgeous as it is distracting.

he looks over at you, his eyes hooded and a soft smile already playing on his lips. “want a hit?” he asks you, his voice quiet. he reaches the blunt out to you lazily, like he’s certain you’ll say no again.

you take a deep breath and nod before you can talk yourself out of it. surprise shoots through his features, his mouth dropping open for a second before he grins.

“you’ll love it, baby,” he reassures, sitting up against his headboard. you sit up too, still eyeing the blunt with suspicion but feeling excitement flutter in your tummy. “do you know how?”

you shake your head shyly. as many times as you’ve watched stanley do it, you don’t think you could really recreate it.

his smile softens into something more intimate. “don’t worry,” he murmurs, coaxing you into his lap with your back pressed against his chest. he’s warm and solid behind you and when he speaks his words vibrate down your spine. “i’ll show you.”

he’s slow as he hands you the blunt, like he’s trying not to overwhelm you. you appreciate it, because your heart is pounding as your fingers grip the blunt.

stanley’s arm wraps around your waist, his chin brushing the top of your head. his other hand wraps around your wrist, guiding the blunt up to your lips. “easy, baby,” he whispers. “just breathe in, okay? i’ve got you.”

you nod. your toes curl against his sheets before you drag a breath in.

it burns, immediately, the smoke curling into your lungs and making you think, irrationally, that you’re on fire. you almost can’t get the blunt away before you’re coughing, thick and wet. you feel it being plucked from between your fingers as your eyes fill with tears and your stomach trembles with the force of your coughing.

stanley lets one hand press against your sternum, his other soothing over your tummy. he’s shushing you gently, rubbing over your chest as he coaxes you into breathing normally again. once you’re no longer wheezing, he hands you the water bottle he had on his nightstand, watching carefully as you take tiny sips until you feel fine again.

“are you okay, love?” there’s a frantic edge to his voice.

you nod, swallowing. there’s a burn in your throat and in your chest that hasn’t gone away but you want more. you can’t feel the high, not yet, but there’s something dancing just out of your reach, like an awareness that you will be high. and suddenly you crave it.

“gimme the blunt back,” you croak, fumbling your hand out for it. you almost grab it before stanley catches your wrist in his palm again.

you can feel his frown against the side of your neck. “are you sure?” he questions you. the panic in his tone is fading away now. “you don’t have to.”

you reach around and steal it from the tray on the nightstand beside you. “i want to,” you promise, settling back against his chest and bringing the blunt back to your lips.

it still burns, the inhale rough down your throat and into your lungs. you manage to keep the smoke inside for a moment before it all exhales from your coughs. this time, it’s easier to quell the burning, the water soothing your aching throat.

stanley takes the blunt from you and this time you don’t fight him. you tilt your head back against his shoulder, watching as he takes his own drag. this close, you can fully appreciate the pink of his lips around it, the stark sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks. he’s gorgeous.

he’s a pro, inhaling slowly and letting it sit in his lungs until there’s nothing to exhale. he doesn’t cough, his eyes don’t water, and you’re hit with the want to be like that someday. you’ve just barely gotten high in the first place and already you want it for the second, fifth, twentieth, one hundredth time.

he reaches over and puts the blunt back down on the tray, immediately wrapping you back up in his arms afterward. “how do you feel, baby?” he murmurs, kissing your temple. his voice is husky in your ear.

you thread your fingers together with his against your stomach. “no different,” you say honestly, furrowing your brow. “lemme take another hit.”

to your surprise, he laughs. “i think two’s enough for now, angel. you’ll feel it soon.”

you want to frown at that but his laugh sounds like music, deep and rough but high and tinkling all the same. you can almost see it shimmering in the air around you, so visceral you feel like you could reach out and feel it against your palms.

“what is it supposed to feel like?” you ask, curious. you weren’t lying when you said you feel the same. if you hadn’t just taken two hits, you’d be certain you were sober.

stanley shrugs, his shoulders moving against the curve of your spine. “good. kinda floaty, kinda unreal.” he grins, kissing your jaw. “like you’re a jellyfish in the big dark ocean.”

you giggle, hopelessly in love with your idiot of a boyfriend. you twist in his lap until you can straddle his thighs, brushing his curls from his forehead. “jellyfish, huh?” you tease. “is that supposed to be good?”

he nods his head, putting on a serious expression. “it’s always good to be a jellyfish, (y/n), you know this.” he can’t keep up the act for long, almost immediately melting back into his sweet smile.

you roll your eyes. there’s a feeling in your chest now, almost like it’s cracking open, but it’s not scary. if anything, it feels good. “how am i supposed to know when it hits me?”

he rolls his eyes back, mimicking your expression. “‘cause it’ll hit, duh. c’mon, pay attention!”

you thwack at his chest with your hand, vindicated when he yelps. “you’re a little bitch, stanley barber. they should call you stanley bitch-er.”

he throws his head back and laughs. you watch, mesmerized, as the light from his lamp pools in the hollow of his throat and collarbones. you can’t fight the urge to touch, your hand following the shadows. his skin is so soft beneath your fingertips in a way that feels delicious, so you find you can’t stop.

his smile shifts into something softer, a little more knowing. “what’re you doin’ there, baby?” he asks you quietly.

you make a soft noise, still touching his skin. your fingertips are beginning to buzz. “it feels good,” you mumble. the stubble on his jaw is next, the rough scrape oddly pleasant against your fingers.

his palms smooth up your thighs to grip your hips, his thumbs nudging up under the fabric of your—really his, you rarely wear your own clothing around him—t-shirt. it’s a distracting feeling, the drag of his thumbs over your tummy, and you find yourself transfixed it. every swipe of his thumbs over your sensitive skin builds something inside of you, until suddenly it all comes pouring out.

“i’m high,” you say wondrously, eyeing the walls around you. they look the same but somehow you think they’re swimming, just a bit, but when you focus on them they go still again. the buzzing in your skin ratchets up a notch.

stanley nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah, baby, you are,” he whispers back. “how do you feel?”

you touch your own chest, looking down at your fingers. it doesn’t feel real. “good,” you say, echoing his earlier statement. ��floaty. like i’m a turtle, y’know?”

he laughs, and somehow you know he’s not laughing at you. “not a jellyfish, then? a turtle instead?”

you nod, reaching up to grip at his shoulders. “yeah, a turtle. i like turtles. they’re old and wise and—“ you break off and frown, a little sadly. “i wish i was old and wise.”

this time, stanley’s laugh is loud. he pulls you into his chest and grins up at you. “i think you’re plenty wise, baby. and i like you not-old.”

you push your fingers into his hair, watching the curls bounce around under your hands. you do feel really good, spacey and a little dumb, but there’s a part of you that still feels fully sober. “can we finish the blunt?” you ask shyly.

he smiles at you. “of course, (y/n). we’ll take turns.”

and take turns you do, passing the blunt back and forth between you until stanley’s taking the last drag and putting it out on the tray. you’re still not great at the inhale, coughing more than you should, but each hit helps relax you more and more until you’re melting against his chest, your eyes lidded.

time ceases to exist. it moves syrupy slow around you, enough that every second feels like a year, but somehow you’re also in fast forward. you blink and an hour has gone by. your limbs are heavy but you feel completely weightless, like the only thing grounding you to this bed and to this earth is stanley’s hands on your body and his lips in your hair.

sometime later, you’re stretched out on the bed, your head pillowed on stanley’s shoulder. the high has truly set in now, your blood feeling like static through your veins.

you’d always wondered how you’d be when you were high. stanley is always stereotypically high; giggly but honestly much the same as he is when he’s sober, as dorky and as quirky as ever. but you? when you’re sober, you like to think you’re rather dignified. but you high? oh, it’s a whole new story.

your thoughts don’t make any sense, disjointed words and abstract metaphors and feelings more than coherent expressions. they go by too quickly for you to really latch on to. your filter is also completely gone, so anything you think gets almost immediately spewed out before you can stop it.

you’d asked stanley about it, a little put out that now you’re the giggly mess and he seemed fine. he’d just shrugged and said he was pretty used to it, while this was your first time. it had made perfect sense, so you’d dropped your embarrassment over just how stupid you were certain you were being. he seemed to like it, at least.

“all of the numbers have different personalities,” you now breathe against stanley’s neck, tilting your head up to see him. he’s been drawing aimless circles over your back for the past couple of minutes and it feels nice.

lazily, he flops his chin down to look at you. “what’s that mean, baby?”

you giggle, bringing your hand up to play with the collar of his shirt. “the numbers. y’know, like one and two and three. all of them. they’ve got personalities.”

his chest shakes with his laughter. “but what does that even mean?”

you gasp, sitting up on your elbow over him. “you’ve never thought about this? stanley! c’mon!”

he grins up at you, his eyes dancing with mirth. he’s so beautiful you feel yourself getting distracted, but his words bring you back to the present. “explain it to me then.”

you wrinkle your nose, because you aren’t sure your words will make any sense, but you’ve gotta try anyways. it’s for stanley. “i mean, like... the number nine, right? the number nine is that bitch. ‘cause she’s three squared. she’s, like, super cool and suave. and all the even numbers, they’re just sweet. all of ‘em. they’re like the wholesome group everyone wants to be friends with. seven? oh, seven is a loner kid. he’s absolutely a stoner. and—”

you’re cut off by stanley’s lips. normally you’d be upset he interrupted you, especially since the thought disappears the second you stop paying attention to it, but his mouth against yours feels so good you can’t be mad at all. his lips are soft and sugary from the lemonade he’s been drinking, and you lick into his mouth until you taste the sharp bite of the weed. you blearily wonder if he can taste it in your mouth, too. when you pull back, you’re both breathing hard. his pupils are blown but his grin is soft and loving. he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “you’re goofy when you’re high,” he tells you.

you smile back. “you’re goofy when you’re high,” you retort nonsensically. “thanks for smoking with me.”

he kisses you again, this time much gentler. against your mouth, he breathes, “anytime, baby.”

you hum, slipping your hands into his hair. “how about tomorrow?”

you grin at the sound of his laughter. you’re really glad he’s around to make you feel safe. and you are stupidly, completely glad you decided to get high.

you might be so stoned that you’re flying, but there’s no one else you’d want to fly with.