#just the crinkle in paul's face you can tell he's smiling and the fear in emma's eye is so tangible

[0xy--m0r0n]

WOAHHHHGFGGGH . ....,

@probablyaster pspsppspspssp come look at this

The guy just doesn't like musicals.

[toovirgins]

Le Rêve - Part 5

Summary: John goes to a certain friend to seek advice. Paul has an eerily similar idea.

The door cracked open, and Brian stared back at him in surprise.

John pushed his way into the room, ignoring the flutter of guilt as Brian stumbled backwards. His eyes followed John closely as he crossed the room, surely taking in the unsettling blend of anger and nerves. Brian slowly closed the door behind him as John irritably shoved a stack of papers off of the armchair and lowered himself into it. It was then that he realized he must have been in a bad sort, because the action garnered no sour or disapproving glares.

“Everything all right, John?” He tugged self-consciously at the belt on his gown, pulling the fabric closer around him.

No. John scoffed. Everything is quite the opposite of all right, thanks. Making no attempt to hide the bitterness in his voice, John replied stiffly: “Eppy, I need your help with something.”

Brian took a seat opposite him on the edge of the bed, crossing an ankle over his knee apprehensively. John averted his gaze, seeing and hearing only Paul as the bed dipped with a creak. He fingered the fringe on the armchair, pushing the scene away and with it, hopefully, some of his animosity. It would be no use if he uncontrollably berated perhaps the only man he knew that could help him.

“Right,” Brian replied. John could practically feel the probing gaze burning into his side. “What is it?”

John stared back at him, dumbfounded. The idea that he’d have to explain himself to get Eppy’s advice had never actually occurred to him before this moment.

What could he possibly say? Hey, Eppy. Paul’s been having wet dreams about me, so we almost fucked. Did practically everything but the actual shagging. But we didn’t, because George walked in on it and ran to tell Ringo and God knows who else, while Paul and I screamed at each other and may have effectively ended the Beatles and also our lives.

John almost laughed. Oh, and one more thing. It was my idea in the first place, because I think I’m fucking in love with him.

He was buzzing with hundreds of thousands of thoughts, his mind never having felt so full. Dozens of clips played simultaneously in his memory: Paul’s stare, his shame, his wonder, his willingness, his arousal, his unraveling. His fear, his shock, his pain. And then nothing.

John would punch himself, if he could. Perhaps that’s what he should’ve done instead. Snuck out the back alley and taunted a right frightening lad, until he could get what he bloody deserved and be beaten to a pulp. It sounded far better and warranted than sitting in Brian’s room in heart-wrenching silence.

He had to be fucking crazy to suggest the reenactment. There was no other explanation for it; no one in their right mind would put their entire livelihood on the line for such fleeting pleasure. There were what-if’s about his future and the band’s endurance, of course. But they took the backseat to his concerns over him and Paul. As individuals, rather than bandmates or friends or even lovers. John’s mind knew all too well that their dynamic could never be: societally speaking, yes, but personally, too. Paul knew John—and was far too smart to chain himself to such a burden.

All of John’s fears that had developed over the past few weeks had looked him in the eye tonight and told him that they’d dreamt of having sex with him. They had moaned into his ear, the most beautifully obscene sounds expressed just for him. Just for him, and not some other bird; for a moment, there was no need to pretend anymore.

What might have been the most painful, John reckoned, was that they had let him kiss them. A shock traveled down John’s spine. Paul had let John kiss him, and Paul had kissed back. It was the first time in their sudden union that feeling shot somewhere besides John’s cock. When Paul’s lips nipped at his with abrupt insistence, John could’ve wept.

John could be stripped of everything he had, and still go on. Possessions, wealth, fame, dignity, sense of self—it was all meaningless. The only thing he couldn’t bear was the thought of losing Paul. A life where John could not cling to the hope of holding Paul tightly; of feeling Paul’s breath on his own; of cradling his head in his hands and ghosting his fingertips across sinfully sweet eyelashes and arched eyebrows that would taunt Marilyn and a nose sculpted by Phidias and lips that were made from the stardust on Mars; was not a life worth living.

For a long time, they were silent.

Brian was watching him with guarded apprehension. John could ask the practical questions that even then felt too incriminating. How do you know if you’re gay? When did you realize? What did you do? What do I do?

“I’m not sure how to help you,” Brian started, his voice careful and soft despite jarring John out of his trainwreck of thought, “if you don’t share what’s got you so worked up.”

John swallowed. The next part had to come very carefully, or his cover would be blown. Though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable, somehow, the fact that Brian remain oblivious to the details was crucial to him.

“I’ve done something I shouldn’t have.” He spoke slowly, refusing eye contact. “It was something I’d thought about, but I went too far.” A shaky breath. “A-and… I’m not sure—I don’t know if I can fix it.”

Something just short of clarity sparked in Brian’s eyes. John’s face grew hot with shame, albeit swearing he didn’t give away anything unnecessary.

“Well,” Brian opened. His eyes were too kind. If only he knew. “We all make mistakes. Even if you think you’ve never messed up this badly, it’s all right. Time moves forward and life goes on. You can’t change what’s been done now. But you can take your best shot at apologetics. If this person—if there is a person—and they really love you, you can always fix it.”

John’s heart gave an uncomfortable twitch at the mention of “love”.

Brian shifted closer to John, reaching towards the arm of the chair. He tentatively rested a hand on top of John’s, and though he knew the intention was reassurance, the gesture made him feel sick. An odd expression crossed his face, the twitch enough to capture John’s gaze, but it was gone before he could interpret it. John’s gaze flicked to Brian’s lips. They were pressed together tightly, forming a worried line.

A striking realization occurred to him. John could lean in, right now. He could pry the lips open with his own. A bit of a shift in his chair, and all he had to do was tip forward. Brian would let him; he knew that.

Then, as he deepened the kiss, heightened the circumstances, he would know. He wouldn’t have to try and ambiguously skirt around the problem to get Eppy’s advice. John would know, for sure. Whether it was himself, or whether it was…

“Eppy? Eppy, you in there?” Despite the rapid succession of about seven knocks, the voice wasted no time waiting for a response and slipping inside the door. John lurched back into the chair, despite not actually having gotten closer.

Whether it was just Paul.

“Eppy, I need your help with something.” The words tumbled out of Paul’s mouth, his back still turned to the room as he went to close (and lock, mind you) the door. When he turned around, his eyes immediately fell on John’s face and he went still.

“Oh,” he said, hoarsely.

John’s mind was absolutely blank, his stomach twisting grossly. His mind had lost the ability to spontaneously produce language as he gaped at the man in front of him. He hadn’t intended on seeing Paul for quite a while after tonight, and the shock of his presence right now was utterly baffling. The two stared at each other for far too long, neither making any effort to move or speak. It was only when Brian piped up that their stares finally shifted from the other.

“Paul?” The inquiry held much more than the one word. “Are you all right?”

John watched Paul’s head twitch a bit, almost as if he were about to shake it. Both boys very well knew the answer to that question.

Paul forced a distracted smile in Brian’s direction. “Right chuffed.”

Interesting choice of words, there. John’s nose crinkled into a scowl.

Brian’s gaze continued to drag between the two of them almost curiously. He was no fool; John knew he was sensing the tension that seemed far from their regular spats. He didn't intervene, though. Only watched.

Finally, John worked up the courage to spew in Paul’s direction. The words carried just as much bitterness as he’d intended. “What are you doing here?”

Paul blinked. “I need Brian’s…” He faltered. “Advice.”

John snorted. His heart was hammering so violently in his chest he was sure the room could hear it. The reality of seeing Paul again so suddenly was blinding. God, he wanted to hurt him. He wanted nothing more than to break Paul, to cut so deep that Paul could never in a million years guess what was truly going on in his head. “Ain’t that so,” he spat. “But, if you can’t tell, we’re in the middle of something. So kindly fuck off.”

“John.” Brian’s voice, a warning tone.

Paul’s expression twisted in sudden vitriol. His voice was low, directed entirely at John. “What is your fucking problem? I didn’t make you do a goddamn thing.”

Something cool settled in the pit of John’s stomach at Paul’s final quip. Don’t you think I fucking know that? he wanted to scream. Don’t you know that’s what I’m here for? To find out why?

Suddenly, the reality of the situation came rushing to him, and a newfound fury spiked his veins. Was Paul coming in here to tell Brian what happened? To tell him that John had made a pass at him, or something? John would be painted as the villain. As an attacker.

“Did you finish after I left?” John asked quietly.

The look on Paul’s face was a glittering trophy. Before he could answer, however, Brian abruptly rose to his feet. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but—”

No, no, no. “Don’t go,” John choked out hoarsely.

He shot John a warning glance. “—It doesn’t seem like any of my business. You two need to talk this out on your own.”

John hardly registered Brian grabbing his coat from the rack by the door and slipping out of the room. His eyes were trained on Paul’s, a vicious visual battle between the men that conveyed more than all words ever could. John felt Paul radiating towards him in ways that had no conceptualization, no name; just raw, unadulterated emotions. The pair had always been on that telepathic wavelength, though certainly it was no great pleasure for them now. The only identifiable sensation was vulnerability.

After a long time, Paul spoke. “John.”

John’s breath inexplicably caught in his throat. The words came out choked. “Don’t,” he rasped. “Don’t say it like that.”

Paul threw up his hands in exasperation, casting his gaze sideways. “I don’t know what you want me to do, John. I don’t know what you want from me. Do you want me to say I’m sorry? Is that what you want? An apology?”

It wouldn’t be until long after that John would realize it was an offer Paul never followed through on.

“It shouldn’t have happened. There’s a million reasons for that. I don’t know if either of us really even wanted it to. But it did, and you can’t—” Paul ran a shaking hand through his hair. “You’re not helping me figure this out. You can’t run away from this like it’s just another bother in your life, like… like I’m an inconvenience.” Paul’s lip trembled slightly. “Am I an inconvenience, John?”

John shrugged helplessly. It seemed like the wrong answer, but how do you give an answer to a question you don’t know?

“Fucking say something.”

John looked him dead in the eye. It was funny; Paul had always been teased for his eyes. They were droopy and wide in a cartoonish fashion, remarkably like that of a puppy, or a doe. His lips could form the most filthy utterances (as they often did, the cheeky bastard), but the meaning was washed away by the pure innocence of the eyes. They betrayed him at every turn; despite his best efforts, he would always be the “gentleman”, the “romantic”, the “cute Beatle”. A curse, or a blessing, who was to say? But it was different now. John no longer felt the childlike wonder they often conveyed, the underlying pep and charisma. They were blank now, laced with something quite sinister. They darkened, and rather than a warm pool of molasses John would dip into, they were an abyss. John wanted to claw away from them in a panic, but they had frozen him still.

Despite his mind screaming it was the right decision, it was impossible for John to swallow down the violent wrench of his heart. “Let’s just forget it ever happened.”

Paul’s eyes dropped to the floor, blinking rapidly. John dully noted the shine in them as tears threatened to breach the brim. Paul cleared his throat. “Okay.”

John offered a half-hearted handshake; a truce. It was a miserable attempt at reconciliation. Paul glanced at it with distain before shaking his head and turning on his heel.

John momentarily considered calling out after him. He took in a breath once, twice, but the words wouldn’t come. What could possibly be said?

Before Paul turned the doorknob, he glanced back in John’s direction. John’s stare raked over his form, and for the first time all night, the weight of the situation fully hit him. John’s vision blurred abruptly, and before he could make any move to stop it, silent tears began to slip out.

“John,” Paul started, his voice breaking. He paused for a moment, before wrenching the door open and leaving as promptly as he entered. There was nothing left to do, even if they tried.

They didn’t.

[blackberry-gingham]

Can I request a ringo imagine where he’s IN LOVE with reader and reader has a bunch of guys fawning over her at a restaurant or something because she’s beautiful and ringos there too and he just can’t stop looking at her? And maybe reader is bothered by all the men but then she looks up from her table to see Ringo and then they make eye contact and it’s just MAGIC?🥺✨💞💕😍🥰❤️✨✨ and then just it goes from there and their love just blossoms?

AAAAAA YES YES YES YOU CAN DEFINITELY REQUEST THAT !!!! Djsjsjsj I LOVE THIS!

Phew, Ok idk but I went straight into mini fic mode for this, so I hope that's alright!! Off the top of my head, I can't remember who requested protective/jelous George and Paul but to that person and everyone else, all I have to say is, may I interest you in.... Protective/jelous Ringo!?! 👀👀

It was kind of a trip writing Ringo minus the peace and love ✌🏻❤️☮️🕊️😌 lmao but honestly, I think it worked out alright! Plus we got a touch of height difference Ringo bc I'm weak lol, and voila!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy ❤️

---

It's a typical afternoon in the ice cream parlor. You're enjoying a little sundae and a book as you unwind from the week, and a small crowd of men are barking up your tree. There's three today, all making fools of themselves hoping to grab your attention with the same old lines you've heard a thousand times.

You look up, bored and annoyed from all the attention. A little ways away, hunched on a barstool sits a complete stranger. He stirs his milkshake, looking very bored himself, but then, as though he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up and catches your gaze.

Ringo's heart drops.

The first thought to enter his mind is that yours are the loveliest eyes he's ever seen. They're bright and witty and his very soul feels bare before their light. You crinkle your nose in a little smirk as you look from your ensemble to him, then roll your eyes.

Can you believe these guys? They say.

You rest your chin in your hand and look at him whistfuly for a moment. He has a rather funny face compared to those that you're use to getting attention from, yet all the things that make his different give him a certain cuteness and friendly charm too. In fact, you almost wish he'd...

"Hellooo! I said, how about a movie love?"

A pair of hands come crashing down onto your table as one of the boys surrounding you snaps your attention back to the vacinity. His tone is dancing a fine line between aggressive and demanding, and suddenly you feel quite trapped.

Your eyes dart over to the young man at the barstools, a dash of fear hampering their brilliance. Truth be told, you're not sure what you're expecting to happen, but what you do know is that from the look the young man is making, he saw everything.

Ringo doesn't rightly know what's going to happen either, but he's going to do something, that's for certain.

It's a short stomp from his seat to your booth, but it's enough for him to have formulated a plan. He clears his throat loud as he can and makes sure to puff up his chest. He's easily the shortest of the other men, but it doesn't seem to deter him one bit.

"Hey now, what are you blokes doing with my bird?", Ringo shoves back the lad who's resting his knee on your booth seat and then backs up a little himself, giving you an exit route should you choose to bolt.

The ringleader of the boys looks from you, to Ringo, and back again in comical disbelief. He turns to you, "This guy? You can't be serious love, he's a dog!" The other two men howl with laughter, clearly in agreement with their boss.

Ringo's stern face falters to a frown for just a moment, but only you seem to notice.

Well, that simply won't do.

You stand up, shooting daggers, "Well that's a fine thing to say to my man isn't it?" You glance quickly at Ringo and smile, letting him know you're on his side.

Ringo straightens back up and is about to give his two cents, when one of the men bothering you cuts in. "Oh forget him! What a girl like you needs, is a nice looking lad like me...", he trails his fingers up your arms as he leans close to you.

Without even a moment's hesitation, you raise your other hand up with the full intent of slapping him, but Ringo has already jumped to action. "Hey!" He shoves the creep off you and positions himself defensively in front of you, "I said leave her be! Now are you lot going to sod off, or are we going to take this outside?"

Ringo readies his fists, bracing them up front and even jerking forward a second, to show that he means it. His eyes dart between the three men, all larger and very obviously more muscular then him. He gulps, suddenly not very confident in this uncharacteristic act of aggression he's putting on. But... He thinks of you just inches behind him and so he stands his ground, refusing to waver.

The other three look amongst themselves and then burst out into patronising laughter. One even wipes a genuine tear from his eye. Then, as soon as things escalated, it all just... Dissapaites. The three boys leave, not even bothering to give Ringo the time of day, and a trail of laughter follows them out.

Despite the slight ding to his pride, Ringo lets out a huge sigh of relief and scratches his neck. He turns around slowly to face you, moving out of your way once more.

"Sorry 'bout all that, but um... Are you alright miss?" He looks up to your eyes for a moment, then casts his gaze away shyly. You're even more beautiful up close. He didn't think that was possible.

You smile brightly at your little knight. It's nice to have someone else chase off the unwanted attention, especially when things get hairy like that. You couldn't be more fine.

Without a word you step out and give the strange man a hug. You're a mite taller then him, but you blame it on your heels. You pull back but leave your hands behind to hold his shoulders, "Oh yes, fine! Thank you!"

Ringo's mouth hangs agape as he stands and stares back at you. He feels as though he's been blessed by a goddess.

"I- uh... Y-yeah"

You daintily cover your mouth, trying to suppress a giggle. In the meantime, Ringo manages to recover. He dusts off his shirt and straightens the fabric, then his hair.

He clears his throat softly, then introduces himself properly, to which you do the same. Ringo repeats your name back to you, letting it roll of his tounge. He loves the way it feels as he says it.

"Really though, thank you for getting rid of those blokes for me"

"Oh uh, no problem yeah", he chuckles, still a touch nervous.

You can't help but smile. It's so rare to meet a guy who's so genuine with you after all. Hm...

"Say? How'd you like to get out of here?", you grab your book and hold out your delicate hand to him. You look at him warmly, making a little grabby gesture with your extended hand.

Ringo looks from your adorable hand to your radiant face, as though he can't believe you're serious. Without even thinking, he hears himself respond. "S-sure!", He clasps his hand to yours and grins back at you.

"Brilliant! I want to get to know my knight in shining armor after all!", you give his hand an excited squeeze and bounce out the door with him beside you.

"So... Tell me about those rings!"

Ringo has to squint a bit as he looks up to see you in the open light. The sun is casting a halo around your hair, illuminating your face in gold. You're absolutely radiant, he thinks.

He answers all you want to know about him, but all the while he just can't stop thinking about how he can't wait to get to know you.

[thetriggeredhappy]

Okay so that last one with scout losing snipes broke my heart into a zillion pieces so... What if sniper never died? Maybe he was badly hurt and is hiding somewhere... -🐑

i really like how you people keep doing this thing where you’re like “hey what if you ripped my whole heart out and stomped on it” then i do because you literally asked and you're all “owie :( ouch owie :( can i have a band-aid now” like it’s funny every time

(warnings for mention of firearms and discussion of severe life-threatening injury)

-

His contract expired.

Somewhere along the line—wonder when?—apparently his work had gotten ‘sloppy’. He’d gotten ‘erratic’. So six years after what all happened, when his contract was up to be renewed, Miss Pauling gently urged him to let it expire and to just head home.

It wasn’t like he had a good reason not to. He didn’t particularly get along with any of the team (anymore). A few of them had come and gone—Pyro apparently got reassigned somewhere and was gone overnight, and at some point Demo decided to leave mercenary work altogether to get a real, proper, legally sound job somewhere. Both of them had been replaced.

Their new Sniper wasn’t as polite as—

She was even more of a recluse, although she got along alright with Heavy sometimes. She was also Russian, which probably helped. And Scout felt a little bad about how much he hated her. She couldn’t help what happened. It wasn’t her fault. She was just picking up the baton on this job. Someone had to do it.

Mostly he just ended up avoiding her. And everyone else.

Exactly once he’d tried to take up dating again. Someone had gotten particularly sweet when he was out at a bar, and they’d flirted for a little while, then they’d suggested they both head somewhere else, and that they had a car if he wanted to—

He quietly stammered his way through a refusal. The vague guilt and unease reached a head the second he thought about getting in a car.

He’d needed to sell his car and get a motorcycle instead, at some point. The idea of getting in a vehicle had become an irrational fear, after he’d seen a picture of the wreckage, smelled the acrid smoke on the salvaged belongings.

That was one reason he took a plane home and had all his stuff shipped separately.

That meant that it was a few days of wearing only his old clothes when he got back, waiting for the rest to show up. And those were a little hard to squeeze into, he’d really been a lanky fuck before he became a mercenary.

The only thing he had at home that fit right was the suit, left there hanging in his closet to get eaten by moths.

The suit and the boxes of things were all shoved into the far side of his closet, and they stayed that way. He felt like maybe he wouldn’t ever be ready to look at them again, and in the meantime, they just made him feel guilty.

For the first two months after he got off work, he didn’t really do much. He stayed home, stayed out of trouble. Put his things away, sorted through what he wanted to keep and what he could just get rid of, either selling it or scrapping it if it was just kinda garbage. He tried to catch up with his brothers a little bit, the ones left in Boston still, but he didn’t get very far, feeling weird and disconnected.

After two months, he finally felt bad about Ma constantly tip-toeing around the topic of employment or hobbies (not that he needed to worry about those—he had enough money saved to not worry about much of anything until he was like, eighty), and he started trying to look for work, or maybe just something to keep him busy. For a month or so he looked into becoming a bartender, but the hours were a little weird. He thought about trying to get into doing baseball on some professional level, but he was getting a little old to be going into it for the first time since his late teens and early twenties. He very briefly looked into doing the cartoons for the newspaper—he was pretty good at art by then—before he found out they would require some amount of actual schooling for it.

So he ended up latching onto that, and started heading to the library five or six days a week to spend a few hours there studying to get his GED. His Ma supported him wholeheartedly on it, and got around to telling him, about a month into his new routine, that she was really glad he found something to do, something he wanted, that he’d just seemed so miserable, before, waiting around for something to happen.

Maybe she was right. He was waiting around for something to happen. He got the speech from Miss P—“ten years following your departure from the team, you and anyone nearby you will be kept in the system, and if there’s anyone who tries to bring you harm we’ll catch them before they can, and here’s a phone number to call if anything suspicious happens that you want looked into”. To him, that meant “someone might try and kill you”. So he did stay strapped when he went places, looked over his shoulder, kept an eye on doors and other potential exits.

So when he got back from the library one day and saw a car parked out in front of the house, at least he was prepared.

He thought fast. Kept driving past the house and parked a little ways down the block—he could drive the bike back later, it didn’t matter. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could, pushed it open with his shoulder, pistol drawn and cocked, falling back into old habits maybe a little too easily considering he hadn’t been a mercenary for almost a year and a half.

Voices from the living room—not from the TV, and not Ma on the phone, because he could also hear the TV, and there was a commercial playing that he recognized, one that didn’t involve Ma and a second, much deeper voice.

He steadied his hands, rolled his shoulders, and stepped into the room, leveling his gun directly at the head of the person within.

First he took stock of the fact that Ma was indeed there, sitting on the couch, looking relatively relaxed and entirely unharmed, if surprised to see him there and also with a gun. Then he took stock of the room, saw that there was only one other person here, the one he was pointing a gun at, the one who had slowly raised his hands up to either side of his head. Potentially unarmed, it was hard to tell with his baggy jacket—

Wait a minute.

Scout frowned, squinted, looking over his face a little more closely as realization started creeping into view.

He tried to imagine, for a second. What exactly would seven years do to a guy?

Maybe he’d end up with his hair growing out a lot longer, from close-cut to hanging down around his ears. Maybe with a beard, relatively clean but still a bit messy in some ways. Maybe he’d get new clothes, his eyes would sink a little bit more, would start to crinkle at the corners. More freckles, more spots maybe. Aged, scarred. Maybe he’d be wearing glasses. Maybe, despite all of that, he wouldn’t look all that different at all.

“...’llo, Bilby,” Sniper said quietly, hopefully, voice rough, and maybe he meant to say more, but he didn’t get the chance, because Scout lowered his gun, marched three steps forward, and slapped him clear across the face.

It was a hefty slap. The smack noise was practically ringing, and his hand stung like a bitch, and he’d hit him hard enough to knock his glasses off to clatter across the floor, and his head snapped back at the force of it, and the noise he made was satisfyingly pained.

“Right. Probably deserve that,” he croaked, and maybe he meant to say more, but he didn’t get the chance, because Scout tucked back away his gun, grabbed Sniper by the sides of his head, and kissed him square on the mouth.

It was a hard kiss, hard enough that he got Sniper to do that thing where he made an undignified little squeaky noise of surprise, caught off guard by it. He only melted forward for a second or two before Scout was pulling back away again.

“You fucking piece of shit son of a bitch cunt I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Scout practically snarled.

“Jeremy,” his Ma admonished from the couch.

“He’s right,” Sniper said weakly.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Scout insisted, just as fiercely. “What the fuck happened to you?!”

“There was a—“ Sniper started explaining, but Scout cut him off.

“Car bomb between 2:45 and 2:50 PM twenty minutes away from the nearest city limits,” he listed off, “I know that, but what—seven fucking years, Snipes!”

“I know,” Sniper said, voice flimsy. “First two years were recovery and physical therapy, next four were trying to get legal papers and apply for a visa to get back into the States again.”

“That bad?” Scout asked, still angry but faltering.

“Needed reconstructive surgery on... most of the left side of my body. Lost some teeth,” he said, and tugged his lip back on one side to show him where three teeth, the three behind the canines, were a slightly different color, then dropped his hand again. “Plenty of scars. Might be, er... missing a lot of those freckles you liked. And... voice comes and goes sometimes. But, Australian miracle medicine, I’m much better than I was.”

“You grew your hair out,” Scout noted next, carding his hands up through it.

Sniper laughed. “Lost half my teeth and needed a new coat of paint on the whole left of me, and you’re worried about my hair?” he chided.

“It’s just new, thought you hated it getting long,” Scout shrugged.

“Y’know,” his Ma said, sounding all too amused by the proceedings, approaching with Sniper’s glasses and handing them over to him, “you’re lucky you showed me those pictures all those years ago, Jeremy. Otherwise, strange guy shows up at our door askin’ about your work name and all, I would’a started blasting.”

She nodded meaningfully towards the table beside the couch, and Scout saw that indeed she had a gun there, taken from its place where he kept it stashed by the door as a “just in case”.

“Thanks, Ma,” he said, smiling a little.

“No problem, sweetheart,” she said, and patted him on the arm. She glanced between him and Sniper and scooped up the firearm from the table. “I’ll just go put this away,” she said, and left the two of them alone.

“Would’ve been easier to track you down if you’d given me more to go on than ‘southern Boston’,” Sniper said, eyebrows rising. “And if I didn’t need to be so careful about how I asked.”

“Huh?”

Sniper’s expression fell a little, and he raised his hand to fix his hair where Scout had mussed it up. “Look, you know the rules. Employer keeps an eye out for us for years after we leave. That means if I asked through my usual methods of tracking people down, that’d send up flashing red lights somewhere. So I... needed to take extra precautions.”

“Miss P told me they took care of the guys that tried to kill you,” Scout said, frowning.

“I went off radar for almost two years without official leave,” Sniper murmured. “And it wasn’t on purpose, but I don’t think they’d believe that. They might try and kill me if they find out I’m still alive. I’m a loose end.”

Scout’s heart dropped.

“Only cut it close once,” Sniper said, gaze falling. “But that was enough for Miss Pauling to get in contact with me, to try to talk to me. I... I told her I’m done, I’m out of mercenary work, and... just as a precaution I have to do a few things now. Check in on the regular. I wear this,” he said, pushing his sleeve up to show off a bulky device on his wrist, bigger than a watch. “It’s tracker. Makes sure I’m only in the places I say I’m going. Had to get a visa by myself, get transportation by myself, and it cut my protection time in half so now I’ve had to hire on someone to guard my parents and keep them safe, but now she’ll keep it secret that I’m alive. They’ll stop looking for me in two years, and if by then I’m still playing by the rules, I’m free. Back to normal life.”

“She said it was okay that you be here?” Scout asked. “In the same city as me? She wasn’t worried about that?”

“Told her why I was coming here,” Sniper shrugged.

“And what’d you tell her?” Scout asked softly.

They looked at each other.

“I... didn’t want to assume,” Sniper said quietly, carefully, looking over his face. “That you’d... I, I understand if you’ve moved on. Seven years, declared dead—“

“I didn’t,” Scout said just as quietly.

Sniper gave a breathless little laugh, cupping his face. “Bilby, I told you to,” he tried.

“Well, so-rry,” Scout said next, throat a little tight, hands on his hips, “Mister—Mister Legally Dead. Sorry I didn’t jump into speed dating the second I got the news. What, you—you wanted me to have kids by now?”

“Wouldn’t blame you,” Sniper shrugged, and kissed him, and pulled back away. “But... I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Well I’m glad you’re glad,” Scout mumbled, and kissed him, and pulled back away. “So...?”

Sniper was smiling, wide and unashamed. “So one day at a time,” he said quietly. “We can talk about it more in a bit. First, mind if I use your phone?”

“Why?”

“Meant to call in to check with Pauling in—“ He glanced around to find the clock in the room. “—three minutes or so. And... I ought to tell her I’ve made progress. And... that we’re sorting out details. Might call you over to talk to her too.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Hallway by the kitchen,” Scout directed, and kissed him again, and again, and again, until Sniper urged him down and off before he was late calling in.

He found himself in the kitchen, looking out the window. Ma was unloading the dishwasher and humming. In the hallway, the sound of talking, long pauses, more talking.

“He seems nice,” Ma said quietly, and shot Scout a smile, and Scout smiled too.

“He was—is,” he corrected quickly, flinching a little bit.

“How you feelin’?” Ma asked.

Scout looked down, crossed his arms over himself. “Y’know how in movies there’s that bit people do, all “feels too good to be true” or whatever?”

“Uh huh.”

“Kinda the opposite. It feels... like him being gone wasn’t real. And now stuff is real again.”

“Like you woke up?”

“...Yeah. Yeah, exactly,” Scout confirmed.

“I could tell,” Ma admitted, and stretched to reach the cabinet to put things away once they were good and dry. “Been a zombie since you got back, seems like maybe you’ve been a zombie for a while.”

Scout moved over to help, taking the dishes that belonged in the higher shelves and starting to put those away. “Sheesh, was I seriously that obvious?”

“It was pretty bad.”

“...Is that, like... normal? Or... healthy?” Scout asked carefully.

Ma laughed. “Sweetheart, how should I know?”

“But you know, like, everything.”

Ma pinched him on the cheek at the compliment and he squawked a complaint, and she laughed.

“I don’t know if it’s healthy,” she finally replied. “And... maybe it’s not about whether it’s healthy. Maybe... it’s just one step. And, hey, it worked out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and smiled. “Yeah, it did.”

“Bilby,” Sniper called, leaning in to look through the door to the kitchen, phone cord visibly all stretched out. “Wants to talk to you.”

Miss Pauling ran through a brief check to make sure he was indeed Scout, then asked a series of questions. Whether he felt safe with being around Sniper on the regular. Whether Sniper would be staying with him on the regular, and the fact that instead of extending security to cover him, she’d need to just go more lax on Scout’s security to make sure Sniper wasn’t found out.

He was fine with that. All of that.

After the phone call, after a few more questions, he dragged Sniper upstairs and flung open the door to his closet, digging through the dusty old boxes with purpose. Then he was pulling out an item and shoving it directly into Sniper’s chest.

Sniper put his hat back on, and Scout couldn’t help but yank him down into another kiss at the wave of nostalgia and familiarity as Sniper nudged his glasses up and looked at him and asked if it was on crooked, the same way he’d said a hundred times before, a hundred years ago.

And, hopefully, he’d say it a billion more times, for a billion more years. Scout would make sure of it.

[cilliansaccent]

The Peaky Designer - Cillian Fanfic, Chapter 4

Hello, welcome back. Below is the next instalment of my fanfiction!

Leave a like or a comment if you liked it, or if I can do anything better! Please, it would mean the world and to understand if anyone is enjoying my writing. Also, sharing/reblogging would be even better.

PLEASE READ:

I will not be including Cillian’s family as it’s kinda weird since he has children lmao. Just a mention of his parents and a previous lover.

I will indicate in a chapter if there is smut in the beginning and before the actual scene!!

I will add trigger warnings if there is any!!

There is a variety of levels of swearing during a chapter, I will not hold back, everyone swears.

The timestamp for the Fic is now 2016 and onwards!! 

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Background: Gabrijela Babic is a Croatian girl from Sydney, Australia. She is born in the year 1991 on the 24th of December. She studies a Fashion degree in a University with a major in Game Design as well. Her teacher in the fashion designer class managed to nail an Internship on the set of Peaky Blinders with the shows very own Costume Designer, Allison McCosh. There, she travels to London for under a year to learn how to be one, working alongside the actors as well the man she admires, Cillian Murphy. But, her platonic feelings for the man begins to grow into something more, and she wonders whether she should pursue them or let him go for fear of her strict parents and her three older brothers…

Characters:

Swantje Paulina as Gabrijela Babic (swalina on Instagram)

Cillian Murphy

Word Count: 5,000

!!Warnings!!: It's getting hot here! Some decent smut at the end, starts after they are in bed together. Enjoy *winks*. 

Date: March 2016

Chapter Name: The Shelby Clan

Brief Chapter Outline: First day being the apprentice as a Peaky Designer, Gabrijela meets the cast and the crew in a jam-packed day, while also making some friends. She ends up staying in Cillian's trailer on set with some red wine that will question their actions later...

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The drive towards Manchester was quite pleasant, the roads were empty in the morning so the run was smooth. 

Gabrijela had packed her laptop and documents last night as she knew she wouldn't have much time to pack in the morning. And it was true. 

Five minutes past five, Allison was at the door, ringing the bell. Gabrijela had rushed down after she had changed into high-waist blue jeans, a black turtle neck tucked in and a light brown coat on top and her favourite Doc Martins. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun with a cream coloured scrunchie. 

She wore a gold chain with a small gold cross, her mother gave it to her for good luck and protection despite Gabrijela not really that of a holy person. 

They didn't stop, only for a toilet break and to grab a snack bar but it was right through to the cit up north. 

They arrived at the destination just before eleven. It was pretty full-on once they came, "Today is the only exception where I will drive you here. You'll have to catch the train here, and I may or may not be able to drive you back." Allison had explained as they headed in where they would dress the actors up. 

But first stop, Gabrijela was to be introduced to the team, the producers and all that. While she was taken away, Allison headed off to ready the actors and actresses. 

Gabrijela was informed in the meeting of her secrecy of the plot and the ideas of Season three. But they made sure to not spook her too much. She was given the lay down of the rules and regulations, but overall, she was kind of free to roam long as she told someone where she was going. 

The crew was quite nice, and once of the assistance people took her on a trip around. 

Logan, a tall, handsome man with such deep ocean blue eyes and thick black curly hair. He was dressed in a casual suit, round gold glasses sat on his straight nose and he had a boyish smile. He was turning twenty-seven in a week. 

"Got anything planned for the birthday?" She asked as they came outside to where men and women moved stuff around or put things together. 

"Uh, not really. Probably go to a pub around here for some drinks and cake with my mates." He said with a shrug and a shy smile. 

"Will your parents come?" She asked. He had told her he was from Scotland, as per his accent told her already before he could tell her. 

"Oh no, no. They can't afford it, but I will make it up for Pa's fifty-eighth birthday next month." He said, his smile bright, making the corners of his eyes to crinkle. 

"Oh, that's good. How long have you been working here?" She asked, curious about his line of work. 

"Since season one. I worked in various jobs before and throughout, gaining as much knowledge and experience possible. You need a lot of experience as a Set Designer, and I pushed myself to be the very best and somehow caught the eyes of the Director." He explained as they headed back inside. 

"So cool." She whispered, "Is the job stressful?" 

"Can be. You need to be thorough, and to know what needs to go where, when and how. Today we will be setting up the opening scene, could be changed entirely tomorrow if it doesn't flow. I gotta be on my feet at all times, but I love it. The creativity that brings about in me as if some flood gate exploded open." He said with such passion. 

She giggled softly and they continued to walk around before he was called back to start on the set. 

They bid farewell and she headed to where Allison said she was and directed. 

She entered the large trailer and she had stopped in her tracks at what she saw. 

The actors were all crammed in, well, most of them, mostly the men where. The director was there to listen in on what Allison was talking about. 

Gabrijela couldn't move. She felt like a deer in headlights, her nerves rattling through her. 

She wasn't sure if she was suddenly up for this. This whole thing seemed like a dream and here she was, among the cast and the crew. 

Cillian spotted Gabrijela enter and smiled, "Sorry to interrupt but Gabrijela is here." He said, moving through the boys and came to her. 

"Hey. You alright?" He asked softly, taking her arm gently. 

"Y-Yeah, I think so." She said nodding her head. 

She was swept into introductions and everyone seemed thrilled for her to be here. Cillian stuck to her side since he could tell she was apprehensive. 

And then it was time to get into the business. 

Gabrijela worked with Allison closely, following her orders. She was to help the boys dress into the right outfits and have the next ones on hand when it came to a new scene. 

It was none stop, and hectic. She had spotted Logan every now and then and got peaks of him setting up props and all that. 

But she was brought back to her own area and watched and listened to the other creative artists such as the make up artists and the hairstylists. 

When it was break time in the mid-afternoon, she realised she hadn't made food for herself. And she was to shy to even ask for the on-site food if it was available for her too. 

But she didn't need to fret too much when Cillian, all decked out in his Tommy outfit came over to her. 

"Thought I'd bring you this." He said and handed her a fairly large box. 

"What is it?" The smell that came from it was so good. 

"One of the guys ordered this from some local restaurant near here. Got it for all of us." He said. 

She opened it. It was stirfry noodles, rice, dumplings and spring rolls. 

"Oh, it smells so good!" She said. 

"Yeah. Come on, let's go join the others." He said and she followed him to a different trailer where she could hear voices from within. 

"Cillian. I-I don't know." She paused outside her heart racing. 

"Hey. It's alright, don't be scared." He faced her, "I'm here okay?" 

She sighed and nodded and walked in with him. 

Introductions went around again, and the general questions of herself began via the boys. She ate in between questions and answered them happily. 

She was still shy but she began to open up and feel more at ease. Cillian and Paul got lost in their own conversation and she chatted with Harry for a bit. 

But it wasn't long when lunch was over and it was back to work. 

Evening...

It was time to call it a night. Gabrijela was exhausted after a long, busy day. 

She was in Allison's trailer, finishing up her report of today. 

The door opened and Cillian popped his head in, "Thought I'd find you here." He came in, closing the door behind him. 

"Oh hey." She turned and smiled, "How are you?" 

"Ah, fucking tuckered." He said and sat across from her. He had changed back to his usual outfit of a blue shirt, jacket and jeans. 

"I could imagine. I saw you working hard." She closed her laptop when she saved her document. 

"Yeah. So you staying here or are you heading home?" He asked. 

"Heading back to London." She said, tucking her laptop into her backpack. 

"What? It's almost eight. It'll be too late for you." He frowned, "I've got plenty of room in my trailer-"

"No, it's okay. It'd be to much trouble." She shakes her head, "Besides, I have no other clothing with me. Would look bad if I rocked up again tomorrow in the same shit." 

"Fuck." He cursed softly, "I don't want you to go home alone." 

"Cilly," She murmured his nickname again, she took his hand, "It'll be okay. I'll call you when I get on, we can keep talking right through the trip." 

He held her hand with both his hands, "No. Stay." He insisted. 

She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sat back. "It would look so weird if I came out of your trailer, Cillian. I don't want to give you a bad representation." She said softly. "Look, thank you for the offer, but I can't be late for the train." She stood, pulling on her backpack. 

"I will be safe," She said and headed to the door. 

"Gabrijela." He went to her and grabbed her, turning her back around. "Please." He shook her arm a little. He was persistent, and he wasn't going to give up. 

She shook her head and sighed. She stepped into his arms and hugged him tightly, "Cillian, don't you stress. I'm a big girl." 

His arms moved around her waist and he hugged her close, "I know. But I worry, and it's late." 

Allison had opened the door and stepped into the trailer, "Gabrijela- Oh!" She gasped. 

The pair hastily pulled back and Gabrijela's cheeks heated. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to walk in on..." She trailed off. 

"Just having a heart to heart, Al. Nothing to worry." Cillian wrapped an arm around Gabrijela's shoulder and hugged her a little. 

"Okay, well. I need to drop her off at the station." She said. 

"She can't stay here?" Cillian asked. 

"I mean, she can if she wanted to. Gabrijela?" Allison looked at her. 

"It's only two hours to London, I'll be okay." Gabrijela shook her head. 

"She can stay with me. I can make the dining table into a bed and she can have the main one." Cillian spoke before Gabrijela could. 

"Well, it is up to her, Cillian." Allison said, "Are you worried about something?" Allison added. 

Gabrijela looked between the two and let out a sigh through her nose, "I didn't pack properly. I don't have clean clothing is my main concern." She looked down at her feet. 

God, she was a mess, her mind was going a million miles an hour. 

"That's okay. I got a shirt you could fit for tomorrow, I'll let you off early so you can go back to London to prepare better for the next day." Allison offered, coming over and placing a hand on her shoulder. 

"Are you sure?" She asked, looking up with worrisome eyes. 

"I'm sure. Here." Allison went through her small wardrobe she had in the trailer and handed her a shirt. "This should do. Cillian will take you to his sleeping quarters." She gave Gabrijela an encouraging and caring smile. 

"Thank you, I appreciate it," Gab said and left with Cillian, heading to his trailer. 

"Anytime. I didn't feel comfortable you heading home so late." He held open the door for her to go in. 

She walked in, the trailer was clean and smelled like him. "Such a worrisome boy." She poked him when he walked by. 

"Can't help it. I've heard things and you're..." He trailed off, his brows furrowed a little. 

"I'm... what?" She set her bag on the table. 

"Ah," he huffed, "I'd be kicking myself if you got hurt." He said, eyes darting away from her. 

She saw he wanted to say something but she wasn't going to pressure him in it. "Thank you, Cillian." She stepped to him, touching his cheek and turning his gaze back to her. "Next time, I'll bring an extra set of clothes just in case." She nodded and stepped back from him. 

"Good idea. Now, I have some two-minute noodles and good red wine. Want some?" He asked. 

"Sure. I love me some noodles and red wine." She nodded and removed her back from the table and to the bed at the end of the trailer. It was huge, it could easily fit them both. 

She could offer him to stay in the bed with her, it wouldn't be the first. "Cillian." She called out. 

"Yeah?" He replied, fixing up the noodles and boiling the water. 

"Um... Look... Uh... The bed, it's uh, big. We could um... you know..." She blushed and stuttered a little. 

"What? Is there something wrong?" He came into the room with her, looking at the bed then back to her. 

"No, nothing is wrong with it." She ran a hand through her hair which she had let out. "Oh, god actually- Forget about it. Don't worry." She shook her head quickly. 

"No, tell me. It's fine, darling." The word came out without a second thought and it made things more awkward than anything. 

"U-Uhm, we could share the uh, the bed. You know. We could put a pillow wall between us or something if you like or we could just stick to our sides but that's up to you." She rushed in a single breath. 

"Share a bed? I mean, we can. No issue there." He laughed nervously, "But wouldn't you prefer it all to yourself?" 

"I guess so, but I don't think sleeping on the table thing over there would be too comfortable. Besides, you gotta wake up early so you need a good night's sleep." She said, gulping. 

"That is true." He returned back to the noodles, pouring the hot water in each bowl, "Alright. I'll take up on your offer. But we don't need a pillow wall. It's not the first time." He said with a deep chuckle. 

She blushed madly and sat down in the little booth, "Shut up." She muttered. 

It wasn't long when the noodles were ready and they had popped open a bottle of red. 

"Welcome to the Shelby Clan." Cillian grinned and held up a glass and she did the same and they clinked. 

"Thank you." She said and dug in. 

"So how are you feeling after today?" He asked once they finished eating. 

"Tired. And stressed." She said, "It was so full-on."

"Yeah. But you did a good job, Gab. Dressed me well and the others." He took a sip of his glass. 

"You think so?" She asked. 

"Of course! But don't be so nervous around us eh? We are regular people." He said, "Give it a few day's, you'll be relaxed." 

"Okay. Yeah, it's only the first day." She accepted with a drink of her wine. 

He noticed she was already almost done with her wine, and he was the same. "Here." He refilled their glasses. 

"Oh damn. We drinking tonight, hm?" Gabrijela gave him a playful smirk. 

"We might." He said, "But I might take a shower, or would you like to go first?" He asked. 

"I'll go first." She said, "I'll be quick." She took a sip of her wine and stood up. She could feel a buzz. 

Cillian showed her the shower and she quickly washed up. She had one fresh set of underwear always tucked in her bag, and like the idiot she was, she forgot to bring them in. 

She wrapped the towel around her body and peaked her head out, Cillian wasn't in and she took that chance to get out. She went for her bag and yanked out the high waisted silk garment and began to pull them up. 

Cillian had walked back in after his call and let out a gasp when he saw Gabrijela. The poor girl yelped in fright when he returned and she dropped her towel as she stumbled back from her loss of balance. 

She hit her back on the wall and groaned and let out a soft laugh. 

"Shit. Gab you alright?" He came through the threshold and let out a cry, "Jesus! Sorry!" He covered his eyes and backed up when he saw her naked body. 

"Yeah, I'm okay." She got up and pulled on her underwear. Her jumper and her jeans were back on and she came back out, "Sorry." She was red as ever as she returned to her spot. 

"No, no. Don't be. I didn't mean to spook you." He rubbed his nose, his mind whirling. She didn't just have freckles on her face, but along those lovely full breasts, and the plane of her stomach- 

He let out a choke and rubbed the back of his neck, "Anyway, uh, you'll be sleeping in that?" He looked at her, his body reacting in a way he hadn't felt for a long time. 

"Uh, yeah. I guess so. Why?" She asked she saw that heated look in his eyes. That desire. And her body warmed, she remembered her dreams. 

"I could give you one of my shirts? Would be comfortable than jeans." He said. 

His shirt? Oh, Lord, save her. But she found herself nodding, "I'll give it back." She said. 

He nodded and fetched her a shirt, "Here" He handed her a dark navy blue shirt. 

"Thanks. Did you want a refill?" She nodded to his glass. 

"Uhm... Yeah, why not." He said before he turned and took a quick shower as she refilled his glass, topped hers and got into bed with his shirt on. 

He came out with a white t-shirt and black boxer shorts that had little pineapples. 

"Nice shorts." She laughed softly as she set her phone down and picked up her glass. 

"Thanks. My brother got it for me last Christmas." He laughed as he shut up the trailer and turned off the lights before he returned to the small bedroom, pulling the shutter close. 

"Lovely." She sipped her glass as she watched him get into bed. 

Both of them sat upright, her bedside light was only on. 

"To another day." She said once he got himself comfortable and clinked glasses with him. 

"To another day indeed." He took a good drink of his glass. 

She could feel the buzz started, and she began to talk about a moment in her life which was quite hilarious. 

They chatted about anything, about life, about her school, her friends, family. And she learned of his first lover, and how she broke his heart. 

"So you've been single for five years now?" She asked in shock. She was a little tipsy, as well as Cillian. They did finish a second bottle. 

"Yeah. Haven't found someone yet or have anyone in mind as of now. Dated some but their intentions weren't true. I'm after someone who is... real. Who cares more about personality rather than how much money is in my pocket." He said. 

Cillian was on his side and Gabrijela on her back. 

"Damn. I'm sorry. But you'll find that person, everyone does." She said, looking up at him. The low light brought out the harsh angles of his face, making him look scarily handsome. 

"I hope so. What about you?" He asked. 

"Me? Ah, it's been a year since I broke up with my ex. I was with him for three years." She murmured. 

"Huh. Three? What made it break?" He asked, "Oh, only if you want to answer it." 

"It's okay. He uh... cheated on me, and did the blaming game on me. Convinced me I wasn't giving him any satisfaction when it came to sex. He was fucking this slut for a year without my knowledge. My bestie told me. She saw it happen." She looked away. Since then, she hadn't had sex with anyone or got anywhere close. She had freaked out every time, too ashamed of herself. 

Cillian saw the dread that began to fill her beautiful eyes, the hurt expression shutting her down. 

"Hey." He cupped her cheek, bringing her face closer to his. She could feel his breath on her face, "You deserve the best. You are... such a sweet girl and so genuine. I don't think you should beat yourself over what he said. He's a bastard, a big, fucking bastard to say that to a girl. You would definitely rock the bed." The words fell out before he could stop himself. "Ah, Gabrijela-" 

But she let out a laugh, and couldn't stop. He found her serene laughter to be contagious and was laughing with her too. 

They laughed for a good while and he had his forehead on her shoulder, somehow he was sort of above her, his other arm beside her waist to hold himself up. 

She felt the tickle of his hair brush her neck, "God Cillian, you really don't hold back huh?" She giggled, reaching up to stroke the back his head and neck. 

"It just came out. I mean no offence." He said as he lifted himself up, his hair fell down and brushed her forehead. 

"No offence was taken. But I believe I could rock more than just the bed." She purred, her fingers moving down to his jaw. She traced it slowly. 

"Oh, really?" He asked, his voice dropped a pitch. 

Her skin pricked as her fingers moved to his lips, "Yeah, really." She whispered, their noses touched. 

The moment was burning up slowly, she could feel it. His leg brushed up against hers. 

"Maybe..." He murmured, his eyes shutting a little as his attention was now to her own lips. 

Red, wet and full, so perfect, he thought. Was this the alcohol talking? 

"Maybe what?" She let her fingers move down his chest then across his shoulder. 

"I..." He leaned in more, rubbing his nose against hers. A soft sigh escaped him when her gentle fingers found its way back into his hair. 

"Kiss me." She said, one arm hooked around his neck and drew him into her body. 

He obliged and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss was gentle, tentative. Exploring, find out how they worked together. 

He had moved entirely on top of her, his body almost crushing but she liked it. He had one arm under her head, his soft fingers clasped the back of her neck, his other arm provided support for himself but was under her and under her shirt. She could feel the pads of his hand on the middle of her back. 

Her legs widened to make room for his shifting hips. She could tell he was trying to keep them up but she did feel his arousal. Defined and eager. 

He wanted her, clearly. The kiss became more passionate, more wanting as she opened her mouth for his tongue that swept in with such dominance she let out a moan. 

The arm under her back moved and he was touching her sides, fingers gliding down her thigh then back up. 

She felt a wild confidence sweep through her and she lifted up her hips to meet with his. 

He let out a grunt before he pushed her down roughly. It made her whine with lust. 

"Gabrijela." He groaned as he broke the kiss. His hand moved up, pausing under her breast. 

The air was like a wildfire. 

"Cillian." Her core was throbbing and slick, she wanted him. Needed the reprive after so long. 

She arched her back as if telling him to go higher with that devilish hand she had dreamt of roaming over her body. 

He accepted the offering and his hand engulfed her breast. 

They both let out a moan as if the contact was a blessing to them both, especially to her. 

He played with her breast, rolling the nipple against his palm. His lips returned to hers, swallowing up the blissful moan that came from her. 

She clung to him as if he was her life source, her legs wrapped around his waist as another moan came through her when he pinched her nipple, rolling and tugging it between his fingertips. 

"Cillian," she gasped, breaking the kiss as he kissed to her neck, "Cillian- I- Oh god." 

He let out a muffled groan, his hips driving forward a little. 

"I-I need more- Fuck- Please- Just- Just this once. Touch me. Touch me please." She begged softly. 

He knew what her desperate pleas meant, and he pulled back to look at her. "Gabrijela we shouldn't-" 

"Please." She cupped his face, the light illuminated her eyes, bringing forth the lust and need to be satisfied. 

The shirt was rolled up to expose that lovely soft stomach she had, his eyes going lower. He could just see the wet pool that began between her legs. 

A sound erupted from him and she let out a moan as he removed his hand from her breast. He would not see what treasure was between her legs, it was far too much for him. If he saw her, he wouldn't be just touching her. 

He brought his hand down and slipped it beneath the silk garment. She wasn't shaved but she had recently trimmed. 

He paused, gazing back up her body to her eyes, she was staring at him. 

"Touch me." She whispered in that lovely, delicate voice shaky with such appetite for his hand. 

He brought his fingers to her wet slit and parted her. Her head lolled back, eyes shut. 

"Look at me." His voice was rough, demanding. 

She did, and let out a pathetic whine when he began to feel her, stroke her folds and brush along that bundle of nerves. 

He leaned in and kissed her once, twice, three times with a claiming kind of way. 

She was so wet, drenching his two fingers that tracked her up and down, bringing her clit between them and massaged it. 

"Shit, Cilly." She moaned, a soft cry when he pinched her clit making her hips buck. 

She was a mess, and he could see how she clenched and unclenched the sheets as she stared with intensity at his hand and back at his face.

He continued to pleasure her by playing with her clit, so enamoured of her sweet sounds. Oh, how she became at mercy of him. His cock throbbed, wanting the attention. 

He gave in and pushed a finger into her, his brows furrowed as he moaned at how unbelievably tight she was. 

Her body arched as he inserted a second, and then they were moving in and out of her at a steady pace. 

Her body was warm and she felt sweat starting to form across her bare, exposed skin. He was so skilled, he knew exactly what he was doing with those two fingers that curled, causing a louder cry to come from her. 

Gabrijela could feel her climax rising, and she moaned with pleasure as he picked up the pace, as if he also knew she was going to fall off the edge. 

Cillian watched how her body began to undulate, hips rocking in sync of his thrusting, all perfect. 

"Cillian I-I'm gonna cum, oh god don't stop. Don't stop!"  She hooked an arm around his neck, and he laid close to her, his lips brushing his temple. 

"Cum whenever you want, darling. Cum for me." He whispered hotly against her skin. 

His thumb rubbed her clit, edging her even closer. He could feel her slick walls tightened, her body reaching that high that was about to crash around her. 

And with some rougher fingering her of her sweet, wet hole, which she could hear the slick sounds, her body bucked violently off the bed as she let out a loud cry of ecstasy as her climax tore down her spine. 

Her walls clenched and she came over his fingers, his name a prayer on her lips. The ecstasy of her climax was a reprive, it quenched her thirst for some sort of satisfaction she was deprived of the past few months. 

Especially from another man. 

Cillian fingered her till she was still and panting on the bed, a thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead. 

The air was hot, and not just the temperature. Whatever had now unlocked between them. 

This... dangerous thing that sat between them. What just happened, he knew it wasn't just the alcohol aiding him. Or her. 

She had her eyes shut, she felt his hand retreat from between her legs and his moved off the bed, a soft grunt coming from him. 

She waited until he left to go to the bathroom, and she knew why he did that. 

She pulled down her shirt, sniffling a little as she rolled to her side. She was in shock of what happened, what he just did to her body. But she didn't feel violated, she wanted this. And for a long time, she needed someone to give her a good finger fuck. 

But fear pooled in her stomach, she didn't think it would be Cillian. A man who was twice her fucking age. 

What the fucking hell was she doing? A question that repeated itself the last three days now. 

Cillian stroked himself, with the hand that was coated in her juices. He couldn't help it, his mind brought up images of her body. Of how she gasped and melted under his touch. 

This was indeed dangerous. He was older than her, this whole this was bad. So bad. She was young and needed someone her age. He couldn't believe it, a moron he was to be doing such a thing to such a lovely girl. 

But he couldn't help it and the thought of her with someone else... 

He grunted softly as finished and cleaned up quickly. Now he had to share the bed with her, the vague scent of her would cling to him. 

No, he had to be a better man. Man up, he thought as he got out and eased back into bed silently. 

The light went out. 

He was on his back, as far as he could be on his side of the bed. His mind was still doing its million rounds around. But he forced himself to fall asleep and was able to when his body relaxed. 

Gabrijela had managed to fall asleep too. A deep, dreamless sleep. 

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day. Very, very interesting indeed, was her last thought. 

[silver-maxwell]

Mclennon fluff: John or Paul falls of the stage during a concert and breaks an arm...

word count:1108

Paul would have liked to think that their days of sketchy stages were over.

No longer would they have to stand on thin plywood boards or barrels with planks of wood laid on top of them. Just securely built stages with nice sound systems and lots of room to move as they see fit.

So when he walked across the stage of their current venue he immediately became nervous of the loud creaks it made with every step.

They were supposed to go do a quick run of the setlist for the afternoon before the concert that night, Paul reminded himself as he watches Ringo jump in place as he dared to test the stability of the boards, the boards seemed to protest the action as they creaked madly.

The stage was already supporting their instruments and the many people moving about; it had even supported Mal, 6’6 Mal who had gotten tangled amongst some wires while he had been carrying one of Ritchie’s drums and had fallen hard onto the floor.

So when rehearsals pass by without a single problem Paul’s fears quelled themselves.

The concert starts without a hitch, the girls scream every time they shake their heads and harmonize. The songs go by fast and Paul watches his friends enjoy themselves from the corner of his eye.

Speaking of enjoying- From Paul’s spot on the stage he can see the way the lights overhead illuminate John’s features as he sings, the way his eyes crinkle with joy and against the bright lights, the way he smiles wildly between verses.

John had seemed to notice the staring, as he turned to Paul and gave him a small wink before turning back to the crowd.Paul hopes the audience thinks his reason for turning red was due to the hot lights.

after their fifth song the lights dim low, George and John leave the stage while Ringo remains at his drums due to the fact he sat in a rather tall podium.

Mal hands Paul his guitar while another person sets up his mic near the edge of the stage.

Paul strums a few chords to ‘yesterday’ and the crowd screams before him and he shoots them all a charming smile.

Paul takes a deep breath and leans forward.

He falls.

He falls down 8 feet into the orchestra pit.

Paul’s left-hand hits the ground first, as it had stretched out in a feeble attempt to catch himself. The guitar is thrown away from him, he doesn’t know where because the air is knocked out of him and he’s lying dazed on the ground.

It takes a minute for Paul to recognize what's going around him. The loud sound of a drum making contact with the ground is heard, there are high pitched screams above him and a set of feet running across the damn stage, the creaking somehow louder than ever before.

“Macca!” John’s voice yells down at him.

Paul doesn’t even bother to open his eyes (when had he closed them?) because as soon as John yells for him a sharp pain begins to develop underneath him. It takes Paul a moment to realize it’s his arm pinned beneath him. He hisses at the feeling as his mind clears up.

Paul can here Eppy’s voice yell out, though he couldn't make out what he’s saying due to the other voices.Paul does recognize the loud thump of someone landing close by.

A hand gently touches his cheek (the one that isn’t pressed up against the carpeted floor) it’s a soft touch that Paul relishes in.

The hand slaps him.

It’s not a hard slap but it’s still a slap, it forces Paul to flinch and open his eyes to see a worried John looking down at him.

“You alright there, Paulie?” Paul almost doesn’t catch John’s question due to the noise above them.

“Yeah, yeah..” Paul answers back automatically as he moves to stand up. John grabs him by the sleeve of his right arm and pulls so that Paul’s sitting on his knees.

Compared to the stage the orchestra pit is darker, but enough light floods in for him to notice his guitar a few feet away and the people that are running down the stairs further up.

“Paul!” a voice calls up from above them. The duo looked up to see George peering down at them from the edge of the stage.

“You alright, lad?”This time Paul actually decided to check himself over; which was really him finally looking down at his arm.

“Holy shit” John reacts first.

Paul is certain that his forearm isn’t supposed to be bent that way.

The pain finally hits.

The next few hours are a blur.

Paul is pushed into the car by Mal and driven to the nearest hospital and the doctor checks him over to confirm that, yes, his arm is broken.

They had attached a splint to his arm, as they had yet to set him up for a cast.

Throughout these hours John had remained close by, watching over him like a hawk while others approached him.

They finally get some alone time when the doctor leaves the room. Paul’s lying on the hospital bed, tired from the day's events and the morphine is given to him to lessen the pain.

As soon as the doctor steps out John places himself down next to Paul, who welcomes him by immediately snuggling himself into John’s side.

John’s hand gently runs through his hair and Paul could sleep right then and there.

“You’re lucky this is was the last show” John laughs after a brief silence. Paul simply hums. “What happened to the others?” Paul asks as he shifts slightly. John thinks for a moment.

“George and Ringo stayed behind with Eppy to deal with the fans, George didn’t want to at first and Ringo had no choice since he was stuck on the bloody podium”, John pauses as he recalls another thing “He knocked over his drums when he saw you fall, I think he was ready to jump too, I beat him to it though”

Paul cracks a smile before the realization hits him.

“I won’t be able to bloody play anymore!” He sighs rather dramatically, his head falling back against the crook against John’s neck.

“We still got the songwriting to do” John reassures him.

Later the others start pouring in, George and Ringo telling Paul how happy they are that he isn’t hurt, Eppy rants on about having a serious conversation with the owner.

(John steals a kiss when the doctor isn’t looking)

Paul leaves with a light blue cast and before he even exits the car there’s writing already decorating it.

Ringo leaves a small smiley face near his wrist, a small note from George that says ‘hope you had a nice trip!” near his elbow. John’s is the largest, his name stretched across the top of his forearm with the smallest of hearts.

[skylarksof]

HI. Can you do 30 with Paulkins? Thanks! Much love! ❤❤

Thank you so much for this one, @youneedjesus01!! Right back at you! ❤️❤️

30. “Sometimes I just wanna...y’know...yeet myself into the sun.”

“Okay, here goes!”

Paul raised his hand to ring the doorbell, but Emma grabbed his arm. “Hold on there, buckaroo.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Paul turned to her, his face etched with concern. Come to think of it, he seemed as nervous as she was...maybe even a little more nervous. “What’s wrong, Em?”

“Sometimes I just wanna...y’know...yeet myself into the sun. Like now. Especially now.” Emma kicked the ground anxiously, refusing to look at the looming building in front of her. “I just- I don’t know about this whole ‘meeting your parents’ thing. I mean, god, I can already tell it’s going to be bad. Like, look at your house! It’s so spotless and suburban and bright yellow, for crying out loud, and perfect and-“

“Boring?” Paul interrupted, his face crinkling into a smile.

“Well, yeah. That’s why I’m worried,” Emma said pointedly, looking at the ground. “About what they’re going to...think of me.”

“I don’t care what they think of you,” Paul said a little too quickly.

This immediately reinforced all of Emma’s fears. “Oh, shit, they’re going to hate me. They’re going to hate me, aren’t they, Paul?”

“No, no, no!” Paul put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye fiercely. “Listen to me, Em. If they have any sense in their brains, they’re going to love you! If they don’t, fuck them.”

Emma stared at him, stunned. “I mean, thanks, babe, but don’t say that about your parents!”

“You haven’t met them,” Paul said grimly, shaking his head with an ominous look.

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Jesus Christ, you’re making them sound like monsters. Why do you want me to meet them if you hate them so much?”

“I don’t- I don’t hate them...” Paul hesitated. “My relationship with them has just been a little...rocky...to say the least.” He shook his head sadly. “But I’m kind of traditional, you know? I want my parents to know my girlfriend. I want them to know the most important person in my life.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but smiled despite herself. “Ugh, would you quit being so sweet? It’s getting on my last nerve.”

“You know,” he said, giving her arm a squeeze, “we don’t have to do this, babe. We can just leave. If you really aren’t comfortable-“

“No,” Emma cut him off. “No, you know what? We are going to do this. We’re going to fucking meet your parents,” she said doggedly, a stubborn glint in her eye.

“Wow,“ said Paul with a dopey grin, “I like that attitude. Not gonna lie.”

“Ooh, interesting,” she replied, then started to laugh. “Imagine if your parents just, like, walked in on us making out. How’s that for a first impression?”

“I wouldn’t give a damn,” he whispered, leaning in.

And then the door swung open. Out came the bustling figure of a woman who Emma could only assume was Paul’s mom.

“Pauly! My god, show some respect!” She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and I suppose this is your-” Mrs. Matthews turned to look at her, and Emma gasped. Paul’s head whipped back and forth between them in alarm.

Fuck, she’d been right before. This was going to be bad.

Very, very bad.

[edsbrak]

Seeing Double

summary: 1990!Richie has a chance meeting with 2017!Richie and it’s just a whole bag of fun, really. yep.

a/n: hey yall, I know this isn’t the final SW chapter, don’t worry, I’m still finishing it, I was just in a lull so i thought I’d write this to get my inspo back! I hope you enjoy this ridiculousness! 

Read on Ao3

It was strange, being back in the place where it all began.

At this moment in time, the ground was decorated in a canopy of oranges, greens and browns. Occasionally, a group of leaves would float up in a gust and around the interweaving paths, catching in between the cracks made over countless decades of use.

Up above, the sky was cloudless and pale, warming up his exposed hands and face against the cold nip of the autumn wind. His glasses, tinted to shade away the sun’s glare, were pushed back up when he felt them begin to slip down. There were a pair of mothers sat over beneath a large tree, their toddlers by their feet as they shout at them for attention.

Beyond that, standing proud and stark in the centre of the small park, Paul Bunyan stared out ahead with his looming, fake grin, and Richie tried his best to ignore the distasteful curl in his stomach. He scoffed once, partly at his irrational fear and partly at the town for still having the lumberjack on display.

It wasn’t surprising to notice how little things had changed over the years.

Richie wouldn’t say he was back here by choice.

With the passing of the seasons comes old age, and lately, regrettably, his old man wasn’t in the best physical shape anymore. He was growing more forgetful, unable to perform the labour of maintaining a home for much longer. So really, Richie always knew he’d find himself in this town again. He just hadn’t expected that time to come as soon as it did.

His mother, God bless her, had the patience of a saint and made sure to keep up her reassurances that things would be fine and there was no need for their son to worry. Not too long afterward, Wentworth had pulled Richie aside to make him promise to look after her if things were to turn sour. Richie had agreed, resting his hand atop his father’s crinkled own as he swallowed back the reality of everything that was happening.

Convincing himself it was just to stay on the safe side, the next day he looked into nursing homes listed in the tri-state area, and as an extra step, made a few calls back home on the west side.

The rest of the visit turned as light-hearted as his mother was determined to make it. Richie would stand in the kitchen doorway, watching on as she moved back and forth between the stove and fridge and sink, humming a faint tune that Richie thought she might have sung to him as a child.

A thought, shrouded by something dark and unknown to his consciousness, whispered to him how lucky he was to be alive.

And despite the circumstances of his unofficial visit to Derry, Maine, Richie could be grateful for one thing, and that was having Eddie Kaspbrak accompany the journey with him.

Eddie had insisted on checking into the local hotel in town when they first arrived, not wanting to impose on Richie’s parents despite the claims that they have room to spare. It was nice, though, after a long day of sorting through his parents finances he then had the option of retiring to a night in with Eddie instead.

Occupying the space on the bench to his left sat his backpack, and inside it, a cellphone waiting for a call from Eddie to come through. He promised he would phone before leaving the hotel, with a plan to meet Richie here in this park before heading over to the Toziers for dinner.

He almost didn’t hear the ring, because in that moment a group of kids decide to rush past him, shouting at full volume as if something wicked was chasing after them.

He reached into his bag to retrieve the clunky, heavy phone, pressing the green coded button to accept the call and resting it against his ear with a smile.

“Y’ello, this is Richie,” he answered, just to be sure.

“Hi Rich,” Eddie’s soft voice came through with only mild static. “I was just about to leave to come and meet you. Are you at the park?”

“Yep,” Richie said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m in the middle of a stare down with good ol’ Paul here.”

“Please,” Eddie laughed gently, the sound wrapping around Richie in a pleasant tingle. “I know for a fact you could never look that God awful statue in the eye.”

“Alright, you got me.”

Even without seeing him, Richie knew Eddie was still smiling.

“I also wanted to ask if I should pick up some coffees on the way there?” Eddie tacked on, and the sudden need for caffeine hit Richie quickly. Ever since his recent attempts to cut back on alcohol he had turned to coffee, figuring it was better than a possible relapse.

“Sounds like a plan, Spaghetti Man.”

“Richie, please,” Eddie whined through an exasperated laugh.  

“You love me,” Richie taunted, glancing around briefly to make sure he had been out of ear-shot. Eddie clearly sighed on the other end, but Richie took no offence.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Bye.”

The line went dead, and Richie took a moment to stare at it before putting it away. He fidgeted around until he was comfortable along the back of the bench, arms spread wide and head tilted up toward the sunlight. Moments like this one had been hard to come by lately, so he soaked up all he could, not allowing his mind to linger on anything that might send him into another spiral of worry.

Having Eddie here with him helped. In fact, in the past few years, they had both helped each other to grow; to be the people Richie thought they were always meant to be.

There were parts inside of him, memories; still there but as if they’d simply just been swept under a rug. No matter how much he tried, no amount of struggling allowed him to remember. Some days he could see the frustration mirrored in Eddie’s eyes as well, mouth pulled down as he stopped whatever task he had been doing to focus his attention on the whispers and murmurs in his head.

Richie knew he had gotten off easy, whereas Eddie had to live with the reminder of their last visit to Derry in the form of a missing arm.

Over the years, through the pain and the physical therapy, there were some days when it was almost second nature to his day to day life. But on the bad days, where Eddie would struggle to drive or clothe or bathe himself and he would shut himself off in hopeless tear-stained rage, Richie would wait. Because no matter how long the recovery may be, Richie had no plan to leave Eddie again, and vice versa.

He didn’t know how he managed to find this second chance, and with Eddie as well, but there was no way he was about to waste it.

Suddenly, an object (that Richie thought might have been a frisbee) narrowly avoided a collision with his nose before landing somewhere off to his right. He turned in the direction of the culprit to see it was those kids from before, still shouting as some of them pointed or shoved each other in worry.

After the shock wore off, one of them finally started to walk over to retrieve it, and Richie could hear the boy muttering under his breath – something about “hating physical activity, I mean, this is so stupid,” and Richie could honestly relate pretty well.

The kid bent down to pick up the fluorescent coloured toy, pushing familiar shaped glasses up his nose as he began to walk back over to his friends. But then he stopped in front of Richie, movements awkward as he gestured to the frisbee weakly.

“Sorry, dude. About almost knocking your nose right off,” he said, voice cracking from what Richie could only assume was puberty striking hard.

“You’re alright kid, just watch where you throw that thing next time.”

“Yeah, sure,” the kid said, and Richie made a point to look away, waiting for the kid to start walking again and return to his friends. Only Richie didn’t hear any retreating footsteps, so he glanced back over to see the kid now had his head tilted, eyes slightly squinted behind his frames. “You… look familiar. You live here or something?”

Richie quirked a single brow at him. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to interact with strangers?”

“Trust me dude, you’re one of the least weird people around here,” he said.

“How are you so sure?”

The kid shrugged, his oversized button-up swaying in the breeze, and Richie was beginning to suspect this boy was perhaps not the most logical thinker amongst his group of friends. But then that thought paused, and he reconsidered it. This town was full of some shady characters, so really, Richie should be classifying himself as someone trustworthy, right?

“What’s that gadget you got there?” Richie asked, gesturing to the toy in the kid’s hand.

“Oh, uh, a frisbee,” he said. “You, like, throw it and stuff.”

“I got that, yes.”

There’s some more shouting coming from the group again, presumably telling him to hurry up, and the kid made an exasperated sound and huffed out, “In a minute!” to his friends. None of them looked particularly happy that their friend was talking to a stranger and wasting their important play time, and Richie still had no clue as to why the kid hadn’t left his space yet.

“But seriously,” he continued, “I swear I’ve seen your face before. Like, on TV I think? Are you like, famous or something?”

Once upon a time, maybe when Richie was around this kid’s age, hearing those words would have been music to his ears. He can remember the days when he would boast to his friends after school about being the next best voice actor; dazzling audiences with his voices in the hopes he could bring them to tears with laughter. He had told Bill and Eddie and everyone his dreams to make it big – take Hollywood by storm one act at a time.

And he had, for the most part.

But as it turned out, that life, that glamour… it wasn’t what he thought it would be.

He’d convinced himself it had been enough, that he was content with what he had and there couldn’t be much else he was missing from his life. But he knew that lifestyle, that attitude, was probably what caused all of his relationships to fail, each woman leaving him with the same speech but phrased differently every time.

Returning to Derry and seeing the Losers again, seeing Eddie again, had been what he believed to be his wake-up call.

So Richie lifted up his sunglasses so the kid could see his face more clearly. “You’re right. I did used to be on TV. Not anymore, though.”

“Dude,” the kid almost laughed, “What the hell are you doing in Derry? And I’ve seen some of your stuff. Your jokes are so old, what’s up with that? My dad finds you funny.”

Richie huffed. “Everyone’s a critic,” he muttered under his breath.

“How come you left TV? Did they fire you? That would’ve been shit,” he said and dragged out the word ‘shit’.

“I quit, actually,” Richie answered and brought his shades down again.

“What?” the kid said. “Why’d you do that? Being famous would be fucking ace! Not to mention the attention you get from so many babes!”

Did I swear this much as a kid? Richie thought briefly. “Let me give you a piece of advice, kid,” he said, hoping to be done with this interaction soon. “Being in the spotlight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. One day you’ll learn there are much more important things in life.”

The kid pointed at him accusingly. “That’s what a washed-up comedian would say!”

“Rich, what the fuck is taking you so long?” another boy ran up to them, face pinched in anger as he glared up at his friend.

A memory, faded and distant, made an appearance in Richie’s head as he watched the two boys proceed to bicker back and forth, snarky and strikingly familiar. It was uncanny, almost, how much this kid was reminding Richie of himself.

The newcomer snatched the frisbee out of Rich’s hand before forcefully throwing it back over to their friends.

“Hey, you stole my shot,” Rich said.

“Shut up. You don’t even like frisbee,” the smaller one said.

“Okay, are we done here?” Richie asked no one in particular.

“Huh?” Rich turned to him. “Oh, right. Well, nice meeting you, dude. Sorry again and all that. But no offence, I’m gonna make sure I become so famous I’ll never have to come back to this town again.”

Rich’s friend smacked his shoulder. “Don’t be fucking rude, idiot.”

“I said ‘no offence,’” Rich argued, mumbling as he was finally dragged away to leave Richie in peace.

Richie let out a deep sigh, rubbing at his temple and thanking his lucky stars he never had any children of his own.

After that, it wasn’t much longer before Eddie arrived at the other side of the park, bags slung over his shoulder as he balanced a tray of their coffees in his hand. Richie couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, watching as Eddie drew closer, his soft blond hair bouncing in the wind. Once he was close enough, Richie offered to take the coffees so Eddie handed them over. He took a sip straight away, enjoying the warmth as it filled his stomach.

“Were you talking to some kids before?” Eddie asked him curiously.

“Yeah,” Richie said, seeing that group had moved on from frisbee and were now walking down the main street. “One of them seemed dead set on making sure I knew my comedy skits were outdated-dad-joke-garbage.”

“What’s that? Children of today not understanding your middle-aged humour? Shocking,” Eddie teased.

“What is this? Make-fun-of-Richie day?”

“That’s every day, honey,” Eddie said, using his hand to gently wipe away some milk foam that got caught in Richie’s moustache.

“You really need to stop doing things that make me want to kiss you in public,” Richie murmured. He knew they shouldn’t, but that didn’t stop him from imagining it.

“Sorry,” Eddie said bashfully and looked to the ground.

“Ready to head over to my parents?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

As they began the 15 minute walk back over to his childhood home, Richie took one last look at the kids playing in the street, jumping out of the way of honking cars as they passed by. A small part of him he’s not entirely sure of tells him they did something good here – that the kids growing up in this town have a better chance to live the lives they were given.

“As much as I came to despise this town, I have to admit some good things did come out of it,” he said as they crossed over the kissing bridge and out of sight of peering eyes.

“Yeah?” Eddie asked. “And what’s that?”

Richie made sure their fingers brushed together as he turned to smile at Eddie.

“A fighting chance.”

[newssplashy]

Strategy: 19 tricks for reading people's body language

We rounded up science-backed tricks for analyzing people's gestures and facial expressions, so you can figure out what they're really thinking.

A person's body language can reveal a lot about what they're thinking and feeling.

That's especially true if their nonverbal displays don't match what they're saying out loud.

For example, a pointed finger with a closed hand can be an attempt at showing dominance and someone who repeatedly touches their face is probably nervous.

Reading other people's body language is tricky business.

If someone's crossing his arms, for example, you could assume that he's closed off, when in fact he's just cold.

That said, when you notice that a person's nonverbal displays don't quite match up with what she's telling you out loud, it's worth paying extra attention.

Below, we've rounded up 19 scientific insights into the significance of body language, pulled from Psychology Today, research journals, and a few awesome books.

The shoulder shrug is a universal signal of not knowing what's going on

According to Barbara Pease and Allan Pease, authors of "The Definitive Book of Body Language," everybody does the shoulder shrug.

The shrug is a "good example of a universal gesture that is used to show that a person doesn't know or doesn't understand what you are saying," they write.

"It's a multiple gesture that has three main parts," they continue. "Exposed palms to show nothing is being concealed in the hands, hunched shoulders to protect the throat from attack, and raised brow, which is a universal, submissive greeting."

Open palms are an ancient display of honesty

When someone swears to tell the truth in a court of law, they put one hand on a religious text and raise their other hand into the air, palm facing whoever they're speaking to.

That's because, the Peases write in "The Definitive Book of Body Language," an open palm has been associated with "truth, honesty, allegiance, and submission" throughout Western history.

"Just as a dog will expose its throat to show submission or surrender to the victor," they write, "humans use their palms to show that they are unarmed and therefore not a threat."

A lack of crinkles around the eyes suggests a potentially fake smile

The jury is still out on whether we can tell when someone is faking what scientists call a Duchenne smile. It's the expression we make when we're genuinely experiencing positive emotion.

At one point, researchers believed that making a genuine smile was nearly impossible to do on command. The smile, they said, was all about the crow's-feet around your eyes. When you're smiling joyfully, they crinkle. When you're faking it, they don't.

If someone's trying to look happy but really isn't, you won't see the wrinkles.

More recently, a study from Northeastern University researchers found that people could do a pretty good job of faking a Duchenne smile, even when they weren't feeling especially happy.

It seems safe to say that if the crinkles aren't there, the person's probably not genuinely happy. But just because the crinkles are there doesn't necessarily mean they're elated.

Raised eyebrows are often a sign of discomfort

In the same way that real smiles shape the wrinkles around your eyes, University of Massachusetts professor Susan Krauss Whitbourne writes on Psychology Today that worry, surprise, or fear can cause people to raise their eyebrows in discomfort.

So if someone compliments your new hairstyle or outfit with their eyebrows raised, it may not be sincere.

A pointed finger with a closed hand is an attempt at displaying dominance

If someone is closing their palm and pointing with their index finger, then they're trying to display dominance, though it doesn't always work out.

"The Palm-Closed-Finger-Pointed is a fist where the pointed finger is used like a symbolic club with which the speaker figuratively beats his listeners into submission," the Peases write. "Subconsciously, it evokes negative feelings in others because it precedes a right overarm blow, a primal move most primates use in a physical attack."

If they mirror your body language, the conversation is probably going well

When two people are getting along, their postures and movements mirror each other's. When your best friend crosses her legs, you will, too. If you're on a date that's going well, you'll both be making the same goofy hand gestures.

This is because we mirror each other when we're feeling a connection, says positive psychologist Barbara Fredrickson.

But if they look into your eyes for too long, they might be lying

In an attempt to avoid looking shifty-eyed, some liars will purposefully hold their gaze a touch too long, so that it's slightly uncomfortable, according to behavioral analyst and body language expert Lillian Glass.

They may also stand very still and not blink.

Eye contact shows interest — both positive and negative

When you look someone in the eyes, it sets an arousal state in the body.

"How that arousal is interpreted, however, depends on the parties involved and the circumstances," writes Claremont McKenna College organizational psychologist Ronald E. Riggio.

"Being stared at by a stranger who appears large or ominous can be seen as a threat and elicit a fear response. ... However, the gaze of a potential sexual partner causes arousal that can be interpreted positively — as a sexual invitation."

An expansive pose signals power and a sense of achievement

How people hold themselves is a big clue to how they're feeling.

If someone's leaning back and relaxed, they probably feel powerful and in control. In fact, research has found that even people born blind raise their arms in a V shape when they win a physical competition.

A 'cluster' of gestures shows a real feeling of connection

Attraction isn't communicated through one signal but a sequence.

Neuropsychologist Marsha Lucas suggests one to watch for: "After making eye contact, she looks down a bit, gathers or otherwise preens her hair, and then looks up at you while her chin is tipped."

Crossed legs are usually a sign of resistance and low receptivity, and are a bad sign in a negotiation

Out of 2,000 negotiations videotaped by Gerard I. Nierenberg and Henry H. Calero, the authors of "How to Read a Person Like a Book," there wasn't a single settlement when one of the negotiators had their legs crossed.

"Psychologically, crossed legs signal that a person is mentally, emotionally, and physically closed off," writes psychologist Travis Bradberry — which may mean they're less likely to budge in a negotiation.

A clenched jaw, tightened neck, or furrowed brow shows stress

All these are "limbic responses" associated with the limbic system in the brain.

"Emotion, spotting and reacting to threats, as well as assuring our survival, are all heavy responsibilities of the limbic system," writes former FBI counterintelligence agent Joe Navarro.

"The bus leaves without us, and we are clenching our jaws, rubbing our necks. We are asked to work another weekend, and the orbits of our eyes narrow as our chin lowers."

Humans have been displaying discomfort this way for millions of years, Navarro says.

If they repeatedly touch their face or their hands, they're probably nervous

Navarro told Business Insider that we've evolved to display nervousness without using any words.

Some of the most common manifestations of our anxiety? Touching your face and rubbing the skin on your hands. Both can be soothing behaviors when you're feeling uncomfortable.

"It's hilarious how often we touch ourselves under stress," Navarro said.

If they're laughing with you, they're probably into you

If someone is receptive to your humor, they're likely interested in you.

Evolutionary psychologists say that humor — and positive reception to humor — play a pivotal role in human development. They serve as a way of signaling a desire for a relationship, be it platonic or romantic.

Expansive, authoritative postures show leadership

Whether they're innate or learned, there are a number of signals and behaviors people use when they feel that they're a leader, or at least are trying to convince you that they are.

They include holding an erect posture, walking purposefully, steepling and palm-down hand gestures, and generally open and expansive body postures.

A shaking leg signals a shaky inner state

"Your legs are the largest area of your body," University of Massachusetts professor Susan Whitbourne says, "so when they move, it's pretty hard for others not to notice."

A shaky leg signals anxiety, irritation, or both, she says.

A slight smile along with direct eye contact might be an attempt at seduction

Riggio's research suggests that there's a specific type of smile people display when they're trying to act seductive.

He writes in Psychology Today:

"[T]hey typically display positive affect — a slight smile that accompanies direct eye contact, with a slow glance away, but still holding the smile.

"Interestingly, the seductive smile could be accompanied by submissive behavior (tilting the head downward), or dominant behavior — proudly and slowly glancing away."

If the inner corners of their eyebrows don't move up and in, they're probably not as sad as they seem

Psychologist Paul Ekman uses the term "reliable muscles" for the muscles in the face that you can't contract voluntarily.

In his book "The Tell," psychologist Matthew Hertstein explains how to apply Ekman's research: "If you observe a person expressing sadness both verbally and facially, but the inner corners of his eyebrows are not going up and in, he may not be experiencing sadness at all. He's unable to contract these muscles voluntarily despite his best efforts."

If one side of their face is more active than the other side, they might be faking the emotion

Hertstein writes: "The vast majority of facial displays of emotion are bilateral — that is, they show up on both sides of the face equally. ... Next time you tell a joke, look to see if her smile is symmetrical when she laughs."

This is an update of an article originally posted by Drake Baer and Max Nisen.

source http://www.newssplashy.com/2018/08/strategy-19-tricks-for-reading-peoples.html