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misplacedxeggos · 4 years

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Warmth

request: “a wyatt fic please where he plays baseball and reader plays softball in the same school and they steal each others jerseys all the time and everyone including their coaches think theyre dating but theyre just besties until one day that changes thank you!!”

A/N: I made this a stanley fic because I don’t write about the cast. The fics on my page of the cast are written by my friend and she’s going to rewrite them into character form. Hope you enjoy either way!

words: 1.5k

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You clenched your softball bat tighter as you looked out onto the field. The scoreboard showed that it was all tied up, and there were teammates on all bases. Even if you couldn’t get a home run, you just needed to get to first base as time ran down.

You hit the home base with your bat twice and brought it up in a hitting position. You watched as the pitcher wound up and released the ball.

Strike one.

You moved your arms to get looser and not focus on how well you needed to do. The pitcher wound up again and threw it underhand. You moved your softball bat forward, and the aluminum material met with the softball to fling it through the air.

You threw your bat to the ground and took off running while keeping an eye on the ball. You passed the first base and saw the ball fly over the fence. While you could’ve slowed down and walked the rest of the way, the adrenaline kicked in, causing you to speed up.

In only a couple of seconds, your team engulfed you in a group hug and bombarded you with words of praise. You took in all of the compliments and quickly took off in search for Stanley in the crowd.

You caught a glimpse of curly blond hair and before you can go look for him, you felt his arms snake around your waist from behind. He twirled you around until you twisted in his arms to face him.

“I’m so proud of you.” Stanley gushed as he pulled you into a hug.

Once you pull back you see your softball away jersey.

You tug on the shoulder material, “This is theft.”

“Pretty sure you gave it to me,” Stanley commented with his arms still laying on your waist.

“Okay, lovebirds break it up. I wanna hug too.” Richie pulled you away from Stan and into him.

You rolled your eyes as you were used to Richie constantly trying to get you to tell him that you and Stan were together. You wished you could tell him what he wanted but it didn’t seem to be in your favor yet.

You were oblivious as to how Stan’s eyes lit up when you entered a room and how he always insisted on greeting you first. It seemed like second nature now to sit on his lap when there weren’t any open seats and whisper comments in his ear to make him laugh.

God his laugh was music to your ears.

After pulling back from Richie’s arms you went over to your rightful place next to Stanley.

“Party at my house!” One of your teammates yelled in the middle of the field.

“After I change can you drive me?” You looked up at Stan.

He gave you a small nod along with a smile. You went into the locker rooms and went to take a quick rinse-off shower. Afterwards, you pulled out Stanley’s home baseball jersey and loosely tucked it into a skirt.

“I see you’re still denying you like him.” You teammate commented while changing.

“And I see you’re still poking your nose in other people’s business.” You fired back while gathering up your items.

You didn’t want other people’s opinions on yours and Stanley’s relationship. You worried that if too many people commented that they thought you were together then he would be repulsed by the idea of you.

“My god, could you have taken any longer?” Stanley teased as you got into his truck.

“You don’t want me to stink up your truck do you?”

“I don’t think a shower fixed that.”

You playfully laughed and hit his shoulder in retaliation. Your brain glazed over and didn’t take in the slight blush that spread across his cheeks when he saw you in his jersey. You simply thought that he had got too much sun that evening watching your game.

Songs on the radio softy played in the background as you looked out the window and admired the small town scenery of Derry. Occasionally you would hear Stanley either mumble along with the song or softly sing. After a while of trying to find parking on the crowded street and finally deciding to park at the park then walking, you had made it to the party.

People started to shout your name as soon as you passed through the threshold. A wave of people pulled you away from Stanley and straight onto the dance floor. Stanley went to go get you a drink since you knew that though you were somewhat of a people person you could get overwhelmed easily.

When he came back to the living room where the makeshift dance floor was, he found you swaying to the music and admired how carefree you looked. Of course, Richie had to find Stan staring at you and make fun of him.

“Oh don’t worry a lot of good is going to happen tonight.” Richie winked at Stan and made his way to the punch bowl for the third time that night.

Stan had gotten used to brushing off things Richie said under the influence and just on a normal day to day basis, but for some reason, he couldn’t help to think of what he had meant. He didn’t have to think for long as Richie had made his way to you on the dance floor and started to pull you to where Stan was.

“Y/n, do you have something to say to mister Stan the Man?” Richie slurred out as he looked expectantly to you while you reached out to take your drink from Stan’s hand.

“Um, thanks for the drink?” Your thanks came out more of a question as you didn’t quite know what Richie was going on about.

“Come on Y/n you can do better than that, just tell him what you told me last Monday during math, about what you really think of him.” Richie gave you a knowing smirk and waited.

Your eyes grew in realisation to what Richie was talking about. During the boring lecture in math, he asked you what you thought about all the losers. You had stupidly thought that Richie was too hungover and stoned to remember anything that had happened that day, so you confessed your feelings for Stanley. You let out everything you had been thinking for years.

That you felt like you were floating on air around him, he felt at home with him, a certain warmth of comfort spread through your chest seeing him and that you couldn’t grow a pair and ask him out.

You let out an uneasy laugh and disregarded what Richie just said. You prayed that he wouldn’t bring it up the rest of the party and he didn’t. Through the whole game of truth or dare, he avoided asking you about it but still had a light in his eyes that said he could whenever he wanted to.

You were tense for the rest of the party and decided to leave early. When you told Stan this he got out of the conversation he was in with Bill and told you he would take you home.

An awkward presence that you had never felt with Stan was very apparent the whole drive to your house. Stanley was scared that you were suddenly going to come out and say that you didn’t want to be friends anymore. He had thought about this almost as much as you saying that you had feelings for him.

He would go back and forth in his mind about how you would react if he asked you out. Seventy-five percent of the time you rejected him and the other twenty-five percent you agreed to go out.

While he was in his head that you were going to dump his friendship on the curb, you were swamped in thoughts that he would ask you about what Richie had said. If he did what were you going to say? You could come out and say the truth to finally get it off your chest or you could deny it and potentially hurt your closest friend.

Stan parked his car in front of your house and sucked in a deep breath. You both tried to talk at the same time and after a few awkward hand gestures, you both decided that you would talk first.

“So hypothetically speaking, would you ever date a close friend? Cause I think that I would and I didn’t know if that was normal or if it mattered on the situation you were in or-”

Stanley cut you off with a short and soft kiss.

“So you’re not into Bev?” You joked as Stanley leaned forward for another kiss.

“Man you are oblivious.” Stan chuckled.

You had Richie to thank for bringing up Monday math class and the fact that you had met the perfect guy that always made you smile and feel warm throughout.

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taglist: @fiantomartell

#stanley uris #stanley uris imagine #stanley uris x reader #it #it movie #it2017 #wyatt oleff #stan uris #stan uris imagine #stan uris x reader

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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time’s arrow {Roger Taylor}

Anon asked: Hi, I love your roger/ben imagines so much and was wondering if you could do some angst with Roger x female, maybe they are good friends and she sees him with another. Whatever you would like! Thank you x :)

A/N: 2727 words. A story told through Seasons. I took a little bit of liberties with the prompt, if that’s okay? This hit me like a lightning bolt and I had to write it. Angst with a happy ending. (I’m just trying to show I’ve got versatility in writing, okay?)

Warnings: Implied sex.

You meet him in Spring, before it all begins, he sits up the back of your Intro to Head and Neck Anatomy lectures, the only class with open spots available by the time you were looking for a science credit. You find out he’s in a band three weeks into the first class, finally going to the local bar, sick of cramming your brain full of information you’re not even sure is necessary for your degree. He grins at you and wow okay, you didn’t even think he’d recognise you.

“You’re in, um,” he’s leaning against the bar next to you in this dimly lit pub, grabbing a drink between sets. Faltering for a moment, his eyes travel down before you clear your throat, angry at yourself for blushing, but his smile widens, “my class.” He finishes, taking a sip of his beer. You agree, rolling your eyes at him, but even that seems to amuse him. He asks your name. The guitarist is calling him over, setting up for the next set, but you tell him before he leaves. Something tightens in your chest when, later that night, he catches your eyes mid-song, his look of intense focus shifting for a moment as he grins, giving you a wink.

He takes to sitting next to you in lectures, chewing the end of his pencil and taking occasional notes in a falling apart notebook that looks as though he uses it for every class. You catch lyrics in the margins and at the bottom of some pages, but he’s cagey about that in a strange way, just says you’ll have to come to a gig to find out what they’re about. So you do.

Gigs become a regular for you, and you start to become friends with the girls who frequent the shows, often hosting predrinks in your dorm room for Mary and her friends on a Friday night. You learn on one of those nights that at least two of the girls have hooked up with him, and there’s a strange, sinking sensation in your chest. You’re not sad, or at least, you tell yourself you shouldn’t be. You and Roger are just friends, it’s not like there’s anything going on there, sure, sometimes after a really good show he’ll give you a pash, but it’s- that’s just him.

It’s not like you’ve never thought about it, but you also know his reputation, and that it’ll do more harm than good to get involved with that. He’s the one mistake you don’t think you want to make.

It’s Summer, a few years later, when they trade in the van to get money to hire the recording studio. Roger had really loved that van, and he lay on your sofa for a solid hour grumbling about it, about how Freddie had some kind of nerve. You roll your eyes at him, call him a drama queen, which he takes offence to, but moves obligingly when you sit down, letting him rest his head in your lap.

When you raise the point that it might be worth it, he looks frankly aghast, griping about how he has to catch lifts everywhere now. He calms down somewhat when you start carding your fingers through his hair, though he still pouts.

“If it comes to it, I’ll buy you a car, you baby.” You snort, despite the fact that you’re currently barely making a living wage on some retail job, it’s not where you’d thought you’d be after university, but sometimes that’s just how it is. He looks up at you, and when you look down at him, he’s looking very intense. Perhaps he might say something poignant about your offer, you think, but instead he reaches up and pokes your nose.

“I can see up your nostrils.” He tells you, and you smack his hand away, scowling. You stand abruptly, ignoring his complaints, smoothing your pants out against your thighs.

“Come on,” you offer your hand, which he regards with both confusion and a bit of disdain, “you can’t mope around my apartment and complain about the band again. We’re going out.” That gets his interest.

You’ve been to bars with him before, and usually you go home alone while he gets the pick of the prettiest girls of the night, or he decides to wingman you, which hurts your heart a little, but you won’t decline. You were attractive in your own right, you won’t deny that, you didn’t technically need his help, but a selfish part of you likes the way the attention to you, even if it’s to help you get with other people.

Tonight is different, tonight he doesn’t leave your side, he slings an arm around you as the two of you stand by the bar watching the truly mediocre band they had on that night.

“You know why they aren’t recording an album?” You ask as the set ends.

“Because they didn’t sell their van?” Roger mused, vaguely bitter, but not melancholy as he swirled the last of his drink in his free hand.

“No, it’s because they’re terrible.” Turning, you smile at your own blunt remark, and when he looks back at you, he’s grinning with a little disbelief. There’s very little space between the two of you, but that doesn’t make your heart race anymore, he’s your best friend, close contact was part of the bargain. But he kissed you, quickly, without warning, and when he pulls back, he turns away to order another drink like nothing had happened.

Your mind is spiralling, this isn’t post-gig excitement, this wasn’t something you were expecting. The selfish creature in your chest that you tried to deny for so long was crowing with victory. Taking a quick look around the bar, you don’t recognise anyone, though there are a few girls who look like they’d be his type- but his hand is moving to wrap around your waist as he turns back.

“What was that?” Voice quiet, you take his drink and have a sip of it yourself, the movement done from muscle memory alone. He raises his eyebrows at you, not regarding the drink, that was a usual occurrence, but at the question. He doesn’t seem to know how to answer, baffled at the question. Dropping you gaze, you take a sip of your own drink. “Why me? Why tonight?” You asked. Looking incredulous, he stepped back, looking you over.

“Have you seen yourself tonight, love? Couldn’t help myself.” You’ve heard him talk like this before, to other girls, not as blunt, but with you he can get away with it. The creature in your chest is elated, and you find yourself smiling, actually blushing. He moves closer once more, his arm around you, voice low as he spoke into your ear. “Trust me, you look very fit tonight, any man would be lucky to have a crack at you.” Heart in your throat, you hope you’re reading the situation right, at the same time ignoring the part of you that knew this was a bad idea.

“Even you?” You turned to face him, watching the way his smile shifted to a smirk, and he pulled you a little closer.

“You know I’m always feeling lucky.”

You kiss him, feeling your blood thumping in your veins, selfish and excited in equal measure, but with his hands on you, you can’t find the focus to care about the former.

Once the bad starts up again, Roger pulls away, making a face at them, asking if you wanted to get out of there. You do, and the two of you are elated on the quick walk back to his apartment, stopping only when he pressed you up against the wall of an closed shop to suck a hickey into the skin of your neck. You catch sight of it in his bedroom mirror, but he’s pulling off your jacket and you have better things to worry about.

It’s not weird, like you thought it would be, when you wake the next morning and he’s curled up, fast asleep with his back to you, but your chest aches just a little. He avoids eye contact over breakfast, though you chat like normal. The gripes about his van have died down, though he makes an offhand comment about things are changing that you read enough into to realise what had happened.

“You’ll always have me, Rog.” You reach across the table to take his hand, and he finally looks you in the eye, he looks so relieved, not that he’d ever say it. Afraid of losing another thing he cared about, he had panicked last night and tried to keep you close in the only way he knew how. He certainly loved you, but not in the way you wanted him to. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s not his fault.

Bohemian Rhapsody airs in Autumn, you’re regional manager now, and you’re sitting in your office when you hear for the first time; you almost scream when the first harmony comes in after the radio host introduces the song.

“You’re a star, Rog!” You gush over the phone on your break, unable to wait until that night when the band was having a celebratory get-together to talk to him.

“Of course, I am, you think I sing that high to be paid in peanuts?” You can hear the smile in his words without even seeing him, and being able to hear his voice warms your heart.

“That was you?” You laugh, the ‘Galileo's playing back in your head, and you try to picture him singing it, which only made you laugh harder.

“Oi,” he bristled, indignant at your laughter, “I’m the only one with the range to execute Freddie’s vision.” You could see him in your mind now, proud and stubborn, standing tall to defend the decision.

“I’m proud of you.” Suddenly sincere, you find your smile turning to something more genuine as you think back on far he’s come.

“Thank you.” His own voice has become less animated, more sincere, though you can still hear him smiling.

“Love you, Rog.” You tell him, just as you always did when you parted ways.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

He’s grinning, draped with casual confidence in an armchair in Freddie’s living room when you arrive, and you feel like you’ve been taken back five years, the casual enthusiasm he’s exerting. Smile brightening, he stands when he sees you, striding across the room to enfold you in a hug.

“Good to see you!” He practically beams at you, holding your shoulders as he looks over you, as if assessing you, seeing if anything has changed.

“Of course, you’ve been holed up for weeks, I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Though he’s in front of you, you’re words address the room as a whole, and when he steps back, Brian moves in to hug you as well, asking how you’ve been.

The boys are your friends, all of them, you’ve been around for most of their big band moments, and it eases something in your chest to be here for this one too. But then the ease sharply tightens as a woman you’ve never seen before sits on the arm of Roger’s chair, and he rests a hand on her thigh, smiling up at her.

Mary follows your gaze, and her smile is sad as she pulls you down to sit beside her, asking you about your thoughts on the single. You answer, though your heart’s not in it, and the selfish creature in your chest rears it’s ugly head after such a long slumber.

The monster has shifted, changed and grown, it hadn’t cared about him running around with any pretty girl he could find for the past few years, but this was different. Roger had made it clear that he was far from sacred, but this was the band, this was Freddie’s home, this was the place of some of your happiest memories; this was yours.

You stay well into the early hours of the following morning, despite the interloper, but Roger still stopped you at the door.

“I’m really glad you could make it, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” He’s smiling at you, but you don’t smile back. It’s been a long night of being kind and pretending that you’re heart didn’t hurt.

“Well, you’ve very busy.” You shrug, punctuating it with a yawn. His expression turns confused, and you open the door.

“Y/N.” He tried to get your attention, but you left, throwing a goodbye over your shoulder to him. “Love you.” He calls through the door, but you stay quiet, refuse to say it back, just keep walking. You’re too tired to be upset, but maybe you’ll get there tomorrow.

Things change, and you’ve grown to accept that, but sometimes old aches don’t heal like they should. Or at all.

“I’m getting married.” He calls you at the end of Winter.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Your relationship’s been on the mend in the years since the Bohemian Rhapsody launch night. You two smile and laugh like you had when you were younger, and you’ve learned to listen to his exploits and his gripes about women, offering your own about your partners, though they’re few and far between. He’s still your best friend, and you learn to act like it.

“Congratulations.” Your voice is flat. It had been a shock, you’d heard about his latest on-again off-again girlfriend, and had even offered advice in certain situations, actual advice, no malice at all.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t seem to know where to go from here, and silence stretches out between the two of you.

“I should go.” You finally murmur.

“What? Why?” He spluttered, and you sighed deeply.

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about?” You asked, closing your eyes and leaning your forehead against the wall.

“I- no, but I want you to be there.” He paused. “And I wanted to be the one to tell you.” Clenching your jaw, you make a snap decision.

“I can’t-”

“Why not?” He actually sounded angry, which was perhaps warranted, though your next words shut him up.

“Because it hurts, Roger.” After a beat, your voice is quiet. “Because I love you.” Taking a breath, you let yourself relax. “I want you to be happy, but I can’t watch you marry someone else.” There’s silence for a very long moment, but you hang up before he can respond. You take the phone off the hook. You need to be alone, just for now.

“After everything, you still-?” It’s the first day of Spring, and he’s on your doorstep, seemingly unable to say the word love. You’re wearing your pyjamas and he looks like he’s just walked out of a Rolling Stone cover shoot, though he just sort of looks like that now, you supposed.

“Don’t worry about it.” You try not to betray how much his visit shocked you, or the way his very presence after your recent conversation hurt you.

“You’re my best friend! Of course I’m gonna worry about it!” He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. Sighing deeply, he stepped forward. “I thought I fucked everything up when we hooked up, I’m sorry, I panicked.” He was looking at his fidgeting hands, rather than your surprised expression. “And then... I thought I fucked it up again when I chose the band over you.”

“You never-” You tried to protest, but he smiled self-deprecatingly.

“No, I did. I loved you, and I thought that would get in the way of the band.” Clenching his jaw, he looked up and you could see the regret in his eyes. “It was easier to fuck around that tell you I love you.” Your breath stopped in your throat as he finally walked closer. “And I thought after everything, that you deserved better; you know what I’m like, why would you-?” But you cut him off with a kiss.

“You’ll always have me.” You murmured, finally letting yourself smile. Nothing about it felt selfish, in fact, it felt as though the sun was finally shining on you, warming you from the inside out.

“I know,” he agreed quietly, wrapping you up in a hug.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #borhap #queen #bohemian rhapsody #queen imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #bo rhap #the angry lizard writes

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