Hiii! if you don't mind i'd love to see your poly losers with patty
Hi there! I apologize for the wait. Thank you for your patience :)
I struggled for a while with how to add Patty to my poly losers. I like Patty, but it’s a little harder for me to conceptualize how she would fit into the dynamic, given we only get one chapter of her in the book and one scene with her in the movie, and then only with grown up Stan, who we don’t get to know very well either.
Generally speaking, my poly losers have always been together, and make it romantic somewhere around college. I wanted to find a way to integrate Patty that not only allowed me to develop her character, but also put her at an even playing field with all the losers.
So...Patty Blum and the Seven Losers was born. It is loosely based on Snow White. Here’s the synopsis:
After she is spared a grim fate, Patty Blum must escape the wilds of Derry. Exhausted and injured, she comes upon a cabin in the woods. No one is home, but there are seven cups on the table and seven pillows on the enormous bed. When the owners find Patty, will they save her or abandon her to certain death?
Please mind the tags--I am leaning a lot more into the horror and fantasy elements than I typically do in fanfiction. Very dark things happen and will happen. Don’t worry, though, there will be lots of loving stuff as well.
I completely understand if this isn’t what you wanted. Feel free to shoot me another, more specific ask and I will try again (though I will keep this fic going. I like it so far). Please be advised that I have a long list of requests, so I will be unlikely to get to the new request for a long time.
Chapter Seven: Stan (The Present: Part Four)
Chapter Specific TWs: OCD, disordered eating, touch aversion, spider imagery, crying, drinking, swearing, sexual content
AO3 Link
See below the cut for more information on this story.
Title: Touch Me (I want to be Dirty)
Pairing: Poly Losers, Steddie-Centric (everyone will get lots of attention)
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak thought he moved on from his mother’s abuse, but when she died his trauma unexpectedly resurfaced. His fear of germs, sickness, and contamination came back with a vengeance. Unable to process his emotions and unwilling to go to therapy, Eddie struggles to let his lovers touch him, especially Richie. Stan vows to help Eddie overcome his trauma and reclaim his intimacy with the Losers.
Rating: Explicit
Tags (so far): Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Kaspbrak Has OCD, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Abuse, Sonia Kaspbrak’s A+ Parenting, Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, Working Through Problems, BDSM, Adult Losers Club (IT)Aged-Up Losers Club (IT)References to Illness, Non Graphic Vomiting, Vomiting, Brainwashing, Stomach Ache, Sickness, Donald Uris is a dick, Andrea Uris is great, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nudity, Explicit Language, Blasphemy, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Self-Medication, Bathing/Washing, InsecurityTouch Aversion, Intrusive Thoughts, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attack, Extreme Dissociation, Germaphobia, Sickness, Colds & Flu, Touch Aversion, OCD, Swearing, Dubiously Consented Squish
Link on AO3
Chapter Five: Stan (The Present: Part Three)
Chapter Specific TWs: suicide ideation mention; disordered eating; frank discussion about suicide
AO3 Link
See below the cut for more information on this story.
Title: Touch Me (I want to be Dirty)
Pairing: Poly Losers, Steddie-Centric (everyone will get lots of attention)
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak thought he moved on from his mother’s abuse, but when she died his trauma unexpectedly resurfaced. His fear of germs, sickness, and contamination came back with a vengeance. Unable to process his emotions and unwilling to go to therapy, Eddie struggles to let his lovers touch him, especially Richie. Stan vows to help Eddie overcome his trauma and reclaim his intimacy with the Losers.
Rating: Explicit
Tags (so far): Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Kaspbrak Has OCD, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Abuse, Sonia Kaspbrak’s A+ Parenting, Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, Working Through Problems, BDSM, Adult Losers Club (IT)Aged-Up Losers Club (IT)References to Illness, Non Graphic Vomiting, Vomiting, Brainwashing, Stomach Ache, Sickness, Donald Uris is a dick, Andrea Uris is great, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nudity, Explicit Language, Blasphemy, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Self-Medication, Bathing/Washing, InsecurityTouch Aversion, Intrusive Thoughts, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attack, Extreme Dissociation, Germaphobia, Sickness, Colds & Flu, Touch Aversion, OCD, Swearing, Dubiously Consented Squish
Link on AO3
Hiya, I was wondering if you'd be able to do a spies in disguise fanfic. I can't seem to find any Walter X lance fics with angst. My prompt would probably be something like Walter taking a shot for lance in the field. Or something along those lines where Walter gets hurt trying to save someone. Thank you!!
I’m sorry this took so long. I had to wait until I could get my hands on the movie. I hope you like it. Feel free to shoot me another request if it’s not quite what you wanted.
Words: 1,627
Warnings: Blood, violence, hospital, age difference (both are established adults)
The storm clouds were thick and grey like old fleece. Despite the climate control in the cockpit, Walter shivered and burrowed into his sweater and jacket.
“Cold?” Lance asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Only a little.” Walter’s teeth chattered together; he closed his mouth tightly.
Lance checked the autopilot, then got up and rummaged in his bag, pulling out a heavy wool coat. He held it out expectantly.
“But won’t you get cold?”
“Nah. This is a spare.” Lance shrugged. “Figured you’d get cold. Now put it on.”
Walter stood and let Lance help him into each sleeve. It fit like a glove. Buttoning it up, he looked into Lance’s smirking face. “How’d you know?”
“You’re the size of my bicep, Walter. You’re always cold.” Lance patted Walter’s shoulder and went back to his seat. “You’re the genius, you know. You should’ve thought Scandinavia through.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Walter flopped back in his seat. They were on a covert mission to neutralize enemy technology in the Norwegian mountains.
Lance crossed his long legs and fiddled with his phone. If it weren’t for the drag of nerves that always preceded missions, Walter could almost believe they were home.
Granted, if they were home they would be on the couch, Walter’s shoulder tucked into Lance’s armpit. Walter would struggle to read through the Journal of Materials Science, burning up everywhere their bodies touched. Whenever their eyes met, Lance’s would drop to Walter’s mouth, then quickly look away.
Walter was admittedly very bad at social cues, but he couldn’t help the question that was burning a hole in his mind.
It had been five years since they defeated Killian. Aside from solo missions and dangerous lab testing, they were rarely apart. Lance had even invited Walter to live with him.
They ate together and defeated baddies together. Whenever Walter fell asleep over a project, he woke up in bed, shoes off, under a thick quilt.
Whenever Lance couldn’t sleep, he let Walter sit by his bed, rub his back, and talk about science. Those mornings, he woke up tucked into Lance’s side, so warm and safe he couldn’t bear to get up.
A few days ago, Walter wondered out loud if he should find his own place. Lance stalked out of the room and set the house on panic mode.
Whoops, he said as thick steel covered the windows and outside doors. Guess you can’t leave.
Walter had rolled his eyes then (like Lance could stop him from leaving if he wanted to), but it begged a question: what did it all mean?
"Hey Lance.”
Lance looked up from his phone. "Yeah?"
"What…” He swallowed. “What are we?"
"Uh. World-renowned spies on their way to gently kick some baddie ass?"
Walter flushed.
Lance peered at him. "How hard did you hit your head?"
"Not hard." Walter twisted his hands together. Lovey landed on his shoulder and snuggled into his neck. "What I meant was...I'm not sure if we're friends."
Lance's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? Of course we're friends."
"Yes. I know." Walter took a deep breath and looked into Lance's face. The warm brown of his skin and eyes. The cut of his cheekbone. "But are we...just friends?"
"Oh." Lance rubbed the back of his neck. "I’m eleven years older than you.”
“So?”
“So, eleven years is a pretty big difference. You were still in diapers when I started high school.”
“I was not still in diapers when I was three, thanks.” Lovey pecked at Walter’s cheek. He patted her absently. “I’m twenty-seven. My mom died when I was eight. I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen. I’m an adult.”
“A young adult.” Lance sighed. “Walter, we’re friends. Why do you want to ruin our friendship for something that might not even work?”
“Why would it ruin our friendship?” Walter demanded. “Isn’t romance just…friendship with benefits?”
Lance choked, recovered. Stared at his hands. “I don’t know about that. But I’ll level with you. I’ve never had a friendship like ours. And I’ve never had a…a romance that didn’t end badly.”
“I’ve never had a friend, before,” Walter admitted. “Other than my mom, I mean. But I think this could be good. Love is always good. Why can’t you trust me?”
"Because I...just...no."
The GPS beeped, indicating they were almost above the drop zone.
"Oh." Walter lowered his eyes, the old acid leaking into his veins. He read the situation wrong, again. Lance was trying to let him down gently. "It's me, isn't it? I'm too…too weird for you." He stood and shrugged on his parachute.
Lance stared, mouth slack. “That’s not—”
"It's fine.” Walter tried to smile. Failed. “Time to do this thing."
"Wait—”
"C'mon Lance. No time to waste." He leapt into the air, the wool coat taking the edge off the freeze.
---
Lance was in his element. He loved everything about missions—the cadence of fights, the rush of taking down a bad guy—even if he was throwing serious string instead of grenades these days. It felt better, after, anyway.
Lance fired string at the woman manning the control desk. She splattered against the wall. A computer beeped to his right, the steady count down of a bomb or a launch. He took a split second to look at the screen: a bomb launch.
He moved to the computer. Didn't see the woman yank her hand out of the glove that was stuck in the string and pull the gun from her pocket.
Lance heard the bang crack through the air, and then he was on the floor.
Only, he wasn't shot.
Only, her bare hand was plastered back against the wall.
Only, someone was on top of him. Someone with brown hair that smelled like pigeon feathers and chemicals.
Someone who wasn't moving.
"You okay, buddy?"
Walter wheezed a breath, a hollow noise. A wrong noise.
Forcing calm, Lance gently patted down Walter’s birdbone body. There was a damp hole in his coat, by his ribs.
No.
Lance pressed the button on his watch to call the field medic, then the one for reinforcements.
Cradling Walter’s body in his arms, Lance rolled in a slow, smooth motion, depositing Walter on the ground. As his back tapped against the ground, Walter whimpered.
“I’m sorry.” Lance unbuttoned Walter’s coat, unzipped his jacket. He pulled a knife from his pocket and cut Walter’s sweater open until he could see the gaping red mouth of the bullet wound in his side, going into a lung. Lance pulled off his jacket and pressed it to the wound as hard as he could.
"You're going to be okay, Walter, do you hear me?"
Walter smiled weakly, long canines poking into his bottom lip. "It's okay," he said, then muttered something Lance couldn't hear.
Lance's heart beat hard against his ribcage. "What was that, Walter? Stay with me."
A wheezing exhale. A too shallow inhale. Walter looked up at Lance with his bay-blue, gem-on-the-water eyes, color leaching from his skin.
"Stay with me. Please," Lance begged as Walter’s eyes closed and his breath shallowed.
---
It was the deep pain that finally pulled Walter back into consciousness. He blinked against the brightness of the overhead lights, throat scraped raw.
What happened?
"You were shot in your side." A nurse—Marlene Macon—came into focus. "The bullet fractured a rib, which pierced and collapsed your lung. You are going to be okay.”
Oh. Oh. The mission. The gun. Lance.
“What's your pain level?"
"Lance?" He coughed weakly. "Is Lance okay?"
"Right here, man." Lance stepped into the light. His normally immaculate suit was wrinkled, the white shirt brown with blood.
"Walter," Marlene said, "your pain level?"
"Two."
Marlene crossed her arms, fixed him with a look not unlike his grandmother’s “I know you took apart the TV” glare.
"Seven," he admitted.
"I'll let the doctor know."
Later, after more poking and prodding than he cared to remember, Walter was finally instructed to rest. Lance still sat in the corner, oddly silent.
"You can go home," Walter said. "I'm gonna be fine.”
"I'm not leaving until I can take you with me."
"That's not very healthy."
Lance stood, quickly. "You almost died in my arms. That's less healthy."
"This isn't a competition—"
"Why did you ask me if we were more than friends?"
Walter played with the threads in his thin hospital blanket. “I'm bad at reading social cues and wanted to be sure I knew what we were," he muttered.
The bed dipped under Lance's weight. "Is that the only reason?"
A deep lava-like shame burned in Walter's heart. "It's okay, Lance. We don't need to talk about this. I know you don't want me like that."
"Did I say that?"
"I mean, not in so many words, but--"
"Walter Beckett, did I say I didn't want you?" Lance demanded.
"No."
"No. Because I..." Lance took a deep breath. "So I got scared, okay? 'Cause this—this is like nothing I've ever felt before."
Walter chanced a glance up and met Lance's eyes, warm and shimmering in the fluorescent lights. "What about our friendship?"
Lance smiled, slow and curling. "I think we both know we're already more than friends. Question is, do you want to take this further?"
Hope fluttered in Walter’s chest. "Are you asking if I want to date you?”
"Well, do you?"
"Yes."
Lance leaned down and kissed him, soft and undemanding. Hand shaking, heart racing, Walter reached up and traced the hard line of his jaw.
When Lance pulled back, he wore a smirk.
"I love you," Walter said, wide open.
Lance’s smirk softened into a smile. “I love you, too,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to Walter’s forehead.
hello! for your fanfiction requests i was hoping to ask for a poly losers relationship where it’s bottom richie centric and mainly stanley being in charge of what happens to him, nsfw would be great :)
Hi! I’m sorry this took so long. I had originally intended for it to be a “short set-up + smut” piece, sort of like Losers and Lace, but inspiration hit me like a bus. I hope you like it! Feel free to request again, any time!
“If You Are Not Mine”
Pairing: Poly Losers Club, Richie-Centric
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Self-Esteem/Trust Issues, Relationship Issues, Explicit Sex. See tags on AO3 for more details.
Words: 15,430
Summary: Richie was the luckiest chucklefuck alive. Somehow, he landed in a relationship with six of the hottest people on the planet. All hilarious, talented, and willing to put up with Richie’s pathological need for attention.The only problem? Seven's an odd number.
AO3 Link
Chapter Five: Stan (The Present: Part Two)
Chapter Specific TWs: Panic Attack, Extreme Dissociation, Germaphobia, Sickness, Colds & Flu, Touch Aversion, OCD, Swearing, Dubiously Consented Squish
AO3 Link
See below the cut for more information on this story.
Title: Touch Me (I want to be Dirty)
Pairing: Poly Losers, Steddie-Centric (everyone will get lots of attention)
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak thought he moved on from his mother’s abuse, but when she died his trauma unexpectedly resurfaced. His fear of germs, sickness, and contamination came back with a vengeance. Unable to process his emotions and unwilling to go to therapy, Eddie struggles to let his lovers touch him, especially Richie. Stan vows to help Eddie overcome his trauma and reclaim his intimacy with the Losers.
Rating: Explicit
Tags (so far): Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Kaspbrak Has OCD, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Abuse, Sonia Kaspbrak’s A+ Parenting, Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, Working Through Problems, BDSM, Adult Losers Club (IT)Aged-Up Losers Club (IT)References to Illness, Non Graphic Vomiting, Vomiting, Brainwashing, Stomach Ache, Sickness, Donald Uris is a dick, Andrea Uris is great, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nudity, Explicit Language, Blasphemy, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Self-Medication, Bathing/Washing, InsecurityTouch Aversion, Intrusive Thoughts, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attack, Extreme Dissociation, Germaphobia, Sickness, Colds & Flu, Touch Aversion, OCD, Swearing, Dubiously Consented Squish
Link on AO3
Chapter 4 is here!
Chapter Four: Stan (The Present: Part One)
Chapter Specific TWs: nudity, explicit body description, shared bathing, sexual references, touch aversion, intrusive thoughts, mild misuse of medication, insecurity, referenced homophobic slur, blasphemy, swearing
AO3 Link
See below the cut for more information on this story.
Title: Touch Me (I want to be Dirty)
Pairing: Poly Losers, Steddie-Centric (everyone will get lots of attention)
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak thought he moved on from his mother’s abuse, but when she died his trauma unexpectedly resurfaced. His fear of germs, sickness, and contamination came back with a vengeance. Unable to process his emotions and unwilling to go to therapy, Eddie struggles to let his lovers touch him, especially Richie. Stan vows to help Eddie overcome his trauma and reclaim his intimacy with the Losers.
Rating: Explicit
Tags (so far): Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Kaspbrak Has OCD, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Abuse, Sonia Kaspbrak’s A+ Parenting, Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, Working Through Problems, BDSM, Adult Losers Club (IT)Aged-Up Losers Club (IT)References to Illness, Non Graphic Vomiting, Vomiting, Brainwashing, Stomach Ache, Sickness, Donald Uris is a dick, Andrea Uris is great, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nudity, Explicit Language, Blasphemy, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Self-Medication, Bathing/Washing, InsecurityTouch Aversion, Intrusive Thoughts, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Mental Health Issues
Link on AO3
Ive seen this sort of idea before and thought it was cute, so stenbrough where one of them has a service/therapy dog like in a public place and the other is staring. The one comes up and is like (in the nicest way possible) “you can’t stare at my dog when she/he’s working” and the other person is so flustered because they were staring at the OWNER not the dog (because the owner was such a cutie blah blah) and it turns into an accidental lil confession but with a happy ending!
I hope you like it! Feel free to request again :)
AO3 Link
“Beautiful Stranger” Stanley Uris X Bill Denbrough(439 words)
Stan was working on Stats homework in the campus diner, eating fries with a fork, when he saw him.
In the booth diagonal to his, a student about Stan’s age scribbled in a notebook. His dark, auburn-streaked hair fell across his forehead and almost into his eyes. His hands were broad and long fingered, stained blue-black with ink. When he scratched at his nose, he left a long smudge down its freckled bridge.
A glossy black-and-white border collie sat at his feet, probably a service dog by the harness.
Stan returned his attention to the boy’s face. He’d stopped writing and was looking at Stan with eyes that were surely carved from lapis lazuli, they were so blue, made more intense by the damp pink of his mouth. Stan swallowed.
The boy slid out of the booth and Stan quickly looked at his textbook, though he couldn’t read over the pounding in his chest.
“H-Hi.”
Stan looked up slowly. “Hi.”
“I’m s-sorry to bother you,” he said, voice warm like the Florida sun. “I n-noticed you looking at my s-service dog. I d…d-don’t blame you. He’s really c-cute, but it d-distracts him.”
Stan’s face burned. “I’m sorry I distracted him. But.” He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t staring at him.”
“O-Oh?” The boy’s forehead wrinkled.
“I was looking at you,” he mumbled, heart somersaulting against his ribs.
“Oh. Oh!” Suddenly he was smiling, and every thought slid out of Stan’s head. “I’m B-Bill,” he said, holding out his hand.
Bill’s nails were trimmed short, but ink had gotten under them anyway. He had a thin, silvery scar on his palm.
Stan took his hand, warm and soft, and shook it. “Stan.”
The handshake stopped, but their hands remained fused together, magnet-like. After a long moment, Stan forced himself to let go.
“W-Why were you l…looking at me?” Bill asked.
“You have ink on your nose.”
“Oh.” Bill blushed and rubbed at his face with the sleeve of his red and grey flannel shirt. The ink on his nose disappeared, but his fingertips brushed his cheek, leaving a new smudge on the bone.
Stan smiled. “You’re also very attractive.”
Bill’s blush deepened. “S-So are you.”
"Do you want to join me?”
Bill nodded and grabbed his stuff. He sat across from Stan and signaled his service dog to sit at his feet.
“What are you writing?” Stan asked.
“A n-novel.” Bill shrugged. “N-nothing much. Just a-an idea.”
“Tell me about it,” Stan said, closing his textbook. “Please.”
Bill smiled, wide and brilliant, a faint flush still staining his cheeks. “It’s a h-horror novel s-set in Maine…”
