#like if his break from the kitchen is just richie guarding the door i think it'd just make things worse

[bartonbones]

i do quite honestly spend a lot of time thinking abt what's best for carmy berzatto. i worry about him like a son. i worry about him like i am his primary care provider and i am legally held responsible for any decisions i make lest i be sued for medical malpractice

[boyduroy]

Shave and A Haircut

Fandom: It (2017/2019)

Characters: Bill, Richie, Eddie, Stanley

Word count: 2,044

Genre: slice of life, hurt/comfort

Warnings: language, mentions of bullying

Synopsis: Just another day of being bullied by Bowers. Luckily Richie knows what to do.

{Not beta’d/proofread, sorry for any typos}

Bill, Eddie, and Richie are all sitting at the Tozier dining room table, waiting for the fourth member of their party to arrive. Their geometry homework is spread out across the wooden table, most of it unsolved, along with an array of snacks, most of which have already been devoured. Bill looks at the old clock on the wall as Richie and Eddie bicker over who gets the last of the barbeque-flavored potato chips. Stanley should have been done with baseball practice 30 minutes ago, and it doesn’t usually take him this long to bike to Richie’s house. Bill briefly considers riding up to the baseball field to check on him when a knock comes from the front door.

“About time,” Richie mutters, quickly swiping the final few chips from Eddie’s hand as he gets up to answer the door.

“Richie, you turd!” Eddie screams as

“Y’snooze, you lose, skeddi-boy,” Richie calls back to the dining room with a mouthful of chips. He rubs his hands on the edge of his shirt as he reaches for the door handle. He doesn’t remember locking it, and Stan knows he can let himself in, but Richie figures his friend is just being his usual polite self.

“Stan the man,” he announces loudly, swinging the door open. “Where’ve you been? You know we suck at math…”

Richie trails off as he takes in the sight of Stanley on his front porch. The other boy’s head is hung, defeated, and his baseball cap covers his face completely. Still, Richie can see the faint outlines of tear tracks running from Stan’s chin. His knuckles are paper white as they clutch his gym bag, and aside from the usual dirt stains on his uniform, he doesn’t look too roughed up in any apparent way.

“Stanley?” Richie asks, tilting his head to peek up under the baseball cap. Stan’s face is red from either crying or from exercise, or possibly a combination of the two. “What’s wrong?”

Stan sniffs, his dark brown eyes refusing to meet Richie’s. “May I come in please,” he asks, his voice a bit raw.

Richie pulls him inside, taking his gym bag from him. “Go sit down on the couch, I’ll grab you a glass of water.” As Stanley quietly kicks his cleats off near the front door, Richie races to the kitchen, tosses the bag down haphazardly, and grabs a clean glass from the cupboard. Any other day he would’ve just grabbed one of the dirty ones from the sink, which would’ve earned him an earful from both Stan and Eddie about how gross that was – “I drank from it earlier, so why should it matter?” – but right now was not the time to instigate. As he fills the glass from the kitchen sink, Eddie and Bill poke their heads in.

“What’s going on, Rich?” Eddie asks. “You drop something?”

Richie hurries back to the living room, trying not to spill the glass that he accidentally filled up with too much water. “Something happened to Stan,” he calls over his shoulder. “Come on, he’s in here.”

“What h-happened?!” Bill asks worriedly, he and Eddie hot on Richie’s heels as the three of them come to gather around Stan, now sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch. Richie offers him the glass, which spills a little onto the couch cushion, but Stanley accepts it and takes a drink. Eddie perches next to him, his hand on Stan’s shoulder, and subconsciously starts checking his friend for any signs of outward injury.

“You alright, Stanley?” Eddie asks. Stan swallows the water eagerly and gasps, handing the now half-full glass back to Richie. He nods but continues to look down, his face still obscured by his baseball cap.

“What happened?” Bill asks again.

“Bowers and his gang…” Stanley answers quietly. He suddenly shrinks into himself, unwilling to reveal any further information. “I can’t, it’s embarrassing.”

Bill kneels, putting a gentle hand on Stan’s knee. “It’s okay, you can tell us. W-why don’t you take off your h-hat so we can hear you better.”

“I can’t.”

“Huh?” Bill blinks, confused.

“I can’t take it off,” Stan repeats.

Richie smirks. “Don’t worry about your hat hair, Stanley, we’ve all been ther—”

“No.” Stan sniffles and looks up finally, his brown eyes swimming with tears. “I can’t take off my hat, Richie, because Henry Bowers and his asshole friends put krazy glue in it,” he enunciates sharply. “My hat. Is glued. To my head.”

The three of them stare stunned at their friend, whose head falls back down sadly. Bill can feel his own face growing hot with anger. Fucking Bowers… It was one of the cruelest pranks you could do to someone: paint the inner brim of their hat with krazy glue and just wait for them to put it on.

Eddie is the first to break the silence. “Oh Stanley,” he whispers, his own eyes threatening to mist. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He rubs Stanley’s shoulder and looks to the other two. “What should we do, guys?”

Bill strides towards the door. “I’m guh-gonna got kick the sh-sh-shit out of Bowers,” he says matter-of-factly. Stan is on his feet in an instant.

“Please no, Bill! Don’t, he’ll do something worse to you,” Stanley yells, grabbing Bill’s shirt. Bill tries to shake him off as he opens the front door. “Please, it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay, Stan! He hurt you!”

Stan hardens. “Fine, I know, it’s not okay. It fucking sucks. But I don’t want you to get hurt fighting my battles for me! Bowers is going to get what’s coming to him eventually, but I don’t want you or anyone else getting hurt today.” He loosens his grip and sighs, rubbing his face. “Just… leave it alone, okay? For now, at least. Please?”

Bill huffs but eventually closes the door again.

“Fine,” he says, resting a hand on the offending baseball cap on Stan’s head. “But we still need to figure out what we’re g-going to do about th-this.”

“You’re gonna have to cut it off, I guess,” Richie offers.

Stan frowns. “No, I can’t. It’ll look so stupid.” He tries gently tugging the cap, but it doesn’t budge. “There’s got to be another way.”

Eddie approaches and carefully inspects where the hat and Stan’s hair are connected. “He really did a number,” he admits. “It’s stuck to your scalp in some places.”

Stanley groans. “Great,” he sighs.

“It’s just hair, it’ll grow back,” Richie insists. “My dad has some clippers in his bathroom, we can take care of it right now.”

Stanley shakes his head. “I especially don’t want to shave my whole head, Richie!”

“Why not? It’s just hair.”

“It’s my hair!” Stan argues. “Excuse me if I don’t want to look like Sinead O’Connor the rest of the school year!”

“It’ll grow back, Stanley!”

“I don’t care!”

“Oh my god, you are so sensitive,” Richie grumbles as he marches off and slams his parents’ bedroom door. Bill is about to suggest something when they hear the telltale buzz of an electric razor. The three of them are frozen in place.

“He wouldn’t,” Eddie says, looking wide-eyed at the other two.

They stumble past one another as they race to the bedroom and Bill pounds on the bathroom door. “Richie, what are you doing?!” he yells over the loud buzz of the razor. He tries the doorknob but it’s locked.

“Hey dumbass, you proved your point,” Eddie shouts at the door. “Cut it out, you’re freaking us out!”

Finally, after a few more bangs on the wood and jiggling the doorknob, does the buzzer click off and the door swing open. Richie stands there proudly, glasses off, clippers in hand, and with a freshly (and poorly) buzzed head.

“See? I told you it’s not a big deal, you wuss,” he says, gesturing to himself. The other three just stare at him in utter shock until Stan finally sputters.

“Richie, you… you--” Stanley says, then dips his head down into his hands, his shoulders beginning to shake. Richie frowns, worried for a minute that he’s crying again, but then Stanley tosses his head back and he’s laughing so uproariously. “You idiot! What the hell is wrong with you,” he asks through gasps.

The tension broken, Bill and Eddie also begin to laugh while Richie just smiles stupidly.

“You missed like so many spots, dude,” Eddie snickers. “Geez Richie, were you even trying?”

“Hey, I had to take my glasses off,” Richie protests. He tosses the razor to Bill and points to the back of his head, where tufts of black hair remained in messy patches. “Mind cleaning me up, Bill?”

Bill smirks and gets to work shaving off the rest of Richie’s hair. He actually didn’t do too bad of a job, just missed a few places here and there. At least he put a guard on it so he wasn’t just freehanding it.

“There you go,” Bill says once he’s finished. He hands Richie back his glasses and dusts the loose hair off his shirt. Richie examines himself in the mirror, his hands running over the short buzzcut.

“Looks a hell of a lot better than Sinead, if I do say so myself,” Richie remarks, satisfied with his handiwork. He throws a look to the other boys and grabs a pair of mustache scissors, snipping them threateningly. “Your turn, Stanley.”

Stan shakes his head quickly. “Not from you, four-eyes.” He takes the scissors and hands them to Bill. “Please be gentle.”

Bill nods and carefully starts cutting away the worst of the glue/hat/hair combination until the hat is freed, along with a substantial amount of hair. Eddie throws it unceremoniously into the trashcan. Stanley shuts his eyes, not wanting to see how ridiculous he looks with half his hair missing. Then Bill methodically shaves away the rest of his golden curls and it’s over before he knows it.

“Okay, you can look, if y-you want to.”

Stanley peeks one eye open and looks in the mirror. His face looks back at him, now sporting the same crewcut as Richie. It’s… not as bad as he thought it would be.

“It’s different,” he admits, touching the short prickly hairs gingerly. His heart aches for just a moment. It sucks but Richie was right: it’s just hair, and it’ll grow back. He glances at Richie. “I think I pull it off better than you, at least.”

Richie feigns a wounded look, clutching his chest dramatically. “Hey, whoa, watch yourself there, Staniel! Don’t forget, you copied me. I started this trend.”

They all laugh at this, then Bill looks at himself in the mirror, shrugs, and buzzes a line right down the middle of his head. They watch with amazement as he gives himself a haircut to match, smiling the whole time. Afterwards he clicks the buzzer off and turns to his friends, offering another shrug.

“I wanted to f-fit in with the cool k-kids. This look is v-very in right now.”

Stanley beams and throws his arms around Bill and Richie. “You guys are so dumb, but thank you,” he says. The three of them hug, then Richie looks mischievously at Eddie, who suddenly pales.

“Eds,” he states. “Snip, snip.”

Eddie glances between the three of them who now appear to be ganging up on him. He sighs and digs into his fanny pack. “My mom’s gonna think I joined a cult,” he mutters to himself. He pulls out his inhaler, takes a big puff, and looks to Bill. “Do it.”

Soon brunette hair joins the piles of auburn, blonde and black on the floor of Maggie and Wentworth’s bathroom. The boys take turns dusting each other off and inspecting one another for any missed spots, but Bill was careful and thorough and they all look good, if not a little bit off for the current fashion. Stanley felt grateful for his friends, idiots though they may be, for always making sure he was never alone in his suffering. They return to their long-forgotten snacks and homework, enjoying the pleasant company of one another – until the cry of “RICHARD TOZIER, WHAT IN GODS NAME HAVE YOU DONE TO YOURSELF” from Richie’s mom interrupted their time together.

[bitchardhendricks]

Well I’ve Never Been to Heaven (But I’ve Been to Oklahoma) pt 17

I know it’s been a terribly long time since I last updated - to be frank, the last couple of weeks have been almost too full to bear. Wife and I foster dogs through a local shelter, and our most recent was a hospice foster whom we had for the last 6 months (aka all of quarantine and beyond). He finally declined to the point that we had to make the call, and we said goodbye to him last weekend and honestly? I’ve been too sad to do much writing or thinking about writing, because this loss, even though it was an expected one, has left a massive hole in my heart. Unrelated, but I am now in the remote wilderness of Colorado in a cabin for Wife’s 30th birthday - essentially sheltering in place, but with a hot tub and mountain views. It finally feels a little easier to breathe and the getaway has done me a lot of good. Here’s an extra-long update of Tulsa fic for an extra-long wait. I hope you all are taking care of yourselves out there and giving yourself breaks where you can. Catch up on past entries here, and come say hi and tell me about the pets that you’ve loved.

***

When Richard opens his eyes on Saturday morning with his face smushed against his pillow he suffers a dizzying moment of time travel - he’s in his childhood bedroom wearing one of his old high school t-shirts and seeing his Ninja Turtle sleeping bags rolled up on the floor. But there’s no Big Head playing N64 at the foot of his bed, and his sheets smell like detergent and some familiar floral scent he can’t quite place, not spilled Red Bull and teen boy sweat. 

He flops over onto his back and closes his eyes for a moment, breathes deeply through his nose. Hears his sister’s voice, teasing but not mean: mooning over someone, that’s what he looks like. His mother’s voice. He’s a million miles away, like always. Jared’s voice, hushed in the dark. All I wanted was to find a place that I belonged, where I was wanted. Isn’t that what Richard always wanted too? Jesus, how many nights did he spend in this room, in this bed counting down the days until he could finally fucking escape, trying with all his might to think himself away from this place. “Creation is an act of sheer will,” after all.

And what did you create, Richie? 

You made a shitty music player that no one fucking wanted, and you gave away your one good idea to your competition. What does that leave you with - a great company name? Shit, if Jared hadn't seen the potential of the algorithm, you wouldn't even have a company. Jared sparked the idea for middle-out. Without him, you wouldn't have middle-out, you wouldn't be a CEO. You wouldn't have anything at all.

Maybe Jared knows what he's talking about. 

***

Diane’s already awake, a coffee cup cradled in her hands at the kitchen table, when Jared carefully and quietly emerges from Richard’s bedroom and shuts the door. 

“Mornin’ sugar,” she whispers and gestures for Jared to sit next to her, which he does. "I didn't expect anyone to be awake yet on a Saturday. You must be an early riser, like me. Here, sit you a spell, lemme grab you some coffee. Did you sleep well?” she asks, as she gets up to fetch him a mug of his own. This force of Diane's maternal energy continues to catch him off guard, and he reaches for an answer like a man in an unfamiliar hotel room groping for the light.

“Oh yes, they were all nightmares I’ve had before so I knew my escape routes. I feel fresh as a daisy!”

“Mm, that’s good,” she replies, sounding far away as she rummages through a cabinet and pulls out a mug, then pads over to the coffee pot to fill it. “You take cream and sugar, sweetheart?”

“Black is fine,” Jared says, and gratefully accepts the cup she offers him. It says HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY in comic sans font surrounding a faded photo of the entire Hendricks family, sometime in the mid-90s from the look of the boldly patterned oversize knit sweater on Steven and the perms sported by both Diane and Caitlyn. They’re standing in a verdant field in front of a split rail fence, Steven and Diane in the back, Caitlyn and Richard in front; Richard is a skinny, coltish boy, those auburn curls still a riot around his head, his father’s hand clapped firm over his left shoulder. 

“Somethin’ wrong, sugar?” Diane asks him, and Jared startles from his reverie. He shakes his head, quickly takes a sip, “Mm, no. This is good, thank you, Diane.” He tries very hard not to think about his strange, alien presence in the warmth of this woman’s home, with her powder blue terrycloth robe and her commissioned family mugs. They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the birds chirping outside the kitchen window. 

“Jared, honey, can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course,” Jared says, caught off guard. His fingers play with the collar of his plain white t-shirt. 

“Richard has always been...sensitive. He acts standoffish, but he - he takes things hard, you know? I thought he might grow out of it. He was such a sweet little boy...used to pick dandelions for me on the way home from school, almost every day. Can you believe that?” 

Jared looks at the unabashed grin on 9-year-old Richard’s face, standing in a field and squinting into the sun, laughing with his family. He can believe it. “Yes,” he says, but Diane doesn’t seem to really hear him as she continues.

“But you know, high school and hormones, and my lord did that boy get moody!” She laughs a little, but it sounds sad. “I just...ever since he went off to college, I feel him slippin’ further and further away from me. Does he - well, what does he say about us, exactly? Does he ever talk about us?”

Jared’s expression must reveal more than he intended, because she nods before he can speak. “Ah. That’s what I thought.”

“But it’s not,” Jared hurries to reassure her, “I don’t think it is what you think. Richard doesn’t talk about his past really, or anything altogether personal.” Except this weekend, his mind whispers and he tries not to flush. He’s full of stories this weekend. And those long nights in the garage, in the bathtub, in bathrooms of VC offices; all those fears, all those anxieties. It feels so terribly personal, but listen to what his own mother is telling you and give up all those fantasies that it could be anything else - it’s just business, Donald. He rushes on, “You have to understand, Diane, the tremendous pressure he’s under. There’s not really time or, or room for - “ but he falters, unsure how to proceed when he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying. 

“Oh I know, he’s busy, always so busy. Off being a big shot CEO, I get it. I just wish...” she shakes her head, looks down into her coffee mug. 

“I know you must miss him terribly,” Jared says, grimly picturing the ragged hole in his chest that would remain if Richard ever left him behind. 

“Sometimes I wonder if...does he hate me, Jared? Is that why he won’t come home?” 

“Oh gosh in heaven, no!” Heedless of houseguest decorum, he places one of his hands over her smaller one on the table and squeezes in an attempt to comfort her. Her only crime is loving Richard too much, an infraction he is all too familiar with. He can’t help but offer her a balm to soothe, even if it’s not his place. “He misses you, and he loves you. I think...I think Richard is someone who tends to live inside himself a great deal, and doesn’t always pay attention to the effect he can have on other people.” Jared can feel his ears pinking, but he soldiers on. “He’s like a shark, always moving forward, never pausing to rest because he has to attack the next problem and the next. And while that means he can stay focused on creating wonderful things, it also means he doesn’t always notice the little remoras swimming around him, taking care of him so that he can keep on swimming and avoid deadly parasitic infections.”

Diane looks at Jared, her face drawn and tight, an expression so like her son’s face when he’s working out a problem. Her eyes search his, and for a moment, Jared has the terrible urge to shrink before her, a child under scrutiny. “And is there someone,” her voice falters, “takin’ care of him?”

He’s caught, his heart thrumming like a rabbit’s in a snare, but he’s helpless against those wild blue eyes, and he nods. 

“And is he happy?” She has turned her hand so that her fingers are now clutching at Jared’s, feverish. A woman holding onto a lifeline. 

Jared wants to say yes, wants to say it’s terrifying and exhausting and every day is an uphill climb but we are building something magical together and he wants to say I am doing everything I can to make him happy because he said no to Gavin’s money and I didn’t know people could do that. What he actually says is, “I - I want him to be.”

She searches his face, her expression unreadable, then releases Jared’s hand immediately as Caitlyn pads down the hallway in an oversized OKC Thunder t-shirt and plaid sleep pants, yawning loudly. “Hey, mama, did you make coffee?”

[softest-cinnamon-roll]

Hiya here to request a part 2 to...everything... or just to the "oh my god, you're in love with him' prompt :D :D :D

HO HO, well, here you go. (I am very very pleased with this, and it’s sort of turned into this thing so if anyone wants a part three, please lemme know!)

AO3

* * * * * 

It had been a week since Richie had moved away to California and Eddie was slowly losing his mind. They had talked on the phone every night, and every night Eddie had his confession on the tip of his tongue. He never managed to get the words out though, and no amount of ice cream was making him feel any better about the ache in his heart.

After spending the day with the remaining losers, Bill and Mike, Eddie headed into his house, glad that his mother was at the bingo that afternoon. He dropped his bag to the floor and was about to head up to his bedroom when the house phone rang. Not wanting to ignore it, in case it was something important, Eddie sighed and headed into the kitchen, picking up the phone.

“Hello, Kaspbrak residence, how may I help you?” He said tiredly into the phone. He knew it was probably going to be someone from a telemarketing company trying to sell him something. Either that or it was his aunt, since no-one ever called the home phone.

“Hello there,” the voice on the other line spoke and Eddie was surprised at the tone. He sounded like a professional. “May I speak with Edward Kaspbrak?”

That caught Eddie off guard, as no-one called his house phone to speak to him as everyone had his mobile number. He cleared his throat, a little nervous as to what the man wanted with him on the other line. “Uh, your speaking with him.”

The man on the other line let out a relieved breath, “Well I am glad to finally be able to speak with you Edward. I have been trying for a few weeks now, ever since I received that call from your mother regarding the letter we sent out at the beginning of July.”

“I’m sorry sir, but…what are you talking about?” Eddie asked quietly, extremely confused as to what was going on.

An inhale came from the other line before the man continued. “Mr Kaspbrak, I am calling from UCLA, I am the Dean and head of admissions. I am referring to the acceptance letter as well as scholarship offer we sent you out in July.”

Eddie’s mind swirled with confusion, as he remembered opening the letter from UCLA, and it certainly did not read accepted on the cover. None of his letters did. They all read unsuccessful. Then, the penny dropped and his eyes widened, anger and betrayal filling his very being. “You- I was accepted?”

“Yes, Mr Kaspbrak,” the Dean answered in a soft tone. “We only accept declining offers from the person themselves, therefore I am calling to make sure that you would indeed like to decline the offer to study with us on our English and Literature course.”

No. No he did not wish to decline. “No- no I- no.” Eddie shook his head, even though the man couldn’t see him. “No- I would like to accept. When- when does the course start?” He asked, heart thumping in his chest.

“The semester begins on September 17th, Mr Kaspbrak. Shall we go ahead with the arrangements for your acceptance? We can have a call tomorrow to discuss accommodation.” The Dean said softly and Eddie could have cried right then and there.

He had never said yes fast enough.

* * * * *

Knowing that his mother wouldn’t be home from the bingo until much later, Eddie quickly packed as much of his belongings into a suitcase and trudged it down the stairs. There was only one place he could think of to go, only one place that he knew he’d be safe.

He knocked on an all too familiar door and the second Maggie Tozier opened up, Eddie burst into tears. She ushered him inside, locking the door behind him and sat him on the couch. Went disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a concerned expression on his face.

They waited patiently as Eddie calmed down, urging him to take a few sips of water and breath in and out. Once he was calmer, he told them everything. About how he thought no college wanted him but it was in fact, his mother that had been issuing fake letters and getting rid of his real ones. He told them about the Dean from UCLA calling and he told them about how he was planning on taking the offer and moving out to California.

Maggie was red with rage, and she tried to hold it in, but it was difficult for her. She was so much like her son when it came to handling emotions, Eddie thought for a moment that he was actually in the room with Richie himself. She ranted about how a mother could do that to her child, how someone could be so cruel as to jeopardize their future and make them feel so small and worthless.

After everyone had calmed down, Went left to collect some pizza and Maggie sat with Eddie, making him feel as at home as he always did in the Tozier household. It was strange though, being there without Richie. He kept thinking that he would come running down the stairs any second and pull Eddie into the biggest hug. It had only been a week, but fuck, Eddie missed Richie like crazy.

It was now after nine in the evening, and Eddie knew his mother would be home and he also knew she would have gone into his room too see half his things were missing. As if on cue, his phone started ringing from where it was sat on the coffee table. Both Eddie and Maggie stared at the device, the name ‘MA’ lighting up the screen until it rang out. A few moments later, it started to ring again, but Eddie wasn’t answering it. He had nothing to say to his mother. Not now, not ever.

Went came back shortly after with the pizza and they all sat on the sofa, digging in. Once all the food was devoured and they had watched Eddie’s phone light up for the tenth time, Maggie caved and picked it up, answering it.

The conversation that followed was too intense for Eddie to even comprehend. He could hear his mother screaming at Maggie, calling her all the names under the sun but Maggie wasn’t phased, hitting back just as hard. The conversation ended with Maggie telling her that Eddie was going to stay with them until arrangements could be made for him to fly out to California, and that the police wouldn’t care as Eddie was eighteen and legally an adult.

Once she had hung up, Maggie passed the phone back to Eddie with a soft smile and he couldn’t help but stand up and hug her back, “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Oh sweetheart, you know we’d do anything for you right?” She whispered into his hair, radiating nothing but motherly love. “You were always Richie’s favourite.”

Eddie’s eyes filled with tears at the mention of Richie and he nodded his head. He didn’t know if Maggie knew about his feelings for her son, but something in her soft expression told him that she did. Mothers intuition or something like that.

“I’m gonna go give him a call,” Eddie whispered, smiling softly. “Is it okay if I sleep in his room tonight?”

Maggie nodded her head and Eddie made his way to the stairs, noticing the look of concern that Maggie gave Went as he reached the first step. They really were amazing parents, and Richie was so lucky to have them.

He opened the door to Richie’s room and winced a little at how bare it was. No ACDC posters on the wall, no pictures of the losers on the bedside cabinet, no mess of clothes on the floor. There was just a bed and an empty room. It was still Richie’s though, and he could still smell him as he crawled into his bed and dialled his number.

“Eds! What do I owe the pleasure?” Richie’s voice filled his ears after only a few rings. Eddie swallowed thickly, closing his eyes and imagining that he was right there next to him.

“I- I need to tell you something,” he whispered down the line and Richie went quiet.

“Everything alright, Eds?” Richie asked and once again, the lump had formed in the back of Eddie’s throat.

Eddie held back the sob that he knew was on the verge of breaking free and let out a shallow breath, “My mom- she- she sent out face unsuccessful letters.” He could hear Richie’s intake of breath but before he could interrupt, Eddie continued, telling him everything, right up to when Maggie yelled at his mother on the phone.

Richie was quiet for a second, before he found his voice. “So…you’re coming to California?” He asked, and Eddie swore Richie’s tone was filled with hope.

For the first time that night, Eddie broke into a wide grin and he felt warmth fill him from his head to his toes. “Yeah Rich…I’m coming to California.”

* * * * * 

@richietoaster @tozier-boy @eds-kas @eds-trashmouth @strange-reddie-loser @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @tinyarmedtrex @liliemm @inthebreadbinwrites @lo-v-ers @studpuffin @aizeninlefox @reddie-for-anything @richietoizer @girasol-eddie @bi-bi-richie @honeybeehanlon @hawkinsbabe @mrs-vh @beepbeeprichiellc @stellarbisexual @oldguybones 

[reddieandgoodnight]

44 WITH REDDIE??!!¿¡

Sorry for the wait on this, anon! Hope you enjoy! :)

44.  I’m your new neighbour and I got locked out, help!

Richie was not having a good day. Between waking up with a splitting headache, being late for work, and getting screamed at when a customer’s order wasn’t right, the only thing he wanted to do was sleep. Which he couldn’t because he had homework.

So instead of crashing face-first into his bed, Richie found himself sitting on his and Bill’s couch, nursing a cup of coffee and staring down at a math problem that seemed to be mocking him. He’d never struggled with math before — even if he clowned around in his classes, most of the subjects came easily to him. But now, with cramming work and sleep around a college schedule, even his brains felt like they were failing him.

His head throbbed, that headache still holding on from this morning. He rubbed at his temples, trying to wake himself up.

The doorbell rang.

Richie startled at the sound, nearly knocking his coffee over as he rose to his feet, cursing whoever decided to bother him at this particular moment.

But when he opened the door, all his complaints went out the window.

Because there, standing right in front of him, was the cutest boy Richie had ever seen.

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you,” the boy said, looking up at Richie with big brown eyes that matched the warm shade of the freckles smattered across his cheeks. “I, uh — I’m your new neighbor.”

“Oh?” Richie said faintly.

The boy wore an NYU sweatshirt, so Richie figured he was a fellow student. And if those shorts and long legs were anything to go by, maybe he was a runner, too.

The term “legs for days” flashed through Richie’s mind, and he felt himself flushing a little.

“I’m Eddie Kaspbrak,” the boy said. “Uh, I just moved into the apartment next to you, and I managed to lock myself out.” Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes at himself. “Stupid I know.”

“I — do you need to use the phone?” Richie asked, sounding a little strangled. “Do you want to wait here?” Maybe forever?

Eddie smiled with lips that were far too rosy not be scandalous.

“Yeah, if I could use your phone, I can call my roommate,” he said.

“Oh, sure,” Richie said. “I’m Richie. Tozier. Richie Tozier.”

“Hi, Richie Tozier,” Eddie said, and his smile would have made Richie swoon right then and there if not for Richie holding onto the doorframe.

“Uh, yeah, come inside,” Richie said, letting Eddie in. “Sorry about the mess.”

Eddie laughed again, and Richie’s heart swelled. “You should see the mess in my house right now. Moving is not a friend to cleanliness.”

Richie grinned. “True enough.”

“You go to NYU, too?” Eddie asked, pointing at the homework Richie had abandoned on the couch.

“Yeah. Music major. You?”

“Psych major.”

“Really?” Richie said. “Are you an athlete too? I mean, your legs —”

Richie’s mind caught up to his mouth, and he froze mid-sentence.

He knows I was looking at his legs. Fuck fuck fuckkity fuck FUCK —!

If Eddie knew Richie was having an internal crisis, he gave no sign, simply nodding. “I’m on the track team.”

“That’s…awesome,” Richie said lamely, pushing away his untoward thoughts about his new acquaintance.

Eddie smirked, and Richie wondered if maybe he did know what was going through Richie’s head. “So…your phone?”

“Oh, r-right! It’s right there.”

Richie pointed to where the phone hung on the wall next to the kitchen. While Eddie made a call, Richie fluttered around the living room, picking up the all the food wrappers and shoving them inside the empty pizza box that had been sitting on the table, all while trying not to overhear Eddie’s murmured conversation with someone named Mike

(who the fuck is Mike?)

and also trying very hard not to stare at Eddie’s ass, which looked really…nice…in those shorts.

Dear god, he probably thinks I’m some weird perv.

He giggled a little hysterically to himself.

He was definitely going to hell.

“Thanks, Mike. See you soon,” Eddie said before hanging up the phone and turning back to Richie. “My roommate,” he explained. “He’s going to unlock the door for me as soon as he can take a break from work. Probably in an hour.”

“Oh,” Richie said, trying to sound nonchalant as he put the trash into the wastebasket. A pause. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Eddie blinked, caught off guard, and then laughed. “No, definitely not. Just friends,” he said. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you dating anyone?”

Richie wondered how it was possible to scream on the inside while keeping a straight face. “No, I’m not seeing anyone. Right now. Uh. At this moment.”

Eddie giggled a little. Richie thought it was the prettiest sound in the history of the world. “Me either.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair, which looked soft under the light.

Richie wanted to touch it.

“Well, since you’re waiting, would you like a cup of coffee?” Richie asked.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asked, toying with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I don’t want to impose —”

“You’re not,” Richie interrupted. He cleared his throat. “Really, you’re not at all.”

“Well, if you’re sure…then coffee sounds nice,” Eddie said, smiling up at Richie. “Thanks.”

At Richie’s beckoning, Eddie followed him into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table and watching quietly as Richie pulled a couple of slightly chipped mugs out of the cupboard and poured coffee into both, glad he still had some leftover from the pot he’d brewed earlier.

“How do you take it? Milk? Sugar?” Richie asked.

“No, this is fine,” Eddie murmured, accepting the mug Richie handed to him. “Thank you.”

Richie plopped into the chair across from Eddie, watching as he blew on the hot coffee before taking a sip.

“So, you drink it black, huh?”

“Like my soul,” Eddie joked.

“Pretty sure your soul is as pristine as you.” Richie hurried and took a gulp of his coffee, burning himself in the process. He wasn’t sure what it was about Eddie that was making him say stupid shit like this. He’d always had a motor mouth, it was true, but he usually at least had some control these days.

Eddie gave him a warm look that had Richie’s face flushing.

The next hour passed far too quickly for Richie’s liking as he and Eddie talked about their classes, their career hopes, their hometowns, and whatever else passed through their heads. Richie was a little taken aback at how easy it was to talk to Eddie. Talking was never hard for Richie — at least not on the surface level. But this — this was something new, something more special.

And Eddie, for his part, seemed just as enthralled, hands cupped around his mug and gazing at Richie like he really wanted to know this new neighbor of his.

By the time Mike knocked on the door, Richie and Eddie were giggling over some of Richie’s childhood stories — ones no one else knew about except for Bill.

“Hey, I’m Mike. Thanks for helping Eddie,” Mike, a tall boy with a wide smile, said when Richie answered the door.

“No problem at all. I’m Richie.”

Mike shook Richie’s hand. “I keep telling Eddie to wear his key on a chain or something, but he never listens to me.” He sighed good-naturedly as Eddie smacked his shoulder. To Eddie: “The door is unlocked; if you get locked out again, you’re on your own.”

“I’ll be fine,” Eddie muttered, glancing at Richie. “Thanks, Mike.”

“All right, well, I’m heading back to work,” Mike said. “Thanks again, Richie.” With a wave, he ambled down the steps toward the parking lot.

“Um, thank you again,” Eddie said, gazing up at Richie from under his lashes.

Richie’s heart squeezed at the sight. Goddamn, Eddie was pretty. Like, really pretty. Looked like a fucking angel dropped on his doorstep. Smelled like one, too — some faint mix of mint and cinnamon.

Richie wondered if he tasted like it, too.

“Sure,” Richie said faintly, realizing he should probably say something.

Eddie seemed to be hesitating over something. “I don’t usually do this,” he said softly.

Before Richie could ask him what he meant, Eddie jumped up on his tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to Richie’s mouth. Richie’s brain shut down in that moment outside of registering the softness of Eddie’s lips and the fact that they did indeed taste like mint and cinnamon, woven with something else faint and sweet.

Eddie stepped back, leaving Richie staring at him with utterly confused adoration.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, twisting his hands in his sweatshirt, something Richie was already realizing Eddie did when he felt nervous. “I shouldn’t have—"

“I think I love you,” Richie interrupted, sighing, which made Eddie laugh.

“Um, are you doing anything Friday?” Eddie asked, smiling. He was blushing, making his freckles stand out like little stars.

Richie wanted to kiss them all. Maybe Eddie would let him.

“Not anymore,” Richie said. “Gotta have my first hot date with you.”

“You mean second.”

Richie cocked his head to the side. “Second?”

Eddie gestured to the kitchen behind them, where their empty coffee mugs sat on the table.

“I’m counting this as our first.”

Richie was pretty sure an angel really had landed on his doorstep. An angel who didn’t protest when Richie kissed him, only smiling sweetly.

[eddieeatsass]

bloody mary - yram ydoolb

Summary: Richie thinks knives can be fun, and Eddie is willing to play along, that is until things get a little more intense than he'd been expecting. Pairing: Reddie  Rating: E Warnings: Smut, explicit language, graphic violence

Read on AO3

(A few important notes: PLEASE heed the warnings. If you are triggered by topics relating to self harm or violence, or very mild dub-con, this may not be the fic for you.

Secondly, do not take this fic as an example of healthy BDSM. The key rules of BDSM are to keep it Safe, Sane, and Consensual. This fic does not adhere to those rules because this takes place in a dark verse.

The practices conducted here are not to be reproduced in real life.If you’re interested in bondage, knife play, blood play, or any other type of edge play, PLEASE do your own research. Do not engage in these kinks (or any) until both you and your partner are thoroughly versed on how to stay safe, and the necessary aftercare involved.)

“Dinner is on me tonight!” Richie burst through the door, projecting into his apartment to a very startled Eddie.

A small ‘fuck!’ could be heard from the kitchen, where Richie travelled after kicking off his boots, carrying two heavy bags of Chinese food.

He found Eddie huddled over their sink, abandoned vegetables to the right of him alongside a bloody knife.

“You made me cut myself, you dickhead!” Eddie shouted over his shoulder, brandishing his bleeding hand before putting it back under the cold water. He tried to get the blood to clear long enough to see how deep the cut was, but it was pooling up at a rate too quick for the water to wash away. With another mumbled curse he opened a drawer, pulling out a roll of gauze (of which they kept many in every room of the house) and began wrapping it around his hand.

“Don’t blame me for your shoddy knifesmanship.” Richie shrugged, placing his bags on the counter and beginning to unpack them.

“I thought tonight was my night for dinner. Did you really make me go through all of this for nothing?” Eddie asked exasperatedly.

“It was, but on the subway home I was sitting next to a man who was carrying the most delicious smelling food, which he so generously agreed to give me after some convincing.” Richie reached behind himself, pulling a gun out from his pants and letting it clatter to the counter as evidence.

“Richieee.” Eddie groaned, stomping towards the counter and snatching the gun up. “I told you not to take my gun anymore. You’ve got shitty aim.”

“I do not; I mean to miss when I’m shooting at you.”

“Mhm.” Eddie agrees sarcastically, unconvinced. He looks down at his injured hand, the gauze having already turned red in the short time since he applied it.

“I’m gonna have to re-wrap this before we eat.” Eddie complained.

“Let me do it.” Richie offered, to which Eddie eyed him suspiciously.

“…Why?” Eddie asked carefully, narrowing his eyes.

“Can’t a guy just want to help his boyfriend?” Richie batted his lashes innocently.

“A guy, yeah. You? No.”

“But you squirm so deliciously when I use the disinfectant.” Richie admitted, going from innocent to sultry in a moment flat.

Eddie glared at him before relenting, turning around without another word and starting down the hallway.

“Well? Come on then.” He shouted over his shoulder, hearing the excited footsteps pattering behind him.

After Richie had had his fun, and Eddie was re-bandaged, the two made their way back out to the kitchen and grabbed their food, flopping in front of the TV before laying things out on the coffee table.

“Gross, there’s shrimp in this.” Eddie complained, as he opened one of the mystery containers.

“I’m sorry Eds, I’ll be sure to ask the guy what he ordered next time before I rob him.” Richie drawled sarcastically.

Eddie chucked a piece of shrimp at him before continuing to open the rest of the containers.

They both took turns dumping contents on to their plates, choosing what appealed most to them and occasionally forcing each other to try the things the other didn’t want to try. By the end of it, Richie had loaded Eddie’s plate with shrimp, and Eddie had shoved enough tofu on to Richie’s to blanket the rest of his meal.

They ate in silence while they watched the news, chuckling at the criminals who’d been caught and discussing how they’d have pulled off the crime without ending up on national television. At one point, however, someone they recognized popped up on the screen, causing Eddie to choke on a noodle.

Richie leaned forward in his seat as Eddie coughed beside him.

“Well fuck, Denbrough…” Richie murmured, staring at the mugshot of their best friend.

“When did this happen?” Eddie asked through a hoarse throat once he’d recovered.

“If you’d shut up, I could find out.” Richie grabbed the remote control, turning up the volume until it drowned out all else.

“Earlier today police arrested long term suspect related to a series of murders, Bill Denbrough. Denbrough can be traced back to a murder as early as 2013 but had managed to stay off police suspects lists until earlier this year when he was linked to the murder of Tom Rogan. Detectives were able to connect him to six other un-solved murders after that. His suspected motivation for the crimes is his presumably unrequited love for one Beverly Marsh, as the victims having all been connected to her in one way or another. The most recent victim was Ms. Marsh’s ex-husband who had several charges himself: domestic violence, assault and battery, aggravated assault, and probation violation. Bill Denbrough has been put into custody and is awaiting a trial date.”

“Tomorrow we’ll start brainstorm how to break him out. I’ll text the rest of the losers and let them know.” Richie stated, muting the TV and setting the remote down.

“Fucking Bill, always getting us into this shit; he makes a mess and we’ve gotta clean it up.”

“Well it’s better than letting him rot in prison with Henry Bowers as a guard, right?”

Eddie winced at the mention of their lifelong enemy; a corrupt cop who stayed above the law because he worked for it. He could get away with anything, and had on several occasions.

“Fine, but I’m not holding back from laying into him once we’ve got him back.” Eddie grumbled.

“As if you ever hold back.” Richie snorted, sending off a quick text to their group chat and re-pocketing his phone. He looked over to Eddie who was just finishing up his meal, only to notice a trickle of blood dancing down the skin of his forearm.

Richie reached forward, collecting the blood on his index finger and smearing it. Eddie glanced down at Richie’s hand, a frustrated curse following the sight of his (once again) sullied bandage.

“God damn it, Richie get the suture kit.” Eddie ground out through clenched teeth, anger bubbling up at the knowledge that he’d have to sew himself up with his non-dominant hand. That would certainly make for an interesting scar.

“Get it yourself, I’m not your maid.” Richie said snarkily as he stood from the couch and began carrying his plate to the kitchen.

“Ugh fine, then can we at least get drunk first?” Eddie called out, eyeing the messy coffee table and choosing to leave cleaning up until later.

Richie reappeared at the end of the couch, looking down at Eddie with a wicked grin and his hands behind his back.

“I’m really hoping you’ve got a bottle of whiskey behind your back.” Eddie wished hopefully, knowing too well that probably wasn’t the case.

“I have a better idea.” Richie announced confidently, pulling his hands out from behind his back and brandishing a glistening knife. “More cutting.”

“And how does that solve my problem?” Eddie deadpanned.

“It doesn’t, but it solves mine.” Richie pointed to the tent in his jeans that Eddie hadn’t noticed until now. He should have expected this; Richie always got excited when Eddie bled.

Eddie sighed, pushing himself up from the couch and walking up to Richie until they were merely a breath away.

“If we’re doing this, you better make it worth my while.” Eddie punctuated his threat by running his index finger across the blade, pulling it back to inspect the bead of blood. Content with the sharpness of the knife, Eddie brought his finger up to Richie’s lips, smearing the blood across them like a lipstick.

Eddie sauntered towards their bedroom, leaving Richie to trail after him excitedly.

It took a few minutes for Richie to set Eddie up how he wanted him, but in the end, it left Eddie handcuffed to a chain hanging from their ceiling, kneeling above their bed with his knees barely reaching the mattress.

Eddie’s arms tensed with the strain of practically hanging by his wrists, and they looked so delicious Richie couldn’t help but get ahead of himself, leaving a little slice along Eddie’s bicep before they had even begun.

Richie unclothed himself, taking a few steps around the bed and assessing Eddie like an animal stalking its prey. When he was behind Eddie and fully out of sight he hopped up on the mattress, the sudden movement causing Eddie to startle. Richie chuckled darkly, tracing the knife along the back of Eddie’s neck.

“Are you going to get on with it or am I just going to hang here until the circulation in my wrists gets cut off?” Eddie asked tiredly.

“If you start to lose circulation, I’ll cut you down.” Richie said.

“You can’t cut through chains, idiot.”

“That’s not what I meant. But don’t worry, you’d still look pretty without hands.” Richie whispered into Eddie’s ear, grinning as he shivered in response.

In one quick succession, Richie slipped the blade around to the front of Eddie’s neck and under the collar of his shirt, flicking it away and pulling down as it cut through the fabric with terrifying ease. Eddie’s tan skin was flushed pink, the colors intermingling under his flesh and shining out like a light. It was an unblemished canvas for Richie to paint on, his knife a brush and Eddie’s blood his paint.

Before he could create his masterpiece though, he needed to rid Eddie of the rest of his clothes. It only took Richie a few flicks of his wrist to expertly cut away all of Eddie’s garments, leaving them in a pile of scraps surrounding them. Richie rounded Eddie, kneeling in front of him and gazing down the length of his body appreciatingly.

Eddie’s cock was already straining, curving slightly to the left as if seeking out Richie’s attention. Richie used the flat edge of his knife to hold it up, smirking as a pearl of pre-cum bubbled to the surface and on to the polished metal.

Richie made eye contact with Eddie as he brought the knife up to his face and made a show of licking the cum off it.

“Richie-” Eddie whined, tugging on his chains impatiently. He’d never been one to wait for good things, always wanting them done fast so he could reap the benefits sooner. Richie acceded, bringing the knife to Eddie’s chest, just under his peck, and leaving a thin red line it its wake.

Eddie hissed, more out of pleasure than pain. The knife was sharp enough that it didn’t really hurt, just stung slightly in the aftermath. Eddie let his head hang, examining Richie’s work, and was disappointed to see only a few droplets of blood had come to the surface.

He couldn’t help but compare it to his hand, which had been unbandaged and left to bleed freely down his arm, exacerbated by the pressure from the handcuffs. He wanted more like that; more intensity, more depth, more blood.

“Why the long face? Not good enough for my little slut?” Richie asked condescendingly, tipping Eddie’s chin up with the knife so he was forced to look him in the eyes.

“Not enough…” Eddie echoed bashfully.

“What was that?” Richie goaded, pressing against Eddie’s chin a little harder, the edge of the knife threatening to break skin.

“I said it’s not enough.” Eddie ground out, fighting the blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say so?” Richie responded cheerfully, a flicker of madness fliting across his eyes before he skilfully swiped his arm out, grazing Eddie’s flesh with the knife and leaving a slash across his stomach.

The shock made Eddie’s jaw drop. When he peered down at his skin he saw rivulets streaming down his abs towards his groin, which twitched with excitement at the view.

After that Richie didn’t hold back. He marred up Eddie’s torso, front and back, with varying sizes and depths of cuts. Eddie’s entire body stung, vibrating with the pulse he could feel in every vein that had been sliced open. His skin was puffed up and irritated, a mixture of smeared and fresh blood coating warm beige skin.

Richie had just finished a clean cut along Eddie’s hip bone when the man in question shuttered above him. Richie looked up, a nasty, knowing smirk on his face.

“You getting close, you little whore? Just from this?” Richie mocked.

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head back and forth but not trusting his voice to cooperate.

Richie laughed, turning his attention to Eddie’s cock, which was coated in blood and pre-cum. It was a beautiful sight, but not quite worthy of attention yet.

“One last finishing touch before I take care of you. Think you can hold out?” Richie sneered.

Eddie glared through his lashes, wanting nothing more than to spit in Richie’s condescending face. But he knew that wouldn’t bode well for him when he was chained up like this. So instead, he gritted his teeth and nodded minutely.

Richie leaned forward, bringing his knife to the top of Eddie’s peck, which he’d kept untouched with this exact intention in mind. With more grace than one should ever have with a knife, he carved out five little lines, pulling back to admire his work as it wept red.

“Now you’ll never forget who you belong to.” Richie stated, wiping a finger over the fresh cuts to smear the blood out of the way. Left behind were the letters “R” and “T”, only hesitating long enough to let Richie read them aloud before they were overflowing once again.

Eddie’s cock responded to the possessiveness, twitching out another thread of pre-cum. As much as Eddie would fight it, argue against it, would rather die before admitting it, at the end of the day he took comfort in the fact that he was Richie’s.

Satisfied with his work, Richie shuffled off the bed and towards their walk-in closet.

They had refurbished the walk-in to act as a vault of sorts, holding all their most important possessions. It’s where they kept their money, their weapons, and some of their more intricate or high-end sex toys.

Richie disappeared for a moment before returning with a cocky grin and a pair of silver gloves on his hands. He slapped his palms together, a muffled metallic sound ringing through the room.

They’d only made use of those gloves on one other occasion. They were cut-resistant gloves made from stainless-steel mesh, designed so the wearer couldn’t injure themselves when using sharp blades.

Eddie’s brain tried to connect the dots, figure out what Richie’s plan was, but his head was swimming from arousal and blood loss.

“Richie, what are you…” Eddie trailed off when Richie recollected the knife from where he’d left it on the bed, this time grasping it by its blade. He seemed to be inspecting the handle, devious thoughts flitting across his eyes that Eddie couldn’t discern.

It all clicked once Richie leaned over their bedside table, grabbing their bottle of lube and uncapping it.

“Richie, no.” Eddie tried to sound stern, his heartbeat suddenly hammering in his chest. He tried to wiggle around, a frivolous attempt at getting free. He knew it wouldn’t work, he was the one who rigged up the chains after all, and he did a damn good job at making sure whoever was hooked up wouldn’t be able to get down.

Richie ignored his objections completely, moving closer to Eddie on the bed and staring him down.

“I swear to fucking god, I will slit your throat where you sleep if you go anywhere near my ass with that.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Richie purred lowly.

Once they were only a breath away, Richie poured some lube out over the handle of the knife, holding it in front of Eddie’s face so he was forced to watch.

Eddie’s eyes kept darting between the knife and Richie’s face, struggling to decide whether swallowing his pride and pleading was worth it. On the one hand, he wasn’t a little bitch. But on the other… he didn’t need one slip of the hand connecting his asshole to his urethra.

As Richie’s hand disappeared behind Eddie’s back, the decision was made for him.

“Richie no- don’t you dare- I’ll fucking-” He was promptly cut off as the blunt curve was pressed up against his hole. The lube made it cold and uninviting, and Eddie clenched unintentionally in response.

“The more you fight it the more it’s going to hurt.” Richie tutted.

Eddie eyed the distance between himself and Richie, trying to calculate if he could make the lunge for Richie’s throat without his restraints pulling him back. It was too late though; any sudden movement now could result in a deep slice where he didn’t want one.

“Fine.” Eddie growled. “Just get on with it then.”

Richie didn’t hesitate to follow Eddie’s words, pressing the handle up within him with little warning.

It wasn’t particularly large, probably about the size of some of their smaller dildos, but with zero prep it still stung.

“Agh fuck!” Eddie hissed, arching his back away from the sensation. The sudden jerk made his limbs burn, bringing movement to his body which had been straining in a stationary position for 20 minutes. It sent new waves of agony to the slices in his skin, and bile threatened to rise at the combination of so much pain so suddenly.

Eddie forced himself to close his eyes, focusing on his breathing. Steady inhale, hold… 2… 3… 4… exhale. The key to getting through these situations was keeping his cool. The second he began to panic, or focused too much on the pain, his senses became overwhelmed and tried to shut down.

As Eddie focused on calming down and re-centering himself, he could feel Richie’s breath against his neck. He was mumbling things into Eddie’s skin that he didn’t pay much attention to, but the steady sound of Richie’s voice helped to calm his nerves.

The stimulation in his ass was starting to feel good. The handle of the knife was long enough to reach his prostate whenever Richie hit the right angle, causing a slow build of pleasure that was beginning to overshadow the pain. Without meaning to, Eddie let a little moan slip.

"Is someone finally beginning to enjoy themselves?” Richie teased. “Look how much precum you're leaking now that your slut hole finally has something to clench around.”

Eddie looked down to see that Richie was right, his cock was dripping wet and red at its head, twitching in excitement every time Eddie felt a new sting of pain. His brain and his body were in a warn for dominance over his pain tolerance.

Richie repositioned himself so he was lower, his face level with Eddie’s chest. Through hooded lids, Richie looked up at Eddie, locking on to eye contact before leaning in and taking a nipple into his mouth.

Eddie moaned immediately; the sensation too good to hold it in. His nipples had always been one of his most sensitive erogenous zones, and Richie so often forgot to pay attention to them, too wrapped up in his own pleasure. But in that moment, Richie was making up for every single time he’d neglected them.

He pinched the pink nub between his teeth, pulling back until Eddie’s skin was stretched as far as it’d go. It was so intense it felt like Eddie was hooked up to nipple clamps, but he had the added bonus of Richie’s warm, soft tongue teasing his peak. Richie let go, watching as Eddie’s skin snapped back against itself, mottled and wet.

He moved on to Eddie’s other nipple as he increased the pace of the knife, thrusting it deeper into Eddie’s hole. Eddie’s breath was becoming shaky, along with his legs.

Richie began lapping along the slices he’d made, biting at the flesh and teasing out more blood from the cuts that had dried up. He caught the dribbles on his tongue, savoring the bitter taste of iron. When he lifted his head back up to regard Eddie with a smirk, he had blood smeared around his mouth.

Eddie wanted to snort, absently thinking it looked like a badly done last minute Halloween makeup job, but his lungs couldn’t manage a laugh, his breath already shallow and weak.

He knew he was going to cum soon. Richie had been consistently hitting his prostate for a few minutes, the pressure and tempo solid and steady enough to make Eddie’s toes curl.

“Richie, I- I’m-” Eddie tried to stutter out a warning, his throat dry and a haze beginning to surround his vision.

“What, are you gonna cum? Already?” Richie patronized.

Eddie’s anger mixed with his desperation, watering it down enough to let him sacrifice his ego.

“Yes, yes please- I need to- please Richie-”

“So pathetic.” Richie scoffed. But despite his words, he still relented, bringing his free hand to Eddie’s cock and stroking a few times.

Eddie came with a shrill cry, the sound cracking and fizzling out at the end. He felt the pulse in his cock and the throb in his ass, and then everything went black.

Eddie’s not sure how long he was out, but when he awoke, he was resting against his pillow. He looked down at the sheets, still stained red with his blood and wet to the touch, so he couldn’t have black out for long. The next thing he registered was Richie laying beside him, his finger lazily tracing along Eddie’s stomach, where there was a small pool of blood tinted semen.

“Ew, Richie!”

Richie seemed to have been unaware of Eddie’s regained consciousness until then, startling momentarily as he looked up at him like a kid who’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Richie crooned, removing his hand from the mess on Eddie’s belly and wiping it on the sheets.

“How long was I out for?” Eddie asked, noticing his voice was coarse and attempting to clear it.

“About two minutes, give or take.”

“And you thought instead of trying to wake me up, you’d finish on me instead?” Eddie cocked an eyebrow, pointing at the cum that covered his stomach.

“Well, I took you down first.” Richie rolled his eyes, as if Eddie was missing the bigger picture.

“Thanks for not letting me hang lifelessly from our ceiling, I guess?” Eddie responded sarcastically.

“You are so welcome.” Richie sent Eddie an annoyingly charming wink before bouncing off the bed, disappearing into their hallway.

Eddie closed his eyes, noticing the way his head was pounding and his body ached. He wiggled his wrists experimentally, wincing immediately at the feeling. He peeked one eye open, hesitantly bringing an arm into view and gasping when he saw the bruising that was leftover from the handcuffs. It was atrocious, but also… mesmerizing. Eddie was tracing the galaxies under his skin when Richie walked back into the room.

“Drink this.” Richie gave little warning before he chucked a water bottle at Eddie, which he surprisingly caught with little effort.

Eddie blinked at it like he’d never seen water in his life. Really, what he’d never seen in his life was Richie taking care of him. It’s true that things didn’t usually get as intense as they had that day, but Eddie was used to always doing the aftercare himself.

“What, are you allergic to water suddenly?” Richie asked as he climbed back into bed.

“Is it drugged?” Eddie asked skeptically.

“Oh my god, you fucking baby.” Richie grabbed the water bottle from Eddie, cracking open the sealed cap and taking a swig before offering it back to him.

“Now drink. I don’t need you passing out on me again.”

Eddie eyed Richie, his chest feeling uncomfortably aflutter; a sensation he was only used to associating with a new kill or a shiny weapon.

He took the bottle wordlessly and chugged it, ignoring the tiny streams of water that escaped out the corners of his mouth and trickled down his chin. He pulled away from the lip of the bottle with a gratified sigh, not having realized how much he’d needed that.

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled.

“Don’t go soft on me, Eddie boy.” Richie warned, a lilt of tenderness in his voice.

They held eye contact for a moment before Richie cleared his throat, rolling on to his back and propping his arms up behind his head.

“So, who’s turn is it to do laundry?” He asked, nodding towards the bedsheets.

“Well, technically yours since it was my night for dinner.” Eddie drawled.

“But since I brought home food…” Richie let the end of his sentence trail off, the insinuation evident.

“Fuck off, asshole. Look at the state you left me in.” Eddie gestured to his body, his weakened arm protesting the movement.

“I can’t. If I look at you any longer, I’ll have to jump you for round two.”

“Richie, no-”

“How do you feel about spoons?”

“We’re not doing this-”

“Forks? Or maybe a ladle is more your style? A spatula-”

“I fucking hate you.”

“So it’s a decided, spork it is!”

[thepinkwriterr]

Lurking In Derry // Richie Tozier Chapter Five

After school I caught a ride with Beverly and Bill because Richie's dumbass got detention again.

I sat on the roof later that night, staring out at the stars. I was ignoring the beautiful scene before me, thinking about how nervous I was about anyone else finding out about Richie and I.

What if Stan accidentally slips up and says something about us? What if he tells the others and they tell Bill? What if Bill gets mad at Richie and punches him like he did when we were kids? What if he makes me stop seeing Richie? What if he's not aloud to be our friend anymore? What if-

My thoughts are interrupted by a presence next to me. "Y-you okay Muh-mac?" Bill asks, looking to me after he sits down. I nod,"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." I say, sounding more like I was trying to convince myself rather than him.

"Okay." He nods, turning to leave. "Bill-" I say softly, causing him to turn and look at me. "Yeah?" He asks smally. "Do you remember the day after we killed IT?" I asked, looking into his eyes.

I could tell I caught him off guard, as we never talked about IT, especially that last day. "Yeah..." He looked down, retrieving the most he could from the memory.

"When we got home Mom took us on vacation. She didn't even ask why we were so dirty, or where we got all those cuts." I laughed shortly. He cracked a smile,"Yeah. And in the c-c-car, we hugged each other pretty m-muh-much the whole time," He laughed,"Mom thought it was so cute."

His smile dropped suddenly. "I had n-nightmares for a year after that. I-I still do sometimes..." "Yeah," I nodded, looking down. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close.

"Bev and I b-b-broke up today." He broke the silence. "Really?" I asked softly, but still surprised. "Yeah." He nodded. "She thought we didn't fit right together anymore. I kinda agree. I could feel the feeling dying down, I guess..."

He leaned his head on mine, and we relished the quiet. In that moment, I felt bad for harboring such a big part of my life from him. But, I knew he would be mad. And-and I just love Richie so much... It's been years since that day we got chased by Bowers when we were 13. But, still, I can't help but feel guilt gnaw away at me as I sympathized with my hurting brother.

-

Two Weeks Later

-

I woke up in the morning, my alarm clock ringing in my ears. I groaned, throwing my hand onto the snooze button. I turned it off after I sat up, then stretched my arms.

I threw on the nearest outfit I had, still half asleep. Grabbing my black boots and backpack I walked lazily down the stairs. "G-good morning." Bill smiled, thin-lipped. "Morning." I yawned, falling into a white kitchen chair. "Tired?" He mused.

"You betcha." I groaned, hugging my knees to my chest. "Why are you in such a good mood?" "It's the last d-day of school before W-winter b-break." "Oh yeah..."

The knock at the door interrupted the response I had prepared. "That's Richie." I said, looking at my watch, then stood. "Have a good day!" I lazily called out as I walked to the door.

"Oh, Beverly-hi." I smiled as I opened the door. "Beverly?" Bill asked, getting up from the table frantically. "Hi." She smiled brightly, the sun hitting her eyes, lighting them.

I saw Richie's car turn into the driveway at that moment, thankfully giving me an escape plane. "Bye!" I called as I ran past her.

"Is that Bev?" Richie asked as I got in. "Yup. I know nothing about anything." I shrugged. He nodded, pulling out of the driveway. "Anyway," He placed his hand on my bare thigh,"hows your morning been?" He asked causally.

"Oh no, no, no, we're not doing this today. Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Hickeys!" I exclaimed. He sighed,"Oh c'mon, it's been two fucking weeks since that happened! I promised you I'd be mindful!" I shook my head. "Nope!" I grabbed his hand and put it on his thigh.

He sighed, pulling into the school parking lot. "C'mon," He started as he turned the car off,"I miss you." He kissed my neck. I pushed him away softly,"I do too. You can come over for the whole break. Just hold off until we get home." He nodded, opening his door.

He hurried to the other side of the car, opening my door for me as I grabbed my book bag. "Thank you."  I smiled sweetly, stepping out of the car.  

-

Richie and I impatiently sat in Chem, waiting for the bell to ring. The chime sent every student in the building into a frenzy. We stood, gathering our things quickly. We made our way to our lockers, packing up and heading down quickly.

As we packed our things up and started walking together, Eddie came into view. He gave us an odd look. Well that's weird, he never does that to me. Maybe Richie did something. Richie probably did something.

He threw his car door open, I copying his actions. We threw our stuff into the back, and he started the car. "I have to stop by my house to pack some clothes and stuff." I nodded. "You know we're having a big party tonight, right?" "Like...how big?" "Gretta's gonna be there big."

He groaned. "We'll never be left alone!" "We can just stay up in my room. I have a lock." He laughed manically, doing an 'evil genius' voice as he talked about avoiding social interactions. I laughed along as he made his 'scheme'.

Pulling into his driveway, he quickly got out and headed in. As I looked at the door, I thought back to that September night when we went to see the movie. He came back out with a backpack and large smirk on his face. "Let's go BITCH!" He yelled as he hopped into the car.

"Fuck yeah!" I yelled back as he sped down the street.

[takealottodragmeawayfromreddie]

Filling the blanks - Chapter 4

Pairing: Richie x Eddie x Bill (Reddie at the start).

Summary: During his last moments, Eddie realized he had something to say, but before he could finish the sentence, he was gone. Now he’s stuck between life and death and he knows he won’t be able to rest until he takes care of what he started. The only person he trusts enough to help him is Bill.

Or: The ghost AU where Eddie’s spirit can get inside of Bill’s mind to ask him for help to tell Richie he loved him.

Warnings: Canon Divergence (IT actually kills Audra) and, of course, death of major character. Some really heavy internalized homophobia in this chapter. Like, really heavy. Even some use of the F word that isn’t “fuck”. So, yeah, please be careful, the whole point of this fic is to make y’all have a good time, not triggering you <3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

AO3 link

Playlist on Spotify (mostly songs about Heaven and duel related stuff and 1980s hits)

And, as always, shout out to my beta reader @golden-marauders. Without their help, Richie would have a big obsession with coffee tables on this chapter. They’re amazing and super patient with me.

“Yeah?” Richie’s tired voice comes from the speaker of the electric doorbell.

Bill isn’t aware of what he had just done until he hears him. Before that, he simply pushed the button and waited for something to happen. It doesn’t feel that meaningful. But now, now that he knows Richie is there and there’s no way of going back, it all acquires a new importance. It’s weird how so many little actions like getting an airplane ticket, sitting on a plane and taking a cab can sum up to become such a transcendental experience. That’s all it takes to end forty years of denial. And a paper boat can be enough to break a family.

“Who’s there?” Richie insists, openly annoyed.

Bill clears his throat and notices Eddie’s difficult breathing in the back of his mind.

“H-hi, Rich. It’s B-Bill and…”

Wait. Not yet.

“It’s Bill,” he corrects himself.

Richie doesn’t say anything.

“B-Bill Denbrough. From… D-Derry.”

Bill licks his lips as they both wait patiently. Is a week all it takes? They can’t be sure. Being together, it’s obvious they won’t forget. But Richie is alone, and maybe he’s perfectly capable of moving on that fast.

“R-Remember?”

This time, Richie sighs.

“Yeah, of course. Give me a second.”

Suddenly, the gate starts vibrating.

“Come in.”

Bill nods as if Richie could see him and pushes the door open. It’s heavy. When he comes in and hears it closing behind him, he finds out everything in that house seems heavy, grandiloquent, exaggerated. The garden is way too big. Not even that complex, with lots of flowers or fountains or shrubs with animal shapes. Just plain large; foot after foot of short grass, healthy and bluish under the moonlight, and a broad way of gravel zigzagging all the way to the front porch. There’s probably a pool in the backyard, but this side of the house looks huge and vaguely upsetting. Vaguely empty.

They make it to the door and Richie is standing there. Bill can tell Eddie is nervous because he feels it in his own stomach and often finds himself fighting against the instinct of running away as he keeps moving forward.

“Calm down,” he warns him in a low voice.

Sorry.

The yellow light that comes from the inside through the open door, makes Richie look like a shadow, so it’s impossible to imagine how he’s feeling until they’re face to face with him. It’s a mixture of a well-received surprise and the expected fear of this meeting being about bad news.

“Hey,” he says, obviously trying to play it cool.

“H-hey,” Bill replies, scratching the back of his head.

They get quiet for a brief moment, Richie awkwardly looking around in search of something to say that can interrupt such a dense silence.

“It’s… good to see you again, Big Bill.”

The familiar nickname catches him off guard. It almost takes him back to the town they grew up in, where they went through the most traumatic experiences they could have imagined, where they learned that no one cared about anything. Where they lost two friends.

“I’m glad to s-see you, too, R-Richie,” he smiles, but it doesn’t seem genuine.

Richie nods, chuckling a bit. His content laugh fades away when he remembers what happened.

“I heard about your wife… I mean, not that I had to hear about it, I was there, but, you know. Everyone is talking about it on T.V. and... it sucks. It really sucks. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t get the chance to tell you I’m sorry back then.”

He gives Bill a small pat on the shoulder and Bill can’t help but smiling with sadness because of such a friendly gesture.

“I’m s-sorry, too. Thank you.”

“No problem. Just keep moving forward and you’ll be fine. It’s all about surviving.”

“W-well,” he says, staring at his feet, “It’s always been about sur-surviving, r-right?”

He notices Richie has gotten tense. It’s clear that they’re taking this ‘grown-up conversation’ way too far for him. He takes his time to talk again and, when he does, Bill can tell he’s trying to take weight out from the whole thing.

“It’s getting kind of chilly, don’t you think? Wanna come inside and… I don’t know, maybe have a beer or something?”

“I’ll say no to the b-beer, but I can… c-come in, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t. You’re lucky that all the strippers already left,” he jokes as they go into the house, “And I hope you don’t mind if I say yes to that beer.”

“Not at all, R-Rich.”

Richie closes the door behind them and Bill finds out he’s in the fanciest place he has ever seen. The interior of the building is even bigger, with a large corner sofa right in the middle of the living room, modern furniture like Barcelona chairs everywhere and a transparent coffee table along with them, and a huge kitchen integrated to the landscape. The dominant colors are black and white and several pieces of contemporary art —that Richie probably despises secretly— hang from the tall walls.

Astonished by the luxuries that surround them, Bill walks towards the couch and sits down, while Richie goes to the fridge and gets his beer.

“You sure you don’t want one?” he asks, not looking at him.

“No, t-thank you.”

“Alright, you’re the guest. But I wouldn’t sit there if I were you. Actually, I wouldn’t sit anywhere in this house.”

“W-why?”

“If something is in my house, I probably fucked someone on it.”

Before Bill can process what he just heard, his body stands up.

That’s it. I’m leaving.

“No!” He exclaims, louder than he intended to sound.

Richie stares at him from the kitchen, beer in hand and eyes wide open.

“Shit, I was kidding. I love that couch. I wouldn’t fuck anyone on it.”

Both Bill and Eddie sigh with relief and sit down again.

“Chill out, man,” Richie continues, “You look like you just—”

“Heard a ghost?”

“I was gonna say ‘saw’ but okay, you’re the writer.”

After shrugging, Richie goes back to the living room, sets the bottle on the coffee table and takes a seat next to Bill.

“Uh… you’ve got a… a n-nice house,” Bill comments, not sure of how to start a conversation.

Richie’s eyes seem to light up.

“Oh, why, thank you, Billy, my darling!” He answers, in a ridiculous southern belle voice, “Momma will be so pleased to know you find the family farm quite this—”

“Beep beep, R-Richie,” he chuckles.

They share a quick laugh. Bill can hear Eddie laughing, too. It feels so much like the old times he’s certain that he would be crying, if they weren’t busy enjoying the moment. But it doesn’t last long. As soon as the importance of the real reason they are there comes to light again, he stops. And Richie must feel the new atmosphere of seriousness, because he stops, too.

“Hey, I don’t wanna look like a bad host or anything, but… what brings you to my humble abode?”

It’s time. This isn’t a casual visit, and Richie knows it. He has to tell him the truth or give Eddie the space to say it himself. He waits a few seconds, but nothing happens. Eddie, who just instants ago was controlling him to leave because of a disgusting joke, is nowhere to be seen or heard. He won’t even talk.

“It’s…” Richie says, his grin falling and turning into a worried expression, “Everything’s fine, right? It’s not… It isn’t… Everything’s just… fine, isn’t it? I mean, we tore Its heart out. We…”

Bill soon gets what Richie is thinking.

“Oh, no, of… of course. It’s not about… It’s d-dead. It won’t c-come back.”

“Oh, great,” Richie exhales, relieved, “Well, you could have said that first, don’t you think?”

“S-sorry, I guess I’m a bit… n-nervous,” he smiles.

“Nervous? Why?”

Bill stares down at his own hands, fingers intertwined on his lap, foot tapping the carpet.

“I… Y-you know, with everything… what happened to A-Audra. We were… we were making a m-movie and now… Now I’ve got to talk to p-producers and get a new… a new actress or… cancel the p-project.”

“Oh, so… business trip, huh?”

“Yeah, buh-business trip. And I… I thought I could visit ‘cause… Well, we for-forgot once. We could make thing d-different this… this time. Like… keep in touch.”

This is not going like they planned. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But Richie seems so genuinely glad because he thought about continue with their friendship, that he doesn’t have the heart to rain on his parade. Maybe it’s better that way. He needs Richie to trust him as much as he can, if he wants the whole ‘unfinished business’ thing to work out.

“Uh…” Richie replies, “Yeah, why not? I mean, Bev kinda wanted to do something similar. She gave me her number and all. You know we were really—”

“C-close. Yeah, I know,” he nods, “So, have you… called her?”

“Nah, I don’t know if I will.”

“W-why?”

“She probably changed all her ways of contact, after… Well, after all the shit that sick fuck did to her. And she’s gonna marry Haystack, remember? They’re even looking for a baby. Even though I’d be the most amazing uncle ever, families aren’t my thing. They deserve their cute, suburban life, without someone to remind them of… of what happened. I guess the past is in the past for a reason… Shit, that’s deep.”

“It really is, R-Rich,” Bill chuckles, “But I don’t… I don’t think you’re right about t-that.”

“About what?”

“F-families not being your… your thing.”

“Oh, Bill, come on. ‘Hey, Haystack Jr., look, it’s Uncle Trashmouth!’ and I show up wasted and with two models in short dresses under each arm. Can you imagine?”

He shakes his head while frantically laughing, and Bill can’t help but laugh, too.

“It doesn’t sound that b-bad,” he jokes.

“No, you don’t get it. It’s Haystack Jr.’s birthday party. He’s turning five and all his friends from kindergarten are there! And then I try to hit on his super-hot teacher and pass out on the cake.”

“Okay, you’d be the w-worst uncle ever,” he agrees, still laughing, “But that doesn’t mean f-families aren’t your thing.”

“What makes you think that?”

“R-Richie, we are family. We always… we always were. Since f-forever. And you were always t-there for me. For… for everyone.”

Something changes in Richie’s face when he says that. His features get softer, sadder. He looks down and Bill knows, in that moment, that he broke his shell.

“Not for everyone,” Richie mumbles, and reaches out to get his beer and give it a sip.

“W-what… what do you mean?”

His friend laughs bitterly.

“We were the lucky seven. How many of us are still around?”

“Rich…”

“How many of us are still around, Bill?” He insist, a little more firmly.

“F-five, but—”

“That’s right, five!” He settles his beer back on the table with a loud noise and stands up, “Five of seven. Fucking five of seven.”

“R-Richie, that doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Oh, it doesn’t?”

“Of c-course it doesn’t!” he snaps, “We had a d-decision to make. You and I decided to c-come back, Stan decided to… to run away. That doesn’t m-make him better or worse, but it was his… his choice.”

“Oh, right, it was his choice. And what about what Eddie chose? Did he chose what happened to him, too?”

“W-well… yeah. No one f-forced him to—”

“Don’t give me that shit. It was us who were staring at the deadlights. It was us who left him alone, even knowing he was like a lost fucking puppy.”

“That’s b-bullshit! He wasn’t like… like that. What he did was b-brave.”

“Yeah, and you really taught him how to be brave, didn’t you? You really taught how to not give a shit.”

“Eddie didn’t n-need me to teach him how to be b-brave, ‘cause he was!”

“And how did he end? Huh, Bill, how did he end? What did ‘being brave’ bring to him?”

“He s-saved us.”

“Don’t say that.”

“W-why not? He did!”

“No, fuck you. Don’t turn his death into a poetic sacrifice or something like that. This is not one of your novels. He was coughing blood, Bill! It was dirty, it was disgusting, it was everything he hated… And we left him there. You made me leave him there.”

“W-what was I supposed to do? Carry his… his body out of the f-fucking sewers? It was still alive! It had my w-wife. My wife was still… a-alive.”

“And where she is now? Cool, we killed It, when are your wife and your brother coming back to life? When are Stan and Eddie coming back to life?”

Bill doesn’t answer. He just stares up at Richie, who was walking around the coffee table until a few seconds ago, and is now standing in front of him. By the look in his eyes, Bill can tell he regrets what he said. And of course he’s mad. Damn, he’s infuriated. He wants to punch Richie on his stupid face for all the poisonous things that come from his mouth.

But this is not about Richie. He needs to remember this is not about Richie. It’s about Eddie and, even if Richie doesn’t want to see him like that, for Bill, Eddie is a hero and his sacrifice was the most poetic and worthy thing ever.

Richie sighs.

“Shit, man,” he says, rubbing his temples, “That was a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”

“It’s a-alright, Rich.”

“I’m just…” He sits down beside him once more, “Look, I really don’t wanna talk about Eds, okay? I just don’t wanna think about him.”

“Maybe that means we should… we should start t-talking about it.”

“No, I really don’t—”

“Maybe you s-should.”

“Why?”

“It’ll make you feel b-better.”

“I’ll feel better when I can’t remember anything of this shit.”

“But you can… f-feel better now.”

Richie groans, exasperated, and stands up.

“Ugh, you really want me to talk about my feelings? Fine, I’ll tell you how I feel. Take notes to use it in one of your stupid books, if you want.”

Bill nods in signal of being prepared to listen.

“Here’s how I feel,” Richie continues, “I feel like a fucking asshole, okay? That’s exactly how I feel: like a fucking asshole.”

“R-Richie—”

“No, listen to me. Remember when we met again? When we all, except Stan, were there? Everyone was excited. I mean, yeah, it was the worst situation possible, but we were glad to see each other again. ‘Cause we were best friends and we missed each other. Well, wanna know how I felt when I saw him?”

He makes a pause and Bill doubts if he’s waiting for an answer before telling him. However, Richie keeps talking without any confirmation.

“I was disappointed. I was so fucking disappointed I wanted to… I don’t know, to go back home!”

Bill feels a flip on his stomach and that’s the only way he can tell Eddie hasn’t left. He rubs his own shoulder in an attempt of comforting him.

“I was disappointed ‘cause I remembered everything. How ‘brave’ he was. How he didn’t take shit from anyone, not even me. He always spoke his mind and called me out when he thought I was being an idiot. Damn, when we were kids, I’m sure he could have bit my fingers off if I tried to pinch his cheek on a bad day.

”He even told his mom to fuck off when he found out about all the lies she told him. And you know how scared of that woman he was. Eds basically… feared nothing. But he changed. You can’t tell me he was the same when we met again.”

“Of c-course he wasn’t. So many… so many y-years…”

“No. It’s not about growing up. He didn’t grow up; he gave up.”

“W-what are you—?”

“He gave up, Bill! He grew softer. After all the shit that woman did to him, he ran right under her boot again when he had the chance. He yelled at her and then apologized, and looked after her ‘till she died. I heard him talking to his wife on the phone when we were in Derry. She’s the fucking same person his mother was! She controlled him in the same way his mother did. And he took it. And he told her he loved her and couldn’t wait to go back to her. Thirteen years old Eddie wouldn’t take that. He would fight back. And then I realized that that Eddie didn’t exist anymore… and I felt so disappointed. I couldn’t believe he allowed the world to tame him.”

I didn’t mean to leave. I didn’t mean to do anything of that.

It’s the first time Eddie speaks in a while, and Bill knows he expects him to say that out loud. But Richie is not over yet.

“And then he… Then he kicked Bowers’ ass. He killed him. And he went and died for us. I know he died for us, okay? I just don’t wanna think about it. And I felt… and now I feel like an asshole. ‘Cause I felt disappointed on a friend that gave his life for mine. There, that’s how I feel. Are you happy now?”

Bill, tell him I didn’t mean to leave. Please.

“H-he didn’t mean to leave, R-Richie.”

Richie looks confused.

“What?”

I made a promise.

“He made a p-promise.”

“A promise?”

She didn’t want me to hang out with you guys anymore. She wanted to lock me away from everyone.

“His mom. His mom didn’t want him to… to s-see us.”

“What the—”

I promised her I’d took every pill and be with her forever if she…

“He p-promised her he… he’d do whatever she w-wanted…”

Didn’t make me get away from you.

“If she didn’t… make him get a-away from… from us.”

Richie thinks it over. His expression is skeptical, but Bill knows he’s trying to process it. He isn’t opposed to trust him and what he’s saying, it’s just that it’s not only hard to believe, but it also feels so far away. Bill has been with Eddie this whole week, his questions were answered and he had time to digest all the new information.

For Richie, who spent all these days alone and is consciously waiting to forget and resume his life, the events around It must feel, at best, like an odd dream he doesn’t want to remember. Being face to face with what happened has to be a big shock. They all thought it was over, and now it proves it will stay with them for years, even if they can’t put their finger on what is going on.

“How…” Richie begins, and Bill holds his breath, “How do you know that?”

“Uh… S-sorry?”

“How do you know about that? How can you know about that promise Eddie supposedly made?”

That’s it. If he keeps waiting for the right moment, it will never come. The right moment is now.

“’Cause Eddie… Eddie is not g-gone.”

Richie takes his time to answer.

“Fuck, really? You’re giving me the ‘he will live forever in our hearts’ speech? That’s why you came here?”

“No, R-Richie, you don’t… you don’t get it.”

“I totally get it. Alright, the man is dead, he was our friend, it sucks. Poor guy, seriously, what a shitty way to go. But he’s gone and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“H-he’s not gone. Lis-listen to me—”

“You’re the one who wanted to care for the people who are still around. I don’t say it in an ‘it’s all your fault’ way. I mean, you’re right, let’s worry about the living, that’s the best thing to do. And… I’m a Christian, too, you know? Okay, the worst Christian ever, but I still am. If believing that those who left are somewhere and look after us is your thing, that’s amazing. But I—”

“I-I’m not giving you the… the f-fucking ‘he lives in our h-hearts’ speech, id-idiot,” Bill interrupts him, frustrated, “I can literally hear him in my… h-head.”

Richie frowns. Until now, the tone of his voice has been empathetic, almost amused, like he thinks Bill is going through a denial phase and he doesn’t want to break his bubble. Like he’s so over this all that listening to Bill talking about Eddie still being around awakes his compassion. Now, that compassion is gone. He stays in silence for an instant, he takes a few steps back, and everything that’s left is perplexity.

“What?” He questions.

“I know it’s hard to b-believe, but… Eddie’s here. Here,” he taps his own temple with his index finger, “He’s inside my… my head.”

“Uh… are you into scientology or another crazy celebrity cult? ‘Cause this sounds like cult stuff.”

“N-no, please, listen. Eddie d-died, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t leave. He still had something to d-do on… on Earth.”

“Oh, so you are into a cult. Okay, won’t judge you, I just… It’s scientology, right?”

“Will you just h-hear me out, please?”

“I just wanna know if it’s scientology!”

“No, I’m not into fucking s-scien-—”

“Scientology,” he finishes, pointing at him.

“What-whatever, I’m not. J-just listen. E-Eddie got into my b-body because he had to… to do something. And that’s why I’m h-here.”

“Buddhism!” He exclaims.

“No! F-fuck, no, you don’t even know what B-Buddhism is ab-about, do you?”

“I first thought about Judaism, but Stan was Jewish and he never got possessed or anything like that.”

“Fucking God…”

“Are you sure it isn’t scientology?”

Bill groans and stands up.

“I’m not a fucking s-scien-scientologist! This isn’t… This isn’t r-religious stuff or cult stuff or w-whatever you said. I’m telling you the truth! A f-few days ago, Eddie got into my body and asked for my help. He said he wanted to leave, but… h-he couldn’t. He has un-unfinished business and he won’t rest ‘till he takes c-care of it. It has something to… something to do with you and that’s why I came. I’m just trying to h-help him.”

“Man, are you okay? You want me to call someone or anything? Are you doing drugs?”

“He’s here r-right now.”

“’Cause let me tell you, drugs aren’t cool at all, okay? If your friends pressure you to take them, they’re not your friends.”

“He’s hearing this whole c-conversation.”

“Bill, I won’t ask you again, put all your drugs on the table.”

“Please, R-Richie! You’ve got to listen. He… he needs you to l-listen.”

Richie growls.

“Okay! If it means that much for you, tell me. C’mon, tell me what ‘Eddie needs me to know’. I’m sure it’s gonna be bullshit.”

“Y-you’re such an idiot! He was in love with you!” Bill snaps.

This time, he seems to reach the part of Richie that has been hiding during the whole meeting. Sure, he had his emotional moments, but now he looks so hurt, so enraged, Bill starts thinking he’d be capable of committing murder at this point.

“Excuse me?”

Bill crosses his arms over his chest. Even though he is scared, he has to stay firm.

“W-what I said.”

Richie takes a deep breath, as he’s trying to calm down. He probably doesn’t want to harm him and has to put a lot of effort into controlling himself.

“If that was supposed to be a joke, you should leave the comedy to me, Big Bill.” He quietly warns.

Bill gulps, building up enough courage to not withdraw what he’s saying.

“It’s not… it’s not a joke.”

“Bill, really, take that back. This isn’t fucking funny.”

“It’s not a j-joke!”

“Look, I’m really trying here, alright? I’m trying not to break your nose for this, ‘cause you’re my friend and I care for you and I know you’re going through some heavy shit right now. But if you don’t—”

“J-just think about it! Why… why would I l-lie to you? W-we fought an… an evil demon clown! Is this… That’s not harder to be-believe?”

“No, it’s not fucking harder to believe! I saw that thing, It was there, It killed people. But you’re telling me our dead friend is inside your body or whatever and that he was…”

“I-in love with you,” he completes, soft and careful.

The words still affect Richie like the first time he pronounced them. It’s like Richie is sticking to his common sense, looking for a logic explanation, and every time Bill tells him Eddie loved him, it goes past his rational side and goes straight to his unconsciousness. He is not ready to accept it, but he knows it.

Despise this, it doesn’t pulls him out from his anger for too long.

“Okay, you’re asking for it,” he tells him, a look of determination and fury in his eyes as he walks towards Bill, rolling up his sleeves.

Bill wants to stand there and use his words, try to bring Richie back to his senses without physical violence. But during his attempt to be polite, a fist gets shot against the air, and it passes so close to his face he realizes talking is not an option.

Luckily, Richie had a beer and is upset, while Bill remains sober and functional, so his reflexes are enough for him to bend and avoid another punch.

“P-please, you’ve got to—” he begs, taking the first chance he gets to run away from his reach.

“Shut up!” Richie shouts, going after him and throwing more arbitrary hits that never touch him.

They trot around the couches and chairs of the living room, even walking over them when it’s necessary. Bill knows Richie is not at his best form. When they were kids, it would have been a very tough fight and any of them could have won, but now Bill is sure he’s capable of sending his friend to the hospital.

He doesn’t have a reason to escape. Also, escaping wouldn’t be a hard thing to do. If he hurries, he can get to the door and Richie won’t ever be able to find him.

There’s a lot of things he could do, but only one will help Eddie.

“R-Richie, I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna fight with y-you…” He says when he’s at a safe distance.

“Oh, you don’t wanna fight?” Richie mocks him, shortening the gap between them, “Sure, you’re so over this, aren’t you? You’re so fucking mature. Well, if you really wanna be a man, then come here and fucking fight like one!”

Bill is cornered now. His back is touching the front door —subtly palming the doorknob, in case he can’t no longer control the situation— and he can smell the alcohol in Richie’s breath and feel his hands grabbing his collar. They’re in pause, no more pulling or throwing fists, but it won’t last. They both know it won’t last.

“I-I’m not gonna fight you. I… I won’t. You’re my f-friend.”

“Then why are you doing this, Bill? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you… I don’t know, are you gay for me? You want my dick or something? I mean, c’mon, your wife died like… a week ago! What do you want from me?”

“I’m not gay! I’m just… I’m trying to… to help E-Eddie.”

Richie reliefs a cynical laugh.

“You’re trying to help Eddie? How? What the hell are you talking about?!” he reclaims, shaking him.

“I already… t-told you. I promised I’d… I’d h-h-help him.”

His eyes are starting to burn, filling with tears that Richie doesn’t seem to mind. His fury is consuming him, turning him into someone else. If the term ‘monster’ applied for them like it applies for common people, that would be the word to describe him right now.

“You’re fucking crazy, Bill! I don’t know what this all about, why you’re trying to make me believe in your ghost bullshit or what do you want from me, but you’ll shut the fuck up. I don’t wanna hear anything and the least you can do now is saying you’re sorry.”

“S-sorry? For what?!”

“For spreading lies about him! You can’t say shit like that, he’s not here to defend himself!”

“But—”

“No, you listen! He was not a faggot, got it? Get it inside your fucking head: Eds was not a fag—!”

He doesn’t end the sentence. As soon as he tries to repeat the insult, Bill’s left hand raises and slaps him in the face so hard it makes him lose balance. So hard his fingers leave a red mark all over his cheek.

Bill wants to apologize. He’s mad, of course, but he didn’t mean to take it that far. He didn’t mean to do that. However, the expression of regret won’t come out. He can’t talk. He can’t move one single muscle. All he can do is stand there, staring at the prettified mess that is Richie at this moment, looking at him with wide eyes and his chest raising and falling agitatedly, as his feet make him go backwards, short and slow steps.

“Don’t call me that,” Bill’s voice murmurs, except that he didn’t order it to do that.

Richie watches, even more disconcerted than before, be it for the words themselves or for the fact he didn’t stutter once.

“W-what?” he asks, no trail of wrath in his tone.

Bill can see the bottom of his own frowned eyebrows as his chin raises in a gesture of challenge. His left fist is closed, but his right arm hangs against his body, not moving at all.

“I said don’t fucking call me that, Richie.”

Richie gulps, still touching the mark on the side of his face. His eyes look slightly wet.

“You know I…”

Silence.

C-come on, Eddie. You can d-do it. I know you can. I know how b-brave you are.

Bill’s lungs slowly fill up with air. Then his mouth exhales.

Richie is waiting.

“You know I love you.”

Tag list: @trippy-alexissss

I know there was more people who wanted to be tagged, but I lost the list with their urls so, if you want to be tagged, please let me know and I’m so sorry for these problems.

[movedcoffee]

How Long? (Richie Tozier x Reader)

Part 1 [Current One] | Part 2

Author Note: Guys I’m alright now! Sorry this isn’t a request or a series, but the idea just hit me. I hope you guys enjoy though! Also they’re Sixteen or Seventeen in this imagine, just because of the party.

(Y/n) should of listened to the damn voice. She should of known that this wouldn’t end well, but he was so convincing. A small scowl appeared on her face as she thought about Trashmouth. That asshole... She couldn’t forgive him after that night. Everything had spiraled downwards and left her scrambling or just a piece of herself. Her whole body for once had felt numb as if nothing could matter anymore. She despised that damn party.

I'll admit, I was wrong, what else can I say, girl? Can't you play my head and not my heart?

Greta had approached (Y/n) that day after school. The girl had a devious smirk across her face that sent goosebumps across (Y/n)’s skin. Greta had leaned against a nearby locker making (Y/n) sigh.

“What do you want Greta?” (Y/n) asked. Her voice could easily sent chills through the toughest skin as she slammed her locker shut. Her (E/c) eyes practically pierced through Greta as she turned to face the girl.

Greta scoffed slightly and (Y/n) didn’t miss how she rolled her eyes. (Y/n) winced slightly as Greta smacked her gum loudly. She was tempted to tell her to chew with her mouth close, but Greta began to speak making those thoughts vanish from (Y/n)’s mind. “Look (Y/n). We aren’t on the best terms at the moment-”

“We never were,” (Y/n) cut in quietly. Greta shot her a venomous look before continuing.

“But that aside, I’m inviting you to my party tomorrow night.” (Y/n) frowned slightly trying to ignore the annoying smacking noise Greta was making. “So are you going to come?” Greta asked bluntly. Her eyes scanning (Y/n) up and down causing her to shudder.

“Look Greta that-”

“Hey Hot Stuff,” Richie called out easily calming (Y/n)’s nerves. The tall lanky boy appeared at her side. His lips turned up in his signature smile as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His eyes fell on the girl before (Y/n) and his smile quickly fell. He wrapped an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulder glancing between the two. “Is something wrong here?” He asked glancing down at (Y/n).

(Y/n)’s chest suddenly felt like it was burning as Greta obviously checked out Richie. It caused (Y/n)’s stomach to knot up and she had the sudden urge to knock Greta’s face in. She opened her mouth to speak when Greta quickly spoke up, “Of course not!” (Y/n)’s body tensed as a small smirk formed on Greta’s face. “Me and (Y/n) were talking about my party. I invited her and your welcome to come as well,” Greta purred making (Y/n) scowl.

The only thing that held (Y/n) back was Richie’s arm wrapped around her waist. Richie grinned slightly as he pushed his glasses back up. “That sounds like fun! We’ll definitely be there,” He stated catching (Y/n) off guard. She looked at him wide-eyed, but he just smiled at her.

Greta twirled a strand of her hair flashing a smile at Richie. “Can’t wait to see you there~” (Y/n)’s blood boiled as Greta turned around and made her way down the hall.

Once Greta was out of sight (Y/n) whirled on Richie. “What was that?!” She hissed. Her eyes were practically blazing, but Richie still had that smile across his face.

He chuckled slightly as he ruffled her hair. “Relax Hot stuff. We could do with a little fun. I’ve hardly seen you lately,” He stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

(Y/n) huffed slightly as an uneasiness grabbed a hold of her, but the way Richie’s eyes twinkled with excitement made her relax slightly. “You really want this?” Richie nodded sending his curls all over the place and making (Y/n)’s heart melt. “Alright... We’ll go.”

I was drunk, I was gone, that don't make it right, but I promise there were no feelings involved, mmh

(Y/n) slipped through the sweaty bodies of her fellow classmates. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she tried to refrain from shoving people out of the way. Her eyes were jumping from one person to the next searching for the familiar mop of black hair.

Richie had expressed how he was going to find her something to drink claiming, “I can’t have you getting drunk so I should get it.” However that had been nearly twenty minutes ago. (Y/n) couldn’t explain it, but there was a feeling in the back of her neck that made her think that something was wrong. It didn’t help that there was a nagging voice in the back of her head. Taunting her with the fact that there was so many girls who pined after Richie at the party, but he wouldn’t do something like that.

At least (Y/n) thought so until she found him. She had stumbled into the kitchen, it was considerably less crowded, and there she found him. Him and Greta were pressed against one another as if they were bound together.

Tears pricked (Y/n)’s eyes as her chest began to ache painfully. “What the hell is going on?” She asked harshly. She was struggling to breathe evenly now. Every breath was like she was drowning, and perhaps she was.

Richie pulled away from Greta a look of pure terror spread across his face. His eyes locked with (Y/n)’s nearly sending her over the edge. Greta let out a giggle. Her eyes flashing mischievously as she replied, “What does it look like?”

(Y/n) turned away and was quickly out the door.

“(Y/n) wait!” Richie called out almost instantly following after her.

She said, "Boy, tell me honestly Was it real or just for show?", yeah She said, "Save your apologies Baby, I just gotta know"

“Hot Stuff!” Richie called out. The thundering music from the house faint now as the two managed to escape to the lawn.

(Y/n) whirled around her eyes burning with tears. The crystal water staining her cheeks as she spat, “Just shut up Richie! This was all some sick joke was it?! Back to your playboy ways again?”

Richie’s shoulders slumped slightly. His big doe eyes now sparkling with his own tears. “(Y/n) that’s not true you should-” His voice was soft. The one he often used to ease her anxieties, but it wasn’t working this time.

“Know that it’s not true?” She cut in. She laughed bitterly and ran a hand through her hair. Her eyes met his and she just shook her head. “Don’t bother Richie. Just don’t, but I need to know one thing.”

Richie was desperate at this point. He would say anything just so he could explain himself. “What?”

How long has this been goin' on? You been creepin' 'round on me While you callin' me "baby" How long has this been goin' on? You been actin' so shady (shady) I've been feelin' it lately, baby

“How long have you been with Greta?” She asked. Her voice breaking as her body began to quiver. Richie’s heart seemed to shatter seeing how broken she suddenly seemed. Her big (e/c) eyes meeting his as more tears fell. “How long have you been sneaking around Richie? Because I want to know how much of it was real.” She was wiping at her eyes now. The tears glittering as they fell one by one.

Richie took a step forward. His heart shattering with every tear she spilled. “(Y/n),” He mumbled quietly. His eyes still focused on her unaware of the car now pulling in the driveway. The one that would ultimately be the girl’s saving grace and Richie’s demise.

“How long?”

I'll admit (I'll admit), it's my fault (my fault), but you gotta believe me When I say it only happened once, mmh I tried (I tried), and I tried (I tried), but you'll never see that You're the only I wanna love, oh, yeah

“(Y/n) I swear it was just this once,” Richie stated softly. Now tears were falling from Richie. His vision blurring because of them and a few fell on the lens of his glasses.

(Y/n)’s nose wrinkled and she scowled at his words. “That’s bullshit,” She snapped harshly. Richie shook his head and took a step forward. He opened his mouth to speak.

“(Y/n)? Richie?” Beverly’s voice rang out and it took Richie a moment to realize who it was. He was too late though. Almost instantly (Y/n) lunged for Beverly and practically collapsed in the girl’s arms.

“Beverly, Richie he,” (Y/n) hiccuped before continuing, “was with Greta.”

Beverly was quick to shoot Richie a hateful gaze and shush (Y/n). The red head quickly got (Y/n) in her vehicle and gave Richie on last glare, before taking off with (Y/n).

Richie stood there watching as the car vanished in the distance. His chest ached as he realized that (Y/n) was gone probably for good. His chest heaved with every breath as a sob escaped him. If only he could explain that Greta had cornered him that night. That he had tried to push her away, but from her angle it seemed like he was pulling her close. If only he could explain that he only loved you...

That was impossible now though, because you obviously weren’t going to come around Richie ever again.

Forever Tags:  Forever Tags: @gryffinclaw-marauder @themyscirahs @tomhollandsquackson@galaxial @multi-parker @babyhollands @exoticeggos @antcnystark @fightmetsukki @jennajosepn @dailygubler @destielsangels @xlovee@shippingfangurl @addie-baby @ladyfairenvale @apartofthelosersclub

[not-another-imagine-blog]

Not Too Hot About It (Auston Matthews)

Anonymous said: Hi! Can you do an Auston Matthews one where he's got an irrational fear of something (heights, oceans, you pick!) but he has to face it for some reason and the reader is there for him and helps him through it? Thanks!

Word Count: 1794

Author’s note: With the release of It, I decided to kind of tie it into this story, since they filmed the movie in Toronto. With that being said, if you’re scared of clowns, you pry shouldn’t read this. I didn’t make it graphic or anything, just a guy walking around dressed as a clown.

You had never thought you were the type of person to be in a movie. Sure, you had acted in a play or two in high school, but acting professionally was for people who were actually good, and for people who were actually committed to acting. Since you just liked acting as a hobby, you figured your days of learning lines ended when you graduated.

After being coerced by a group of your friends into going to the open auditions for the new adaptation of It, you were thrust back into acting when you got cast as Richie Tozier’s older sister. This being a once-in-a-lifetime experience, you really had no other option in mind than to accept the role.

The decision would have been a little different if you had known that Auston was terrified of clowns.

When you called Auston after learning you got the role, you were ecstatic. Auston, although excited that you were going to be in a movie, almost threw up when he found out which movie you were going to be in. Not wanting to spoil your success and happiness, he shoved his feelings to the side in order to support you just as much as you supported him.

Thankfully, you never sent him any pictures or videos of that damn clown, explaining to Auston that Andy, the director, wanted to keep the fear as natural as possible by not allowing Bill Skarsgård to be on set dressed as the clown unless he was filming a scene. Instead, Auston’s phone was full of shots of you ‘mothering’ the young actors and videos of the cast goofing off.

Although Auston was very supportive of you, you wanted him to come to set and see you in action. While he was busy with hockey most of the time, he wasn’t busy all of the time. Mitch, Willy, Matt and Sydney had all managed to find time to come out and check out the set, your young castmates being in awe of your ‘adult’ friends.

“So, we’re filming the scene at the Neibolt House tomorrow.” You bring up to Auston while you’re driving with him to go out to dinner with some of your friends. Auston makes a noise of acknowledgement without taking his eyes off of the road. “You don’t have practice until three tomorrow, and my call-time is eight in the morning.” You hint. Auston sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“And you want me to come to the set with you tomorrow?”

“Well aren’t you smart.” You’re both silent for a minute, the grin on your face slowly dimming as time passes. “Will you?”

“Will I what?” Auston responds. You huff and slip your hand away from the one that Auston doesn’t have on the wheel.

“Will you come to set with me tomorrow?” You ask.

“I don’t-”

“Auston.” You snap. His eyes flicker from the road to you, seeing the expression on your face. “I don’t understand what you have against seeing me at my job. I love you, and I am at every single home game. I stock up the kitchen so the other rookies don’t starve, I have insane amounts of ice in the house for ice packs and ice baths, and I wash your gross hockey gear.” Even though this is a serious conversation, you can’t help the slight smile on your face as Auston nods.

“And you know I appreciate all of that very much.”

“Then why can’t you put in as much effort as I do?” You say bluntly. “A relationship is supposed to be both people putting in equal amounts of effort, but lately it feels like I’m putting in a hell of a lot more than you are. If there’s something bothering you about this, just tell me-”

“There’s nothing bothering me!” Even though you guys tell each other everything, the idea of letting you know just how terrifying something as dumb as a clown is to Auston seems unfathomable. “There’s nothing bothering me, (Y/N).” Auston reiterates. “I’m not going to promise that I can be there for too long, but I’ll go with you tomorrow.”

“Really?” You gasp, a grin on your face. Auston nods.

“Really.”

“Fantastic! Because I promised the kids that they would get to meet you before we wrap.” You trail off.

“Meeting Mitch and Willy wasn’t enough for them?” Auston asks.

“For some reason, they all really want to meet you. Can’t say that I see why they do, though.” Auston looks at you, a look of faux shock on his face.

“How rude, (Y/N)! Shouldn’t you be nice to the person buying you drinks tonight?”

“I think we’re a little past that point in our relationship, babe.” Auston slows to a stop in front of the bar, turning the car off as you lay your head on his shoulder. “Thank you. I don’t think you know how much this means to me.”

“I’d do anything for you.” He mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now let’s go inside. I’m sure Matt and Freddie are already trying to outdrink each other.”

You’re nearly bouncing in your seat with excitement as you drive yourself and Auston to the studio the next morning, excitedly flashing your pass to security.

“Good morning, Anne!” You chirp, sending the security guard a friendly wave.

“Morning, (Y/N).” The woman shoots you and Auston a smile as you pull forward, driving to the makeup trailer to get ready for the day. You eagerly jump out of the car, ready to show the set to Auston (or show Auston off, same difference), but stop when he hesitates.

“What’s wrong?” You ask upon seeing the pale look on his face.

“Is...is the clown going to be in there?” You shake your head slowly.

“No, Bill has such complicated makeup that he has a completely different trailer. Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Auston shoots you a small smile as you look at him warily before gesturing for him to follow you.

The next half hour passes by in a blur of excited squeals from younger castmates upon meeting your boyfriend. Auston’s cheeks are flushed from the attention he receives, something that you know he’ll probably never get used to.

“Can we take a group picture?” Finn Wolfhard, your ‘little brother,’ asks. Auston nods.

“Of course!”

“Cool! I’ll go get Bill, he’d be pissed if he didn’t get to meet you.” Jack Grazer races off, not noticing the less-than-satisfied look on Auston’s face. Auston pulls you to the side of the group as you smile at him.

“Thank you so much for this. I know that the kids have been kind of crazy-”

“No, they’re great! You know this is my favorite part of being a hockey player. It’s just that, (Y/N), there’s something that I haven’t told you before…” Your brows furrow as you lean closer to Auston, trying to give him some sense of privacy so that he can feel comfortable telling you whatever it is he’s hiding. Before he can speak, however, the door of the trailer bursts open, Jack walking in, followed by the towering figure of Bill Skarsgård. He doesn’t have his wig or costume on, but his makeup is frighteningly complete as he shoots a sheepish grin to Andy Musichetti.

“Sorry for breaking your rule, but I figured that this would be excusable.” Bill turns to Auston, a huge (admittedly creepy) smile on his face. “Hey man, it’s great to meet you, I’m a huge fan.” Auston smiles tightly, tentatively gripping Bill’s outstretched hand.

“(Y/N), babe, can I speak to you outside for a moment?” You nod, grabbing Auston’s arm and dragging him outside.

“What’s wrong?” You ask once the door closes.

“You told me I wouldn’t have to see him!” Auston hisses.

“Who? The clown?” Auston nods.

“Yes! The fucking clown!” You’re confused for a moment before realization dawns.

“Auston, are you scared of clowns?”

“You can’t tell anyone, okay? The guys on the team will kill me if they find out I’m scared of clowns.” You chuckle lightly and stand on your tiptoes, kissing his cheek as he avoids your gaze.

“Auston, it’s okay to be scared of clowns. So many people are scared of clowns; it’s perfectly normal! Besides, Bill’s a really nice guy. If there’s ever a guy dressed as a clown that you want to meet, it’s Bill.” Auston sighs and sits on one of the steps leading up to the trailer.

“I know it’s a dumb fear. I’m a nineteen year old man who’s scared of people wearing mime makeup and bright outfits.” You shrug.

“Fear often doesn’t make any sense, Aus. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, all we know is that it scares the hell out of us. And yet, we keep going, even when we’re scared out of our minds.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Auston smirk and nod slightly as you take a seat next to him.

“You supposed to be an actress or a philosopher?”

“Neither; I’m supposed to be a college student who’s dating a really nice guy who, it turns out, is human.” You lay a hand on his knee, Auston laying his own hand on top of yours. “It’s fine to be scared. Just know that I’ll always be with you to face your fears, just like I know you’ll be there to help me face mine.” Auston leans in to kiss you, but you both jump at the sound of your younger castmates hooting and making kissing noises.

“You would think that wouldn’t phase us now. This definitely isn’t our first date.” You laugh and kiss Auston, ignoring the kids’ shouts.

“C’mon, let’s get this picture over with so you can get out of here.” Auston shakes his head.

“What makes you think I wanna leave? I haven’t even got to see you act yet. You say that you’re so bad at it, I want actual confirmation that you’re as good as I think you are.” You grin and throw your arms around Auston.

“You’re the best! Thank you so much for sticking around!”

“Relationships are all about giving equal amounts of effort. You’re there for me with my weird hours and busy schedule, the least I can do is suck up having to stare at that fucking clown for a few hours so that I can watch my amazingly talented girlfriend do what she loves.” Auston opens up the door of the trailer and lets you in first. As you all pose for a group picture, you make a mental reminder to tell Bill to take it easy on the spook factor between takes. Anything to help Auston.

[bidisasterevanbuckley]

it has a title now!

Caught in the Middle (2/?)

prev. / next

Red flags were blaring in Bills mind when he’d finally gotten an update from Stan. If his job didn’t leave him with the knowlege of what goes on out on the streets they work he would have written both of them off as paranoid. They were being watched by someone because they were now connected to Bill. He already managed to get Georgie safe from his line of business, he can protect his new friend and boyfriend.

Bill felt niave, he hadnt realized how closely they were being watched until Bev had handed him a manilla folder. She simply rose her perfectly sculpted brow silently telling Bill to follow her. Avoiding grabbing any unwanted attention, Bill followed her to her office without a single peep.

Once safely shut in her office, she plopped into her chair and waited as he sat across from her, pulling glossy photos from the stiff folder. The picture on top was the day Stan let him meet Richie. Or let Richie meet him depending on your prospective.  They were at a little cafe they had helped through hard times. The pictures in succesion had shown Bill arriving at the table they two had gotten comfortable at. Stan standing to give him a hug. Then shaking Richies hands before the three re-situated themselves. They had been there for hours just talking. It was a wonderful day, but a chill ran down Bills spine now, that day started this all. He should have been more careful, people follow him with typically empty threats all the time. They shouldn’t have to deal with this.

The next set was of Stan at work, slightly blurred in the window of the building. He was placing books back on shelves, his co-worker fixing tags close behind. The following picture, Bill almost wanted to keep. Stan looked beautiful, mid-laugh, probably at something his co-worker said. Who is now looking familiar through the blur. The one with a big genuine smile had Bills heart skipping a beat.  Bev cleared her throat to break him out of his daze, flipping through the next set of pictures.

It was Richie at work, his shirt was an awfully bright color wit the kids gym logo on it. The front tucked into his pants as he had lead by example, handstands against the wall. Face red from being upside down for god knows how long. The pictures in the set had Ricie returning to his feet, looking graceful for once in his life.

Knowing they are being followed to their place of work has Bill unsettled. There was still a hefty ammount of pictures he hadn’t looked at yet. That fact put dread in Bill. Where else had they been followed. He almost doesn’t want to know.

Taking a deep breath, Bill moved onto the next picture. It was Stan out early in the morning, the ligt hitting him so perfectly he looked godly. He was at the park binoculars and all, birdwatching before everyone flocked to burn their kids energy. Birdwatching. He was birdwatching. Bill felt a tug on his heart strings, he looked cuter than ever doing something so mundane. There were more from that morning, Stan taking polariods and sticking them in the book he brought along.

The pictures thusfar were all taken in public, Bill felt uneasy but full panic had yet to set in as he flipped to the next set. It was pictures of them alone, or hanging out together but all in public.

Bill could only hear is heart beat as he continued. There was a picture, crystal clear a shot into their living room. Both boys on the couch, a bowl of popcorn inbetween them, wrapped in blankets as Richie chose a movie. He was slipping through them faster now. Richie asleep on the couch. Stan making breakfast. Stan asleep in is own bed. Richie in is bed.

Pictures of the day Richie had locked himself in a public bathroom and called Stan crying. Him practically running across the street and into an arcade. Stan showing up. Then them both leaving. The creep was close enough to have a clear shot of Richies red blotchy face. Stans knuckles white, holding Richies hand so tight. That was followed by the two curled up in Stans bed, both clearly in a restless sleep.

“Wuh-What can I do right now to protect them.” Bills jaw set as he looked down at the photo in his hands.

“There’s always having our people watch them, it’d open a window to find the crepe taking these.” Bev offered.

“I don’t want them to feel eh-anymore puh-paranoid. They already feel this creeps eyes on them. I wont go behind their backs.” He pointed to the picture of Stan and Richie outside the arcade “He luh-locked himself in the bah-bathroom. He cuh-called Stan crying. He nuh-knew this creep was f-following him.”

“What do you want to do, tell them about what you really do for a living? Get them involved in this? Then what?” Bev had a point, he hated that she always had a point.

“Could we assign bodyguards to them? I won’t give any in-information about what we do. Stan thinks I’m a normal duh-debt collector.” Bev was rubbing his temples. “I’ll ask Stan how he fuh-feels about it, then we can move on from the-there.”

“You’re making this job harder, Denbrough.” There was a beat of silence. “Make sure he’s a hundred percent okay wiht being watched like that. I’ll pull files of our best people.”

Bill could kiss her. “Thank you s-so much Bev! I owe you one!”

He could hear her laugh as he left her office. “You always owe me one, Denbrough! Let me know what happens!”

-

He and Stan were having lunch in the shared appartment when Bill brought it up. “I duh-don’t feel com-comfortable leaving you and Richie alone.” Stan raised a delicate eyebrow placing his glass back on the table.

“What do you mean? We’re fine.” Bill eyebrows drew together.

“Meeting eachother halfway from work and home isn’t fine.” Stan now had sat back with his arms crossed. “I nuh-know you and Richie are more than capible of taking care of yourselves and I may be over stepping a boundary.” Stan didn’t look happy, this wasn’t going well. “It would give me a puh-peace of mind knowing someone was here for you guys, watching out for any sus-suspicious people. I know it would take a weight off both of you to not worry about being alone for extended puh-periods of time.”

“I appreiciate your concern, but this is someting I’d have to run by Richie” Bill noticeably relaxed as Stan dropped his defensive look.

“If you ch-choose to allow body guards in your life, I’ll bring you some files of people I trust.” Stan snorted.

“How many guards do you need, Denbrough?” Stan was now leaning forward, chin rested on his hand. “Is being debt collector that dangerous?”

Bill laughed this time. “You don’t know the ha-half of it, Uris.

If Bill took longer to get back because Stans lips were addicting, Bev didn’t have to know. Being pulled back into the appartment to soft lips again with whispered words was something he didn’t want to give up. Yeah, Bev didn’t have to know.

-

A weight was lifted off his shoulder when Stan texted him that night a list of time he and Richie he were home and to bring his files of body guards. Once he glanced at the time a new weight entered, Stan never texts him past midnight. First thing the next morning Bill swiped up the files of body guards from Bev and headed to the shared apartment.

-

Richie was the one to answer the door, he looked tired. He squinted at Bill witout his glasses on, dark circles under is eyes. "Hey, Bill. Stans in the kitchen.” The shorter boy stepped back letting him in. “I’ll join you guys in a minute.” Richie patted is arm before heading back towards his room.

Bill smiled as his eyes fell on Stan as he’s pouring two cups of coffee. “Hey,” Stan turned and threw a smile over is shoulder as Bill left the files on the dining table. moving to place a kiss on Stans temple. “Good morning.” he was met wit a mumbled greating and a cup of coffee handed to him and a kiss placed on his own cheek.

Stan looked as tired as Richie. Dark cicrles and paler complextion. “How’d you sleep last night, babe.”

Stan sighed into his cup of coffee. “Something happened. Richie wont tell me what happened.” He hadn’t looked uo from his cup. “He stayed in my room last night, he didn’t fall asleep until late. Even then it was restless.” Bills eyebrows drew together, no wonder he accepted the offer of bodyguards so soon.

Before anything else was said Richie showed up, looking sligtly more awake, his glasses magnifying his own circles. Looking like actual bruising on pure white skin. He sat down, placing his water carefully of the files sitting on the edge of the table. “So what do you got for us, Big Bill.” he wasted no time swiping up the one on top.

-

Richie had been drawn to Mike Hanlon. Given Mikes file is the only one her was interested in enough to completely read. Many of the others he read one line and passed over to Stan. “Are you really just a debt collector, Billiam? Why would you need to have worked with all these body guards?” Richie had a goofy smile on is face. Bill looked to Stan who was hiding his own smile behind the folder of Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Shut up, Richie.” Stans tone was light, he had this look in his eye. Bill was caught off guard by Richies scoff.

“A betrayl, Staniel. You of all people.”

It was Bills turn to laugh “Staniel, really now.”

“I’m amazed we’re still friends Tozier. Once that trashmouth gets going, I shut off.” Stan had punctuated his statement, mouthing a blah blah blah while hand puppeting it. The two errupted into laughter much like the day Bill had met Richie. They played off eachother scary good.

-

It was all going smoothly until Richie opened up the last file, “Wait Stan don’t, you work with Ben?” Bills heart stopped as he handed the file to Stan. How did someone like that slip through.

Stan had directed his attention towards him. “Why is Ben in your files of bodyguards?” Time to lie his ass off.

“Do you mind if I see? Our files are guh-getting re-or-rganized, there had to be a mix up.” Stan hesitated, before handing the Bill the file before getting a chance to read it. Bill hoped the relief wasn’t clear on his face, Ben was in the wrong section. He’s been a look out, not a body guard. Bev must have pulled his file for something else, she knew from pictures alone that they knew eachother. “Ben suh-sometimes hands over the puh-payments for your boss, we keep them all on file.”

Richie shrugged his shoulders in the shit happens manner. Stan previous expression fell, “Okay, babe.” Bill didn’t like the glint in is eyes, like he didn’t fully believe him. “Now tell me about this Eddie character. How much do you trust him?” Stan gave Richie a look for not asking questions before he chose Mike.

Bill however took the chance to change the subject. “Eddie is most feisty person I’ve ever met. He’s on the short side but he has so much fight in him when logic goes ou the window.” Stan looked impressed, Bill took the second to turn to Richie. “Mike is the best option for you. He can stop a problem before it arises. Better for slightly reckless and spontanious people.”

Richie fake gasped. “I’m not that reckless, am I, Stan?”

“When we met in middle school you were running for your life from Bowers. You still had a baby face and you were picking a fight with Bowers. I’d count that as reckless.” Stan had on his deadpan voice. Bills eyes were wide, hoping it wasn’t the same Bowers he was thinking.

“Henry had it coming and you know it!” Ofcourse it was the same bowers that had given him trouble before. Honestly how rude of you to leave out the important part of the story.“ Richie had turned to Bill. "Bowers had stolen Stans yarnmulke that morning. I didn’t necessarily pick a fight, I ran through Bowers gang and snatched it back. I may have called him an asshole, yes. But i didn’t pick a fight.” Bill felt proud of the shorter man before he glanced back at Stan who was smiling with a bit of color dancing back to his cheeks.

“You are one buh-ballsy idiot, Richie Tozier. I like that.” The three shared a lighthearted laugh. Yeah this would work out fine.

-

Their morning was cut when Bev started texting him about what needed to get done today. “Sorry to cut this wuh-wonderful morning short, gentlemen. But duty calls.” Richie snorted at Stans pout. “I’ll call out my boys and see how fast I can get them on a schuh-schedule to watch you guys.” Bill leaned down to kiss Stan. “I will however see you tonight.”

“Get a room.” Richie groaned as he swiped up his glass of water and making a quick exit. Stan laughed against Bills lips before kissing him again.

“I’ll see you later, Bill.” He didn’t want to leave, Stan looked so soft. Shooing him off, pushing his files into his arms. “You got work to do.” Bill laughed placing one more kiss on his a beautiful boy before he absolutely had to leave.

- 

He placed the files back on Bevs desk, reorganized, who they’re hiring, rejected and Bens file which he will be asking her about later.