#read one last night and richie was like “i can order for us if you’d like” and i had to close out of it bc he would never say that?

[reddje]

y’all ever read a reddie fic and just have to stare bc they wouldn’t say that?

[djarinbarnes]

me olvidarás - two

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings for the chapter: charming javi. (yes he needs his own warning) kissing. making out. doubtful javi. curse words. in thoughts. flirting. a lot of it.

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: an undeniable warm summer vacation in Bogotá. simply trying to get away from your nosey, boring parents and live for once, you meet a man who impresses you beyond where your imagination could ever take you.

a/n: the slow burn is here. ugh.

previous chapter · series masterlist

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You made your way through the stuffy bar, eager to finally try a Colombian specialty of a drink. You had done some researching from home, and it excited you. You knew you wanted to try the traditional aguardiente you had read about, and that was exactly what you were going to try.

You propped your elbows onto the counter of the bar, liquids smearing against your elbows as you leaned over the bar to place your order to the bartender. With a nod directed toward you, he places the shot in front of you.

It’s clear as water and with shaky hands you empty the shot into your mouth. It’s strong in your mouth, and you wince slightly at the taste of anise lingering on your tongue. You’re not used to the heaviness of anise and liqueur in this way, and with an intake of breath you’re coughing roughly, having inhaled the fumes stuck in your mouth.

You wince as you hear a voice beside you, flagging down the bartender to get you something to take the edge off your coughing. The music is loud in your ears and you feel slightly uncomfortable in the given situation. You smile warily when something bubbly and orange is placed in front of you, a straw being presented to your lips.

You open them reluctantly before taking a big sip of orange soda. You sigh in content before you take another sip, feeling the way the stranger beside you is eyeing you up and down. You feel the stranger’s eyes linger on your exposed ribcage, barely covered by the silver, glittering low-cut top you’re wearing over your bralette.

“First time tasting guaro?” His voice is smooth as velvet, the words rolling off his lips sensually as he brings his elbow to the bar, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand, watching you as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

For the first time, you turn and look at him. And holy shit. The white button-down he’s wearing is neat, very neat, the mustache on his upper lip so perfectly groomed, his brown eyes watching you intensely as you stand there, possibly looking like a fish out of water - gaping and lacking breaths.

He’s hot, beautiful even, and you’re easily taken aback by the way he moves when he orders a double whiskey for himself. His hair is slightly unruly - tousled to what you would call something between perfect and what would be left after hands had run through it under… Stop it. He’s a stranger, for god’s sake. You bite your lip, trying to slowly compose yourself as he looks away, bringing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“First time in Colombia,” you tell him and take another sip of the soda he’s bought you. The right side of his lips draw up slightly as he nods and you feel a surge of heat go straight from your heart, into your cunt. God damn it he was a sight for sore eyes.

“You up for anything else than a shot of guaro and soda?” You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, with the way one of his eyebrows raises as he turns back to you, but you shrug slightly before moving a tad closer to him, to hear him better over the noisiness of the bar.

“If you’re offering to show me what’s good, then I’m not one to decline.” You retort with a sly smile, grinning inwardly when he braces himself slightly against the bar. You watch as he flags down the bartender yet again, ordering something you don’t hear over the music.

You blink slightly when another six shots are placed in front of you, slightly scaring you. Was he trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you? You weren’t really sure, but… you decided now was the time to get drunk with a stranger in a stuffy bar in a city you just landed in.

“Three for you, three for me.” He says as he moves two at a time, three toward you and three toward himself. “Let me know what you think.” You grasp the first shot in between your fingers at the same time as him and bring it up to your lips simultaneously with him. Then you halt.

“Wait.” You stop, still holding the shot by your lips. You watch as he raises his eyebrow just once, yet again, as if it was the twitch of a muscle. “I don’t even know your name.”

He smirks before letting out a short puff of laughter, shaking his head slightly. You pout slightly at his reaction before you decide to defend yourself. “What? I wanna know the name of the handsome stranger whom I’m about to get drunk with.”

His teeth tug his bottom lip between them swiftly, before you both down your shots at the same time, maintaining eye contact through the whole ordeal. He leans in closer to your ear to shield his words from the noise. You can smell the alcohol radiating between the two of you - you’re not sure if it’s your own breath or his - but it’s good. New. Exciting.

“I’m Javi.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You have no recollection of how much time you and Javi spend at the bar. The two of you hit it off so easily, like you’d known each other for a long time. Maybe it was the alcohol continuously spilling in between you, or the fact that he was charming and transparent with you.

You learned that he was pushing 40, had worked at the Colombian embassy for a couple of years as an agent in the Drug Enforcement Administration, and was currently on leave after a gunshot to the shoulder. He told you it barely hurt anymore, but you definitely noticed slower movements from his injured shoulder.

You also learned he hated being on leave, and that he was better off working his days away than relaxing and being bored, as he said so himself. It was a very last-minute idea he’d gotten, to go out on a Wednesday evening to get drunk, but he made it clear that it was more than worth it.

He told you about how toe-curling he found the telenovelas constantly playing on the only three channels his tv could take in his building, how he almost only listened to American artists like Lionel Richie and Prince (even though The Supremes were his favorites) and how he always had a cup of coffee before and after every meal.

With the number of cigarettes he smoked, you wondered how he was able to keep his shirts so white. Every time he put out one, barely five minutes passed before he’d lit another. You wondered where they kept coming from - if he had a whole carton on him, just for the sake of it. You remembered hearing somewhere that smoking excessively would leave awful stains on everything, but so far, you didn’t see where that statement was coming from.

You told him about yourself too, and how boring you found your parents to be. He laughed with you as you told him one of the most embarrassing moments you had experienced with your parents, which they hadn’t found embarrassing at all.

How you had trouble finding someone like-minded like you. You told him how you hated when your parents would set you up with whomever friends’ sons, they were meeting, as if they could find a perfect fit for you to date.

That was one of the main reasons you hadn’t had a boyfriend yet. Because there just weren’t any alluring men in your city that could be a potential man for you. They were just boys. You weren’t even sure they had proper knowledge about the female genitalia.

You told him that your favorite book was none other than the classic Pride and Prejudice, how you’d read Jane Eyre more than ten times because of the storyline Jane has, which you find so heartbreakingly beautiful, and how you sort of relate to it.

You also tell him about how hard it is getting through uni as an English Lit major, with the period you’ve just finished. “Right now, I hate the renaissance. I mean… Shakespeare is amazing and all but analyzing so many of his works in tow of each other is just tiring.” You sigh and take another sip of the rum and coke in front of you. Javi is listening to you intently, watching your every move as you explain.

“I mean, Cervantes is truly one of the best Spanish writers of all time, and Don Quixote is a masterpiece that deserves all the recognition it’s getting, but I also feel like we’re all oblivious to everything else it stands for.” Your breathing is heavy as you finally stop yourself from rambling and you look at Javi with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m… rambling...” you feel the heat spreading through your cheeks with a giggle, wondering if you’ve scared him off completely by impersonating a waterfall. You can feel his eyes on you when you look away, like they’re trying to get through to something hidden inside you.

“It’s alright.” Your eyes return to his face and there’s that smile again - it makes your heartbeat faster in your chest. “You’re passionate about literature. It’s impressive.” He reaches out, and for a moment you’re sure he’s going to take a hold of your hand. Instead, he diverts his hand when he notices you watching him and brings it back to rub at the back of his neck. He breathes out, whispering out another word you can barely make out. “Impressive.”

“Oh… Okay,” your words are too barely a whisper, and you’re unsure if he’s heard it. You feel all the shyness that hadn’t been present all night slowly seep into your body while watching him through your lashes as he takes another swig of his whiskey before lightning another cigarette.

You silently admire the way the orange hue makes its way toward his lips, slowly dissolving the tobacco. It was almost like art - watching him suck the dangerous fumes into his lungs before exhaling the white smoke. You watch as his fingers tap the body of the cigarette, flicking the spent ashes into the tray on the bar.

He sighs, his hands find back to its original spot on the bar, and you discretely reach out to caress the underside of his arm, where the white sleeve of his shirt is stretched over his tan skin. It’s like the last few hours didn’t happen, and you’re back to strangers. It’s a bold move of you to even reach out for him.

Why did it have to get awkward now? You think as you swiftly play with the hem of his sleeve, watching your fingers as you twirl a thread around them. His hand finds yours and you look up at him, catching the way the lights reflect in his eyes. He has put out the last of the cigarette just seconds before, his exhale still white from smoke.

You close your eyes slightly, enjoying the way the smell of nicotine lingered on him. You had never been one to like the smell of cigarette smoke, but the way he wore it made your nerve ends tingle. What you wouldn’t do to taste the nicotine on his lips. You flick your eyes up, meeting his gaze again.

His face is closer now than when he whispered in your ear, and you find yourself blushing again. You really want to kiss him. His lips look so kissable as well, like… like soft, plump pink rose petals. You felt every sense of restraint disintegrate slowly, while you unhurriedly gather enough courage to lean into the heat radiating off his body.

You’re watching his face as you deliberately lean in, closer, closer, until your lips are resting just over his. You should be disgusted with the smell of his cigarette filling your nostrils, but the way it mixes with the scent of him, you find yourself loving it. Craving it. Wanting more.

“Don’t want to take advantage of you,” he whispers against your lips, the gentle brush of his lips against yours setting your every nerve ending on fire, causing electricity to burst through your limbs. “Want you comfortable,” he breathes again, tilting his head just the slightest before flicking his eyes over your face. “Want to taste you.”

He takes in the gradual reddening of your cheeks and the way your lashes rest against them. “I am comfortable,” you murmur, before tilting your head sparsely, your lips finally meeting his. The feeling that hits you is indescribable, like somebody has ignited a thousand firecrackers behind your eyes and in your body.

It sounds cliché - the first kiss with someone drawing out those reactions in you. It’s the cliché of every teenage romance movie you’ve ever seen, like the way fireworks go off behind them or the casual leg-bend that happens every time. That’s what it feels like, though.

His lips move against yours ever so softly, his tongue gently swiping across your lower lip as his hand finds the side of your neck. The rough pads of his fingers are considerate and tender as they softly caress your skin, his touch leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You silence a whimper into his mouth as his tongue finally gains the access it’s begging for, the tip of it gently meeting yours. It’s unfamiliar, both the feeling of a foreign tongue in your mouth and the coarse feeling of his mustache against your upper lip.

It feels amazing, though. Your fingers, previously playing with the sleeve of his shirt, are now gripping the front of it tightly, holding him close. Your heart is beating so loud against your ribcage you’re afraid he’s going to hear it over the deep bass still flowing through the speakers of the club.

You find it hard to breathe, mixed with the breathlessness of kissing him, finally, and the lack of air from you not wanting to breathe into his mouth directly. Your lungs are struggling with the lack of air, and you squeeze your eyes tighter, to hold on for as long as possible.

Your parting comes sooner than you would’ve liked - way sooner - you silently wish that your lips would’ve stayed connected for eternity. His forehead is resting against yours, your breaths mingling in the sparse space between the two of you. You flick your eyes upwards slightly, taking in his closed eyes before they fall again, focusing on the way his shoulders are rising languidly.

Before you know it, he’s kissing you again - pulling you closer to him with one single pull. His arms are holding you tightly, one hand swiftly caressing your back as the other holds the back of your neck, softly caressing your hairline.

This time it’s your mouth that’s insistent on getting another taste of him. Your tongue explores the soft pillow that’s his bottom lip, tasting the lingering essence of tobacco and whiskey. A small moan escapes your lips as his tongue meets yours in the opening of his mouth, pressing against yours to let him back into your mouth.

Your hand comes up to grasp the back of his neck, fingers intertwining in the short, dark brown curls resting at the nape of his neck, urging him on. Your other hand is working its way under the arm that’s holding your body close, landing against his shoulder blade like it’s where it belongs.

His mustache is tickling your upper lip as his mouth ravishes yours in the most intense kiss you’ve ever experienced. Well, it was easy to make out the intensity scale with the two kisses you had ever experienced. This one definitely took the crown.

You didn’t even know how it had come to this point, kissing a stranger on your first night on vacation - well, not exactly a stranger anymore, but certainly not a previously known acquaintance. All you knew was that it felt so damn good, and that you wanted to stay right there in his arms forever.

Your hand slides down swiftly, feeling up the side of his body, and there’s no doubt he’s in shape with the number of tensing muscles you feel under his shirt as he holds you, but it’s also clear to you that he is indeed an older man.

There is a soft bagging over the top of where his belt is resting on his slim hips, and it ignites something inside you, that you hadn’t even thought possible. There’s no doubt this man has experience, but you’re not exactly keen to find out just how much. All you want to do, is to stay lost in the flurry of emotions you’re feeling at this point.

In a shortage of breath from both of you, you finally peel yourselves from each other, taking in the others disheveled state. There’s a slight pause between the two of you, before you both break out into grins, soon thereafter joined by giggles and laughter.

You finish the rest of your drink swiftly, watching him over the rim of your glass before you put it down. “One more?” He smirks and you offer him a smile, before you nod.

“If you’re offering.” You watch as he nods before signaling the bartender again, for the 10th time that evening. You watch as he makes your drink behind the bar before placing it in front of you. He looks between you and Javi swiftly, before speaking up.

“Cerramos en 20” he says, leaving you two again, but this time with a bill in front of Javi. You look it over with a smile, wondering how much you had to contribute with. Javi blocks your view before pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, throwing a good amount of pesos on the bar to cover the bill.

Your mouth falls open when he turns to you, his eyebrow raised at your expression. “He should be the one tipping us for the show we just gave him.” He laughs, and you can hear it comes all the way from his stomach. You can’t help but join in. Well, that’s one way to say it.

“They’re closing in 20. Finish your drink,” he pulls on the leather jacket he draped over the back of the bar stool he’d been sitting on, and damn if that one piece of garment doesn’t suit him startingly. “You mind if I walk you home? I’d like to make sure you’re getting home safe, so I have a chance of seeing you again.”

You can’t help but smile at his question, giggling as you quickly down the drink the bartender has placed in front of you, before you’re getting off the bar stool you were sitting on. “Sure.” You whisper in his ear as you walk out of the bar with Javi hot on your heels.

You can feel his eyes on your hips as you saunter out of the bar, twirling once to see if he’s still following you. He is. And his eyes are trained on you like a hawk on its prey. His lips tug between his teeth as he watches the curve of your body being engulfed in the dim rays of the rising sun.

It��s like you’re some kind of ethereal being right then, sent to him by the gods. He never truly believed in heaven and anything else superstitious before this exact moment in time. Seeing you right at that moment - it changed something within him. He usually did the whole relationship without the aspect of love. Scratch that - he never did proper relationships.

Yet he couldn’t help but think that you, at that moment, could be a part of his future. He felt his heart pick up the pace when you smiled at him, as you reached out your hand for him to take. It was like he imagined what your whole future could look like, right there.

He steps out into the morning light overshining Bogotá as he takes your hand, his eyes reacting poorly to the already brightly illuminated city. He brings a hand to rest against his brows as he halts in his steps, squinting his eyes to get his vision back. As the whiteness clears from his eyes, the first thing he sees is you.

It’s in stark contrast to the dim lighting of the bar - out in the sun he can see just how beautiful you are. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but he feels his heart pick up the pace again. He feels like a teenager again. Your voice fills his ears and at first, he doesn’t really hear what you say. Your plump pink lips are just moving angelically, taking his breath away.

Then you’re pulling him by the hand, and he follows you. He’s amazed that you manage to hurry through so many small passageways, since it’s only your second day in Bogotá. He watches your back the whole time you’re leading him wherever the two of you are going.

He notices a constellation of freckles on your shoulder that slithers its way up the back of your neck, and he finds himself wanting to kiss the skin there. He almost runs into you when you come to a stop, turning to face him with rapid movements.

“How do you still have this much energy?” He breathes - he is out of breath. He watches you, your chest rising rapidly as your smile beams at him.

“You’ve paid for my drinks through the night. Let me repay the favor.” You grin as you gesture toward the small restaurant you’ve led him to. The small restaurant is already buzzing with life, and Javi still has no recollection of what time it is.

It doesn’t really matter when he’s in your company. “I walked past this place yesterday when I was exploring. I wanted to try their pancakes and a cup of real Colombian coffee.”

His hand is still intertwined with yours, and you’re swinging it slightly between you, as if it would help you convince him to let you buy breakfast. He nods then, making you smile even wider.

“Guess I could use a cup of coffee that isn’t homemade.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The pancakes you’re eating are the perfect combination of sweet and spongy dough. You almost moan when the freshly made syrup-glazed bite fills your mouth. You notice Javi watching you from the other side of the table, and you offer him a close-mouthed smile.

Your cheeks are full of pancakes, and in that moment, he realizes just how young you are compared to him. It unsettles his stomach just slightly - he’s never been one to overthink hooking up with someone, but right at this moment he’s starting to second think his decision.

He’s afraid he’s gonna be the one who ruins you completely with who he is, and the story he has. It’s never been easy for him to have relationships. He even had the audacity to leave his former fiancée at the altar.

He never knew why he was unable to commit himself, yet he found so much hate within him, diverted at himself. He just didn’t understand the impulses he would have. He could fuck three different women in the same day, if he wanted to. He didn’t even know where his libido came from.

He watches you as you chew your way through your sugary breakfast, all while occasionally taking a few sips of your coffee. He sips his own coffee in silence, just observing you as you fill your empty stomach. He should be eating something.

When you finally lean back against the backrest of the chair, your plate cleared and your mouth swallowing the last bite of pancake, you offer him another smile. This time it’s with teeth, though.

He feels his heart beat like that again, and he doesn’t fucking understand why you’re doing this to him. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way about someone he just met. Yet he can’t help himself.

He watches you without a word, simply observing you as you look around the small restaurant, the street in front of it bustling with life by now and your eyes observing every person walking by.

He admires the way your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip, your tongue most likely finding some residing syrup. It runs over your lips twice more and he feels a jolt run from his heart right into his groin.

It ignites everything inside his body, and he closes his eyes slightly, imagining things he definitely shouldn’t be imagining at this point. He barely knows you. He sort of feels bad. Yet he can’t stop himself.

When he opens his eyes, you’re looking directly at him. “Where did your head run off to?” You tilt your head with a slight smile playing on your lips, and he finds himself getting lost in your eyes again.

This is the first time he’s actually getting to look into them properly. Dazzling orbs are watching him through lashes, compelling him to do things he’s sure he’s going to regret later. He’s simply mesmerized by your eyes. He feels like you can see right through the barrier he’s been working on and putting up for so many years to shield himself from the problems of the world.

“You really don’t wanna know, hermosa.” The words leaving his lips make your heart beat faster in your chest, again, and oh man if this man isn’t going to be the end of you. Even with the little-to-no experience you had, you were sure you would let him do anything he wanted with you.

You scoot to the edge of the chair you’re sitting on, feeling a sudden surge of confidence overcome you as you let your chin rest on your palm. Your foot slowly extends out, finding the inside of his calf under the table before it makes its way north lazily. “Try me. Maybe I’m thinking the same thing.”

He feels a breath getting stuck in his throat. That he definitely did not expect from you. With the little knowledge he had about you, he hadn’t expected you to come onto him so strong. He definitely didn’t mind your interest in him - you were a beautiful woman.

He leans forward slightly, over the table to get closer to you. He doesn’t need the whole restaurant knowing their business. “Maybe I’m not the man for you, hermosa.” Your hand unexpectedly takes his, and he yet again finds himself taken aback.

“Maybe I’ll let me decide for myself.” You whisper to him, before retreating yourself from his personal space. You dig through your small handbag to find your purse, pulling out pesos to cover the bill along with a tip. You rise from your seat with a smile, scooting the chair back under the table.

He’s reluctant to follow your movements, so you speak up. “Were you going to follow me home, or have you changed your mind?” You challenge him as you watch him stand as well. His eyebrow raises slightly at your statement before he signals you to leave the restaurant with his hand.

“So, where do you live?” You ask him as you both leave the restaurant. He walks beside you with his hands deeply buried within the front pockets of his jeans as if he’s scared of touching you.

You walk beside him with your hands clenched at your sides, desperately wanting to touch him again. There’s something infuriating and infatuating about him at the same time. It’s not easy to read him, and he knows it. He loves it.

“I live in one of the apartments ordinated to me by the organization. They have some apartments close to the office.” He tells you, and the rest of the way home to your rented apartment is with small talk between the two of you. You feel the distance between you now, like he regrets the fire he undeniably has started within your body.

You turn to him when you finally stand in front of the small apartment, you’re currently residing in. You offer him a small smile, unsure of what to do at this point. How were you ever going to say goodbye to him? You didn’t really want to.

His fingers move a strand of hair out of your face before he’s grasping your head in his hands again, placing his lips against yours again, finally. You realize by then that you have been craving the feel of his lips against yours, the smell of him once again making its way to your nostrils. Tobacco, whiskey and something you can’t place - maybe sandalwood or cedar.

Your lips move against one another slowly - sinfully - and you catch yourself grasping the front of his jacket within your fists so tightly it hurts. His hands are persistently holding your face close to his, further deepening the kiss.

The kiss leaves you breathless yet again, and you find yourself craving more and more of him. You want to know everything about him. You want all of him. You detach your lips from his with a sigh, your eyes closed as you await something, anything.

Yet nothing happens. When you open your eyes to look at him, he’s already watching you. You turn your body slightly, digging through your handbag to find your key. You unlock the door swiftly as he watches you, slightly out of breath himself. He watches you step into your apartment, feeling a slight sense of anguish at the way you’re not inviting him in. Or so he thought.

“Would you like to come in?” Your words are low and soft as you ask him, almost like you’re afraid he’s going to refuse. Your heart falls in sync with your face, as he hides it in his face. You watch as he rubs his fingers over his eyes with a sigh.

“I better get home. I need to sleep for a bit. I am an old man, after all.” He tells you and watches the way your face falls. You nod though, as if you’re letting him know that you’re alright with it, even though he can clearly tell you aren’t. “I’ll come pick you up later today? Maybe I can show you some of the city.”

Your face brightens instantly, and yet again he has to remind himself just how young you are. He knows already he’s going to hurt you, but how he’s going to do it is unclear to him.

“I would love that. I think I may need some sleep as well.” You say with a smile before you’re stepping back out through the door to place another kiss against his lips. You know by now that you will never get tired of the feeling of his mustache against your skin. And boy were you wanting to feel his mustache against other parts of your skin as well.

“I’ll see you then.” He says as he departs from your front step, and you watch him as he walks down the road, occasionally looking over his shoulder to see if you’re still watching him, before he turns around a corner, and out of your sight.

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next chapter

[soulwillower]

crush culture • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: fic where Richie and reader have been best friends since kindergarten, and have always had feelings for eachother secretly, until one day richie gets a girlfriend (just to take his mind off her), and the reader gets jealous and distances herself from him? he obviously gets upset by this- and things go on from there? sorry if it’s too specific! love u!

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of death, fighting, mentions of an abusive relationship, intentionally pissing off richie, a bit of angst, richie is an oblivious idiot, but reader is MUCH more of an idiot, like dude lmao, but i think that’s it, unedited tho

this isn’t rly based off crush culture, but i took the title from conan gray’s song :)  

[losers + reader are 18+ in this!!!]

3.8k words L O L :))

♡

you swear to god, you’re getting sick. that’s what this was, for sure.

it started about a month ago, when you started to get headaches and terrible hollow feelings in your stomach. it happened everywhere - in the line for coffee, in class, driving home from school, at the dinner table. but it got a hundred times worse at night and then seemed to triple in force every morning when you woke.

and it all came at you some time after richie announced he had a new girlfriend.

you were really sick the few days after that, enough that you stayed home from school and laid in bed, the pit in your stomach sinking. it didnt take long for you to realize how bad richie’s girlfriend was - she treated him like a dog, like he embarrassed her - and he didn’t even seem to mind. he just brushed off every offhand comment, rolled his eyes with a grin when she told him she didn’t want to see his friends or when she told him to stop talking. 

he still seemed to like her, anyways. and that thought made your stomach convulse.

so then you had to distance yourself from richie because it hurt you to see him with her. it hurt you to see him with someone who didn’t treat him like the incredible person he was. 

so yeah.

you say you’re sick, but you know that’s not really true. it’s easier than accepting reality at this point, though, so you spew this nonsense (to yourself, mostly) in order to justify ignoring your best friend of nearly a decade because christ, he is becoming unbearable.

like the other day, at lunch while you were all sitting in the courtyard. it was your first time eating with them again after almost a week and a half, as you’d been eating alone in your car recently to avoid richie. “rich, why’d you take off the nail polish?” bev asked, out of the blue, sounding disappointed as she grabbed his free hand and examined it.

he blew smoke out of his mouth slowly and you had forced yourself to look away, the sight of richie doing nearly anything these days being pretty dangerous for you. it also made you sigh a bit - you knew he only smoked at lunch now, since his girlfriend hated it.

“don’t want my paws to be prettier than y/n’s when we hold hands.” he had joked, wagging an eyebrow at you. you’d shook your head and looked to the ground in lew of a real response, just as you had been doing a lot recently.

you'd missed richie’s frown at your reaction, but you did catch his next statement as it was added on, “nah, actually it’s because the ol’ G-F didn’t like it. thought it looked too girly.”

you, stan, bev, and mike all stopped chewing to look at richie, in varying stages of bewilderment. you'd cleared your throat quickly but decided against speaking up just as richie’s phone started to ring. he’d answered it nearly immediately, the enthusiasm of which made you feel like you’re going to be sick again - because richie never answers your calls until the last possible minute.

god, jealousy is a fucking disease.

“hey, sugar.” he had purred suavely into the phone and for some reason, hearing him call someone else sugar had you abruptly rising, gathering your things and nearly running off to put as much distance between you and four-eyes as you possibly could, because you’re not sure how much more you could take.

after that, you were absolutely sure it was just pure denial on your part.

as far as you could tell, richie wasn't noticing too much. he still phoned your house every day, just to be met with your mother telling him you 'weren't available,' and then he'd call your own phone, which you'd let buzz itself into a dark hole on your bedside table while you stared at it solemnly, guilt heavy on your mind as he left voicemail after voicemail. 

he doesn't deserve it, you think as you open the doors to the school library, backpack on your shoulders. but you can't help it. you're not his girlfriend, and you're not mature enough to accept that with any ounce of elegance so instead you just ignore him all together. at least you're self-aware, right? that ought to count for something.

you shake your head just as a voice catches your attention, “well look who decided to show up!”

richie's sitting at the usual study table in the very back corner of the library, a spot tucked away by rows upon rows of dusty books and an alcove of couches. bill sits at the head of the table, scribbling his chicken scratch handwriting onto graph paper, mike next to richie with a textbook spread out flat. across from mike is stan, writing out his statistics work. 

all three of them wave at you before going back to their work, whereas richie just watches you expectantly. his feet are kicked up on the table, textbook balanced on his lap as he hovers on two leg chairs. his smile is as blinding as always, a dimple faint on his left cheek and full eyebrows raised in jest. his curls frame his face perfectly and you want to scream.

but you take your seat next to stan with a tight lipped smile, not really sure how to respond to richie. are you even allowed to be flirty with him like you used to? he still does it on the rare occasions when you do see each other - but that itself is the issue, you figure. his flirting is just a joke, a tiff from one friend to another. but you can't see him as just a friend, and that’s unfair to him.

so you stay quiet, which makes it infinitely more awkward.

richie clears his throat and you pull out your work with an awkward expression, the minutes slowly churning by in what has to be the quietest hangout with the Losers yet.

you feel the tension building in your body and in the air, and you're not sure what's wrong with you or why you have so much resentment towards richie in this moment, because he's not done one single thing to offend anyone in the last ten minutes.

then richie's phone rings suddenly and mike jumps a bit as he's startled out of the passage he's reading. you all look down to richie's screen, where his girlfriend's name blares up at you and all you can feel is white hot jealousy coursing through your body.

richie looks half way exhausted and annoyed at the call, which you find extremely odd and out of character, not to mention persistently frustrating.

as you all stare at the phone, the tension in the room stretches tighter and tighter, like a rubber band and you can't breathe -

"uh, why is she calling you?" mike asks, as if this was something that was forbidden or shocking in any way, and for some reason, that is finally it.

the rubber band snaps.

"how could you forget, mike? they're in love!" you say with mock enthusiasm. 

bill shoots you an alarmed look that you probably should read into or at least consider for a moment, but instead you're looking directly at richie, as if challenging him.

he blinks at you and clenches his jaw, "she and i haven't really been... talking recently." richie says lightly, shooting a glance to mike.

“well then maybe you’re just not right for each other.” you quip, the blood boiling in your veins. richie's eyes snap to you and you see the fire behind them as he suddenly breaks.

“sorry, did i miss the divine intervention when god floated down on a cloud of marshmallows and deemed you expert in relationships?” he says abruptly, making your eyes widen at his outburst. he continues, “because last time i checked, you’re a bit of a failure in that department. so i don't need some jealous, disappearing-act wannabe criticizing my life when she's barely even in it.” he seethes. it’s near quiet in the library anyways, but his words seem to silence the entire town.

with a quick glance to your right, stan and bill sharing an uncomfortable look, and mike is staring down intently at his work with wide eyes.

you want to die.

does richie know? has he known this whole time that you're just deeply, painfully head over heels for him? 

"i'm so sick of your bullshit. maybe you're jealous because you want what i had, but you’re being really fucking rude."

you nearly cry. or scream.

“criticism doesnt equal jealousy, okay?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting even opening your mouth. you're so intent on covering for yourself, you don't even take into account the phrasing he'd used when referring to his girlfriend, instead fighting with richie in order to keep your secret from him.  

this is not how you’d intended today to go. he stares at you, eyebrows furrowed in a way that almost makes you keel over in sadness, the guilt of the situation falling too heavily on your shoulders and crushing you.

it’s tranquilizing to see him like this -  he's fuming, but he's also got bright, glistening eyes which you think may be filling up with tears.

“i didn’t really ask for your input, though.” he mutters, cheeks reddening as tears definitely well in his eyes behind his lenses. “you can’t just ignore me at your every whim just to come right back and tell me what's good for me.”

you blink, shaking your head quickly, deciding to back off. now is not the time to fight, especially when you know he’s right. you had no idea it was hurting him like this. "richie, i... i just wanted-" you gape at him, extremely embarrassed.

“-i don’t fucking care what you wanted, y/n.” richie says sharply, causing you to shut your mouth so quick your jaw clicks in the silence. clearly, even the other boys are perturbed by richie’s actions and everyone’s staring down in silence at their homework.

it’s quiet like that for a few minutes, the tension so thick that you’d need a jackhammer just to chip away at it. but stan rummages through his bag suddenly, pulling out two painkillers and dry swallowing them. you don't look at anyone else, your stomach hollow and your heart thumping so hard in your chest you think you may explode.

"d-do you have a headache?" bill asks, looking at stan with concern. the sudden voice causes you to perk up, head flowing with humiliation at the fight you and richie had just had in front of your friends.

“yeah, but it’s not that bad. i guess i’m used to it.” stan says, pen between his teeth.

“just because you’re used to something doesn’t make it any less unhealthy for you.” you say louder than necessary, your mouth suddenly deciding to speak without consulting your brain. 

the glare of pure frustration that richie throws you pierces your lungs and suddenly makes you feel lightheaded. 

your pettiness doesn’t go unresponsive, of course, and mike sighs into his hands, standing up to gather his things. "alright. i can't study when you two are like this. i'll see you guys later."

richie sighs quietly and bill and stan mumble good-bye's. the library goes back to quiet for maybe three more minutes, until you see stanley start to fidget like he usually does when he's anxious. and then you notice it after a few seconds, too.

richie won't stop tapping his foot on the desk.

for everyone's sake, you try to ignore it, because you know richie can't help his compulsions - especially when he's upset (which, your mind painfully reminds you, is all your fault).

but it's driving you crazy.

“-if you keep doing that i’ll throw you out that fucking window rich, i swear.” stan mutters not unkindly, his eyes rolling to meet richie with a concerned gaze as richie stares out the window.

you raise your eyebrows, “what’re you even looking at?” you ask, trying to mend a bit of the open, festering wound you’d created in you and richie’s friendship.

without looking at you, richie shrugs. “checking to see how high the drop is. may be worth it to have schnoz just toss me down. it would certainly do you a favor right? gettin ol’ trashmouth gone for good.”

what was he saying? you look at him, scandalized. stan and bill don’t even say anything about the offensive nickname as you gape at richie. "what the fuck?" is all your brilliant mind can think.

"what, you can dish it but you can't take it?" richie says sharply. he shakes his head, looking upset. "i'm tired of trying to be friends with a fucking brick wall."

then he's gathering his one notebook and swiftly exiting your alcove in the library in a wind of cigarettes and cologne. 

you blink, his words sinking in and making you sigh shakily. your stomach feels hollow as you remember the expression of glee on his face when you'd walked into the library, and how completely different and broken he'd looked as he'd left. you think you're going to cry.

“every minute that you don't follow him digs yourself deeper into this grave, you know.” stan says, giving you a stern but encouraging look.

you let out a shaky sigh and scramble to grab your bag, tripping over your feet as you run out of the library, flying down the staircase faster than you've ever gone and making it to your lifelong best friend just as he reaches his car in the parking lot.

"-a brick wall?" you ask, out of breath. you see richie hold back an eye roll, his arms crossing over each other as he serves you a look of discomposure.

he shrugs helplessly, looking as if he's at his wit's end.

"what do you want me to say, y/n? you've been avoiding me for weeks. i know i'm annoying and obnoxious and whatever, but i'm not blind." he says, making you swallow as guilt pangs through your chest. you have been so fucking selfish, haven't you?

it hurts to hear him say that about himself. 

he sniffles a bit, sounding choked up as he goes on, "i've had a rough couple of days - weeks, even. but every time i'm near, it's like you've had more than enough, and you just leave. am i that repulsive? why do you suddenly hate me?" he asks, looking desperate as his eyes rim red, filling with tears again.

“what did i do?” his voice cracks as he whispers the sentence and your heart breaks in two.

your own vision goes glassy as he continues, "-i've needed you, y/n/n. i'm lost, i'm seriously not okay and you just don't care at all."

you're stunned for a moment, mouth opening and closing silently as your mind races to rush something out, anything,because you aren't sure you can bear to see richie look at you like this for one more second. but your silence comes off wrong to richie, and tears slip out of his eyes.

“don’t you love me?” he asks, voice hoarse and cutting right through you, deeper than any knife ever could. "don't you want me to be happy?" he adds and you take a shaky breath, looking helplessly at him, where you're met with nothing but glassy eyes and tear trails. your heart is slamming in your chest, tears falling from your eyes and you can't breathe.

"a-are you?" you ask, trying to keep your tone even although it comes out just as vulnerable as you feel. “h-happy. with her?”

richie freezes at your words, mouth slightly open and you watch a single tear course over his high cheekbones and down to his bottom lip as it shakes faintly. you curse yourself for the longing to feel those very lips against yours.

"i was." he whispers, voice shaking as he rubs his face with his hand under his glasses, the moisture of his fallen tears clinging from his long dark lashes onto his slender, shaking fingers. "and then - and then i lost you. and y'know, i got my girlfriend so i could distract myself, but she made me feel like absolute shit all the time and so i went and broke up with her, but -" he hiccups through his tears and you blink, biting your lip as tears cascade down your cheek in wet trails.

they broke up?

he broke up with her, and he's going through this breakup and trying to better himself after she tore him down and you've just been ignoring him - he thinks you don't care about him, that you don't love him. you start to cry harder. 

"-i thought she'd distract me from you. i-i'm sorry." he says, his voice muffled by his hands as they cover up his angelic face, his shoulders shaking as more tears fall. "i'm so sorry."he repeats. 

you see double for a second, completely shocked by his words as the breath leaves your lungs. he tried to distract himself from you... and he’s so hurt because of what you did. 

but finally, for the first time this whole damn day, you find the right words. "i-no, richie, i'm sorry, please - fuck." you break, letting out a sob as you rub your eyes furiously in search of any relief from the guilt ripping you in two. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm so sorry, i can't believe i did this, i didn't want to hurt you, i'm just so selfish." you babble, his sniffles making you open your eyes.

he looks so alone and so vulnerable as he hugs his arms around himself in search of comfort, tears still falling from his bright eyes and down his rosy cheeks. 

he looks devastatingly beautiful in the golden sunlight of the afternoon, a breeze ruffling his curls lightly. "just please, i can't - i can't deal with you hating me. please, please, please."

he's pleading with you and you think you may be sick from the guilt and sadness that envelopes you, so you spring forward and wrap your arms tightly around him. the force of your body pushes him against the side of his car and the way he clings back to you like you're the last thing holding him to earth just makes you cry even harder.

"i don't hate you, richie. i love you, i love you too much." you say, your body shaking as he just holds you tighter against him. "i'm so sorry, i didn't mean any of it. you're right. i was just jealous... i'm so sorry. i was so jealous of her, i couldn't see you be with her." you mumble. "i'm so sorry."

richie pulls you back gently at your words, his eyes wide and wondering as you look at each other. "what?" he asks so innocently, his eyelashes wet and dark and his lips parted. 

you can count the freckles on his nose and cheeks, you're so close. you can feel his shuddering breath against your face as he huffs in a breath. your hands hold onto his shoulders and you decide to fuck it, you just have to tell him how sorry you are, to explain yourself.

"richie, i'm in love with you. and - and when you and her got together, it hurt so much, and i didn't want to deal with the fact that i couldn't have you, so i just ignored you. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry." you say it quickly and in one breath, looking down at your shoes and how they point straight towards his.

"you're in... love with me?" he says weakly, sounding hopeful as you finally look back into his eyes guiltily. 

you laugh wetly, "of course i am, richie. how could i not fall head over heels for everything about you?"

he tears up again at your words, but this time it's accompanied by a beautiful smile and a light, wet laugh. he shakes his head, his arms circling your waist tighter as he presses his forehead against yours. your butterflies tickle your stomach at your proximity.

"fuck, y/n. i can't believe i spend my time trying to get my mind off you." he says and your breath hitches a bit. "do you have any idea how long i've been in love with you?" he asks quietly, and you let out another small laugh out of shock, but it's wet and gleeful.

"i'm sorry." you whisper, your finger curling around a strand of the dark hair on his head. he shakes his head, your noses rubbing slightly. "it's okay, y/n. i love you so much. please let me forgive you." he says, pulling a smile out of you that you don't think anybody else ever could. you nod shortly, looking into his eyes as one last tear falls. 

he kisses you tenderly then, taking your breath away.

richie fills up your every sense as he clings to you desperately, his lips salty from your combined tears and his arms strong. his tongue is gentle as it runs along your lips and enters your parted mouth, one of his hands sliding up to tilt your head up towards him. you're breathless because of him for the millionth time in your life and you decide kissing richie is the only thing you want to do forever. 

you pull away slowly, and as you lean back he presses a chaste second kiss to your lips, causing you to grin. 

you barely make eye contact as you pull apart and then you greedily pull him back to you, his lips finding yours yet again with a sweet, loving laugh.

"i love you too, rich." you mumble against his lips. he sighs almost dreamily as you pull back, biting your lip and laughing when he opens the passenger door, gesturing to it with a shy grin.

"now can i please buy you a burger?" he asks, almost bashfully, and your heart does somersaults. you nod and kiss him again, his hand falling to the small of your back, palm wide and fingers lower than you'd expected. he pulls away and his grin is loving, his eyes hooded in pride as you caress his cheek softly before you slide into the car seat.

he holds your hand the whole night and refuses to let go until you slip through your front door at near midnight, blushes on both of your cheeks and lips kiss-bruised.

the butterflies you feel as you fall asleep with a grin on your face are the exact same ones richie feels as his head finally hits the pillow, a giddy smile on his own face as he smiles to himself in the dark halfway across town.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx@brxken-heartsclub @clownsloveyou @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier   @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s  @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 6.5

After 8:00 pm Stanley hadn't expected any more customers- Mrs. Earnshaw had told him he could close just after 9:00, which was a mere 30 minutes away. Curled up behind the counter with The Shining held in shaking hands, he was letting the time slip slowly by as the sweet aroma of flora and fauna soothed the otherwise expected fear from his veins. Despite the steadily rising intensity of the book, Stan simply couldn't feel afraid. Even as Jack Torrance ran from bloodthirsty hedge animals, the atmosphere was too pleasant to be spoiled by nerves. Roses on Deane was a beautiful little shop and Stan had discovered a newfound interest in plant life because of it; with only one day of work experience, he was already captivated by the leaves and the petals, the different soils, the surprising amount of knowledge and care it took to nurse and mother a plant. The shop wore dark Jacobean-toned paneling, shelves and shelves of flourishing plants lining each and every one. The lights were dim during the evening, allowing the red-hued artificial ones to feed the plants as needed throughout the course of the night, giving everything the feel as if he were disconnected from the world. If he let his imagination wander, he could convince himself that this building, his building, was floating in a state of suspension, where time had stilled and he could sit, silent, for the rest of eternity.

Ever since he was a child he had used this state of suspension as a getaway. From the ages two to seven, the trigger, the gateway, the one thing that allowed the disconnect had been his nightlight. To Stan, that nightlight in the shape of a star, giving off it's warm gold hue, had meant safety and youth. As he grew, the nightlight passed away and instead his trigger was the space in his closet, where he had stuck small luminescent stars and hidden away whenever anything grew difficult. He'd go through his bird books and drown out the sounds of his parents fighting downstairs in the kitchen. After the closet, the disconnect came with more of a scenario than a place or an object. This scenario was harder to achieve, but when it happened, when he managed to let his mind float away, he had felt safer than ever before. This scenario was the feeling of the Barrens with Eddie and Bill. The endless hum of the Kenduskeag rushing on it's endless course often grabbed hold of his thoughts and carried them away right with it, down towards the ocean and out to sea. It often washed away everything except for his two closest friends. Together, in silence, the three would do nothing but sit and bask in the still nothingness, the timeless sense of being with one another and needing not to worry about school or bullies or the future. Roses on Deane was already emanating the soft, enveloping comfort, the warm tones and safe hues of a gateway. Without needing to debate it, Stanley knew that he would never be harmed here, among the plants and the flowers, surrounded by the rich scent of life and growth.

With his nose in his book, minutes passed though he hardly felt them. To be entirely honest, Stan could have sat there until long past closing time, time both entirely unmoving and racing past him all at once. The only reason he didn't was because he was given a customer- at least, he thought it was a customer until he placed his origami crane, folded out of deep blue gold-star speckled paper and used as a bookmark, into it's place and glanced up to greet them with a smile. That smile grew soft, surprised, almost, at the sight Bill Denbrough rather than anyone else who would have actually been interested in plants.

"H-Hey," He said with a gentle grin, approaching the counter, "Just w-wanted to stop by and say h-hello," Stanley rose from his seat, setting the book aside. He was about to greet Bill right back, maybe ask what he was doing out so late at night, but before he could Bill swiped the book from the countertop and flipped open to where Stan had left off. Reading a few lines with gently squinted eyes (it was difficult for Bill to read in the low-light, especially since he would soon discover he needed low-prescription reading glasses) he was reminded of exactly what had happened up to that point, and returned the book once more. "Great book, hu-huh? It only gets bu-better, trust me." Bill hopped up onto the counter, "So, h-how was the fir-irst day?" Stan had expected the tender atmosphere to wane, or maybe to shatter completely, at the sense of another presence- but Bill's being here only made it better. Stan leaned forwards, forearms rested on the aged wood of the cashiers till, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Slow, but... pleasant." A silence fell over the two like a weighted blanket. They didn't need to speak. If anyone understood Stan's need to retreat into silence, into this other world of the disconnect, it was Bill. He had never judged or laughed or mocked- Eddie hadn't, either, of course, but anyone could tell that he sometimes thought Stan to be... almost silly, in the way that he so often craved the quiet, the slowness. "What are you doing out so late?" At last Stanley voiced his question in a gentle, fuzzy tone, delicate like the soft pink petals of the flowers on display beside his elbow. They stood tall and proud from an intricate blue-glass vase, flourishing in the perfect conditions the shop provided. Just as it promised safety to Stan, it promised it to these plants. Bill scanned around, soaking in the details, relishing in them in the same way as his friend, and then finally responded, his voice just as light,

"Me and Eddie went to Richie's for dinner," He explained, "There aren't any leftovers but I can help you make something for yourself when we get home." Quirking a brow, Stan was met with a soft wave of questions, popping up like small green buds breaking from the dirt.

"You and Eddie? Willingly?" Stan asked with a hum, tilting his head and running his fingers gently through his curls, "And what do you mean 'we'? Are you... staying here?"

"It was... actually Eddie's idea, for dinner. Well... he got the call from Richie. I think he just wanted an excuse to hang up on his mom. She called him," Bill toed off his shoes and pulled his feet up onto the counter to sit cross-legged, in order to better look at Stan. The soft lighting bathed his face in an orange colour, giving him the image of a statue of gold. "It was actually pretty nice. We watched The Birds. I was thinking of how much you would've liked that movie the entire time- horror might not be your favourite, but I think you'd actually laugh," With a chuckle, Bill flashed his handsome grin, "It's stupid. And," he moved on to address Stan's last question, "If you didn't mind, I thought, maybe... I could stick around until you have to close up. I have nothing else planned and I missed you today."

"Oh," Stan straightened up, clasping his hands together, "I," He struggled for the words, something he rarely did, and then swallowed the lump in his throat and recomposed himself, "That would be nice, I think. If you really don't mind." Joining Bill on the counter, Stan removed his own shoes. Now, the two were sitting facing one another, legs crossed. It was no secret, at least to himself, that he had a crush on Bill. He had known it for years now- Bill was... perfect, in every form of the word. He was handsome and smart, and he had an extroverted self-assurance that Stan envied more than anything; but what Stan had really fallen for was the kindness, the endless fields of it. Bill was always kind. It amazed Stanley sometimes. There was music in the shop, so silent that he had hardly noticed it until now, in the total stillness. Mrs. Earnshaw enjoyed classical. He enjoyed classical all the same. "Hey, Bill?" Stan asked, his hands clasped in his lap. Bill met his gaze with his own, steady, steady.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever... miss Derry? I know we haven't been gone for long, but..." Stan shrugged. He suddenly felt very silly for even asking. Again, Bill chuckled, a low sound that was anything but mocking. It was almost sad, the timbre of it, and Stan realized he wanted to take Bill's hand. He didn't.

"Yeah, I do."

"What do you miss most?" For a moment, Bill pondered, and then he said,

"The Barrens." Stan agreed with a small nod. Silence again, warm and comfortable. "What about you?"

"Probably the river. Sitting in the sunlight, surrounded by the nature and the water, even though it didn't always smell the best." As if having read his thoughts, Bill reached forwards and took both of Stan's hands in his. Bill's blue eyes were the same shade as the sky above the Barren's treetops. He didn't have to explain what he meant when he spoke,

"We'll find a new place like that here, I promise. It'll happen, soon, I'm sure. A new place where we can all just... sit. And be. Maybe a place where everyone else can be with us, too." Stan felt that this moment, right now, with his hands in Bill's, their faces inches apart- he felt like this moment was more important than it seemed to be on the surface. Like there was more to it than just a promise between friends. It felt almost like the day before, in Portland Authentic with Richie, with Ben, with Mike and Eddie and Beverly behind the counter. Something similar yet drastically different from the disconnect weighed on his shoulders, something else that was comforting but in an entirely different way. The disconnection comforted him because he felt nothing- this new weight, the overbearing presence he had felt for no more than a moment, had been like that of a mothers love. For the briefest moment the solidity fell out from under him and he really was floating- but then, he was right back there with Bill in front of him and his whole entire future stretching wide and endless like the oceans led to by the Kenduskeag.

[hopelikethemoon]

Undercover (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Undercover  Rating: PG-13 Length: 2600 Warnings: None. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set after Old Parr in 1989.

This is the car I envision, but with the top down. The newspaper situation mentioned relates to this attack. Also if you know who my personal headcanon for Reader is, then you might enjoy knowing that this is my headcanon for Elena because of this (don’t click until after you read the story). Valeria is obviously the character in Narcos, but the real reporter was Virginia Vallejo and she wrote this memoir which she accused Narcos of stealing from.

If you’ve been following all of the drama that’s been going on, and have something you want to say anonymously to me you should read this post. 

Summary: Reader and Steve go undercover. 

Taglist:  @grapemama  @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​ @longitud-de-onda @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll​ @seeking-a-great--perhaps @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn (more tags in the replies)

Horacio looked between you and Steve, before settling Javier with a disapproving looking. “We’re sending the gringos?” He questioned, annoyance written on his face. “He can’t even speak the language.” 

Javier cleared his throat, his hands on his hips. “She can speak it pretty damn proficiently.” He nodded his head towards you, a faint smile playing across his lips. 

“Hey now,” Steve huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “I can understand enough of the language to get by.”

You shot him a look. “Ordering drinks isn’t enough, Steve.”

“Why aren’t they sending you?” Horacio questioned, arching a brow at Javier. 

Javier rubbed at the back of his neck, his gaze flickering towards you briefly. “Well—“

You interrupted, “We got the intel from one of Javier’s friends.”

“What she means is,” Steve started. “One of his hookers.”

“Listen, Elena is a sweet girl in a bad situation.” Javier explained. “She’s in deep with the cartel.”

“Which is how we know about this party,” You explained. “But there’s supposed to be a few of Javier’s friends there. We can’t risk being recognized.”

“They’re used to it.” Javier pointed out with a shrug. “Discretion is a part of their job.” 

“Sure.” You shot him a look, “They’ll be all over you and you know it.”

“Jealous?” Javier shot back. 

You rolled your eyes, “You wish.”

He looked to Steve then, jaw set tight. “How’s Mrs. Murphy gonna feel about this?” Javier questioned, drawing a line between you and Steve. 

“She knows.” Steve batted Javier’s hand away. 

“Oh, fuck off Javi.” You sneered at Javier, stepping past him and moving towards your desk. “Carrillo, just consider this the overture to the real fun. With any luck, Steve and I will glean more information from the guests and we’ll find what Escobar intends to do next.”

“And what’s your cover story?”

Steve tucked his hands into his pockets, “Drug traffickers.”

“We’ve picked up where Jung left off.” You explained, your gaze flickering towards Javier as he watched you tuck a knife into the holster you had strapped to your thigh beneath your dress. You couldn’t carry a gun, but at least you’d have a little protection. “Steve’s cover is Richie Simmons. A name ‘known’ in the trafficking world.”

“Elena’s going to cover for them.” Javier offered, crossing his arms across his chest as he lifted his gaze back to your face. “Verify their story.”

“An old friend of mine.” You explained as you smoothed your hands over your dress, “She’ll corroborate everything.” 

Horacio looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Or we send Search Bloc in—“

“No.” Javier cut him off, jaw clenched tight as he shook his head. “There are good people attending this shit. It’s not worth it.” 

A lot could be said about Javier and his hookers, but one thing that always stood out to you was the fact he wanted to make sure they were safe. Elena was risking her wellbeing and livelihood as an informant. One wrong move and it could easily be over for her. 

Horacio’s eyes flickered between the three of you, lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ll have units posted up on the street. First sign of trouble,” He looked at you then. “You pull out.” 

You nodded your head, moving back towards Javier’s desk where a map of the area was spread out across it. “The extraction point is here.” You pointed to a spot that was a few hundred yards from a dirt road. “If anything goes sideways we’ve got a signal.” 

Javier rubbed at the back of his neck as he stepped in beside you, looking down at the map. “Be careful in there.” 

You tilted your head to look at him, “You know I will.” You shifted closer to him, nudging him in the ribs with your elbow. “Want me to tell the girls you say hello?” 

He rolled his eyes. 

Steve clapped his hands together, “Ready to get this show on the road?” 

You crossed your arms across your chest as you turned around to face him. “Whatever you want, Richie.” You said with a teasing lilt, holding your hand out for Steve to take. “Wait five, then follow.” You told Javier. 

“I know what I’m doing.” He shot back, not quite meeting your eyes. He’d been in such a weird mood since the planning began on this mission. It wasn’t a bad mood, but it wasn’t a good mood either. You didn’t let it get under your skin though. Javier had his moments. 

“See you out there.” Steve said, clapping Javier on the shoulder, before the two of you headed for the elevator. 

“Is it just me or does Javi have a weird vibe today?” You questioned as you leaned back against the back of the elevator, arms crossed across your chest. 

Steve shrugged, “You know how he gets whenever we’ve got a joint operation.” 

“Fair point.” You pursed your lips. “At least it’s Carrillo and not the CIA.”

He chuckled, “He’d be spitting venom if that were the case.”

You swept your fingers through your hair, following Steve towards the ‘77 LeBaron. “If I’d known we’d be cruising over in a convertible, I wouldn’t have put an effort into my hair.”

“Gotta arrive in style.” Steve remarked as he started the car up, “Purrs like a kitten.” 

“It’s a damn good car.” You mused as you settled into the passenger's seat, glancing back at the DEA building in the rearview mirror. 

There was a part of you that wished you were going undercover with Javier. You could picture him cruising beside you in the LeBaron, aviators one as you drove west towards the setting sun. 

Though, at least with Steve you’d be focused on the mission at hand. 

 ————

 The estate was about an hour outside of Bogotá. You and Steve arrived just as the last light dipped below the horizon. The heavily armed guards at the gate let you in after a brief search of the car and a pat-down to assure that neither of you were armed. 

The LeBaron had been the perfect choice of wheels. It fit in nicely among the other convertibles along the curved drive and it earned both of you a little attention from the other guests. 

Elena was quick to greet you. Hugging you like an old friend despite the fact that you had only met her once a few weeks back in a rundown motel room after a weekend spent with Javier. 

She playfully tried to get you to join her in the solarium with the women, helping you to establish the fact that Steve didn’t speak the language as well as you did. You shared barbs about his incompetence — earning a few amused chuckles from the men who were eavesdropping. 

Steve played the part well. He made a snarky comment about the fact that he assumed you were both talking about him, which you quickly soothed away with playful cajoling. 

Elena introduced you to some of the other guests, making a point to introduce Steve to the ones who at least spoke broken English, if not proficiently. They were all deeply invested in the drug business — and Steve did well at boasting about his own enterprise. Most of the men saw right through his gusto, realizing that you were the brains of the operation. Just as you’d planned. 

Eventually, you had to part ways with Steve as the gentlemen made plans to smoke cigars in the lounge while business was discussed. “Just sit and look pretty.” You teased Steve, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek as you smoothed out the wrinkles in his linen suit, before you followed Elena and the other women into the solarium. 

Most of the women were wives, but as Elena had warned you ahead of time, most of them had been hired for the evening. It never made sense to you why drug lords trusted women who were so easily convinced to become informants — but, they were men after all. You couldn’t trust them to make smart decisions.

Your main focus, however, was Tata Escobar. She rarely made appearances at events like this — kept safe by Pablo — but she was there. Mingling with the other wives. 

You sipped at a glass of champagne, making your way towards where she was seated. You had to be clever about your plan. The last thing you wanted was to spook her. The entire night would fall apart if it did. 

She was quiet, mostly listening to the conversations around her. Offering a few laughs when the opportunity arose. 

Once Elena lured the other women away from Tata, you engaged her in conversation. You teased her for being so quiet, pointing out that she should’ve been the life of the party given who her husband was. 

Tata abandoned her champagne glass on the table beside the armchair she had been sitting in, joining you on the sofa. Your heart broke for her when she curled her fingers around your wrist and asked you if Richie had ever cheated on you. 

It was clear she was trying not to cry as she confessed to you that she had recently learned that Pablo was sleeping with one of the guests in attendance. 

Valeria Velez — a beloved news journalist who had made a name for herself by interviewing Pablo Escobar. You had heard rumors, but never found confirmation that there was more than just a political connection between the two. 

She was the polar opposite of Tata. Mingling with everyone in the solarium; engaging in conversation and making a point of being the center of attention. 

You tried to encourage her. But was there really anything to be said to a woman in her position? When you married someone, you expected them not to stray outside of that marriage. And as far as Tata was led to believe, she had never expected Pablo to take a mistress. 

It wasn’t like she’d married someone like Javier. Who you knew had slept with at least four of the women Elena was talking to currently. Not including her. 

You pushed those thoughts from your mind when you heard the door open at the other end of the solarium, boisterous laughter filling the room as they men rejoined their companions. 

You gave Tata a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder, before you left the sofa and made your way towards Steve. 

“You didn’t bring me a cigar?” You pouted as you stopped in front of him. 

“Not this time, sweetcheeks.” Steve pulled his lighter and a cigarette out of his suit pocket, passing them to you. “Why don’t you take a smoke break.”

What the hell had he heard in there? You hadn’t expected to signal for extraction this soon. Shit. 

You took the cigarette from him, twirling it between your fingers as you met his eyes with an arched brow. “Why don’t you finish up with the boys and join me?” You told him, curling your fingers around his tie as you held the cigarette between your lips. 

Steve nodded, “I’ll be out there.” 

With a lingering look, you headed out onto the back patio. You knew Javier and Carrillo had eyes on the back garden. You just had to get yourself towards the fence line, where they’d be able to spot you lighting up. 

“Headed out so soon?” Elena questioned, following you through the garden. 

“You can’t be out here.” You warned her, flipping the lid closed on your lighter. 

 She ignored you, “Did you get what you needed?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “That was Steve’s role in this.” 

Elena nodded her head slowly, “Well, I hope you got what you were looking for.” 

“Me too.” You smiled a little, “And thanks for the help. You really sold it.” 

She shrugged. “I was curious to see what you were all about.” 

“What?”

“Javi speaks very highly of you.” Elena told you with a coy smirk.

“He talks about me? With you?” You blinked at her. “He shouldn’t be running his mouth about work.” 

Elena laughed, shaking her head as she looked away. “You certainly didn’t disappoint. Clever and beautiful.” She gave you a once over. “Tell him I said ‘hello’.” 

“I’m sure you’ll see him soon enough.” You assured her. 

“No.” She sighed, her gaze turning towards the fenceline, looking out towards Nevado del Ruiz, barely visible in the moonlit night. “He’s one of the few good men out there. We don’t see much of them after we serve our purpose.” She gestured back to the house, hugging her arms around her middle as she looked at you. “Be safe out there.” 

“You too.” You let her hug you, before she headed back for the house. Holding the cigarette between your lips, you lit up — waving the flame to signal that it was time to go. 

 ———

 Steve didn’t get much. But he knew that something was coming. 

It seemed like Pablo had a target — El Espectador. The oldest paper in the city and a frequent source of bad publicity for his valiant attempts at entering the Colombian political scene. The winter before you had arrived in the city, the newspaper’s editor had been murdered in the parking lot after he printed a campaign to run the drug lords from the city. 

He’d made enemies and they hadn’t forgotten just because he had been sent to an early grave. 

Steve sat in the front seat of the Jeep, trying to decipher what he’d heard with Horacio, while you sat in the back seat with Javier. 

“He can’t speak Spanish for shit.” You muttered to Javier as you listened to Steve try to repeat something he had heard. 

“They were talking about shoeing a horse?” You questioned, leaning forward to slap the back of Steve’s shoulder. “Errar.” 

“What did I say about sending the gringos?” Horacio drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, shaking his head. 

“I resent that remark.” You rolled your eyes, sinking back against your seat, tilting your head to look at Javier who had been suspiciously quiet since the trek back to Bogotá. “You good?”

He nodded stiffly. 

“Elena’s nice.” You offered. 

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Yeah.” 

Your brows furrowed together as you studied Javier. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You questioned, reaching over and giving his forearm a squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I would’ve rather been in there with you.” You told him quietly, resting your cheek against his shoulder. 

Javier was silent for a long moment before he offered a quiet. “Me too.” 

“We’re good, right?” You questioned, rubbing your thumb over the back of his arm, keeping your fingers curled around his arm. You hated to admit that things had been weird between the two of you, ever since you broke up with Lance. You thought he would’ve been thrilled that you no longer had the CIA in tow, but he wasn’t. 

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Javier questioned, tilting his head to look at you. 

“I don’t know.” You told him honestly, searching his eyes in the darkness as the streetlights shone through the window, providing you with brief glimpses of him. “It’s been a long night.” 

“I won’t tell if you fall asleep.” He assured you, petting his hand over your knee. 

You weren’t tired, but you kept your head nestled against his shoulder for the rest of the ride. He kept his hand on your leg, his thumb occasionally moving against your skin. It was a nice gesture, a nice… friendly gesture. 

Steve was still running his mouth, much to Horacio’s dismay. He started to look back and you and Javier and you were quick to close your eyes, pretending that you had fallen asleep. 

“Elena really helped,” He told Javier. “Hell, the two of them could’ve been sisters.” 

You’d noticed that too. Hell, you’d noticed that two weeks ago when you first met her. You chose to ignore it. That was something no one had time to unpack. 

[drwnng-ophelia]

Caught Between the Two of You | Richie Tozier x Female Reader / Pennywise x Female Reader

A/N: I’m sorry this took me so long to finish! Quick disclaimer, if you haven’t seen IT Chapter Two yet (go see it, srsly) then this contains spoilers. Read at your own risk! Also: Richie smut is back! 

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Female Reader, Pennywise/Female Reader

Summary: You own the Derry Town House and are caught off guard by a group of friends who check-in. You get closer than anticipated with one of them.

Warnings: explicit language, smut, oral sex

Word Count: 3,625

Read Chapter 1 here and Chapter 2 here. I also post on AO3.

   Chapter 3

Nervousness made your stomach churn. Meeting Richie’s friends meant meeting the people who Pennywise wanted to torment. It meant speaking to them about the creature. It meant that you’d have to admit that you were very aware of everything that was happening in Derry.

Reluctantly, you followed Richie into the dining room. The Town House felt oddly unfamiliar and strange today, nothing like the warm place you had known your entire life. It was as if Richie could feel your unease, his hand giving yours a reassuring squeeze.

Earlier, he had offered that you could still leave, that he’d be willing to go with you, but you had shaken your head decidedly. You couldn’t run, and they shouldn’t.

They shouldn’t be here in the first place. They should have rejected the invitation, the call, to come back home. Five pairs of weary eyes rested on you as you slid into a chair, next to Richie. Unsurprisingly, no one seemed to have gotten any sleep.

Suddenly, the spacious old dining room seemed almost nightmarish and not even the delicious scent of coffee and fresh pastries could ease the chill that had settled into your bones. There were too many ghosts in this room.

“Someone is missing,” you noted almost absentmindedly, voicing what your instincts had just whispered to you. “One of us cou-couldn’t make it,” someone said. Bill Denbrough. You recognized him from one of his book covers. There was no need for him to tell you that the missing friend had died—had surrendered to his fear.

“Why did you have to pull her into this, Richie?” Mike Hanlon asked sternly. You knew him from the library—knew that he was researching Pennywise and had asked whoever wanted to talk to him about the entity that haunted this place. Sometimes you wondered if your old friend had spoken to him in a human form, just to ensure that he would get false information. Whatever plan he had crafted over the years, it would be faulty. And dangerous.

Richie opened his mouth, but you beat him to it, saying, “Because I asked him to.” The friends exchanged disbelieving glances. “We’re not going out on a picnic today,” Mike clarified darkly. You scoffed. With this attitude, you might as well put the cards on the table right now.

No. Not yet. Wait.

“I’m not as scared as you are, not even remotely,” you said icily, narrowing your eyes. Next to you, Richie let out a small cough, telling you that he was stifling a laugh. “Tell me what I need to know in order to help you.” “I like her,” Beverly said with a smile that melted the room’s tension away. “This is not going to be pretty, I hope you had all your shots.” Anxiety flickered in the man’s brown eyes as you met them. “I don’t think that’s what we should be most worried about, Eddie,” a handsome man said, his gaze resting on Beverly longingly. “Shut up, Ben, you can get all sorts of infections and—” Eddie embarked on a lengthy monologue of all the sicknesses the group could possibly get. No one really listened to him, but slowly frowns and stern faces relaxed, easing into grins and chuckles. This was a tight-knit group. You had to keep them safe. They had lost enough.

It was Richie who, eventually, pulled in a breath and started to lay out their story, their encounter with Pennywise twenty-seven years ago. With memory slowly finding its way back, the friends pieced together the horrifying happenings. It started with Georgie Denbrough getting pulled into the storm drain and ended with the friends making a vow to return to Derry if It should ever return. You felt nauseous thinking about what Pennywise had done to these people—and what he had done to you. This morning. Guilt and shame threatened to suffocate you when Richie rested his hand on your thigh, a gesture of comfort and protection. I’m here for you, I’ll keep you safe. A part of you wanted to get up, to run out, to get away from all of this. But instead, it felt as if you were glued to the chair. Even if Pennywise had changed, had changed for you no less, you needed to restore the equilibrium somehow. The pain needed to be compensated, and you were more than willing to pay whatever settlement would reveal itself.   “Let’s get going. There’s no time to waste,” Mike urged and gestured towards the door, “There’s no going back now, [Y/N].” “I gathered as much,” you snapped, growing tired of his tone. After all, it was you who would change his ineffective plan into something that would—could—work. You. Sooner or later, you’d have to push open the door inside you that you had once locked so meticulously. As you all started to head towards the Barrens, Richie started bickering with Eddie. While Bill, Mike, and Ben were wallowing in memories, Beverly hooked her arm through yours. She slowed her steps slightly, the small distance to the others allowing her to speak to you without them overhearing. “Richie stayed with you last night, huh?” she asked, a knowing grin on her lips. A blush crept into your cheeks at her suggestiveness. “Yeah…it just happened,” you shrugged, unsure where this conversation was going. After all, you were two consenting adults. Having mind-blowing sex and helping him solve a mystery didn’t mean you were dating. There really was no reason to have  the ‘don’t break his heart’-conversation yet, or was there? “Why are you doing this for us—for him?” she asked, honestly curious. You swallowed hard and answered, “Because it’s the right thing to do. You lost a player and I believe you need someone to stand-in for him. Not that I’m trying to fill his shoes, no one could. But you will need me.” “This might sound weird,” she paused, brilliant blue eyes finding yours, “but when I got caught in the Deadlights, I saw something. I saw our future.” The hairs on the back of your neck rose, telling you that whatever she was to say was important. “I didn’t…you weren’t a part of that vision. I had seen Stanley take his life in the bathtub, everything so far has happened exactly how I saw it. But you, you’re like a blindspot,” she explained. “I believe that nothing you saw is set in stone. There’s always a blindspot, an unpredictability. How can you be sure that what you saw isn’t just what Pennywise wanted you to see?” Beverly looked to her friends, contemplating your words. “Just know that I will be a vital player in this game.” “You keep referring to this as a game. Why?” “Because that’s what this is. To Pennywise this is a game, and we need to get a step ahead of him. Desperately.” You sighed through your nose, a shadow dancing between the trees, catching your attention. Of course, he would be here. He would keep an eye on you. On all of you. In front of you, the men came to a halt and Ben started to test the ground for the entrance to their clubhouse. Richie and Eddie’s playful quarrel had stopped too and he now looked at you, a warm smile on his face when he realized you were bonding with one of his friends. “You say that name with an odd sense of intimacy,” Beverly noted and looked at you intently, searching for answers to questions she hadn’t yet asked. You closed your eyes, ignoring the warning in your head and said, “It’s because I’ve seen Pennywise, too. I’ve seen him for most of my life.” Everyone’s attention shifted to you. And just then Ben crashed through the hatch. Except for Ben’s moans, the forest had fallen silent. The wind stilled and even the birds who had been chirping happily a moment ago had quieted down. “I’m okay, I’m good,” Ben called and cut through the eerie silence. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Richie asked, the smile on his lips faltering. You could barely bear the disappointment that laced his words. “Because I was afraid.” A half-truth that would have to suffice. “I was afraid of…him.” “But if you’ve seen him for mo-most of your life,” Bill started. “Then it hasn’t slept for twenty-seven years,” Beverly concluded, “It’s been awake.” The friends looked to Mike who had only just called them back now, after Pennywise had eaten parts of the fatally injured man. You were grateful that they didn’t dig deeper, didn’t ask how you had learned about Its existence. “Guys, c’mon now. That thing had written ‘come home’ all over the bridge. I didn’t make this up,” Mike defended himself, holding up his palms in a surrendering gesture. “Well, that thing has apparently been on its best behavior if you hadn’t noticed its return until now,” Eddie spat, gesturing wildly.   “Let’s not get into this now. Let’s do what we came here for,” you reasoned, seeing panic flashing in Mike’s eyes. It was bad enough that they didn’t want to be here to begin with, but they shouldn’t start blaming one another. “She’s right. Let’s not get into another fight,” Mike agreed. “Another fight?” Eddie checked. “Yes, remember when I threw a p-punch at Richie?” Bill reminded him and Richie rubbed his jaw as if not only the memory but also the pain had returned. “I remember that, too.” Ben’s voice sounded slightly muffled as if he had already started exploring their underground clubhouse. “We should go down there,” Beverly suggested and was the first to climb down the stairs. While the others disappeared, one after the other, you caught up to Richie. Although you wanted to, you refrained from taking his hand. “I’m sorry, I should have told you,” you muttered softly. His gaze didn’t meet yours. “Yes, you should have. Last night, when I knocked on your door and you invited me in. Before we…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You made my fear seem irrational and unfounded.” “I didn’t know then that you were afraid of Pennywise. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but here in Derry, people are afraid of many different things and not all of these fears stem from the clown. He only feeds off of them. Besides, how do you think it would look if I confess to knowing about an unexplainable, ancient evil creature? You guys, you and your friends, are the first people I’ve met that have survived seeing him, interacting with him. If I were to admit to seeing him, they’d lock me up with Henry Bowers.” “You know about Henry Bowers?” Eddie called from inside the clubhouse, giving away that he had been eavesdropping. Richie’s expression softened a bit and he brushed his knuckles over your burning cheek. “No more secrets, okay? We need to stick together. You’re one of us now. A loser.” He smiled bitterly. “No more secrets,” you repeated, ignoring the warning bells that went off inside your head. Richie helped you get into the underground hideout. The walls would need to be reinforced should this place hold up for much longer. Spiders and other crawlers scuttled into the dirt or nooks, disturbed by the strip of daylight and the unwanted guests. A musty scent lingered in the air which quickly mixed with the forest’s rich scent that streamed in from above. “Nice job, Ben,” you complimented as you imagined what this place had looked like when they had all been young teenagers. “Thank you. It’s in better shape than I had thought,” he said and picked up a cassette tape. “Ah, your real friends.” Beverly chuckled and nudged him playfully. Next to you, Richie let go of a sigh, planting his hands in his pockets while the others were exploring. “Do you miss him?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, almost drowned out by the other’s chatter. You rested your hand on his back and wished that you could take some of his pain away. “It’s not fair that he had to die,” Richie finally said, “We should have—I should have—” His voice trembled and he fell silent. “What happened to Stan wasn’t your fault,” you reminded him gently. Around you, the others had stopped their exploring, ready to back you up. But Richie wiped the single tear that had run down his cheek away decidedly. “Let’s find Stan’s token and get out of here, I don’t want to get any spiders stuck in my hair.” “I think I found it,” Bill noted and held up an old can. He opened it and fished out a floral-patterned shower cap. “Stanley wouldn’t wa-want you to get spiders in your hair either.” Richie let out a breathy laugh. “No, he was the best.” You didn’t care about the others being there when you kissed away a new tear. You would really have to stop Pennywise. For this—for them. For Richie. As the decision settled inside you, you built up strong, adamant walls around it, hiding it so deep inside of you that Pennywise would never find it. Never sense it. “Where do we go from here?” you asked and took Richie’s hand in yours. You would need him now because as you stood there, in this perfect little hiding spot, you unlocked that place inside of you. A familiar tingling sensation washed over every fiber, every nerve of your body and you shuddered. “Are you okay?” Richie asked immediately. “Yes, I’m just getting paranoid now that we’ve talked so much about spiders,” you excused. Power. Pure, untamed power waited patiently in an endless-seeming well. “You will all need to find your tokens, by yourself,” Mike explained. “You want us to split up? That’s the dumbest fucking idea,” Eddie interjected and shook his head decidedly. “It’s important that you do it by yourself. For the ritual,” Mike pressed. “Well, I’m not leaving Richie,” you said firmly. Mike drew in a breath but you shot him a look. “I’m not discussing this with you. I’m going with him and that’s that.” Underneath your feet, the ground appeared to quiver at your words, telling you that you would have to dive into your power slowly. Carefully. The friends exchanged nervous glances. “We should get out of here,” Ben suggested. Great. This would probably end in them being scared of you, too. Once everyone had climbed back into the sunlight, plans were made to meet up at the Town House in a few hours. To your relief, you couldn’t sense Pennywise. Maybe he had grown tired of the reminiscing. Or your affection towards Richie. As you started your walk back into town, you were grateful for Richie’s hand in yours. After all, you hadn’t just gone with him because he had been vulnerable and because you wanted to support him. No, you had gone with him to make sure that Pennywise wouldn’t tear him to ribbons when you weren’t looking. After all, Pennywise might still be playing with the others. But after this morning, he would no longer be playing with Richie. He would hunt him.

   “So this is where you would come as a little boy, huh?” you asked, a smile on your face after Richie had ushered you into the closed down arcade. You had passed by this place so many times, wondering why no-one had ever attempted to refurbish it. Even now, hidden under layers of dust, old posters peeling away, and with graffiti splattered over the walls, you could imagine how welcoming this place had once been. Richie’s hand rested on the small of your back. “Let’s just get that token and get out of here.” With a frown, you turned towards him. “Bad memories?” He nodded. “I remember…feeling very lonely here.” These were the things, memories, feelings that Pennywise could draw power from. You needed to cover his loneliness with something else. Anything else. “Well, Richard Tozier,” you started quietly, putting change into the machine, a token clattering down, its metallic sound echoing off the walls, “you’re not alone here now.” “Do you feel lonely? With me here?” you asked, sliding the token into his pocket, your face only inches from his. He closed his eyes and wetted his lips when your hand lingered in his pocket. “Anyone could come in here,” he said huskily. “And anyone could hear. So we better keep our voices down,” you suggested, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “You’re wicked.” He chuckled and let you move him against the nearest wall. “Oh, you have no idea.” You breathed your words against his lips and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Your hands quickly went to work, reaching for his growing bulge before fumbling with his belt and pants. “So we’re gonna do this right here?” he got out as you nibbled at his earlobe, fingers busy massaging his erection. “Why, do you want me to stop?” you teased and basked in the way he looked at you as you slowly sunk to your knees. Richie shook his head decidedly and groaned when you licked over his tip, tasting him. “Quiet now. You can be noisy later,” you reminded him. “Oh shit, what’s coming later?” he asked, resting his head against the wall. You ran a hand up his thigh brazenly, withholding your touch just for a little while. “Hm, I don’t know. When we’re back in my bedroom I might tie you to the bed. Then, I might straddle you, deciding how fast or painstakingly slow we’ll go,” you said nonchalantly, “Or you could punish me for lying to you. You could give me a whipping with this belt of yours. You could decide whether or not I’ve deserved to find release.” Richie blinked at your boldness. He hadn’t been rough with you last night, but something told you that was about to change. “I…yes, we can do that.” He nodded eagerly. “Now, shut up and let me finish what I’ve started.” Fire burned behind his eyes when you finally put him in your mouth, licking his underside eagerly. Richie squirmed under your touch.   As you started to suck, his fingers wove into your hair, his hands telling you that you could increase your speed. But you didn’t, planning on tantalizing him for just a little longer. There was no need to hurry this along—even if your own arousal throbbed between your legs. With tight lips, you moved up and down his shaft, your hand ensuring that all of him was getting pleasured. Richie let out a small moan when you took him deeper into your mouth with each stroke, your tongue massaging him. From there, you let him dictate the speed and depth, taking whatever he gave you. Letting go of your power over him, submitting to him and his rhythm, added to your own lust. You could barely wait to get back to the house, to feel him between your thighs. His breathing was getting faster and more shallow, telling you that he would finish soon. Muscles tensed under your touch, his pace getting uncontrolled. When he finally stilled, you swallowed his load, sucking up every last drop greedily.

“Fuck, [Y/N],” he breathed and relaxed against the wall, fingers untangling, leaving your hair in disarray. You licked your lips as you rose, brushing the dust off your knees. “How’s that for a new memory?” you asked, a mischievous grin on your face as you helped him straighten his clothes. “Let’s make more,” he suggested and claimed your lips. “How fast can we be back at your house? I want to return the favor.” In the heat of the moment, you had barely noticed the haunting shadow in the corner by the door. Richie wouldn’t see him, the man that manifested from thin air, anger flickering in those blue eyes. “And here I thought I had fulfilled your needs this morning.” He tskd as if disappointed with you. You only shrugged slightly, fingers intertwining with Richie’s as he led you towards the exit. Without awarding Pennywise with another glance, you stepped out onto Main Street, feeling for those protective walls inside you. They were still intact. Strong. Impenetrable. He hadn’t noticed. Couldn’t have. You tried to banish Pennywise from your mind as you found your way back to the house. And yet, the desire that you had felt so intensely only moments before seemed almost washed away. Maybe you had promised Richie something you weren’t ready to follow up on. “I’ll quickly change,” you explained and rushed into your bedroom, closing the door behind yourself. Richie had already opened his mouth, probably offering that he could undress you. Right now, however, you just needed a moment to collect yourself. The boldness that had driven you earlier…it had come from your power. It wasn’t like you regretted your actions, but you couldn’t get reckless later. There was no room for mistakes. You took a deep steadying breath and finger-combed through your messy hair. Just when you wanted to undress, a flicker in your mirror caught your eyes. Not again. “Pennywise, just go away. Go play somewhere else,” you huffed, pulling off your sweater. But when you looked into the mirror, it wasn’t Pennywise who stared back at you. Confused, you let a tendril of power brush against the glassy surface. This truly wasn’t him. He wasn’t anywhere close to your house. So you only stared back, stared into the eyes that were so similar to your own. Stared into the face of your mother.

Read Chapter 4 here.

Taglist:

@lilwickedred @shockwavee @itssmaugtheterrible @ggclarissa @okokbucky @chillcan @jojo-buttercup @victor-criss-bish @discodeakky @kaetastic @anthonystarksglasses

[helluva-pilot]

Fluff #22 for Reddie! "If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say something? Come here.”

Letting Myra keep the house was one of the easiest decisions of Eddie's life. The memories in that house were not the ones that he wanted to carry into the next chapter of his life. The art she carefully picked and hung on the walls over the years were practically tombstones now. All he saw were ghosts when he walked the hallways the time that went into the house to pack up the belongings that wanted to keep.

"You brought him here! How could you bring that man into our house, Eddie, after everything he's done!" Myra wailed. Her face was red and bloated from the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

"After what he's done? That man saved my life."

read on ao3

Those were the last words that Eddie ever spoke to Myra. After that, all their correspondence was done through lawyers. Occasionally, someone would send him a screenshot of a facebook status where she ranted about the famous gay comedian that ruined her life and stole her husband. He always made sure to forward them to Richie, and saved them in a folder. There might be a day when a late-night host needed some excellent material for Richie to react to, and he would gladly hand them over.

As Eddie placed the key on the kitchen counter, he realized that they had never actually had a conversation about where Eddie was going to leave. He just knew where he wasn't going to live.

The door closed, and Eddie turned to Richie. "What part of LA are you in? I have to find a decent hotel that isn't full of bugs and like dead bodies. Do you think that I can find health inspection records online? I'll have to buy wifi on the plane so I can read through all the reviews. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Richie scrunched his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hand.

"You're staying with me, asshole."

Eddie opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it. The thought of moving in together hadn't even crossed his mind; it seemed so obvious. There was nowhere else he wanted to be anyway.

Richie grabbed Eddie's hand. The motion was small and natural, but he still wasn't used to the feeling and felt as if electricity was coursing through his body. "Why waste your money on a hotel room when you'd be in my bed each night anyway?"

"Beep beep! This isn't the fucking time or place, Rich." Eddie smacked Richie's arm before pointing at the door to remind him that his wife was probably just on the other side of the door listening to them. It wasn't that Richie was wrong, but this conversation could wait until they at least were in the car. Or maybe even until they were in the air.

"Oh, they'll be plenty of fucking times and places."

Eddie rolled his eyes and lightly squeezed Richie's hand. He wanted to be annoyed with Richie, but he couldn't wait to start the next chapter of his life with this idiot.

Richie had attempted to cook for them that first night together. The gesture was sweet, but the meal was inedible. Eddie suspected this might be the outcome, and he had ordered a pizza halfway through the cooking ordeal.

It was a perfect night, Eddie thought as he went to bed with his head against Richie's chest.

Eddie realized that living with Richie was different than it had ever been with Myra. He had just allowed her to make most of the choices about the house because he never actually cared. All of those years, he had been on autopilot just going through the motions without realizing it.

Now, he had opinions about everything and someone that actually cared enough to listen to them.

He hated the rug and made sure that Richie knew it. It was horrified to find out that it had been with him since his days in college. Eddie gagged, thinking of the horrors that it had seen over the years. There wasn't enough cleaner in the world for him to allow his bare feet to touch it.

Within two days of Eddie complaining, Richie surprised him with a visit to the store to pick out a new one.

"You can't just spring this sort of decision on me! I don't even have the measurements of the living room."

"They come in different sizes?"

Eddie groaned. "This is why nothing in your apartment matches."

It took multiple trips to the stores, but Eddie eventually picked out the rug that he thought would look perfect. It was a blue rug that he thought might attempt to make the living room look like an actual adult lived there.

It seemed that anything that Eddie complained about was immediately removed or changed. The ugly poster in the bedroom vanished after he commented that it looked like something a teenager would have above there bed.

"Why don't any of your lids actually fit these pots or pans?" Eddie asked as he attempted to cook dinner one night for the both of them.

Richie shrugged. "I got them all at thrift stores over the years."

"That's disgusting." Eddie picked up his phone to order them dinner instead.

Two days later, a brand new set of pots and pans showed up at the apartment. Eddie appreciated them and started to make them dinners most nights. Richie would attempt to clean the dishes, but most times, Eddie would end up washing them a second time when he wasn't looking.

While re-cleaning a pan that Richie left burnt bits on, Eddie wondered r just how much money his boyfriend had spent on him since moving in. He pushed the thought of his mind as he crawled into bed. It didn't matter as long as he spent the night in Richie's arms.

The next night, Eddie came barreling into the living room, pulling on one of Richie's sweatshirts.

"Why the fuck is it always so cold in here? Do you even know how much you spend on your electric every month? Do you even think about your carbon footprint?"

"If you're so cold, why didn't you say something? Come here, Eds."Richie reached out and pulled Eddie close to him.

"Get - off - me," Eddie said as he attempted to wrestle out of Richie's grasp.

"I'll keep you warm, though, baby," Richie said, tightening his hug. "Or just turn up the AC. You can turn the heat up real high, so we don't need anything clothing."

Richie winked at Eddie before leaning down to kiss him.

"It's not about the cold," Eddie said before Richie's lips could reach his own. He looked down at the ground. "I feel like you're changing your entire life so I can fit in it."

Rich exhaled loudly while he looked at the ceiling. He shook his head lightly before looking back down at Eddie. "I just want you to be happy. Like, I've never really done this before."

Richie motioned at the both of them for emphasis. He stand up might have included references of girlfriends, but he confessed to Eddie that it was all fabrication. There had never been a person that lasted more than a few dates.

"I've never really done this either," Eddie admitted. He could barely qualify his marriage as a relationship. In the past, he thought that it was a relationship, but being with Richie for just the last few months made him realize that it wasn't even close. After years with Myra, he really didn't know anything about her. They didn't listen to each other when they spoke. Now, Richie seemed to hang on every word that he spoke.

The two stood there in silence.

"I don't want to give you a reason to leave, so I might be going a little overboard," Richie said quietly.

"You're fucking stupid if you think I'm going to leave. It's just you don't need to go all sugar daddy."

"But, I would be such a good sugar daddy," Richie whined. He leaned down and lightly kissed Eddie. "So, no more gifts?"

"I never said that. Just maybe less gifts," Eddie laughed.

For the first time in his life, Eddie truly felt at home in Richie's arms. This was the place he had always meant to be, and he was never going to leave.

[bitchinrichie]

Show Me How to Love

a gift for @gildediris for @itfandomprompts secret Santa!!! I hope you like it!!!

ship: stozier

warnings:  angst, relationship angst, Pennywise

*************

It started with a call, one phone call from a person that meant so much but held so much pain, one phone call and everything felt wrong. Stanley Uris had accomplished plenty in his 40 years of living, even if he couldn’t remember the first 13 or so years of it. He didn’t really think about it much, it hadn’t been relevant until now. A phone call from Mike Hanlon in Derry, Maine; Mike had been his best friend, one of seven. The losers, Derry, the sewers, a house on Neibolt street, a killer clown, and something he couldn’t place. Stanley had forgotten but in that moment he felt everything.

“See you tomorrow, Stan the Man,” that was the last thing Stan heard before Mike hung up. He was shaking, knees giving out and he fell back down on the couch in his small apartment. Pennywise, that thing had almost killed him 27 years ago and he was supposed to go back and fight it again? He was losing focus on his surroundings and he couldn’t feel the tears on his cheeks; just before he blacks out he remembers a song a boy used to sing to him,

“Songbird.”

***

Richie Tozier had just finished a show in Chicago as he sped back to his hotel, his head was spinning and nothing made sense. He fucked up his act and he knew his manager would be on his ass about it later but right now he just wanted to stop shaking. He felt comforted by Mike’s voice but he still couldn’t entirely place why, he was bound to find out as he headed for Derry. It was slow paced but names continually came back to him: Big Bill, Bev, Ben, Eds, Stan.

He supposed these people were important to him but Stan held something deeper. His chest hurt and he had to take deep breaths in order to properly breathe. He turned the radio on to get his mind off the weird feelings he had, but he heard the beginning of ‘The One I Love’  by R.E.M. and he remembered.

***

December 25, 1989

“You know I don’t celebrate Christmas, dumbass.”

“I know but I saw this and I had to get it, Happy Hanukkah?” Richie grinned and Stan just rolled his eyes but still smiling as he opened the small box Richie handed him. Richie watched timidly as Stan opened the box and his eyebrows raised. It was a small pendant of a bluebird made entirely of glass.

“Richie I-”  Stan was speechless.

“I thought you’d like it. Bluebirds are supposed to represent hope and be a good omen or some shit and I thought since what happened this past summer, you’d need that,” Richie smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Stan.

“I love it, Richie,” he sniffled and pulled him into a tight hug. Stan rarely gave hugs so Richie knew that Stan really loved it, now if only he was brave enough to tell him how he feels.

***

Jade of the Orient was the designated meeting place and Stan still didn’t feel any better, when he had woken up after passing out he was determined to come back. His fear was still crippling but his friends needed him and he wanted to kill the fucker for good. He entered the restaurant and the scars along the sides of his face started to burn, he felt so small, so scared, so weak.

“Holy shit, Stan is that you?” He whipped his head around to face Mike Hanlon and Bill Denbrough as they smiled at him, both pulling him into a hug which he hesitantly returned. Not even seconds later, they were met with Eddie Kaspbrak who just smiled and waved at them.

Stan was trying to pay attention to Bill talking about his books and something about his wife but he just kept spacing out, until the banging of a gong brought him back to the present and he was met with his songbird, Richie Tozier.

Stan’s breath was caught in his throat and he felt like crying, a part of him wanted to run to him and another wanted to run away. He looked Richie up and down and he could see beads of sweat on his forehead. His eyes looked pained but he was still smiling at him. Stan gave him a small smile before sitting down, Richie sitting next to him but never looking his way.

He waves to Bev and Ben who look worried at his quietness and small staring contest with the trashmouth himself but they don’t say anything.

“So Stan the man!! You married? Engaged?” Bill pointed his drink at him and smiled. Bev was next to him wiggling her eyebrows. Stan sighs and nervously laughs,

“No I’m not married. I never really found the right person,” Stan took a sip of his drink and shrugged. They accepted that answer but when he looked at Richie, he looked almost relieved,

“You aren’t married, Staniel?? Even Eds got married!”

“Hey fuck you!” Eddie pouted across the table while Richie laughed at him.

***

As the night went on it felt like no time had passed, Richie told his dumb jokes that only the losers could appreciate and Stan tried his hardest not to indulge him. Stan felt safe again, talking to Eddie about his risk analyst job and talking to Bev about fashion while Richie rated what would look best on Stan.

“When Mike called me I threw up, I was shaking, it was weird- I’m okay now though but I don’t usually feel that way unless I’m-”

“Scared. Yeah, I passed out after he called me.” Stan interrupted Richie looking between Mike and the table as he spoke. Bev’s breath hitched and she whispered,

“Pennywise.”

No, not again. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him, he thought he was having a nightmare. Pennywise was dead, they killed it, this was a joke. He couldn’t catch his breath and he started to hyperventilate, he felt something on his right shoulder and he looked at Richie, who was attempting to calm him down. He just kept staring into his soft, brown eyes and he felt better, but then the fortune cookies started shaking.

***

“Come on, Stanny, I got you. Let’s get back to inn and get the fuck out of here,” Richie pleaded. When the fortune cookies attacked, he pulled Stan close to him and vowed to himself to never let him go again.

“No Richie, I don’t want your help. I’m fine-”

“No you’re fucking not!! You’re scared! I’m scared! Let’s get out of dodge, please Stanley.” Richie had gotten Stan to his car and he didn’t want to fight with him now, he wished they didn’t remember everything.

“Yeah I’m scared but I don’t want you to touch me. Just drive to the fucking inn,” Stan growled at him and Richie felt his heart break again. He unlocks the car, getting in and driving in silence as Stan looked out the window.

***

December 25, 1992

“You’re a goddamn liar! How dare you just sit here and tell me you love me when you denied it more than once! Do you think I’m stupid?” Stan had his arms crossed tightly against his chest until he began to cry. He started pacing around his living room, feeling his heart ache.

“Stan! No it’s not like that! Please listen to me! You’re my best friend.” Richie was so fucking scared, he couldn’t lose him but he fucked up. Stan wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t let him touch him.

“Is that what I am? You think you get to reject me, lie and tell me you love me and then call me your best friend? No, fuck you, Richard.” Stan pointed at the door, Richie sniffled and ran out, slamming the door behind him.

***

Richie had his hand raised to knock on Stan’s door but he hesitated, he didn’t want to leave without Stan or at least saying goodbye to him.

As he went to knock, the door opened and Stan was taken aback before crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. Richie sighs,

“Listen, I’m fucking leaving. I can’t do this shit again and I want you to come with me. You don’t deserve to suffer again but-”

“Since when do you get to tell me what’s good for me? I remember what happened to me, as soon as I got into Derry my scars started burning. I’m fucking scared and I know I’m the weakest one of us but we made a promise to each other. Besides I’m not a selfish bastard like you,” Stan pushes past him and walks away to join the others downstairs.

Richie regretted rejecting Stan, it was a lie. He loved Stan with his entire being, he would do anything for him. But he felt disgusting, he hated himself and he just wanted to feel normal. He was forgettable, annoying, desperate, and lonely. He craved attention and he was a loud mouth so he wouldn’t be forgotten.

He had decided that Stanley deserved better than him, so he broke his and Stan’s heart so it could be better in the long run. If he lost Stanley, he’d be lost forever, so losing him as a lover but keeping a friend seemed like the better option. But he lost him all the same.

He slowly joined the others as well, standing by the bar because Stan was right, the losers needed each other. He looked around at his friends and he felt strong, brave, and more importantly, loved. His only wish was that they didn’t have to deal with a killer clown.

***

December 25, 1991

Stan was sitting on Richie’s bed with his head against Richie’s shoulder while the trashmouth, himself, read comics in his dumbest voices just to make Stan laugh. In that moment, it was just the two of them, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Richie would look over at Stan, watching how his eyes would crinkle when he smiled or how his nose scrunched up when he laughed. He doesn’t know how it happened but before he can stop himself, he’s leaning in and pressing his chapped lips against Stan’s soft ones.

It was quick and over before he knew it but Stan thought different and pulled him in again. This one was held more feeling, Richie dropped his comic and cupped Stan’s face. Stan had one arm around his neck and the other playing with his wild curls. Both pulling away, cheeks red and very giggly.

That was it, they didn’t talk about it or how it would affect their relationship because it just felt right. It was easy, no butterflies or shaky hands. Just pure, unadulterated love for the other. Friends could randomly make out with each other, right?

***

“Stan! Stanley, just wait!! What happened?” Richie yelled breathlessly behind him as they both approached the inn after splitting up to find their tokens. Stan stopped and sighed,

“What do you want, Richie?”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Richie’s voice was barely above a whisper as he stared at his shoes, waiting for Stan to walk away again. Instead, he scoffed and turned to face him,

“I’m peachy! I’m doing fantastic, this is a wonderful vacation! Are you kidding me?! I’m not your problem anymore but apparently the world hates me. My token was the bluebird you gave me, and here I thought I threw it away.” He tried desperately not to let his tears fall down his cheeks.

“Fuck you Stan. I’m so fucking sorry I still care about you! After this shit show, you can forget me again and you’ll be happy. But just so you know, that bluebird? It took me months to find because they didn’t have the right glass or whatever, but fuck me I guess.” Richie cleared his throat and held his eyes shut to rid of the tears. He walked past Bev and Ben on the stairs, there was no point in staying, he was gonna die anyway.

He entered his room and just started throwing his clothes into the bag and muttering to  himself. There was a knock on the door and he hoped it was Stan, opening it revealed it was only Ben. Richie sighs, letting him in and returning to pack his belongings,

“Hoping for Stan? Sorry it’s just me but Richie you have to stay, we can’t do this without you,” Ben stepped into the room, blocking the door.

“There’s no point, Haystack. We’re gonna die anyway, how do you expect us to defeat  a killer clown with dumb memories from our past?” Richie stopped, turned to face Ben  and sat down on his bed.

“You have to trust Mike, he stayed here all this time so we could defeat it again. He sacrificed for us, don’t we owe him for that?” Ben pats Richie’s shoulder as he nods. Satisfied, Ben goes back downstairs; Richie letting his body decide before his mind, grabs his belongings and heads out the back door.

***

Stan made his way to the small bar inside the inn, he didn’t drink much but after what’s happened and what is going to happen he needs it. He drank his bourbon while he absentmindedly twisted the small, crystal bluebird in his other hand. He saw Ben come back down the stairs but no Richie, he wanted to be relieved but he wasn’t, he just felt worse.

He didn’t hate Richie, he never could, he was confused and angry. He knew Richie remembered and yet he still acted like nothing changed, he couldn’t let himself suffer again.

“You okay, Stan?” Bev had interrupted his  thoughts and brought him back to reality.

“Oh yeah, I- I’m fine,” He hoped she’d take his answer but from the look on her face, she did not.

“Stan, you know you can tell me anything. I know how hard this must be for you, well I know you suffered the most,” she takes his hands and squeezes them, giving him a small smile.

“Thanks Bev, I just- my scars burn and I can’t close my eyes without seeing IT. What am I changing if I stay?”

“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve to be in pain. I wish we could’ve stopped IT before it got to you- but we need you here. We can’t do this without you.” He nods and pockets the bluebird before telling her he needs to clear his head for a moment.

He started walking, not anywhere in particular, it was peaceful which shocked him  because this town brought him nothing but pain. Every shred of happiness left him when he moved away and he was left with memories of heartache and fear shrouding his mind in darkness. He approached the synagogue, where he messed up his bar mitzvah, which his father never let him forget.

***

Richie doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting in the synagogue but he does know that Stan’s bar mitzvah keeps replaying in his head. He remembers how shocked he was when Stan cussed out his dad and him letting the doors softly close behind him was so perfectly Stan.

He missed him. He missed the way his eyes lit up when he talked about birds, the way his soft, golden curls shone against the sun or even in the moonlight. Sometimes when Richie snuck over to Stan’s because he was lonely and vulnerable enough to tell someone, Stan would fall asleep and he’d run his fingers through his curls. Richie used to think he was dreaming because of how perfect Stan was and he had nightmares of losing him. Now it just seemed the nightmare would never end,

“Of course you’re here too, I can’t catch a break can I? I thought you were leaving?” Richie looks up at Stan’s tired voice, the doors softly swinging behind him.

“Uh yeah I was, but I saw your name- um I got lost in a memory. I’ll leave, sorry,” Richie sounded defeated, broken, scared which was nothing like him. Richie got up from his spot and headed toward the door, toward Stan; when he stopped and blinked his eyes a couple times and huffed a small laugh,

“Do you remember when you moved away for college? You didn’t tell me when you were leaving but I was still excited for you. You always talked about getting into Yale and how you thought you’d never get in, you always sold yourself short, I was proud of you though.” Richie sniffled and gave him a watery smile-

“Just like I was when you stood up to your dad at your bar mitzvah. But anyway, I remember the day you left, I walked over to your house like I did almost everyday that summer to make sure you hadn’t left yet but, when I got there that day, you were gone. You left me without saying goodbye.” Richie took off his glasses to wipe his tears and he tried to regulate his breathing.

“Rich, I-”

“No, it’s okay. I fucked up, I fucked up really bad and I know you hate me. I hate me too, I lost you and I’m lost. No matter what happens in the next couple hours or even days, just know that I did love you and I still do,” He pushed his way out through the doors but Stan caught his arm, Richie turned to look at him through his tear stained glasses and blurred vision,

“I don’t hate you. I never hated you, I was just angry and maybe I still am. I-I don’t know but I have never hated you,” Stan gently pulled on Richie’s arm and he just collapsed into Stan’s arms. He just sobbed and held him as close as he could without breaking him, Stan rubbed his back and just held him.

“God, look at me, I’m more of a pussy than you and we haven’t gone up against the damn clown yet,”  Richie let out a little laugh but Stan just stared at him until he started giggling which turned into full blown laughter.  Richie thought he was dreaming again, he adored Stan’s laugh; it was loud, obnoxious, and perfect. If only it was just a joke.

***

“Eddie! Eddie get the knife! EDDIE!” Bill screamed, trying his hardest to get spider Stan’s head off of Richie’s face. Pennywise had cooked up something special this time around and all of the losers were going to pay for the summer of 1989. Eddie, Bill, and Richie had gotten separated from the others, they heard Ben screaming from the other side but the door wouldn’t budge.

Eddie wouldn’t move from the corner, he was paralyzed with fear. Bill kept screaming at him but Eddie still remained in the corner. Richie had his eyes screwed shut as he screamed but he couldn’t bear to look at the love of his life trying to eat him, even if it truly wasn’t.

The door finally opened and Ben grabbed the knife, stabbing it into the spiders head relentlessly. Richie finally stopped screaming to breathe and sputter while trying to, Bev and Stan rushing to his side. Bev cleans his face with her jacket and Stan puts his glasses on his face, Richie looking at Stan immediately. He refused to tell him what that thing was but Stan still sensed fear behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Bill, I was just scared,” Eddie was pinned to the wall by Bill, he let go of him, guilt clear on his face.

“I’m okay, Eds. It’s okay, we’re all scared,” Richie remained close to Stan, trying to comfort Eddie. Eddie nodded and sniffled, turning to Mike who had pushed past the others to the basement door.

“Here we go again, can’t wait,” Richie sighed but nervously laughed.

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bev whispered.

The others followed Mike, Stan was hesitating, he couldn’t get his feet to move. Richie noticed and held out his hand for him, figuring he wouldn’t take it but hoping anyway. Stan took it and squeezed, following behind to the basement once again.

***

“RICHIE!” Stan shrieked was he watched Richie float into the air, caught in the deadlights.

Not even moments later, Eddie ran out throwing a fence post like a javelin into Pennywise’s mouth, releasing Richie from its hold. Eddie ran to Richie, hovering over him and Stan couldn’t stop himself. Stan ran up onto the ledge where Eddie and Richie were, he watched Richie push Eddie away from him and then he saw the claw.

It was just darkness and there was screaming, so much screaming. Stan didn’t comprehend what had just happened until he felt arms around his waist. Eddie was on the edge of the ledge but he was unhurt so Stan looked down and found Richie holding onto him for dear life.

“Oh my god, you’re okay,” Stan breathed out- “I thought you got hurt, I couldn’t see anyt-” Richie interrupted him with a kiss. It didn’t last long but Stan got the message, helping him off the ground and quickly grabbing Eddie to rejoin the others.

They needed a plan and they needed it fast, as they joined the other losers down below in a cavern with Pennywise clawing his way to them, everyone was relieved that no one was hurt.

“What do we do now?” Ben threw his hands up and sighed.

“Wait, I remembered something, all things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit. So if we can make him small, we can beat him.” Mike looked around at them and it seemed to be the best option.

***

The caverns were crumbling around them, Pennywise had become dust, and they needed to get out. Climbing back through the sewers and through Neibolt, watching it become nothing but a ghost of the pain they endured. All of the losers watched in relief and weariness as they realized IT was finally gone.

They decided one more trip down memory lane, a good one at least, would be the best way to end this past week. Standing at the edge of the quarry, where they spent most of their summers just being kids, they jumped off one by one. Swimming around in dirty water, while Eddie complained they were going to die or get some disease felt like they were kids again.

Richie sat on a boulder to clean his glasses, watching, well squinting, Ben and Beverly finally share a kiss while Bill and Eddie splash each other, Mike watching his friends finally be happy and him finally realizing he’s free. He saw Stan laughing at Mike as they hugged  and eventually making his way over to him,

“How’s it going, Stan the man?”

“Listen, just shut up for a sec, I don’t hate you. I’m not mad anymore either, I used to think you hated me and that you were disgusted by me. I realize now that you were just scared, I was scared too I just took it out on you. I’m sorry, Richie.” Stan grabbed his hands and he watched how Richie’s lips curled into a smile and how his eyes lit up and even the small freckles on his cheeks.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me, hot stuff,” Richie winked. Stan rolled his eyes but pulled him closer by his shirt collar and kissed him, it was just purely them. Stan pulled away and rested his forehead on Richie’s,

“One more thing, I love you too.” They both burst into giggles and Richie pulled him in for another kiss.

***

December 25, 2019

The Uris-Tozier household was always alive with laughter and today was no different, they didn’t really celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah for that matter but they still decorated. It was minimal Christmas decorations, mostly snowmen and colorful lights; no tree because they bought each other small things and usually went on vacations. Stan still had a menorah that he lit each night of Hanukkah but he didn’t feel the need to have strict Jewish traditions.

This year was special however, they had been married for almost three years and they both wanted to do something special, Stan walked into their house and found Richie sitting on the couch, staring at the floor and holding a small box. Stan smiled and set his bag down, walking to the hall closet to retrieve his gift for Richie. They had already planned their vacation to Buenos Aires earlier in the month,

“You ready to bawl your eyes out, Stanny?” Richie wiggled his eyebrows and Stan laughed.

“I should be asking you that, should we do this at the same time?” Richie nodded excitedly and they exchanged gifts.

Stan opened his gift and it took him all of his willpower not to absolutely sob right then and there, it was the small bluebird Richie had given him so long ago,

“I found it in a glass shop downtown. I know you gave up the first one I gave you but I had to buy it, I think it means more now than it did when we were 14. Also I love you, songbird.” Richie was already crying. He opened his gift and it was the comic, an X-Men comic, that Richie read to him in his dumb voices when they had their first kiss.

“I found it when we went to that comic book store last week, I immediately recognized the cover and I had to get it. It reminds me of one of the best days of my life, also, I love you too babylove.” They were both crying, though Stan vowed he never did, Richie would always know how much of a softie he was.

[thorniest-rose]

cherry, darling

teen reddie drabble. i just wanted an excuse to write about eddie in a little blue waiter’s outfit a la twin peaks and richie being a bad boy in a leather jacket.

Eddie’s shift at the Delicious Derry Diner has just started when he hears the welcoming twinkle of the brass door bell. He adjusts his baby blue hat, makes sure his apron is tied securely, and turns to smile brightly at whoever’s walked in.

The greeting dies in his mouth when he sees who it is. Trashmouth Tozier. Shit.

“Sandy,” he whispers through the small window into the kitchen, at the blonde girl who works Saturdays with him. “Can you serve the guy who’s just come in?”

“Can’t hun, sorry. Gotta help put out the pies when they’re ready.”

Eddie bites his lip. Richie has found a booth near the back of the diner where he’s lounging like a big cat. He’s got his leather jacket on today and his hair is a mess of dark curls that spill over his forehead. Damn it. Out of all the diners in Derry, why did he have to come to this one?

Julie, Eddie’s boss, sees him dawdling and comes over.

“Aren’t you going to serve that boy, Eddie? You know it’s policy to serve every customer within five minutes of them coming in.” 

And Eddie knows he can’t refuse. He’s only been here for two weeks and he needs this job. It’s the only thing that’ll get him out the house on weekends, and he can save up the money for college. It also beats bagging groceries or working at the pharmacy with that creep Mr Keene.

“Sure thing, Julie,” he chirps. “Was just checking that my laces were tied.”

“Just make sure he orders something,” Julie says, frowning over at Richie. “The boy looks like he could be trouble.”

You have no idea, he thinks sullenly.

Eddie grabs a menu and makes his way over to Richie. Richie grins widely as he watches him, his arms outstretched along the back of the booth. He gives a little wolf whistle when Eddie gets to his table.

“Richie, what are you doing here?” he hisses, shoving the menu in front of him. 

“Good morning to you too, Eds. And I’m hungry obviously.”

Eddie just glares at him. He knows Richie and that won’t be the only reason. Just because they used to be friends doesn’t mean Richie has innocent intentions.

Richie raises his eyebrows at him. 

“Aren’t you going to give me the proper Delicious Derry greeting? I’ve heard great things about the hospitality here.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at Julie, who’s watching them closely. He needs to get this right. He plasters on a big fake smile as he turns back to Richie. 

“Hello and welcome to the Delicious Derry Diner. We’re the greatest diner in all of Maine with the richest coffee and sweetest pie you’ll ever have. How can I help you today?”

“Very nice,” Richie purrs and his eyes dip to Eddie’s shorts. The blue ones with the white trim that match his shirt and hat. Eddie wants the ground to swallow him up. If the kids at school find out about this he’ll never live it down.

“Are you going to order anything or have you just come in to make fun of me?”

Richie leans back as if considering this. He looks good, Eddie thinks reluctantly. He’s still a gangly giraffe but over the last couple of years his face has gone from a bit stupid to striking, with sharp cheekbones and full lips. And at some point he swapped his awful glasses for ones that actually fit properly.

“Are you on the menu?” Richie asks.

“Richie,” he hisses, looking around to make sure no one’s heard them. “No, obviously not. And can you stop gawking at me like that.”

“But you’re so fucking cute.“ He juts his chin at Eddie’s uniform. “Seriously, you get paid to wear that?”

Eddie flushes at the implication that he’s just here to be pretty. “No, dickwad, they pay me to serve fuckheads like you.”

Richie makes a tutting sound with his tongue. “Such sass. Don’t know if I’ll be able to tip with an attitude like that. Shall I tell your boss about the mouth on her lovely little waiter? I bet she’ll be shocked. Won’t look good for you to be getting complaints so early on.”

“Richie, you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

And Eddie knows he wouldn’t. Richie likes to play rough, and he hangs out with a group of stoner dickheads now, but he’s not that cruel. At least Eddie doesn’t think so. But Eddie can’t risk it. He needs this job.

“Fine, please tell me what you’d like and I’ll get it right away.”

“Read me the menu.”

“What?”

“Come on, toots. I don’t got all day.”

“Read your own goddamn menu!” he spits. 

“Excuse me,” Richie calls, looking over Eddie’s shoulder toward the counter.

“Okay, okay,” he says frantically, hands scrambling at the menu.

And he does. He reads Richie everything on the menu, from every variant of coffee to every way you can have your eggs to every flavour of pie. His cheeks flush red behind the plastic and he makes sure his face is hidden as he dutifully reads off every item. 

When he finally gets to the end, he peeks over the top of the menu to find Richie staring at him with one of those stupid, toothy grins on his face.

“So what would you like?”

“Hmmm,” Richie lolls his head back to look at the ceiling, and Eddie can’t help but stare at the long, pale arch of his throat. At his bobbing Adam’s apple. The sharp curve of his collarbone above his white t-shirt.

He makes Eddie wait, as he hums and haws, takes the menu from him to look over it again. Eddie shifts, fingers twisting at the front of his apron.

“I’ll have the eggs and bacon,” Richie says finally, snapping the menu closed. “I want cherry pie, too. And coffee.”

“Do you want any cream and sugar with that?”

Richie grins again, a slower one this time, as he tilts his head at Eddie.

“Pretty sure I have enough sugar right here.”

Eddie feels his cheeks go cartoon-fire red. 

“Are you sure you’re not on the menu? Not even as a special?”

“No, Richie.” 

Richie makes a disappointed noise. “Shame. At least the view’s nice.”

“I’ll be back with your coffee,” Eddie stutters, reaching out to take the menu. Except Richie whisks it away with one of his stupidly long arms.

“What is it now?”

“I lied when I said I just came in to eat. I wanted to see you.”

Eddie’s stomach swoops. He hasn’t hung out with Richie in years. Can’t remember the last time they had a conversation when Richie wasn’t loudly calling him princess, or pushing into his space and telling him to hand over his notes from class. Even though Richie is a low-key genius and wouldn’t need any help if he actually bothered turning up.

“You could just talk to me at school.”

“I could, but you’re always with those dweebs from band.”

“They’re my friends, Trashmouth, and they’re nice.”

“Nice,” Richie scoffs. “Since when did you ever care about nice? Sounds boring.”

“It’s not boring, Richie. Just because we don’t ditch school to get high or think fun is hijacking people’s cars for a joyride.”

Richie hums, finally lets Eddie take the menu from him. Their fingers brush for a split second, and Eddie’s chest clenches.

“I hear you still hang out with Bill sometimes,” Richie murmurs.

“Yeah, sometimes. Why?”

“Guy’s an asshole.”

Of course he’d say that. Things have never been the same between them since that summer. Since Bill struck Richie and the others had to break them apart before they killed each other. Not that Eddie thinks about it much. Not without getting a phantom ache in his arm, or zoning out as he stares at the scar on his hand.

“Heard he thinks he’s the next Tennessee Williams.”

“Bill’s talented, Richie. He got a short story published in a national competition. And he’s getting a full scholarship to study English.”

Eddie pauses. “Do you see any of the others?”

“Eh, not really. I keep in touch with Marsh. Talk to her on the phone sometimes and she sends me letters.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. He hasn’t seen Beverly since that summer she moved away. “Beverly? Really? How is she?”

“Better now she’s not living with her evil prick of a dad. She wants to go into fashion, makes all her own clothes.”

“Cool,” Eddie says, and he means it. He’d love to see Bev again. Maybe if she’d stayed she could have helped the Losers remain friends. Slowed the glue from dissolving between all of them. It’s true Eddie sees Bill sometimes, and every now and then does his homework with Stan, but it’s never the same. Not like it was before. They would have died for each other; now they barely stop to say hello.

“Hey,” he says, just thinking of something. “How did you know I work here? I never see anyone else from school come in.”

“I keep my eye on you, Kaspbrak.”

“You do?” 

Which doesn’t make any sense. Richie doesn’t talk to Eddie, doesn’t even interact with him unless he’s cooing nonsense at him at school as all his grungy asshole friends look on and laugh. Nice shorts, Kaspbrak, or, Heard you showed your flute a real nice time last night. Trying to make me jealous?

“Yeah. And not like I’m complaining.” Richie’s eyes trail across Eddie’s thighs again. “Heard they have the juiciest peach pie here.” 

And Richie’s being a jerk. He knows that. But he can’t stop the way his stomach tightens at his words. The way it always does whenever Richie calls out to him at school. Can’t help how hot his face gets. How easily rattled he is by everything he does.

“I’ll, erm, go put your order in now.”

“Thanks, doll.” Richie winks at him, his smile as slow and molten as hot honey.  

Eddie walks away, cursing himself as he stumbles slightly. He glances back to see Richie watching him. Wonders if he has time to go out back and scream into his apron before he has to serve Richie his food.

[reddieandgoodnight]

1 + 19 for the kiss prompt for reddie !

You got it! This is a sequel to this, though you don’t necessarily have to read that first (just know Eddie survives losing his arm in the fight with It and is with Richie now). Also, I’m letting the Losers keep their memories after the battle with It. Hope you like it!

1. breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that you’re murmuring into each other’s mouths

19. kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing 

Eddie sighs as he looks at himself in the mirror. It’s slowly becoming less jarring to see himself with only one arm, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still disconcerting sometimes. Then again, he supposes he’s lucky to even be alive. Heaven knows he shouldn’t be. That much blood, that much pain — he should have been dead.

He wriggles into a t-shirt he stole from Richie. Putting on clothes with one arm is not easy. Richie usually helps him dress every morning, as Richie had since he’d awoken at Mike’s house — and probably before that, though Eddie doesn’t remember.

Eddie wanders into the living room. Glancing out the window shows him a sunny neighborhood with palm trees, so different from the New York he’s used to. Sometimes it’s strange, being all the way on the other side of the country. So far from where he’s from and from what he’s accustomed to. But having Richie here with him has made the unfamiliarity easier.

When Richie had asked Eddie if he wanted to move in together, Eddie hadn’t even hesitated before he agreed. He knew he was uprooting his entire life to move to Beverly Hills with Richie. But he didn’t want his old life anymore. He could never go back, not after he’d remembered his childhood and everyone with whom he’d shared it— Richie most of all.  

Eddie had returned to New York for a spell to set his affairs in order with the limo business.

And to see Myra again, just once. To serve her with divorce papers.

She’d fretted over him at first, like she had been the one to lose an arm and not him.

Eddie had taken a step back from her grabby, fat-fingered hands. “I want a divorce,” he’d said, handing her the papers without preamble.

Myra had been inconsolable after that, all tears and screaming and accusing him of never having loved her. Maybe Eddie agreeing with her on that last part had been unwise, but he refused to lie anymore to save her feelings. To allow her to manipulate him into telling her what she wanted to hear. To give her the right to act exactly like his mother. Especially when the truth was that he was gay and in love with Richie — a truth he was finally accepting about himself for the first time in his life. So he didn’t.

Richie had been waiting for Eddie afterwards at his office. He’d refused to let Eddie travel from Derry to New York alone.

“What if you need to drive somewhere? Or need to iron your clothes? Or —”

“Richie, I’m not going to need to iron clothes. Also, it’s New York. Nobody drives —”

“Except for you! That’s what you do! And what if you need to, I don’t know, open a jar or something?”

“Why the fuck would I need to open a jar?”

“I don’t know! Point is, Eds, you’re not going by yourself. I just…” Richie had paused, grimacing. “I can’t… I can’t not be able to see you. Not after… that. Just…not yet. Please.”

A twinge had gone through the space where Eddie sometimes could still feel his missing arm. And he’d known exactly what Richie meant. After passing out from blood loss and shock in the Derry sewers and then missing out on a couple of days in the hospital before the doctors let him regain consciousness, the last thing he wanted to do was to not have Richie right in front of him, to know Richie was safe, that there were no otherworldly creatures of death coming to kill them.

It was gone…but the terror sometimes remained, a scar Eddie had a feeling would always be a part of each member of the Losers’ Club.

“…okay, Rich. Okay.”

Richie had drawn Eddie into the office by the elbow and closed the door.

“Are you all right?” he’d asked, so concerned. Richie was able to use his contacts again after they’d left Derry, so his brown eyes had been especially bright as he gazed at Eddie, gently touching Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie wanted to lie, to say everything was fine. But just because something was right didn’t make it easy.

So Eddie shook his head, and the tears began to spill.

“Hey, hey,” Richie had murmured, pulling Eddie against his chest.

“This is so stupid,” Eddie said, furiously wiping under his eyes. “I’m not crying because of Myra. It’s just… It’s just —”

“I know, love,” Richie said, kissing Eddie’s forehead. “But things are going to be okay. I promise. Who knows? Maybe you’ll actually be able to get a tan in California.” He laughed as Eddie smacked his shoulder.

“I’m not the one who turns into a lobster under one UV ray, you idiot,” Eddie huffed, letting himself be distracted.

“Yeah, I remember your cute summer tans now. You always had a million freckles.” Richie grinned. “Cute, cute, cute, Mister Eddie Spaghetti,” he said in a singsong voice, pinching Eddie’s cheek.

“Fuck you,” Eddie had muttered, but he’d been smiling.

“One thing at a time, dear.”

“Oh my god, you are the worst.”

Eddie smiles now. Richie always seems to make him smile, even if it’s against his own wishes.

He heads down the hall toward Richie’s office…studio…thing.

Richie had told Eddie on the plane ride from New York to Los Angeles about how he’d worked as a radio host through his college years, picking up side gigs as an events DJ to make ends meet. His “Voices” had always been terrible when they were kids — they’d just sounded like Richie. But Richie had been able to perfect them, at least enough to amuse one of his college professors into offering him the radio host job.

The rest was history after that, Richie had said. He’d worked his way up until he’d been able to buy his own radio station. And now people come to him to get him as a guest on various talk shows and podcasts. He’s even done some standup and some song recordings, which his fans love.

Fans. Richie Tozier has fans. Eddie shakes his head, still bemused over that. But it isn’t shocking. He loves Richie — he’s not surprised other people love Richie, too. They should.

When Richie had fallen asleep on the plane, Eddie had pulled out his laptop to search for Richie’s work. He’d found some of Richie’s songs on YouTube and had put on his headphones to listen. Most of them had been love songs, often with a similar theme — searching for someone you’d lost, someone out there waiting to be found again. Eddie’s soul ached hearing Richie’s sweet voice because now… Now he knew what Richie had really been singing about, even if Richie hadn’t known it while writing the tracks.

He had startled Richie awake with a kiss. He couldn’t help it. Based on Richie’s momentarily confused but then enthusiastic response, Richie hadn’t minded.

Eddie pokes his head into Richie’s office. Richie has been working from home — though Eddie suspects it’s less working than it is Richie keeping tabs on him. 

Richie sits at his soundboard, laptop to the side as he strums a guitar, murmuring lyrics to himself.

“I took you at your word when you said you would steal my heart,” Richie sings, so very softly. “Yeah, this might sound absurd, but would you be my thief? Take all of me, every part? Love, love, love is my crime. So baby, come catch me, and let’s do the time.”

This song isn’t one Eddie’s heard. He finds himself leaning against the door, just listening, wanting to savor the sound of Richie’s voice.

“I think we might be outlaws. I think I might be in love,” Richie continues, so caught up in the song that he doesn’t notice Eddie. “‘Cause I’m all out of reasons, like seasons — winter, summer, fall. They’re all washed up.”

Eddie’s heart clenches as he watches Richie play, those beautiful long-fingered hands gently cradling the guitar, eyes closed and face serene. This is the first time since they’d gotten here that Eddie has seen Richie with a guitar. It’s also the first song of Richie’s he’s heard that sounds… hopeful. He doesn’t want to give himself the credit, and yet… maybe it’s because Richie has found that long-lost love all of Richie’s previous lyrics had been pining after.

“If you’re still way over there, maybe slide on in by my side. ‘Cause I’m just an outlaw, wanted if you want me. I love you every day and every night.”

Eddie can’t help it — just like he couldn’t help it on the plane.

Richie looks up just in time to catch Eddie’s lips against his. He grunts with the tiniest bit of surprise, but he rallies quickly. He sets the guitar aside and grabs Eddie’s hips, yanking Eddie into his lap. The kiss is eager, and as always, it feels like coming home — for both of them.

Eddie loves the slot of Richie’s mouth against his, fitting in a way he’d never thought possible. He loves pressing his hand against Richie’s cheek and feeling the stubble there. He loves the faint smell of Richie’s deodorant and cologne, mixing with the intoxicating scent of Richie’s skin. And the taste of Richie’s lips, sweet with Chapstick.

After a time, Richie pulls back, gasping a little. He peers at Eddie, that glint in his eye that promises imminent danger to Eddie’s clothing.

“You know, I wanted to finish this song before you heard it,” Richie says, mouth falling into an easy grin. “But you just had to come and distract me, huh?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, resting his hand against Richie’s chest. “Couldn’t help it.”

“It’s for you,” Richie murmurs. “But then, all of the songs were for you.”

Eddie smiles, feeling too full of love to even begin to express it. So he just presses another quick kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth, laughing as Richie tries to follow him when he sits back again.

“You can finish it now,” Eddie says.

“Okay, but I’m going to have to kick you off my lap to hold the guitar.”

“Rude, but fine,” Eddie says, loving Richie’s answering laugh as he stands up.

Richie picks up the guitar again, strumming a little as he refocuses. “I think we might be outlaws, mmm hmm,” he mumbles, nodding to himself.

Eddie watches for a moment before wandering behind him, looking at Richie’s tousled hair and broad shoulders. As Richie begins to sing again, he allows himself to bend down and press up against Richie’s back, resting his forehead against Richie’s neck. He smiles as Richie sucks in a breath.

He’d never acted this way with Myra, but Richie seems to pull this affectionate physicality out of him. Eddie presses a kiss to Richie’s shoulder, then to Richie’s neck. A small giggle slips out of him as Richie bungles a chord, smiling broadly as Richie laughs.

“You are incredibly distracting,” Richie says with more fondness than Eddie has ever heard directed at himself.

“So are you.”

Richie turns around in his chair. “What am I going to do with you?”

Eddie stuns himself a little with his boldness as he climbs back into Richie’s lap, invigorated as Richie sets the guitar down again and holds him close. “When did you start working on this song?” he asks, curling a finger in a lock of Richie’s hair.

“While you were in the hospital.” Richie hesitates. “I love you so much, Eddie. So goddamned much, it…almost scares me sometimes. And I know love songs are a little cheesy…but sometimes music is the only way I know how to say something.”

“Richie, I already know,” Eddie whispers. “You show me every single day. I hope you know, I… That I…”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I love you so much,” Eddie finishes. He can never say the words enough times. 

Richie gives him a crooked, toothy grin. The same one Eddie remembers so well from summers down at the Barrens. From movies at the Aladdin. From barbecues in Bill’s backyard. And birdwatching with Stan. And slingshot practice with Bev. And dam-building with Ben. And taking photos with Mike.

Eddie still hates that he ever forgot any of them, but this feels like a second chance.

Richie leans forward and kisses Eddie again, and it’s so easy and right. He pulls back just enough that their lips are still brushing as he begins to sing again, almost murmuring the words. “Lock me up for good, right here in your arms.”

Eddie smiles against his mouth, feeling Richie’s lips match his expression.

“You vandalize my neighborhood… with your piercing eyes… and devilish charm,” Richie croons into Eddie’s mouth.

As Richie yanks Eddie closer, and as they fall into each other — and later, into bed — Eddie finds himself singing it back, meaning the words more and more with each and every refrain.

“I love you every day and every night.”

[soulwillower]

me and you together • richie tozier

richie x reader

(based off ‘me and you together song’ by the 1975) <-- pls listen to this it’s so good i cry

warning: swearing, mentions of sex, some real pining shit

[losers + reader are aged up 18/19 in this!!]

1.5k words

♡

richie puts out the tiny end of his cigarette on the cement step next to him and crushes it with his converse as he stares at the door at the end of the driveway. tonight was the night. 

your porch light was on, along with your bedroom light, but your folks’ cars weren’t in the driveway. he smiles softly as he sees your silhouette faintly as you glide past your closed curtains. 

yeah, okay. tonight was the night. 

or maybe it wasn’t, because richie tozier has told himself that very phrase almost every night since the ninth grade. 

and it’s never really been the night. but now, almost six years after meeting you, he is suffering through every day acting like he’s not in love with you. and he figures it’s time to do something about his feelings because it’s unfair to you to keep you in the dark and continue to walk on eggshells around you - he can tell you’ve started to notice how he tries to act different around you so you don’t find out on your own. he knows he doesn’t deserve someone like you, yet he thinks about you with a fond smile on his lips. 

i can't remember when we met  because she didn't have a top on i improvised a little bit  she said my references were spot on

you were a friend of mike’s. that’s how you met: in the summer of ‘89, because mike had asked if he could bring a friend to the quarry one day early in summer and then along you came, the last member and missing piece of the loser’s club. 

richie’s pretty sure that everybody instantly liked you that day, from the way that you smiled and introduced yourself to the way you held your own against richie’s immediate teasing. 

you went along with all his shitty impressions and told him they were great, much to the rest of the loser’s surprise. he knew you were lying, but he loved it anyways.

he can’t remember much from that day because that whole summer is pretty fuzzy; he remembers that you and bev jumped into the quarry together and richie’s mouth couldn’t close as he stared at you sunbathing on the rocks. he felt like a creep. 

“can i take you for a drink?"  she said "oh god i'll have to think because we're mates it doesn't feel right?!" and i said "it's cool" and "i was messin'" but it's true yeah it's you, you're the one that makes me feel right

he remembers still loving you after that one time during sophomore year of high school where richie had gotten the courage to ask you out - but he’d done it in typical tozier fashion, which led you to believe he was joking. you turned him down with an awkward laugh and an eye roll and richie had agreed that he was just messing around. but he wasn’t. he could never joke about his feelings for you. 

and he loved you even when sophomore year, richie had his heart really broken for the first time. he went to ben’s house to talk about it and found you and ben sprawled on his bed, reading comics and using richie’s walkman. 

he was glad you were there because you were the only one who really made him feel normal. you were the one that made him feel right. his life was hectic and you were always the calm in the storm, never quick to judge his compulsions. so he vented to you and ben the whole night. 

he’d walked you home and you had hugged him and kissed his cheek. 

i've been in love with her for ages  and i can't seem to get it right i fell in love with her in stages my whole life

every time richie tells himself it’s time, that he has to confess, he goes back on his words. and it’s out of honesty - honesty being that he knows you’re too good for him. 

you’re his best friend- the girl who matches his energy perfectly whenever you were together. the one who has all the patience in the world for him but still knows when to intervene if he’s taking a joke too far with the losers. you’re the stupidly beautiful girl who always falls down and scrapes her knees when drunk and who hides his cigarettes under your mattress when he tries to quit, even though he finds them every time. 

he knows he fell in love with you in different ways all throughout your friendship. and you loved him, but not in the same way. 

i had a dream where we had kids you would cook, i'd do the nappies we went to winter wonderland  and it was shit but we were happy

senior year, richie had a fucking dream that he married you. this was alarming because not only was he only eighteen, but more importantly because he had spent the majority of that night with some girl that looked enough like you to pass, laying in her bed afterwards before sneaking out after she’d fallen asleep. 

but he dreamt that you’d had kids and went to do all the sappy shit that you do with a family and it was pathetic and shitty, but the smile on dream-y/n’s face was nearly enough to make richie say “i do.” 

he imagined that perhaps you’d be the perfect person to spend the rest of his life with because you kept him on his toes, you support him but know how to keep him in line. you’re driven, know what you want to do in life, and are passionate about it.

i've been in love with her for ages  and i can't seem to get it right i fell in love with her in stages my whole life

he snaps out of it, walking up to your front door and knocking on it. he only has a few moments to gather himself before you’re opening up the door, looking up at him with a beautiful smile. he can’t help but smile back. “hey there, sugar.” richie says as you step back, allowing him to enter your house. 

“what’re you doing here, rich?” you ask curiously as you lead him up to your room. 

he gets nervous when you shut the door, sitting next to him on your bed. he stares at the floor, “i actually have to tell you something.” he mumbles, looking to you and finding the face that he’s known for years, the face that he’s loved for most of those years. the face that holds love for him, but not in the same way. 

there's been no way for me to say  that I've felt a certain way for ages i think our story needs more pages  'cause i've been in love with her for ages and ages, and ages

“richie, are you okay?” you ask nervously, placing a delicate hand on his arm. he flinches accidentally, afraid that he’s about to freak you out. but hurt flashes across your beautiful features and richie feels even worse. 

“i- yeah, y/n/n. sorry, i just don’t really know what to say.” he admits, toying with his hands to occupy himself. 

you let out a small laugh. “that’s a first.” 

he chuckles despite himself and looks at you. how does he do this? what’s going to happen when he admits his feelings and you turn him down? you’re still talking, a teasing smile on your face, “i don’t think i’ve ever heard you say that. you even talk when you sleep-“ 

“i’ve been in love with you for ages, y/n.” he blurts, interrupting you and effectively shutting you up. 

your smile drops from your face and the color drains. he wants to punch himself for making you feel so bad. fuck. 

“richie. this isn’t funny. please don’t joke about that kind of stuff.” you whisper, looking betrayed. his eyes widen because of course you thought he was joking. 

he shakes his head, looking right into your eyes. “y/n/n, i could never joke about this. i mess around all the time, but i could never joke about how i feel for you.” he says genuinely, his stomach twisting with guilt. 

the silence that follows is the longest moment of richie’s life. 

“you love me?” you ask again, your face neutral. he swallows, “yeah. i’m so sorry. i can’t help it.” he says, feeling like the world’s shittiest best friend. he thinks he might cry. 

but then you smile. 

“i... i love you too, richie.” you say, beaming so hard that richie thinks your face must hurt but he doesn’t really care because he’s so in love and you’re grabbing his face and pulling him towards you, pressing your lips to his. 

you taste like vanilla chapstick and mint mouthwash and kiss him like you need him in order to survive. 

he hears music playing in his ears as he pulls away, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you around. the squeal and thumping on his back you respond with makes him smile. 

he sets you down and presses kisses all over your face. “i love you, i love you.” he mumbles into the skin of your neck before kissing your cheek, nose, other cheek, forehead, and then your lips again. you giggle into the kiss and richie knows he’s the luckiest person in the entire world. 

“i’ve loved you for so long.” you say with a blush, your hands around his neck as you pull him in for another kiss. 

[reddielibrary]

Help Me Remember

Prompt: you’re trying to remember who you made out with at that party last night and asking me for help but it was me who you made out with and I don’t want to tell you in case you’re disappointed AU

Written by: Monse | @jem-carstairs-is-perfection

Word Count: 3138

*click title to read on AO3

“I have an announcement to make!”

Groans and sighs were heard all over the room, as well as a thump when Stan threw what was closest to him, someone’s shoe, in Richie’s general direction, failing miserably before it landed on the floor.

“Beep fucking beep, Richie.” He said, shoving his head under his arms trying to block out his friend.

“I will not be silenced, Stanley!” Richie replied, climbing the sofa in which Bev was trying to sleep. “I need to share my news with the world!”

Thump!

“Ow, fuck Bev!”

“Jesus Christ, Richie you just kicked me in the chest!”

“It was Bev, she knocked me off the couch, Big Bill.”

“Why’re you standing on the couch to begin with?”

“Have you not been listening, Ben? I have an announcement.” Richie repeated, bouncing up from the floor.

“Can’t you make your announcement when we’re not hungover and barely awake?” Mike asked from the further end of the room. Somehow he had ended up curled around one of Mrs. Denbrough’s flower pots the night before.

“No, Mikey, this is far too important.”

“Can you at least tone it down a bit? I feel like you’re shouting right into my ear, Richie.” Eddie said, eyebrows knitted in a frown. It was all you could see of him, he was wearing Richie’s hoodie and it engulfed him completely, the collar coming up all the way to his nose.

“But I am excited, Eds! I get loud when I’m excited! I’m sure your mom has told you that.” Richie said, waggling his eyebrows and earning various grunts from his friends and a middle finger from Eddie.

“Well, I’m tired and I get murderous when I’m tired so unless you want to die without sharing your news, you better tell us what the fuck this is about so I can go back to sleep.” Bev said, voice calm and far more terrifying than any scream.

Richie cleared his throat dramatically. “Last night,” he said, pausing to create suspense and continuing only when Bill kicked him lightly on the shin. “I,” another pause, this time interrupted by a shove from Ben. “Met the love of my life.”

“And here we go again.” Stan said, voice muffled under his arms, which he had wrapped around his head, hoping to alleviate the pounding he felt.

Every once in a while, Richie would claim to have met his soulmate, his future husband or wife, the one. Most of those times he was drunk when he did and that person turned out to be some random girl who handed him a beer with a friendly smile or a guy who let him cut in in the line for the crowded bathroom. And every time Richie would make a fuss before realizing that they were in fact not the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with, only to do it all over again.

They should’ve expected Richie’s announcement would have to do with this, but somehow they never learned.

“Who was it this time?” Bill asked, and the eye roll could be heard in his voice. “Did someone hold the door for you when you went out for a smoke?”

“Or was it someone who complimented your shirt?” Bev added with a smirk.

“Guys, I’m fucking serious this time.” Richie said, annoyed that he was being shrugged off.

“That’s what you always say.”

“You don’t understand, this guy -I’m pretty sure it was a guy, the details are a bit blurry. This guy and I we had a connection, okay? He didn’t just smile at me or hand me something, we talked and we kissed.”

The admission sparked some interest in his Richie’s friends. Bev even gave up on her attempt to fall back asleep.

“You kissed, huh?” She asked, smirking.

Richie nodded intently. “And it was magical. There were fucking fireworks, I’m telling you.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?” Ben asked, curious.

“Other than beautiful, nah.”

“What about his name?”

“Nope.”

“What you guys talked about?”

“Nada.” Richie said, shaking his head. “You know I tend to forget things on my best days, Staniel, you can’t expect me to recall what happens when I’m drunk.”

“What are you going to do then? If you don’t remember anything about him.”

“Well, Billiam, that is what I have you all for.” Richie said, nudging his friend’s leg with his feet. Said friend was lying starfished on the floor, staring at the ceiling with a focused expression. “I was hoping you’d tell me if you saw me with anyone.”

“I don’t remember anything after we did tequila shots, Rich, sorry.” Bill told him and at the mention of tequila he scrunched up his nose. Between Richie and him they had finished more than half a bottle. Bill didn’t know how he made it through the night after that.

“I didn’t see you again after our drunk rendition of Dirty Dancing,” Bev said.

“Mike and I were dragged to a game of beer pong in the backyard.” Stan said. His pained expression and the fact that Mike was drooling on the carpet after falling asleep again told the others they hadn’t won the game. “When we came back inside you were already passed out in the armchair.”

Richie sighed, turning around to face Ben. He didn’t tend to drink much and Richie could swear he had seen him around several times last night. “What about you, Haystack?”

“I- uh. I was put in charge of the music and lost track of you after that. Sorry, Richie.” Ben said, after carefully thinking his answer.

Richie groaned, dropping to the floor between Stan and Bill. “You’re all useless!”

Stan snorted. “You’re the one who got so drunk you can’t remember who you made out with.”

“Shut up, Stan.”

“Wait. Eddie!”

Now it was Richie’s turn to snort. “Come on, Bev, I did not make out with Eddie last night.”

“I meant, Eddie was with you most of the night. I know because he complained about having to watch over your drunk ass.” Bev explained. “He must have seen you and your mystery guy.”

Richie clapped his hands together. “Brilliant, Bev.” He said, sitting up.

“Speaking of which, where is Eddie?” Bill wondered, angling his head towards the place where Eddie had spent the night.

He wasn’t there and none of them had noticed he slipped out of the room at some point.

He walked in from the kitchen a moment later, munching on a pop tart and stopping mid-step when he felt everyone’s eyes land on him.

“What?”

“Really, Eds, I’m trying to find the love of my life and instead of helping you run off to get food?”

Eddie shrugged. “I was hungry and you being dramatic is hardly a novelty.” He said, making his friends laugh. “Besides I don’t see how helpful I can be.”

“Bev said you were with me the entire night.” Richie pouted.

“Bev was also drunk off her ass.” Eddie said, slightly defensive, Bev scoffed, offended. “I was with you, yeah but then you left to get a beer and never returned.”

Richie sighed, flopping on the couch on top of Bev.

“Maybe you should give up, Richie.” Bill said, patting his ankle in comfort.

“Never! Someone must have seen him, whoever he was.”

“Unless he isn’t real.”

“Shut up, Stanley, he is!” Richie said, exasperated. “He was real and he was perfect. And I’ll figure out who he is, just you wait.” He added, making his friends sigh and groan, except for Eddie who kept his head down, not wanting his friends to see the worried expression on his face.

“Ben, wait.”

“Oh, sorry Eddie. I didn’t know you were going to order something else.” Ben said, slowing down so that Eddie could catch up with him. They were eating at the local diner, the seven of them and Ben had just excused himself to get another drink.

“I’m not but if I hear Richie mention his mystery guy one more time I might throw my milkshake at him.”

Ben chuckled. “I thought he would’ve let it go by now. It’s been what? A week already?”

“Yeah, but this is Richie we’re talking about, I’m not entirely sure he still isn’t looking for his old dog that ran away ten years ago.” Eddie said, rolling his eyes.

“Right. I’m surprised he didn’t put up a sign, offering a reward in exchange for information on this guy.”

Eddie snorted. “I wouldn’t put it past him so don’t mention that in front of him.”

“Noted.” Ben said with a laugh, he ordered his drink and they moved aside to wait for it to be ready. They did so in silence and were able to hear Richie talking their friends’ ears off.

Eddie rolled his eyes so hard, Ben thought it might give him a headache.

“I’m gonna murder him, I swear.” He said. “I wish I could just make him stop talking about it.”

“You can.”

Eddie snorted. “Never thought you would approve of violence, Ben.”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what? Because the only way he will stop is if he figures out who this guy is.”

“Then tell him who he is.”

Eddie frowned, looking at Ben, confused and a little worried. “I don’t know who he is, Ben.”

Ben sighed, he had tried to keep quiet, he really did, after all, this was none of his business but it was painful to watch. “Eddie I know it was you, the guy Richie kissed. I saw the two of you at the party.”

Eddie drew in a sharp breath, head whipping in Ben’s direction. His eyes were wide and panicked and Ben felt a little bad for springing this upon him.

“I- what- Ben that’s- You don’t know what you saw, you were drunk.”

Ben shook his head. “I had nothing to drink that night.”

“You said you lost track of Richie, that you didn’t see him with anyone.”

“I lied, just like you did when you said you weren’t with him the whole night.”

“I-”

“Eddie.”

“Fuck.” Eddie muttered, his expression had dropped completely and Ben felt bad for his friend, he placed a warm hand on his arm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“It’s okay.”

“I thought- I figured that if no one saw then I wouldn’t have to say anything and I just could pretend nothing happened.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ben said. “It’s not like I’m gonna tell, not if you don’t want me to.”

“You won’t?”

Ben shook his head, he wasn’t the best at keeping secrets so he could understand Eddie’s apprehension but he would make an inhuman effort not to spill this particular secret, it wasn’t his place.

Eddie sighed, relieved.

“I have to ask though, why won’t don’t you want to tell him?”

“I think you know why.”

“I don’t, not really. You know I’m not the most observant person.”

Eddie chuckled lightly before his expression turned serious again. “I’m not the mystery guy Richie wants.”

“According to who?”

“Himself. You heard him the day after the party when he thought Bev was suggesting that I was the guy. I don’t want to tell him it was me only for him to be disappointed.”

“I doubt he would be disappointed. Richie is always talking about how much he wants to kiss you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “That’s just Richie being Richie. And knowing him he would only play it off as a joke or something.”

“And that’s not what the kiss was to you, is it?”

Eddie sighed, shaking his head without looking at Ben.

“I still think you should tell him.”

“I- What if he gets mad at me?”

“Look, Eddie, I won’t claim to know what goes on inside Richie Tozier’s head but I think that if he found out it was you who he kissed the only thing that would make him angry is the fact that he doesn’t remember it.”

Eddie snorted, but Ben was happy to see that some of the tension had left his shoulders and his expression was more relaxed. He even seemed to be considering it.

“I’ll think about it.” He said, just as the girl behind the counter called Ben’s name, his drink ready.

“You do that. And then you tell me all about it.” Ben said, winking at Eddie as they made their way back to the table.

Eddie didn’t lie to Ben, he did think about it but the more he did, the less he wanted to tell Richie. The thought alone made him feel terrified and whenever the chance presented itself when it was just the two of them, he would chicken out. The worst part was that he wanted to tell him, he was tired of sitting on this big ass secret (not just the kiss but the entire reason why it was such a big deal to him in the first place) and part of him wondered if Ben’s words had some truth to it. The other part was still convinced that Richie would be disappointed to find out Eddie was the mystery guy or in the worst case scenario, angry about it and that part was the one who usually won but today Eddie refused to let it win again. Today he would tell Richie and deal with the consequences or at least that’s what he had been telling himself for the past half an hour.

“Eds, you might want to open up a window, there’s steam coming out of your head.” Richie said, nudging Eddie’s leg with his foot. They were supposed to be doing homework in Eddie’s house, but Eddie hadn’t been able to focus on anything other than the fact that it was just the two of them in his room. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Eddie opened his mouth, ready to spew out some lie about just being a little distracted or homework being harder than usual but what came out was, “Do you remember your mystery guy?”

Richie frowned, clearly not expecting that to be brought up. They had banned the subject after two weeks of Richie talking about just that and whenever he tried to bring it up he would get several ‘Beep beep Richie’ in response and one or two objects were thrown at him. “Of course I do. I mean, I wish I could remember him but that bit it’s still a big chunk of nothing. Why?”

“I lied to you.”

“Eds, you’re giving me fucking whiplash with this random bit of information.”

“It’s not random, I- I lied to you about your mystery guy. I know who he is.”

Richie’s eyes widened comically and he gaped at Eddie like a fish. “You what?”

“I know who he is, I was with you the entire night, Bev was right.”

“But why- why didn’t you tell me?” Richie asked, genuinely confused. “Do you hate him? Do I hate him? Is he an asshole or something?”

Eddie shook his head, he refused to look at Richie, focusing on a loose thread on his comforter.

“Who is he?”

Eddie gulped, his throat felt dry and the words weighted heavily on his mouth, but he forced himself to speak, even if it was with a small, wavery voice. “Me.”

“Huh?”

“It’s me. The mystery guy. The one you made out with.” Eddie said, finally locking eyes with Richie. “It’s me.”

If Richie had been gaping before it was nothing compared to what he was doing now. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly but no words came out, other than that his expression was unreadable and it made worry pool on Eddie’s stomach. That worry turned into dread when Richie burst out laughing.

“Nice one, Eds. You nearly got me there.” Richie said, laughing.

“What?”

“Who put you up to this? Was it Bev?”

“No one put me up to this, Richie what are you talking about?”

“You came up with this on your own then?”

Eddie groaned. “Fuck you, Richie, this isn’t a joke!” He said, angry and hurt, he had expected Richie’s mocking tone but not how it would make him feel.

“Oh my God, you’re fucking serious.”

“Yes you asshole, because unlike you not everything is a joke to me.”

“Woah woah Eds. This isn’t- it’s not a joke. I just thought- Forgive me for not buying the idea that I kissed you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Because you would never do it? Because the idea is just so ridiculous?”

“Yes! I mean, no! It is ridiculous but only because never in my wildest dreams I would’ve thought I would ever get to kiss you!”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “Oh.”

Richie snorted, his lips curling into a smile, “Yeah, oh.”

“So you’re not- disappointed?”

“Disappointed? Disappointed?!”

“Yeah, you know that it was me.” Eddie shrugged. “When Bev suggested it the other day, you just brushed it off.”

“Well, yeah because I didn’t even consider the idea that it could be you! Because good things like making out with Eddie Kaspbrak don’t happen to idiots like Richie Tozier.”

Eddie snorted. “Well, it did.”

“Apparently,” Richie said, then he frowned. “Shit, I can’t believe my most awaited dream came true and I can’t even remember it.”

“Most awaited dream?”

“Eds I’ve been dreaming about kissing you since we were in middle school.”

Eddie smiled, pleased with how everything was turning out. “You have, huh?”

“I’m not even embarrassed to say, that yes, I have. And now that I finally did I just forgot about it! Of course, that would happen to me.”

“Well,” Eddie said, smirking slightly at Richie. “You can always do it again.”

Richie grinned back at Eddie in an almost predatory way. “Are you asking me to kiss you, Eddie?”

Eddie pursed his lips in thought. “I’m offering to help you remember.”

“Well, I accept your help. Richie said and Eddie had the chance to smile at him before Richie leaned down and captured his lips in a sweet kiss.

The details of their first kiss were blurry in Eddie’s mind but the press of Richie’s mouth against his brought everything he felt that night back to the surface and he grabbed Richie’s face in his hand and pressed himself harder against him. They broke apart and Eddie was met with Richie’s dumb grin and the most adoring eyes staring back at him.

“Anything?” Eddie asked, moving his hands so that they rested on Richie’s chest.

“I think it’s coming back you know, but I might need a little more help to remember completely.” Richie said, failing to keep the smile off his face.

Eddie rolled his eyes, but leaned in, closer to Richie. “Always happy to help."

[the-canary]

Kitchen Royalty - B.B (9/15)

Summary: Falling in love wasn’t on the menu, but neither was finding prince charming looking like a trash raccoon and living in your industrial freezer. (Pastry AU! Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt: Sleeping Beauty

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @ciarawritesmarvel​ ‘s 1k challenge. #sorrynotsorry

Please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6��| Part 7 | Part 8

A woman in a beautiful dark grey business suit sits across the table to a muscular man dressed in a black on black suit. A look of complete calm on his face, but the woman knows better with the subtle nuances that he shows -- the grip on the paper in his hand that is close to tearing it, the tightening of his jaw, the utter look of murder in his eyes, but there was something else and that’s what scared Eleanor the most.

“So the little princess returns,” Brock remarks as as throws the manila folder to her. Brown eyes scanning her face for any change in expression at his words, however there isn’t even a frown on her face. The fire in her had died long ago, she was nothing but a complacent doll that enjoyed the thousands that her expanding company made. But, her daughter, that little baking princess, still did and it had always riled something dark and sinister in the financial consultant.

“With backing from Tony Stark himself,” Brock can’t help but laugh at the tech company would enter the world of sweets and baking, but Brock understood -- the recipes from the old man that once ran all this were magical, they sold like hot cakes and SB Bakery (as he read on the application) was an extension of that -- one that he needed to own now that he knew it was hers.

“And what do you plan on doing about that?” her eyes move from the desk to stare at him and for a moment Brock swears he sees a bright spark flash before her eyes go back to the dead look he has been so used to since her children left the nest. Eleanor had lost the will to fight when they weren’t there anymore and she was all right with them hating her -- in way, she deserved it.

“Call Sal and Richie, ask them to be part of the jury,” Brock replies as she finally frowns at the thought of contacting her sons, “What we’ll to her, just leave to me.”

Eleanor’s hands tighten for a moment and for a second the spark burns brightly.

 You’re full with a rush of happiness and triumph over the acceptance you had gotten from both the Tony Stark and the current CEO Pepper Potts. Every day following that event you had gotten up early or just didn’t go to sleep as you messed with recipes and made new things. The old recipe book was getting filled once again with ideas and completed recipes, but as the week and work wore on you started to feel the weight of what just might happen to you. You would have to see both Rumlow and your mother again, and while you were certain you could do -- the man had always been a bit too much. The way he stared at you haunted your teenage years and once you graduated you ran, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t in the back of your head on your darker days.

It didn’t help that Sal had called in the middle of the night either.

“Mom called saying that you’re entering the competition,” Sal says with an even and composed tone, as a level-headed older brother should, “We should all meet in a month’s time, I’m guessing it’s been awhile. Just don’t do anything stupid, buttmunch.”

If only he had told you that few weeks back when this whole mess started, then maybe things would be different but at the same time -- it was something you should have done a long time ago. It seemed like since meeting Bucky, things just keep accelerating out of your control and while it was annoying in the family aspect of things, you wouldn’t have it any other way. And maybe in that nostalgia of everything in your life, that why you decided to head towards good old Brooklyn.

“---tle Avenue Stop,” the automatic voice calls out, as you get out of the subway on a very early Friday morning. You had left Bucky and Maria tending the store after making all the pastries this morning and glad that there hadn’t been any special orders to tend to. Walking three blocks down from the station, you notice the white painted motif in front of the red brick building that tended to populate the area.

Winnie’s.

While, you hadn’t grown up in Brooklyn, one of your father’s shops had been placed a little bit further down. You often can here in your early years to check how it was doing, while lunch or dinner was usually spent at the generations owned family restaurant and dessert always came from the little bake shop they had on the first floor. Sometimes, there were even kids around your age to play with since your parents sometimes ended up talking to the owners.

Today, as you glance into the large window, only the shop is closed as the sign shows that the restaurant doesn’t open until 11am. You frown, knowing that you’d be back in Queens by then but the doesn’t stop you from heading inside and getting some sweets and coffee. The chime on top of the door announces your entrance. The man behind the counter turns, blue eyes meet yours and you pause because none of the Barnes you ever meet had blond hair.

“Um, do the Barnes still run this place?” you can’t help but question as the man smiles with a warm greeting that you almost miss because you have to stop yourself from ogling at this specimen of a man hidden behind an apron.

“Yes, they do,” he explains, leaning just a bit on the countertop, “I just run the shop when they are all out. I’m guessing you haven’t been here in quite awhile.”

“Since I was a kid,” you laugh, as he can’t help but quirk an eyebrow at this piece of information, but he won’t say anything out loud for the moment. Instead, he introduces himself as Steve and let’s you look at all the pastries on display, telling you that some of the Barnes sisters and other workers make everything from scratch and you can help but smile at precious piece of information.

“I was wondering if you guys still had the caramel pudding,” you explain as you can’t help but stutter just a bit at having Steve’s undivided attention, “T-T-he one with the glazing on top.”

“Oh yeah, we just got some last night,” he smiles, seemingly unaware of the distress he is putting you under, as he walks a little way down to a mini refrigerator and takes out a couple. Your eyes glimmer at the sight, as Steve lets out a laugh.

“Can I have all of them,” you state, as Steve nods and you begin to tell him what other pastries you want along with an order of coffee. He packages them all in a box with Winnie’s written on top. He thanks you for buying with them today and that you should come again. You don’t mistake it for flirting, knowing the problems of that all too well, but you can’t help but open your mouth -- ready to say something you aren’t quite that sure of. Then, the phone rings.    

“Winni--Oh, hey babe,” Steve answers with a bright smile, as your eyes turn up from the bag full of pastries to him. You feel a wave of shamefulness and embarrassment over the monetary crush you had gotten over the blond and thus grabbing your items you run out of there. You run back to the station and take a deep breathe.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you whisper harshly while trying to catch you breathe but once your mind catches up with your mouth -- you freeze.

Why were you apologizing to Bucky?        

And then you think that pretty boys with blue eyes have always been the death of you.  

   Bucky watches you throughout out the days after Tony Stark accepts your proposal. You’re as flighty as a bird moving here and there, experimenting with different tastes and keeping everything going in the shop. Sometimes you disappeared in the morning (calling it “research”) and came back with sweets and coffee just in time for a quick lunch, you were like a storm and he couldn’t help but get caught up in it. He smiles when you do, he finds himself waking up on your couch after long marathons of those baking shows you enjoy, and eating everything you bring him. It’s scary as hell, but this is the happiest he has been in a long time, even though it raises a lot of questions of where he should go next.

Though he knows the first step begins with Steve, so he calls him one early morning stating that he wants to show his oldest friend where he is currently staying. Steve eagerly agrees and promises to be there the next day. With you leaving in the morning, Bucky doesn’t have time to tell you and he’s too fearful to say anything when you come back. He stays quiet until the last minute, until Steve is at the front counter asking Maria for Bucky and you’re whipping up little cakes in cups as a test. He wriggles his hands together as Maria comes and tells him someone is waiting for him.  

“I know I shoud’ve told you sooner,” Bucky lowers his eyes as you had stopped mixing and give him with a questioning look, as he keeps on explaining,“But, I have someone coming over today.”

“Oh?”  

“He’s been worried about me and wanted to see where I was staying,” Bucky rubs the back of his neck, as you move over just a little, “I hope you don’t mind, doll.”

“I’m glad that you think I should meet them, even with the late notice,” you ease his nerves with your quick acceptance --as always-- before rubbing your hands against the apron you are wearing, “You ain’t got nothing to worry about, Buckaroo.”

You wink and though Bucky knows it’s your friendly manner, he can’t help but flush a little. You motion him to bring his friend to the back as he runs towards the front the store, which give you a little time to do a breathing exercise, but it doesn’t prepare you for seeing the blond god from Winnie’s again. Steve smiles and introduces himself, as you try not to die right then and there.  

“Didn’t we meet the other day?” he questions, with quick flicker of recognition in his eyes, as Bucky is the one that is taken aback now.  

“Yes, we did,” you explain trying to put down the embarrassment you are feeling from that incident, as Bucky keeps looking at you, “At Winnie’s.”

“You went to Winnie’s?” Bucky finally manages to say something in all his confusion, as you look at him but at the mention of the place, your smile can’t help but soften.

“Who wouldn’t go? I’ve loved that place since I was a little kid. I love the pudding , ” you admit bashfully as blue eyes widen for just a second before you go back to welcoming Steve to your little store,  “So, what can we do for you today, Steve?”

“Just a tour is fine, if that’s okay with you,” Steve states with a smile, as you nod and proceed to show him around.

Your voice is polite and kind, like always, but the old soldier part of Bucky can’t help but pick up the hopeful uptick towards the end. There is a soft smile as you gaze at the blond, and Bucky can’t help but feel a painful lurch at the center of his chest as he watches two of the most important people in his life talk and enjoy themselves, as you give Steve a small tour around the kitchen and let him try some pastries. Bucky knows that Steve Rogers is his best friend, since those scrapes in the back alley of his family’s restaurant. But, looking at you, bright-eyed and getting along with the blond, it’s in that moment that he’s has an epiphany.

He knows who you are.

But, above all that Bucky Barnes also knows that he’s falling in love with you.  

Part 10

[honkhonkrichard]

December Embers - Secret Santa Benverly fic

AHhh this was fun!! not nearly as long as I’d like but mayhaps I’ll rewrite it in the future. this one’s for @dragqueen-jughead​! thanks to @it-secretsanta-2018​ for arranging this! 

WC: 2274 (ao3 link)

Hope y’all enjoy my benverly fic

“I can promise you, Chickie, this is going to go fine.” Richie sighed, draping his long limbs over the couch in Beverly’s apartment. “He’s heads over heels for you - trust me - and he wouldn’t ever lay a fuckin’ finger on you unless you say so.”

Beverly was stressing out over her date. She had a date with Ben Hanscom in less than an hour. Ben was Richie’s roommate. He was tall and sweet, and smart (he was also jacked as all hell and made a lot of money- but those were just perks) and he had nervously (and adorably) asked Beverly if she wanted to have dinner with him sometime, which she agreed to.

Except that the past relationships Beverly has had always started out nice. Bill, though he was very nice and sweet, turned out to be married, and his wife (now ex-wife) wasn’t too happy about knowing Bill slept with Beverly (Beverly wasn’t too happy either), and Bev’s relationship with Tom went up until...

Beverly shuddered a bit. 27 years old, you’d think she’d have herself under control by now. That was almost three years go. Tom is still in prison. She’s gotten better. Ben is a nice guy. Richie promises this.

“Bev.” Richie said softly. Richie was still lying down on the couch. Bev looked away from the mirror and at him. “This is going to be good.” he told her, looking her in the eyes. “No what ifs, no buts, I swear to you on my life Ben’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met and you’re gonna love him. Now take a deep breath.”

Beverly breathed in for four seconds, out for four seconds. “This is going to go just fine.”

Richie nodded. “And you know I won’t lie to you Babe you look fuckin’ hot.”

Bev giggled. “Thank you Sir.”  she said with a curtsy and a smile.

Then the doorbell rang, and Beverly jumped. As she walked towards it, Richie mouthed at her Relax.

Behind the door was Ben, who had knocked precisely at 7:05. He was bright red and held a large bouquet of pink and red roses in his hands, wrapped in green wrapping paper. His hair was a bit of a mess, like he brushed it but then ran his hands through it a bunch of times.

“Hi.” he said, breathlessly looking at Beverly.

Bev blushed a little bit. “Hi.”

“I-I brought these, for you. It’s okay if you.. Uhm.. don’t want them.” Ben stammered, gesturing the flowers.

Bev grinned and took them from him. “They’re beautiful, Ben, thank you.” she cooed, walking over to put them in a container, high heels clicking against the floor.

“Not.. as uhm.. Beautiful as you.” Ben said slowly, like he couldn’t believe he was saying it. Richie gave him a thumbs up.

Bev blushed and couldn’t stop the smile on her face. Ben was always chalk full of romance and love. His heart was gold and was too big for his body. Always blushing and spewing compliments, even though he was clearly terrified of the outcomes. Richie told Bev he was super excited but also nervous for tonight.

“Thank you.” she repeated, walking back over to the front door, Ben was awkwardly leaning against the frame. He looked completely out of place. Beverly thought it was incredibly endearing.

She looked back, briefly, at Richie, who immediately stopped silently directing Ben. He had been posing the way Ben had, and Beverly was willing to bet Ben had just been copying what Richie told him to.

“Now you stay out of this.” she said to the trashmouth in question. Richie sat up straight, adjusting his glasses, looking at the ceiling and running his fingers through his hair and beard. “I said I wanted to go on a date with Ben. Not with a puppet guided by a trash talking comedian.” Even though her words were harsh, Beverly had a smile on her face.

“Why, I would never my sweet pea!” Richie cried dramatically.

Beverly hummed and turned back to Ben, who was flushed red and looked a little scared.

“And you stop copying him. I like you for you, Ben. I think you’re sweet and kind and smart and not Richie.” She continued, pointing behind her to Richie, who comically frowned.

Ben shifted his weight around. “Oh- well, I, thank you. Uhm.. Shall we, then?” He asked, putting his hand out. “To the restaurant I mean.. I made a reservation for 7:30.”

Bev took his hand and together they left the apartment.

-

The restaurant was really nice. Certainly not the nicest place Bev has ever been to, but it was so warm and everyone was really nice. And not the waiter I have to be nice to you but in actuality I’m ready to kill you nice, actually filled with holiday buzz and just generally nice nice.

Ben and Bev were sat in a nice booth in the corner of the restaurant, and they laughed as they sat down.

“And I just- didn’t think he could get any stupider!” Beverly said as she shrugged off her coat.

“I will never understand him. Ever. I’ve lived with him for four years and yet I treat every day with him like it’s my first in terms of total confusion.” Ben grinned into his hands.

Beverly quickly picked up the menu (she was starving and this place smelled delicious) and tried to read all the things they had.

“So, listen I-” “Do you wanna-”

The two of them grinned awkwardly. “You go first.” Bev pawed a little bit at Ben, who flushed and stared down at his hands.

“I just.. Wanted to thank you, for.. Giving me a chance. Richie uh.. Richie told me - he didn’t go into detail, he just said.. Y’know.” Ben rubbed his hands together, looking for the right words. “You’ve been through a lot of.. Bad things, relationship-wise. And I’m just really, uhm, grateful that you gave me a chance to try and to.. To um…”

Ben frowned and Beverly, who was wide-eyed and flushed red, still holding the menu, watched him with delight.

“To try and show you.. A better.. Time? No that doesn’t sound right.” Ben grumbled the last part, letting his hands fall onto the table. Bev put her hand over his.

“Thank you for reminding me there are warm, kind-hearted people who want me.” she smiled. “But now I feel a bit stupid because I was going to ask if you wanted to split an appetizer.” she added, scowling down at the menu.

Ben barked out a laugh and then immediately stifled it. “I’m sorry.” he mumbled. “I’m really nervous. You’re just really really pretty.” he said, covering his blush. “And to answer your question, the shrimp here is really good.” Ben added.

Beverly let out a laugh as the waiter came over. They ordered red wine, and the shrimp appetizer. They tasted like the start of something beautiful.

-

“I can promise you Benvolio, this is gonna be fine. It’s gonna be great.” Richie sighed from the couch in his apartment. It had been two years to the day since Ben’s first date with Beverly. Two amazing, loving, romantic years. In the two years, they’ve moved in together, traveled to Europe, and spent countless nights cuddles or walking the streets. Richie now lives alone, but he doesn’t seem to mind too much.

“You know, you say that..” Ben grumbled, adjusting his tie. He was taking Beverly out to a really nice, fancy restaurant. She deserves only the best.

“And everytime I do, it turns out fine.” Richie pointed out, walking up to the mirror Ben was scowling at. “I can’t believe my Baby Ben is all grown up.”

“Shut up Richie.”

“Save the fire for the honeymoon, Sugah.”

Ben glared at Richie. “I don’t even think she’ll say yes. I feel like I’m jumping into this a bit fast.”

“Do I need to remind you Stan and Patty got married after knowing each other for three months?” Richie asked, raising his eyebrows and leaning against the door frame casually.

“Beverly and I aren’t Stan and Patty.” Ben growled. He’d had it up to here with this stupid tie.

“Right right right right right.” Richie cooed. “You’re just the two people who are so helplessly in love you can’t keep your hands off each other and make me take all your nice photos.”

Ben stayed quiet. He would never admit it, but Richie was right. It would go right to Richie’s ego.

Richie eyed Ben carefully. “You need a hand there?”

“Please.” Ben said desperately, caving in.

Richie quickly did up Ben’s tie with no problem, and turned Ben to the mirror again.

“Repeat after me.” Richie told him. “I got this.”

“I got this.”

“Beverly loves me, and I love Beverly.”

“Beverly loves me, and I love Beverly.”

“I’m going to propose and it’s going to be hella dope and romantic as hell.”

“I’m going to propose and it’s going to be… perfect.”

“That’s my guy.” Richie finished with a pat on Ben’s back. “Now go get that sweet sweet p-”

“Tozier you are on thin fucking ice that is my fiance to be.”

Richie and Ben stared at each other for a few seconds. Richie broke into a grin. Ben let out a smooth chuckle.

“Give Bev a kiss for me.” Richie smirked as Ben left.

-

Beverly looked stunning, as always. Ben could (and has) stare at her for hours.

The meal was normal, or at least as normal as it could be. Beverly didn’t really notice Ben’s heightened anxiety, or how he preset them to have Beverly’s favourite wine. Or how Ben had a ring in his pocket.

After they left, Ben coaxed Bev into going for a walk in the park. It was a bit chilly, snow lightly falling around them, disappearing onto the concrete.

Beverly had just finished her story about the most absurd customer she met while taking a visit to one of her stores in downtown LA, there was an easy, loving air around them, and Ben took a deep breath.

“Beverly, can-can I.. uhm.. Talk to you about something.. Uh- personal?” Crap fuck shit this is not how he wanted to started saying this shit fuck abort no no no no-

But Beverly already had wide, concerned eyes and she stopped walking, putting a hand on Ben’s chest, and gripping his hand a little bit tighter. “What? What’s wrong?”

Fuck. Welp. No going back now. Thought Ben. He took a step back from her, still gently holding her hand.

“I.. don’t us to be boyfriend and girlfriend anymore.” Ben said and then immediately made it so much worse.

“What? Are you dumping me?!” Bev cried, taking a step back from him, eyes wide with horror. “Ben-!”

Ben dropped to one knee Say it now!! Or you won’t get to say it at all! His head shrieked.

“I want to be..” He leaned out and grabbed her hand again, leather glove cool and smooth against his fingers. He pulled the small heart shaped box from his pocket and popped it open with one hand. Tears began to streak down Beverly’s face as she eyed the ring in disbelief. “.. I wanna be husband and wife.”

“Benjamin Hansom you better not be joking I will dump your ass so hard.” Beverly choked up a sob, covering her mouth with her free hand.

“I’m not joking.” Ben promised, then took another deep breath. “Beverly. I love you so much. I love you hair, and your eyes, and.. Your face. I love how fun you are, and how loving you are. I love how you know how to make anything look good. I love your freckles and your laugh and how you are always ready to stand up for yourself. Every day that I get to wake up knowing you love me… It’s an honour. I.. should’ve written this down.” he realized.

Beverly, who was crying, let out a shaking laugh. “No, no, keep going.”

“I love you, so much and from the moment I laid eyes on you I knew I’d be thinking about you for the rest of my life. And I want to. But I was kinda hoping you could do the same for me… so… Beverly Katherine Marsh-”

Beverly sobbed again, body shaking.

“Will you marry me?”

Bev blinked tears out of her eyes. “Ben Hanscom, I will marry you.”

Ben sobbed, and stood up to kiss her. Her face was wet with tears and her nose was cold. She was so amazing.

“I love you so much.” she whispered in his ear.

“I love you so much.” he echoed back at her.

They were both crying as Ben slipped the ring onto her finger. It was a nice, simple gold band with the words January embers engraved into it.

“I can’t believe I get to marry the most amazing woman in the world.” Ben murmured, and Bev leaped onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him like her life depended on it.

“FUCK YEAH!”

The two broke apart to see Richie with a nice camera around his neck, clapping and whistling.

“Did- did you follow us?” Ben asked between tears.

“Uh, yes?” Richie said like it was obvious. “Who else was gonna take photos of the engagement? Not the trees Babe! Not the trees.”

Beverly pulled Richie into a hug. “You jerk. Better’ve gotten good photos, you asshole.” she told him with no heat behind her voice. She kissed his cheek.

Richie laughed. “Girl you know it! Lemme see that ring!”

[sandalaris]

B, F, M!

B: Any of your stories inspired by personalexperience?

Not really. Sometimes I take little things that happened in my personal life and kind of toss them into the background if I feel it fits. I did write two fics after having a cold (two separate colds, at two separate times) where the pov character either also had a cold, or was recovering from being sedated, using my own doped up/headcold feeling as inspiration. But overall the things that happen in my life don’t end up in any obvious capacity in my fics. 

F: Share a snippet from one of your favoritedialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Damn, this is actually a pretty hard one. I usually like my dialogue scenes, but for added fun I’m going to post a (somewhat lengthy) scene from a FDtD fic I will probably never actually publish that contains a lot of dialogue I rather like. I may end up caniblizing it into another fic one day, but for now its been sitting on my computer for too freakin’ long. I’ll stick it under a Read More. As for why I’m proud of it, I don’t really know. Maybe it’s that light little bit at the end where Kate and Richie go back and forth on Kate’s age, maybe it’s that I have headcanon’d that Seth and Kate are going to have some kind bickering over his hyped up paranoia about her protection after having believed her dead so many times and this was my first attempt to write out that conversation, or maybe it’s just that I really like writing these three. 

M: Got any premises on the back burner thatyou’d care to share?

Two Teen Wolf fics (on top of the sequels to both Intervening Processes and Baby, We’re a Cliché): 

A Sandman Slim fusion, with a fucked up Stiles who crawled his way out of Hell to get revenge for his best friend’s murder. Ultimately Sterek. 

A fairytale inspired Sterek fic, using the story Little Furball which may or may not ever see the light of day. 

A couple of From Dusk till Dawn fics: I’m going with fics that I want to finish, but may not actually ever get around to finishing. (Otherwise, after I finish A Lesson in Navigation, I have a post-season 3 Kate-centric fic I’ve gotten a good chunk started on.)

 AU kind of inspired by Sense8 and moves like Drop Dead Fred. Kate never did outgrow her imaginary friends, a couple of foul-mouthed brothers who come and go from her life at random, she just stopped talking about them to other people. Gen

A dark!Brasa/Amaru, basically filling in those months between season two and season three. Less shippy and more Brasa’s twisted love/hate thing he had going on for Amaru and her struggling with controlling Kate, sprinkled with occasionally Brasa attempting to take his issues with his queen out on her host. Possibly some hinted at background SethKate, I haven’t decided yet.

Hidden Legacy fusion. Basically most of season one and part of season two if magic was a thing that was already well known and various characters had various types of magic. If you’ve read the books by Ilona Andrews you get what I mean. :) I have no idea if it’ll be shippy or not yet. 

Thanks of the ask!! XD 

“Is that why you assigned three babysitters to watch me?” 

“Not babysitters,” he corrects, his own tension loosening alongside hers. “Protection. For you.” He gestures at her to reinforce his point.  

Kate tilts her head, waiting for him to continue. To justify his actions to her, and a tightness in him eases at the sign that she’s willing to listen.  

“Amaru,” she doesn’t flinch at the name and he feels a flicker of pride, “made a lot of enemies. A lot of people out there wanting revenge for what she did.” He places special emphasis on that. He still has nightmares where Kate walks through the gate, telling him she deserves that ticket to Hell. And he knows she still doesn’t quite buy that those stains aren’t on her soul.  

He doesn’t mention him and Richie and the fuckload of people who either hate them, owe them payback, or see them as easy pickings. The brothers who took-over a millenniums-old operation on luck and fucking prophesy. One mortal and the other newly turned, too green to know the world they stumbled into and the Lords too dead to support their claim. His own people are loyal, but Seth isn’t stupid enough to believe they’ve patched up all the holes in their operation, and he won’t risk another infiltration.  

“I can take care of myself,” she shoots back. He doesn’t even have to raise a brow before she’s winces and looks away.  

“All it takes-” 

“’-is one lucky bastard getting one lucky shot,’” she finishes with a grumble, having heard this back when they were Bonnie and Clyde-ing it down in Mexico. He doesn’t miss those days, not really, but sometimes he thinks about them. Thinks and wonders. 

“Words of wisdom, kid.” 

“Whatever.” 

“’Whatever’?” he repeats with a teasing grin. “You sound like a fucking teenager.” 

“I am an f-ing teenager.” 

That makes him pause, freezing for a moment while something like fear, like guilt, twists through him before he shakes it off. It’s not like he forgot, but sometimes… sometimes it’s hard to remember she’s the same little girl he found in an inn by the boarder, just with a handful of months and a fuckton of trauma added. That he’s not had a literally lifetime with her around, living in his world if not right by his side. Fuck, it’s not even been a full year since Abilene, but its so easy to forget.  

He looks up, an apology on his tongue that he won’t be able to voice, but she’s looking away, gaze lost in the distance, something sad and searching and resigned playing out over her features. 

“I don’t-” she begins, blinking rapidly as she lets out a humorless scoff, “I don’t even know what day it is.”

“It’s, uh.” He pushes himself up, turning to shuffle through the paperwork on his desk, looking for a calendar. “Fuck, it’s-” Something has to have the damn date on it, something to let her touch down on the present. She was gone six months before they learned she was alive, and he knows she was aware of most of what was going on while sharing headspace with that bitch, but he also knows through late night conversations and whispered confessions that there were times when Amaru would keep her buried deep in an effort to smother her. 

“The twenty-third of March,” comes Richie’s voice followed by the man himself as he steps through their office door. “A Tuesday.” 

Seth doesn’t jump, barely even needs to glance up. A bone-deep knowledge that seems to automatically register Richie as safe coming to play before his usual well-earned paranoia can rear its head.

“Eighteen,” Kate says, looking down at her hands like she can’t believe they belong to her. “I’m eighteen.”  

“Congratulations, Katie-Cakes,” Richie says with a grin. “You’re legal.” He glances at Seth, quick and meaningful. Seth firmly ignores him. “Finally shaking that jailbait status.” 

Kate raises her brows at him, amusement chasing the lingering shadows from her eyes. “Age of consent is seventeen in Texas.” 

Seth’s breath catches in his throat for a moment, mind going blank before he rips it back to the present and the slowly dissipating cloud over Kate’s head. 

Richie’s brows draw together before he tries again. “You can buy cigarettes. And lottery tickets.” 

“I don’t smoke or gamble,” Kate fires back, eyes beginning to sparkle while a smile fights to curl the corner of her mouth. 

Richie’s brow furrows, something like a challenge in the way he steps further into the room. “You can drink… in Mexico.”  

“I live with the owners of several bars,” she counters, “No one’s going to stop me from ordering whatever I want.”  

“You can vote?” 

“Last I checked, you and Scott had me declared dead.” 

There’s a moment’s pause, before a slow smile crosses blooms, Richie practically lighting up with child-like glee. “Presents. We all owe you presents.” 

[yourprayer]

pop culture chapter 8

“Adulthood in a town like Derry is even worse than childhood. The listless, empty ramblings of days dragging on in a town that felt like one-size-too-small-shoes sat heavier on the recently graduated than the younger children. Before you were eighteen and responsible for your own lunch money, you could spend your interminable afternoons exploring the surrounding environment, friends of friends abound. Escaping to the arcade and seeing the same films six times at the same theater was an acceptable amount of nothing to do at twelve years old. But when nineteen years hit Bill Denbrough and college acceptance letters didn’t, the sudden, overwhelming, nothingness of Nowhere, Maine became too heavy to bear.”

chapter 8 (wc: 4k)

chapter list here

read it on ao3

want on the taglist?

“Someone’s knockin at yer back door, Stanny.”

“Couldn’t kill you to answer it?”

“Not my house.”

“Well you’re not getting any of my pizza, then.” Stan griped as he marked his place and set down his novel before crossing the room.

“Wait, you ordered pizza?!” Richie extracted himself from his position on Stan’s bed, where he had been reading comics upside down.

“You’d know if you got the door.” Stan called over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. Another knock rang through the empty house.

“Coming dear!” Richie yelled with a ridiculous trill as he attempted to slide down the bannister.

“Don’t break yourself. I don’t want your blood on my carpet.” Stan yanked Richie’s sleeve, returning the wily boy to his feet.

“Buzzkill.” Richie muttered, crossing his arms as he followed Stan sullenly.

“Reason you’re still alive?” Stan quirked an eyebrow, walking backwards with a finger pointed at himself.

“Touche, douche.” Richie rhymed under his breath as they crossed the kitchen.

“Heard that.” Stan commented as he opened the door.

“Hey.”

Stanley and Richie’s eyes went comically wide as they took in the sight on Stan’s back doorstep. Before them stood a disheveled Mike and Eddie, both sweaty and breathing like they’d ran all the way there. Eddie was holding the collar of his shirt to split and bleeding skin of his chin, droplets of the blood escaping and dripping down his neck, leaving dried trails like lay lines. Mike was smiling almost apologetically, like he was sorry to have stopped by.

“Got a first aid kit?” Mike broke the silence, smile almost manic as he joked.

“What the fuck happened?!” Stan inquired, pulling Mike in the room and out of the way before Richie practically launched himself at Eddie, who he promptly shoved over to the sink so he could begin cleaning his wound.

“It’s a pretty, uh, funny story actually.” Mike said with a strange, nervous laugh. Stan studied him crossly between cupboards he opened in search of some bandages. “Mind if I have a glass of water?”

“Go ahead.” Stan replied warily, watching Mike grab a cup out of the cabinet to his left with trembling hands. Richie moved Eddie away from the sink as Mike came over, meeting Stan at the kitchen island and grabbing the box of band-aids he’d successfully scavenged. Mike drank three full glasses while Richie diligently attended to Eddie’s chin. Stan and Eddie caught each other’s gazes just once, and at Stan’s questioning eyebrow Eddie only shook his head. Stan waited a moment more before starting in on Mike again. “You gonna tell this funny story?”

“It’s a real doozy.” Mike braced his hands on the sink, back facing the others.

“I think I can handle it.”

Mike took a deep breath before turning.

“You want the long or the short of it?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

“I think I just controlled fire with my mind.”

Richie dropped the bandage he was opening.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. That’s the short.”

“Does the long explain this?” Richie pointed at Eddie’s band-aid clad chin.

“If I tell you it involves Hockstetter and Belch, does that answer your question?”

“Shit. Yeah.” Richie adjusted his glasses reverently, eyes downcast as his mind easily grasped the general specifics.

“So you what, turned his flamethrower contraption off?” Stan crossed his arms and leaned against the pantry.

“More like turned it around.” Mike paused to drink more water. “It didn’t burn me.”

“It touched you?” Mike nodded. “And it didn’t burn.” Another nod. “And you’re sure it was real fire.” Richie continued incredulously.

“It was. A whole lot of it. And it couldn’t touch me.”

“Bullshit.” Richie said with awe.

“You literally turned invisible a couple days ago.” Stan glared at Richie.

“Yeah, but- that’s nuts!”

“More nuts than your thing?”

Richie qualmed. “No…”

“So shush. Let the man continue.”

“That’s pretty much all there is to it.” Mike shrugged. “I guess fire can’t burn me anymore.”

“Let’s test it.” Richie pulled a lighter out of his jean pocket. “Experimentation.”

Mike spoke at the same time as Stan, his acquiescence overlapping Stanley’s protests.

“It’s fine, Stan.” Mike repeated, stepping over to Richie with an outstretched arm.

“What if it was just a fluke?” Stan folded his hands in concern.

“It’s just a tiny little Bic, what can it do?” Mike said casually as Richie flicked on the flame.

“You sure?” Richie asked, lighter in one hand and Mike’s arm in the other.

“Go right ahead.”

Richie watched Mike’s face with pinched eyebrows, disbelief and uncertainty on his face. He titled the flame to touch skin, eyes going wide as Mike did not flinch.

“Nothing?” Richie pressed the flame into Mike’s skin, which was not burning or bubbling as all laws of physics deemed it should.

“It feels like hot wax, but not super hot wax.” Mike took another sip of his water with his free hand.

“Are you the wax in this equation?” Richie questioned as he moved the flame up and down the length of Mike’s forearm.

“I think so?”

“Fucking hell.” Richie sighed as he let go of the trigger, pocketing the lighter once more. “Of course you get a useful power.” He complained as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“The fuck do you mean?”

“I mean that’s what this whole thing is, right? We’re all getting superpowers or something! And I get this bullshit where some of my organs go see-through, and it hurts like a bitch, mind you, and you get to be fire-retardant! Stan can fuckin’, I don’t know, levitate things, which is helpful-”

Stan and Mike spoke over each other again.

“Stan can what?”

“You’ve been reading too many comic books.”

Stan looked guilty after he realized what Mike had said over his comment.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Last night. My book was floating.”

“That’s it?”

“I made it fly into the ceiling.”

“Did it stay there?”

“No, it fell.”

“Who cares if it stayed up there? Point is Stanley actually gets something that doesn’t suck-”

“Eddie, you’ve been weirdly quiet. Are you okay?” Stan interrupted Richie’s rant, desperately wanting to shift the subject away from himself. Eddie blanched at the sudden question, shuffling his weight awkwardly on his feet. He thought for a moment about saying something, but settled on a shake of his head. “What’s up?” Stan pressed.

“I’m with Richie.” Eddie said after a moment, voice unsure. Richie definitely didn’t dig his nails into his legs from where his hands were clenched in his pockets in response to the thoughts Eddie saying the phrase I’m with Richie conjured. “I got dealt a really shitty hand.”

Richie swallowed, wishing away the heat in his cheeks. “How so?”

“You know how so!” Eddie went from reserved and shaken to bitterness teetering on the edge of rage in a matter of seconds. “The only ‘power’ I got is being scared so shitless I can’t even fucking move every time something goes wrong!”

“Eds.” Richie pleaded softly, hoping to head off the explosion he knew was coming.

“You should have seen me today, Richie. I was fucking useless. Mike was about to get barbequed and I just fucking laid there!”

“Belch was holding you down Eddie, he had his boot in your back-” Mike protested.

“Wait, Belch had his boot in your back? That son of a-”

“The point is that I’m useless now! Who am I if I can’t protect my friends?!”

“Eds, you are not useless-”

“Richie’s right, Eddie-”

“You don’t get it, Stan-”

“Eddie, I don’t think you have a super power.” Mike said firmly, breaking through the chaos of everyone’s voices overlapping.

“Excuse me?” Eddie blinked at him.

“I don’t think you have a ‘super power’.” Mike air quoted, glancing at Richie. “I think you have a panic disorder.”

“Mike.” Richie warned quietly, almost subconsciously raising a hand as if to placate a wild animal. Stan stared at him shocked, genuine surprise and fear overtaking him as he worried over the results of the statement.

Eddie went white, his whole body eerily stilling. His eyes started out laser-focused on Mike’s face but began to dart around the room. He tried to form words, his brain working in overdrive as he scrambled over a response. To Richie it looked like he’d short-circuited.

“I- you- how dare-”

“Eddie, I’m not trying to offend you-”

“How dare you, Michael.” Eddie spat. “You have got to be fucking kidding me right now.”

“I’m not.” Mike stood his ground.

“If I wanted someone to stand here and list a bunch of fake illnesses I don’t have, I’d be at home!” Eddie nearly screamed. Stan clasped a hand over his mouth. Richie swallowed again before laughing nervously with the teasing, though-”

“Shut UP Richard. I’m not fucking around.” Eddie rounded on Mike again. “I can’t believe you, one of my best friends treating me like my fucking mother, trying to find some fucking disease you can blame me on-”

“I am not acting like your mother, Eddie.” Mike yelled back, surprising Stan and Richie with his intensity.

“You know what hurts the most about it?” Eddie pushed on, apparently unaffected by the bite back. “What really gets me about being told I’m sick all the time? She says my behavior is what makes me sick, the things I do or like or say. It’s not my temperature or my complexion or whether or not I throw up, it’s my fucking personality! To her, I’m the disease! And I thought you of all people would see me differently. But it’s clear now you don’t. I’m something you want to cure too.”

“Eddie-” Mike protested feebly, shocked beyond belief.

“I am sorry I was such a useless pile of shit today.” Eddie said through angry tears forming in his eyes. “I feel terrible about how I acted. But you don’t have to be so vicious about it. You don’t have to treat me like a germ.”

With that, Eddie was turning on a heel and leaving, storming out of Stan’s back door as the other’s scrambled after him, Richie yelling for him to come back.

“Let him go.” Mike said calmly, a hand on Richie’s shoulder as the three stood in the doorway. They watched Eddie storm out of the garden, the brand new and almost frighteningly large cactus plant near the door escaping their notice.

______________________________________________________________

“I’m the world’s worst boyfriend.”

“Oh come on, Ben.”

“No, I really am. I mean, absolute shit.”

“Th-there are p-p-plenty worse boyfr-friends than you out there.” Bill clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, smiling at the sight of Ben idly fretting.

“What kind of asshole waits until a week before an anniversary before they even start thinking about a gift?” Ben put his head in his hands, soda and fries forgotten on the bench next to him. He and Bill were on one of their regular excursions to the downtown district of Derry, where they would both get a coke and fries to be eaten as they walked around and windowshopped for all the things they couldn’t afford.

“S-some people forget the d-day entirely.” Bill pointed out, popping a french fry into his mouth. “I did.”

Ben looked up at him incredulously. “You forgot yours and Bev’s anniversary?”

“She b-broke up with me for a reason.” He joked, taking a drink of his soda. Ben laughed at his casual admission.

“No offense, but I’m glad the bars not so high.” Ben said through giggles.

Bill snorted. “Wh-what bar?” The two broke into fits of laughter, trying their best to contain themselves in public.

“Well, shit.” Ben leaned back, picking up his styrofoam cup of cola and taking a sip. “Guess I’ve only gotta do something mildly impressive.”

“What k-kind of gift are you th-thinking?” Bill tucked a leg under the other as he ate more of his fries.

“It’s cliche as shit, but I was thinking jewelry.” Ben scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, it is only our six-month, but still…” Ben trailed off, Bill watching him intently as he continued to eat. “I’m really fucking serious about her. I wanna get something that says I am.”

“Jewelry is good, then.” Bill said seriously.

“What do you think she would like?” Ben asked, vulnerability and desperation clear in his eyes as he locked them with Bill’s.

“C-can’t go w-w-wrong with a n-necklace.” Bill took another drink.

“Yeah…” Ben sighed, contemplatively taking a bite of one of his fries. “That doesn’t feel like… special enough though.” He finished the fry. “I feel like it should be something, I don’t know, more. She deserves it.”

“Yeah she does.” Bill agreed sincerely as he took another drink. The boys sat in silence for a few moments, watching Derry townfolk shuffle around on their nameless errands.

“Would it be the most embarrassing thing in the world to get her a promise ring?” Ben said after the silence had stretched too far. Bill shook his head, swallowing the fry he was on.

“Nu-uh. I think sh-she’d love that.”

“Really?” Ben asked nervously.

“Sh-she told me sh-she did s-s-so, yeah.” Bill grinned.

“Oh. I didn’t know you guys talked about…” Ben fiddled with his fingers nervously.

“Y-you guys?” Bill supplied. “B-b-bev and I are still fr-friends, Ben. We talk ab-bout all kinds of stuff.”

“I just didn’t think you’d want to hear about it.” Ben looked at his feet. “I wouldn’t want to if I were you.”

Bill was silent for a beat, thinking. “You l-liked her when we w-were dating, d-d-didn’t you.”

“Yeah.” Ben admitted after a breath. “I’ve liked her since we first met.”

“Th-then you really should get th-that ring.” Bill ate his last fry, wiping the grease from his fingers on the corner of his flannel. Ben watched Bill nervously, almost as if he were afraid he’d angered him. “You kn-know I’m not huh-hurt over you g-g-guys dating.”

“You’re not?”

“No. B-bev and I have always b-b-been better off as fr-friends. You guys were suh-supposed to be tog-gether.” Ben’s jaw dropped slightly at the statement as Bill stood up from the bench, garbage clasped in one hand.

“Bill, it really means a lot to hear you say that.” Ben admitted as he stood as well.

“Sh-shoulda said it s-s-sooner. It’s always b-b-been true.” Bill shrugged, looking up and down the street at the row of stores. His eyes landed on a pawn shop nestled at the end of the block. “Now c-c-c’mon. Let’s go g-get your girlfriend a pr-promise ring.”

______________________________________________________________

“Well that sure was swell, Mikey.” Richie commented bitterly as he paced the Uris living room, a slice of pepperoni pizza in each hand. He had been alternating between the two, taking an angry bite out of one, then the other, then back again. These are technically his third and fourth slices, Stan thought after a brief glance at the pizza box.

“Richie, don’t get pissy with me. If you’re worried about him, go take it up with Eddie.” Mike tore off the end of his breadstick and ate it.

“You’re the one who pissed him off.” Richie took a bite from the left slice, speaking before swallowing. “You should apologize.”

“For what? Looking out for his best interests? And you should chew with your mouth closed. God, what are you, five?” Mike grumbled before finishing off his breadstick.

“Je-sus, Micycle. Bee in your bonnet?” Richie teased, proceeding to take a bite out of the right slice.

“Forgive me if I’m not in the mood, Tozier.” Mike glared at him.

“Would you two cut it out?” Stan cut in, depositing his pizza crust in the lid of the box. “If you’re gonna keep bickering like this, I’m gonna kick you out.”

“On what grounds?” Richie squinted at him.

“The ‘no-whiny-assholes’ clause.” Stan returned the look as he went for another slice.

“Sorry.” Mike mumbled as he grabbed another breadstick.

“I will not yield.” Richie said with a stubborn flourish, polishing off the left slice. Stan rolled his eyes as he shook his head.

“Of course you don’t. Mike, do you think we should have another meeting and tell the rest about what happened?”

Mike looked contemplatively at the carpet. “I’m not opposed to it, but don’t we have a movie night in a couple of days?”

“We could wait till then if you want.”

“That’s probably best. Oh, and Ben got those pictures developed. He’ll probably want us all to take a look at them.”

“What for?” Richie muttered to himself, finishing the crust of the right slice, his now pizza-less hands he wiped off on his jeans. “Said it yourself, won’t do any good.”

“Ben’s peace of mind will probably appreciate it.” Mike quipped. “Besides, he was gonna give a bunch to you.”

Richie folded his arms and turned to look at Mike, who even while sitting on the floor with Stan, still seemed tall, immovable.

“You shouldn’t have said that to Eddie.”

“I’m not wrong.” Mike rebutted, unphased by the quick turn of subject.

“That doesn’t matter. You know he hates being told he’s got something wrong with him.”

“I never said having a panic disorder is wrong.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not going to jump to that conclusion.”

“That’s on him.”

“You hurt his feelings, Mike!”

“I was being honest!”

“That’s not always what Eddie wants.” Stan cut in. “We’ve been friends with him for a long time, Mike. He’s always preferred easy lies over hard truths.”

“It’s how he was raised.” Richie muttered under his breath as he fiddled with the carpet with his bare toes.

“So you baby him and tell him what he wants to hear? How is that any better than his home life?”

Richie and Stan remained silent.

“I’m not going to patronize him. I know he hates that shit even more. I’m going to be honest with him because he’s my friend and he deserves that, even if it makes him angry.”

“That’s fair.” Richie aquiesced after a beat. “But he’s still gonna be pissy with you if you don’t apologize. And he probably won’t listen to your reasoning if he doesn’t like your accusation.”

“He’ll come around.”

______________________________________________________________

Ben arrived home a little later than usual, pocket heavy with the weight of what he’d decided to do that evening. His whole demeanor was effected by the choice, his smile giddy as he unlocked the door. His mother was waiting with freshly reheated dinner, a telltale sign she was near the end of a pay period. The sight of the cheap, frozen meals steaming in their plastic wrap on the table made Ben feel a little sick, and abruptly wish he hadn’t just spent so much of his money. It was supposed to help with groceries you idiot, Ben chastized himself.

“Hey sweetie. Dinner’s on the table.” His mother greeted as she entered the room, smiling at Ben as he shed his shoes.

“I saw, looks delicious, thank you.” Despite his reservations about the situation, Ben would not refuse a meal from his mother, no matter the context. He knew he should sometimes, knew her constant over feeding was an almost exclusive reason for his issues with weight as a young man. But he was also aware it was one of her ways for making up for his father’s absence. She used food to show her love, and if he said he wasn’t hungry, she took it as rejection. Ben may not always be hungry, but God did he constantly love his mother. So frozen dinners it is.

“You look particularly at peace this evening, Benny.” His mother commented as she crossed to the sink and began washing her hands. “Anything exciting happen today?”

Ben smiled shyly to himself as he got a glass and poured some juice from the fridge. “Uh, yeah actually.” He leaned over and set his cup down at his seat, then raised the jug of juice so his mother could see. “Want a glass?”

“Sure, thanks. Tell me about this excitement!” She pressed, drying her hands before sitting down.

“So, remember how I told you Bev and I’s anniversary is next week?” Ben couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he returned the juice to the fridge. “I got her gift today.” He beamed at his mother as he handed her her cup and sat down.

She returned his grin. “What’d you get her?”

Ben looked around conspiratorially, preening when it made his mother laugh. They loved to joke that others might be around, that things must be secret, ever since Ben was a child and loved playing spies. When he deemed the coast was clear, he pulled the small ring box out of his pocket.

“I got her this promise ring.” Ben said as reverently as he held it out under the light. His mother took it in hand, regarding the ring in awe.

“Oh Benny, this is gorgeous.” She breathed.

“Think she’ll like it?” His tone betrayed his nervousness. “Bill helped me pick it out, I was so unsure.”

“Honey, she’ll love it.” She smiled and returned the box to him. “It’s perfect.”

“I sure hope so.” He pocketed the ring box and picked up his fork, using it to tear back the plastic wrap over his food.

“Sorry it’s not plated, I wasn’t sure how late you’d be and I wanted it to stay warm.” His mother said as she took a drink.

“Oh no mom, this is fine. I don’t mind a bit.” Ben shook his head.

“Oh, and speaking of miss Beverly, she left a voicemail for you a little while ago.” She added, cutting into her meatloaf.

“Thanks, I’ll listen to it after dinner.”

They ate in silence for a bit before she spoke again.

“I like that girl, Benny. I like her a lot. Think someday you’ll put a real ring on that finger?”

Ben smiled down at his food.

“I sure hope so.”

______________________________________________________________

“Georgie, can you get the door for us?”

“Sure momma.” Georgie Denbrough responded with a smile as he jumped down from his makeshift vegetable cutting station. His brother, who was tenderizing meat next to him smiled as he watched his brother happily run off.

The doorbell rang again as Georgie rounded the corner. “Coming!” He called sweetly, beaming as he reached the door. He pulled it open easily with his one arm.

“Oh- hi Georgie.”

Georgie squinted at the sight before him, happy but perplexed. Eddie Kaspbrak was on his doorstep, which he was excited about, because Eddie was his friend and he loved seeing him. But Eddie also looked hurt, his chin covered in bandaids and spots of dried blood on his yellow tee shirt.

“Hi Eddie.” Georgie kept his smile plastered on his face, reminding himself of what his mother always tells him; don’t ask people invasive questions, Georgie.

“Is your brother home?” Eddie asked nervously, wringing his hands on the bottom of his shirt.

“Yeah, he’s in the kitchen.” Georgie gestured across his body, jerking towards the kitchen with a thumb. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Eddie gave a short, airy laugh. “I’ll have to ask. Can I talk to him?”

“Billy!” Georgie suddenly switched to his outside voice. “Eddie’s here!”

Eddie gave Georgie a slightly surprised expression, impressed by the kid’s volume. A moment later Bill arrived in the doorway, chiding Georgie about yelling in the house. He stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Eddie in the doorway.

“Ed-eddie.” He crinkled his brow. “You alright?”

“Uh, sorta. I’m- can uh, can I stay over tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. W-we’re just making-”

“Dinner, yeah, I’ll help.” Eddie scurried into the house, not bothering to give Bill a chance to finish the thought. The boys shared a look as they left the doorway, its meaning indecipherable to Georgie. He huffed to himself, feeling a bit angry about once again being left out of things, and went to close the door. He stopped his motion at the sight of the edges of their front garden, his gaze on the bushes that came up to the side of the doorstep. The small yellow flowers that usually bloomed on its stems in spring were opening up, unfurling at an unnatural speed, leaving the bush covered in fresh blossoms before it stopped. Georgie watched with wide eyes, confounded by the sight before him.

Momma’s right, he thought as he finally willed himself to close the door. I’ve been watching too many cartoons.

______________________________________________________________

authors notes: sorry this took forever to come out! i told myself i’d put it up on wednesday. i did not accomplish that lmao. anyways he’res another installment, things are really starting to pick up! in the pop culture universe georgie has one arm; the denbroughs were in an accident when the boys were young, where georgie lost his arm and bill sustained the brain damage that causes his stutter. also no one is more of a benverly cheerleader than bill. 

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