#will yell about it later maybe hhhh nap

[enden-k]

murmurs official illustrations of zhongli and childe with ginkgo leaf murmurmur flower language murmurmurmur calm eternal love, waiting and reunion—

[billhaderlovebot]

beep beep (3) - richie tozier.

(how fucking babey is this man?? i??? hhhh???)

@ceruleanrainblues @the-star-above-you @a-second-hand-sorrow

ok! so! some like, violence type stuff? some fluff, some angst, richie being babey, bad language, sex references. here we go lesbians.

---

it had taken richie everything in him not to break when he had returned from the arcade. not to just unravel in front of you and let himself go.

but he didn't. he couldn't.

and he couldn't, now, either.

when pennywise, with gnarled, elongated hands and fingers that almost looked barbed, lifted you from the ground.

ripped you from richie's arms and held you struggling in the air.

"always the hardest to scare." It said, and you groaned in discomfort as It's hot breath fanned the back of your neck, its clawed, twisted hand tightening around your waist. "always the fighter."

"you get the fuck off of her, right the fuck now." richie gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists. yeah, he was probably going to throw up.

--

richie loved you.

obviously.

he had loved you every single day of his life since he was fourteen fucking years old. every single day.

he knew, now, staring at you, your body curled around his protectively even though you were so much smaller, that his wretched heart would continue to love you for every moment of the rest of his life (plus two or three weeks, for good measure.)

often, when you were kids and you'd nap together in his bed because his parents were out (they were always out) and you needed to be near each other, he would fall asleep after you, just so he could lay awake and watch you breathe. watch you exist so serenely and look so fucking soft in his arms that he could have cried. you looked frightfully vulnerable when you were asleep, though, which always bothered him.

now, years later, you were no different. breaths coming slow and warm and ghosting across the crook of his neck where you had buried your face. so small. so vulnerable.

richie subconsciously held you a little tighter.

he would do anything for you, good lord.

even if it killed him.

you'd been asleep for about a half hour, but richie couldn't drift off.

richie hadn't told you about his artefact because the guilt that came with it sat on his chest like a fucking dumbbell. guilt, because he hadn't told you something very, very important.

you were not his first love.

but eddie kaspbrak was.

and he was guilty. guilty because he had moved on and because he had hidden such a huge part of his life from you. you, who wasn't his first love, but would undoubtedly be his last.

you, who was the love of his life.

eddie had been the first person he'd ever felt any sort of love for. when they were young, before you, and eddie would obsessively straighten the collars of his hawaiian shirts and clean his glasses for him and put band-aids on cuts and scrapes and used curse words that rivalled his own. eddie was the only one to care about him when his parents didn't. richie loved him so, so much and it had awakened a part of him he'd been ashamed of ever since.

it had been a sort of relief when he had met you, really, because he could pass himself off to the world as a normal guy with a normal girlfriend and a normal life. normal.

and oh, how he would do anything for you.

the girl who swore like a fucking sailor and held him tight and got so stoned she couldn't walk while listening to the cure on her portable radio. you'd been his distraction, to begin with, but he found himself falling fast and hard for you.

it scared him, how much he loved you. he'd never fallen so hard. he'd never given so much of himself to another person, bearing his soul to you because you were the only person he wanted to see it.

he'd come to you for solace and comfort, and had ended up loving you so much that nothing else mattered to him. and the day he'd kissed you in the clubhouse was perhaps the best decision of his life. the towering tsunami that was his love for you, crashing over him in almost overwhelming waves, kept him going for two fucking decades.

there was a smaller wave, though, too. smaller, but potent, lapping at his ankles and reminding him that he was not, by any stretch of the imagination, as normal as he wanted to be. as normal as he willed himself to be. because... he loved you, but once upon a time, he had loved eddie kaspbrak. so much.

he had carved your initials onto the kissing bridge the same day he had kissed you for the first time, bigger, and far away from eddie's, as if it would erase what had used to be.

it couldn't erase it, of course. erase what was, and always would be, a part of him.

richie tozier was...

he was different.

and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why it had happened to him. he had always been told it was wrong.

wrong, wrong, wrong. run, you fucking fairy.

and he had run. so fucking far. even now, when his job was to be controversial, he couldn't fucking say it. he could think of nothing more controversial than being b...

than liking both.

i mean, he could, but after years of being told how fucking weird and perverted and wrong it was by people who didn't even know him, he expected a certain reaction. richie glanced over to his jacket hanging on the back of the door, where the arcade token sat in the pocket. well, fuck.

you stirred a few minutes later, looking up at him with sleepy eyes and a tired smile, and, in that moment, everything was okay.

he kissed you, then. softly. ever so softly and almost like he was afraid you would break.

"what was that for?" you asked after he pulled away, heat rushing to your cheeks.

"i just... love you. that's all." his voice was quiet. "im so fucking in love with you."

you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until tears welled in his eyes, his lips shaking as he held something back.

"richie? what's-"

"marry me." richie whispered, wiping his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours.

"huh?"

"let's get married, baby."

"yeah. yeah, okay."

----

you had gone absolutely fucking mental when richie had been caught in the deadlights, his eyes clouding and his face devoid of any emotion. beverly had had to hold you back to stop you from going right after him, screaming for him at the top of your lungs because he was floating.

he was floating away and you were going to lose him to the jaws of hell.

"RICHIE!"

"stop!" bev had pleaded. "stop it, you can't do anything! he's too far up!"

you hated her for that. for just a split second, you hated her. and you were kicking and screaming and crying, hot tears sliding down your face faster than you were sure you could make them.

and before you knew what was up:

"BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!"

eddie had yelled, launching the monster-killer right down Its fucking throat. and then richie was on the ground, disoriented and spluttering, and, bev, with a sigh of relief, let go of you. out of the corner of your eye, you saw It, struggling and vomiting what might have been actual lava but also looked strangely like blood. your mind cast back to richie and then you were by his side, shaking him awake.

"richie! fuck!" you were aware of just how loud you were sobbing, grabbing him and holding his head to your chest. "you fucking idiot, oh, fuck, i love you." and he was wrapping his shaking arms around you, panicking and probably crying because he had been caught in the deadlights and what the fuck.

"rich!" eddie was ecstatic, kneeling beside the two of you. "i did it, richie. i think i killed it, guys!"

"EDDIE, LOOK OUT!"

you didn't know what was going on, really, until a colossal, razor sharp claw dug itself into the rock where eddie had just fucking been.

and you were sure you'd never been more thankful for ben hanscom and his intuition.

"holy shit, eds." you just about shrieked.

"it's not dead!" richie was suddenly alert, dragging the three of you to your feet as pennywise crawled up from the ground, the spikes it had fallen on making a wet crunching sound as It tore itself off of them.

everything was happening so fucking fast, and you must have zoned out or something, because all of a sudden you were in the fucking air, torn away from a screaming richie. the sharp, jutting bones of it's long fingers dug into your torso as you were lifted, flailing.

"always the hardest to scare. always the fighter." pennywise all but giggled.

"you get the fuck off of her, right the fuck now." you knew what it sounded like when richie was trying to keep his cool, and right now, he was not doing a very good job.

"are you scared now?" It asked you, grinning from ear to ear. "are you scared, richie's girl?"

"FUCK OFF, YOU BIG DUMB ASSHOLE!" any attempt to kick and struggle was cut short by It's tightening fist, and the sharp ridges of It's fingers cutting into you.

oh, and, yeah, ouch, that was a cracked rib. fuck.

"you are." It growled. "i can smell you."

the losers on the ground stared up in frantic horror, flocking around richie and eddie.

"maybe i should take him, instead. your richie."

"YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!"

"i told you i'd get you, richie's girl."

it flicked a long, black tongue over its razor teeth.

"AND I TOLD YOU THAT IM NOT FUCKING AFRAID OF YOU, YOU STUPID CLOWN."

it's face dropped.

its eyes rolled back into its head.

it fucking smiled.

and then, as if you were a ragdoll it was tired of playing with, it tossed you aside.

richie heard it. the fucking sound. the crunch as your body collided with the jagged rocks at the other end of the sewer. he retched and heaved and his legs didn't seem to be working anymore.

he saw your body crumple, and the scream that erupted from his throat wasn't quite human.

---

"you need to wake up." richie held your hand in his own, the wires protruding from your wrist making him feel sick. "you gotta wake up, baby." the steady beep of your heart monitor was the only thing stopping him from going completely fucking insane. "cmon, we're getting married, so... so you gotta come back to me." richie ignored the bile rising in his throat at the sight of you with tubes and wires spilling from every part of you that wasn't cast in bandages. you looked so fucking broken. "we've already lost so much time... and we need to catch up." richie couldn't find it in himself to crack a joke. this was the first time he'd been really, truly happy since he was seventeen, and now it was all hanging in the balance.

richie had heard from bill the morbid account of your injuries. the doctor wasn't able to tell richie, directly, as he was going on a fucking rampage outside, throwing trash cans and yelling and such.

you'd almost died in the operating theatre twice, he had also heard from bill.

"sh-she had uh, bad in-internal b-b-bl-bleeding. they almost c-couldn't stop it."

but they had stopped it. and now you were here. you were alive. but you'd been out for a good three days, and every hour that passed, richie was less and less sure you'd wake up again.

beverly had had to coax richie into a bathroom to clean himself up, bringing him a clean outfit, because he flat out refused to go back to the inn and shower and change. he wouldn't leave you here. she allowed him to cry on her shoulder, and she knew that he only cried in front of you, which threw her, but she held him and let him cry until he couldn't anymore.

"mr tozier?" the nurse who came in regularly to change your feeding tube and medicine and such was stood by the door, clipboard in hand.

"yeah?" he croaked, not making a move to stand up.

"there's someone here to see you."

richie was sure it could have been the queen of fucking england, or freddie mercury risen from the grave, and he would have told them to fuck off.

"will you, uh, send them in?" richie requested. he hadn't left you for more than ten minutes the whole time you'd been admitted. "i don't wanna-"

"of course, mr tozier." said the nurse, nodding sympathetically and backing out of the room. the door clicked shut behind her.

moments later, richie heard a voice.

"sorry, but, who exactly are you?" said the voice. richie looked up from your hand, which he was still holding, by the way.

a smallish, mousy brown-haired man stood at the door, his hair slicked back with far too much wax that didn't do anything for his terribly receding hairline. "and why are you holding my wife's hand?"

ah. the husband. fuck.

"oh, yeah. right." richie didn't let go of you. "you must be, uhh... umm..."

"timothy. timothy milo." the man said with an air of superiority. richie would lay this guy the fuck out.

"oh, yeah, of course." he nodded, squeezing your fingers gently.

"forgive me," said timothy, pulling up a chair. "forgive me, but, my wife has been missing for almost a week, now, and i get a call saying she's here, in... in derry? is it? battered, and... and comatose."

richie had only known the guy for all of thirty seconds, but he'd knock out those perfect, sickeningly white teeth in a heartbeat. "yeah, there was... an accident-"

"and richie tozier, big-shot comedian from malibu, is holding her hand and looking like... his whole world has been torn down."

timothy was becoming increasingly irate, and richie found it more than a little bit funny. he raised his hands in defense.

"look, man-"

"i ask you again, tozier, who exactly are you? to her, i mean."

and richie had... no idea what to say. for once in his life. no sarcasm, no witty comebacks. nothing.

"well... i fucking love her, man." was all he could think.

and then, with a crunch, timothy milo's manicured fist collided with the side of richie's face.

---

you didn't remember much.

the only thing you could fathom was a faint beeping sound, and a warm, calloused hand on top of yours. you cracked one eye open (with great difficulty) and sighed in relief. it was him.

your richie. disheveled and distraught, but your richie, all the same.

"r-r-r-" your throat was so fucking dry. it hurt to speak. "rich..." was all you managed, your fingers twitching under his hand.

"holy fuck." the smile that lit up his face was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. he had a rather large bruise on his left cheekbone, and his eyes were red and puffy, but he grinned so big and so bright that you could have burst into tears. "you're awake."

"and y-you're... beautiful." you croaked.

"woah, how hard did you hit your head?" he joked, sniffling, a tear slipping down his cheek. he kissed your hand, mindful of the tubes.

"that... that looks like... a punch, richie." you noted, eyeing the purple bruise that started on his cheekbone and ended below his eye.

"you should see the other guy." richie sniffed, a sad smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. it hurt you.

"wh-who?"

"timothy fucking milo." richie scoffed, rolling his eyes in a manner that reminded you of stanley.

"he was... he was here?" your head fucking hurt.

"yeah. gone now. after i told him what was what. fucking asshole."

"wh-"

"another time, babe. you're not up for it."

and you knew he was right. you'd only properly processed about half of the words he'd said.

"i've been outta my fucking mind waiting for you to wake up, yknow. don't do that again." richie said, dragging his hands down his face and rolling his shoulders. his back hurt from sleeping here for just under four days, leaning over the cot and holding your hand.

"it wasn't... my fucking fault... you asshole... it was... oh my god. It."

"we won't dig that up now, huh?" richie interjected. "you rest up a little, i'll chat to you about boring shit, you'll perhaps give me a sympathy hand-job, and when you're a little less drugged up, we can talk about the heavy stuff."

"okay." your attempt at a nod was feeble as fuck. "and... sympathy hand-job?"

"yeah. for making me fight your husband and cry for three days. in no particular order." richie explained, as if it were obvious.

"do you want me to... pull your dick off with my medicine tubes?"

his eyes widened.

"no, ma'am."

"then... shut up." you whined, breathless. your chest burned and your side hurt and you didn't even want to talk about your legs.

"i need more drugs, trash-mouth." you groaned, and he leaned over you to press the red button to alert the nurses.

"believe it or not, you've said that to me before." richie snorted. "no chance of a hand-job, then?"

"beep beep, richie."

[flufferdust]

Under the right wing 1/3

Characters: Apollo Justice, Kristoph Gavin, Clay Terran

Words: 1780

 [[MORE]]

[Apollo sniffled, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he twisted the key into the lock. He was used to opening the office during the week, but this morning forcing himself out of bed was much harder than usual. He cleared his throat, opening the door and resetting the alarm when it started it to beep before flicking the lights on.

His head throbbed and he reached into his pocket for his tissue packet already dwindling in number to blow his nose with a thick honk before he let himself settle into the clients chair.

Maybe the day would be short. He couldn't remember a day aside from one that the office closed early, but surely if there weren't any big clients or much paperwork he could leave after just a few hours.

A steamy, hot shower with a vapor rub ice cube sounded heavenly and the idea of a nap, even a short one, seemed almost too good to be true.

I’m fine, Apollo told himself tiredly, muffling a loud, harsh sneeze into his elbow and feeling his head throb once more. I’ll be fine.

He let his head lull back tiredly until he heard the handle and leapt up despite his dizziness.

“Good morning,” Kristoph said, shedding his coat and hanging it on the coat rack.

“Good bordi’g, Bister Gavid. How are you?”

Yikes. Was that his voice? His boss seemed almost as surprised as he did.

“Well, you sound pleasant this morning.”

Apollo resisted the urge to sniffle. “I thigk I caught a cold.”

Kristoph smiled lightly, settling down at his desk.

“That’s a shame,” he replied. “You biked here, didn't you? Glad to see you made it.”

Apollo swallowed thickly. He’d been part of this agency for almost half a year now, but he still couldn't read his boss. Hopefully he wasn't angry? He sounded fine, mildly surprised, but only as surprised as Apollo had ever seen.

“Be too,” Apollo said lamely, clearing his throat to try and fight off the tickle growing in the back of his sinuses. It quickly backfired and he buried his face into his elbow with another harsh “HUH’JRSHHHOO!”

Goosebumps lined his arms immediately, his face heating up from the echo of his sneeze reverberating off of the walls.

Kristoph didn't reply, opening a folder on his desk and flipping through it. Apollo reached for the last tissue in his pocket, wiping the base of his sore nose gingerly.

“Justice.”

“Y-Yes sir?”

“I need you to do a follow up on the Sheffield case. The next trial is tomorrow.”

Apollo blinked. “Uh…”

Sheffield case… It sounded familiar but he couldn’t put his finger on it….

“Call theb?”

Kristoph lifted his head, adjusting his glasses.

“Yes. Unless they are in the office already, that's how follow ups work.”

“R-Right, suh-sorr-sorre- EH’DDJEWWW! HAP’JSHIEWWW! Ugh… 'scuse be…”

Kristoph pursed his lips ever-so-slightly before offering him a fake smile that Apollo could see for miles.

“And Justice?”

Apollo blew his nose into the soaked tissue, sniffling miserably as he glanced around to find that as he thought, there wasn't a box of them anywhere.

"Don't do that into the phone. I'm relying heavily on this case."

Apollo felt his face heat up once more, a careful hand extending a finger under his chapped nose.

"R-Right. Sorry, sir."

The morning took a lot longer than he’d hoped it would. He sniffled and held back powerful sneezes as he tried his best to keep his voice as professional as possible despite the croak setting in.

By lunch, he’d opted into taking a dreamless nap at his desk, waking a half hour later in a puddle of drool. He mopped it up tiredly with his sleeve, trying to force himself back into working order for the rest of his shift.

Kristoph didn't speak much, aside from orders and Apollo swallowed back his sore throat trying his best to keep it together as best he could. His head was throbbing, his throat growing more and more raw with every sneeze and he felt increasingly dizzy as the congestion plugged up his sinuses and ears.

“B-Bister Gavid…” he asked quietly, as the clock reached 5:15 p.m. “I really dod't feel well… If it's dot a probleb, cad I go hobe early?”

Kristoph slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose into place and looked up from his page with a sigh that didn't sound frustrated or sympathetic.

“We always lock up at six. You can't make it 45 minutes longer?”

Apollo clenched his jaw guiltily. The way his boss asked, sounding genuinely confused, almost hurt more than if he’d been yelled at. It toyed with his thoughts and he lowered his head slightly. Maybe he was being a baby. If he didn't seem sick enough to Kristoph, maybe it really was just a touch of manflu.

He suffered through the last 45 minutes in somewhat of a daze, sniffling back his runny nose and trying not to count the seconds until he could home and blow it. When 6 p.m. finally arrived, he gathered his things without looking as though he was in hurry and waited for Kristoph to make his exit before locking the door.

***

Apollo stumbled into his apartment almost a half hour later, ripping off his coat and tossing his bag against the wall as he kicked off his shoes. He dragged his feet into the kitchen, filling a glass from the counter with cold water and gulped it back before grabbing the ice cube tray from the freezer and trudging down the hall with it to the bathroom.

It seemed almost too good to be true, he thought in a daze. To finally be home, to finally get some relief. He turned the shower head on, cranking the faucet to the hottest setting before twisting the tray and letting all twelve ice cubes gather over the drain. He swallowed as they began to steam up, pulling the hem of his shirt up over his head and snatching a handful of tissues from the box on the back of the toilet and settling down onto the covered seat to blow his nose with a thick gurgle that filled the tissues immediately.

He crumpled them, tossing them away before grabbing a fresh batch and continuing to blow with a soft cough as he got used to idea of breathing even a little through his nose again.

He sucked in a deep breath, flaring his nostrils as the strong scent of menthol hit him like a brick wall and he hurriedly took his pants off, sliding into the shower to welcome it.

Apollo's mouth fell open, despite the horrid taste of the steam as he felt his nose being to stream freely, the potent steam breaking away at his congestion way faster than he’d expected.

“hh...hih-ihh…” he moaned desperately, impatiently as the tickle grew and faded on repeat, taunting him until he braced himself against the tile and stared out at the light on the ceiling.

“HHHR’DJISHOO! D’JSHHOO-IJ’SHOOO! HUH-R’DJJJJISHHH! HEH’JOOO!”

He sniffled wetly, feeling the immediate effects of the disaster on his face before he titled it into the stream of water to rinse off. He swallowed, glancing around through streaming eyes to find a washcloth.

He finally spotted one in the corner, pressing his nose to the inside of his elbow as he reached for it.

“AH’JISHIIIEEE! JUH'SHOOO! HhhH-! huhh...hihhh… ddgh…”

He tightened his grip on the washcloth, leaning all of his weight against the wall as he continued to hitch and wait for the next wave. When it failed to come, he cupped the cloth over his nose and mouth, giving it a good rub before exploding into it instantly.

“HRHH’PFFOO! HEHJ’PFFF!! EH’PRFFF! Ih.. ihhh… Ih’DJPFFOO-HE’PFFF-D’HPFFF!”

He sniffled, his mouth agape once again as he leaned forward to rinse his face and the cloth in his hands before he noticed that his eyes has stopped burning and watering. The steam was mostly water now, the Vicks cubes that had been covering the drain completely melted away.

He cleared his throat, noticing how little of a voice he had left after such a long fit and lowered himself onto his bottom, letting the hot water pelt him for another twenty minutes.

When he finally made his way out of the bathroom, he collapsed onto his bed in his boxers, sniffling thickly and glancing as his phone started to buzz next to his head.

“H-Hello?” He croaked.

“Dude! What's wrong with you?!” A voice boomed. “How can you send your best friend a text saying you feel awful and then ignore their calls and texts all day? You’d better tell me you were asleep.”

Apollo swallowed.

“C-Clay,” he said softly, glancing at his missed calls to find that there were 17, 14 text messages to accompany them. He’d been in such haze the entire day he hadn't even thought about looking at his phone. “D-Doh, Sorry, I was at worgk.”

“Work?” Clay replied. “Are you kidding me? Gavin didn't give you the day off?”

Apollo sniffled, turning his head away from the receiver to sneeze at his wrist.

“HUH’JISHHOO! D-Doh… Oped to close.”

Clay sighed.

“And not a second earlier, right? Jeez, Apollo, I don't know why you stay there.”

Apollo lowered his arm to wipe it on his boxers before clearing his throat.

“Bodey. Reputatiod,” he muttered. “Bister Gavid did’t seeb codcerded, so baybe-”

Clay groaned audibly, and Apollo could imagine the guy running a hand through his thick black hair and down his face like he always did when he was exasperated.

“Dude, Gavin didn't notice because he's got a black hole for a heart. Take it from me, you sound bad. He should’ve sent you home when you got there.”

Apollo sniffled, twitching his nose again as he felt his chest tighten.

“O-oh.. hih-hh...gkay…” he muttered. “hihh-huh-”

“Bless you.”

“HR’UHJSHHH! Thaggyou…”

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Clay sighed. “Besides a new job?”

“I’m f-fide,” Apollo croaked, reaching for his water bottle and taking two pills with a swig. “Just godda take sobe cold bedicide a’d sleep… I have worgk toborrow…”

“Y-Yeah… Okay, if you need anything I'm just a call away,” Clay replied softly. “Don't be a stranger, Pollo.”

His only reply was a congested snore.