#fanny putting her hand on his arm/back fucking killed me though. if he got a hug from anyone i wouldve been obliterated
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hug! that! captain!
#bbc ghosts#ghosts bbc#this is the type of thing that wouldve been too cheesy for the tv show but is so lovely to imagine lol#get hugged jimmy boy#julian is sort of hug adjacent because i don’t think hes much of a hugger. well and hugging him is a bit awkward#yes the star is mary#fanny putting her hand on his arm/back fucking killed me though. if he got a hug from anyone i wouldve been obliterated#cap and kitty hug in the christmas special please please please pretty please#ik humphrey was whole in the coming out scene but i cannot be bothered to fit his giant ass outfit in there. sorry king
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harmless (ii)
Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)
Warnings: cursing, stealing cultural landmarks, frustrated bucky
Word count: 1.6k
A/N: made a header 4 this fic but i couldn’t take it seriously enough <3
if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! it’s always fun to hear from y’all.
here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
It’s roughly a week before he sees you next.
Right on time too, according to the briefings he had received. Once a week you’d come up with your next batshit crazy idea and someone would be sent to make sure you didn’t execute it.
It was more of a babysitting gig than anything. Most people would do one, maybe two assignments before asking to not be sent again.
He was not most people. He volunteers to go again. His afternoon is relatively free and he’s bored.
Also, and more importantly, he needs to get out of the house before Sam finds out what he did.
“You’ll find her near the Statue of Liberty.”
“How do we know?”
“Oh, she tells us.”
“...she tells us where to find her?”
“Most times, yes. She says it’s time efficient.”
Absurd. He thinks you’re absurd.
Bucky finds you in line to board the ferry. You’re dressed to the nines like an obnoxious tourist, even though you were a local, topped with binoculars and a bucket hat.
On an unrelated note, he thinks that maybe the mission today is to kill you for daring to wear sandals with socks like a suburban dad. A shudder runs through his body when he sees it.
He’s wearing all black and a baseball cap. Somehow he’s standing out more than you are.
He boards the ferry behind you, keeping a close eye on all your movements. You take your place near the railing, a seat near the front of the boat.
His phone rings. He answers it, expecting Sam to screech at him for painting Redwing neon pink again. He should have known it was coming after he shoved Bucky off the quinjet before he had time to strap his parachute on properly.
“I thought I told you to bring a cape.”
He quickly looks up at you but you’re not facing him. You have your phone held up to your ear, however.
“How did you get this number?” he asks icily.
“I knew you’d show up again.” Your head tilts to look at the statue in the distance. “Also, thanks for the door money, but I’m not sure I appreciate how you think the least creepy way to give someone money is to drop it off anonymously at their doorstep.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He swiftly gets up, stalking over to where you’re sitting. He was advised not to do anything aggressive. Advised was a flexible word.
“Because I wasn’t going to answer it.” You look up at his figure looming over you. “Oh, hey.”
The phone is still pressed to the side of your face even though he’s right beside you. He cuts the call, shoving it back into his pocket.
“Allow me to introduce my pl-”
“What are you doing here?” He cuts to the chase.
You send him a glare. “I was going to say it before you told me to. And sit down before everyone thinks you’re going to kill me.”
“Why are you going there?” He doesn’t have time for this, he thinks. He has important things to do. Like watching the reruns of Masterchef Junior.
He sits in the seat beside you.
“Look at us.” You grin at him. “Me with the evilest outfit I could think of, you with your... Addams Family cosplay. We’re like, two peas in a po-”
“Start explaining,” he interjects.
You roll your eyes. “I’m going to shrink the Statue of Liberty and use it as a keychain.”
“What?” It’s probably the most benign plan he’s ever heard in his life.
“I’m kidding.” Oh, good. “I’m not using it as a keychain, I’m taking it to class.” Nevermind.
“What?” He finds himself repeating his previous question.
“I’m shrinking all the statues I can find. I want to use it in my classroom to teach the kids.”
“You’re... a teacher?” He blinks.
“You got a problem with that?” You look offended, to say the least.
“No.” It’s not what he would peg your occupation as. He didn’t think you had one at all. “How are you planning on shrinking it?”
You rummage through the ugliest fanny pack he has ever had the misfortune of seeing. You pull out a small ring box, complete with a bow tied neatly on top.
“I was saving this for our third anniversary, but-” you offer him a nervous laugh.
His stony expression doesn’t change, not even a blink.
“Fine, Jesus, you’re no fun,” you huff, dropping the emotional act when he doesn’t look amused.
You flip open the lid. Inside there are a few small disks. It looks familiar, he realises.
“Your friend Ant-Boy didn’t file a patent, so I just took his whole shtick.” He wants to defend Scott’s honour; it’s Ant-Man not boy. He doesn’t. He’s too transfixed on what you have in your hand.
“Pym particles.”
“The diet version.” You pick up one of them carefully. “A ripoff, but effective. Just gotta attach it to the thing I want to shrink and give it a few minutes.”
“You’re going to steal the Statue of Liberty,” he says, frankly a little taken aback that you were serious.
“Would you relax? I’ll put it back.”
“That’s not the point,” he damn near exclaims. “You can’t take away the Statue of Liberty just because you feel like it.”
“I literally can.” You point to the chips in your hand. “That’s the point of this, keep up.”
He feels exasperated. He didn’t sign up for this when he became an Avenger.
“Give me the box.” He makes a grab for it but you yank it away from his reach.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I don’t have time for this.” His reruns would begin in an hour.
“That’s my problem, because...” you trail off.
He rolls his eyes, makes a grab at the box again. His tactic is different this time. He stealthily pins one of your arms down so that you’re basically incapacitated.
“Hey! Stop that.” You fumble against his reach, shoving him with your elbow.
“Just give me the thing and we can all go home for the day,” he huffs, unfazed by your squirming.
“No! Over my dead bod-”
He doesn’t immediately notice what goes wrong in the scuffle.
Until you look at the ground near your feet. A disk lay there, undisturbed.
“Is that-” All of a sudden, either he’s getting taller or the ceiling of the boat is getting lower.
“Oops,” you say, not remorseful in the slightest.
“Are we going to-”
“I’d give it five minutes max.”
Great. He was stuck on a boat that was beginning to shrink. The other passengers were either oblivious or ignorant to seats that were starting to become too small for them, but Bucky’s heightened senses and extreme reflexes made it hard to skip.
He nudges the piece of tech with his foot. Maybe he can kick it off the boat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn solemnly. He wants to disagree but doesn’t know enough about the device to dispute you.
“Fix this,” he hisses, panic slightly rising. His fingers find their way to his phone to send out an emergency text requesting backup and mass evacuation.
“I think it’s a rather lovely day for a swim, don’t you?” You stare dreamily at the waves that were inching closer up the boat.
Or you were inching closer to the water. Technicalities were frivolous.
“There are other people on this boat.”
“River’s big enough for all of us, I reckon.”
“Fix it.”
“Or what?” There’s a wicked gleam in your eye. “We both know I have the upper hand here.”
“Or I call the entirety of the Avengers here and haul your ass to prison.”
“Will they bring snacks?”
You’re insufferable. You know it. But you also are the fastest way to get out of this situation and right now, he didn’t want to be responsible for a shipwreck simulation.
“Fine. Tell me what you want.”
“I like soy chips.”
“Soy chi-” He nearly throws his hands up in frustration. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“I want one historical artifact so I can impress the kids. They think I’m the cool teacher and I want to keep that reputation alive.”
“What makes you think I can arrange for that?”
“You’ve been alive since goddamn dinosaurs roamed this earth, I’m sure you have some connections.” You pause to assess his face. “You know, you don’t look a day over 29. Dermatologists must hate yo-”
“I’ll get you an artifact, now fix the fuckin’ boat.”
“You promise?” You grin brightly.
He stares at you. You are unyielding.
The boat’s uncomfortably small and people are beginning to take notice. Worried murmurs fill the air behind him.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” You shrug simply.
You kneel over, picking up the chip from the ground. You do nothing else for two minutes, instead turning away from him to look at the Statue of Liberty that was coming closer.
It takes him a while to realise that half his body isn’t hanging off his chair anymore. The ceiling is moving further and further away from the top of his head.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He wants to strangle you.
Why did he listen to you when all of this would have been over the minute he kicked it off the ship.
“You can drop it off at my lair on Monday and pick it up on Friday.” You gather your belongings, leaving him steaming behind you. “Nice talkin’ to ya, Sergeant.”
You step over him, flashing him a quick smile before walking off the boat with the rest of the tourists as if nothing had just taken place. When he looks down, the stupid ring box is on his lap.
He sits there, unmoving, eyes fixed on the container.
The ferry conductor asks if he’s going to get off the boat.
He simply shakes his head.
Next part
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#mcu fic#bucky fic#bucky barnes fic#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fluff#bucky angst#bucky barnes angst#harmless fic#winter soldier x reader#Winter Soldier#bucky barnes#bucky
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Fresh Squeeze 9
Pairing: Daveed Diggs x OFC Linden Marshall (You)
Set in 2023, post-pandemic. Isabela, PR
Warnings: Cursing, implied drug use (marijuana), drinking, Anthony Ramos, Fluff. Poorly described performing, Plot. SMUT, Graphic depictions of sex. Mature themes and situations.18+. Dom! Daveed, unprotected sex (wrap it when you tap it folks), sex in da club, breeding kink.
Word Count: 5.5 K
Plot: It’s Linden’s birthday and her present is Daveed Diggs.
I PROMISE, my heaux, I meant for their first time to be all candlelight and rose petals and a nice bed, but… they just took over with their horny selves. Hope it’s okay. All mistakes my own.
Previous Chapter
------
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, you thought as you watched Daveed’s chocolate, muscled back retreat into his room.
Although you could feel yourself drawn to him like a magnet, you didn’t want to lose yourself to a relationship again. You’d worked too hard and come too far.
But this attraction was like nothing you’d ever felt before.
You went to the kitchen, getting some water to quench your thirst. You decided to calm down by watching the waves as you drank.
In his room, Daveed laid out what he was going to wear, and take off, that night. He looked in his bag for his chains and then had a thought.
He opened his door to see you at the bar in the kitchen, drinking something and looking out at the surf.
Although he wanted to enjoy the view of you, he called your name and strolled out of his room.
“Linden!”
When you heard him call your name, you slowly turned around, not knowing whether to expect him to grab you and take you back to his room, or tell you that he’d decided that you should just be friends.
But all that anxiety was wiped away with that killer smile of his. You smiled back up at him hopefully.
You looked delectable to Daveed, but he came back out with a purpose. He nodded toward what was in his hand.
“Will you rock my chain?…”
He held it out, a 30 inch Cuban link chain that seemed kinda heavy. You looked at it and then at him, amused.
“What are we? In high school?”
Damn, Daveed sure did feel like it. You made him so unsure. So he played off his nerves and chuckled.
“Nah, far from it.”
But when he bit his lip you felt those adolescent butterflies that flew in your belly when your crush looked at you.
“I just like seeing you wear my stuff. Today it was….”
The vision of you wearing his cutoff jeans and fingering yourself while he talked you through an orgasm was making him firm.
“It was... Yeah.” Daveed gulped and mentally told himself to calm down.
Your face got warm as Daveed looked down at the chain in his hand and then held it out to you. You just stared at it.
“I dunno. What does this mean for this…relationship?” Shit, you were playing yourself. What made you say the “R” word?
You looked up at Daveed and his eyes lit up, even though he tried to hide it, you could tell. He just cleared his throat and made a joke.
“So, I just thought you could wear it tonight… It’s a loan. Not trying to give you any jewelry or nothing like that.”
His lopsided smile was everything. But you didn’t dare show how happy you were in that moment. But damn, you were happy.
Daveed didn’t want you to get offended like earlier, but he thought it was too late when he saw the pout on your face.
“You promised to get me some nipple clamps…”
All Daveed could do was stare at your lips; his mind blanked at the vision of you in sex jewelery.
All of his willpower was in this moment. He almost bent down and threw you over his shoulder to take to his room, but…
He laughed and smiled, all cool on the outside.
“I did say that, didn’t I?” HIs voice was an octave lower and your insides quivered at the tone.
You nodded at him, all wide eyed and ready to fuck. He cleared his throat again.
“Well, this is the best I can do. In a pinch.”
You flashed back to him manhandling you earlier, pinching and rolling your nipples just like you liked it.
A good Sir. So hot. And he had you right where he wanted you.
“So will you wear it?”
You reached and took the chain in your hand, its weight heavier than you’d imagined.
You looked up at him, then the chain, then back at him made him wish the night away so he could do what he wanted with you.
“Yes. Sir. “
The way you looked at him, innocent yet greedy. Damn he needed to fuck you. His dick pulsed and swelled, pulling blood from his brain, making him a little euphoric.
Fuck yeah. That hard dick dopamine.
You felt the control you had over him. The way his pretty brown eyes were blown the moment you said’ Sir’ did something you.
“If I offered to suck your dick, right now, would you tell me no again? I don’t like rejection, Daveed.”
“Linden!”
He grabbed you by the back of your neck and hip, and pulled you to him, pressing your barely clothed body to his, making you feel how hard you had gotten him through his swim trunks.
“You trying to control me is not going to work, sweetheart. I’m in control. As far as sucking my dick goes, I’ll tell you when, how and if you can even breathe.”
Daveed’s eyes searched yours, seeing the halfway here, halfway there look in your eyes.
He looked at your open mouth gasping for air and he took it, covering your mouth with his.
Then he pulled back.
“Got it?”
“Y-yes Sir.”
This time, the phrase served to calm him. He rested his forehead against yours. While he cupped your cheeks in his hands.
“Linden, are you SURE that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.” He took a deep, ragged breath and looked down.
“I-I’m not sure I can control my…..baser tendencies with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. I don’t want to think I’m…”
“Daveed, I’m grown. I know what I’m doing. I want this. I’ll take what you give me. I’ll take it all.” You smiled at him as he looked back up at you.
“You don’t have to be gentle with me. I don’t break easy.” You leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I told you what I like.”
You straightened up and stared straight into his eyes.
He knew you were trying it again. This time he just chuckled and kissed you on the forehead.
“Alright then. Patience….”
He didn’t finish the sentence because he just realized what he was going to add to the end of it. And he knew it was true, but it would just freak you out.
He let you go and then backed toward his room as you turned around and leaned against the bar to watch him go.
-----
An hour later, Ant, Rafael and Daveed were gone and you had showered and started to pick out your outfit for the night.
You decided that less was more, so you opted for a red bandeau top and jean shorts.
Daveed’s chain was so long that you could double it up as a choker, and you thought that was appropriate for the night.
You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, so you threw your hair up in a messy bun and put on your gold hoop earrings.
Time in the sun had been good to you so you did minimal make-up. You surveyed your handiwork in the mirror.
You liked what you saw and if Daveed didn’t, well, it was his loss.
Despite your nerves, you reveled in the anticipation for tonight. But you also thought that you’d be okay if you just fell asleep in Daveed’s arms.
You cocked your head at your reflection.
What the hell was wrong with you? Did you want Daveed or not? Were you afraid of his dom ways or did they make you feel free? You didn’t know what the fuck was going on inside your brain.
So you just decided to go with what your body told you.
-----
“Goddam girl! If I wasn’t engaged, I would fuck you my damn self.”
You laughed at Jasmine whistling at you while Craig shook his head as you came out to them waiting on you in the living room. You put on your fanny pack and your high heeled sandals.
“Are you going to sing tonight, Jas?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not really feeling it, but I can't resist when Ant calls me up on stage. I’ll do one, maybe two.”
“Stop lying Jas. That silly grin on your face matches this bitch right here.”
You looked behind you because Craig was pointing in your direction.
“Who? Me?” The blood was draining from your face
“Don’t try it, you are already sprung on whatever Daveed did to you this afternoon. It’s over with. You might as well make wedding plans along with Jasmine.”
You shook your head, a little terrified at what Craig was saying. Jasmine and Craig were busy laughing but you were busy freaking out.
“No, it’s not like that…”
Craig looked into your eyes and saw that you were spooked.
“Okay, Lindy, I’m just kidding. Y’all just kickin it, I get it.”
He knew you were on edge. “Let’s get ready to go. I want to see a show and maybe find me someone to get sprung on .”
The mood was lightened a bit and ya’ll decided to depart.
-----
Three hours later:
You and Jasmine were turnt up close to the stage in a teeny weeny VIP section in the small club.
You had your drink in your hand and were feeling Anthony’s set. Daveed and Rafa were drinking and watching from the side of the stage.
“Why don’t you just go down there, take her back stage and kill all this tension, man.”
Rafael peeped Daveed clocking you.
Daveed grinned his shy grin at his friend.
“Nah, man. This feeling is everything.”
He made eye contact with you, winked and took a sip of his drink, sure that he looked cool even though his stomach was doing flips.
Rafa just smiled and drank some more himself, enjoying all of this playing out.
Craig was chatting some guy up at the bar and you and Jasmine were just enjoying the show.
Why do I push through the day/Like tomorrow's gonna figure it out, figure it out, figure it out/ Like someone else will figure it out, figure it out, figure it out..
You were singing louder than most of the crowd and Ant was laughing at you from the stage because you were loose and loving it. Your arms were spread out and you were swaying with the music.
Someone came up and embraced you from behind, swaying with you and you opened your eyes to see Jasmine’s face beside yours.
You grinned, turned around and started slow dancing with her, each of you singing and looking up at Anthony.
He looked over at Rafa and D. They just shook their heads.
He managed to finish the song before cracking up and said.
“Ay, where’s the bouncer, this chick is tryna steal my girl.”
Everyone looked at you when he pointed but you just flipped him off and then tried to kiss Jasmine on the cheek.
She turned her head at the last minute and you kissed her full on the lips. You two went with it and hammed it up for effect. It was a classic movie make out scene.
When you separated, Anthony was just staring at you two.
Daveed and Rafa came out on stage to get a better look and you could hear Craig shouting, “Get it, Ladies!” from the back of the club.
Ant’s eyes were wide and he said, “I think I just forgot the lyrics to all my songs.”
Everyone laughed and then he said, “But I’m having too much fun, yo, I don’t want my set to end, so let’s go “One More Hour.”
Everyone sang along for the intro and turned up for the chorus.
Let's go one more hour/ Lovin' this encounter/ Usually I'm gone now/I'm not ready/ I don't really wanna go
After that fun, Anthony called Jasmine up to the stage, and she gave you a wink as she went up.
It was so sweet watching her give him a peck on the cheek and him adjust the mic for her.
Jasmine’s voice. Was every. Thing.
You just stood in front of her on the floor as she sang on stage and you were just blown away. And when they sang together,
Cause they can write stories/ They can sing songs/But they don't make fairytales/ Sweeter than ours
You just about melted.
“Ok guys, we’re gonna take ten so my boys can get set up. Order a drink from the bar.”
Jasmine came down from the stage with you again.
“Our little smooch got Ant riled up! Zaddy gonna zick me down goot tonite!”
Jasmine was hyped and you laughed at her lust.
“Wingwoman activated!” You thought they were so cute together.
Her eyes were sparkling.
“Time to return the favor.”
Jasmine nodded her head and you looked behind you to catch Daveed checking you out.
She grabbed your hands. “Come up and sit in the wings with me!”
You knew what she was doing. “Oh no. I want to experience the show.”
“Trust. For the Boys, especially Daveed, you need up on the stage.”
You giggled, your drink and the fun getting you loose, and followed her on the stage.
Ant and Rafa approached. You couldn’t decipher the look on Anthony’s face.
“About you making out with my girl...”
He and Rafael looked at each other and Anthony broke out into a grin.
“Do it any time you like, as long as I get to watch.”
Rafa nodded vigorously as you and Jasmine broke up in laughter.
“Perv.”
You couldn’t handle Anthony’s antics tonight. Your nerves were everywhere. Rafa seemed to sense it and led you over to a stool.
“M’Lady,”
Rafael bowed and kissed your hand, keeping his eyes on you. You giggled.
“In all seriousness, though. You look amazing tonight.” His eyes were something.
“Thank you, Rafa.”
You smiled up at him, taking the fact that he was being extra smiley tonight. You could smell some of that premium PR indica.
Oh.
Rafael glanced behind you.
“Enjoy the show,” he said, before kissing your cheek and buzzing back to the mic.
Then you realized what was up.
Daveed was right there, standing behind you, radiating his heat.
"Hey.”
The subtle rich texture of his voice made the butterflies try to fly out of your throat, but you kept cool.
Daveed inhaled the scent of your hair. You were intoxicating. He didn’t need indica.
"Hey yourself."
You didn't turn around, but you could tell that he was smiling.
“I’m glad you’re right here for the set. You’ll be able to feel… the music so much more intensely.”
"Ah.”
Daveed moved even closer to you. You could feel his breath. He was leaning down near your bare shoulder and alllllmost kissing it, but instead coming so close as to cause a feeling to begin between your legs and travel up your spine to your neck which he was so close to.
The music started as he straightened up and began to say something in a low voice, meant for your ears only.
"I love what you’ve done with my chain. Looks like a choker. Beautiful. Makes me think about tonight.”
Your eyes closed, because those words were hot.
“Hmmm? What about it?”
You were trying to concentrate on Rafael hopping up and down. You were frozen to the stool, torn between wanting to hear what he was going to say and not wanting to at the same time.
"Mmmmm. About wrapping my hand around your throat and cutting off your breath while I dig out that indecision of yours. About making you so high that you forget about everything but us in that moment.”
You closed your eyes and inhaled a cleansing breath, because you felt like getting filthy. Right now. You decided to play coy.
"Maybe,” you responded. If you said too many more words, he would hear the trembling in your being. He sensed it anyway.
“Definitely,” he countered, so sure. You tried to get mad, but failed. You two remained in this crackling energy between you, even though you couldn’t see each other’s eyes.
You couldn’t stand it anymore, so you stretched and craned your head backwards to look up into his baby browns. You didn’t know it, but everyone in your crew was watching, mesmerized by the vibe between you. Y’all glowed together.
Daveed’s heart was beating an accelerated rhythm. He didn’t need to warm up with you here. Before he knew it he’d kissed you on the forehead, then jogged out on stage. He was so hyped.
“Awww!” Jasmine was smiling and clapping.
You rolled your eyes at her as the set began as she sat beside you.
“Don't front. I have never.” She looked you in the eye. “And I mean NEVER, seen D with anyone like that.”
You just shook your head. A little afraid of what she’d just said. You just pointed to the stage while she laughed at you.
——
You were very attentive as Daveed and Rafael worked the crowd. This was an entirely different side to them. You’d seen them act and seen videos of performances, but being here in person while they did music together was quite the scene.
Rafael’s virtuosity shined first. He performed “Bad Egg”, and you melted when he sang “Oxygen.” Then, Jasmine got out and helped
Jasmine helped the Boys out with “Program,” which was amazing and funny and awe inspiring. You and Anthony and Craig, who had joined you were busy jumping around and singing for the short song in the wings.
Rafa came off stage in mock outrage into your mini mosh pit. You were having a ball.
He grabbed a water bottle and raised his eyebrow at you.
“Wait for it.”
You had no idea what he was talking about.
Daveed took a swig of water and laughed into the mic. He cut his eyes over to you quickly and then back out to the audience.
“So I’m in a band called Clipping.” The crowd went wild. Daveed smiled as the opening noise of “Wriggle” came up on the sound system.
“We’re about to take a journey through some of our more ‘pop’ songs, if Clipping. songs could be called pop. That adorable fucking laugh.
And then it all changed as Daveed started spitting out words that you hadn’t noticed before tonight were highly sexual.
Is it tight enough, is it wet enough?..../You always hoped to experience domination/….ass up/ don’t move/ Don't move/ Get slapped/ Can't run/ Bring it back/ Tighten up/ Stay strapped/ Make it red/ Make it clap, clap/ Clamp that mouth shut, bounce for your boy
You tore your eyes away from him to the audience and saw that they were going crazy. You were hella impressed.
Everyone in this club knew the words or at least heavily vibed with the music.
And Daveed looked so happy, his finger indicating the cadence of the music and his smile getting wider and wider as the music crescendoed, then he started jumping and the experience was amazing. He rapped with his free hand and his whole body. He was a tall chocolate ball of energy.
The music started to transition to an all too familiar beat.
The minute Daveed spit the first line, the crowd went apeshit. He held his finger up to his lips and everyone got quiet.
Don’t move nothing/ Statue..
And this was the interactive part of the performance. Daveed jumped and moved so much that he was covered in sweat.
"Man, it's hot up here under these lights." Daveed lifted his shirt up to wipe his forehead. The crowd went crazy again.
You had never felt the urge to faint before just from a human being, but damn. You smirked as he glanced at you and ascertained your situation. He grinned, wiped his face some more and then took it completely off, throwing it toward the wings, right at you.
Everyone dove so that you were the only one in range to catch it, which you did. It was wet with his sweat and his smell and you struggled not to bring it to your face.
You trembled a bit as you stared at his sweat covered body, getting wet and just wanting to lick his abs clean.
Daveed transitioned into a medley, beginning with Work, Work,
Holler out your city if you ride for it/Let em know why you die for it…
He continued through the chorus,
“Get that work/Make that work work…”
and then transitioned to “Body and Blood” and then to “Enlacing.”
The lyrics
“Get your ass down to the floor,”
served to do just that. You were hypnotized by the rhythm, despite the subject matter, you were being seduced by Daveed’s tone and cadence.
When he turned to you for a full 10 seconds while performing, you were locked in.
He finished his set and you didn’t know how to feel.
Jealous of all the people screaming for him to bone them then and there?
Nah, you could certainly understand that.
Embarrassed that you felt like a groupie that wanted to take him back stage and suck his soul out?
Again, understandable.
You just didn’t know what to do with these feelings.
You looked over and your friends were huddled up whispering, and you were sure about you. You straightened up in the stool as Rafael and crew caught you looking. Daveed came off stage and grabbed the water bottle out of your hand. He stood there, just glistening and shit.
"I really like your thighs in those shorts."
Daveed wanted to trace the line that the shorts took across your thighs, but didn't dare do it with everyone watching. He just stared at them and thought they would look nice around his shoulders.
You flushed even hotter.
"Thanks, I get ‘em from my mama." You laughed with him. "I really like those guns." You were bold and traced a finger down his biceps. You felt his slight shiver and tried to hide a smile.
"Thanks, my Dad passed them down." He laughed again.
“Genetics, man. Thank God for genetics.” You were serious.
“Amen.”
Daveed lifted the bottle to you in a toast before taking another swig. He offered you some. He looked into your eyes and you knew he wasn't offering you just a drink.
"Yes please. I'm very thirsty. Sir."
You stared back at him. He held the water bottle to your lips, praying that his hand held steady while you tilted your head back and drank.
Daamnnn! Daveed thought. He wanted to give you something else to drink, but he still had work to do. Rafael was there to remind him too.
Rafa cleared his throat and nodded his head toward the stage. Daveed nodded in response and grabbed his t-shirt. You grasped to hold it fast before you realized that it was his and let it go with a little laugh. You watched Daveed’s body as he put his shirt back on and he winked yet again before he turned to go on stage.
Your panties were ruined. But you thought he knew that.
Jasmine came up beside you. “He did that shit on purpose,” you whispered.
Jas laughed and said, “Most definitely.”
You were doomed.
----
You thoroughly enjoyed Daveed and Rafa’s set and even joined them on stage for “Microdosin.”
As soon as they thanked the crowd, Daveed grabbed your hand and led you backstage to the dressing room. It was standard fare, as you looked around, and you went to the mirror to check your lipstick as you watched Daveed lock the door.
You turned around and leaned against the make up mirror counter, watching as he took his shirt off again. You just stared.
The sight of you standing there with those fucking wide, innocent looking eyes got Daveed even harder than he already was. He was rock hard the entire time during that last set, and he knew he gave a great performance.
“I just…”
He looked you up and down, then he moved quickly and grabbed your waist as you leaned back, hands bracing yourself on the counter. Daveed looked at you hungrily and even licked his lips. Like a wolf.
“I just can’t wait to get you back to the beach house.”
Daveed’s thumbs were on your belly, and as his hands moved up, they dug under your top, and not gently. You gasped as his thumbs insistently reached your nipples and pressed. You put your hands on his bare chest and there you felt beating a mile a minute. You looked at your right hand, which was over his heart.
“Feel what you do to me?”
You knew he wasn’t talking about his erection, which was pinning you against the makeup mirror. You looked up into his eyes and saw the emotion there. You opened your mouth to speak and he kissed you.
When you separated, breathless, Daveed was resting his forehead against yours.
“I want to take my time with you, but right now, I…”
You pecked him on the lips again.
“Daveed. Fuck me...now.” You started moving your hip against his, causing him to respond in kind.
"If I do that, I'm going to tear that ass up..." He planted a kiss below your earlobe.
You rubbed your palms against his nipples, rubbing in circles. You felt him shudder.
You could feel it in the pit of your stomach. "You promise?"
You looked him fully in the eye. Daveed reached down and hiked up your thigh so that he could feel the warmth at your core. He palmed your cheek and you turned your head into it, giving him a kiss. He put his thumb into your mouth.
“Just… wait… shit… suck… damn…” Daveed almost lost it as your lips enveloped his thumb and your tongue swirled around it. You sucked, hard and your saliva began dripping down his hand.
There was no logic in Daveed’s head. Only sex. He pulled both hands away from you and began fumbling with his belt. He grabbed his dick and started stroking, using your saliva to lubricate.
“Fuck, Lindy, I need…”
All you could do was stare. It was fucking BIG. Long and thick and everything you dreamed. The juicy precum you saw made you thirsty.
You put your hand on it to gather some with your own thumb and brought it up to suck. You closed your eyes as you tasted him. You moaned and then pulled off your top.
“Please, please, fuck me Daveed.” You were panting, your lips open. Daveed wanted to insert various body parts, his finger, his tongue, his cock.
“Shit, Lindy. I don’t have any condoms here. I purposely left them at the house…”
You smiled at him and started unbuttoning your shorts.
“You didn’t listen to me earlier. I can’t have kids, D. And I haven’t had sex since, you know who. But…”
You pulled down your shorts, turned around and presented your panty-clothed ass to him.
“I don’t know if you want…”
Daveed stared, practically drooling, still stroking himself and now, pulling your panties to the side and slapping his dick on your ass. He looked at your reflection in the mirror, grabbed his chain and pulled you upright so that he could speak in your ear. He pinched your nipple while he stroked up and down your slit from behind as he spoke.
“I want to hear you scream." His voice in your ear was deep and sexy.
You closed your eyes and moaned softly as Daveed reached in and inserted first one finger, then two inside you. Shit you were tight. He looked down at the sight of his fingers inside you.
"Nah, you gotta see this. This shit is beautiful.” His voice was so sweet, then it completely changed. “So keep your fucking eyes open.”
He pulled your hips back as he used both thumbs to open you up as he advanced the head of his cock to your cunt. It met the breach and he pushed tentatively, and when you both felt that he was thicker than an easy entrance, you both sighed. He retreated.
“No! Please please please please please! I can take it. I promise I’ll take it all!”
Daveed grunted. “Begging already.” He sucked his teeth. “ Lindy, we have such a long way to go.”
With a forceful push, he entered you. And it stretched painfully at first, but after that first split second, the transcendent feeling of him inside your wet canal, molding you to him like a glove, made you want to cry. And when he started moving...
“FUCK! This isn’t supposed to feel this good. Shit, Lindy…” you could feel his cock pounding inside you and you fully agreed with it.
“Yesssss! Daveeeeddd!”
Daveed started speeding up and going deeper and deeper, pushing your head down to the counter and pulling your hip back to meet his thrust and you began to scream when he started meeting your cervix.
“Lindy, don’t judge me by this first encounter. Because, I have to...” He grunted, because as he started to tell you, he started to feel himself losing control. “I have to get this…” He moaned. “Shit, I NEED to get this nut.”
“Fill me up Daveed. I want your cum.”
With that, he slapped your ass cheek hard, and that delicious pain added to your pleasure as he started fucking you like he hated you. You threw it back and Daveed went crazy.
The mirror started banging against the wall.
You were lost as your screams and moans were surely able to be heard by anyone who would listen. But neither of you cared.
He pulled your hair and forced you to look at him in the mirror. He felt himself about to bust, but he wasn’t going out like that.
“You gonna give me what I need? When I tell you to?” Your eyes were barely open and you couldn’t speak, but you nodded as much as his grip on your hair allowed.
“Good Girl.” Your pussy fluttered around him even more at that; he felt it and moaned.
And I don’t care how good it feels you better not come until I tell you to.”
“Fuck!” was all you could say.
“You like being a good girl for me?”
“Mmhmmhhmmhm!” You couldn’t form words. Daveed slapped your ass again. “Use your words, Linden.”
“I-I-I love being a Good Girl for you Sir.”
“Mmmmm You gonna take all this cum I have for you and wear it until we get back like a good girl?”
“Y-yes, Sir. I’m going to keep all your cum inside me Sir.”
“Good Girl. Good God.”
Your whole body felt like it was tingling and about to explode. Your legs were shaking.
Daveed reached around with his long arm and found your clit, the minute he pressed, your body convulsed.
“Ah, ah, ah….mmmm.” Daveed was trying to stop you, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Shit Lindy. Cum. Fucking Cum. Right gotdamn now.”
You shattered around his cock as he pumped into you, sending streams of cum against your cervix. That sensation and the fact that Daveed didn’t stop circling your clit prolonged your orgasm for a good while.
You collapsed on the counter, as Daveed continued to stroke softly, making sure his cum stayed inside of you. He watched himself go in and out, still semi hard, and rubbed his thumbs along the column of your spine as he blew air on it to cool you off.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He bent down and kissed your shoulder near your neck, causing you to arch your back at the sensation. Must be your spot. He took note and then slowly pulled out, pulling your thong back to cover your pussy. He bent down to take a look at the moisture seeping through the material and he smiled at it.
Daveed pulled his pants up and went into the bathroom to wash his hands and came out to see you dressed and adjusting yourself in the mirror. Your eyes met and you smiled shyly at him. You turned around as he approached.
“I am going to judge you by what just happened, because that shit was amazing.” You smiled up at him and Daveed was blinded for a minute, then smiled back down at you.
“You good?” he nodded downward.
“Yeah, gonna be a little uncomfortable keeping all of it in, but I will try.”
Daveed’s expression darkened. “You better do it. Or else.”
Your look was mischievous in response. “Or else what?”
“Don’t be a little brat.”
“Why not?”
“If you're going to act like a little brat, then I’m going to treat you like a little brat.”
“How’s that?”
“Don’t push it Lindy.”
You just grinned at him as he tried to keep a stern look on his face. You were going to be his dom downfall. He was too soft for you. But you were making him hard again.
He caught his breath while you washed your hands.
What the fuck was he going to do? Daveed was in love with you.
------
Next Chapter
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SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE
And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking.
Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.
Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.
“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.”
“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”
Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.
“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.
“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”
Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.
Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.
“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.
She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.
“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”
“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”
“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”
“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”
“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.
“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”
Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.
“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.
-
She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.
It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.
She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”
He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.
“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”
She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.
She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.
Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”
And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”
The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.
Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”
For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.
“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.
But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”
She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.
“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”
“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.
It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”
“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”
Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.
The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.
“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.
“Leider,” she corrected.
“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.
“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”
“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”
He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.
“I like you just fine,” she said.
“Oh.”
She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.
They walked.
“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.
“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”
A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”
“Yeah, let’s,” she said.
He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.
“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”
The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.
“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”
“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”
He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.
“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”
“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”
He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.
“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”
“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.
It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.
“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.
“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”
“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”
“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”
She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.
“Crap,” she said.
He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.
“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”
Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.
“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”
His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”
“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.
With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.
“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.
She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.
“Feel,” she ordered.
He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.
“Tell me what that is,” she said.
He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.
“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.
-
She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.
When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned.
You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.
His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.
She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.
“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.
First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.
“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.
“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”
She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.
“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.
“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”
Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”
“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.
“What boys? These guys – big guys –”
She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.
“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”
She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.
“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.
“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.
“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.
He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.
“I was kind of wondering…” he began.
He paused. Sex had made him tactful.
“Go on,” she allowed.
“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”
“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.
“You go on.”
“I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”
“Gee whiz.”
“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”
“The Marquis de Lux over here.”
He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.
“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”
Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”
Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.
-
On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.
“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”
“It’s not safe,” Archie said.
“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”
“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.
“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.
“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.
“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”
It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”
That was too much to bear. “Jules –”
“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”
“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”
“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”
“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”
He shut the fuck up.
“They don’t know. They don’t know.”
She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.
Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.
“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”
He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”
It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He’d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better?
“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”
“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.
“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”
“I’ll call you,” she promised.
“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”
One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.
On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.
“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.”
Domme Lux took property of the hat.
Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.
“I like him just fine,” she said.
#SAFEWORLD#intimacies; ambiguities; a twunk in a boat#beautiful friendships have been sprung for less#isn't particularly relevant but this takes place in 2009
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Jealousy
NOT MY GIF
Chapter 3
~3rd Person POV~
The five losers got to the sewer and dropped their bikes. Well, except Stan, he put his on its kickstand.
"That's poison ivy, and that's poison ivy, and that's poison ivy." Stan said while pointing at three similar looking plants.
"Where? W..Where's the poison ivy?" Eddie asked, seeming slightly panicked.
"Nowhere! Not every fucking plant is poison ivy Stanley!" Richie exclaimed.
Bill, Richie and Ashton walked into the sewer while Eddie and Stan stayed just outside of it.
"Okay, well, I'm starting to get itchy...now, and I'm pretty sure this is not-" Eddie started until Richie cut him off.
"Do you use the same bathroom as your mother?" Richie asked.
"Sometimes, Yeah." Eddie responded honestly.
"Then you probably have crabs!" Richie said.
"That's so not funny." Eddie responded again.
Ashton and Bill had their flashlights and were searching the sewer for......well, anything really.
Richie turned around and looked at Eddie and Stan.
"Aren't you guys coming in?" Richie asked the two.
"Nu uh. It's grey water." Eddie stated while pointing at the dark water.
"What's Grey water?" Ashton asked, jumping in the conversation.
"It's basically.....piss and shit, that's all I'm telling you! You three are splashing around in....millions of gallons of 'Derry Pee'!" Eddie said, obviously worried about his health.
Richie dipped a stick he found in the water, and sniffed it.
"Jesus Rich!" Ashton exclaimed, grossed out.
"Are you serious, what are you-" Eddie was cut off again.
"Doesn't smell like caca to me senor~" Richie said in a horrible Spanish accent.
After that Eddie started ranting about infections, then Richie threw something. Ashton was paying closer attention to the real reason they were there. Then Ashton saw something in the water.
"Billy! Look." Ashton mumbled to Bill.
He picked up what she was pointing at. It was a shoe.
Bill turned around and shouted "Guys!". The rest of the losers quickly shut up, and stared at him. Then they noticed the shoe in his hand.
"Shit.....Don't tell me that's...." Stan said in a nervous voice.
"No." Ashton responded.
"G-G-Georgie wore galoshes." Bill continued as Richie walked up next to them.
"Who's sneaker is it?" Eddie asked quickly.
Ashton pointed the flashlight inside the shoe and Richie looked inside.
"It's Betty Ripsom's" Richie answered.
"...Shit...Oh..God..Oh Fuck!" Eddie exclaimed. "I don't like this." Eddie said.
"How do you think Betty feels....running around in these tunnels with only one freaking shoe!" Richie jokes while hopping on one foot.
"Not Now Rich." Ashton snapped, seriously.
"What if she's still here?" Stan asked, and Bill, Richie and Ashton all turned around to continue looking in the sewer.
"Eddie, come on!" Richie called out as we walked further.
"My mom will have an aneurysm, okay, if she finds out we're playing down here, I'm serious." Eddie said quickly, obviously panicking.
Bill was still looking in the sewer.
"Bill?" Eddie called out.
"If....If I was Betty Ripsom, I would want us to find her, G-G-Georgie too." Bill responded.
"What if I don't wanna find her." Eddie said. We all stared at him. "I mean, no offense Bill, but I don't wanna end up like Geo-" Eddie cut himself off to spare Bill's emotions.
"I don't wanna go missing either" Eddie finished.
"He has a point." Stan spoke up.
"You too, Stanny?" Ashton asked.
"It's summer, we're supposed to be having fun! This isn't fun, this is scary and disgusting." Stan said, looking down.
Suddenly, there was a splash from behind Eddie and Stan. They all went to see what it was, it was the new kid, all banged up and bleeding.
"Holy Shit, What happened to you?" Richie asked, leaving the sewer.
The new kid looked over at them, out of breath. Stan and Eddie rushed over to help him, shortly after so did Ashton.
They picked up the new kid and put him on Silver, Bill's bike, and got on their own bikes. They rushed to the Drugstore. While they were riding, Eddie kept ranting about "An AIDS epidemic" currently happening, but none of them really listened though.
They finally got there and dropped their bikes in the alleyway. Bill set the new kid down on a crate and told Richie to wait with him while they got the supplies.
The four losers rushed into the drug store. Eddie quickly grabbed what he needed, while the other 3 looked in their pockets for any money they had. The sum was $6.23.
"Can we afford all that?" Bill asked Eddie.
"That's all we got." Stan said with only a bit of cash and change in his hands.
"Are you kidding me?" Eddie asked with all the medical supplies in his small arms. He started biting with lip thinking.
"Wait, You have an account here, don't you?" Ashton asked.
"If my mom finds out I bought all this stuff for myself, I'm spending the whole rest of the weekend in the emergency room getting X-rayed." Eddie said, while shaking his head no.
A couple aisles over Beverly Marsh, the school's 'Slut', was looking at the Tampax, confused. She made up her mind and went to pay when she saw Greta Kenne walking down the aisle. She quickly went to the next one which wasn't any better.
Luckily, Ashton saw the box and quickly gestured for Beverly to hide it behind her back, and she did. The other three boys looked over and saw Beverly.
"Are you okay?" Bill asked her.
"I'm fine, what's wrong with you?" Beverly asked, seeing all the medical supplies in Eddie's arms.
"None of your business." Stan replied.
"There's a kid outside, looked like someone killed him." Eddie also responded. Ashton quickly slapped Eddie's arm, giving him a 'Really?!' look.
"We need some supplies but we don't have enough money." Ashton told Beverly.
Beverly thought for a second, before coming up with a plan and saying "I think I know what to do, but I'll need Ashton's help."
The two girls walked up the check out.
"We like your glasses, Mr. Kenne." Beverly started.
"You look just like Clark Kent." Ashton continued.
"Oh, well, I don't know about that." Mr. Kenne said while adjusting his glasses.
"Can we try them?" Beverly asked abruptly.
"Well, Sure." Mr. Kenne answered while taking off his glasses and handing them to Beverly.
Beverly put them on and looked at the pervert through her eyelashes.
"What do you think?" The redhead asked.
"Well, How bout that. You look just like Louis Lane." Mr. Kenne said while leaning in.
"Definitely." Ashton said while looking at Beverly.
Beverly then took off the glasses and handed them to Ashton. The petite girl put them on and looked at Beverly and Mr. Kenne.
"How do I look?" Ashton asked.
Little did she know that the boy with a stutter and his curly haired friend were staring at her. A light red blush grazing their cheeks.
"Perfect." Mr. Kenne said.
The small girl then took off the glasses and when handing them back to Mr. Kenne, 'accidentally' knocked over the small shelf of cigarettes behind the counter.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Ashton apologized in a sincere voice.
"It's okay. " Mr. Kenne said while putting on his glasses and bending down to clean up the fallen shelf.
While the pervert was cleaning, Ashton and Beverly looked back to see the 3 losers rushing to leave the store with their supplies. Bill accidentally shoved Eddie causing him to trip and knock over a few items before actually leaving.
Beverly saw a pack of cigarettes on the counter and quickly grabbed them and shoved them in her pocket.
Out in the alleyway the Losers were trying to help the new kid.
"Can you go get me something?" Eddie asked, while trying to get the wound to stop bleeding.
"Jesus, what do you need?" Richie asked.
"Go get my bifocals. I hid them in my second fanny pack." Eddie said.
"Why do you have two fanny packs?" Stan asked.
Bill walked out of the alleyway to see Beverly walking towards him, wind blowing in her hair. Bill then pulled out a dollar from his pocket and showed it to Beverly.
"T-T-Thanks." Bill said.
"Even Steven." Beverly said while pulling out her new pack of cigarettes.
The two then heard Stan freaking out and looked to see what was going on.
"Ben from Soc?" Beverly asked herself before going in the alley way.
Eddie and Richie were arguing and Ashton was sitting on a crate.
"Are you okay? That looks like it hurts." Beverly said while walking up to the group.
"Oh, No, I'm good. I just fell." Ben said, smiling at the redhead.
"Yeah, right into Henry Bowers!" Richie exclaimed.
"S-S-S-Shut up R-R-Richie." Bill said.
"Why? It's the truth." Richie said back.
"You sure they got the right stuff, to fix you up?" Beverly asked while Bill stared at her.
Ashton noticed this and started feeling a pain in her chest. Ashton then got up and shoved Richie out of the way and walked to her bike.
"Where the hell are you going?" Richie asked, seeing the small girl get her bike.
"Home." Ashton answered quickly.
"But-" Stan was cut off by Ashton.
"You guys know how Alex gets!" Ashton exclaimed while glaring at the group.
She then got on her bike and started riding out of the alleyway.
"But It's not past-!" Stan yelled, but Ashton was already gone. "Your curfew yet."
"Is she okay?" Beverly asked.
"Y-Y-Yeah, I'm sure." Bill lied.
"Okay, well maybe I'll see you around." Beverly said.
"We were thinking about going to the Q-Q-Quarry tomorrow, if you wanna come." Bill told Beverly.
"Good to know, Thanks. Oh and, Who's Alex?" Beverly asked.
"H-H-He's Ashton's Ste-" Bill was cut off by Eddie.
"None of your business." Eddie answered.
"E-E-Eddie." Bill said sternly.
"No, he's right. It took Ash four years to tell us. Why should she know?" Stan defended.
Bill tried to think of a reason, but nothing came out. There was silence for a couple of minutes.
"If you wanna know, go and ask her. She lives on 29 oaks street." Richie said.
"Okay then, Thanks anyways." Beverly said before walking out to the alleyway.
"Nice going bringing up Bowers in front of her." Stan said to Richie.
"Yeah you heard what she did." Eddie said, agreeing.
"What'd she do?" Ben asked.
"More like who'd she do! From what I hear the list is longer than my wang." Richie answered, grabbing his crotch.
"That's not saying much." Stan said.
"There j-j-j-j-just rumors." Bill said defending the redhead
"Anyway, Bill had her back in the third grade. They kissed in the school play. Reviews said you can't fake that sort of passion." Richie told Ben.
"Now!" Richie clapped his hands. "Pip Pip and tally ho my good fellows! I do believe this chap required our utmost attention, get in there Doctor K, come on, fix him up." Richie said in a horrible British accent.
"Why don't you shut to fuck up Einstein, because I know what I'm doing and I don't want you doing the British guy with me right now." Eddie responded.
"Suck the wound. Get in there." Richie Exclaimed.
Even though Ashton didn't say it, Richie and Eddie knew she was filled with Jealousy.
*•~Emo-Gay-Tea~•*
< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >
#it 2017#it chapter 1#thank you losers#ashton wenbrooke#bill denbrough#you'll float too#oc insert#beverly marsh#losers club#stan uris
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71. “Me and the boys will handle it.” No particular ship, just the Loser's Club.
Read it on AO3
Sighing, Eddie leaned back on the pillows. He was sitting between Bill and Richie, their bodies warm pressure against his sides, keeping him still. In Eddie’s lap sat a bowl of popcorn and they were drinking soda, all of them talking loudly as they waited for the others to get there. Bev had shoplifted a copy of Aliens and they were having a slumber party.
Bev wasn’t supposed to be there though, something about six boys and one girl and it not being appropriate, but Bev was coming anyway. The irony of Bev having to sneak out of her house and into Bill’s was not lost on Eddie.
There was only one problem with the night. Eddie did not want to watch Aliens. He’d seen Alien and it had scared the shit out of him, and Aliens was supposed to be scarier.
Everyone ignored his protests though.
“B- B- Bev got this f- f- for tonight. She almost got c-c-caught,” Bill said. Eddie frowned.
“If you're worried about getting scared, sketti, just remember you can hold my hand,” Richie said and winked at him. Eddie blushed.
“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie said. He helped himself to some popcorn. Stan, Ben, and Mike came thundering down the stairs, talking loudly.
“Peanut M&Ms are the superior candy,” Ben said. “They are sweet and crunch and have a good mouth feel.”
“A good mouth feel?” Richie asked. “I can give you a good mouth feel.”
“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie said even as the others laughed.
“Oh, lighten up, Eds. I was just kidding,” Richie said. He squeezed the back of Eddie’s neck and Eddie shuddered.
“Lay off,” Eddie said and pushed him away.
“Aww, babe, you jealous?”
Eddie blushed and shook his head, busying himself with the popcorn, bouncing the bowl a bit so the kernels bounced before taking a handful and shoving it in his mouth.
“Richie, are you already picking on Eddie?” Bev asked as she tossed down her bag from the open basement window. She jumped down lithely after it.
“Nah, Eddie is just being a jealous bitch,” Richie said.
“Oh, so jealous.” Eddie rolled his eyes and got up, shoving the popcorn into Bill’s lap. “Bathroom.”
He plowed his way past the others and shut the bathroom door behind him. He closed the toilet and sat down, taking a few deep breaths.
“You’re ok, you’re going to be fine,” he told himself. A few seconds later, he flushed and washed his face. He went back to the others and took his place amongst his friends.
They had this down to an art. They built a blanket fort and Bev would sit in the back of it so if Bill’s parents came down they wouldn’t see her. The boys lay in a fairly consistent lineup. Stan slept closest to the stairs because he always woke up first. Mike came next, then Bill, Eddie, Richie, and Ben.
Lately, Ben had stopped being quite in line with the other boys. He and Bev had started dating a few months back, and they liked to hold hands while they slept.
Eddie would watch them sometimes, wondering what it would be like to fall asleep next to Richie knowing Richie liked him back like that. As it stood, Richie was usually all over Eddie in their sleep, as if Eddie was his own stuffed animal. Eddie pretended to care, but he loved it and would put up with all the scary movies if it meant Riche would hold him close.
The movie started slow, the opening credits long and boring. Eddie giggled as he watched Richie give a quick reenactment of the first movie which included the chest bursting scene and Richie even threatened to take off his pants so his portrayal of Ripley fighting the alien in her underwear would be more accurate, but then Ripley appeared on the screen and the others made him sit down.
When Ripley had the dream where the alien burst out of her chest, Eddie jumped and popcorn spilled everywhere.
“Eddie!” Everyone groaned. Someone paused the movie while they cleaned everything up.
Bill took the popcorn from him, but Eddie didn’t complain, just pulled his blanket closer to his chest. Richie kept reaching over him to get popcorn, which Eddie pretended to find annoying, but really he welcomed the distraction.
By the time the crew got to the planet where the colonists were in danger, Eddie was starting to really enjoy the evening and even didn’t mind the first couple of loud bangs.
Just as he was begging to think the movie was actually going to be pretty boring, that the rumors weren’t true and then they got to the room where all the colonists had been gathered.
The Losers fell quiet as they watched the action unfold. Eddie squirmed and bit back the worst of his screams. None of this was lost on Richie who just let Eddie hold his hand tightly under the blanket.
Eddie’s breathing was a little erratic but under control until they got to the scene where Ripley and Newt were locked inside a room with a small, fucking creepy alien, and no one could hear their pleas for help.
“This is so fucking lame,” Eddie announced, his heart pounding in his chest. The others glanced at him.
“You g- g- good, Eddie?” Bill asked.
“I’m fine,” Eddie growled and got up. “My asthma’s just acting up and this movie’s just fucking stupid. I don’t know why we’re watching it.” He pulled himself free from Richie and went to the bathroom, grabbing his fanny pack on the way.
Still grumbling under his breath, Eddie closed the door and turned on the light. He opened his pack to pull out his inhaler and his chest tightened when he saw it wasn’t there. He dug through the small bag, dumping out it’s contents onto the bathroom counter. Pill bottles, bandages, and various other first aid supplies bounced around.
It wasn’t there.
His fucking inhaler wasn’t there.
His mom was going to kill him.
Without turning off the light or picking up his stuff, he opened the bathroom door and rushed to his backpack. The others watched as he fell to his knees and began tugging things out, throwing them all around the room.
Someone paused the movie.
“A- a- are you o- o- okay?” Bill asked.
Tears filling his eyes, Eddie ignored him and he kept searching. When his back was empty, Eddie looked over at his friends.
“What are you looking for, Eddie?” Bev asked softly.
Chest heaving, Eddie struggled to get the words out. “I can’t find my inhaler.” Richie got up before the others could move and went to Eddie’s side.
“Did you check your second fanny pack?” Richie asked as he grabbed Eddie’s bag. He tugged all the pockets open.
“I don’t use my second fanny pack when I have my backpack, asshole,” Eddie snapped.
“Eddie, it’s going to be ok,” Stan said. “Just- just try and breathe.”
“I fucking can’t, jackass,” Eddie groused. He couldn’t believe Stan of all people was being so fucking stupid.
Stan opened his mouth to say something, but Mike elbowed him and he fell silent.
“L- l- let’s g- g- go g- get it,” Bill said.
“If I go home, my mom won’t let me leave. She’ll- She’ll make me-” Eddie hated this. He wanted to go back, wanted the night to return to the levity, but the others were still watching him. There was no salvaging the night.
“It’s ok, Eddie,” Bev said. He looked over at her. “Me and the boys will handle it.”
“If you get caught-” Eddie started to argue, but Bev, Mike, Bill, Stan, and Ben were already getting up looking for shoes and coats.
“We won’t,” Bev said. “It’ll be ok. We’ll be right back.” She looked at Richie who hadn’t moved. “You got him?” Richie nodded. “We’ll be right back.” She and the others slipped out the window Bev had come in.
When they were alone, Richie looked at Eddie.
“You’re going to be ok,” Richie said. Eddie nodded. He tried to take another deep breath, but his chest was so tight.
He hated this, hated how his body betrayed him when all he wanted to do was have a fun night with his friends. True to himself, Richie talked non-stop, but Eddie wasn’t really following what he was saying. Richie didn’t seem to mind. He just kept talking.
Eddie didn’t know how long the others were gone, but it didn’t feel like long before the others were slipping back in.
Bill handed Eddie his inhaler and watched him take a couple puffs. Eddie finally relaxed when he felt his chest start to ease up.
The others talked quietly, and Eddie watched Ben pull the movie out of the VCR and select another from a stack near the TV. Eddie blushed but let Richie put an arm around his shoulder. Stan picked up Eddie’s belongings while Bill and Mike went upstairs to get more drinks and popcorn.
Eventually they all settled back into their places, someone hit play. They fast forwarded through the trailers for other movies until they got to the MGM logo. Eddie settled into Richie’s side, the other boy’s arm still around him, and Eddie smiled when the Spaceballs title popped up on the screen. Eddie loved Spaceballs.
The embarrassment Eddie had felt was melting away as his friends laughed at the movie, quoting their favorite parts. And Richie kept his arm around Eddie, holding him close. None of the others said anything, just like no one had said anything when Ben and Bev had started holding hands before they officially started dating.
They stayed up late watching movies and laughing loudly until Bill’s mom came down and told them to be quiet or they would never be allowed to sleep over again.
It was incredibly late, so Stan put on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The others settled around them, and Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie’s chest. Eddie lay there listening to the others talk and Richie’s breathing.
The night had been so up and down, but Eddie smiled into Richie’s chest because the night was certainly ending on a high note.
#reddie#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrak#prompts#this got away from me#it was supposed to be a drabble#but idc#also#i rewatched spaceballs after writing this and remembered there was a reference to alien at the end#whoops#ahahaha#dysregulardyke
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While We Were Sleeping
I wrote this fic based on this post here from @cosersllub, who graciously let me use their post to inspire this fic.
Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak
Word count: 4327
There is a lot of internal dialog in this fic, so in order to keep track of whose thoughts are whose, I’ve put Eddie’s thoughts in blue and Richie’s thought in red.
This is the first fic I’ve written in a very long time, and it’s my first Reddie fic ever. So please leave any constructive criticism you might have for me and if you want more writing, send me some requests! Thanks! xx
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Instead of going out with his friends at the carnival, Richie is holed up in his room on a Friday night, sitting at his desk listening to records and painting his nails black. Well, painting might be a bit of a stretch. He is coloring in the nails on his left hand with a black Sharpie marker because Beverly isn’t here to use real nail polish. He hates being alone, but he also did not want to be with his friends tonight, especially with him. Richie turns up the volume on his record player in an attempt to drown out the sound of his own thoughts. Stop thinking about him like that, Rich. He is your best friend, nothing more. He is only your best friend. He has been repeating the same words in head over and over all night, but it is not stopping thoughts of Eddie laughing at one of his stupid jokes, with his eyes shining and his nose scrunched and his mouth upturned in the cutest smile. Stop it, Richie. He is only your friend. Eddie is your friend. He shakes his head, as if he is trying to literally shake the thought from his mind. He focuses back on his nails, trying desperately not to let his ADHD-riddled mind take him back to places where it shouldn’t go.
Eddie hates his mother. After going the carnival with his friends and being bummed that Richie wasn’t there, he biked home as quickly as possible. He had hung around for a little longer than he had been planning to, just to see if he might show up eventually. He asked everyone if Richie had mentioned that he wouldn’t be coming, but they all shook their heads. Something must be up. Richie always lets us know if he isn’t going to make it to hang out. He had planned on stopping by Richie’s on his way home, but he didn’t realize what time it was. Ugh, Mommy is gonna kill me. Eddie got home a little after nine, which is when he said he would actually be home. He tried to be as quiet as possible when he came in the front door, but his mother was standing right in the entry way, ready to give him more than a stern talking-to. While Sonia never physically hit Eddie, her words sure packed a punch—of guilt. She went on and on about how he could have been dead in a ditch for all she knew, and he was lucky she didn’t get the police involved, and blah, blah, blah. Over the years, Eddie had learned how to tune his mother out for the most part. After finding out that his medications were placebos and his mother had been faking his illnesses, she lost a bit of her hold on Eddie; he wouldn’t be so easily controlled. Even after all of that, however, there was still a part of Eddie that wanted to make his mother happy, wanted to ease her worries. So he continued to take the medications, on the condition that she let him hang out with his friends and never say another bad thing about them. This was proving to be difficult as she brought up Richie in her rant, which effectively snapped Eddie out of his thoughts. “…And that Tozier boy is trouble; he is probably the reason you are out past your curfew.” A rush of anger flared up in Eddie. “He wasn’t even out with us tonight! You can’t blame Richie for everything!” At this, Eddie turned and stomped up the stairs, making a show of things by slamming his door shut. His mother called up after him, but Eddie ignored her. I need to get out of here.
Richie is just finishing the nails on his left hand when he hears a small tapping sound. He looks around the room and doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so he returns his focus to his nails. Then, he hears a louder knocking, right on his first-story window. He turns down his music and looks over to see the one person he is trying not to think about. Eddie is standing outside his window with a backpack slung over his shoulder, and he waves and gestures for Richie to let him in. Richie’s heart starts beating faster in his chest. He is your best friend, Richie. Eddie is just your best friend. Your very cute best friend. Ugh Richie, you are hopeless. Richie walks over to the window and slides it open. Eddie smiles up at him, “Hey Rich, where were you tonight? I missed you!” I really did miss you, Rich. Like a lot. Richie’s heart jumps into this throat. Stop it. Richie clears his throat before saying, “Yeah I just wasn’t feeling up to going to the carnival tonight.” He tries to keep his eyes on Eddie, but they keep averting to the floor. Eddie looks up at Richie with confusion, trying to decipher the look on his face. Something is definitely going on with Richie. He hasn’t been this quiet since… well I don’t think he’s ever been this quiet. Maybe something happened? Why does he have to be here, looking all cute and saying he missed me? Why is this feeling physically hurting me?
“Umm, Rich, can you help me up?” Richie snaps out of his thoughts and scrambles to pull Eddie in. “Yeah, sorry Eds.” Richie sticks out his hand, “Here, I’ll pull you in.” Eddie reaches to grab Richie’s hand, which causes a jolt to shoot up Richie’s arm. I wish I could hold his hand for real. Great, I can’t even touch him without these stupid thoughts invading my mind. Eddie plants his foot wrong on the window frame, slipping and falling into the room. Richie tries to catch him, but he ends up losing his own balance, so they fall to the floor together. Eddie lands on Richie with an oof, their limbs a tangled mess. Oops my bad. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Eddie starts laughing and scrambles up from the ground, reaching a hand out to help Richie up. Richie turns a light shade of pink as he takes his hand, standing up and laughing awkwardly, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck.
Eddie brushes his clothes off and straightens out his fanny pack as his eyes sweep Richie’s room. It still the organized mess it always is, with records in large stacks next to his desk, which is covered in papers, and comics strewn across the floor. This feels familiar to him, even though the look Richie is giving him is something entirely new. Eddie looks back to meet Richie’s eyes, but he quickly looks away. Shit, way to be obvious, dumbass. Eddie clears his throat as he walks over to Richie’s desk. “So what have you been up to tonight, man? You ditched us to hang out with your rock albums?” Maybe if I can get under his skin he will stop acting so weird. Richie laughs a laugh that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yeah, better than seeing your ugly mug,” Richie says with a smirk. There, maybe if I call him ugly, he won’t figure out how cute I think he is. Some unknown tension lessens as Eddie laughs back. Okay, this is my Richie.
“So really, what have you been doing all night?” Richie shrugs and lifts up his left hand to show off his black Sharpie nails. “I’ve only done one hand because I can’t really do the other with my left hand.” Richie sits back down at his desk and picks up the Sharpie with his left hand. “See? I can’t even hold it right.” Eddie giggles and grabs an empty milk crate meant to hold records. Ugh really? A giggle? Like that isn’t the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard. He flips it to create a makeshift seat next to Richie. “May I?” Eddie holds out his hand, asking for the Sharpie. Richie hands it over to Eddie who uncaps it. He leans over Richie’s hand, some strands of hair falling into his face. Cute, cute, cute. Eddie starts coloring in the nails on Richie’s right hand, completely immersed in the task.
Richie can’t help but stare at Eddie’s face while he works. He is making his concentration face, the one where his brows furrow together and his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth. Oh my god, his mouth. I want to kiss that mouth. Woah, dude, chill the fuck out. Richie hones in on every freckle dusted across Eddie’s cheeks, that little scar above his left eyebrow that he got during the rock war when they were kids, the way his long eyelashes curl upward. Wow, I’m really fucking screwed. Richie is so focused on Eddie’s face that he doesn’t even notice that Eddie is done.
Wow I don’t think Richie has ever stayed this still for this long. Eddie looks up at Richie through his eyelashes, curious as to why he is so quiet and still. Eddie sees Richie staring at him. His heart jumps a little in his chest when he sees the look on Richie’s face. His face is so serene, almost peaceful, like he could sit here and stare all day. Is he actually looking at me like that, or is he just zoned out? “Earth to Richie? Where’d you go?” Eddie asks with a small smile on his face, while waving a hand in front of Richie. He breaks out of his trance, and his face flushes profusely. Oh fuck me, I’m caught. “Hah, sorry Eds, I was just thinking about that time I fucked your mom.” “Oh gross, you dickwad!” Eddie shoves Richie out of his desk chair and laughs when Richie flops to the floor. From his spot on the floor, Richie turns to face Eddie. “So, whatcha wanna do? I know you didn’t come all the way over here just to color in my nails for me.” No, I actually wanted to check on you and make sure everything is okay. I was bummed you didn’t come out tonight. “I don’t know, thought maybe we could just hang out for a little bit? I had to get out of the house, away from my mom.”
So hang out is just what they do. They listen to Richie’s records, mostly rock, but he put on a pop album just for Eddie every so often. They play cards; well, Richie tries to teach Eddie how to play cards, using M&Ms to bet instead of money. Richie ends up winning the majority of the chocolate, but he still shares it with Eddie while they lay around on their backs, reading Richie’s comic books. I’m glad it’s just the two of us hanging out tonight. I don’t want to go back home.
“Hey Eds, don’t you have to be getting home soon? It’s getting pretty late; your mom is gonna go ballistic.” Richie turns his head to look at Eddie with a sad smile on his face. Ugh I don’t want you to leave, but I don’t want to get you in trouble, Eds. Eddie turns onto his stomach, running a hand over Richie’s beige carpet, watching the color change as he drags his hand back and forth. “Rich, I really don’t want to go back home tonight. I can hardly stand being home with my mom anymore.” Please let me stay. Richie shrugs his shoulders and looks around, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “Umm okay Eds, you can just stay here tonight then. I mean, it’s the weekend, so it’s not like we have to get up early tomorrow or anything.” Fuck, what am I doing? He can’t stay here. I am already at my breaking point. There’s no way we can sleep in the same bed or I might die.
Eddie smiles so big that Richie can feel literally feel his heart cracking. God, why does he have to be so damn cute?! Thank god, I feel more at home here than my own house. Eddie gets up and throws himself onto the bed, climbing toward the right side of the bed since he knows that Richie favors the left. Eddie pats the bed beside him, gesturing for Richie to hop on in. Richie brings a hand to the back of his neck and looks down at the ground. Damn it, you better come up with an excuse quick, Trashmouth. “It’s okay, Eds. I’ll take the floor. We are probably getting too old to share the bed now anyway, right? The two of us will barely fit.” Eddie looks up at Richie incredulously, his face falling. What the fuck? We always share the bed, even when everyone else is over, too. “Rich, what are you talking about? There’s plenty of room.” Eddie reaches over and grabs Richie’s wrist, yanking him onto the bed with him. Richie lands on the bed with a thud, practically on top of Eddie. Holy shit, this cannot be happening. I can’t stop shaking. He is gonna notice that I’m shaking. Eddie’s heart rate starts beating double time. Why am I feeling anxious all of a sudden? This is nothing different than normal. Why does it feel different?
Richie slowly settles into the space on the left side of the bed, trying to angle his body away from Eddie without being too obvious. Just close your eyes and stay calm, Rich. Just close your eyes and don’t think about how Eddie is literally inches from you, in bed. He takes off his glasses and lays flat on his back with his hands behind his head, closing his eyes, while Eddie turns to lay on his side, facing Richie. Eddie just looks at Richie, taking him in, looking at how much older he looks. How much hotter he looks. Eddie is grateful that Richie’s eyes are closed so he can’t see how red Eddie’s face gets at his own thought. Eddie can feel himself starting to get anxious, or maybe even nervous. Even with that totally random—I’ve never once thought about how hot Richie is, nope not once—thought, why should I be nervous? It’s Richie, my best friend… This is just Richie, Eds. Eddie can’t help but realize that even in his own thoughts, he calls himself Eds now; he is so used to Richie calling him that that it feels more like him than his own name does. Finally, after more internal panic from both parties, they slowly drift off to sleep, Eddie’s body just inches away from Richie’s.
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Richie wakes up to the sound of soft breathing, birds chirping, and sun shining in the window. It’s a beautiful morning, and Richie is feeling warm and cozy in his bed. Mmm, this is nice. Warm and cozy. Suddenly, Richie remembers that there is another human in his bed, not just any human. His eyes shoot open, and while he can’t make out much through the blur of glasslessness, he doesn’t move. Richie is still on his back and very aware that he is holding something and that something is holding him back. So he, very carefully, reaches to the nightstand to put his glasses on. When the room comes into focus, he looks down to see an arm draped over his waist, an arm belonging to a Mr. Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie stops breathing. Holy fuck, oh my god. I must still be dreaming. Eddie’s head is snuggled into Richie’s chest, and he has the softest smile on his face, even in his sleep. I am literally about to snap. HOLY. FUCK. Richie’s arm is wrapped around Eddie’s back, holding him against his body, and their legs are all tangled together. OH MY GOD WHAT DO I DO? I am just going to have to stay like this. Yeah, I will pretend to be asleep until Eddie wakes up and I’ll pretend to wake up then, too. Okay, okay. Richie tries to calm his heart rate and his breathing and his thoughts and his body, which is trying to tense up under Eddie’s. If you tense up, he will know you are awake, Rich. Come on, dude. Nice deep, even breathing. Richie closes his eyes, the scene of Eddie cuddling into him forever burned on the back of his eyelids.
The first thing Eddie notices is the warm sunlight spilling into the room, bright enough through Eddie’s eyelids to wake him up. The second thing he notices is that he has slept through the night without a nightmare for the first time in a really long time. Somehow lastly, he notices is himself thrown all over Richie. Like, literally all over. What the fuck?! How did this happen?! Oh my god, how did we manage to get this tangled?! He can hear Richie’s even breaths under him and thinks this to mean that Richie is still asleep. Nice even breaths, Rich. Eddie can’t move; extracting himself is not an option. They are so intertwined that if Eddie moves, Richie will definitely wake up. Holy shit, what am I gonna do? I guess I’m gonna have to wait it out. Richie will probably wake up soon, so I will just lay here and pretend to wake up when he wakes up. He will probably push me off of him and call me a dumbass or something. He will probably just think I tried to sprawl out on the bed even when there isn’t enough room. Eddie’s anxiety is rolling off of him in waves, but he knows he is going to have to pull it together if he doesn’t want to wake Richie. He squeezes his eyes shut again and breathes deeply. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Richie will wake up soon.
Holy shit, how is he still sleeping? How long has it been now, like 30 minutes, an hour? I don’t know how Richie is still sleeping while I’m on top of him like this… How did our legs get twisted around each other’s like that? Our limbs are so freaking tangled it’s like we tried to merge our bodies into one last night. Oh my god, what if he can hear how fast my heart is racing? His head is literally on my chest. At least Richie can barely see my face from that angle. I probably look like a mess. I’m glad Eds’ face is turned away from mine; my morning breath probably reeks. I’m glad my face is turned away from Richie’s; his morning breath probably reeks.
Both boys remain still, continuing to wait out the other in this sleep war, neither aware that the other is, in fact, awake. The minutes slip by, and confusion and panic turn into something calmer, sweeter.
It is almost like Eddie’s body fits perfectly into mine. I feel like I’m in a dream. Wow, I am really liking the way Richie is holding me; I feel so safe here. I kinda hope he doesn’t wake up any time soon. He looks so peaceful in his sleep. I could honestly lay here all day, but Richie will probably wake up. I hope he doesn’t freak out.
Minutes drift to hours, hours drift to an eternity, and soon Richie doesn’t think he can stay like this much longer. Oh my god, as much as I don’t want to move and wake Eddie up, I really can’t lay here anymore. I gotta get up.
Psst. “Hey Eds, umm are you awake?” Richie’s voice is barely loud enough to hear, which is a surprise to Eddie. He has never heard Richie’s voice sound so… delicate. Eddie quietly clears his throat and whispers back, “Yeah Rich, I’m awake.” He’s awake and he didn’t throw me off of him. “Oh thank god, I’ve gotta piss so bad.” Richie quickly untangles himself from Eddie, who is watching Richie scramble to the bathroom. Eddie can’t help but laugh at Richie’s frazzled manor.
While Richie is in the bathroom—hopefully brushing his teeth too—Eddie lays back onto the bed, suddenly feeling colder in the space where Richie’s body was pressed against his own. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be that close to Richie until now. I want to be that close to him; I need to be that close to him again.
Richie comes back from the bathroom, face tinged pink, and looks at Eddie shyly. Eddie was laughing. Is it too much to hope that he liked being tangled up with me? I really like being tangled up with him. I wonder what he is thinking… did he like being that close or was it super weird for him? Oh god, it was probably weird.
Richie tries to act casual and moves back over to the bed. Eddie automatically moves over to make room for him, as Richie lays back down on his side of the bed. He lays down on his back, lifting his arms to put his hands behind his head, just as he did last night. He looks up at the ceiling for a long time before turning his head to look at Eddie. The expression on Eddie’s face is unreadable. Oh god, I wonder what he’s thinking. Come on, Eds, just do it. You were just doing it. It will be fine.
Eddie makes the decision to throw all caution to the wind. Eddie scoots in, deliberately not making eye contact with Richie, and slips into his previous cuddling position, one arm draped over Richie’s middle, head on his chest, and legs tangling back up with Richie’s. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. Oh my god. Fuck Eds what are you doing to me?!
Eddie can feel Richie tense up under him. Oh god, maybe he doesn’t want me touching him anymore. Maybe I fucked up. Then he feels Richie’s whole body relax and move into him. Or not. Eddie feels heat creep up the back of his neck and into his cheeks, maybe a little embarrassed. Whatever, this feels so… right. Richie’s face flushes as his thoughts start to wander. Wow. It was different cuddling in our sleep because it was accidental, but this… this is deliberate. This is on purpose, and it feels so good to be this close to my Eds.
Richie unclasps his hands from behind his head and brings one arm around Eddie’s back, where he starts lazily drawing circles with his fingertips. This is bliss. Pure bliss. Richie can feel Eddie shiver from the contact. Oh my god, that feels so good, Rich. Please keep doing that. Eddie squeezes Richie, pulling him closer. Richie smirks, as if he know what this is doing to Eddie, and continues to swirl patterns up and down his back.
Eddie feels content for the first time in a quite a while. With his home life being shit and those stupid nightmares of that fucking clown, he finally feels at peace, here in this bed with Richie. God, Richie has always been my saving grace, hasn’t he? I know I love him, but I think I might like him, too. Damn, there is definitely no use trying to convince myself that I don’t like Eddie. I like him, like so much. I am definitely in like with him. Richie decides then and there that he is going to have to tell Eddie—and his friends—soon, especially since he will be wanting to do this a lot more. It’s going to be damn near impossible to Richie to keep his hands away from Eddie now.
Too soon, Eddie starts to pull away from Richie, finally making eye contact with him. He has a sweet smile on his face, the pink glow of his cheeks bringing out his adorable freckles. “Hey Rich, I should probably get going. It’s the weekend so I hope my mom slept in. I gotta get home before she notices that I snuck out.” Richie bolts up and looks at Eddie with a look of udder shock. “What?! You snuck out? Oh god, if Sonia finds out she will never sleep with me again!” Eddie smacks Richie’s arm, but his mouth twists into a laugh. “Eww, shut up, you dick!” God I love his laugh. “No, but seriously Eds, you gotta get out of here before you end up on house arrest and I never get to see you again.”
Eddie turns to look into Richie’s eyes one last time. I can’t wait until the next time I get to see you, Rich. I wish I could kiss him, but I don’t want to scare him off.
Eddie breaks the eye contact first, heading toward the window. He pushes it open, about to lift his foot over the frame. He pauses, a single thought eating at him. Kiss him. Do it before you leave. Kiss him. I think he might want to kiss you, too. Eddie quickly turns back around and rushes over to Richie. A look of confusion sweeps over Richie’s features, and then Eddie is softly pressing his lips to his. Richie’s eyes are still open with shock before Richie can get a hold of himself and his lids flutter shut. Oh my god, he did it first. Oh my god, Eddie Fucking Kaspbrak is kissing me and I am seeing stars. This kiss is over way too soon for Richie’s liking, and he barely hears Eddie over his pounding heart, “I’ve kinda just been wanting to do that.” Maybe for only like the past hour, but I already want to do that again.
Before Richie can even register what Eddie has said or even open his eyes, Eddie clambers out the window, leaving Richie stunned and elated, floating on fucking Cloud Nine.
Richie stares at his open window, where hopefully Eddie will be climbing in every night. “Yeah, me too,” he whispers to his empty room.
#reddie#reddiecore#reddie fics#richie x eddie#richie x eddie fics#richie#richie tozier#richie tozier fics#eddie#eddie kaspbrak#eddie kaspbrak fics#no she wasnt reddie#no she wasnt reddie fics#no-she-wasnt-reddie#first reddie fic#it#it fics#it chapter 2#derry#derry maine#pennywise
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Lost Grieving- Richie Tozier X Reader {Chapter 2☆}
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Summary- The reader gets stuck in strange implications and finds herself in Derry, Maine, the location of the infamous Steven King book ‘IT’. Unknowingly she stumbles across the Neibolt House, the dirty and burnt remains of a tragic fire. She remembers what horrors had happened and is hesitant to stay. What will happen when she runs into the one and only Losers Club? What will they do if the strange new girl claiming to be from another universe, tells them they’re all made up characters from a book? Will she help them ‘defeat’ the morbid Pennywise or give up and be lost in perishable hell forever, filled with lost grieving. Proceed with caution when you drive into this tale of horror, humor, and a handful of twisted romance with Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier.
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Main Masterlist
IT Masterlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2 (+)
Word Count: 2k
Date Uploaded: 11/05/19
A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I have so many ideas for headcannons and imagines that I’ve been just spitballing them out. I apologize for that, but anyways enjoy the new chapter! Send in any requests or ideas for the story, I’m in the mood for writing and I’m off for the rest of the week.
Warnings and Notes: Cursing and Excerpts from Stephen King’s IT Novel
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“Are you ok?” Eddie began to slow down, we ran as fast as we could. I felt bad for him, he has no idea what was going on. At least I had a basic understanding. He was really pale and it looked as if he could barely breathe. Oh, he has asthma! Wouldn’t he already have his inhaler out or something?
“Yeah, I’m fine. You’re really pale, are you going to faint?
“I think so, but I’m more concerned with the fact that you aren’t freaking out about that clown!” He spat out. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Eddie spoke at the speed of light, no one ever understood him. I had a pit in my stomach, it pulsed whenever I thought of It. I want to go home.
I looked down, trying to piece together what to say, “Oh I’m terrified, I really think I’m dreaming.” The boy went shuffling through his red fanny pack.
“Why would you be dreaming? I’m not dreaming?
I sighed, “It’s a long story,” and I’ll have time to tell it to him when it comes.
“I think I’m going to throw up.” Eddie sputtered his body spurred to the side of the road, his hands covered his face. I awkwardly stood in front of him as my own nausea came up to battle. I collapsed next to him and we said nothing to each other.
“We need to find Bill.” he huffed. It looked as if his small body caved in on itself.
Bill Denbrough. He was their ‘leader’ or that’s how he was perceived in the books. I never really liked his character, but I felt horrible for what happened with Georgie. I felt bad for all of them. Their lives got swept away by that clown and the poster-child victim of this is sitting right next to me. I really hope this is a dream, what if I don’t go home? There’s no way I could be a foster child, that system is still fucked in the present. I can’t imagine what it could be like here.
“Where does he live?” I had no clue on what I was supposed to do, I’m not even relevant in this plot. What I do know is that I have to get a panicked Eddie over his friend’s house.
“Two streets down. Will you come with me, please? I don’t want to get killed by that clown. I lost my inhaler and my mom is going to freak.” his breathing became rigid. It was catching up with the pace of his talking, which was quite fast. His panting swallowed up all his words. In the story his medicine was fake. Now I was in a conundrum.
Do I tell him or not? It was such a turning point for him, even though he relapsed later on in his life, I think.
“Hey just breathe.” I almost patted his back, but my hand just wavered above him. Eddie tried to hack out a sarcastic reply. His fear got the best of him.
“Oh my gosh, please Eddie just breathe. I don’t care about your inhaler. We’ll get one at Bill’s or something.” He gasped for a gulp of air and shook. After a couple more times his lungs settled and sat in shock.
“How did that work? That never worked without my inhaler! Are you a witch or something?” Eddie wanted to do nothing but run as fast as he could away from that stranger that he found at a crack house. His mother always told him he was sick, he was. What just happened was physically impossible. ‘What if she was working for that clown?’, he thought. “She might not even be real for god’s sake!” Eddie couldn’t think straight.
I was beginning to think I was a witch, there is no physical way I could be here. I had next to none proof that I’m from the future, a different dimension at that. Except for my backpack. I always had sections for unused papers, a bigger chunk for History and English work. There were just a few things that fell through from my desk, but not much. Bingo. My old History article about Democratic and Republican debates. Photos, photos of the President. I did have proof! I just need the right time to bring it up.
“I dunno, my friend has asthma and that works for her.” Lies, I knew that would never work. Eddie would have to be a fool to ever believe that.
“Where are you from? I never heard of that treatment before, especially not from any doctor,”
“Nevermind that, we need to get going.” Nice playoff Y/N. We both headed down the small sidewalk in the brisk afternoon. As we passed the broken down Derry Trainyard the faint scream of a teenage boy filled the surrounding forest. My dress began to hike up my legs and clump by my backpack. Minutes went by when we walked down the unfamiliar streets.
Another deep screech was released, “What the hell was that?” I jumped after it was quiet, our eyes darted around. No one could be seen as the echo still remained. A groomed bush next to us started to shake unnaturally.
“What the fu-” Eddie stumbled back, like a baby learning their first steps. The greenery was torn to its sides by a lengthy boy. The pale thing launched at Eddie and almost stomped right on his arm.
“Hi-ya Eds! Didn’t know your mom let you hang out with girls, especially pretty ones.” He grabbed Eddie’s hand and pulled him to his feet. The boys stood head to torso. The height difference was kind of funny. Who even is that kid? I think he’s part of the club. Eddie seems to know him.
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆
Richard Tozier turns off the radio, which has been blaring out Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” on WZON (a station which declares itself to be “Bangor’s AM Stereo rocker! With a kind of hysterical frequency), pulls over to the side of the road, shuts down the engine of the Mustang the Avis people rented him at Bangor International, and gets out. He hears the pull and release of his own breath in his ears. He has seen a sign which has caused the flesh of his back to break out in the hard ridges of gooseflesh.
He walks to the front of the car and puts on hand on its hood. He hears the engine ticking softly to itself as it cools. He hears a jay scream briefly and then shut up. There are crickets. And as far as the soundtrack goes, that’s it.
He has seen the sign, he passes it, and suddenly he is in Derry again. After twenty-five years Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier has come home.
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆
“Bonjour Mademoiselle, I’m Richie!” he bowed.
Oh.”What the fuck is wrong with him?” I choked. Eddie stifled a laugh.
“Many things,” he replied. “Anyways, I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new? Or like a homeschool?”
‘A homeschool’, isn’t he supposed to be smart or something? I’m starting to remember him. Richie was the jokester and my personal favorite character. This oughta be fun!
“I don’t know where I am.” After ages, I pushed down my dress in an attempt at a good impression.
“What do you mean?”
“I woke up underneath the welcome sign and found that broken-down house.”
The two stared at me, ”No, but seriously where are you from?”
“I’m telling the truth! Wait… I have proof!” I seized my bag and heaved it open. Small folders with homework were inside, along with other items that made it through with me.
I grabbed the green History folder filled with stray Newsela articles about Politicians and the President. I pulled one out about a Democratic and Republican debate. A bright picture of all the candidates with a date from September 2019 slapped right under the headline.
“Here this is from my school, in 2019.” It was the least believable thing I have ever said in my life. I internally cringed and just tossed the papers, along with the folder for good measure. If that doesn’t convince them I don’t know what will, even better, I got a watch. Not just any watch, one of the fancy ones with apps and music stuffed all into one. It’s perfectly packed right into my bag’s front pouch.
“What does the photo represent?” Eddie asked, he pointed to the red and blue stage and Richie glanced at the article about Donald Trump.
“It’s a debate abou-”
Richie jumped in, ”Why is orange?”
“I don’t know.”
“There has to be a reason for it.”
“Shut up Richie.”
“You shut up Eddie. Who cares, I want to figure out who she is.”
“Guys, come on.”
A car came jolting down the street. The driver… wasn’t there. All that was in the windshield was a blood-red balloon, not a person in sight. I screamed along with Eddie, Richie didn’t have any reaction. Richie snatched back my folder and scooted onto the pavement.
I couldn’t bring myself to move, I’m not part of this story, yet I can’t leave. Frail arms yanked me away just as the car whisked past. A crunch was all that was left of the vehicle, it disappeared in a flash. The remains of my crushed green backpack drew me to tears.
“Holy shit my watch is broken!” I sobbed. My last figment of proof.
Eddie flung his hands, “Is no one going to say ANYTHING about the car!?”
“We need to go find Bill.”
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆
#richie tozier imagines#richie tozier#richie tozier x reader#richie tozier imagine#richie toizer x reader#it chapter 1#it chapter 2#it#fandom#fanfiction#the losers club#fanfic
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|Rosie Cheeks| Richie Tozier x Reader
Chapter 3: Stealing is not good for my health
It was noon, and Rosie Hawthorne was laying in bed, still in her pajamas. After yesterday, Rosie has jumped at any and every sound. She did not leave her room yesterday and only came out for dinner. Rosie spent her time reading and sketching.
Right now, she was reading Little Women. She was so engrossed in the novel that she did not hear the door slowly open until she heard her door creak. Her head snapped up, eyes wide. Rosie let out a sigh of relief when she saw her father standing in the doorway.
Garrett Hawthorne was dressed in his uniform. He had been at the police station when he received a call from his wife, Lillian. Lillian Hawthorne had informed him that Rosie had not come out of her room to even eat breakfast. The mother was worried and had to get to work. So, she asked Garrett to come talk to their daughter.
“Hey, kiddo.” Garrett smiled gently. “Shouldn’t you be our, playing with other kids?” He sat down on the edge of Rosie’s bed.
“Dad, I’m thirteen, not seven. I don’t need to be out, playing with other kids as you put it.” Rosie closed her book, not before placing a bookmark to not lose her place. “What are you doing back?”
“Your mother called,” Garrett started but was cut off when Rosie scoffed.
“Oh, did she now?” Rosie crossed arms over her chest.
“Rosie, she’s worried about you.” Garrett said softly, trying not to provoke the tiger.
“Is that why she sent you, instead of coming here herself?”
“Kiddo, please.” Garrett sighed before continuing. “Let’s not have this conversation right now. We can talk about this later.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” Rosie stood up from her place on her bed and got some clothes out of her closet. “I’m going out, to ‘play with children’.”
“Not before you eat something.” Garrett stood up from his spot and took his leave. Before Rosie could protest, he continued. “I’ll warm up the food.”
🎈
Rosie was standing in front of the pharmacy, dreading going inside. She hated how creepy Mr, Keene was, preying on young girls. Her mother had asked her to buy some things from the pharmacy and even though she did not want to, she still left her front porch.
Rosie was going over the list of things she needed when she came across Beverly. Beverly Marsh was standing, trying to decide between the various products in front of her. Rosie walked closer to Beverly and pointed at a certain box.
“I’ve seen my mom use these ones.” Rosie pointed at the box and saw Beverly jump in panic. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, thank you.” Beverly smiled at Rosie.
Rosie nodded at Beverly before she walked towards another aisle. There, she spotted Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough, and Stanley Uris with Eddie grabbing at whatever he could get his hands on.
“Uh who died?” Rosie questioned. Eddie stopped in his tracks and stared at Rosie.
The two boys whispered things to Eddie who stayed quiet and still. Beverly came up behind Rosie and immediately hid a box behind her back at the sight of the three boys.
“Y-you okay?” Bill asked Beverly.
“I’m fine. What wrong with you?” Beverly questioned.
“None of your business.” Stanley jumped in before anyone could reveal anything. But Eddie started talking the second Stanley answered.
“There is a kid outside who looks like someone killed him.” Eddie said quickly while still holding the many things in his hands. He kept his gaze on Rosie. He trusted her. He had since she had defended him from Henry Bowers from bullying him that one time in 5th grade.
“W-we need some s-s-supplies, but we don’t have enough money.” Bill continued.
“Okay,” Rosie slowly said as she took in all the information the two boys gave her.
Beverly stared at the three boys intently as a plan formed in her head. She looked at Rosie and nodded her head where Mr. Keene most likely stood.
“I have a plan.” Beverly said as she walked forward.
Not five minutes later, the three boys and Rosie were running out of the pharmacy, trying not to bump into anything, but Eddie did not get the memo.
The four 13 year olds ran out of the pharmacy and towards the alleyway where she saw Richie standing with who Rosie recognized as the new kid. The second Richie saw Rosie, his hand went up in a wave and he called out to her.
“Hey hotstuff! Did you miss me already?”
“Oh yes. I totally did. Couldn’t get you out of my mind all night.” Rosie answered him as she stood next to him and watched Eddie get down to work.
“Really?” Richies eyes widened and a huge smile came upon his face.
“No.” Rosie answer him before she turned to the new kid. “Well that doesn’t look so bad ….” She started before she was cut off by Richie.
“Really? Because he looks like he’s about to die.”
“Richie. Shut up!” Rosie said to Richie before she turned back to the injured kid. “Don’t listen to him, new kid, Dr. Kaspbrak here will have you fixed up in no time.” Rosie gave him a sweet smile and bens cheeks burned bright red.
“Thank you. I’m Ben.” The new kids introduced himself to Rosie.
“Nice to meet you Ben. I’m Rosie.”
“I-I know. I mean, I’ve seen you around the school before.” Bend said before Richie put his arm around Rosie’s waist and pulled her into his side.
“Hey! Hey! You do not eye fuck her. Only I can do that.” Richie said as he pointed his finger at Ben with his free hand.
“How about no.” Rosie said as she removed his arm.
Richie moved a bit behind her, looked down, smirked, and then moved next to Rosie. The smirk did not leave his face until he started annoying Eddie.
“Suck the wound.” Richie said as he moved closer to Rosie, who did not pay him any attention and kept her focus on what was happening in front of her.
“I need to focus right now.” Eddie said as he put the bandage on Ben’s cut.
“You need to focus.”
“Yeah, can you go get me something.” Eddie
“Jesus. Um, what do you need?” Richie asked.
“Just get my bifocals.” Eddie replied. “I hit it in my second fanny pack.”
“Why do you have two fanny packs?” Stan questioned.
No one noticed as Bill left the group and moved outside the alleyway.
“I need to focus right now and it’s a long story.” Eddie answered.
“I’d like to hear that story. It sounds . . . . like it’d be an interesting one.” Rosie said as she watched Eddie take off the temporary bandage, they had put on Bens cut.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. He’s bleeding.” Stan said as panic was crawling up his skin. He moved away from the injured kid and his young doctor.
“Eddie, do something.” Rosie said as she moved away from the two, as to not get any blood on herself. She noticed Richie standing close to the two and pulled him back by his elbow.
“You don’t want to know who fucking did this?” Richie questioned Rosie, noticing she has not asked them much about what had happened.
“Oh, I have an idea.” Rosie answered before focusing back on Eddie and Ben.
“You have to suck the wound before you apply the bandage. This is 101.” Richie said as he pushed up his sliding glasses.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie said as he finished putting on the bandage on Ben.
“Are you okay? That looks like it hurts.” Beverly said as she walked up to the group with Bill behind her.
“Oh, no I’m good.” Bill said as he pulled himself up. “I just fell.”
“Yeah! Right into Henry Bowers.” Richie said before Bill told him to shut up.
“Why? It’s the truth.” Richie said in retaliation.
“You sure they got the,” Beverly started as a smirk came on her face, “right stuff, to fix you up?”
Ben smiles at what Beverly had said. Rosie looked back and forth between Beverly and Ben before she smiled. They will look cute together, Rosie thought.
“You know, uh, w-w-we w-will take care of him.” Bill said. “Thanks again, Beverly.”
“Sure,” Beverly said, “maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, w-we were thinking about going to the q-q-q-quarry tomorrow.” Bill started saying to Beverly. “If — if you wanna go.”
“Will Rosie be there?” Beverly questioned as she looked towards Rosie.
“Definitely!” Richie said as he threw his arm around Rosie’s shoulder.
“I don’t want this second-hand invite.” Rosie moved away from Richie. “I’d like a proper invitation, with flowers and chocolate. And make sure the invite is engraved.” Rosie says as she claps her hands together.
“I’ll get it all for you, hotstuff.” Richie says as he moves closer to Rosie. “Should I get you roses?”
Rosie have Richie a look as she tried not to smile at him. Everyone looked at the two and let out a laugh except for Eddie who glared at Richie. He did not want to lose the one friend he had made outside of the loser’s club.
Richie and his loud trashmouth will run her out of this town, Eddie thought.
Beverly turns around and walks towards the open road before Rosie called out to her.
“Hey! Red! Wait for me!” Rosie shouts and Beverly stops in her tracks. “I’ll see you guys later.” Rosie waves at the five boys and runs after Beverly.
The two girls loop their arms together and turn to the main road. The brunette and the ginger walk towards Beverly’s house, chatting about nothing important. They reach Beverly’s house and the two say goodbye, but not before promising to call each other later.
Rosie walked home with a smile on her face. She was happy she had made friends with Beverly Marsh and the five boys. Rosie was almost home until she realized she had forgot to buy the supplies her mother had asked her to.
At the thought, Rosie did a U-turn and ran all the way to the pharmacy, where she found the boys, still at their spots, performing surgery on Ben.
#IT2017#clown#derry#pennywise#Richie tozier#richie tozier x rosie hawthorne#richie tozier imagines#richie tozier x you#richie tozier fanfiction#richie tozier x reader#richie x reader#ben hanscom#beverly marsh#bill denbrough#mike hanlon#stanley uris#eddie kaspbrak
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how delicate
Three things happen before Eddie Kaspbrak shows up, hair dripping, in day-old clothes, nothing on him but a dead walkie-talkie, on Richie Tozier’s doorstep. His fanny pack—his mom had replaced the “lost” one quickly enough—lays abandoned in his room; the walkie-talkie is clenched tightly in his fist.
For the second time in his life, Eddie runs away from home.
Word Count: 4839
Three things happen before Eddie Kaspbrak shows up, hair dripping, in day-old clothes, nothing on him but a dead walkie-talkie, on Richie Tozier’s doorstep. His fanny pack—his mom had replaced the “lost” one quickly enough—lays abandoned in his room; the walkie-talkie is clenched tightly in his fist.
Richie is shocked to see him.
“Eds,” he says, uncharacteristically succinct. “What’re you doing here?”
“Can I just come in, please?” Eddie asks, rubbing his arms. They’re covered in goosebumps. “I can’t be at that house any longer.” He’s itching to head inside, wrap up in a blanket. The summer’s finally ending, autumn showing itself in brown leaves and occasional brisk air, and that on top of being in the rain is a sure enough way to get hypothermia. He feels the panic setting in, and he takes a deep breath.
You’re strong, Eddie. (Fragile.) You can do this. (Delicate). Fuck.
“Are you okay?” Richie asks. He doesn’t invite Eddie in, which from anyone else Eddie would find rude, but Eddie stopped being offended by Richie years ago.
“Yeah, if you could hurry the fuck up?” Eddie prompts, words quick. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
“Yeah, of course, Eds,” Richie says, a little crease between his eyebrows. Uncharacteristic again. He turns around and walks inside, letting Eddie follow him. “Sorry, my sister’s not free right now. She got crabs, like I told her she would, and I said you probably got it from your mom, but she didn’t believe me. Actually, she told me to get the fuck out of her room, but anyway, I thought you should know, since you always seem so interested—”
“Can I have a towel?”
Richie pauses, mouth open, but only for a moment. “What’d you do, jump in a lake? I knew you were an idiot, but you do know that you’re not supposed to jump in the water fully clothed, right? Or did you run into Belch Huggins again? Eddie, you’re a fuckin’ twig, I don’t know how you can keep standing up to them. What’d you say to make them so mad? Did you tell them they were going to contract chlamydia or something? I’m not sure their pea brains would even be able to understand—”
Eddie lets him talk, not bothering to yell over him like he might have two months ago. Not because he’s anymore willing to tolerate Richie’s idiocy than he was. He’s just too tired to open his mouth right now.
That said, it really is getting cold. “Pea brain? You’re one to talk, trashmouth.” Richie’s face splits in a grin, and Eddie can’t help but half-smile back. “If you won’t get me a towel, I’d be happy to get one from your sister’s room. I know my way around.”
“Hey, I already told you she has crabs, right? Probably from you.”
“Shut up, Richie.”
“Just checking,” Richie says, grinning good-naturedly. Eddie shivers.
--
[March, 1989]
Eddie is eleven when he gets his first panic attack. It’s after they find Richie’s backpack, still in his locker, the door on the linoleum floor and warped from where Bowers tore it off its hinges.
Eddie is the one that finds it.
“I swear to god, guys,” he’s saying, one hand on the strap of Richie’s backpack and the other ushering Bill along, “if we’re late again Mr Reynolds is gonna kill me—”
“Y-y-you haven’t been l-late in weeks,” Bill says.
“I swear he hates me, though. Last time I was one measly minute late and he held me back. I swear when he dies and they do an autopsy, they’ll find a stick up his ass. I bet you a million dollars.”
“I’d want to hear the story behind that,” Richie says, flailing away under Richie’s hand.
“Of course you do,” Stanley says as they round the corner.
“No, I’m serious! I mean, how did it get up there? I bet it was some freaky sex thing, you know?”
He chatters on as they reach their lockers. Eddie grabs his own bag, then, after waiting a moment to see if Richie will pause in order to get his own, reaches into Richie’s locker.
And then he screams.
“Eddie?” Richie asks, spinning. Then, “Oh, my god,” as he looks at his backpack. “Holy shit! Bowers took a shit in my bag! He actually fucking did!” Richie cries. “I really didn’t think he was the sort of person that would keep his promises! Look, he tore the door off and everything.”
“That seems unnecessary,” Stanley says, looking down at it, “you always leave it unlocked.”
“Do you see this shit?” Richie goes on. “I can’t believe this. Eddie, do you see this shit? Eddie?”
Eddie’s fumbling for his inhaler, unzipping his fanny pack, trying to keep taking deep breaths. “That’s.” He gasps. “That’s so fucking disgusting, oh my god. Oh my god.” He takes a puff, holds his breath, counts to five. Then another. He wipes his hand off on his pants. How many different types of bacteria are there in feces? It’ll probably have gotten in his fingernails, all over his skin—how long will that take to wash off? What if he has a paper cut? God, then it’ll get infected. Is his heart supposed to be beating so loud? So fast?
“Hey, Eds,” Richie says, but his voice sounds far away. It’s almost quiet behind the jackhammering that is Eddie’s chest. He reaches out to touch Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie flinches away. “Eds, are you okay?”
“I’m having a fucking...I’m having a fucking heart attack and you ask if I’m fucking okay?” Eddie gasps. What are the symptoms again? Pain in your arm, and in your chest, too. He’s got that. Pain in his chest. That’s one off the checklist. And fuck, if he could hear himself think over that thump, thump, thump—”Holy shit. Holy fucking...fucking shit. I am not dying in the school hallway,” he gets out, hand clutching at his own chest.
“E-Eddie, what’s going on?” Bill asks, gripping his backpack strap tight.
Richie grabs Eddie’s heaving shoulder. “Hey, are you serious? Is this real? Should I call 911?”
“You think I’m fucking faking a heart attack?” Eddie snaps, and then he bends double, gagging.
“I’ll d-d-do it,” Bill says, and runs off to find a phone.
Eddie falls a little; Stanley catches and steadies him, lowering him so that he’s sitting on the ground. Richie puts a hand on his back, rubbing little circles there, telling him again and again that it’s gonna be okay, that an ambulance is coming, that they won’t let anything happen to him. And Eddie really, truly, completely believe that this is it. He keeps his eyes open, etches his friends’ faces into his mind. If he’s going to go, he’s not going to forget them. If there is an afterlife, Eddie is bringing that memory, of all of them, with him. His best friends holding him.
It isn’t a heart attack, in the end. The doctor call it a panic attack. Eddie is diagnosed with anxiety on March twenty-fourth, nineteen-eighty-nine. Now, he supposes, it’s the only one of the diagnoses that isn't bullshit. Of course, his mom doesn’t let him go home just yet. She’s terrified, absolutely scared shitless. She leaves Eddie alone in the hotel room for some hours, and when she comes back, she tells him that he’s going to have to stay in the hospital for several days.
“I thought it wasn’t that serious,” Eddie says quietly. He always speaks quietly with his ma. He knows that he’s the delicate one, of the two, but sometimes it seems like she’s the one that’s going to break at any moment. Fragile, like one touch could shatter her.
“I know, honey,” she says comfortingly, even though that’s not what he needs or what he was asking. “They just want to monitor you, make sure it’s not something more serious.”
“Okay, mommy.”
“Now go to sleep. You’ve been very badly frightened, I’m sure, so make sure to get some rest.”
He nods, and she sits down in the little chair in the corner of the room, pulling out a magazine.
It’s a long two weeks.
--
Soon, Eddie is sitting wrapped up by Richie's heater in the basement. They've talked about the basement before—about all of it. About how they can't go into dark rooms on their own, about how sometimes they wake up in the night to learn that they've been crying out in their sleep. They've talked about how they can't even see a yellow raincoat on the street without having it all come crashing back, without suddenly not being able to breathe.
Eddie can't help but think how much easier that July would have been if he'd had his friends. Maybe it wouldn't have made him less afraid, but at least he would have been afraid with them.
"You still haven't said why you're all wet. Unless it's sweat, in which case you were either having really amazing sex—and if I’m right, I want all the details, like who found your scrawny ass attractive and their address so I can go beat them up for taking your viginity before I could—or you actually had to lift something heavy for once in your life—"
"Hey, I didn't ask to be fucking taken out of PE." Eddie didn’t. He really, really didn’t.
"I didn't say you asked, but now that you’ve mentioned it, maybe if you'd been there it wouldn't have been quite so fucking torturous. I swear to you, Mr. Kravitz kept staring at my ass," Richie says, warming up. "I mean, I don't blame him, but jesus fuck, he's a teacher and I'm but a helpless—"
"It's not sweat, okay? It's fucking rain. Are you happy now?"
Richie doesn’t slow down. “It hasn’t rained since morning, why the fuck—”
“You know, believe it or not, I didn’t actually come here to hear you talk my ear off for an hour, and I’m having a bit of a crisis at the moment, so maybe if you could shut the fuck up, that would be perfect,” Eddie snaps, and Richie goes quiet for a moment.
“Well, out with it!” he yells suddenly in a terrible British accent, loud enough to make Eddie jump. “The doctor’s in, come on, what’s wrong?”
“Jesus, really? The british guy?”
“I said out with it! No use coopin’ it up, better just get it over with!” He’s still yelling, brash and obnoxious.
“You know,” Eddie snaps, grabbing his walkie-talkie and stuffing it into his pocket, “I thought this was a good idea, to come here, but clearly—”
“Wait,” Richie cries, standing up a little. Eddie looks at him expectantly. Richie quiets. “I’m sorry, I—please. I’m an idiot. You don’t have to tell me.”
Eddie stands there for a moment, and then sighs. “Do you have any music?” he asks.
“Oh, absolutely,” Richie says, jumping up. Eddie follows him upstairs to his room, not mentioning the fact that Richie isn’t really allowed to play music after nine pm, thankful that Richie doesn’t mention it either.
--
[July, 1989]
July that year is the longest month of his life. It’s a stifling cycle of taking a shower, taking his pills, reading and rereading and rereading, and then pills and shower and sleep. Rinse and repeat. If he’s lucky, he’ll get his hands on a newspaper. Everytime he does, he skims through it in a frenzy. He always pinches the paper too tight, turns the pages a little too wildly, and he knows it could worry his ma, but he’s always terrified he’ll see something new. A new Local Girl Missing headline. A body found.
Every day there’s nothing, but every day Eddie checks.
They’d beaten it. They’d chased the monster back into the sewers, where it belonged. And Eddie had come back safe, to a loving mother and a clean and healthy household, and he should be okay. He should be free. He is free.
But It still has a hold on him, too strong for comfort.
It’s not just the newspapers, either. It’s the things he sees in the shadows at night. The way he’s taken to sleeping with a light on. It’s easy to explain to his mom; she probably wouldn’t question it anyway. Anything for her little boy.
The lights don’t reach everywhere, though. And he’s convinced that there’s something behind the desk, in the closet, waiting to pounce on him from behind a door. Yellow eyes, glowing in the dark. A gleeful, burbling laugh.
A torn face. Blood, dripping in the wrong direction. A leper, sores oozing, rotted fingers resting on his shoulder. That day in the house shows up again and again in his dreams, every night. And every night Pennywise tells him something different. “Poor Eddie. Poor pathetic, delicate thing.” And “Your friends left you, didn’t they? Left you all alone.” Some nights, it’s “Did you think that by locking yourself inside your little house you can escape me? Oh, no, Eddie Spaghetti. That just makes it easier for me.”
He wakes shaking, sweating, covers kicked onto the floor. And then he picks them up, lays them over him, and lies there, eyes shut, awake and aware, until the sun comes through the curtains and he can hear his ma walking down the stairs.
Eddie knows it’s not her fault. He knows she just wants to protect him. He knows that he’s sick and that this is all for his own good. But he can’t help but entertain the idea, once or twice, that he could find some way out. He wants someone to talk to about all of this. He needs someone to talk to about all of this. And it’s not like he can just tell his mom that he and his friends got attacked by a killer clown. No, they’re the only ones. And they’re impossibly far away.
Instead, he thrashes at night. He leaves the lights on, keeps a wary eye on the shadows, and doesn’t even look in the direction of the sewer. He clenches his fists until there are little bloody half-moons in them...and then scrubs them clean, over and over and over again, wincing as the disinfectant touches the cut.
The Loser’s club survived the clown, but did Eddie? Is he alive after all? He’s not always sure.
--
They end up curled up on top of the covers, Eddie scooched over until he’s practically in Richie’s lap. The music is almost as quiet as it can get, but Richie makes up for it by yelling along to the lyrics, holding up a pen to his mouth like a microphone.
His voice is godawful, and it must show on Eddie’s face, because Richie pokes him in the cheek and says, “Oh, is there something wrong with my singing? Is there?”
“Stop fucking—get off of me!” Eddie cries, with is a fun joke, because he’s the one almost on top of Richie.
“Is it not good enough for your highness?” Richie shouts, adn then belts out one of the riffs. “Huh?” He pokes Eddie in the cheek, and Eddie laughs, pushing him.
“You’re so fucking ridiculous.”
Richie doesn’t reply to that, just keeps on singing, wild and drunken. Eddie joins in, and then they’re both giggling like idiots.
It’s such a sweetly familiar scene that Eddie almost feels alright, for a moment.
After a couple songs, the music switches to something quieter, more relaxed, and Eddie and Richie quiet down.
“Don’t your parents have an issue with you playing music while they’re asleep?” Eddie asks, because of fucking course he has to bring up parents. And now he’s fidgeting again, antsy and stressed out and he can’t get the image of his ma crying in his absence out of his head. Of her shutting the door on him gently every time she left the house, locking it.
But Richie seems totally oblivious to that. “Nah, they’re not home.”
It occurs to Eddie that it hadn’t seemed strange for Richie’s parents not to come downstairs, for them not to greet him or check up on him. “You’re so lucky they let you stay home alone,” Eddie says, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder. He can feel Richie’s breathing, can feel him glance toward Eddie and then away.
“Yeah,” Richie says, smiling a little. “Can’t imagine your mom would let up on her reign of terror for one second and let you actually have fun.”
Eddie hms. “Reign of terror? For some reason I thought you liked my mom.” Not seriously, but.
“Oh, I do, Eddie Spaghetti, I do.”
--
[August, 1989, and after]
The seven kids stand in the fading light, outside the house on Neibolt street for the final time. Or what they hope is the final time. Twenty-seven years—so much can happen. Will they still be friends? Will they have long split? Will Eddie have raised a family, or will he still be alone?
Future. He might have a future. They all might.
He’d thought so many times that they would die, this summer. Seeing the rotting, sore-ridden fingers connected to the rotting-sore-ridden person in front of him. Pennywise, inches from his face. Richie’s hand on his cheek—a pathetic, last ditch effort at comfort. (It didn’t work as a comfort, strictly, but it stuck in Eddie’s mind for the whole month he was at home. He hadn’t wanted Pennywise’s face to be the last thing I saw. For some reason it makes him feel warm inside.)
Suddenly, things don’t seem so bleak.
Then Eddie gets home, and things go back to the way they were. The way they were, except that everything’s tinted by the fact that Eddie knows. Eddie knows his meds are fake, that he isn’t sick, that his childhood was taken by nothing more than an overprotective mother.
God, he was a fucking idiot. He didn’t even know what his sickness was—his ma hadn’t told him anything more than careful, sweetie, and you know how delicate you are. Did he play along with it because he believed her? Because he was just as terrified of his dying as she was? Or just because it was easier to do that than face facts.
After Neibolt, after Georgie and the clown and all of the horror that Eddie can’t share, his mom stops keeping him inside. He leaves the house quietly with a note on the kitchen table. When he comes home, there’s no more evidence of his ma’s worry than her pursed lips and the worried divot between her brows—he’d inherited it—and they speak nothing of it.
Eddie finds himself spending more and more time with Richie, as things progress. Richie never comes to Eddie’s house—Eddie’s willing to push his luck a little, but shoving the fact that he’s meeting Richie in his mom’s face would be too far. Not that his meeting up with Richie is a capital-t Thing. Of course it’s not. Because even though Eddie looks at Richie sometimes and can’t look away, even though Richie pulled Eddie close when they thought they were about to die, even though Eddie secretly loves it when Richie pinches his cheeks and calls him cute, doesn’t mean Richie likes Eddie. Because Richie isn’t like that. No, fuck that—because they’re both boys, and that’s not how it works.
If any of his friends had to show their faces at his house, Richie would probably be the worst choice. Eddie’s ma hates Richie with a passion—”dirty boy,” she calls him. When they were little, Richie had come over to Eddie’s house for sleepovers almost every week, at least until they tried to climb out the window one night and sneak into the playground. It had all gone fine—or the climbing out the window part had, at least. But Eddie tripped on the sidewalk and skinned his knee, and the cut ended up getting infected. He was sick at home for weeks.
(Now, after everything that has happened, Eddie has to wonder if any of his sicknesses were real. Did he ever hear the diagnosis from the doctor themself? Eddie can’t even remember.)
So Eddie bikes to Richie’s house, or he finds him waiting outside the arcade for him. They buy ice cream, wander through the park. Eddie brings comic books to Richie’s house and they blast music and eat a frankly disgusting amount of chocolate. Richie seems to have an endless supply of peanut butter cups in in his bedroom.
Eddie has been friends with Richie for years—he’d call them best friends, if he didn’t know that Richie would tease him mercilessly for it. (Or he’d pinch his cheeks and call him adorable, which is just as bad, really.) But something about hanging out with him, separate from the group, has felt different, lately. Slightly charged. Electric in their slight touches, in the way Richie grabs Eddie’s hand, in the way Eddie catches Richie looking at him over his Batman. Eddie thinks he likes it.
Things go on as they would. Considering how their summer had gone, considering that he’s Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, things are good. Happy. Peaceful.
Eddie feels alive, for the first time in years. Not delicate, alive.
And then, one day, Eddie wakes up in the morning, and his mom is sitting at the foot of his bed, watching him.
Okay.
"Good morning, Eddie," his ma says softly, placing a hand on his leg.
"Good morning," Eddie replies, fucking confused but trying his best to keep it out of his voice.
"Eddie," she says, using his name again, which is usually a bad sign, "I went into the bathroom this morning, and I noticed your fanny pack hanging from the door."
"Yeah, that's where I always leave it."
"I know, and I opened it, just to check to see if your meds needed to be topped up."
Technically, the meds never need to be topped up. They never needed to exist in the first place. But Eddie keeps his mouth shut.
"I noticed," she continues, and it occurs to Eddie that the flatness of her voice seems to be wavering, like she's forcing something down, "that there were more pills in the jar than there should be. Haven't you been taking your pills, Eddie?"
Fuck. He hadn't been taking the pills since Neibolt, but he'd been careful to do away with them anyway. Flush them down the toilet, or let them go down the drain. He'd thought it had been a slightly silly precaution, but apparently his ma really was paying attention.
It makes his stomach hurt a little, and he tells his fingers not to itch for his inhaler.
"You were counting my pills?" he asks, voice a little hoarse.
"I'm only looking out for you, Eddie," she says, and his stomach definitely hurts.
"I don't need those meds, ma," he replies, voice edging up a couple decibels. "I'm not sick."
"You are, Eddie. You are sick. You know that. The doctors said it, remember? Remember that?"
Eddie tries to stand, tries to get out of his bed, but his ma puts a hand on his leg. His head knows that she really is just trying to help him, that she's his mother, that she knows what's best. But something else says that only one of those things is really true. "Doctors? All I remember is you coming into my hospital room and saying that I need to stay overnight for a scrape on the knee!"
"Sweetie," she says, her tone saying loud and clear that you're being unreasonable, "you could have gotten an infection."
"It was a scrape on the knee, ma!" he cries, wrestling his leg away and scrambling out of his bed. He's not sure, all of a sudden, why his heart is beating so fast. "Keeping me in the hospital, it—it was irrational."
"I was only looking out for you, Eddie," she says tenderly.
"Stop saying that!" he yells. "I'm not fucking sick, and I just want to have a normal life and—and not have to take fucking meds with me everywhere I go—"
He hears it first. It takes a moment for the pain to come, for him to realize that she's slapped him. Shit.
Eddie's ma brings a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and frightened. "Eddie," she gasps, "Eddie, I'm so sorry."
Eddie just stands there dumbstruck, staring at her. He's never been hit in his life—not by anyone other than fucking It.
"I didn't mean to, I love you, you know I didn't mean to—" she says, reaching out for what looks like a hug.
And suddenly he's in that house on Neibolt street again. There's a painted and awful face jeering at him, and he's cornered, and he can't fucking breathe, and he just turns and opens the door and leaves. Just fucking leaves. He's not even running, at first. There is no noble rescue. There is no Beverly, in the sewers. No heroic deed ahead of him. He just walks down the stairs, and then speeds into a jog, and then opens the door and fucking sprints down the street.
He can't hear his ma calling after him. He can't hear anything.
It rains. He wanders the city for hours, not keeping track of time, panicking and then convincing himself he’s going to be fine and then panicking again. Where can he go? What can he do? He doesn’t want to go back, but should he?
Who is someone he trusts? Who he knows isn’t going to send him home, who will listen to him, no matter what?
So he ends up at Richie’s house.
They sit there in silence for a little while, the only sound Freddie Mercury crooning through the radio speakers.
“I’m not sick,” Eddie says quietly, eyes directed unfocusedly at the comics lining the bookshelf across the small bedroom.
“What?”
“I’m not fucking sick, Richie,” Eddie says, and he’s too tired to snap at him.
“So did you make all of that up just so you couldn’t hang out with us? I thought you were deathly athsmatic or some shit,” Richie says. There’s laughter in his voice. He doesn’t get it.
“No—” Eddie says, and he sits up, widening the distance between them so he can look Richie in the eyes. Richie’s eyes widen slightly. “I’m not sick. I—all my meds were, were—placebos. Fakes.”
“Wait, what the fuck? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, Richie, I—I don’t fucking know! I don’t know what to think. All my life my ma has told me one thing, and then the girl at the pharmacy, she—she said something else.”
“Hey,” Richie says softly, putting a hand on Eddie’s knee.
Eddie ignores him. “And then I confronted my ma about it right before, before Neibolt, but she seems so—goddam she seems so vulnerable, and I just—I don’t know what to do, I really dont—”
“Eds, Eds,” Richie says, moving his hand to Eddie cheek and making him meet his eyes. “Slow down.” Eddie stares at him, chest heaving, and he reaches for his fanny pack, for his inhaler.
“Fuck, oh, fuck,” he gasps, wringing his hands, “oh, god, I need my inhaler, oh shit—”
“Eddie, Eddie, stop!” Richie shouts, grabbing Eddie’s hands and holding them still. “You’re spiraling, and when you do that you need your inhaler, and you clearly don’t have it right now, and apparently you don’t even fucking need it, whatever that means, so just—just shut up and tell me what happened!” Richie lets out a breath, quiets down. “Maybe I can help.”
“I think…” Eddie says, and he takes a breath, trying to calm his roiling insides, “I think my mom has been keeping me. Like a prisoner, or something.”
“Holy fucking shit,” Richie breathes.
“I mean. Not a prisoner. But she’s so...so hyper-anxious about me getting sick that she’s been telling me I’m sick so that I don’t go outside, I guess. Like when I had to stop taking P.E. class, because she said I was too delicate. I guess I wasn’t as delicate as she thought, but she did everything in her power to protect me.”
“Shit, Eddie, are you okay?” Richie asks, and his voice has none of its normal teasing spark.
“I don’t know,” Eddie says, honestly.
“Is there...anything I can do?”
Eddie shuts his eyes, feeling the tears coming. He feels Richie’s hand take his, squeeze it. “No, but can I stay here tonight?”
“Fine, but stay the fuck away from my sister. We have really thin walls here, and if you two keep me awake I’m going to throw you out, I hope you know.” And it’s an awful thing to say, but it’s the perfect thing, too.
Eddie grins. “I make no promises,” he says, and he follows Richie into the hallway.
Richie doesn’t let go of his hands.
#reddie#richie/eddie#fic#eddie kaspbrak#it 2017#sonia kaspbrak#eddie's mom deserves jail time i've never hated a fictional character more#hurt/comfort#angst#fluff#fluff and angst#my writing
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The Party: Chapter Six
Happy Halloween! Here is a Halloween themed update!
“Can I roll to seduce the orc?” Richie asked, the dice already cradled in his palm. Beside him, Stan rolled his eyes. They were well into hour four of a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, and to say that Richie had asked to seduce every villain the party had crossed paths with would be an understatement. Not only had he attempted (and failed) to seduce a gnome, a black mage, and now the orc, but he had attempted to seduce a barmaid (who threw a tankard of mead in his face), the carriage driver (who had threatened to leave him behind), and, as a joke, Stan’s human paladin character, who had barely managed to dodge the seduction via a counter roll.
“Just tell him no, Bill,” Stan said in exasperation. “We can’t try to pull him out of anymore failed seductions, it’s getting ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Eddie chimed in. “Richie is rapidly approaching his own real-life ratio of romantic success.”
“You wound me,” Richie said to Eddie, his hand over his heart. He ignored Stan’s comment, which earned him a scoff and another eyeroll.
“Roll the dice, Bard,” Bill said, his eyes and brow just barely visible over the trifold that hid his Dungeon Master notes and maps. “Let’s see if fortune finally favors you.”
“Even the Dungeon Master is rude,” Richie said, but there was a laugh in his voice, and he released the die onto the mat below him. It rolled, struggled, and then slipped back to a 16. The rest of the party groaned while Richie erupted in cheers, rising to his feet, pumping his fists over his head. “Prepare to get dicked down, orc hunter!” He glanced over at Eddie and winked, relishing in the way the top of Eddie’s cheeks flushed pink. He grinned and looked away, catching sight of Bev, who raised her eyebrows at him.
Now what did that mean?
Two hours later, after the orc hunter had been, as Richie described, dicked down, and the boss had been defeated, Richie lingered near the door to Bill’s apartment, waiting for Eddie to finish double-and-triple checking that he had his keys, his wallet, his phone, and his inhaler so they could leave. But Eddie was done patting his pockets and his fanny pack and was now talking in hushed tones to Beverly, who tossed a glance back at Richie with something that looked like mischief in her eyes.
Something about that look made him nervous.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven,” Bev was saying to Eddie’s retreating form, and Eddie gave her a two-fingered salute that Richie recognized as his own. Something about Eddie doing something Richie often did made him smile.
“You guys going somewhere?” Richie asked as Eddie sidled up to him.
“Bev is taking me to grab a Halloween costume tomorrow,” Eddie answered easily. “Ben got invited to this Halloween party that Greta is throwing, so he got us all invites.”
“Greta?” Richie asked. “Disgusting name.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty gross all the way through,” Eddie said nonchalantly. “She used to bully us in middle school, but Ben’s pretty hot now, so she didn’t recognize him. Introduced herself and everything.”
“What are you going to be for Halloween?” Richie asked. “Lemme guess…an inhaler. No, wait, a nerd. No, wait!”
“I’m going as a doctor,” Eddie interrupted, halting the guessing game before it could annoy him too much. “It’s simple, comfortable, and I don’t have to worry about morons not knowing who I am.”
“I’m going to tell the whole party you’re the guy from Scrubs.”
“Richie, I’m going to fucking kill you –”
***
It had been three weeks since Family Day, and in those three weeks, Beverly and Stan noticed something very interesting about their friends. For Beverly, it was obvious from the moment she saw Richie in his dorm the first time that he had a crush on Eddie, though whether Richie himself knew or not was unclear.
For Stan, it was even more obvious that Richie liked Eddie. The way he gently tried to navigate Eddie’s issues with his mother was a dead giveaway. That didn’t mean he approved of his interest, necessarily. That is, he didn’t approve until he saw something he probably wasn’t supposed to see.
In the middle of The Goonies, Stan had sat up and stretched, planning on ducking out of the room to take a piss. In his exit, he caught sight of Eddie, nestled comfortably in Richie’s arms, his eyes on the television. Above him, Richie was dozing lightly, his mouth slightly open, his glasses sliding down his nose. As he watched, Eddie gently reached up and pulled the glasses from Richie’s face, pausing long enough to brush an errant chunk of hair out of Richie’s eyes.
There was a tenderness there that Stan had never seen in Eddie, and for that reason, and that reason alone (he kept telling himself), he begrudgingly approved.
He and Bev had exchanged a glance when the movie ended, and even though they didn’t say anything, they understood. After that they would spend Tuesday mornings, before class, sipping coffee and discussing how to best force their friends to understand what they clearly saw.
Finally, they thought they had come up with a foolproof plan.
***
At 10:45 a.m., Beverly messaged Eddie that she couldn’t take him to the Spirit store for a last minute Halloween costume, but she was going to swing by for blue hair dye and would grab the costume he needed. Eddie didn’t understand it, but Bev quickly sent another text, this one an apology and an explanation that said she had to do something else during the time she said she’d pick Eddie up, and as an apology, she would grab his costume for him.
He thanked her and slid his phone back into his pocket, not sure why the entire exchange made him uneasy.
As he was contemplating why he suddenly felt nervous, Bev was putting her car in park in front of the Spirit store, Stan in the passenger seat.
“I feel bad,” she said. “I don’t like lying to Eddie.”
“We aren’t lying to Eddie,” Stan rationalized. “You do have to do something else. You have to pick out Eddie’s costume. He’ll thank you later.”
“But first he’ll hate me,” she pointed out.
“That’s true,” Stan replied.
Bev leaned over and ruffled Stan’s hair. “Wait for me,” she said. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Stan sat in the car, watching Beverly choose what they had agreed on, lingering by the hair dye to pick out her own costume piece, and only when she was standing at the register did Stan pull out his own phone and send a text.
“Meet me for lunch,” it said.
***
An hour later, Stan was taking the seat across from Richie at the university cafeteria, a salad in front of him while Richie picked up a slice of greasy pizza, covered in bacon and pineapple. Stan watched him take a bite, then two, in silence, before he spoke. He wanted Richie to have his guard down, to not be expecting what he was going to say. Only then would Stan be able to see what he really wanted before Richie managed to make a joke out of it.
“So…you and Eddie, huh?” he asked finally.
The effect was instantaneous. Richie choked on his mouthful of pizza, his face flushing dark red. He covered his mouth, coughing uncontrollably, and still managed, to Stan’s disgust, to splutter through several aborted statements with his mouth still full.
“Richie, manners,” Stan said sternly.
With wide eyes, Richie swallowed his food, and proceeded to drain his entire cup of chocolate milk (chocolate milk, Stan thought, disgusting).
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said unconvincingly.
“Sure you don’t,” Stan said. “So you expect me to believe that you don’t like Eddie?”
“I – well, of course I like Eddie,” Richie stammered. “I just – you know – like that –”
“Oh, is this the part where you tell me that you don’t like men?” Stan asked, leaning forward. “Richie, hear me very carefully – we don’t care if you like men, women, both, neither, whatever. We don’t mind if you have a label for who you like or not. But you like Eddie. That much is clear.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Richie said, his face devoid of emotion. Stan watched him carefully, his plan and lunch forgotten. Perhaps he had miscalculated Richie’s friendship, or his comfort. Either way, he was done forcing the subject.
***
“Are you sure you don’t want me to dye your hair blue, too?” Bev asked as Eddie carefully painted blue dye into her hair. She was sitting on the floor of his dorm, one of Richie’s shirts around her shoulders. Eddie hovered above her, his hands clad in black gloves.
“I think I’ll pass,” he said with a laugh. “You brought my costume, right?”
“It’s in the bag over there,” Bev said, squirming uncomfortably on the floor.
“Cool,” Eddie said companionably. “I think I got all of your hair.”
“It just has to sit for a bit,” Bev said, turning to look up at Eddie. “So, while it does, I thought I’d…talk to you about something.”
“Okay,” Eddie said, carefully peeling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. “What’s up?”
“It’s about Richie,” she said, watching for Eddie’s reaction. “Do you think…do you think he likes anyone?”
Eddie froze, halfway through the motion of uncapping his Germ-X bottle. “What – what do you mean?”
“I mean, do you think he’s into anyone?” Bev asked. “I can’t really get a bead on it.”
“Why do you want to know?” Eddie asked.
Bev shrugged, and Eddie stared at her, long enough that Bev could feel his glare boring into the side of her face. It felt wrong, leading Eddie to believe that she had a crush on Richie, but wasn’t that how so many people realized they had feelings for someone? Once that person might no longer be available, the feelings become clear.
“I – well – no, I don’t think he likes anyone,” Eddie said quietly, more to himself than to Bev. “You should….you should be fine. Bill and Ben will be upset, though.”
To avoid answering, Bev stood and checked her reflection in the mirror, prodding at one of her now blue curls. “I think this is about ready to be washed out,” she said, tugging the sleeves of Richie’s shirt farther down her arms. “I’m going to go shower,” she added. “See you at the party!”
“Yeah, see you,” Eddie said, his voice small enough that Bev almost told him the truth, almost apologized. But she didn’t.
***
Richie was getting annoyed. The party started half an hour ago, and he still hadn’t left because not only had Eddie not bothered to get dressed yet, but he couldn’t find the shirt he needed for his costume.
“So you’re a…scarecrow?” Eddie asked sullenly from his bed, where he was watching Richie rummage through his dirty clothes hamper for the fifth time. “Why?”
“Why not?” Richie asked with a shrug, trying to avoid looking in Eddie’s direction. Ever since Stan asked him point-blank if he liked Eddie, he was painfully aware of how often he was looking at Eddie, touching Eddie, laughing with Eddie. It was all so…embarrassing now. How obvious was his crush, anyway? He hated himself.
“I’m already lanky as shit as it is, so I might as well go with it,” he said. “But since I can’t find the fucking shirt I need, I’m going to have to go shirtless with overalls, and everyone is going to think I’m just a stupid hillbilly.”
“Put the costume on, let me see,” Eddie insisted, sitting up straighter.
Richie, who was already wearing the overalls, just unhooked, slipped his shirt off and clipped the straps, haphazardly dropping the hat on his head. “See?”
Eddie stared at him, his eyes on something between Richie’s neck and his chest, and cleared his throat. “It – uh – it looks good. I’m sure the ladies will love you in that.”
Richie shrugged. “I know I wasn’t terribly clear about it when I blurted it out at you a while ago, but I’m not really into women. They’re alright, but not for me.” He laughed, awkwardly, and turned away from Eddie again, who was looking curiously after him, a word of surprise on his lips. “Are you going to get dressed or what?”
Eddie’s eyes fell to the bag, the one Bev left behind, which held decidedly not the costume he asked for, but something he probably would not ever have the gall to wear in public, much less in front of his roommate that he might or might not have feelings for.
“You go on ahead to the party,” he said. “I’m going to…get dressed and get there in a bit.”
“Why can’t we just go together?” Richie asked.
“I have to do something, Jesus Christ, dude, fuck off,” Eddie snapped, and Richie laughed.
“Okay, Spaghetti, I’ll see you there,” Richie said easily, grabbing his keys and sliding out the door. Eddie watched him go, his unfocused gaze remaining on the closed door long after Richie’s footsteps faded.
Did he really have feelings for Richie? It seemed like an easy enough thing to deny, but hearing Bev’s cautious question had shifted things into a different kind of focus. Did someone have feelings for Richie? Why did that bother him so much?
It bothered him because Richie was loud, annoying, so incredibly talkative that it was a wonder he could ever breathe. That was why it bothered him, Eddie thought with determination. Not because he himself had feelings for Richie, but because having feelings for Richie made no sense. Yes, that must be it.
But then there was that evening, while they were watching The Goonies, when Richie slid his arm around his shoulders, that his relentless talking wasn’t annoying, it was charming, when his huge glasses were no longer too big for his face, but accentuated his smile, his large, friendly eyes.
Something had shifted, then, when Richie’s eyes fell down to Eddie’s and they stayed that way, momentarily lost, suspended somewhere beyond a room full of their friends. After that, their bickering was no longer heated, it was just playful. Their jokes were just as mean, but there was a lightness in their eyes that they both understood. It was comfortable, it was affectionate, and…Eddie paused in his thoughts. Richie was only like that with him. Not with anyone else. Surely that meant something, right?
As if on cue, his phone, sitting on his desk, started vibrating. He glanced at it for a moment before deciding to pick it up.
“Stan,” he said as a greeting. “How’s the party?”
“I heard you were coming in a bit,” Stan said. “That better not be code for not showing up at all.”
“My costume –”
“I’m coming to pick you up, Eddie,” Stan said, his voice stern enough that Eddie knew there was no point in arguing. “So get dressed. I’ll be there in five.”
***
Stan sat in his car, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the door to Eddie’s dorm building. He had told Eddie to meet him outside in five, but he wasn’t sure if Eddie would really wear the costume. He had predicted, based on his years of experience with Eddie’s stubbornness, that if he made it seem like he had no choice, Eddie would comply, but who knows. Maybe Richie’s influence was too great, and Eddie was more stubborn than Stan predicted.
Then the door opened and Eddie slipped out, his shoulders hunched, looking embarrassed. Immediately, he caught sight of Stan’s car and hopped in.
“Don’t say a word,” he said, pulling the short shorts farther down, as if that would help. Stan pursed his lips and turned back to the road, putting the car in drive.
“You look good,” he said sincerely.
“Shut up, no I don’t,” Eddie snapped, trying to pull the top half of his costume closed. “I don’t understand why Bev would do this to me. She knew I just wanted to wear scrubs.”
Stan shrugged, choosing not to answer, and before Eddie could ask more questions, the short drive was over. He watched as Eddie struggled to decide if he was going to get out of the car at all, his eyes falling on his exposed skin.
“Come on, Eddie,” Stan said reassuringly. “Yours is far from the most revealing costume in there, I promise.”
“Really?” Eddie asked, his eyes hopeful.
“Promise,” Stan replied.
***
Richie refilled his red Solo cup full of tepid beer as his eyes scanned the crowd for Eddie again. He had already seen Beverly, with freshly dyed blue hair and yellow raincoat. Her Coraline was accompanied by Ben, dressed as Wybie. He had caught a glimpse of Mike and Bill, dressed as Sherlock and Watson, whispering in each other’s ears in one of the dark corners of the room, a cup in each of their hands.
He hadn’t seen Stan yet, but as soon as he thought it, there he was, dressed as Bob Ross, which really looked like most of Stan’s normal clothes more than a costume. And beside him was…
Suddenly Richie’s mouth was very dry.
“I thought Eddie was dressing as a doctor,” he said to Bev, who slid up beside him. “Like…scrubs and stuff.”
But Eddie was wearing tiny white shorts, shiny like latex, and an almost open white top, with a little red cross on the front. Even from across the room, Richie could see that Eddie was uncomfortable, or embarrassed and while he was thoroughly enjoying the view (too much, if Bev’s smug expression was any indicator), he suddenly wished he had his scarecrow shirt so he could take it off and offer it to Eddie.
“You’re welcome,” Bev said coyly, squeezing Richie’s arm and disappearing back into the crowd.
“Hey, Trashmouth!” Eddie’s voice cut through the crowd and almost instantly, Richie felt his stomach drop. He could feel Stan’s eyes on him from his place at Eddie’s side and it felt like his gaze was magnified. Everyone was looking at him, looking at Eddie, so openly asking for Richie’s attention.
Before Eddie could get through the crowd, Richie ducked away, into another room. It was safer to admire Eddie from afar, where no one would get any ideas.
***
Halloween was a bust, Eddie thought ruefully. Here he was, at a party in a costume that apparently several people found very appealing (if the amount of drinks being pushed his way was any indication), but the one person whose attention he wanted was studiously avoiding having any contact with him.
“What’s wrong, Eddie?” Stan asked, leaning against the wall with his own cup of what Eddie knew was water. “Boy troubles?”
“I hate it when you say it like that,” Eddie replied sourly.
“So I’m right,” Stan said smugly.
“Richie hasn’t said a word to me all night,” Eddie said before he could censor himself. Besides, he rationalized, Stan wouldn’t tell. Stan would understand.
“Do you want him to talk to you?” Stan asked leadingly. “Because you know how Richie is. If he sees you having fun, he’ll have to join. He can’t help himself.”
“You’re right,” Eddie said thoughtfully.
“Eddie!” Bill and Mike called from the makeshift dance floor. “Come dance!”
“I think I just found your fun,” Stan said, nudging Eddie toward the dancing. “Go, Richie will follow.”
***
“Why aren’t you talking to Eddie?” Beverly asked, passing Richie another cup of beer. “He was looking for you.”
Richie avoided her gaze, choosing instead to look into the depths of his beer. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay, moron, but the crap,” Bev said sharply. “You like him, he likes you, go talk to him about it before you spontaneously combust.”
Richie narrowed his eyes. “Why do I feel like you and Stan are tag-teaming on some weird scheme?”
Beverly shrugged, taking a sip of her own beer. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t like being manipulated,” Richie replied. “And I don’t like being confronted with things I’d rather not talk about.”
“Yeah, no one likes that, Rich,” Bev pointed out. “That’s common sense. We aren’t trying to convince you to be open with everyone, we just want you to be open with Eddie.”
“If I go talk to him, will this conversation cease?” Richie asked.
“Absolutely.”
“I kind of hate you, Bev,” Richie replied, passing her his drink. “And Stan.”
“We know,” she said with a wink.
***
“Richie incoming,” Bill said as Eddie bounced to the music. “Look alive.”
“What does that mean?” Mike asked with a laugh.
“It means be cool,” Bill said, his face flushed from booze. “I know…I know what I meant.” He laughed and slipped sideways, and Eddie had to catch him by winding an arm around his waist.
He turned to survey Bill’s face more completely but before he could, Richie caught his attention, standing just on the edge of the dance floor. His eyes were on Eddie’s hand, around Bill’s waist. There was a tension in his brow that Eddie wasn’t used to, but it made him nervous. He passed Bill over to Mike and made his way to the edge of the dance floor, beside Richie. Even then, when they were standing next to each other, Richie avoided looking at him.
“What’s wrong with you, Trashmouth?” Eddie asked gruffly. Richie jumped and glanced at him before he looked away once more. “You haven’t spoken to me all night, you won’t look at me. What, do you hate this stupid costume that much? It is pretty ridiculous.”
“That’s not it,” Richie said, his voice barely heard over the music. “I just – do you –” he shook the thought free from his mind and started again. “Bill’s costume is pretty cool.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said warmly. “Bill always has cool costumes. But he’s done Sherlock before, so it doesn’t really count.”
“Oh, yeah,” Richie said, as if he wasn’t really listening.
“Okay, I’m going to leave you to this weird mood you’re in, because you’re starting to piss me off,” Eddie retorted, trying to pull his shorts farther down, but even as he did it, he knew it was just a nervous movement. It didn’t help anything. Richie’s eyes followed his movement carefully, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
He started to walk away, and when Richie didn’t stop him, came stomping back. “You aren’t even going to stop me?” he snapped. “God, Richie, what is your problem?”
“Do you like Bill?” Richie asked suddenly, as if Eddie’s previous questions hadn’t been mentioned. Eddie stared at him, momentarily lost for words, and Richie’s face fell. “Okay, good to know,” he said, stepping away from Eddie and toward the crowd.
“No, Rich, wait,” Eddie grabbed him by the arm, but Richie was still moving, weaving between people, as if he didn’t even realize Eddie was clinging to his arm. But still, Eddie hung on. “I don’t like Bill, you idiot, I was just trying to make sure he wasn’t going to fall over and get trampled by other drunk idiots. Richie, you fucking asshole, would you stop for one goddamn second?”
Richie glanced back at him, his gaze unfocused. Eddie watched as Richie eyes found his own, then his mouth, then his bare chest, and back up again.
“Richie, stop, you fucking jackass!”
He screeched to a stop, so quickly that Eddie slammed into his back. He didn’t bother to turn around to see Eddie. “So you don’t like Bill?”
“No, you dipshit. Besides, Bill likes Mike. I like…” the words, so easy when they could be used to shut Richie up, died in his throat as Richie’s eyes found his again. Could he say it out loud? What if Richie thought it was a joke? What if Richie treated it like a joke? He wasn’t sure he could take that.
“You like…?”
Suddenly, Eddie remembered Bev’s words from earlier. “Who do you like?” he asked instead.
“This is so high school,” Richie groaned, running his hands through his hair. “God, I thought when you get to college you just get to sleep with whoever you want as long as they’re also cool with it. I didn’t think there’d be stupid feelings and crushes and all that shit.”
“You thought that once you got your diploma you could just fuck around all you wanted?” Eddie asked incredulously. Richie shrugged. “I – I sometimes wonder if you are really as stupid as the shit you say.”
Richie laughed, and the light returned to his eyes for just a moment. “It does seem kind of stupid when I say it out loud.”
“Should’ve sounded stupid when you said it in your head,” Eddie grumbled.
Eddie was suddenly aware that they were at the back door of the house, halfway outside. The sound from the party was significantly diminished, so Eddie could finally hear himself think. Richie chuckled and nodded.
“So who is it?” he asked.
Eddie swallowed. “Who is what?” he asked, playing dumb.
“Who do you like?” Richie asked.
“I thought you thought this was all high school?” Eddie said nervously. “It…it doesn’t really matter, right?”
Richie surveyed him closely. “If…if you think it doesn’t matter,” he offered.
Eddie scrutinized Richie’s expression, searching for the correct answer. “I – I don’t think we should talk about it right now,” he said, trying for lightness. “It’s a party, we should party.”
Richie blinked once, twice, and then a third time. “You’re right,” he said, offering Eddie his hand. “Care to dance? That costume deserves to be seen in motion.”
Eddie flushed, taking Richie’s hand. “What – what does that mean?” he asked.
Richie looked down at him, something unreadable and tempting in his gaze. “I think you know.”
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House Party 2
Erik x OC story
Erik "Killmonger" Stevens meets his potential partner during a job..
Warnings: Cursing, Crime
Erik quickly closed and locked the bedroom door, "FUCK!" he clicks his safety back on, removes the silencer, and places his weapon back in it's original place. He grabs his phone to reconnect his communicator, while Mirah stands back up, talking to herself, or at least that's what it seems like. "Gotdamn. Yeah, I know. I thought I was the only hitter here!" She glances over at Erik as she says that, he realizes that she's communicating with her own associate. "What's up, E? Is it done?" Inga is snacking on something in the background, "Inga, I don't know." "What do you mean you don't know? Either you hit him or you didn't." "It's not that simple, Inga." "I think we got him at the same time!" Mirah yells into her earpiece. "I caught him in the room, but another closer led him to the room. We got him at the same time." "Ou did yuh let dat?! Yuh bloodclot idiot!" she scoffed at him, typing viciously, Erik hears every key being slammed on as he hung his head. "Now we have to get him to our mortician. Decide who's trauma hit first. Both of you have to figure out a way to get him out of there."
Erik and Mirah must have gotten the same information simultaneously because they both looked at each other, then looked at the corpse formally known as Andrew. His bled through his clothes and there was no way they were going to get through a party with a bloodied dead body. "FUCK." They both exclaimed in frustration. "I had him first! You just should've backed off!" Mirah shoves Erik. He stumbles back and presses his index finger into her left shoulder to catch his footing, "You should've fell back when you seen me walking in here! Why would you bring a knife to a gun fight?" She slaps his hand away, "Nigga, I can bring whatever I see fit on any hit that I take." Erik's dimples appears as he takes in his upper lip, showing his canines. "Inga, what's it lookin' like down there?" Inga clicks some more on her laptop, "You might be better off sneaking out back." Erik starts looking for the closet, "Bet. I'll be out in five." "E, did you hear me? Both of you have to bring him in. This is not a joke. The contract holder can and will cancel the contract even though the deal is done and neither one of you will get paid. You both have to get him in."
Once again, they both must have gotten the same intel because they exclaimed at the same time, "FUCK!...OKAY!" Erik opens the closet door and finds a black over sized hoodie as Mirah goes into her fanny pack to pull out some gauze to stop further bloodshed, at least until they got out the house. Erik throws the hoodie on Andrew and placed the hood over his head to cover the womb that he placed there. before he could pull it down Mirah yelled, "Wait!" She places the gauze that she rolled up into the stab womb that she inflicted. Erik peaks outside the door, looks around and finds the linen closet at the end of the hallway. He pulls out two towels, then he hears a voice, "Hey, everything okay?" Some white boy climbs up the steps, clearly drunk. "Yeah, my girl is in the room and...it got a lil wet, ya know?" Erik lifts up the towels in explanation. "Ahhh! Okay. I getcha. As long as it's not my room..You're all good my man!" He points to the bedroom adjacent from the crime scene. Erik shakes his head, "Nah. We good." "Okay, good. Well, enjoy!" He turns around to go back downstairs. Erik lets out a sigh of relief and goes back in the room. He wraps the towels around Andrew's chest underneath the hoodie, "This shit not getting in my car seats!" Erik looks over at Mirah, "Okay. The best exit is through the back. We just gotta hold him up like he's drunk. My car is parked at the end of the corner. You got a car?" "Yeah. It's across the street." "Okay, I'll drop you back off in the morning is that cool?" She nods and place sunglasses over his eyes.
They lift the 6'0" 278 lbs. corpse and lug him down the stairs. The same white guy from earlier comes up behind him, "Aw man! He must be messed up!" Erik answers, without turning to him, "Yeah. Too much Jack." He glances over to Mirah and she rolls her eyes at him. "Alright. You guys get home safe! Thanks for coming!"
--
Mirah and Erik finally cramp Andrew into the small McLaren and Erik shuts the door. "Okay, we got him out." Inga sighed into the mic, "The address to the community mortician is programmed into your GPS." Erik's eyes blink in confusion, "Community mortician? So We're just gonna go into the morgue at one AM?" Inga cackled at his stupid question, "No. You would get locked up if you did that. The assassin community's mortician. He has his own funeral home in Virginia Heights. He's been contacted and he's on his way there now. Hurry." Erik disconnected his communicator again. He turns back to his car to see no trace of Mirah. He hears heaving and splashes near the house closest to his car's yard. "Are you seriously puking right now?" Mirah finished chucking up the last of her dinner and whispers, "I've never had to carry a kill before, okay?" Erik goes into his trunk and grabs water bottles, offering one to her, "But you kill though. What's the problem?" She shrugs, "I don't know. I just kill em and leave. I've never had to actually touch them after the fact." She takes a mouthful to gargle and spit. "Well, I got the location so whenever you ready.." She walks over to his car, waiting on him to click his alarm. "What you waiting for?"
--
The twenty minute ride has excruciating silence. Mirah was just looking out of her window, trying to ignore the body in the backseat and Erik was focusing on not getting pulled over. He got off of 75 South to make a left and kept straight until his GPS informs him that the destination is on the right. He pulls up to an empty mortuary. Inga's voice takes over the speakers in the car, "The mortician's name is Philip Lee. He's in the morgue on the basement level." Mirah became startled, "Who the fuck is that?" Erik put his car in park, "My associate, Inga. I'm sure you have one." She nods, "Yeah. His name is Sloan." He shakes his head and unbuckles his seat belt. "Why you shaking your head?" Mirah lifts her right brow at him. He shakes his head again, "Nothing. Let's get this done."
They struggle even more getting Andrew out of the car than they did trying to get him into it. They drag the lifeless body in the funeral home from the main level, down the steps, past the cremation room, to the morgue. They see an old man, probably in his mid sixties, brown skin, and gray hair. "Hello. You must me Erik and Mirah!" His voice was deep and eerie. The place is barren and cold, which makes Mirah shiver. "I'm Dr. Lee. I see you brought our friend. There's someone here that would like to meet you two."
A figure peaks out of the far right corner of the fridges, "Hello. I'm Parker. The contract holder." They both nod at their employer. "I understand that you both got to Mr. Anderson at the same time, yes?" The man strokes his goatee looking at the corpse being held up by the duo, then he points over to the empty mortuary washing table. Erik and Mirah lay his body on it. "Yeah, that's right." Mirah folds her arms, looking Parker in his eyes." "She stabbed him, I shot him." Parker strokes his face again and grins, "Alright, we'll leave Dr. Lee to make his deliberation, you two, come upstairs with me." Parker walks through the double swinging doors first, Erik motions his arms in that direction, "Ladies first." Mirah walked out with Erik close up behind her. She purposefully lets Parker walk out of their sights before speaking, "Don't be looking at my booty, Stevens." He caught up with her, pulling her arm and pushed her against the hallway wall, "How you know my--" She turned her head so he could see her communicator. "Your associate?" She nods, "Yes. He says he knows--"
"ANY DAY NOW!" Parker's voice intrudes the hallways echoing from upstairs.
--
They reach the top of the stairs, walking on red velvet like carpet. They find Parker in the middle of the showroom standing next to a gold casket. "Ya know, I've always admired the mortuary business. They are the last people to see a person, as humanly as they'll ever be. Of course that's before they cut em open, embalm them and stitch their mouths and.." He points to Mirah's ass. "It's one of the best professions to go into, for the obvious reasoning. Everyone dies." Erik agrees, "Mhm." Parker turns to the casket, then back to the pair, then he claps his hands together. The sound echoed once again, "So.. Whomever this kill belongs to, I have another job for you. It is an international contract and I am sure that other contenders will fight you tooth and nail to get the kill." He points to Erik, then sways his finger to Mirah, "But I'm sure either one of you can handle that in the way that you handled this target tonight."
Mr. Lee clears his throat from across the room. Erik and Mirah jump up, Parker just simply turns his attention to him. "My apologies, I just wrapped up my analysis. It appears that the trauma to Mr. Anderson's aortic valve and his frontal cortex happened at the exact same moment. Give or take some milliseconds which I cannot exactly determine." Parker perks up and gives Erik and Mirah a round of applause, "Well, well! Looks like I have a job for the both of you then!" They both looked at each other and shook their heads, "We're not partners!" Anderson laughs at them, "Could've fooled me! You two even talk in unison! It's almost cute! Look, it's either both of you or neither of you." Mirah gave Erik the stink eye then she peered back at Parker, "What about our compensation? Are we splitting it?" Parker closes the gold casket then replies, "No. You both get 3 million. The next job is 10, each." Erik approaches Parker and reaches out his hand, "Consider it done." Parker seals the binding contract. Mirah nods and extends her hand, "You got it."
--
#erik killmonger#erik killmonger x oc#erik killmonger imagine#erik kilmonger imagines#erik killmonger fanfiction#erik killmonger fanfic#erik killmonger fandom#erik stevens x oc#erik stevens#erik stevens imagine#erik stevens imagines#erik stevens fanfiction#erik stevens fanfic#erik stevens fandom#black panther fanfiction#black panther imagine#black panther imagines#black panther au
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The Perks of Being A New Kid
Summary; Ben Hanscom was lucky enough to find himself welcomed into the losers’ club before his first day of school is even over. The one problem is Bill Denbrough, star baseball player and certified fuckboy. And The Bowers’ Gang. And gym class. Maybe there's more than one problem.
Word Count; 2019
AN; I fucking love fuckboy bill and I fucking love denscom. And steddie and British Richie. Don't even get me started on Ben having a southern accent. Anyways hope y'all like it, I worked pretty damn hard on it
Masterlist
“Aw fuck! Jesus Christ, fucking hell.” Ben recognized the British accent from earlier. It was Richie Tozier, a tall and lanky boy who had moved to Derry from Manchester, England three years ago and knew how it felt to be a new kid with an unusual accent. Ben had been touring the school with Stanley Uris, the student guide the office had assigned to him, when Richie has appeared out of nowhere and started a friendly sort of fight, the sort of fight Ben figured best friends often had with each other. Richie seemed nice enough, despite his punk clothing and how loud and trashmouthed he was. He had, after all, picked Ben fourth with a kind grin on his face, after Stan, a tall black boy named Mike, a redheaded girl named Bev.
A shrill whistle sounded and the dodgeball game stopped, everyone frozen except for Richie and his friends. A small boy sprung up from his seat on the bleachers and nearly sprinted over to Richie who was laying on the ground, a hand clutched to his bleeding nose. “This is why we aren't supposed to play dodgeball, Coach Ganley! People get hurt every single time! No wonder my mom makes me sit out! If I had gotten hurt, she'd be getting your ass fired.” The boy’s face was red through his freckles as he dug through his fanny pack, pulling out a cotton pad and shoving it up against Richie’s nose.
“Language, Kaspbrak!” Coach Ganley scolded before stepping in between the two teams, looking at the one opposite to Richie’s. “Who threw it?” Most eyes went to a tall, handsome, and toned boy who had his arms crossed. His shirt was snug around his biceps and he had a snapback set backwards on his head.
Before the gym teacher could get out a word, the boy from earlier spoke up. “Who do you think, Coach? William ‘gets away with everything because he's a star baseball player” Denbrough. Who else would it be?”
The kid now known to Ben as William smirked, sending a wink in the angry kid’s direction. “I get away with thuh-things for a very different reason, s-swe-e-sweetheart, I think you kn-know why. F-From those, uh, about four months we were suh-sleeping together?”
“Shut up, Denbrough! Back off my boyfriend!” Stan piped up, drawing himself to his full height and glowering at the other boy. The kids from earlier, Mike and Bev, stepped over, grabbing Stan’s shoulders. Ben was slightly offended Stan hadn’t mentioned he was dating someone, but figured Stan had assume from his southern accent that he was against gay people, most people did. He wasn’t though, for the record.
Ben felt like he had whiplash from looking from William, to Richie and the angry kid, Stan and his captors, and Coach Ganley who had a unhappy but amused smile on his face.
Before anyone else could say a word, the bell rang. Eddie pulled Richie up and dragged him towards the locker room. Stan and Mike followed suit, Mike gesturing for Ben to follow them. Bev split off, not before whispering something in a low voice to Mike and waving at Ben sweetly. His face reddened and he followed after Mike like a lost puppy.
The five boys grabbed their things and holed themselves up in the bathroom, Mike pushing the large door shut behind them and locking it. Richie hopped up onto one of the sinks, pulling the red stained cotton away from his already swollen nose. Eddie was already attacking him with wet paper towels, dabbing at the dried blood and the fresh blood that was joining it.
Stan was the first to start talking. “Mike, Eddie, you guys know how I told you I was gonna be the new kid’s student guide,” he didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “This is Ben Hanscom, he moved here from Tennessee. Ben, you’ve met Richie, but this is Mike Hanlon and Eddie Kaspbrak.” There was a moment of cautious silence. “Eddie is my boyfriend.”
Ben smiled shyly, reaching to shake the hand Mike had extended to him. “It’s nice to meet y’all. Sorry it had to be on such bad terms.”
“Not your god damn fault Bill Denbrough is the worst fucking person on the planet.” Eddie sponged at Richie’s nose a little too hard and Richie hissed, snatching the paper towel away and tending to his nose himself.
Stan grabbed Eddie’s elbow gently, pulling Eddie towards himself and looking down at Eddie with a soft smile. Eddie’s face and body immediately relaxed as the two gave each other heart eyes. Ben had to resist gushing and cooing over how cute the two were. “I gotta ask, is it William or Bill?”
“Bill. Everyone calls him Bill, but his full name is William.” There was a moment of silence. “He and Eddie have….history. He’s kinda the worst. Total asshole.” Mike finally released Ben’s hand and gave him a half smile, plus a shrug.
“Stay away from him Benjamin, stay far far away.” Eddie warned, the left side of his face pressed against Stan’s chest as Stan rocked them from side to side gently.
“Yes sir.” Ben gave a little salute to Eddie and Richie snorted.
“I like you Benny, welcome to the losers’ club.” Richie got down from the sink, his nose finally done bleeding even though it was still large and a little purple.
“What?”
“The losers’ club. It’s what we call ourselves. Me, Bev, Eds, Mikey, and Stanny.” Richie pulled off his gym shirt and shorts. Ben snapped his eyes shut, face brightening at seeing Richie in his boxers, even if it was for a second. “And now you. So welcome.”
“Thanks,” Ben squeaked, feeling like his face was on fire. He could hear everyone else changing, but he stayed still and kept his eyes shut. At his old school, they hadn't been forced to change for gym. Ben wasn't one to complain, but these gym uniforms were uncomfortable and small and were an unflattering red against his yellow hair.
After a few minutes of silence, just the soft rustling of clothing and zippers being unzipped and zipped again, a hand tapped his shoulder. “You're good, Ben.” It was Mike’s voice. Ben liked Mike and sure hoped Mike wouldn't worry that he was a bigot or anything bad. He open his eyes, face still hot as he blinked away the blurriness.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, fixing his eyes on the tiles. He tapped his foot four times, pausing only to tap it four more times, then continuing the pattern.
“Do you want us to…,” Eddie’s voice trailed off. Ben nodded and kept his eyes downcast as the other four boys trickled one by one out of the bathroom. Mike squeezed Ben’s shoulder on the way out, pulling the door shut as he ended the parade leaving the bathroom. Immediately a weight fell off his chest, he didn't want to change in front of his new friends, nor anyone else.
Three lengthy and boring periods later, Ben was sitting around a lunch table with the rest of the “losers’ club” as Richie had called it earlier. He really liked these kids and was glad to already have found his niche in Derry. He was sandwiched between Bev and Eddie, Stan on the other side of Eddie, Richie next to Stan, Mike next to Richie, and back to Bev again. Not that Ben would admit it, but this was the biggest group of friends he had ever been in. Well, he hadn’t really had more than two friends before.
It seemed like Mike and Bev were dating, or at least talking, to Ben. Mike had an arm slung over the back of Bev’s chair, eating chips with his free hand as he smiled down at whatever she was doing on her phone. Ben could see Stan and Eddie’s knees pressed together on his other side and he blushed a little, feeling strange and boxed in. Richie flashed Ben a giant smile, stuffing a handful of Mike’s chips in his mouth.
“Don’t worry, I’m forever alone too, my darling Benny Boy. We’ll find your sweetcheeked self a pretty girly,” Richie spewed little bits of wet chips as he spoke, still chewing in between words. Everyone gave him a disgusted look as he leaned across the circular table, pinching Ben on his cheek.
“It’s uh..,” Ben coughed shyly after Richie let go of his face, “I don’t...you know…I kinda don’t swing that way?”
“Welcome to the club,” mumbled each and everyone of the losers. Ben did a double take and opened his mouth to speak before Richie cut him off.
“I put the bi back in little bitch, Mikey and Mrs. Marsh are fellow bisexuals, and the spaghetti man-“
“It’s Eddie, god damn it!”
“Stan and Eddie are gay obviously.” Richie and Eddie sent venomous looks to each other. Richie broke first, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue and Eddie giggled at that.
Ben tried not to notice the protective gesture of Stan putting his hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezing it. Stan’s hand barely lasted a second before Eddie was batting it away, still smiling casually although his body had tensed up.
All of a sudden, a tall boy with a blonde mullet was behind Eddie. He licked his hand and slapped it down on Eddie’s neck with an evil smirk playing on his lips. Eddie jumped to his feet, hands held up in the air like jazz hands as they trembled. His eyes were scrunched shut as Stan hurried to unzip his fanny pack and grab out some hand sanitizer.
As Stan rubbed the sanitizer into the back of Eddie’s neck, the kid scanned Ben up and down. “Fat, Pac Man shirt, baby face, fairy hair, hmph, you’ll fit right in here at the twink table.”
Richie was on his feet, reaching out as if he was going to throttle the kid. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, Henry Bowers. You absolute fucking twat!” Mike grabbed Richie by the back of his waistband and pulled the british boy back into his seat.
Henry gave all of the losers a shiteating grin before strolling away. Eddie and Stan moved too, presumably to the bathroom. Ben knew not to ask about it and stared at the salad his mom had absently shoved into his hands that morning.
“So! Has anyone invited Ben to Star Wars night tonight?” Bev asked, straightening up in her seat. Mike’s arm was no longer resting on the chair and her phone was face down on the table. It was clear she was trying to lighten the mood and ask as a distraction.
“No not yet, Mrs. Marsh, but now we have to!” Richie clucked his tongue, obviously joking when he shook his head and gave Bev a dismayed look. Richie scooted over into the chair that Eddie had previously occupied, slinging his arm around Ben’s shoulders and pressing a wet and joking kiss to Ben’s cheek. As gross as it was, Ben felt good about the kiss on the cheek. It made him feel warm inside. Not because he liked Richie, but because he hadn’t even been at this new school for an entire week yet and he had already been accepted into a new group. Not only accepted but he had been invited to a group hang out. “It’s at 7, the big red house on the corner of Turner and Pine. Lemme think of a landmark….if you go to Jerry’s Hard Liquor, it’s three blocks down then a left, all the way down and to the right. Stanny and his mommy just moved in with his stepdad.”
“We basically eat a pizza dinner with other snacks and soda, Star Wars music playing in the background. And then we usually do some trivia or a themed board game. Then a marathon, but only the first three movies. They’re the only good ones obviously.” Mike’s arm was back to its normal spot on Bev’s chair.
“It’s so much fun. You’ll love it, Ben.”
Tag List
@groovy-wyatt @kanewsies @themysteriousworldofvia @wyatt-ohheleft @missingstanleyuris
#denscom#fuckboy!bill#baseball!bill#ben hanscom#bill denbrough#southern!ben#british!richie#richie tozier#side steddie#steddie#Eddie kaspbrak#stan uris#mikexbev#beverly marsh#mike hanlon#henry bowers#it 2017#it fandom
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Panic Attack! At The Quarry Pt 2
Part One
Title: Panic Attack! At The Quarry only bad puns here y’all
Fandom: IT (taking elements from both the book and 2017 movie)
Ship(s): Reddie, billverly, Stanlon,
Tags/Warnings: none for this chapter
Summary: It has been two years since the summer of IT, but some demons still chase the Losers. Eddie still can’t shake his inhaler, Bill’s stutter is worse in Summer, Stan still can’t talk about his bar mitzvah. Mike still can’t go to the water’s edge alone, Beverly feels phantom touches if her hair is past her shoulders, Richie refuses to play loogie anymore, Ben avoids bridges if possible, yet somehow, in all of this there is healing and love and friendship.
Reddie centric (for now. Who knows, this might turn into something of a series? It was suppose to be two pages you guys.)
Tagging: @star-light30 @beepbeep-losers
Eddie had been holding his fanny pack when he went over the cliff, but lost it during the fall, along with whatever calm he had left inside him; and while he knew he would hit the water and be fine, maybe a little harder than usual but not by much, he couldn’t stop screaming the whole way down. He fell in the water head first, still screaming. He struggled break the water’s surface but now he was panicked and his body wasn’t listening to his head, his arms and legs useless as they allowed him to simply sink down. He was sure he was going to die in this pathetic way,all because his fight or flight reflex decided floating in any form wasn’t acceptable, when he felt the water wave around him then arms surround his middle.
Richie pulled Eddie out and onto the rocks, panting as he looked the boy over. Eddie was gasping for air, choking on water and air and fear.
It only took a few moments for the others to notice that something was wrong and soon there were five dripping bodies surrounding Richie and Eddie as Eddie struggled for air. He gasped out, fingers fisting together and releasing and fisting together in an endless cycle at Richie’s wrist, “I-In- fuck.. My inhal…” he managed to get out, even though his logical brain pointed out that he didn’t need it.
“W-wheres your fa-fanny pack?” Bill asks, kneeling beside the two boys. Mike, Beverly, and Ben turn and look at the ground as Stan frowns, face twisted with concerned, “I think he left it on the cliff.”
“Drop…” shaky inhale, labored exhale. He feels Richie’s hand on the back of his neck, he closes his eyes and leans into it slightly, “Dropped it… the fall…”
Bev curses at this, and Mike mumbles something that Eddie can’t hear over his own breathing but it earns him a glare from everyone and an elbow from Stan. Eddie feels Richie tense up beside him and this sends a whole new wave of panic to run through him. He wheezes.
“I-I can go get S-Silver and rid-ride to the ph-pharmacy.” Bill says and beside him Ben nods, a little too eager.
“Just like the day we met,” Ben adds softly, encouraging
“No. He’s fine.” Richie says, stopping Bill in his tracks as he starts to make his way up the cliff. Eddie turns, giving Richie a pathetic smack to his chest.
“I..beg.. Your-” Eddie is cut off, and he whimpers when a voice overpowers his own.
“You’re fine, Eddie. I promise you that you are fine. You just need to fucking breathe.” Richie says, voice much too serious.
“Richie….” Bev says, softly, and there is a warning in her voice that makes Eddie shiver.
“He’s fine, Beverly. I’ve got him, ok? You all go swim and I’ll-”
“If...If I die.. I’ll kill you… you..-” Eddie says between wheezing
“Eddie, look at me. Look at me,” Richie cups Eddie’s cheek in his hand and gently forces his head to the side until they’re eye-to-eye, “I’m really sorry I pushed you into the river but you do not have asthma. Ok? You need to remember you don’t have asthma and just breathe for me, ok?”
“I don’t think it’s that easy for him….” Stan says, softly and matter-of-factly, eyes trained on Richie.
“Just- please, guys. If it doesn't let up I’ll fucking carry him to the pharmacy myself, ok? But you all need to back the fuck up and just go swim. I’ve. Got. This.” Richie is clearly talking to the group, but his eyes stay on Eddie’s face, eyebrows drawn together and he only borrows a glance their way for a moment.
There is a long pause in which the only sounds are the lapping water from the river and Eddie’s labored breathing. Finally, Bill speaks, slow and calm, “You sure about this,” another pause, as he swallows, “Richie?”
“I hate when you make things too important to fucking stutter over it,” Richie says back, not unkindly, followed by, “I’m sure. I’ve got this.”
.....
“You’re…. You’re going.. To… kill… me.” Eddie says, hand shaking as he reaches for the place where his fanny pack would usually lay. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice calls him weak and his lungs close up a little more.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Eds,” Richie says, shifting so he was sitting even closer to Eddie. Bill’s question rings in his head but he pushes it away because he knew Eddie, maybe better than anyone, and he knew how fucking strong the shorter boy was and he knew that if he would only get him to listen him long enough to breathe that everything would be ok. He moves some wet hair from Eddie’s face, smiling at him a little, “Come on now, you’re just going to let me get away with calling you that? Getting soft on me, Eddie Spaghetti?”
“Can’t…. Breathe… yo-you.. Asshole….” Eddie says, and he wants to cry but can’t. His lungs feel like they are on fire.
“No one ever taught you how?” Richie jokes, but it sounds empty, and even almost cruel even to his own ears. He sighs softly when it gets no response and he shifts even closer to Eddie now, one hand coming up in rest on Eddie’s bare chest. He can feel the boy struggling to make his body work under his the skin and it makes his own chest heavy. “I know how hard this-” He shakes his head, corrects himself. He recalls when Ben showed him where in the library to find books about breathing exercises and getting frustrated only a few chapters into the second one. He curses himself now, himself but also the knowingly way Ben had looked at him when he walked Richie down the aisles until they arrived to the right section.
“Ok, so I don’t know. Ok? I don’t know how hard this is or how this must feel for you, Eddie. I have no fucking idea. But I can imagine it and I’m so sorry, but this isn’t real. You need to-” He’s cut off by Eddie’s hand coming up to his face, covering his mouth and nose and Richie gasps in surprise. Then he gasps for air, but Eddie’s hand is blocking most of it from entering and Richie feels a burning in his chest. He tries to inhale but can’t.
Richie swears in the next few seconds he is going to die. After another moment that feels like an eternity, Eddie drops his hand and whimpers a little. Richie inhales deeply, mumbling out a curse and fighting his initial urge to push Eddie away and call him an asshole but when he finds Eddie’s eyes, they are wide and so close and utterly terrified that it makes Richie’s chest hurt for a whole new reason.
Eddie’s voice cuts through the space between them, “Feels… l-like.. That… feel like.. That...but...forever…”
Richie curses again, softer this time, and part of him wishes he had let Bill go on ahead to get another light blue inhaler for Eddie, but he pushes the thought away, nodding a little, “Ok, ok, fair enough.”
“But… its.. It's not.. Real.”
“No. It isn’t real.” Richie agrees, “But it also is. You just need to try and relax. You panicked and now you just need to breathe.”
“Easy… for… you...to..say…” Eddie says, but he knows Richie is right. He also knows that no matter how many times he tells- screams- at his lungs to just do their job and his body to stop fucking with him, nothing changes. He starts to feel lightheaded and reaches out for Richie, who comes closer easily and quickly, letting Eddie grab onto his shoulder and side, nails digging into flesh uncomfortably. Eddie drops his head a little, closing his eyes tight as he tried to will his body to behave.
“Eddie, you are the strongest fucking person I know,” Richie says, chuckling softly at Eddie’s whimpered protest, “Shut up, you are. And I’ll even list out the reasons if you want later but right now I need you to get out of your own fucking head and just breathe with me, ok? Just- just try, Eds, please.” It’s how soft and genuine and serious and, mostly, how worried and scared that one word sounded - please- that made Eddie snap his head up to look at Richie. He nods once and Eddie can feel the sigh that escapes Richie’s lips on his cheek.
Richie closes in, impossibly close, and leans his forehead against Eddie’s, his wet curls making Eddie shiver as the hand on his shoulder moves to behind him neck, shaking less now, but still noticeable against Richie’s skin. “Breathe with me, ok? In…. and out….” Richie says, slowing down his breathing, hand pushing Eddie’s chest in gently with every exhale he tried to get the other boy’s body to listen in some small way, “Just like that gross birthing video Mr. Morses showed us in Sex Ed, yeah?” This earns Richie a whimpered chuckle and he beams at that, still breathing slowly and as surely as he could manage. Behind them somewhere, Richie could hear splashing and talking, but he knew the others were still watching as they put on an act of playing.
“There you go,” Richie says after a few moments when he can feel Eddie’s breathing change just slightly. Still labored, still making Richie worry and adding fuel in the fire that was Richie’s hatred of Eddie’s mother, but his inhales were more even now, and Richie smiled, “Chicka Chicka, Boom Boom, Will Eddie’s lungs have enough room?” He jokes, and Eddie opens his eyes at that, frowning.
“I… hate you.” He says, but he was smiling a little and Richie sticks his tongue out, laughing a little when it touches grazes Eddie’s upper lip and makes the shorter boy recoil a little, “Gross…” He rasps out, and Richie rubs Eddie’s back as he laughs harder.
“I’m going to write an actual children’s book, copyright and all, with that title. I’ll get rich off of your pain, little Eds. I’ll be living it up in New York or LA or anywhere but Derry, milking it off of your phantom pains. Then you’ll sue me and all the Losers will have to take sides and it will rip our entire group apart. It’ll be magical, Eds, just you wait.”
“You… have a fucked… imagination..” Eddie responds, eyes closing again as he tries to breathe in rhythm with the flow of Richie’s words. He can feel his head again, but his chest still feels heavy and the changing of Eddie’s breath ghosting on Richie’s lips make something click in him and a silence falls over the two as Richie returns to his slow breathing, trying still to guide Eddie.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Over the next few minutes Eddie’s breathing gets worse instead of better and Richie is getting worried, thoughts of bailing and admitting he was wrong, begging Bill to please go ahead and get Eddie his stupid inhaler starting to blossom in his head when Eddie’s voice surprises him, making him jump just a little, “Not… working. This isn’t….”Eddie drops his head a little, forehead falling to Richie’s shoulder now and Richie feels the shaky air on his neck, feels his heart drop and is about ready to pull away when Eddie takes a shaky inhale and counties, “talk. It was… fuck… it was.. Was.. helping when… when you ...were…talking.”
“You’re usually telling me to shut up,” Richie jokes, fingers combing through Eddie’s still damp hair, followed by a softer, “What do you want me to talk about?”
“An-anything… just… spilling non- nonsense.. Is t...the one...thi-thing...you’re…. Good… at.”
“God, you’re stuttering worse than Bill on a full moon,” Richie jokes before letting out a shaky breath and letting his mouth take over. He talked about how much he hated the summer project they were assigned and how he got into his father’s liquor cabinet with Bev when she returned from Portland last winter break and they both had the worst hangover ever and he told Eddie about how Stan tricked him into bird watching with him the weekend before and how boring it was and how many times Stan snapped at him and he told Eddie about every little thing he could think of, even repeating stories that he knew Eddie knew, a few that he was even there for, and slowly Eddie started to breathe close to normal again.
It took almost 20 minutes after Richie started talking, but finally Eddie felt ok, and he knew that Richie could feel his lungs working again because the taller boy trailed off, his words dying out as his hands kept on playing with Eddie’s hair. Richie places a kiss, ever so lightly to the top of Eddie’s head, making sure Eddie wouldn’t be able to feel it, but from where they were sitting at the water’s edge, both Bev and Stan notice, looking away when Richie spots them. He clears his throat.
At the sound, Eddie tenses before pulling away a little, hands dropping from Richie’s skin. His lungs felt fine now, breathing only a little shaky, but in the place of sheer panic and burning of a moment ago, Eddie now feels embarrassed. He can’t look at Richie, he feels so silly and small and weak.
“I’m sorry-” Eddie says, at the same time that Richie says, “Thank God you didn’t die.” Their words overlap then hang between them. Eddie starts to stand but Richie takes his arm, stopping him.
“You sure you’re ok?”
“There was never anything wrong…” Eddie says, still not looking at Richie. He hates himself, more than a little bit, and he feels an itch to pull away from Richie and run for his house and his bed where he can hide away for a while
“Eds-”
“Don’t call me that!” Eddie fires back on instinct and while he can’t see it, a smile pulls at Richie’s lips at the words, “And I’m breathing fine. You can stop babysitting me now…”
“Eddie…” Richie says, softer than Eddie would like. In fact, thinking it over Richie has been so much softer than Eddie was used to this whole time and instead of making him feel warm, like it usually does, it makes Eddie feel like a fragile child. A whimper leaves his lips without his permission and Richie shushes him, a hand rubbing at Eddie’s arm, “You didn’t answer my question.”
Silence, followed by a defeated sigh.
Eddie wants to tell Richie that he is fine, that it was stupid and they are wasting daylight, to shove Richie away before racing him to the water, but Richie’s hand is still moving up and down Eddie’s arm. The same way Eddie’s hands sometimes worked on Richie’s when he climbed in Eddie’s window at 3 am, hiding from his parents’ drunken negligence, “No. I don’t think I’m ok. But I am better. A little bit. I’m better than I was when I fell in the water, better than I was two years ago. I’m not fucking like critically not ok.”
Richie nods, but doesn’t say anything right away. Behind them, there is a loud splashing followed by Stan cursing and then Beverly and Mike’s laughter fill the air. Eddie turns to look at them and when Ben spots him, he waves, beaming. Eddie waves back.
“Ready to get your asses kicked in Chicken?” Mike shouts their way and Richie looks to Eddie, question in his eyes.
“In a little bit, but be sure to save me a game!” Eddie says back and turns to Richie, smiling at him a little, “You can go ahead, if you want. I promise I’ll be fine.”
“Bullshit,” Richie says, throwing an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him closer, “Billy there put me in charge of your heres health, he sure did! I ain't leaving you alone to die in this harsh wilderness all by your lonesome!” Richie says, voice changing, causing Eddie to roll his eyes.
“I hate you, I hate all your voices, and I was right here, Rich, you are the one who went and took charge of making sure I didn’t die. All on you.” Still, Eddie leans into Richie, side pressed flush against his chest. The skin contact makes Eddie heat up a little.
“You love them, you fucking liar. Besides, there is no way I’m leaving you here when you just admitted to not being ok.” Richie’s voice takes that serious air again and Eddie feels most of the fight inside of him die.
“Can you please just drop it, Richie? It hardly matters.”
A long, comfortable silence falls over them. They stay like that for a few minutes before getting up to join their friends in the water.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sky is starting to darken as the Losers all lay out on the rocks, drying off. Stan and Mike were the only ones dressed yet, Stan having brought a towel with him and now the two were laying together, not a whisper of space between them as Mike brings Stanley’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly as Stan talks, something soft and quiet and clearly just for Mike. Richie ruins the moment by walking past and ruffling Stan’s hair and Stanley tosses his rolled up swim trunks at him.
Richie catches them and whoops, earning groans from nearly everyone, “Look at this, I’ve got myself a pair of Stanley’s pants, newly wet. I’m the luckiest man alive!”
“Sit down and shut up, Tozier,” Beverly says back, and Richie pouts but listens, tossing the pants at Bev before finding a place next to Eddie on the rocks.
Softly, Richie turns to Eddie, “Is that really what it feels like?” Richie asks, and his question is met with a look of confusion from Eddie, so he goes on, waving his hand out between them, “Before, when you stopped me breathing. Is that really what it feels like for you?”
Eddie swallows hard, biting his lip guiltily before nodding, “I’m sorry for doing that.”
“But that is what it feels like? When you’re having one of your attacks, is that what it feels like?”
Eddie nods again, “Only it’s not a hand. It’s like that without knowing the source.”
“That really fucking sucks.” Richie says, and Eddie doesn’t disagree.
Richie snakes an arm around Eddie’s middle, pulling him close and the smaller boy comes easily, resting his head on his shoulder.
A small silence falls over them again. Richie thinks maybe Eddie fell asleep when suddenly he speaks, and Richie has to bite back a shocked scream, “There’s a word for it.”
“For what?” Richie asks, frowning down at Eddie.
“For….. um, for the kind of not ok I am,” He starts, and sighs. Richie shifts his arm to better look at Eddie as he speaks again, “Psychosomatic,” Eddie breathes out, the word cranking at the end. It feels heavy, to say out loud and he finds his body curling into Richie’s all on its own.
When he looks at the other boy’s face he finds a puzzled expression. Richie is unnaturally silent against the sounds of their friends speaking and the crashing waves on the riverbank somewhere behind them. “That’s what it is. It means when you’re not sick but you are. When your body has no illness but you get all the symptoms of being sick. It means- mans in your head. It means crazy.” He is whispering now, voice flat, factual.
Eddie had read all about it after he remembered the time he was in 3rd grade and left the gym red faced with his mother. He had forgotten about it until the day at the pharmacy and then again, this time almost on purpose, until a few months ago. He had gone to the library and took book after book to a hidden corner between the adult and children’s wings. He spend five hours reading about it, hands shaking and lungs useless by the time he left.
He thought there would be a relief in knowing, in having a word and definition for all of it. He was wrong. It made things so much worse, somehow.
He wants to tell Richie all of this, wants to say how he wants to blame his mother but that doing that feels too easy and too mean, that it would mean admitting to failing, in some way. It would mean admitting to falling for her lifetime of lies, even after the lie was exposed. Instead, he lets out a sigh, resting his forehead against Richie’s shoulder again, where it is warm and safe.
Eddie feels tired, ashamed. Mostly, he feels like he did when he first learned about the falseness of his life, like everything was made out of paper and was on the verge of crumpling. He swallows, “There are people who get so sick- fake sick- that can never leave their house again. That they get send to loony bins or convince themselves they’re dying and then just do it- they crazy themselves to death. I don’t- I don’t feel crazy, Rich. I feel like I’m- I know I’m ok. I saw the test results. My body is fine. But it feels like my lungs are....”
His voice gets a little high pitched and frantic before he trails off, and his throat is sore from all the heaving and the yelling in the water, and the talking. Mostly the talking. He wasn’t use to talking so much. He thinks for a moment how Richie isn’t use to listening this much, that being still is as hard for Richie as breathing is for himself. However, he knows Richie is listening by how Richie’s hand is rubbing his back when his words get heavy, he knows he’s so fully there that it scares Eddie a little. He keeps waiting for a punchline. When none comes he hushes out, “I’m not ready to be crazy. It’s so much easier to have asthma than be a nutter. I- does that make sense? Is that- is that ok, Richie?”
There is a heavy and painful silence before Richie asks, “Did I ever tell you about why I pushed you that day on the playground?”
“You mean when you fucking shoved me off the swing set into the mud pile below like a jerk?” Eddie asks, confused at the turn of the conversation, and his tone makes Richie laugh a little.
“In my defense, I was 6.”
“Still a jerk move. And I don’t understand what-”
“- shut up. It all connects, I promise. Also, if I had known you were going to cry for a half hour or that I was about to be chewed out by stuttering kindergartener I would have pushed you in the other direction.” Eddie laughs but hits Richie all the same before Richie talks again, quieter this time, “Anyway, that day I was so mad. Stan couldn’t hang out and my dad was too drunk to take me to the park. I threw the biggest tantrum, but my mom just turned the TV up-”
“-God, I just want to slap your parents…” Eddie cuts in, but Richie waves him off.
“Yeah, well, your mom is her own bundle of issues I would like to slap, so just shut up and listen to the story, Eds. So, I just wanted to go to the park. I just wanted them to notice me. So I thought that maybe if I hurt myself that they would turn the TV off. But I was a chickenshit and also 6, so I wasn’t about to actually hurt myself. Instead I went into my room, threw a few books on the floor and screamed. Nothing. So I did it again. Finally my mom comes running it, all redfaced and shit. And I pretended to have hurt my foot. Only I wasn’t a good liar. And my mom saw through it and was pissed. So she told me to fuck off and go to the park. Which, you know, sucked but I did get what I want.”
“I’m so sorry, Ric-”
“-Don’t you dare. And besides, you’re missing the point.”
“You have a point?” Eddie teases, shifting closer to Richie’s embrace without meaning to
“The point is that I wanted them to notice me. I wanted them to notice me and so I pretended to be hurt. And the funny thing is that, walking to the park I swear that my foot was hurting. I started to limb, even.” Richie’s voice got this high and flowy quality it sometimes did when he was getting into a story he was telling and Eddie frowns a little as he listens to him, eyes locked on his face now, “I was mad and upset and somehow I had convinced my body that my foot was hurt even though it was fine. I wanted so badly for someone to just fucking notice me that I yelled at a random grown up at the park and pushed a kid off his swing, but before that I made up a pain that my body mistook for real, you know?”
There is a long beat of silence before Eddie replies, “Yeah, I know…”
“My point is that there is clearly something wrong, Eddie.” Eddie makes to cut him off, but Richie rightfully assumes what he’s going to say and is faster, continuing, “I know that you don’t know what it is. That whatever is wrong isn’t- that you don’t really know what it is. But my point is that you don’t have to fucking try to figure it out by yourself. You have the Losers, Eds. You have me.”
Another beat of silence. “Because you made me cry when we were six?”
Richie laughs, full and loud enough to draw the attention of Bill and Stan from a few feet away, “Yes, Eds, you have me because I was a jerk at six years old.”
There is something in Richie’s voice that Eddie can’t trace, and it makes him turn to look at him more fully, frowning slightly. Being this close to Richie wasn’t new for Eddie, the two of them never being shy about their affection, but there was something so very jarring about the way Richie looked at him now. It makes his breath hitch, which Richie catches, echoing Eddie’s frown back at him. There is concern in that expression and it takes Eddie a second to realize where Richie’s head has gone, “I’m not having another attack. You can relax.”
Richie doesn’t look convinced, “Your breathing got all weird on me…”
Eddie is about to reply when Ben’s voice cuts through, somehow both amused and annoyed, “The rest of us are heading out but you guys are free to stay.”
“You fuckers aren’t leaving us behind like that!” Richie says, pulling away and Eddie tries to ignore the strange ache in his chest at the emptiness that filled the space Richie used to sit
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reddie prompt: eddie gives richie the silent treatment for saying/doing something stupid and richie lowkey has real bad issues with attention since his deadbeat parents don’t give him any, so he freaks out after trying everything to get eddie to talk to him, and eddie still doesn’t. then eddie comforts him when he confesses his issues and yeah pls i need this fluff!!! 💗💗
Chapter 3: Pour Some Sugar On Me
Story: It’s Not My Fault
Note: Thank you @wilhelmina-fae this commission came out gorgeous!
Title - Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard
Located on Archive of Our Own
For other chapters - | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13| 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |
Eddie was so mad at Richie. As in HIGHEST LEVEL on that stupid arcade game he plays all the time.
Why was he mad? Because Richie fucking forgot it was Eddie’s birthday.
Eddie was a stickler for his birthday traditions. Every year since he was little, Richie would come over first thing in the morning scream “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EDS” and usually throw something at him. The first year he did this, Eddie almost killed him, but the annual tradition was one of his favorites.
Last year Richie got his hands on a blow horn, which promptly got him banned from Eddie’s house for a month. “I just wanted to blow your son, Mrs. K.” Richie had said innocently. Eddie remembered putting his hands in his face, red as a tomato. Somehow (And thank fuck for it), his mother did not get the joke and simply threw Richie out of the house.
That was before they even started dating, or making out, or whatever they were doing. They really had not said whether they were TOGETHER together but knew they didn’t want to be with anyone else except each other. So basically exclusive without saying the words.
Today, however, the last thing Eddie wanted to do was be around Richie. When Eddie woke up normal, without any disturbing wake-up calls, he thought he had gotten the date wrong.
So he got dressed in a yellow polo, jeans and a sweater, grabbed his backpack and fanny pack then ran downstairs. His mother had cooked all his favorite breakfast foods and there was a cake that read “Happy 16th Birthday” on it. Now he was starting to get nervous. Did something happen to Richie? Maybe he was sick. Eddie fought the urge to pick up the phone and call his house. He sat down, eating ravenously at the eggs, bacon, biscuits, and cake until he thought his stomach would explode. His mother handed him a lunch box with extra cake inside. He kissed her on the cheek and went out the door to grab his bike.
When he arrived at school, Bill was parking his bike at the rack taking out a container of coffee to drink. Bill had been drinking coffee since they were kids, so he usually had 2-3 cups day. He claims it calms his nerves. Bill saw Eddie approaching, “Happy Sweet 16, Eddie! Any chance you got a c-car so we can move on from bikes?” Bill had one of the sweetest smiles in their group. They always seemed rare that Eddie really appreciated receiving a genuine Bill Denbrough smile.
Eddie grinned back, “Thanks, Big Bill and no such luck for us!” Bill handed him a present that was poorly wrapped with a card on top. The card had a hand drawn picture of all the losers as superheroes. Eddie in front as still the shortest in the gang, his hair neat and a big E on the chest of his suit. Bill gave them all masks and capes except for Richie’s drawing, which had him without glasses on.
“If Richie truly didn’t have glasses as a superhero, he would surely get us all killed.” Eddie laughed and he wondered again if Richie was going to be in homeroom.
“Yeah, but in this world, his g-guh-glasses hide his tr-true identity,” Bill looked at his handy work.
“Sure, give the asshole of the group Superman’s thing. That won’t inflate his ego more.” Eddie said sarcastically. He stuffed the present in his backpack unceremoniously, then grabbed one of his folders and placed the card inside so it would not wrinkle as much.
Ben arrived at the rack almost crashing into Eddie, then said a quick, “Hey guys!” Out of breath from riding super fast. He took a moment to calm himself, “So Eddie, I have a gift for you but some of the 12th graders started to chase me this morning and…” Ben pulled out a slightly squashed model of the Barrens. It had tons of detail from the rocks to the plants, to the miniature scale character pieces of the Losers Club.
Eddie was so touched. Ben had really come along way with his models, “This is amazing Ben! It doesn’t even matter that it’s squished.” Eddie turned it every which way to analyze the work. He did not have the patience to make something like this, let alone the organization that must go into perfecting every detail. Eddie was far too scatterbrained for that.
“Why the barrens though?” Eddie asked.
“Because that’s where we became friends.” Ben looked a little embarrassed.
“T-technically, it was in an alleyway as Eddie p-p-patched you up before you died of aids.” They both looked at Bill, who just stared at them, daring them to prove him wrong. Then they all burst into laughter. Eddie’s sides were hurting from how much he was laughing.
The 15-minute bell rang and the boys headed inside. Eddie attempted to carefully put the model in his backpack. “Did either of you see Richie when coming in today?”
Ben shifted uncomfortably and Bill kept his eyes suspiciously away from Eddie’s face.
“Nope, didn’t see him. I was being chased.” Ben said quickly, “Oh, I think I see those 12th graders, I’m going to hustle to class.” Ben proceeded to jog awkwardly down the hall. “I should g-g-go,” Bill said unconvincingly. “Bye.”
Well, that seemed weird.
Is Richie keeping something from me? Oh god…does he want to break up? Bill and Richie are so close, he probably told Bill before telling Eddie. This would become the worst birthday if his thoughts were right.
“Eddie!” Mike came rushing down the hall, “I got you THE best gift.” Mike handed over an envelope with a sloppily written ‘Eddie is an old fart’ on the front. Before Eddie could open it, Mike burst out excitedly, “It’s a voucher to get 7 tickets to ANY movie you want at the Aladdin Theater!”
“NO WAY,” Eddie grinned at his friend, then looked at the stupid writing on the envelope, “Mike, I thought I could count on you to be the serious friend. The only one who won’t tease me.” Eddie said dramatically.
“I think Richie’s flair for the dramatics is rubbing off on you.” Mike chuckled. Eddie rolled his eyes skyward, “Oh fuck. Let’s not let that happen.”
“I’ll be your personal ‘We can only handle one Richie in the group’ check-in. Also, you know full well that I tease you one day of the year. Specifically about your age, always on your birthday. Why do I do this to you?” He gestured for Eddie to speak.
“Because I deserve the abuse at least once a year,” Eddie answered knowingly.
“Exactly!” Mike cupped Eddie on the shoulder.
Eddie’s knees buckled from the impact. Working at his family’s farm and sports was making Mike too strong. “Thank you for the incredible gift. This must have cost several weeks of allowance.”
“Not at all! Been working overtime for my pops, so he gave me extra this past month and I had some help. You just have to take us all with you of course.”
“Oh…this is awkward. I was going to take the other 6 friends I have that mean the world to me.” Eddie tried to hold a straight face but broke into a grin. Mike chuckled some more then looked at his watch.
“Homeroom is soon, we better go.” The boys continued down the hall. Mike picked up the pace and with his much longer legs, rounding the corner toward their class faster.
“And Mike, have you seen Rich -” But he was caught off just as he was about to turn the corner to catch up. He felt his arm being grabbed roughly. Eddie’s heart started pounding from the surprise. He was going to get beat up on his birthday, just great. He was pushed backward into the wall, his backpack cushioning the impact and definitely crushing Ben and Bill’s gifts more. His arm was pinned, and another hand grabbed his hip. He felt chapped lips hit his own and his eyes landed on the assailant.
Eddie relaxed into the kiss with relief, closing his eyes. Richie smelled of his usual cigarettes and candy. The candy seemed to be something fruity, which Eddie could only tell was cherry after Richie coaxed his mouth open. As they deepened the kiss, the usual butterflies swarmed in Eddie’s stomach.
It suddenly occurred to Eddie that Richie was just fine. Not sick or dying, completely normal. Eddie’s brain woke up before getting carried away and he bit Richie’s lip. “OW EDS,” Richie said drawing back, he ran his middle finger over his bottom lip, and stared at the smear of red on it for several seconds. “You bit me,” he said, sounding astonished.
Eddie crossed his arms in front of him. He glared opening his mouth about to tell Richie off for worrying him and forgetting a certain person’s birthday when he thought better of it and shut his mouth.
Richie kept looking at him confused, a flicker of a smirk coming on, “Are you mad about something?”
Eddie’s eyebrows rose incredulously, waiting for Richie to catch on. The taller boy just kept his face neutral and unblinking, trying to start a staring contest. Eddie could hit that stupid face if he was a violent person. Instead, he readjusted his backpack, combed a hand through his hair and walked away. Not speaking to Richie would be more punishment then yelling at him.
Richie would probably convince Eddie to forgive him immediately if he did speak and Eddie was not ready to be that kind. He preferred being petty sometimes.
He almost made it to class before Richie caught up with him. “You know,” He said with a teasing tone, “Not talking to me is pretty childish. Being short and the youngest of our group doesn’t mean you have to behave like a kid.”
Eddie ignored the bait and opened the door to their class just as the school bell rang.
The rest of the day…WAS HILARIOUS.
Richie, being the attention seeker he is, was constantly and incessantly trying to make Eddie talk to him.
During homeroom, he tried flirting.
“Hey Eddie, what’s that on your face?!” Richie exclaimed in a whisper. Eddie looked up from his book with a stony expression. “Oh my god! It’s just your beautiful eyes!” Richie batted his long, dark eyelashes. Eddie took his book and hid behind it.
“Don’t hide your beauty from the world!” Then a student nearby shushed them and Richie fell silent.
As they left homeroom for their next classes, Richie moved onto his classic: your mother jokes.
“Your mother’s had the clap so many times her doctor treats her for applause.” He said raising his hand up to Mike for a hive five but keeping his eyes on Eddie. Mike shook his head laughing a little and did not return the gesture. Eddie kept on walking to get to his next class.
During lunch Eddie would converse with everyone except Richie, which proved hard since he sat so close to Eddie on the bench, he might as well be on his lap. In fact, one of his legs was slung over Eddie’s but he kept ignoring him.
“Stan and I baked you a cake!” Beverly said excitedly.
“You didn't…” Eddie looked at Stan who beamed at him, handing over a carefully wrapped package with a bow tied perfectly on top.
Richie laughed at the present, “I see Stan the man took advantage of wrapping the gift, but it’s a cake. He’s just going to tear it apart and eat it all.”
“I made sure to poison it on the section you give Richie,” Stan mumbled glaring at Richie.
“Oh he’s not getting any,” Eddie replied.
“OH, MY GOD! You all heard it. He spoke to me.” Richie pointed at the group who just tried to avoid the tension.
“I don’t think that counts because he said it to Stan.” Beverly ventured with a hesitant smile. They were all trying to be cheerful but it was hard when Eddie’s enthusiasm was forced.
They all dug into the cake. Which was half chocolate and half vanilla. The icing was made from scratch, easily the tastiest thing Eddie had ever experienced. Richie watched everyone clearly hurt. He removed his leg from Eddie’s and shifted over so that they stopped touching. Eddie stiffened at this, almost venturing to speak to Richie but he could not do it. Richie STILL had not acknowledged his birthday. Eddie had no idea what the kid was playing at but it was not fun or funny.
He rose from his seat and all eyes went to him, “I think I’ll head to class early. I’ll see you all after school and we can head to the park then grab dinner.” Eddie picked up his lunch box and pushed the rest of the cake toward Richie before leaving the group.
He got to his locker, did the combination, and got smacked in the face with confetti and glitter raining down on him.
“What the fuck?!” He sputtered and spit out the confetti. He removed the confetti from his hair looking at the explosion of birthday decorations in his locker. His eyes landed on a card.
He picked up the card and the front read: To my favorite superhero, you deserve to have your face plastered on every cereal box in town.
The writing was obviously Richie’s. He opened the card and taped to the inside was a gold cereal box ring. Eddie had lost the one he used to have years ago. He took it off the card, placing the ring on his right pinky.
“Hey, Eddie. Let’s g-g-go.” Eddie turned around to see Bill.
“Bill, what’s going on?” Eddie asked confused but with a huge smile on his face.
“Oh, you know Richie. He couldn’t just throw you a simple p-p-party.” Bill grabbed Eddie by the elbow, closing the locker.
“We have class!” Eddie protested slightly.
Bill yanked harder on his arm, steering him away from the confetti-strewn ground. “Nope. Ben forged notes.”
“He did?!” This was so out of character, Eddie could not believe his rule-abiding friend would do such a thing.
“R-R-Richie promised to tutor him in math. He’s the only one with an A in the class.” Bill shrugged. Eddie let himself be taken down the hall and out of the school. They walked along for about 10 minutes before Eddie realized they were going to the Barrens.
“We haven’t been down there in forever,” Eddie whispered nervously.
“It’s ok, Eddie,” Bill squeezed his arm reassuringly. “We’ll keep each other safe like always.”
When they got to the Barrens, Ben was there with a banner that read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY EDS!’ “Ben, how dare you hold that monstrosity. Eds is not my name!” But Eddie was smiling from ear to ear without a real care. “He’s such a dick.” Shaking his head thinking about Richie painting this.
Ben grinned, “Fits since his name IS Richie.” With Bill’s help, they folded up the banner. Then Ben took out a piece of paper.
“Richie commissioned me to write this,” Ben said importantly.
Eddie laughed at that, “What could he possibly pay you with?”
“Mostly in candy and the promise of an A in math,” Ben cleared his throat,
“I come with no wrapping or pretty pink bows.
I am who I am from my head to my toes.
I tend to get loud when speaking my mind.
Even a little crazy most of the time.
I’m certainly not perfect and don’t care to be.
You can be you and I can be me.
I try to stay strong when pain knocks me down.
And the times that I cry is when no one’s around.
To error is human or so that’s what they say.
Well, tell me who’s perfect anyway.”
Eddie stayed silent at first. His eyes looked up and blinked quickly holding back unshed tears. He managed to say a soft, “Thanks, Ben.”
“Your poetry is getting r-r-really good!” Bill said appreciatively. “Ok, next stop.”
“How long is this gift?” Eddie could not believe how much work had clearly gone into this.
“Oh, just wait,” Ben said excitedly. Eddie followed them away from the Barrens. Ben handed Eddie the poem and he placed it in his backpack.
They headed toward a park that was a usual hangout for all of them. Especially when Richie and Beverly want to smoke weed and talk about life. Eddie usually did not smoke unless he was really stressed out, those years thinking about how smoking is bad for your lungs when you have asthma does not go away. He may not actually have asthma, but he still carries around his inhaler out of habit.
In the distance, he could see Stan and Beverly running around setting up some kind of picnic. There was a blanket with an assortment of food. Beverly turned on Richie’s portable radio, while Stan meticulously set and reset all the food. As they approached, Stan looked up in alarm, he heard him say, “Abort the balloons! We are out of time.”
“What!” Shouted Mike from behind a tree, “I took the time to throw out the red ones and have been blowing up the rest as fast as I can! They are happening.”
“Ok, so where is Richie hiding?” Eddie asked laughing at his friends. Eddie felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, Richie was dressed in a white button-up shirt and black slacks. He had clearly tried to comb and calm his curls, but they had not stayed contained very well.
“Hey Eddie,” Richie smirked at Eddie’s reaction, which he knew must be one of utter shock.
“You look…amazing,” Eddie said quietly. “You could have at least TOLD me to dress up too! I look like crap.” He looked down at his green shorts and yellow polo shirt in dismay.
“You always look great,” Richie shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered. Anyway, not what’s important right now. Beverly if you would.”
Beverly came over to Eddie and handed him a shirt. He unfolded it. It was a replica of the superhero shirt, Bill had drawn of him with the E on it. There were gold flecks outlining the letter. The shirt was red with a purple E, his favorite color combination. “You made this?!”
“Put it on!” She urged. He quickly took his polo off throwing it at no one in particular, then put the superhero shirt on.
“Guys, this is all amazing. Thank you so so much.” Eddie felt tears coming on and quickly wiped at his eyes. “God, I’m so fucking sappy today.”
“Don’t become soft on us!” Stan told him.
Richie clapped his hands together, “Ok! Let’s eat, it’s getting dark.” They all gathered around and ate, laughing and teasing Eddie about being old. Mike laid out balloons around the group with pride.
“So did you all come up with this big charade?” Eddie finally asked.
“Mostly Richie, he wanted you to feel like a superhero,” Ben responded.
“Cause you’re my hero every day.” Richie grinned. At that, he took out a bottle of cheap wine he probably nicked from his parents’ and poured out cups for everyone.
“Raise a glass to Eddie,” Richie gazed into Eddie’s eyes. They were bright as the sun to him and kinder than ever. “You’re my best friend and in front of all our other best friends I want to officially call you my boyfriend, unless you object, but be warned I’m a fragile being.” Eddie shoved Richie but did not object. “It’s been hard to say boyfriend mostly because, at home, things aren’t great. I don’t tell you all too much about it because I WANT to be the friend who keeps it light and happy. I think the only person with any idea is Bill who has walked in on unfortunate family drama in the past. But -“ Richie put down his drink and took both of Eddie’s hands to hold. “I want to be there for you when things get hard just as I know you will be there for me. Ben wrote his poem by me talking about how much I think I’m not good enough for you.”
“Richie -“ Eddie squeezed the other boy’s hands.
“I’m serious Eddie. I’m not. I’m selfish to take someone off the market who is as great as you. So I want to thank you for everything. Here’s to you and whatever happens next.” Eddie kissed Richie full on the mouth while the gang took a drink, whooping and hollering. Richie smiled pulling Eddie’s head in closer. They parted and took drinks from the cups of wine.
The rest of the group started to pick up their various things giving Eddie hugs and asking him how the birthday turned out, “It was perfect, you losers are all perfect.” They eventually trickled away leaving Richie and Eddie to be by themselves.
Eddie said his last goodbye and slowly walked over to Richie with a big grin on his face. Richie was lounging on the blanket with his legs stretched out, finishing off Bill’s barely drunk wine. He made a sour face, “I should have grabbed something better.” Eddie stood above him gazing down at Richie in a rare moment of sweetness, “Nah, then your parents would have noticed.” Eddie kicked Richie’s shoe, and the boy glanced up. He guessed what Eddie wanted and parted his legs. Eddie turned around and sat between Richie’s legs, leaning against his torso. Richie put down the drink and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s middle. He took Eddie’s hand with the ring and admired it for a moment, then kissed his cheek.
“Sooooooo, do I get an apology?” Richie mocked.
Eddie ran his hands over Richie’s arms softly, “And why, pray tell, would you deserve that?”
“Because you wouldn’t talk to me ALL DAY. It was excruciating.” Richie whined.
Eddie rolled his eyes, “Would you like some cheese with that whine, attention whore? You acted like you forgot my birthday. As you now know, I hate that shit.”
“My good SIR! I am no whore! I am a proper lady,” Richie said in a terrible southern belle impression.
“Beep Beep Richie.” Eddie said softly.
Richie chuckled then said in his regular voice, “I was going to come surprise you, as usual, this morning, but I got held up…” Eddie waited patiently for Richie to go on. He just kept running circles along the arms that surrounded him, looking at his gold pinky ring. This seemed to help Richie relax. “My mom got really really drunk last night. When I tried to wake her this morning…she would not move. As in, I was worried she was…ya know. I finally got her out of bed and in the shower when I realized you were probably already at school. Then I just turned it into a game because it’s fun to mess with you.”
Eddie scoffed as Richie put his chin on his shoulder. Eddie leaned his own head against the side of Richie’s face, “What about your dad?”
Richie sighed heavily, “My Dad doesn’t give a shit about me or Mom. He may as well move out for all I care.” Eddie knew he was lying by the amount of sadness in his voice.
Eddie brought Richie’s hands to his mouth to kiss them. “Why have you never told me any of this?”
“Because it’s my problem, not yours.” He confessed.
“Your problems are my problems. I want them to be. Or at least, want you to tell me so I don’t assume it’s something else.” Eddie turned his head so they were looking at each other. “Things go a mile a minute in my head.”
“Tell me about it.” Richie laughed pushing back a stray hair from Eddie’s face, “I can only focus when you are around.” Eddie shook his head, “Lucky you. I’ve never been able to focus around you.”
Eddie’s eyes were glued to Richie’s golden brown ones like he had cast some kind of spell on him. For once, he didn’t want to make a move. Eddie was content to just stare into his eyes if that was all he wanted to do. Eddie raised a hand so he could run it through Richie’s hair. “You know that line in the poem about ‘the times that you cry are when you’re alone’?” Eddie played with Richie’s curls as he nodded in understanding. “Well, I don’t want you to ever feel alone, but if you do, you can cry to me. God knows I’ve cried to you.” Richie took a shuddering breath and then he was kissing Eddie.
Eddie readjusted so he was sideways on Richie’s lap. Richie drew him in closer; his mouth was open over Eddie’s, his tongue running gently along Eddie’s lips for permission. He opened his mouth under Richie’s, pressed up against him, arms wrapping around his neck. Richie tasted like salt, his face feeling wet, and Eddie realized Richie was actually crying. Eddie stopped the kiss, kept his arms around Richie and let his head fall in the crook of his neck, and let him cry. Richie’s arms tightened around Eddie’s waist. His sobs were silent but heartbreaking.
They didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but Eddie could have stayed for a lifetime and not notice.
At some point, Richie whispered, “Thanks, Birthday Boy.”
#reddie#Eddie Kaspbrak#richie tozier#beverly marsh#stanley uris#mike hanlon#bill denbrough#ben hanscom#it 2017#i am a loser#the losers club#theatregal fanfic#it movie#kissing#gay#cursing#It's Not My Fault#TheTheatregal Reddie Fanfiction#Shannon writes
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INSEPARABLE (REDDIE) 7/12
They say you should never date a good friend. Why? Because if your relationship ends badly, you will more than likely lose that good friend. Richie and his best friend Eddie took that risk when they became an official couple. But what happens when sudden change erupts into their relationship? The two who would travel to the ends of the world for each other are put up to the test. Unfortunately, Eddie knew there was no such thing as fairy tales…Right?
Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12
"You're not leaving me" Eddie shouted. His voice was so loud that everybody in the cafeteria had gone silent. Richie's eyes widened as he looked around the room. "Who the fuck do your parents think they are?!" Richie quickly moved his own hand over Eddie's mouth. If he had been anybody else in the world, Eddie would drop with an asthma attack. Luckily though, Richie's germs were the only germs that Eddie actually enjoyed. Eddie's eyebrows lowered as he glared at Richie.
"Do you want the attention all on us, dear?" Richie muttered under uncomfortable laughs. Eddie shoved Richie's hand away and shook his head.
"You can't leave me, Richie" Eddie's voice has quieted and his eyes were filling with tears. Richie felt his chest tighten.
"I can't really change it, Eds" Richie reached his hand out to cup Eddie's cheek but Eddie shoved his hand away.
"Well figure out a damn way!" Eddie's glare only worsened and Richie's chest only continued to tighten. A painful lump filled Richie's throat and the tears stung his eyes.
"Don't you think I would if I could?" Richie frowned. "Eds, I don't want to go"
"Then fucking stay"
"Eddie" they stared at each other for a few seconds before Eddie shook his head and backed up.
"Fuck this" Eddie mumbled as he turned his back to Richie. Richie reached forward to grab his arm but pulled his hand back once Eddie pulled free roughly. He wanted to chase after him but a hand settling on his shoulder kept him back.
"Let him go" Beverly spoke gently. Richie watched Eddie push his way out of the cafeteria. His eyes stung, his heart hurt, and his stomach was twisted. Once Eddie was out of sight, Richie turned to Beverly and pulled her into a tight hug to hide his tears. She wrapped her arms around him and ran her hand up and down his back. "Shh, it'll be alright. He just needs to blow off steam"
"I don't want to leave him, Bev" Richie cried against her shoulder while she held him in a firm embrace.
"I know. He knows" as her words fell silent, the bell rang for lunch to end and classes to start back up. Richie tensed at the sound and Beverly sighed softly. "Come on, lets skip class"
"What?" Richie lifted his head to look at Beverly. His eyes were swollen and red while the rest of his face was as flushed as a ghost.
"You heard me" Beverly moved her hand into Richie's and tugged him toward the doors. She waved goodbye to their friends then dragged him out into the halls. She walked around the school until they found the side doors that were mainly there for emergencies and for the staff to take smoke breaks. She shoved the door open and lead the way outside.
As soon as they were outside, they walked off toward the wooded area. They took the path that led to the outer roads of Derry and walked slower as they were out of sight from the school. Richie stayed silent and stared down at his hands. Beverly had taken a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and placed one between her lips. She fished out her lighter and lit the cancer stick. Richie looked up at her once the strong smell awakened his numbing senses.
"Want one?" Beverly asked while only moving half of her mouth. She used the other side of her lips to hold her cigarette still between her lips while her hands were heading for her pocket. Richie shook his head no.
"Eddie would kill me before those would" he sighed. Beverly nodded and put the pack and lighter away. She took the cigarette away from her lips and held it between her fingers.
"He'll calm down soon enough" she reached her hand over to squeeze his shoulder. "Promise"
"Before or after I'm gone?" Richie pushed up his glasses and kicked a fallen branch out of the way as he walked.
"Before. He won't let you leave on bad terms"
"It'll be bad either way. Either he's angry or depressed and it's all my fault"
"You don't have control over what your parents decide for you. Telephones exist, Richie. Long-distance relationships do happen"
"I can't fucking hold him over a phone. I can't kiss his cute face or pick him up and carry him. What if I never get to kiss him again, Bev?"
"Eighteen isn't all that far away"
"By then, he could find another boy who's actually here for him" they both sighed and Beverly shook her head.
"He'd never leave you"
Eddie sat in the back of his class with his head held low. His mind felt like shattered glass while his body felt like it was on fire but numb at the same time. His painfilled eyes stared blankly at the teacher. He knew she was talking but words weren't registering in his brain. He didn't feel real, nothing felt real.
His eyes caught movement around the room as the other students opened their binders. He followed along without knowing what exactly it was that he was doing. His throat tightened when his eyes fell on the polaroid photo of him and Richie that he had taped there when school started. Tears threatened to escape from his eyes and he quickly blinked to battle them back.
He shook his head and closed the binder back up. He turned in his seat and pushed everything into his backpack. He felt eyes watching him but he was too numb to care. He zipped up his bag, stood up, and headed for the door.
"Eddie, where are you going?" The teacher's voice was barely noticeable. Eddie ignored her and continued on out the door. "Eddie get back here!" His footsteps were slow at first but as he turned the corner down the hall, they gradually got quicker and quicker until he reached the front doors. He pushed his way through the large glass doors and ignored the lady at the front desk calling out for him. He made it a few feet outside then dropped to his knees. The tears spilled over and poured down his cheeks. His throat clenched as a soft painful sound made its way up his throat and free from his lips. He dug his short nails into the palms of his hands as he hunched forward.
"He can't leave" he whimpered to himself with heavy unsteady breathing to follow. His hands fumbled with his fanny pack to get his inhaler out and use it.
Richie and Beverly sat on a fallen tree trunk. They sat in mostly silence with just the sound of chirping birds and soft saddened exhales. Richie stared at the ground, hunched over so that his elbows could rest against his thighs. He held his head in his hands and tried to slow down his brain.
"What if I run away?" He mumbled. His lanky body rocked slightly back and forth. "What if I just hide away until my parents either leave or decide to stay?" Beverly stayed silent. They both knew how stupid the ideas were. "I could live in Eddie's closet. His mom wouldn't even have to know" Richie ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. He lifted his head to stare ahead into the trees. "Or, maybe I could live with Stan. Yeah, his home life would take getting used to but I'd be alright"
"Richie" Beverly sighed. She moved her hand to his back.
"I know, Beverly!" He snapped then stared down at the ground. His cheeks were stained with tears and his glasses were hard to see through. "I just-.." he shook his head.
"Come on, let's go get some ice cream. I'll pay" Beverly stood up and dusted off the back of her jeans.
"I'm not hungry" Richie mumbled but Beverly pulled him up from the trunk anyway.
"Well, I am" she grabbed his hand and tugged him down the rest of the path. They walked deeper into town and to the local ice cream shop. Even though he wasn't hungry, Beverly bought two cones of ice cream. They sat down at a nearby picnic table. Beverly licked away at her ice cream while Richie stared at his own. "Eat it" Beverly lightly nudged his leg with her foot underneath the table. Richie sighed and gave it a few licks. It only took the sweet taste to hit his tongue before he was interested in the ice cream at all and started to genuinely eat it.
Time flew by after that. They watched as buses drove by along with the kids who walked home to pass. They watched for their group to pass. When Beverly noticed them, she stood up and ran over to meet up with them. Bill, Stan, Mike, and Ben all looked at Beverly and then over at Richie who had laid down on the seat to the picnic table.
"How's he doing?" Mike asked with a slight frown. Beverly sighed and shook her head.
"Well, not great but he could be worse. Where's Eddie?" She looked around at each of the boys.
"We haven't seen him" Ben frowned. "We thought maybe he was with you two working this out"
"We ditched earlier, Eddie would have never agreed to that" Beverly crossed her arms over her chest. "Did he go straight home or something?"
"We wouldn't know. We haven't seen him" Stan replied as he walked around Beverly and over toward Richie to comfort him. Beverly sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.
"I'll suh-stop by his house and see if he's ho-home" Bill muttered.
"I'll go with him" Mike wrapped his arm around Bill's shoulders.
"I'll stay here with you, Bev" Ben took a few steps to stand by Beverly's side. She gently rested her arm over his shoulder and nodded.
"Okay, let me know if you guys find him" Beverly looked at Bill and then at Mike. They nodded and walked off. Beverly and Ben walked over to the picnic table and sat together. Stan had sat on the bench with Richie and let him rest his head on his thigh. Stan gently played with Richie's hair while Richie stared off at nothing. The small group fell silent.
Bill and Mike walked down Eddie's street side by side. Worry filled their faces and their fidgeting fingers only played along with it.
"I hope he's alright" Mike sighed softly.
"M-Me too" Bill stared up ahead at the Kaspbrak home. They walked up to the front door and Bill knocked. After a few minutes, the door opened and Sonia stared down at them. "Hi, w-we were just wondering if Eh-Eddie is here?"
"He hasn't come home yet" Sonia shifted her weight from foot to foot slowly. She held onto the door and stared at the two boys. "He didn't walk with you?" Bill shook his head no. "Oh no, my Eddie shouldn't be out walking around town by himself!"
"Don't worry, Mrs. Kaspbrak. We'll find him" Mike carefully pulled on Bill's arm to back away from the house.
"You make sure he comes straight home!" Sonia's voice had heightened and both boys just wanted to get out of there.
"You ha-have our word" Bill called out as they rushed away from the house. They only stopped when they were out of sight. They exchanged worry glances then looked around. "Wuh-Where would he be?"
"Guess we'll have to go searching" Mike patted Bill's shoulder then led the way back to the ice cream shop to gather up the rest of the group.
tag list: @magickandmoons @lollipopbev @eds2fannypacks @delirious-trash @honeybunass @eddies-inhaler @cassiejaydee @aestheticastrology @just-an-akward-fangirl @satanxsbaby @lovelyysketchh @smiley-riley-pokipin @spooky-risley @buttercup-irwin @thatgazebobullshit @reddie4love @lolrichie @prettyblossoms @serendipity-y @edward-kasprak @ohheydatsme
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