#if that means letting Eddie rest against his chest for all of eternity then that’s what he’s gonna damn well do

[hitlikehammers]

nowhere without you

rating: t ♥️ cw: post-final battle, hurt/comfort ♥️ tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, BIG emotions, even BIGGER love, as in: soul-deep love, softness; happy endings always ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

(also probably the humble love-soaked endlessly-devoted beginnings of the rockstar!husbands in je ne regrette rien)

The weirdest part is how, in the aftermath, Eddie doesn’t speak. Like, at all.

Scratch that: it’s the weirdest and the most concerning part. Eddie makes noise, mostly pained kinda moans that make Steve’s chest clench, ache more the admittedly-decently-deep wounds slowly—but reliably, like, consistently—stitching themselves together, and Steve begs him to get looked at again, because something has to be wrong to cause those kinds of sounds but Eddie doesn’t even shake his head, doesn’t really move at all save that sometimes he trembles, and it’s…

It fucking breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s almost gotten used to stroking Eddie’s hair in silence—so wrong; worthy Eddie that’s just so wrong—and working any tangles out so, much as it’s getting a limp and greasy with days of neglect, at least it’s smooth; but he’s almost resigned to this for the long haul because he’ll weather anything he has to for Eddie and they’ll work through this, whatever this is, they’ll worth through it together and—

“How did you stand you it?”

The sound is more a scratch than anything, glass on sandpaper, and it’s down to Eddie lying where he hasn’t left for the last four, going on five days—as in, not once while Steve’s been awake has he existed without Eddie’s weight situated just so against his chest, sinuous and deliberate in where he presses against, careful as a rule of Steve’s worst injuries and delicate about how he rests against Steve’s body, but not…hesitant.

More, kinda…kinda desperate.

So it’s down to him being pressed so close and sure and unwavering that Steve feels him speak more than anything, matches the motion of his lips against Steve’s gown to words rather than the wind, or something outside his door to the halls of the hospital beyond; it’s down to the tension in the whole of him, the all-too-present shaking that Steve matches the scrape of the question to a hurt that’s…that maybe Steve doesn’t wholly understand just yet, but that really and truly does cut him deeper and closer and more critical at the core of him than the Upside Down ever could have clawed in: Eddie lives in him, nothing else can really…ever hope to be deeper.

“How are you,” Eddie rolls gravel across more words, and Steve’s missed his voice so fucking much, he didn’t realize how much until it’s here again for him to hear and hold but, Jesus fuck, it’s like…it’s like it’s drowning; like Eddie is drowning and then his breath is hitching, and oh, god, that voice is cracking around the edge of a sob, watery and wavering as he damn-near close to begs:

“How did you survive it?”

Steve feels it clench in his ribs, because he thinks he…he thinks he’s putting it together. The strain, the agony in that voice, that voice he loves so fucking much, from this man he loves with everything, but then—the way Eddie presses into him. The force, and the position, and the pattern. The way he’s been quiet, unfailing, but never…never seems distant, seems the opposite: seems focused; intent. The way Dustin had come in and caught him upon the things he’d missed in one of the almost-nonexistent windows where Eddie sleeps, hand lines alongside his sternum and head curled in the most uncomfortable pretzel Steve can imagine, forehead all scrunched and eyes squeezed shut so goddamn hard, looking like any sleep he manages is nothing close to rest by any measure: but Dustin had came in and told him Eddie was the first to him; Eddie ran faster than he’d seen a person run; Eddie’d looked devastated, broken when they’d caught up, and they’d been so afraid, feared the worst, and—

Steve’s starting to fit the pieces together. Maybe.

“No,” Eddie whines, pitchy and fervent and almost ear-splitting, like a wail of sheer gut-wrenching pain that Steve can’t find the reason for in the here and now because it’s just them in a hospital room, they’re okay, and his hand presses heavy, gentle around his wounds still, always gentle and so, so careful and Steve doesn’t know what’s caused the reaction, but then—

Then he can feel his fucking heartbeat for how hard Eddie’s pressing. It’s weird, how it makes him feel…strangely alive, the sensation of it kept and held like that, specifically in Eddie’s hand. And he’s not paying attention to the monitors really, tuned them out as quick as he could but when he listens, okay. Okay, maybe faster than normal, but Steve’s fucking worried, okay, he’s—

“Fuck, no,” Eddie moans and twists his head, no, not just his head, his ear and leans harder into Steve’s chest, his breathing shallow and Steve hates it but he doesn’t know what to do, how to help, what to fix because he’ll fix it if he knows, he’ll climb out of this bed and crawl on the goddamn floors of he has to, but he doesn’t know where to go, what to find, what demon’s left to slay—

“I’m just, I’m grateful you did,” survive, Steve survived…

He survived, like, now?

“But grateful’s such a weak word, it doesn’t,” and Steve takes a breath, and reaches, rests his hand on Eddie’s wrist just to see: his heartbeat’s somuch faster, it’s like a flutter of a flutter felt strong enough to break through skin, it catches in Steve’s heart just to touch—

“You’re so much stronger than I could ever, like,” Eddie’s going on, still breathless and fuck, Steve can see why; “fucking hope to be.”

Shit, but that’s…he wasn’t stronger, fuck, Steve wasn’t stronger than Eddie, Eddie nearly got eaten alive, Steve nearly couldn’t staunch enough of the bleeding, he almost lost—

Eddie keens, horrible and hurting and Steve stills: the monitor. The thundering of his own pulse at the memory.

How did you survive it?

Losing. Almost losing. That’s…that’s what it is.

That’s why Eddie’s pressed against his chest, his his head and his hand have been a fucking frame, goddamn, like, parentheses surrounding Steve’s beating heart, proof of life, Jesus—

“But I need to be,” Eddie’s voice is quiet, but steadier, and his chin dips like a nod to himself; “I need to learn how,” he’s firm with it; “for you.”

Oh, god. Oh…oh Eddie.

“I can’t ever lose you, Steve,” Eddie presses trembling lips to Steve’s chest and then presses close again, so close and oh: he wasn’t just intent where he’s been silent so long.

He was listening.

“Never ever,” he breathes against Steve, hot and damp; almost kinda breathless again, or still: “never ever.”

“Eds,” Steve begins, not even entirely sure where he plans to go, just knows he needs to do something, say something, but Eddie’s turning Steve’s hand in his, where he’d circled Eddie’s wrist; he’s turning it and mirroring the hold, gripping Steve’s wrist in kind.

“I couldn’t find it,” he gasps, and the sound makes the sob clear before Steve feels the wetness soak through to his skin; “I couldn’t feel it at all, you were, it,” he presses his fingers in hard, squeezes so goddamn tight, and Steve can’t…he doesn’t want to imagine what Eddie had to do, what Eddie found and felt, he doesn’t but he can, because he remembers the mirror image so stark, it took him so long because he couldn’t find a pulse either, he’d had to press on Eddie’s heart at the source and even then—

“I couldn’t feel you.”

Oh. Fuck. He—

“Oh, baby,” Steve’s elevated enough at an angle that he can at least kiss Eddie’s hair, barely brush his scalp but it’s enough, for the breath that punches from Eddie against his chest it’s at least something; “that’s…”

“I won’t survive that again, Steve,” Eddie sucks in, unsteady and drenched with tears, with sorrow, but also…also more than anything else, they’re filled up with so much love.

A love big enough to hurt that hard.

“And I can’t…” Eddie gasps, breath catching; “I can’t handle not feeling it,” and his fingers tighten; his hand on Steve’s chest and his cheek across from it press down that extra little bit so Steve knows his own heartbeat in those moments full and deep.

“Have to feel it always,” Eddie whispers like he’s telling himself, and Steve, and Steve’s heart through flesh and bone, some cosmic secret no one else can know: too sacred. Too precious.

“You can feel it any time,” Steve lets his hand fall from Eddie’s to cover the hand Eddie’s got splayed ln his chest, counting time; holds him there almost protectively: “all the time,” and he slips his fingers between Eddie’s and shifts his palm close to the beating, so he can still feel what he needs as he murmurs with his heart literally in Eddie’s hands, with his entire goddamn soul:

“All of me. It’s yours.”

Unshakable fucking fact. He doesn’t even have to will it, or hope for it; his heartbeat knocks that heavier against their hands for those words like it knows.

It knows.

“Don’t leave me,” Eddie bursts out, begging; almost something primal, and Steve can feel the tremoring of his lips where they drag against him; “please. I’ll do anything, I swear it, just don’t—“

“Be you,” Steve braves the whimper that comes from untangling his hand from Eddie so that he can reach for Eddies cheek and cradle him in closer, and oh, fuck, thank god: something in him sighs out and loosens, ever so slightly—finally.

“Everything you are,” Steve presses on, runs his thumb back and forth through Eddie’s drooping curls; “let me love you, past living and dying,” and Eddie’s breath catches, for that, but Steve holds him tighter for it, drowns him as best he’s able in the proof he needs so bad; “don’t leave me,” and Eddie huffs a little for that, like it’s beyond believing, impossible, and Steve smiles to himself for it, tries to lean enough to press the grin to Eddie’s head, hopes he manages as he murmurs there close:

“That’s it, Eddie,” and he lets his fingers spread wider, cradle Eddie all the more: “that’s all I need.”

“That and more baby,” Eddie answers him between the double-beat of his pulse, immediate; “you’re the music and the rhythm,” he nuzzles a little against him, and Steve smiles a little wider for it; “you’re the reason my heart beats,” and Steve finds that heartbeat for himself at Eddie’s jaw, now; a little calmer. Not much. But: something.

It’s a start.

”I don’t have a reason without you,” Eddie exhales, vehement; “I don’t want a reason, without you.”

And Steve should maybe push on it, or be scared by it: but neither seem right, not for this.

Not for them.

Steve just holds Eddie’s pulse under the pressure of his touch, and holds Eddie’s cheek closer still into his chest as he breathes:

“You’re my whole heart, Eds,” and he lets a second pass, and then another, for that heart of Eddie’s to pump evidence unshakable against him, to play the song and rhythm straight into his waiting ear:

“Was never going anywhere without you.”

♥️ ao3 link here

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch

♥️

divider credit here

[sweetsweetjellybean]

In the cold November rain Part 4

Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Steve Harrington/Fem!Reader Ao3

TW: Story runs congruent to events in the show. If you know what happens in season 4, then you'll know how this will end.*Be warned.* 18+ Eventually Smut, Angst, High School Fuckery, Drinking, Drugs Let me know if I miss any.

Can you have two great loves in a lifetime?

You've had the ideal childhood in Hawkins with your best friend & protector Steve Harrington. When it's ripped away, can you pick up the pieces? Eddie Munson may be able to help. 

Part 4/12? Masterlist

Sincerest & Eternal Thanks To @loveshotzz A magnificent writer & phenomenal human who sparked my Eddie love. I never would have posted this without her.

Inspired by @loveshotzz & notes by @eddieandbird

That's how you wound up back in the band room. Steve broke your heart and thanks to Carol, the entire school knew. A good portion is likely celebrating your fall from grace. You skip the rest of your morning classes, hiding from everyone, you slide down the cinder block wall behind the balcony set from Romeo and Juliet. Sitting on the cold floor with your knees pulled up to your chest, crying, mourning the loss of your entire world. When you lose one friend, it hurts. When you lose all your friends in a single day, it's devastating. But losing Steve ripped you apart. You’ve never felt so alone. Life without him was never a possibility you had considered. You didn't know who you were without him.

"Of course," you say as Eddie Munson slides down the wall beside you.

"I'm happy to see you too, Princess."

"Are you here to gloat? I'm glad my life-ending circumstances can be a source of amusement for you."

"Don't take your shit out on me. I'm not here to be anyone's punching bag." Eddie warns.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. You're the only one left that will talk to me."

"That's the spirit, Princess. Put me in my place. Make sure I know I'm your last resort." He sets his lunch box on his lap and pops it open.

"God, I really am awful, aren't I?" You rest your head against the wall.

"Eh, you're not so bad." He keeps his eyes on the joint he's rolling. "But this is becoming a habit. Twice is my limit for damsels in distress. If I see you crying again, I might have to do something stupid like kiss you."

"Stop trying to make me feel better." You say, looking at him. "I'm trying to be sad here."

He lights up and inhales. "I'm ready. Tell me the real story. I've heard the rumors."

"You don't believe Jackie?" He laughs and chokes on his smoke.

"Fuck no. I might be dumb, but I'm not a fool."

"I don't think you're either." You give him a little smile. He's watching your face now. It's almost unnerving. It's as if he can see more than you willingly reveal.

"I hope his dick falls off." You turn your head away.

"It might. She's slept with everyone, and I do mean everyone."

Now you're the one looking at him. He raises his eyebrows. "What? I get it where I can, Princess."

"Oh, gross. Don't tell me anymore." You hold your hand up in front of him.

"So what happens now? Are you moving in here? I'm not great with pets. I might not remember to feed you every day?"

"What do you suggest?"

"I'm not going to tell you what to do. You have to figure out your own shit. But if it was me in your situation, I say fuck 'em."

"Fuck 'em?"

"Yeah. Fuck 'em." He waves his fist in the air. "You don't want their pity. Make sure they know they're beneath you." He stands. "Stand up. Come on, stand up. I've got other crying girls waiting for me. You're not special." You take his hand to stand. He wipes the tears of your cheeks and straightens your shoulders. Then pretends to adjust your imaginary crown, which makes you smile. He uses his index finger to gently raise your chin, so your head is high in the air. "There. You're all better." He runs his hand along your cheek. "I'll see you around, Princess."

"Thanks for rescuing me, Sir Eddie...Again."

He drops into a dramatic bow, then turns and heads out the door. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more."

***

You take a deep breath before entering the lunch room. The people at your usual table don't turn to look at you, refusing to meet your eyes. Except Jackie, of course, she's sitting next to Steve, staring at you with a smug grin. You hold your head high as you walk down the center aisle with your brown bag lunch. You take a seat at the empty corner of the Hell Fire table. Your name is flying around the room in low murmurs. Opening your bag, you pull out your sandwich and unwrap the wax paper. The loud conversation that usually going on at this table has stopped. Your head turns to find Eddie's brown eyes watching you. You hold his gaze, but neither one of you says a word. The corner of his mouth turns up the tiniest bit before he launches back into conversation with friends. You finish your lunch and never look down. Steve never looks at you once. At the end of the day, you open your locker to gather the books you'll need for homework, and a folded piece of notebook paper flutters to the floor. There is a single line written in unfamiliar handwriting.

Fuck 'em

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Part 5

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Tag List: @boomhauer

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.👑

[clusterbuck]

for the prompt: comparing hand sizes, tracing your fingers down your partners chest, OR hand on chest during conversation !! (clearly it is All About The Hands to me)

ur so valid for that!!

also. ok. i know i said i wasn’t gonna write the good place thing but we all know i have no impulse control, so. you don’t really need to know much about the good place but it probably makes more sense if u do!

there was a time when eddie feared death. there was a time the great unknowns of the universe kept him up at night, when the uncertainty and finality of it all felt too large to hold in his mind. when the concept of ceasing to exist, for the rest of eternity, had felt as impossible to understand as the concept of a universe that keeps expanding despite having nowhere to go.

then he’d died, and had his memory erased time and time again, and somewhere along the bearimys the concept of eternal nothingness had stopped feeling quite so scary.

it sounds peaceful. it sounds… tempting, almost.

if not for buck.

they’ve had eternities together by now. even after the system had been reset and they’d finally reached the real good place, bearimys and bearimys have passed.

eddie’s been in paradise for longer than he can count, and he’s done it all with the love of his life by his side.

(well, love of his afterlife, as the case may be.)

they’ve had eternities together, and eddie’s finally made his peace with the fact that on earth they fought fires side by side for years and yet it still took a demon with an existential crisis for them to realise what they mean to each other.

he’s made his peace with all of it, really. just about everyone he’d known and loved on earth has come through the system, and most of them have stepped through the final door, ready for whatever comes next. the only one still left is christopher, and eddie knows his his son won’t begrudge him leaving once the time comes.

the only one he’s worried about is buck.

as if he could read his mind—and it’s entirely possible, who really knows what the good place is capable of—buck appears through the green door. eddie lifts up the corner of the blanket, and buck slips onto the couch next to him, looking out at the view of the setting sun.

“hey,” buck murmurs, resting his head on eddie’s shoulder.

“hey,” eddie says and turns to press his lips to buck’s temple. “good day?”

“yeah,” buck says. “i just had some stuff to take care of.”

it strikes eddie as odd, because the good place shouldn’t have things to be taken care of. but he lets it go, reaching for buck’s hand and tracing the lines on his palm.

“you know mine is bigger,” buck says and eddie laughs, splaying his fingers out against buck’s.

“i know,” he says mournfully, looking at the half-inch of space between the tips of his fingers and buck’s. “you haven’t let me forget it for all of eternity.”

“hey,” buck says, nudging him. “i happen to like your tiny hands.”

“i’ll show you tiny,” eddie mutters, and buck laughs out something that sounds like what does that even mean but the words are lost when eddie tackles buck and they fall backwards on the sofa, and eddie swallows any other words buck might be about to say.

minutes or maybe hours later they settle down again, eddie tucked into buck’s big spoon, staring up at the stars. buck has a hand resting on eddie’s chest, over the spot where his heart would beat if he was still alive.

eddie turns the words over in his mind, wondering if he can bring himself to say them. i think i want to leave.

he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding like he wants to leave buck, which is the last thing he wants. buck is the one thing that makes him want to stay tethered to this mortal coil. (immortal coil, whatever).

but the reasons on the other side are starting to pile up. he’s getting tired, and he doesn’t ever want to make buck think he’s tired of him. of their life together.

he’s still mulling it over when buck speaks, the words so soft eddie doesn’t think he’d hear them if his ear wasn’t right next to buck’s mouth.

“i’ve been thinking,” buck says. his fingers tap out a rhythm on eddie’s sternum, one he hasn’t felt in a while. one that means buck is nervous about something.

“that’s never good,” eddie says, like he does every time buck starts a conversation like this.

“shut up,” buck says, like he always does.

“but—really,” buck says. “i think—eddie, i think maybe i’m ready.”

“ready?” eddie asks, hope taking root in his chest. he doesn’t want to react before he’s sure, just in case buck is talking about something else.

eddie’s sure. after all the time he’s spent with buck, he’s sure. but he waits anyway.

“ready to leave,” buck says. “eddie, it’s not about you, i just—”

“thank god,” eddie breathes and rolls over, shuffling the best he can on the narrow sofa, and leaning in to kiss buck.

“not quite the reaction i was expecting,” buck murmurs when they break apart.”

eddie snorts. “sorry,” he says. “it’s just—i’ve been thinking about it too, but i didn’t want to—”

“leave me?” buck asks, soft, and eddie nods, reaching up to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“that’s what’s been holding me back, too,” buck says. “i didn’t want you to think—”

“that your decision had something to do with me?” eddie asks.

“exactly,” buck says. “i’m just—”

“tired,” eddie finishes, and buck nods.

“yeah. there’s a reason we created the final door, after all.”

eddie smiles up at him. “so, together?”

“yeah,” buck says, finding eddie’s hand. “just like everything else. together.”

send me a physical intimacy prompt

[ghosthunterbuck]

like it means something

buddie (2.8k) (read it on ao3)

Evan. His own name won’t stop rattling around in his head. Evan.

He brings Eddie home from the hospital and everything’s - not okay, Eddie still got hurt and Buck still had to watch it and Bobby’s still hurt too, but - they’re getting there. No one died, and that’s a hell of a lot better than it could’ve been. No one died.

Evan.

Eddie kisses Chris’s forehead and Buck grins wide, because yeah, of course he would take care of him if the worst happened, but this is what Christopher deserves. His family, alive and whole and well.

Taylor’s there. Of course she is, Buck’s mind supplies, you asked her to be. She’s your friend. More than a friend? Buck doesn’t know. There’s a lot to unpack there, and with everything else that’s happened, they haven’t had the time. It’s a conversation for another day.

Abuela, Pepa and Carla each take their turn fussing over Eddie and then, to Buck’s surprise, him too. He doesn’t understand why. Eddie got shot, not him. Eddie’s the one who hasn’t been home in a week, not him. Eddie -

Evan.

Buck’s at a loss. It’s a party of sorts, but Eddie’s exhausted and so is he. Buck feels completely wrung out, and he can see the tension in Eddie’s expression that says he does too. He wants to tell everyone else to leave, but it isn’t his place. Still, though, Taylor seems to get the hint first. She pulls him aside with a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“I’m going to head out. Is there anything you need?” she asks.

Buck shakes his head mutely.

“Just... get some rest, okay? I know you want to take care of him, but you’re not the only one who can.” She presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then heads over to where Eddie and Ana are seated at the dining room table to make her excuses.

Taylor is half right and half wrong. There are other people that can take care of Eddie, but Buck won’t be able to rest unless he’s nearby.

Evan.

Abuela and Pepa leave next, citing the sinking sun and the growing weariness in Eddie’s movements. They each kiss him on the cheek and go with the promise to return in the morning. Abuela’s left behind enough food to feed an army for a week, stacked in the fridge in carefully labeled Tupperware.

Then Carla goes and it’s just Eddie, Ana, Buck and Chris.

Evan.

Buck should probably go, he knows, but he can’t quite bring himself to. He knows Eddie’s okay, has the living proof sitting right in front of him, but the second he looks away all the tension of the week returns, the fear and anxiety mixing sickeningly in his stomach.

Christopher has fallen asleep in Eddie’s lap, head tucked into his good shoulder. Eddie himself is fighting yawns. It’s been a long day.

Finally, it’s Ana who breaks the silence, standing and pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Get some rest,” she says. “And text me if you need anything.”

It’s virtually the same thing Taylor said to him, and it strikes Buck as odd. They’ve been together, what, six months now? She should be saying more. Maybe she’s not because he’s here. Buck still can’t bring himself to leave.

Evan.

Neither of them has moved in the minutes since Ana left, but Eddie’s eyes are starting to drift and Buck knows he needs to sleep.

“Let me take Chris,” he says softly.

The grateful nod Eddie gives him is a testament to just how tired he really is.

Buck picks him up carefully and carries him to bed. He tucks him in and presses a kiss into his forehead. Once upon a time, he might’ve wondered if that was his place. Not now, though, not after everything Eddie said. He loves this kid like his own; he’s not going to pretend it’s anything less.

Evan.

He flicks the light out and makes sure Chris’s night light is on before gently shutting the door. Wordlessly, he returns to Eddie’s side.

There’s a grimace of pain on Eddie’s face that hadn’t been there before, and a quick glance at the clock tells Buck that he’s way past due for another round of medication. He grabs the pills and a bottle of water from the kitchen.

“The doctor said I can give you ibuprofen, too, if this isn’t enough.”

Eddie shakes his head minutely. “No, this is okay.” He swallows the pills Buck offers him dry, then washes them down with a swig of water.

“You need to sleep,” Buck says. “I should-“

“Stay, please?” Eddie interrupts him.

And how could Buck say no to that?

Evan.

Buck’s barely asleep when he hears Eddie cry out. He’s on his feet in a second and by Eddie’s side in less.

Eddie’s asleep still, but his face is scrunched and he’s curled in on himself like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Buck places a hand on his leg and shakes him gently.

Eddie shoots up, hissing in pain and clutching his shoulder. His eyes dart wildly around the room, unseeing.

“Hey, hey, just a dream, you’re okay,” Buck says.

Eddie’s eyes are wide with fear as they meet Buck’s. He sucks in a ragged, shuddering breath, then sags.

“I- you. You were- fuck,” Eddie stutters, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Buck repeats. He pulls Eddie to his chest. “You’re okay.”

Buck rocks them back and forth gently as his shirt slowly grows wet with Eddie’s tears.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Eddie gasps against him. Buck just holds him tighter.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

Eventually, Eddie pulls back, wiping his eyes with his good hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Buck asks after a moment.

Eddie shakes his head but begins to speak anyway. “It was- I saw you, covered in blood and I couldn’t... couldn’t move, or, or help you. And- and then you were coughing up blood, just like at the party, and I tried, Buck I tried but it was like I was stuck in quicksand and I couldn’t-“ Eddie’s breathing has gone ragged again, so Buck grabs his hand.

“Me?” he can’t help but ask.

“Evan,” Eddie says, so tenderly it hurts.

Evan.

They fall asleep curled together, Eddie’s hand resting over Buck’s heart. It’s the first decent sleep Buck’s had since the shooting.

They don’t talk about it the next day, mostly because Buck doesn’t know what to say. He suspects Eddie doesn’t either.

Instead, much to Christopher’s delight, Buck makes pancakes. The three of them eat together on the couch, watching some cartoon that Chris seems interested in and Buck’s never seen before. It’s so painfully normal. Buck was terrified he’d never get to have this again, and now that he does he can’t shake the feeling that the other shoe is going to drop.

Evan.

That night, Eddie wordlessly pulls Buck into his bedroom. They lay facing each other in the dark. Buck wants nothing more than to bridge the gap between them, but it might as well be the Grand Canyon.

There’s not much light in the room, just the ambient glow of the city filtering in through the cracks in the blinds. It’s enough to see Eddie’s face by, but it doesn’t help Buck read his inscrutable expression. He eventually gives up trying and closes his eyes.

He’s stiff, and sleep evades him. If Eddie’s shifting is any indication, he’s still awake too. Finally, Eddie heaves a sigh and, to Buck’s surprise, wraps a hand around Buck’s wrist and pulls. Buck opens his eyes and sees the silent question in Eddie’s.

Is this okay?

Buck presses himself into Eddie’s space without hesitation.

Evan.

Eddie has a doctor’s appointment the next day, and Buck’s agreed to meet Taylor for coffee after dropping him off. Carla’s with Chris for the day, to help him with school, leaving Buck with a free hour on his hands for the first time in over a week.

His stomach has been in knots all morning. He’s not sure if it’s the prospect of letting Eddie out of his sight for the first time since he’s been home, or the conversation he knows he’s about to have with Taylor.

Because he’s thought about it, and the idea of being with Taylor… he’s kidding himself. Before, maybe. But now, after, with the mess of feelings he has twisting in his chest - he’s not in a place to start something new. He’s not even sure he wants it - her - anymore. Taylor’s great, but she could never fill the hole that was punched in his chest by the same bullet that tore through Eddie’s shoulder.

He’s starting to wonder if he’ll spend the rest of his life dividing things into before and after.

Taylor’s already seated when he arrives, fingers wrapped around a cardboard coffee cup that’s still steaming. Buck almost expected to change his mind when he saw her, to suddenly remember why he was interested in the first place, but mostly he’s just anxious to get back to Eddie. He doesn’t even really feel the old curl of attraction he’s used to. He sits in front of her, suppressing a sigh.

Taylor looks up at him, wearing an expression he can’t quite decipher. “Buck,” she says.

Evan.

“Hey, Taylor.”

“You don’t want coffee?” She asks, inclining her cup towards him.

Buck shakes his head. “Had some this morning,” he shrugs. “Don’t want to get jittery.”

Taylor frowns slightly, but doesn’t say anything.

They sit in awkward silence for what feels like an eternity before Buck finally breaks it.

“Look, Taylor,” he sighs. “There’s a lot going on right now, and I just… whatever this thing is between us, I’m not sure I have the space to figure it out. You deserve someone who’s all in, and I just can’t be right now.”

Taylor blows out a breath. “Oh thank god,” she says.

And that’s… unexpected. Buck raises a brow.

“You’re my friend, and I care so much about you, but I- I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I told myself it was something else.” Taylor doesn’t look him in the eye. “All this earnestness is making me nauseous,” she jokes weakly.

Buck huffs out a short laugh. The tightly wound anxiety in his gut loosens, just a bit. “Friends, then?”

Taylor finally looks at him and smiles. “Friends,” she agrees.

“How was coffee?” Eddie asks. He’s looked vaguely constipated since Buck picked him up, but insists that his appointment went fine.

“Good,” Buck replies honestly. “We’re on the same page.” He’s driving, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie’s face do something complicated.

“Good,” he says. “That’s good.” There’s a beat of silence. “So you’re… together, then?”

Buck glances at Eddie, whose eyes are fixed on the road ahead of them. His expression is carefully neutral, but tight around the edges. Buck huffs a soft breath. “Nah,” he says. “End of the day it wasn’t what either of us wanted.”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Eddie’s posture. “Oh. I, uh- are you okay with that?”

Buck chuckles lightly at that. “Yeah, Eds. Pretty sure I’ve got everything I need right now.”

Evan.

Sleeping in the same bed at night becomes something of a habit, just like not talking about it does. It’s not that Buck doesn’t want to. He’s just… not sure how. What do you say when you’ve got so many feelings that you can’t even begin to decipher them, and the only thing you know for sure is that the thought of letting your best friend out of sight for more than a few minutes sends you careening towards a panic attack? There’s not exactly a greeting card for that.

This song and dance, though, it’s familiar. Comforting, in its own way. They’ve always flirted with the line between friendship and more, daring to put a toe over it, but never to take an actual step. Buck can’t help but wonder if this is a step, and they’re both just too chickenshit to admit it.

Evan.

“Where’s Ana?” Buck asks one morning, apropos of nothing. “I would’ve expected to see her around more often.”

Eddie stiffens. “We, uh, we broke up.”

Buck whirls around, nearly flinging egg against the backsplash. “When?”

“After the party.” Eddie shrugs uncomfortably.

Buck’s eyebrows raise. “I’ve been with you 24/7 since then,” he says. The question is obvious.

Eddie rubs a hand through his hair and frowns sheepishly. “I… texted her?”

Buck’s jaw drops. “You ended a 6-month relationship, a week after you got shot, over text?”

“In my defense, I was on a lot of painkillers. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Buck can’t help but laugh, throwing his head back. After a moment, Eddie joins in.

“That,” Buck says between giggles, “was not cool, man!”

“Nope,” Eddie agrees.

It’s the best either of them has felt in weeks.

The night after Buck’s first shift back at the station, Eddie has the worst nightmare he’s had since that first night. It takes Buck three tries to wake him, and the glassy look in his eyes remains far longer than he’d like.

“Please be careful,” Eddie says finally. “You have to- I can’t-“

“I promise,” Buck says, holding him tight to his chest.

Evan.

It’s Buck’s own nightmare that brings things to a head.

He’s been sleeping surprisingly peacefully since Eddie’s return home, but when the nightmares do return, they’re the worst he’s had.

He dreams he’s stuck beneath the firetruck, white-hot pain radiating up his leg, watching helplessly as Eddie bleeds out in front of him. Eddie tries to drag himself to Buck, but each pull makes the wound gush even more blood. Buck tries to yell for him to stop, but he can’t make his jaw work.

He finally wrenches it open, only to find himself sitting bolt upright in bed. His throat feels raw, like he’s been screaming, and Eddie’s hand is clutching his forearm. He knows where he is, but the panic from his dream isn’t receding. It grows louder and louder, until finally, Eddie’s voice cuts through.

“Evan!” He says sharply. “You’re okay, you’re fine. You’re in my room, with me. We’re both okay.”

Buck sags and falls back against the pillow, willing his breathing to slow. “You keep saying that,” he whispers in the dark.

“What?”

“My name. Like it means something.”

“It does,” Eddie says. “Every single piece of you matters.”

And Buck… Buck almost believes him.

Evan.

The elephant in the room grows larger every day, but still, they don’t talk about it. For all intents and purposes, Buck lives at Eddie’s. It’s been months. Eddie doesn’t physically need his help anymore, but neither is willing to let the other go. With Eddie’s return date drawing nearer, though, it’s getting harder to ignore.

Buck doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop since practically the first night, and he can’t take it anymore. He decides to soften the blow with pancakes.

“I should probably go back to my apartment,” he says, as casually as he can manage, as if the words don’t feel like ripping his still-beating heart out of his chest. Buck tries not to examine that feeling too closely.

“You need something?” Eddie asks, like it hasn’t even occurred to him that Buck might not come back.

“No, I-“

“Oh,” Eddie says. His expression goes carefully blank.

“I just-“ Buck tries to explain.

Eddie holds up a hand forestalling him. “I get it,” he says. “It’s fine.”

Buck swallows, ignoring the voice in his head that says definitively that it’s not.

Evan.

Buck’s out the door, duffle in hand, when Eddie stops him.

“Buck, wait,” he says, “Evan!”

Buck drops his bag in surprise and turns, only to find Eddie much closer than he expected.

“Don’t go,” Eddie says in a rush. “Stay, please. I need you here. With me.”

Buck gapes at him, as slowly the knot of emotions in his chest begins to unravel. The string that encircles the edges, that one he knows well: fear. The one beneath it: anger, at the sniper and the universe for hurting Eddie all over again. Hope and devastation intermingle, while grief lay coiled off to the side.

And the string that runs through the middle, holding it all together… that’s love.

Oh.

Buck gets it now.

He takes a step forward, closing the minuscule gap between him and Eddie. “I don’t want to go,” he whispers.

“Then don’t.”

Buck kisses him, soft and sweet. A promise, one which Eddie returns in kind.

There’re still a million things to talk about, but for once in his life, Evan Buckley is pretty sure he has all the words he needs.

[buckactuallys]

forehead kisses?🥺

[read on ao3]

The front door opened not even half an hour after Eddie got back from dropping Chris off at school. He was on the couch, curled up and shivering, feeling like death warmed up - hadn’t even been able to make himself tea or cover himself with a blanket, so there was no way he could get up to check who was there. They used a key, though, and it wasn’t even 9am, so it was easy to guess.

Besides, he recognised the steps coming down the hall, which was probably not something he should say out loud, but the point was that wasn’t surprised when Buck suddenly stood in front of the couch and then squatted down by Eddie’s head to feel his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Fine, huh?” Buck asked, and maybe it was the fever, but Eddie thought there was fondness beneath the exasperation.

“How’d you know?” he rasped out, and Buck rolled his eyes.

“Well, first of all, that’s not how your voice sounds when you’re fine. Also, I can tell when you’re lying.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Eddie had never been able to fool Buck. Which was why he hadn’t wanted to answer his phone when Buck called this morning, but if there was another thing he was spectacularly bad at, it was ignoring Buck. So he’d answered, and clearly Buck hadn’t believed any of his lies about how he was fine.

“Okay, well,” Buck’s hand dropped away from Eddie’s face as he stood up, and Eddie tried to keep his disappointment at that from showing on his face. “I’m gonna make you some tea first, but I also brought all the ingredients for soup. All you’re gonna do is stay on the couch and rest all day, okay?”

“Ugh,” Eddie made, and then tried to sit up. “Chris-”

Buck interrupted him immediately and pushed him back down into the couch cushions. “I’ll pick him up from school later, you’re off duty today.”

“You’re a bully,” Eddie grumbled, but when Buck reached for the blanket that was hanging over the back of the couch and started tucking him in, he let him. He wasn’t sick often, and it had been a long time since someone was there to take care of him when he was. It was kind of nice, actually, so he settled back into the cushions without further protesting.

Buck raised his eyebrows at him. “Are you gonna stay put while I make your tea?”

“Stop fussing, it’s just a cold,” Eddie complained, but relented with a sigh when Buck just kept looking at him. “Yeah, I’ll stay put.”

Buck nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned towards the kitchen. Eddie followed him with his eyes for as long as possible, fondness swelling in his chest. Fondness, or...something more. Who could blame him for slowly falling in love with his best friend over the past few years when Buck was like this?

Buck returned a few minutes later with Eddie’s tea, setting it down on the couch table. “Are you okay to sit up yourself once it’s cool enough to drink?”

“I’m not dying, Buck,” Eddie reminded him again, and then blurted out, “Stay?”

“I’ll just be in the kitchen making the soup, Eds. I’m not leaving.”

“No, I mean...here, with me. Keep me company?”

Buck smiled and sat down on the edge of the couch. His thigh was warm against Eddie’s side even through the blanket, and Eddie didn’t scoot over to make any more room for him for fear of losing that contact.

“Tell you what,” Buck said softly, his hand brushing against Eddie’s forehead again, feeling his temperature, before he gently started carding his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “I’ll get the soup started, but while it’s cooking I’m just gonna sit here with you, okay? I even brought a book, so you can sleep if you want.”

Eddie smiled up at him sleepily, already feeling better than he had since he woke up that morning with a stuffy nose, a headache and a low fever.

“Okay,” he mumbled, and couldn’t muster up the energy to feel embarrassed when he leaned into Buck’s touch like a cat.

Buck didn’t seem to mind either, because he sat with him for a while longer and kept up his ministrations until Eddie felt himself begin to fall asleep. Only then did he get up off the couch, pulling his hand from Eddie’s hair carefully.

Eddie expected him to just go to the kitchen, but instead, he felt the backrest of the couch shift the slightest bit as Buck leaned on it with one arm as he bent down and pressed his lips to Eddie’s forehead for a moment that felt both too short and like an eternity.

When he straightened back up and met Eddie’s eye, he looked startled to find him awake for a second, then embarrassed for another, before his expression settled into something softer, fonder.

Whatever he’d seen on Eddie’s face had clearly reassured him that it was okay, and Eddie let his eyes slip closed with a smile. He planned on getting better as soon as possible, because he had something important to tell Buck.

Eddie felt another kiss against his forehead, soft and warm, and drifted off to sleep.

[g0ttal0ve101]

Eddie if Zack/Someone killed Lucian :)?

.

Heh. Pain.

🤍

Eddie gazed at the water crystal blue water, smiling softly. Making graves earlier today had him in a good mood. Now that it was night, he managed to sneak out before Albert could come beat him and relaxed by the small stream that laid near his pet cemetery. Although he was supposed to be calm, something in his heart was tugging. Almost as if something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what. Something deep inside worried him.

"Ed...Eddie..."

Eddie's eyes widen as his head whips to the left of him. He heard a faint cry from further down the creek that sounded awfully like someone he knew. The feeling of dread he felt before was now coming a reality. He quickly stood up and rushed towards the voice, his eyes meeting with a sight he could have never imagined.

Lucian's bloody body laying on the luscious green grass, staining it with a crimson red. His pale skin seemed even paler underneath the moonlight. Of course, Eddie dropped to his knees and immediately helped him sit up, seeing blood pouring from his head. So much blood.

"L-LUCIAN!" Eddie cried, unwrapping his red scarf from around his neck and trying his best to stop the bleeding. His eyes swept down his entire body, seeing he was wounded practically everywhere with glass shards sticking from his limbs. Despite looking like a ghost, Lucian laughed softly with tears rolling down his cheeks. "L-Lucian! What happened?!"

"Am...Am I gonna...die, Eddie?"

Eddie's heart jumped to his throat. From the amount of blood he was losing...

"N-NO! SHUT UP, YOU'RE NOT GONNA DIE!"

Lucian laughed again, this time even weaker. "Marigold...my dear marigold..." he fell into Eddie's arms, holding him with all the strength he had left. "It's okay...I...I wanted...to come...here so that...you could bury me..." Eddie didn't know what to do. He was so shocked that he couldn't even move or think. Everything was going in slow motion. "...Y'know...I...I...always liked you...more than..."

"L-Lucian...! Please, no! Please...please, stop it! You're not gonna die! I-I-I won't l-let you!" Eddie let him go and rested him against the trunk of a tree, sobbing out of control. "N-No...no...!"

Lucian gazed deeply at the crying boy. He could feel the blood pouring from all of his wounds which made him dizzy, however, he was more concerned about those tears of his. He was sobbing even though he would be the one to bury his childhood friend. For a moment, it confused Lucian.

"Eddie...it's...it's okay..." He reaches for Eddie's cheek, stroking it with his pale fingertips. "You don't need to...cry like that...I don't wanna see you cry..." Lucian then gave him a gentle smile. It seemed different from all the ones Eddie had seen, it was so genuine without any fault or concern. Pure joy to spend his last moments with Eddie. "Because...I...love you..."

Eddie's heart began to race with excitement. A mutual love that will last forever, right? All he had to do is make him eternal and they could share that feeling together until the end of time! That's what he would've thought if it weren't for those wounds. If he didn't do it now, Lucian would be stolen from him. He would die by the hand of his mother. That's not what he wanted, not at all.

Now...

Now.

He has to do it now.

Lucian's eyes grew more hollow than ever, the life seeping out of him. Eddie stood up and lifted his shovel, panicking. The genuine grin Lucian made was turning to an unreadable expression.

He has to die now.

"Eddie..." Lucian's voice grew so weak that you could barely describe it as a whisper. Eddie's tears were continuously falling from his face into the flowerbed beneath them, staining their petals ever so slightly. "...does this mean...you love me...too...?"

"I-I do!" Eddie wept, his hands trembling more than ever before. He couldn't move from his standing position. In fact, he was so devastated that he could barely keep his balance. For some reason, he just wanted to hold Lucian close without having to do this. But he would become like that little bird if Eddie didn't kill him.

Lucian closes his eyes with a bigger smile. "I'm glad...hey, you know...you look...scared..." his breaths became shorter and shorter from the amount of blood he was losing. "My final moments...belong to you...and only you, Eddie...if you're afraid of...killing me then...you don't...have...to..."

"L-LUCIAN!" Eddie drops his shovel and launches himself into his arms. He cried into his blood stained shirt, his entire body shaking from the fear of being alone completely. Lucian kept his smile, wrapping his arms around Eddie and patting his head just as he used to do.

"...It's okay...it's okay..."

"STOP IT! NOTHING IS OKAY, PLEASE DON'T GO! I-I LOVE YOU, LUCIAN! I-I-I ALWAYS HAVE! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!"

"I-I love you t-too, Eddie..." Lucian choked, his tears mixing with Eddie's. No matter how he truly felt, he continued to smile for him.

"Lucian, please!" Eddie grabbed his shoulders and looked at him, seeing that smile. But...

He didn't see any life from him.

His body was limp as it rested on the tree trunk. No breathing, no heartbeat, nothing.

"Lucian..." Eddie's eyes were huge and his tears stopped. "Lucian...Lulu...? Hey..." his heart sunk further as Lucian's head rocked forward as Eddie shook him. No life whatsoever. The smile turned into a soft expression, looking as if he were only sleeping peacefully. Blood dripped down his forehead and onto Eddie, yet, no sign. "Hey...HEY! LUCIAN! LUCIAN, WAKE UP!”

But there was no reply.

“No…no…” Eddie held Lucian close, biting his tongue so hard that it began to bleed. He was trying to hard not to scream on the top of his lungs after all. Seeing his beaten body, he clenched his shirt into fists. “…Who did this to you…? Who…? Your mom…?” his voice fumed with anger. His chest felt tighter and tighter from being so enraged. His mind began to spin all in which had one solution.

. . .

“That’s it…” Eddie lifted Lucian into his arms, taking him to the meadow they used to play in as children. Flowers grew all around, little animals roaming, this is where he’d make Lucian happy. Then,

He’d do it better.

He’d make everything better.

Immediately getting to work, Eddie spoke to Lucian as he did before. As if he weren’t even dead. He told him every step he took to make this grave, what flowers he was going to pick, how bunnies and other small animals would roam around happily around the headstone. Overall, he overworked himself until his arms felt too heavy to even move. It needed sanded more, now it needed more detail, now it need more flowers, less flowers, the name should be fancier, the date needed to be more legible, over and over again. It had to be perfect. After all, he truly loved him. Ever since they were little kids. So…

He knew if he was gone…

“It’s done…” Eddie murmured, dropping his shovel and walking to his beloved. “…all done…” he then pulled Lucian into his arms and rested his head on his bloody chest. He still felt warm, but his blood was now drying onto his skin and clothes. Eddie didn’t want that. So, without a second thought, he stood up and walked to the stream, getting some water and rubbing the blood off of his body. He couldn’t get his clothes to be the way they were, but his pale skin was much clearer, as for his wounds as well.

Glass.

Eddie found glass in the gash on Lucian’s head, ultimately the cause of his death. Looking at the glass, he saw that it must have come from some sort of wine bottle. One huge smash to the head and poor Lucian bled out.

Eddie clenched his teeth. It must of been that rotten mother of his. Always intoxicated without a care in the world, it was her fault that Lucian died. All of her fault, all of it was!

“I’ll bury you now…” Eddie coaxed to him softly, giving him another hug. “then, you’ll be mine. I…love you, my dear Lucian.”

That being said, Eddie rested Lucian into the coffin he had hauled out from the shed, adjusting his hands to fold on his stomach and putting flowers in his white hair to cover the blood stains. He looked so elegant and beautiful, almost as if he was just sleeping. Slowly, Eddie grabbed the lid to seal him in before tearing up. This would be the last time to see him. Normally, he’d feel so overjoyed, but knowing how much pain he went through before dying just completely drowned him in sorrow. How terrible it was.

“I already miss you. I don’t think I can live without you..” Eddie whispers with a smile. “but I know I’ll see you again. I have no worries about that! I’ll see you…very soon.”

Pulling out his father’s revolver from with front pocket, Eddie puts the barrel up against his temple. “That’s right! I’ll see you right now! In our own grave, Lucian! Ours and ours alone! Isn’t it pretty?! ISN’T IT LOVELY?! HAHAHA, IT IS, ISN’T IT?! ALBERT, CARL, GEORGE, MOMMA, DAD, THEY’LL ALL FORGET ME! IT DOESN’T MATTER! AND SINCE I LOVE YOU THIS MUCH…! SINCE I COULDN’T MAKE YOUR DEATH BEAUTIFUL AND PEACEFUL, I SHOULD DIE TOO!”

And with that, Eddie pulled the trigger.

[reignsforever]

I’d like to submit a prompt for buddie where Buck has a panic attack or freaks out about the line “at least it’s not a tsunami” and Eddie and the team comfort him

And from anonymous: For the last buddie prompt them talking either in the elevator or after the bus rescue maybe?

read on ao3.

********

At least it’s not a tsunami, Buck hears, over and over as the elevator doors close, and he has to breathe in and out while he turns to look towards his best friend. There’s energy running through him about the job they’re about to do, and as Buck turns away from staring at Eddie in disbelief, a rather large part of him wants to stop himself from doing so and just push at Eddie’s buttons, ask him what the fuck, but he knows now is not the time. Now’s not the time to question Eddie about their friendship, especially everything that happened between them before Eddie returned to his home to be with his son, once he knew they were both safe.

Now is definitely not the time, Buck thinks with a tilt of his head, to remember the way Eddie crawled into his bed at one point when he couldn’t sleep on the couch or the ground any longer, nor is it the time to think about the way they made out like a couple of teenagers, once they finally let themselves feel something for one another, and admit to those feelings. And, Buck thinks with a frustrated sigh inwardly, now is definitely not the time to remember how at home he felt with his arms wrapped around Eddie’s waist as they fell asleep and woke up together, limbs entangled. And probably the most important thing to remember, Buck admits to himself, is that now is definitely not the time to think about the fact things got awkward between them when Eddie had said he was returning home, knowing it was safe to do so. That Buck had wanted Eddie to stay, or to go with Eddie because shit did he ever miss Chris, but he couldn’t say anything with Hen and Chim there, and Eddie obviously couldn’t say anything more either for that same reason.

No, now is definitely not the time, Buck thinks. Even though it’s been a few months since Eddie left, it’s something Buck thinks about constantly, something he misses in a way he didn’t think he could miss and Eddie -- Eddie isn’t telling him anything, his feelings locked up tight and Buck hates that. He gets it, but he hates it, either way.

“I mean that in a joking way, you know that, right?” Eddie says and Buck looks towards him, can see Eddie shifting on his feet, and he arches his eyebrow, realizing that even though they continue to be professional at work, Eddie can feel the awkward tension between them just as much as Buck can. Why they haven’t exactly talked about it, yet, Buck doesn’t quite know.

“Yeah, I know,” Buck replies after a minute of silence, shrugging his shoulders while the elevator doors open to the roof, and they begin to make their way to the edge, the time to begin their job settling in, the professionalism starting immediately.

Despite that, though ---

At least it’s not a tsunami, Buck hears, continuously, but Buck can’t help but think that it feels like he’s been stumbling in the waves of that tsunami ever since it happened, and that he can’t catch his feet no matter how hard he tries to. Especially since Eddie left.

**** The bus crashed and the bus exploded, and all Buck could think about was the bombing, and then being pinned underneath and Buck -- Buck is not having a good day, he thinks to himself. He knows he’s going to go home with Chim, and he’d normally be very thankful for that fact, especially after he always considered him lonely when he was going home alone, but in this one moment, Buck wishes he was going home alone - or, at the very least, it was Eddie who was coming home with him instead. Not that he didn’t love Chim - the dude was family, practically the brother he never had growing up - but he also didn’t quite understand Buck, or his panic attacks, or what he was going through. Their trauma’s were different, which was alright, but in this one instance, it wasn’t exactly helpful, either.

And Buck -- Buck really wanted Eddie to be the one there for him, even with things awkward as all hell between them. With that thought in his mind, the moment Buck sees Eddie in the locker room, their shift finally done, he makes his way towards his best friend, taking a deep breath as he does so, knocking on the door lightly, smiling softly when Eddie turns towards him.

“Can we uh, can we talk?” Buck asks, voice soft as Eddie looks up at him for a moment before nodding his head, opening and closing his mouth like he has something to say but isn’t quite sure what to say. Buck feels that exact way, and stands at Eddie’s side for a few minutes, trying to figure out what exactly it is he wants to say to Eddie.

“I uh --” Buck begins but before he can even begin to finish his statement, the alarm above them is ringing, and Buck can hear Bobby shouting from the staircase, and he knows that something big is happening. Looking towards Eddie, he can’t help but let out a small huff of breath as Eddie shrugs before he places his hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezes.

“We’ll talk later, yeah?” Eddie says, and Buck can only nod, blinking in surprise when Eddie leans forward and kisses him lightly. It feels like the kiss lasts an eternity, when in reality, Buck has barely started to respond before Eddie pulls away with a soft smile.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get my head to follow my heart. I promise it won’t take that long again,” he whispers and Buck chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Good to know. We should go out there, see what’s going on,” Buck states, ignoring the way his body hums as Eddie squeezes his shoulder once more before grabbing their gear and making his way out of the locker room, Buck following.

***** “We’ve gotten word that the dam breaking has caused a mudslide coming down from the Hollywood sign. We need to ---” Buck hears Bobby begin to say as they enter the truck and the truck begins to leave the station, but Buck doesn’t hear any of it, sucking back a breath and tensing immediately.

At least it’s not a tsunami, Eddie had said. Buck knew Eddie had said it jokingly, but a mudslide was pretty bad - probably just as bad as a tsunami, and now -- Buck was panicking. He knew he was panicking, because he could feel the curl of his fingernails on his palm, could hear his heart thumping inside of his chest, could only see straight at his feet, and it was a blurry view at that. Was Christopher alright? He wanted to turn to Eddie and ask, but Eddie didn’t -- shouldn’t ---

“Buck. Buck, you need to breathe. Come on man, breathe for me, babe,” Buck hears, and he finds himself blinking furiously, the blurry edges of his sight sharpening as he sees Eddie kneeling in front of him, feels his fingers on his cheeks, stroking gently.

“I--” Buck begins, his eyes widening, his heart still thumping loudly inside of his chest. He wonders if Chim and Hen can hear it, looks at them briefly before wanting to shy away, knowing that they’re realizing just how bad off he is thanks to the tsunami.

“And to think our shift was over,” Buck chuckles sardonically while Eddie smiles, his fingers trailing down BUck’s face before resting on his hands, interlacing with Buck’s own fingers before squeezing.

“You’re going to be okay, okay? You’re not alone. Christopher is at home with Carla, far from any mudslide action, from what Bobby has said, and I’ve got your back.” Eddie says and Buck finds himself nodding, blinking for a few moments before taking a deep breath and then exhaling a few minutes later.

“You’ve got my back,” Buck repeats, biting his lower lip before looking up at Hen and Chim completely, snorting softly.

“Surpriiiise,” he says, chuckling and shrugging his shoulders, ignoring the way Chim huffs and Hen chuckles.

“Are you saying surprise over the fact that Eddie just called you babe, or the fact that you’re still not over the tsunami?” Hen asks and Chim snorts, Bobby chuckling from the front seat as Eddie groans and Buck shrugs his shoulders.

“Can I say both?” He responds back, letting out a sigh and tilting his head back. Briefly, he closes his eyes and continues to take a couple of deep breaths before opening them and looking at Eddie, slightly surprised that he’s still kneeling in front of him.

“Are you good?” Eddie asks and Buck finds himself nodding, grinning when Eddie sits next to him. He didn’t notice when Chim had moved to Eddie’s old spot - hadn’t even noticed when Hen and Chim were talking with him, but Buck finds himself thankful more than anything that Eddie can sit next to him, his thigh pressed against Buck’s own. Even with the turnout gear on, he can feel the heat of Eddie next to him, and the calming presence of his best friend is --- exactly what he needed in this moment.

“Alright, good. Don’t forget---”

“You have my back. I’m not alone. Christopher is okay,” Buck finishes off with a smile, turning towards Eddie before relaxing even more. He’s still tense, because it’s a goddamn mudslide, and Eddie just had to say at least it wasn’t a tsunami, earlier, but Eddie is right.

Buck’s not alone. Eddie has his back. And Christopher is okay.

[thorniest-rose]

reddie halloween prompt #3 weapons

The Watcher is younger than he expected. Younger, and scruffier too. Nothing like the nice man that Eddie had met at his new high school. The Librarian with the soft voice and the even softer eyes, who had told him that it was okay, it was fine to be scared. That he was stronger than he looked. 

But no, his Watcher didn't turn out to be the nice Librarian, or the mysterious red-haired woman with burns on her arms who Eddie had seen setting fire to a vampire without even lifting a finger. No, instead it was this scruffy, deeply unimpressive man with the glasses and the terrible patterned shirts, who had introduced himself to Eddie while eating Burger King, a strawberry milkshake in one hand as he offered it to Eddie, saying he knew it was his favourite. Who had been standing outside his high school waiting for him to walk out like a total pervert. 

He was 25 apparently. A little young to be a Watcher. But Eddie hadn’t asked questions. Had liked to pretend he didn’t care. 

They’re at the hideout, a spare room above a noodle bar in Chinatown, that Richie says they’re going to use to train. But Eddie feels dubious. He’s seen the way Richie smokes, and the man's soft stomach doesn't make him think he's doing a lot of crunches.

The weapons rack in front of him is a sadist’s daydream: there are knives, axes, swords, wooden stakes, a pair of nunchucks, whips, even a chain with a spiked ball at the end of it that Eddie’s certain would do more damage to him than anyone else. 

He looks over his shoulder at Richie where he's leaning back against a desk, his arms crossed across his broad chest.  

Not that Eddie’s noticed or anything. 

“So I can... fight with all of this?”

“Sure,” Richie says, “but I want you to tell me which one you want to fight with. Look at the weapons and tell me which one you gravitate to. And I mean, really look at them. Imagine fighting with each one, and tell me which one feels the most real to you. Which one you want to hold in your hands.”

Eddie looks back at the weapons. He doesn’t know which one he wants to fight with. He doesn’t want to fight at all. 

After a moment he points to a heavy axe in the middle of the display. “That one.”

Richie raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning up into one of those annoying smirks. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really. You just told me to choose.”

“Are you sure you can even handle that? It probably weighs just as much as you do.”

“Does it matter? Don’t I have super strength now anyway?”

Richie doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs and pushes off the desk. 

“Okay, let’s try it out then.”

Richie crosses the room and takes the axe from the display. A second later he’s in front of Eddie and without warning, drops it. Eddie flings his hands out, only catching it at the last moment. He glares up at Richie. At his stupid smirk and his thick glasses.

“You okay with that?” Richie asks. 

“Yes.”

“Good. Just testing your reflexes.”

Eddie frowns at him, his hands clinging to the axe. It feels alien in his grip. Like an intrusion, something unwanted. 

Richie's smile turns contemplative.

“I was surprised, you know. When they said it was you. You’re the first male in centuries to have been chosen. That must mean you’re doubly special.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie mumbles. “There’s nothing special about me.”

“Haven’t they told you? You’re-”

“The Chosen One. I know. One boy in all the world who can fight the vampires yadda yadda. I get it, I’ve read the manual, okay?”

And Eddie had. A thickly bound manuscript that the visiting Watcher had placed before him. All about what it meant to be a Slayer and why he had been chosen. When he had been told that it was his fate. That he was the only thing that would stop the world being plunged into eternal darkness. 

Eddie had argued; had spent two weeks screaming and begging and crying, saying over and over that he couldn’t do this, that it had been a mistake. But it didn’t matter. The Watcher’s Council had barely budged, even in the face of his most fiery tantrum, when Eddie had taken one of their oldest books and ripped the pages out of it until he had fallen, sobbing, into a ball on the floor. 

He had grown sullen after that, had hardly spoken. Refused to cooperate. Until Richie had turned up outside of his school one afternoon and told him to stop sulking. 

Richie chuckles, breaking through his thoughts.

“It’s boring as shit, I know. I told them that we should have told you about the origins of the Slayer through interpretative dance, but they didn’t listen to me.”

Eddie almost smiles, but forces it off his face at the last second. Richie didn’t deserve to see him smile. 

“So how does it feel?”

Eddie fumbles with the axe. It felt awkward in his hands. Cold, and heavy. He couldn’t imagine swinging it. Could hardly even hold it. All he wanted was to drop it the floor and run all the way home. Away from Richie. Back to his house in Derry. Back to mamma and her microwave dinners, to his bedroom and his math homework. Anywhere but here. 

“It feels okay,” he says. 

“Oh yeah? Then why are holding it like that?”

Eddie glares up at him. Suddenly wants to use his new strength to punch him right in his aggravating, stupidly chiselled jaw.

“How is it supposed to feel? All I’m going to do is kill things with it, right? It doesn’t have to feel good.”

But Richie shakes his head. "That’s not it. You’re not a killer, you’re the Slayer.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference. Come on, let me help you with that.”

Richie circles around Eddie until he comes up directly behind him. 

“Here,” he hears Richie say softly, his breath making the small hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck shock up. “This is how you hold it.”

Eddie jumps a little when Richie's lowers his hands to rest on his forearms, directing them down the axe until he's holding it properly. He swallows. Eddie’s only wearing a thin t-shirt, and in the chill of the room Richie’s skin burns where he touches him. 

He expects Richie to draw away then, for the cold to hit his back when Richie steps away, but to his surprise, Richie doesn’t. Instead his hands ghost across Eddie’s shoulders, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.

“You need to relax, okay? You’re too tense.”

Eddie nods, but he suddenly can’t speak.

This close, Eddie can smell him. Richie smells like cigarette smoke and some kind of cheap aftershave, but beneath that he smells warm and woodsy. Eddie realises with a jolt that it’s a nice smell. Comforting. And he realises that he likes the way Richie smells. That he likes the way Richie feels. 

“How’s that now? Better?”

“A little,” Eddie manages to say, hating how thick his voice sounds. Syrupy.

“Why did you choose the axe?”

Eddie shrugs. “It looked like it was the best thing to choose. The most powerful.”

Richie huffs, and the sudden gust of breath against his skin makes Eddie shiver. 

“It’s not about what looks good, remember? You’re thinking about this too hard. You need to feel it. Look at the weapons again.”

So Eddie does. He looks back at the rack and slowly draws his eyes over the weapons where they're displayed like some brutal art exhibit. He tries to imagine himself fighting with each one, but he can’t. In his head he sees himself dropping his chosen weapon, or sees it being taken from him as he struggles. Sees himself being hit, stabbed, beaten. And there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Relax,” Richie reminds him, voice pitched low and soft. “Relax and feel it.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Eddie’s eyes focus on a small sword at the far end of the rack, almost hidden next to a huge scythe. It’s small and slim, barely more than a dagger, but there’s something elegant about it. Neat and simple. And it looks sharp. Like the thorn on a fairytale rose. Like it would make blood well on the tip of his finger if he touched it.

“That one,” he says.

And this time he means it.

Richie follows his line of sight, and Eddie can almost feel the approval radiating from him. From this strange, older man in his pink shirt patterned with wiener dogs wearing hotdog buns. With his dark hair and weird glasses, and his habit of telling awful jokes.

“Very good," Richie says. "Let’s try that.”

[boykisserbuckley]

hi!! can i request buck + drowning??👀

I’ll preface this by saying I know nothing about the LA river, or LA, or how drowning works?? But I hope you like it anyway :)

It’s the end of a late shift, there’s a steady rain drumming down on the roof of Eddie’s truck, and the windshield wipers are working overtime. Buck’s humming along quietly to some catchy pop song, tapping his fingers against his knee in time with the beat. Normally, Eddie wouldn’t have enjoyed a drive home in a storm, but it’s better when he’s not alone—tonight, he’s got his best friend in the passenger seat and the radio on low. The truck is warm. It’s nice.

 The drive isn’t long, but Buck had insisted on sleeping at his own apartment for once, so Eddie is taking the long way home to drop him off. Buck hasn’t spoken since they left the station, but given how draining their shift had been, Eddie’s not surprised. They’re left sitting in a comfortable almost-silence, letting the rain and the music wash over them. 

Until, as Eddie goes to make a turn, Buck suddenly straightens in his seat. His tapping stops and he peers out the window, like he’s trying to make out something through the storm. Eddie frowns, shooting him a glance. 

“Buck?” he prompts, confused by Buck’s sudden focus. 

“Pull over,” Buck says. 

“What? Why?” 

“Pull over!” Buck repeats sharply. Eddie obediently slows, startled by the force in Buck’s tone, and pulls the truck to a stop next to the curb.

“What the hell, man?” he questions. He turns to fix Buck with a glare, but the other man isn’t looking at him. 

“I think there’s someone down by the river,” Buck explains, already unbuckling and making to open the door. 

“In this weather?” Eddie says. He doesn’t particularly relish the idea of getting out in the rain, but he knows what Buck is probably thinking—this much rain is likely to cause the river to swell, and it’s dangerous. Whoever is out there might need some help. Or at the very least, someone to tell them how idiotic it is to be out in this storm. 

Buck hops out before Eddie even manages to cut the engine. Eddie mutters a curse and follows. They’re both drenched in seconds, but neither of them turns to go back to the truck. Even if he’s wet and miserable, Eddie knows he could never leave another person out here if they might need his help. 

“Hey!” Buck calls as they near the river’s concrete banks, voice loud enough to cut through the thrum of the rain. “Hey! Are you alright? You shouldn’t be out here!”

Eddie holds up a hand to shield his eyes, squinting into the dark. He can make out, just barely, the figure that Buck must’ve seen. As they draw closer, the familiar thrill of adrenaline courses over him like a wave—because out there, clinging desperately to the wet, slanting concrete, is a kid. Can’t be a day over fifteen, if Eddie’s guessing right, and he looks scared. 

He must call something back because Eddie can see his mouth moving, but it gets lost to the storm. 

“Eddie,” Buck says, eyes wide as he glances over, “we’ve gotta get down there, if he slips—”

Buck doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Eddie can see what he means. The water is running in rivulets down the banks, and the river swells higher every second; if the kid goes in, they might not get him out. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “yeah, just be careful.” 

They tap knuckles the way they always do before a call, and then Buck starts inching downwards. Eddie follows, arms splayed to keep his balance. The incline isn’t steep, but it’s slippery with the water, and the angle makes it hard to stay upright. No wonder the kid was having trouble. 

Buck reaches the kid first. He shuffles down until he’s at his side, hands out in a placating manner. The kid has barely shifted since they arrived, and he’s shivering. From fear or from cold, Eddie can’t tell. The rain is freezing. 

“We’re firefighters with the LAFD,” Buck is explaining, when Eddie makes it down the rest of the way. “We’ll help you get back up safe and sound, okay? You’re gonna be fine.” 

The kid nods, but his eyes are wide with panic. Eddie can't help but notice that he's looking resolutely anywhere but at the water that's rushing below him, steadily climbing. 

"What's your name?" Eddie asks, edging down a little farther. 

"Andrew," the kid responds. After a moment's hesitation, he adds, "I– I can't swim." 

Eddie's gaze flicks to Buck's, just briefly, dread pooling in his stomach. A part of him wants to know what the hell this kid thought he was doing, going anywhere near the river by himself if he can't swim—another part knows that the reasoning doesn't matter. What matters is that Eddie gets him home safe.

"Okay," he says, "Here's what we're gonna do, Andrew. I’ll take your hand, and my friend here, Buck, he's going to get behind you, alright?" 

Eddie catches Buck's nod out of the corner of his eye, and sees him shuffle into position. 

"I know you're scared, but he'll make sure you don't go anywhere near the water. Okay?" Eddie smiles, hoping that it comes across as reassuring. Andrew blows out a breath, fingers still tight against the concrete. 

"Okay," he says. It's quiet enough that Eddie can barely hear him past the roar of the storm, still raging around them, but he catches it. 

"Come on, then," Eddie says, stretching out a hand. He braces himself against the canal wall with the other, making sure he doesn't tilt forwards with Andrew's added weight and send them both into the river. 

It takes them a moment of coaxing and gentle reassurance, but they eventually manage to convince Andrew to let go and reach for Eddie’s hand. Slowly, slowly, they start back up the slope, moving carefully. 

They're barely a foot from the top of the bank when everything goes sideways. Andrew's foot slides on the slick stone, right out from under him. Eddie tightens his grip immediately so the kid's hand won't slip from his, and he latches on to the upper lip of the concrete basin with his other hand, barely managing to keep his own footing. 

Andrew scrambles to catch himself and kicks out in desperation, one foot managing to hit Buck in the jaw, where he's still poised below. Eddie watches—almost as if it's in slow-motion—as Buck loses his balance, stumbles, and goes down hard. He yelps when his head clips the concrete, and then he’s sliding, clearly disoriented.

“Buck!” Eddie cries in surprise, and then he’s moving faster than he thought he could; he yanks Andrew upwards, pulling both of them back to their feet and over the edge onto flat ground. 

“Call 9-1-1,” he instructs, shoving his phone into the kid’s hand. Just in case. 

He whips back around, reaching for Buck before he’s even halfway down the slope. He’d hit his head, but otherwise isn’t hurt, and if Eddie can get to him before he hits the water—

But he’s too late. In the split second that Eddie had his back turned to take care of the kid, Buck had tumbled farther, unable to get a grip on the wet rock. Eddie’s hand brushes his, just barely, before the water catches him and drags him the rest of the way down. 

Eddie dives in after him without a second thought. Buck is normally a strong swimmer, but the water is high and moving fast, and on top of that he’s got a head wound. There’s no way this ends well for him. 

The force of the current takes him by surprise, threatening to take him under too. It’s dark and it’s pouring and he can barely see a thing but he clings to the canal wall long enough to spot Buck, a ways down, coming up spluttering. He’s clearly trying to swim, but he can’t quite get his limbs to cooperate, and he keeps dipping back under.

Eddie pushes off and swims for him, fighting the current. It batters him, hard and fast, and he hasn’t seen Buck pop up again. 

He pushes further forward, sweeping through the water for something, anything. Panic tugs at his heart, climbs into his throat, nearly enough to choke him, and then—his hand knocks into what feels like an arm, and he latches on before the river can tug them apart again. He drags upwards with all the strength he still has, until Buck breaks the surface. 

His head lolls, and he stays limp in Eddie’s hold. It takes Eddie a moment longer than it should to realize he’s not breathing. 

He’s not—he’s not breathing. Eddie blanks. His body moves on autopilot, struggling against the pull of the water to get both of them to shore. He doesn’t know how far down they’ve been swept by now, how far they are from the truck or from Andrew, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters, the only thing that’s ever mattered, is saving Buck. 

Eddie’s hand meets concrete again, and he scrabbles for a moment before he gets a grip. He scrapes his palms open on the stone but he manages, somehow, to drag both himself and Buck up out of the river onto the slope. He doesn’t waste any time trying to get to flat ground, not when Buck is turning bluer by the second. Eddie flips him onto his back and starts compressions, bracing himself against the awkward angle. 

“Come on, Buck, come on,” Eddie whispers, barely able to hear himself over the rain and his own breathing. 

Buck’s forehead is bleeding. If—no. When he wakes, Eddie knows it’ll drip into his eyes. He wants to reach up, wipe it away, but he doesn’t dare stop what he’s doing. He can’t stop, not until Buck starts breathing again, not until he opens those gorgeous blue eyes and shows Eddie that he’s okay. He can’t go out like this. Eddie won’t let him. 

“C’mon, you massive idiot,” Eddie hisses, frustrated nearly to tears, “Breathe!”

He slams his palms into Buck’s chest again, harder, feels a rib give way under with the force of it. And then suddenly, miraculously, Buck breathes. He jerks and coughs, trying to expel whatever disgusting river water is lodged in his lungs. What feels like an eternity later, Buck flops onto his back again, exhausted but breathing. He’s breathing. That’s all that matters. 

“...Eddie,” Buck rasps, his eyes fluttering open. They’re glassy and unfocused, and he’s having a hard time tracking, but Eddie has never been happier to see them in his life. He heaves a sigh of relief—though it comes out sounding more like a half-aborted sob—and finally reaches up to swipe away the drop of blood leaking into Buck’s eyebrow. 

“You’re okay,” he says, and he can’t help it. He leans forward, fully aware that he’s crying now, and rests his forehead against Buck’s. “You’re okay.”

They’re still sprawled out awkwardly at an angle, half on top of each other, breathing hard. Buck’s hand, trembling and cold, finds his and squeezes lightly. Sirens wail in the distance. 

Buck agrees, voice rough and quiet, “I’m okay.” 

also on AO3

(buy me a coffee?)

[kafka-ish]

how to be a heartbreaker | b.d.

y/n wants to get her crush to notice her but she has no idea how. luckily, beverly comes to her with some valuable advice.

word count: 2,845

warnings: fem!reader

request: (from anonymous) “hiii! could i request a fic for bill denbrough where the reader is very flirty with everyone in the losers club and bill is flustered whenever she flirts with him? i was thinking that w/n could be like the female richie just more tame haha. ty!”

a/n: i was so excited to receive this request as it was my first one !! i hope i did it justice. 

-

y/n didn’t always wear tight tops and make cheeky comments. 

That’s why Bill was so surprised when she arrived at the quarry in a skirt so short, he could the lace peeking from her underwear when she bent down, and a smart mouth almost identical to Richie’s. But Bev smirked to herself as she watched the scene unfold, remembering how y/n had come to her last weekend, asking for help. 

“Who do you like?” Beverly’s question was innocent, yet somehow it managed to make y/n’s skin crawl and her throat turn to cotton. 

“What makes you think I like anyone?” y/n’s fingers absentmindedly began to pick at the purple comforter neatly draped across the twin sized bed she was perched on. 

“Can I guess?” Beverly ignored y/n’s previous statement and eagerly began listing names. “Is it Matt from gym? Or Cameron from chemistry? If you like Cameron I can see why... That blond hair and smirk can really do things to a girl.” 

“No.” y/n laughed at her friend’s guesses; more so at how far off she was. “It’s neither of them.”

“Then who is it?” Beverly turned around in the vanity chair she was sitting in, in order to get a better read on y/n’s features. That’s when y/n knew her friend was persistent on learning her crush. 

“It’s Bill.” The words left y/n’s mouth in a whisper, but Beverly didn’t need her friend to repeat herself to pick up on what she was saying. 

“Bill Denbrough?” Bev’s voice raised an octave. “Why haven’t you made a move yet? You see him practically everyday!”

“Well, I...” y/n took a moment to readjust herself. She stretched out on Beverly’s bed; each limb reaching each corner of the mattress. She stared at the ceiling which was covered in glow in the dark sticky stars. They’d been there since Beverly was five. She had intentions of removing them, but the adhesive stuck horribly. Beverly also didn’t want to risk ruining part of the building’s architecture since her family was renting it out. And if she did, her dad would do more things than just yell at her. 

“You what?” 

“How am I supposed to make a move?” y/n groaned. Beverly could tell this was something that upset her. “I freak out whenever I’m left alone with him. Hell, even when I’m just sitting next to him. I can’t find the right words to say... Or any words for that matter.”

“You and Bill have that in common,” Beverly said. It was a cheap shot at Bill’s stutter. But she should’ve known y/n was above laughing at something her crush couldn’t control. “Why don’t you just feign confidence?” Beverly’s helpful for once suggestion became of interest to y/n. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Richie does it all the time.” y/n heard a snort coming from the other side of the room. “Just... You know, pretend.” 

“How am I supposed to conjure up some alter ego if I can’t even conjure up some simple hello.” Of course y/n was a skeptic to the idea. But it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?

“That’s exactly why you need to do this!” Beverly countered. She couldn’t seem to contain her excitement at the thought of playing matchmaker with her friends. “We can start with a new wardrobe.” Beverly jumped into bed with y/n and her eyes trailed down to the girl’s figure. She was silently judging her friend’s outfit and y/n didn’t know if she should feel offended or uncomfortable. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” 

Their shopping haul consisted of mainly crop tops, skinny jeans, and some of the shortest skirts y/n’s ever seen. Beverly picked out a blue ruffled skirt that barely covered her butt when she leaned over and a plain white crop top to match. 

“You have to wear that when we all go to the quarry!” Beverly said over the phone (it was more of an order than a friendly opinion). 

Nonetheless, she did.

y/n was the last to show up at the quarry; wanting to make a big entrance. It was big alright. She greeted every one of the boys with a kiss on the cheek and a grin wide enough to stick an orange slice in.

“It’s been so long, you guys!” Only enthusiasm could be detected from her voice. y/n sat down on a rock next to Eddie and ruffled his hair which he quickly patted down afterwards. 

“It’s only been a day,” Stan deadpanned. But who was he to burst the bubble of newfound elation coming from his usually reserved friend? 

“A day that’s been far too long!” Her eyes playfully rolled to the back of her head and she leaned forward to boop Stan on the nose. “So, are we getting in the water or what?” She stood up, allowing for a showcase of her long legs and started to strip. 

“You got that right, doll.” Richie whistled as y/n’s shirt hit the ground. Off came his shirt, too; the rest of the Losers following suit. 

y/n was the first to make a splash. She cannon-balled into the water, giving the boys a full view. A second whistle was about to reach Richie’s lips, but Bill stopped him. 

“Yo-you know, in uh-other places th-that’d be illegal.” His tongue stuck on the “L” sound in illegal for a while. 

“Good zing we arrren’t in other places.” Richie had been trying out his new “comrade” accent for the past week but no one else in the group except him was impressed. Bill, especially, was not impressed and shoved Richie into the water. “I’ll get you for this!” He yelled immediately after being able to come up for air. Though Bill couldn’t hear him. He was already already making his debut into the water. 

“Hey cutie,” y/n said, swimming up from behind him as he landed. He was taken aback at the words that had left her mouth and frankly so was she. 

“H-hi, y/n.” Goosebumps materialized on his arms, legs, and chest, and Bill didn’t know if it was because of how cold the water felt, or the recent effect y/n had on him. 

y/n giggled at the sound of her name coming from his mouth. “Be my chicken partner? You’re the only one strong enough I can think of.” She purposely avoided his gaze. In fact, she looked everywhere but at him. 

“I-if yo-you wuh-want.” Bill’s stutter had gotten notably worse and he wanted to curse himself for it. Would he seriously let almost four years of speech therapy go to waste just because of a pretty girl?

“Oh, I definitely want.” y/n’s eyes thoughtfully roamed Bill’s bare chest which he suddenly grew conscious of. Her fingers traced his collarbone and traveled down to his bicep. “I just remembered.” Her hand pulled away and she met his eyes. His blue eyes that she could get lost in for all eternity if she weren’t careful. “I need to go.” y/n didn’t honestly have to go—rather, the advice Bev had given her earlier parroted itself in her head:

Don’t be afraid to go all in. But always leave him wanting more. 

Leave him wanting more. 

y/n gave him a half smile before making her way towards the rocks. 

Bill watched as she did. The sun’s light reflected against her slicked hair in the most alluring manner. She somehow managed to make walking through water graceful. Bill’s eyes stuck to her figure until it disappeared. His trance soon broken by the sound of Eddie’s cries and the feeling of cold water dousing his back. 

“You were great today!” y/n smiled at Beverly’s voice from over the phone. She was sitting on her bed. One hand was holding the phone to her ear while the other was twirling a finger around the cord connecting the receiver piece to the landline. 

“You really think so?” A new feeling had begun to rise in her chest. Cockiness? Pride? Accomplishment? Whatever it was, it felt good. 

“Well, Bill couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you, could he?” And y/n didn’t have to see Beverly’s face to know she was raising her eyebrows because the tone of her voice already gave it away. 

“I guess not..” 

“Why don’t we all meet for dinner tomorrow?” Bev suggested. It wasn’t really a suggestion, though. It was more like an ‘I’m-telling-you-this-now-and-I’ll-tell-the-losers-after-we’re-done-talking’ sort of thing. 

“Sure,” y/n agreed, because she knew it was useless to try and stop Beverly—she was too far ahead of herself.

“Great!” The busy tone then rung in y/n’s ear, indicating that Bev had hung up. 

Thus, allowing her to be the blame when y/n showed up to Derry’s local diner in a strappy plaid dress and enough attitude for the whole table. 

“Oh, baby!” Richie grinned at the sight of their friend finally coming out of her shell. “You didn’t get all purty for me, did ya?” 

“You wish, trashmouth,” y/n said, taking a seat next to a now shuddering Bill. “Hey, Billy!” Unexpectedly, the girl threw her arms around the boy, wrapping him in an embrace tighter than she was willing to admit. 

Bill opened his mouth, about to say something, only to close it again. The words were caught in the back of his throat and it didn’t help when the sweet scent of her floral perfume reached his nose, leaving him lost in any contagious thoughts of her that he’d unconsciously dreamed of before. 

She withdrew from him, prompting a harsh swallow from Bill. 

“Cat got your tongue?” No matter how much she wanted to, she didn’t let herself  wait long enough for an answer. Abruptly, she broke eye contact and settled on Ben for the time being. 

In a voice higher than normal, y/n had told him he was the best writer in their grade—something Bill found himself strangely jealous hearing. “My parents said I need an English tutor...” In one hand, she swirled her root beer with a straw. Her other hand was holding up her head that rested on it. “I was wondering if you’d be mine?” 

“Wow. Yeah, y/n, I’d love to help!” Ben said with a little too much pep in his step. 

“That’s awesome!” They'd settled on the library to meet up at the next day, but oddly enough Ben wasn’t there. 

Bill was. 

“What-what are you doing here?” It was hard for y/n to try and keep her cool. Especially when the boy whom she was harboring a crush for was standing right in front of her in place of her supposed-to-be English tutor. 

“I’m tuh-tutoring yo-you in En-engl-hish. Of cour-course.” He seriously needed to get a grip on that stutter of his. It was no use, as he could even feel his thoughts stammering against each other. 

“No, Ben’s my tutor,” y/n corrected as she sat her book bag down on the library desk. She riffled through the mess of folders stacked in her bag; an ‘aha’ noise inadvertently leaving her mouth once she found the red one marked ‘English’. “Where is Ben?” It became increasingly harder to keep up the act Beverly had helped her come up with. It grew much more apparent to y/n that it was easier to flirt with friends—not someone she had a full blown crush on. 

“He, uh, he cou-couldn’t mm-muh-make it.” So what if Bill had lied? So what if Bill had told Ben that he didn’t need to go to the library anymore as he took his place instead? 

“Hey Bill!” Ben had just gotten done trading out his History book for his Pre-Calculus one.

Bill was standing right next to his friend’s locker—how Ben hadn’t seen him walking up remained a mystery. 

“What’s up?” 

“y/n tuh-told me that she-she didn’t need an English tutor an-any...anymore.” 

“Huh.” Ben chewed the dead skin on his lip before he continued. “y/n told you this?” 

“Ye-yeah.” Bill nodded his head in order to seem convincing. “Since sh-she doesn’t have any class-classes with you, she wuh-wanted mm-me to tell you.” 

It was a dirty trick and even Bill didn’t know what came over him when he decided to play the lying game. 

y/n didn’t say anything. She only sat down and begun to organize her pencils. 

“Is-s th-that okay?” A surge of nervousness pumped through his veins while he posed the question. He looked down at y/n who was still quiet. 

“Oh, so you think you’re good at English?” y/n raised her eyebrow. She’d finally plucked up enough courage to put on her alter ego and face Bill. 

“I nuh-know I’m guh-good at English. A-according to mm-my tuh-teachers. Str-straight A’s.” He eventually took a seat next to her. It gave y/n a case of the jitters she’d force herself to get over. 

“Well, if that’s the case...” y/n leaned closer into Bill’s side. Her shoulder brushed against his in a feather light touch. “Teach me everything you know.” 

Bill felt himself beginning to choke on his spit. Ever since that day at the quarry, y/n had started acting different.  For one, she actually talked to him. She also traded her regular mom jeans for skirts and graphic tees for tank tops; clothes that showed the most skin. It took him a solid minute before he could clear his throat and begin to explain the differences between a run-on sentence and a comma splice. 

“I have to ask you something.” y/n stopped him in the middle of his explanation of different clauses. 

Bill looked up from the paper he was using to demonstrate. His eyes dwelled into hers. He knew where this conversation was leading to, and for the record, he didn’t necessarily want to go there. “Wuh-what is i-it?” 

“Did Ben really call this off?” He knew at least some variation of those words were going to come out of her mouth. “It just seems unlike him. And we see each other at lunch—”

“Act-actually...” Bill heaved a sigh, unwilling to reveal what had really happened. But it would be for the best, right?

Bill missed how the perpetual softness of her features had developed into a sort of smug look that y/n wouldn’t usually sport. “Bill...” Her hand reached up to cup his face. “If you had something to do with it, I wouldn’t be mad.” He didn’t realize her delicate fingers were carding through his auburn hair up until she pulled away. 

At this point, so many sensations swept through his insides. If a butterfly had flown out rather than actual words, Bill would only try to find out what species it was. 

“What.” He stopped to exhale. “Wha-what muh-makes you thi-think I had... had something to-to do with—” 

“Just a girl’s intuition.” y/n seemed serious for a second and Bill couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m kidding, duh. I got a text halfway through our study sesh.” She took out her Nokia to show him. 

Bill told me about cancelling our sessiom. Good luck in engkish. 

A chuckle tumbled from his lips, noting the obvious typos. “Fo-for a guh-guy wh-who was goin-gonna tu-tutor you.. he ca-can’t spell for sh-sh-shit.” 

y/n’s head fell back and she lost control of her body momentarily as laughter consumed her. Bill could tell she gained control again when she turned to him once more. Silently, she waited for an answer. 

“So... so wuh-what i-if I de-did.” 

“If you did, then, I’d think you conned Haystack out of an opportunity to teach me,” she said, her voice all sing-songy. She instantly noticed Bill’s frown—how he looked down in a sort of shameful way. “I’d also say you were pretty good company.” 

“Really?” Bill’s incredulous mood had egged y/n on even further. 

“Obviously. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with a total dreamboat like you?” She jabbed at his stomach. Bill would normally flinch at this, but his mind was too busy analyzing what she just said. 

“Dr-dreamboat?” His thick eyebrows drew together. Suspect crossed his face. 

“You heard me, Denbrough.” y/n cocked her head to the side. She shifted closer to him- that is, if she could be any closer. 

He tried to speak but all that came out were a bunch of incoherent stutters.

“Shut up.” She thought of pressing her finger to his mouth, but an idea even better sparked in her mind. 

y/n forced a quick kiss onto his lips. She didn’t stay that long; not giving him the chance to kiss back. She was met with his eyes closed and his lips left in a gathered state after parting. 

“Wowo-woah.” Bill sighed, opening his eyes. His already pink lips were stained a slight red from the lipstick that colored y/n’s own. 

“Was I good?” y/n’s alter ego had completely left her body at this point. Her previously shy and hesitant self was now fleshed out perfectly for Bill to see. 

Bill shrugged before pulling her in for another kiss. This time it was long and slow. This time Bill had the chance to kiss back. 

“Ye-yeah.” His expression was kind. “Amazing.” 

[anxiouslymalicious]

Losers Club Plus One Part 8

 A Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series

Read the previous part here or go here for the complete Masterlist!

A/N; Hello everyone, I’m sorry for the long wait, but I have been struggling with this one a lot and still don’t feel like it’s as good as it could be, but this is the happiest I have felt about any of the versions I have written for this chapter.  Anyway, this is about 3.8k words. I hope you enjoy!

“What do you mean you don’t know? Weren’t you there when she was born?!” asked Ben, stressed out beyond belief over the whole situation. He, Bev And Richie had settled in his room while Eddie got cleaned up and Bill sat in front of Y/N’s and Richie’s room, trying to get her to open up to him. He had arrived not long after the situation escalated and had been sat before the room ever since he heard what happened. Well, after giving Richie shit for never bothering to find out. Richie wasn’t mad at Bill though. He was giving himself shit for never bothering to find out, for taking her with him, for being so careless.

“I mean that I never made a test. There was a birth certificate with her, the mother’s name wasn’t readable anymore, but it had my name on it. So, I assumed…” Richie drifted off, another painful sob racking through his body. His chest was aching more and more with every sob. He hid his face in his hands again, like he had countless times in the past half an hour. The shame was too much for him. 

Richie felt the bed dip beside him as Bev sat down on his right, laying a hand on his back, her head resting against his shoulder. She was shaken up to say the least, not expecting anything like that. When she first encountered Y/N, she had thought about how little physical similarities there were between the girl and her father, but she never would have thought that there might be a bigger reason to that than genetic randomness.

Ben, meanwhile, was still pacing the room, not sure what to think of the whole situation.

“Do you want to get tested?” Beverly asked carefully. Her voice was soft and hesitant, eyes travelling from Richie to Ben and back to Richie as helplessness took over her. And not only her. None of the Losers knew what to think of anything that was going on.

Richie looked up a little, chin and mouth still covered by his hand that he never fully lifted from his face. Then, he shook his head vigorously.

“I’m scared.” He finally uttered, voice cracking and barely more than a whisper. The two Losers easily heard how rough his voice sounded, like his vocal cords had turned to sandpaper. Beverly sighed, along with Ben who ran his hand through his hair before settling his hands on his hips. He had stopped his nervous pacing and instead stepped closer to the two Losers on his bed.

“Listen, Trashmouth. You really fucked up. We all know that. But sitting here and wallowing in self-pity won’t make anything right again. You need to do something.” Ben said, kneeling down before his friend. Richie nodded as yet another sob escaped his lips.

“I’m just so scared. Did I just lose my little girl?” Richie asked, teary gaze moving from Bev to Ben. Both of them felt tears of their own stinging in their eyes. Beverly shook her head.

“I don’t think so.” She replied, trying to put as much confidence into her words as possible although she really wasn’t sure if she believed herself. Ben nodded a little, agreeing with her.

“You’re shit, Y/N knows that too. She’s hurt but I don’t think she hates you.” Ben rested one of his hands on Richie’s knee, hoping to provide some form of comfort as he looked up at the broken man. Each of the Losers had witnessed the others breaking down before. It was completely out of character for most of them, almost like an out-of-body-experience, but Ben and Beverly silently agreed that they had never before seen Richie that low.

It was hard on the other Losers too, though. It wasn’t only Richie whose heart was breaking.

Beverly was actually deeply worried for the girl. After all, Bev had never had a good relationship with her father. He had been abusive, good for nothing, but she still loved him. She still came back time and time again. And she saw herself in Y/N. She knew that Richie never meant to hurt her and wouldn’t ever dare to lay a finger on her, but if Y/N felt that being hurt by her loved ones was alright, would she find herself in a relationship like Beverly’s in the future?

Ben’s heart was aching for her. He knew what it was like to be the outcast. He knew what it was like to find people you adored dearly only to be ripped away from them again. He was sure Y/N felt that way now. Like her safe place, for both alike, the Losers Club, would be taken from her, but most importantly, the man she thought was her father, her only family, was in some ways taken away from her. It was cruel and Ben was scared that she would feel equally lost as he did when he had to move away as a kid. He never really recovered from the hurt his mother caused him back then.

Eddie was silently breaking down in his bathroom. To him, Y/N was such a little sunshine and she didn’t deserve any of this. She didn’t deserve a hurt relationship with her father like he had with his own mother growing up. Richie didn’t deserve that either, but Eddie knew just how much this loss of reality can affect someone. He himself had felt as though he had lost his grip on reality when he spent time in the hospital after breaking his arm. When he pushed his mother to her limits. When he too felt as though he was about to lose the only biological family he had left.

Lastly, Bill was desperate. He had pushed Georgie away and never got the chance to apologise. Time was ticking. What if she or Richie wouldn’t find back together? Bill couldn’t let that happen. His mind was set on saving them the eternal heartache of knowing that it was your fault that a loved one died, the heartache of knowing that the other died feeling unloved. He felt that this was his opportunity to make things right. To not give IT the satisfaction of tearing another family apart.

Which was why he was still, after half an hour, hammering against Y/N’s room door, trying to argue with the girl who mostly replied with hums and groans.

“Y/N p-p-please… This is n-not real. I p-p-promise you.” Bill tried, now growing desperate. Impatient. He felt like he was running out of time. His back was leaned against the door, teeth gnawing at his lips.

“How can you promise that?” Y/N sobbed. The hurt she felt was inexplicable. It was just too much. Her world had been torn apart, nothing made sense anymore and she felt like she just couldn’t go on.

“B-because I c-can.” Bill said, then sighed, knowing just how stupid he sounded. “W-what are we t-to you? W-w-what does the L-Losers Club mean to you?” That sounded better in his ears.

Silence. Then, “I appreciate you.”

“W-we do too. And t-the second R-R-Richie introduced you as h-his d-daughter, I d-d-decided that, to m-me, y-you are a part of this f-f-family.” Bill replied.

“I’m not Richie’s daughter though.” She said, followed by another heart-wrenching sob echoing through the door. Bill winced.

“W-What is a f-father to you?” Bill missed Stan terribly in this situation. He would have done a much better job. He had usually been able to clear everyone’s head out, bringing people closer together again, or at least he was able to talk some sense into them. A single tear managed to escape Bill’s eye, rolling down his cheek until he caught it, wiping it away with the back of his hand. He was mourning for his friend.

“I-I’m sorry, k-kiddo. Stan w-would have been much b-better at this. Sorry. I’m t-trying here, please b-bear with me.” A dry chuckle escaped Bill’s lips. “J-just… what does a p-p-person have to do t-to be a father?”

“I don’t know.” She replied. “I really don’t know. Be there for their kid, I guess. Be honest. Take good care of them. Love them and show them that they’re loved every day. Spend time with them… That stuff.”

Bill smiled a little. “D-Didn’t Richie do m-m-most of that? I mean b-besides the honesty-part.”

She sighed. “But it’ll change so much…”

“W-what exactly would it c-change?” Bill knew that he had finally cornered her. He knew that he had Y/N exactly where he wanted. Suddenly, he felt the door move, but he wasn’t quick enough to adjust his balance and fell flat on his back, met with Y/N’s tear-stained face peeking at him shyly from behind the door. Hastily, he got up as Y/N pulled the door a little further open to grant Big-Bill access to the room. He didn’t waste a second and embraced Y/N tightly, closing the door behind them.

It felt good to be held. Y/N whimpered and winced, broken sobs and shallow gasps racked pained her airways and throat, but she felt. And that was nice.

“Shhh… Y-you’re safe. E-everything will b-be alright.” Bill mumbled, hoping to calm her, but not only her. He, too, needed some support, he needed to hear those words, even if they were his own. Otherwise he knew he would go insane.

“Promise?” Y/N mumbled. She knew it would be a lie, but just for a moment, she wanted to embrace the naïve trust of the child in her. She wanted to blindly follow what the adults told her to do and what they told her would be the truth. She didn’t want to think and decide for herself, but rather go back home, to the safe distance that separated Derry from LA, that separated Derry from the rest of the world, really.

 “I p-p-promise.” Bill replied. He looked at his best friend’s presumed daughter and felt utterly helpless. Could he really promise that? He wanted her to be alright, yes, but were lies the right way?

“Can you… uh…”

“Want m-me to call R-R-Richie over?”

Y/N nodded. Bill, feeling a little at ease, grinned and left the room only to reappear a few minutes later, a shaking Richie under his arm. Dried tear streaks besmirched his paler-than-usual cheeks. Richie looked tired. Mentally exhausted, yes, but it seemed almost as though he has aged about two decades in the past hour.

“I’m r-r-right outside if y-you n-need me.” Bill told the two before stepping out, closing the door behind him. Y/N remained quiet, just like Richie. He was slumped over, hands balled in the pockets of his jacket. Y/N could see how hard he was gritting his teeth, trying not to let more tears fall. Richie looked defeated.

Y/N, however, was ready to fight. Her body was rigid, tense, and Richie thought that not even that stupid bitch of a clown would survive a fight with his little girl. Not in that very moment. There was blood on her thumb, Richie assumed she had excessively bit down on it, accidentally tearing it. Richie saw the unshed tears in her eyes and dried tear streaks stained her angrily blushing cheeks.

“Y/N, I,” Richie started, but the words caught in his throat, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She remained quiet.

“I just… Someone left you on my doorstep. They rang the bell and just took off. I had no chance of finding out who it was. But there was a letter. I still have it at home. Couldn’t throw that stupid piece of shit paper away.” A dry chuckle escaped Richie’s lips as he stepped closer to the bed, where Y/N was standing.

“It was from your mother. I can tell you what it said, or I can give you the letter once we get home. But something about it made me want to trust that unnamed person. And you were crying. So loudly and desperately, it made me cry too. I was so fucking scared. I mean, I still am, but back in the day, everything happened so suddenly and I was still living in my fucked up one-room apartment. Fuck, I still wrote my own shit.” Richie ran a hand over his face, up to his hair, then looked at Y/N. Her arms were crossed in a defensive manner in front of her chest.

“But you looked at me with those fucking huge eyes and it was like you told me that we could do this. And I trusted you. And when you grew older, you were so much like me. I never felt the need to do a paternity test. I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N.” Richie couldn’t hold his tears back any longer. His voice sounded shallow, pained, even. Y/N just sighed, but she could feel her own tears fall, shoulders relaxing in the slightest.

“If you want me to, I’ll take the test the second we get back home. But to me you are and will always be my daughter. Fucking biology can’t change that. Please, please forgive me, little one. Please. I’m so fucking sorry.” Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was full-on pleading now. Pure fear had taken over his body, fear of losing the most important person in his life. The little girl he had taken care of, taken in, cared for and given all his love for the longest time of his life. He couldn’t lose her.

“It’s okay, Richie. I’d just like to know if you’re my biological father too on top of being my psychological dad.” Y/N muttered before finally letting loose, allowing her body to break down again. She knew that it wasn’t just okay. She, as much as Richie knew that it would take time to rebuild their trust, to get back to where they were. She knew that she couldn’t just forgive him for basically lying to her all her life, but he couldn’t help it. He had been blind with trust and now he would have to pay the price. 

Richie hesitated for a moment, not knowing if she wanted distance between them to sort out her feelings or if she was craving the comfort from the man she considered her father throughout her whole life. Ultimately, he decided against his gut-feeling and shot up from the bed, wrapping his arms around her crumbling frame.

They cried. It was raw and real and painful, but it was just as relieving. Wet, desperate sounds of hurt and heartache crawled up their throats, echoing in the room. Struggling breaths and hurried gasps. Cries for help from above. Cries for the past.

Eddie, in his room, could hear the wailing sounds. They pained him. They made him want to cry as he cleaned himself up. Eddie didn’t want anything more than for the two to be alright. He wanted the man he loved to be alright and he wanted for that man’s daughter to be alright. Eddie’s creeping hopes of going home with them rather than going back to Myra felt as though they had been shattered. He felt guilty for not wanting to go back to her, but Eddie wanted to be happy. And he felt more than just happy when he was with the Tozier-Trashmouth-duo. He felt free and accepted and loved whereas with Myra, he felt oppressed and stuck in the same vicious circle every day of his life.

He appreciated her, he appreciated how she cared for him, how she reminded him of all the meds he had to take and how he could unwind a little with her after a long day at work. Eddie did have actual romantic feelings for that woman years and years ago, but now, he felt that all those feelings had faded and since arriving in Derry, the thought of going back to Myra made him feel uneasy more than anything.

He would much rather go home with the chaotic Toziers. Get to know how they live. He could help Richie manage his life. He could help Y/N whenever she was struggling in school. Maybe, just maybe, Eddie could stay at home, make sure that everything was cleaned and cared for, cook and plan out little weekend trips. Maybe he could pick up a small job to support the duo, or he could keep working at his job, it wasn’t something he couldn’t do elsewhere, and save whatever was left of his income for Y/N’s later education.

Eddie smiled, a blush on his cheeks, as he wet the cloth, trying to get the dirt off himself. Only seconds later, his happy daydreams were rudely interrupted by the most terrifying nightmare.

Ben had checked in with the Toziers as the cleansing cries ebbed off and were replaced with soft, uneven whimpers and whispers.

“We need you two right here with us.” He had told them, eyes moving from one tear-stained face to the other. Ben looked closely, examined their faces in the most detailed way, searching for similarities between the two and ending up a little satisfied as he found a few. Like the way their noses were curved. The fine lips, the gentle eyes. Ben found that they had more in common than they might have seen. He hoped that it wasn’t just mother nature and his own mind playing tricks on him.

“We’ll stay, don’t worry.” Richie replied as he watched Ben. Little did Ben know that neither Richie nor Y/N planned on staying in Derry. Ben had closed the door behind him, his steps outside growing quieter as he was on his way downstairs, unintentionally interrupting the kiss between Bev and Bill before proudly explaining to them how he managed to get Richie and Y/N to stay.

“Let’s leave.” Richie said hurriedly, back in the room. His heart was clenching in his chest at the thought of leaving his friends, most importantly Eddie, behind to fend for themselves, but fixing his family was more important to him. The blankness of Y/N face, the emptiness of her eyes, the lack of emotion in her facial features scared Richie more than IT ever could.

Y/N nodded. She was too exhausted to interact with Richie any longer. She felt empty, almost as though with all the tears she cried, she had cried out her heart and soul and every last emotion in her brain. She felt like something had been ripped away from her. Like she was incomplete. Although she knew that Richie wasn’t really gone. He was still there, still her father, but she still felt… Strange. Because everything she had believed as she grew up might have been a huge misunderstanding. And that was a lot to take in.

 Richie smiled a little. Then, he gave her a gentle clap on the shoulder, the last non-frantic movement he would make for the next few minutes. What ensued was Richie, a constant stream of swear words leaving his lips, hastily searching the room for any items that might belong to them, carelessly throwing what was left in the room into the bags. He then grabbed both bags, gently pushing his daughter to the window where a fire escape led them outside, to the comfort of the expensive car.

Y/N climbed into the back, stretching her legs across the seats while Richie threw the bags in the trunk, slamming it close, then struggled to get in and start the car. The second the motor started, Richie seemed to be a little at ease, his shoulders relaxing further the more distance he put between his little family and the hotel of horror.

Richie had turned on the radio, a random rock song was playing, and he anxiously bopped his head along to the beat. The song sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t be bothered to strain his brain for the name.

Y/N had curled up against the backseats, legs spread out over the seats. She wasn’t comfortable, but it felt better than facing the world and sitting up. She felt too tired to do that. Instead, she looked out the window, simply watching as the world passed by.

The car came to an abrupt halt, shaking the girl halfway out of her trance. She sat up a little, confused as to where the pair might be. She spotted a synagogue and let her eyes travel to Richie who now seemed to be in a little trance himself. His vision blurred with tears and he suddenly looked back at his little girl.

“Uhm… Would you- do you mind if we-“ Richie sniffled a little, pointing at the synagogue just outside. Carefully, Y/N shook her head, silently telling the man that it would be alright. And so, Richie parked the car and climbed out, leading his daughter inside. He hadn’t been there in years. Not since the bar mitzvah. Not since Stanley’s speech.

His nose filled with the typical, slightly musty smell of the place. He knew that warm but kind of old smell from the time he supported Stan when no one else would.

Richie and Y/N sat down on one of the benches and Richie’s gaze wandered through the room. In his mind, he tried to think of how it had looked back in the day. He tried to remember the decorations, how he and his mother were dressed, what Stanley wore.

How he acted. Richie’s mother had felt embarrassed that Richie couldn’t keep his Trashmouth in check for once. But not only how Richie himself acted, admittedly quite tame compared to what his teachers usually heard from him. This was about Stanley.

How he acted up against what was expected from him. How we said that he was and would always be a Loser.

How Stanley reminded Richie of who he was and would always be. That he was alright just the way he was. That he didn’t need to be afraid of who he was.

How Stanley reminded Richie that his friends needed him.

And how much he needed his friends. ‘Because Losers stick together’.

“Thank you for showing up, Stanley.” Richie sniffled in the quietest voice he could muster

And with that, Richie grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her outside again, ready to go meet Mike at the library. Ready to stand by his friends. Ready to fuck the bitch up who dared to lay a finger on his little girl and tried to tear them apart. And, lastly, ready to face Eddie. Because Richie really needed Eddie to know how he felt about him.  

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[eddieeatsass]

I’ll Trade you a Myth for a Kiss

Summary: “Derry’s kissing bridge was a little slice of romance in an otherwise unromantic town. Derry Maine didn’t exactly inspire one’s heart to soar, but something about that bridge caused a fluttering in the hearts of every person that passed it. Richie didn’t believe the myth. He was well past the age where he listened to make believe stories about true love and the promise of forever. Real life didn’t hold such fates, if it did, Richie wouldn’t be a closeted gay kid painfully in love with his straight best friend.” Pairing: Reddie Rating: T

Read on AO3

Derry’s kissing bridge was a little slice of romance in an otherwise unromantic town. Derry Maine didn’t exactly inspire one’s heart to soar, but something about that bridge caused a fluttering in the hearts of every person that passed it.

It wasn’t that the bridge was particularly beautiful, in fact it was pretty ugly with its decaying wood frame, rickety beams that split and splintered any hand that touched them, and sun-faded paint job.

It was the lore attached to the bridge, passed down through the hushed whispers of Derry residents for decades, that lured people into its hold. It was said that if you kissed someone under the bridge, they would be solidified as your soulmate; a metaphorical binding of spirits between two lovers.

Richie didn’t believe the myth. He was well past the age where he listened to make believe stories about true love and the promise of forever. Real life didn’t hold such fates, if it did, Richie wouldn’t be a closeted gay kid painfully in love with his straight best friend.

So, be it the fact that there was no actual evidence to the validity of the tall tale, or the fact that that very bridge had been the location at which his dear friend Ben had almost been murdered by Henry Bowers and his goons, Richie just didn’t have that much faith in the bridge’s supposed positive energy.

Much to Richie’s dismay, however, his cynicism didn’t do much to deter the way his heart rate spiked when he found himself sitting under that very bridge in the company of said best friend.

 They hadn’t planned on ending up here. Their day had started out much like any other; they’d met their friends at the quarry, soaked themselves and their undergarments in the deep jade water before laying out in the sun to dry. Music rang from Beverly’s small portable radio as they shared jokes and stories until the sun began to set.

They’d all gone their separate ways when there’d been no more daylight to suck out of the sun, the presence of fireflies lighting their ways home. Eddie’s bike had been confiscated by Sonia for god knows what number of reasons, so he relied on Richie to be his chauffer for the day.

And chauffer he did. Richie relished in the tight grip of Eddie’s arms around his torso, the way he’d mutter a ‘slow down trashmouth’ against Richie’s neck when he went too fast, or the little yip that he’d let out when they went over a speed bump, soaring weightlessly through the air for one blissful moment before crashing back down to reality.

He’d enjoyed chauffeuring right up until the moment he rode over broken glass, popping his tire and sending him and Eddie tumbling to the ground.

They’d been lucky, veering into grass right before impact, so their injuries were minor. But Eddie still insisted to treat them before they continued home, blabbering on about infections and amputations and- Richie didn’t listen to the rest.

It hadn’t taken long for Richie to recognize exactly where they were. His bike had decided to commit suicide right next to the infamous kissing bridge, which he’d taken home a thousand times and kissed at exactly zero times.

 “Richie.” Eddie repeated, finally garnering the attention of Richie’s quickly waning mind. Eddie waved his small disinfectant pack in the air as if an obvious gesture of irritation.

“Right, sorry Eds!” Richie scurried over to where Eddie had sat himself down on a fallen tree trunk, a miniature pharmacy set out before them all thanks to his fanny pack.

“Let me see your legs.” Eddie instructed, already loaded with a disinfectant wipe and a look of determination on his small features. It was far too cute for Richie to handle, and it made his insides churn uncomfortably. As usual he defaulted to humor, hoping it would ease his nerves.

“That’s what your mom said last night.”

“Richie! Ugh, gross.” Eddie’s nose scrunched up in disgust and Richie’s plan backfired.

With a rosy tint to his cheeks that Richie prayed Eddie couldn’t see in the dark, he sat down beside Eddie and presented him with two freshly scraped kneecaps.

Richie let out a string of curses as Eddie began cleaning the wound, but once the sting of peroxide passed, he noticed how gentle Eddie was being.

“Batman or Mickey Mouse?”

Richie looked up from where Eddie’s hand laid gently upon his knee, meeting round chestnut eyes that reflected the moonlight. Richie’s mind went blank.

“What?” He asked dumbly.

“Bandaids, do you want Batman or Mickey Mouse?”

Richie’s heart did about three backflips before he was finally able to answer, stuttering out a weak response that was not up to par with his usual.

"You know I've always been a Mickey man, myself."

Eddie quirked his lips, not quite a smile but also not the annoyance Richie was usually met with. He watched as Eddie reached into his fanny pack and pulled out a bandaid, unwrapping it carefully before moving to apply it to Richie's left knee. It barely covered the scrape, but they both knew it was for show more than function. Eddie liked knowing he'd taken care of someone, the bandaid standing out like a gold star sticker on a quiz. He nodded to himself, satisfied, before moving to tend to Richie's other knee.

 The process was much the same. It stung when Eddie applied the alcohol, Richie's heart skipped a beat when Eddie got too close, and then there was a distorted Mickey Mouse stating up at the both of them from where it sat over bloodied skin.

Richie spoke before thinking, his mouth always faster than his brain.

"What, no kiss, Dr. K?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, but if Richie wasn't mistaken, he also noted a slight rosiness rising to Eddie's cheeks.

"We're not five, Richie. I'm not gonna kiss your knee better. Also, ew."

"Who said I was talking about my knee?"

They both froze; Richie, horrified by the deception of his own thoughts, and Eddie, shocked by Richie's boldness.

"I-I-I meant my dick." Richie tried to recover, his tone none too convincing. But bless Eddie, whether truly oblivious or just pretending to be, responded by smacking Richie's chest.

It caused Richie to tumble backwards off their makeshift bench, falling into foliage that almost entirely ate him up.

“Oh my god! Richie!” Eddie’s tone shifted into concern, his body moving faster than such a little frame should be able to as he leaned over to offer Richie a hand up. Richie, widely known for acting before he thinks, took the opportunity to pull Eddie down alongside him.

The sound of breaking tree branches, rustled leaves, and tiny shrieks alerted Richie to the fact that Eddie did not land beside him as planned. In fact, a quick glance around him confirmed that Eddie was nowhere near Richie any longer.

“EDS!?” Richie’s voice was high pitched and frantic.

“Down here, asshole.”

The response, though obviously irate, still brought comfort to his beating heart.

“One second- shit- I gotta- fuck-”

Richie was stumbling over himself, squinting his eyes as he tried to see any minute flash of brown hair peeking through the dark. Richie fumbled around in his pocket, grabbing on to the lanyard that held his keys and, thankfully, a small flashlight. It wasn’t much, but it helped illuminate that area where Eddie’s voice called from.

Richie felt horrible when he realized they’d been right next to a hill, and his action had flung Eddie right down it. He spotted a small moving figure right at the bottom, underneath the looming darkness of the bridge, and set off towards it.

Getting down the hill without falling was tricky, but Richie somehow managed it. When he came upon Eddie, the smaller boy was attempting to dust the dirt off from his body. Richie decided not to note how fruitless his effort was, instead allowing Eddie to believe he had some control over the germs he’d been unceremoniously thrown into.

“Sorry about that, Eddie. You’re just so tiny, you weigh next to nothing.” Richie tried to pass off his comment as a joke, hoping it would lead them back into their usual back-and-forth. He’d never actually admit that he loved how tiny Eddie was compared to him, because that would mean admitting a whole slew of other things that he wasn’t ready to face.

“Not everyone can be Andre the giant, you ever-growing fuck. It’s not my fault my body doesn’t want to become a skyscraper.” Eddie countered.

Richie straightened his back, beginning to feign confusion as he aimed the flashlight above Eddie’s head.

“Eddie? Eddie???” Richie pretended to search for him, looking left and right but always above the line of sight where Eddie sat.

“You’re obnoxious.” Eddie stated.

“Eddie? Is that you? Where are ya boy-” Richie’s joke was cut short when Eddie swatted the flashlight out of his hand. It hit the ground with a wet splat, landing in a pile of mud just on the edge of the water.

Richie laughed heartily. He leaned down to pick it up when his gaze followed the stream of light to where it pointed right at an etching in the wooden beam that held the bridge above their heads.

Richie walked closer to it, crouching next to the engraving and tracing it with his finger. In the middle of a heart were two initials: G + H.

“How much you wanna bet that one’s Greta and Henry?”

“A thousand bucks.” Richie huffed, rolling his eyes at the thought of them carving this into the bridge after sharing a cigarette musky lip-lock.

“Good, they deserve each other. They can rot together for eternity. Thank you, magic bridge.” Eddie tapped the pillar gently, as if patting someone’s shoulder.

“Come on, you believe in this crap?” Richie stretched back up to full height.

Eddie seemed to mull the question over in his head before answering.

“I mean… what’s the harm in entertaining the idea?” Eddie’s voice had a bashful tone to it that Richie had never heard before. It made his skin prickle with warmth.

“I just never took you for the romantic type, Eds.” Richie tried to soften his voice, encouraged it to come out a little less like a tease and a little more like a confession. It seemed to have the desired effect when Richie pointed the light at Eddie and noticed a blush on his cheeks.

“Have you kissed anyone down here?” Eddie asked suddenly, the boldness shocking Richie into silence (which was rare).

Richie instinctively puffed his chest out, a bravado thick on his lips and ready to be spoken, but it deflated as quickly as it was triggered. Eddie was being vulnerable with Richie in a way that he never was, and if Richie messed this up, he might as well be damning himself to a future where Eddie didn’t trust him with moments like this. There was no greater fear than that.

“No.” Richie answered honestly, kicking a nearby rock into the water.

“Have you kissed anyone?” Eddie’s voice was barely above a whisper, almost inaudible over the sound of the crickets and the trickle of the stream.

Richie’s heart lurched in his chest so strongly it almost made him lose his balance. His eyes bugged out behind his coke bottle frames, trying to make sense of why Eddie was asking these questions. With a thick swallow, he answered.

“Yeah, only twice.” He knew he’d boasted about much more, that if the losers had been keeping tally, Richie’s supposed trysts were up in the double digits by now. But he didn’t feel like lying or keeping up some kind of charade. Not here, not alone with Eddie. “Once in 7th grade with Trisha Saunders, and then at the beginning of 8th grade with Megan DeLaurence.”

Eddie nodded sagely, looking down at his feet.

“I haven’t kissed anyone yet. I think I might be the last of the Losers who hasn’t.”

The way Eddie’s shoulders slumped made Richie want to reach forward and hold him up. His fingers twitched at the effort it took to hold himself back.

“It’s not a competition, Eddie. No one’s judging you.” Richie said earnestly, taking a step towards Eddie’s frame. Was he shivering? It had gotten kind of cold in the time they’d been standing down here. Richie hadn’t even noticed the nip of September beginning to creep in, he’d been warmed from the flush of being so close to Eddie; something he realized he’d gotten accustom to any time Eddie was around.

“Eds.” Richie sighed, beginning to unbutton the long-sleeved printed shirt he wore over his t-shirt. Once he shrugged it off, he took another step towards Eddie and draped the garment across his shoulders, making sure not to focus on how it dwarfed Eddie’s already miniscule frame.

Richie had abandoned his tiny flashlight, allowing it to dangle from a droopy hand and angle light out into the water. The darkness sheathed them from reading one another’s expressions, giving Richie the false confidence, it took for him to lean in and press his lips against Eddie’s.

The kiss wasn’t long, nor was it filled with passion. It was probably closer to the type of kiss you give your aunt at Christmas, just a chaste peck on the lips. But despite the nature of the kiss, it still left Richie buzzing from head to toe in a way that no other kiss had done before.

Sure, kissing Trisha and Megan had been fine. Richie had chalked it up to experience, telling himself that the reason he hadn’t felt anything was because he wasn’t used to it yet. But with Eddie it was a whole different world. Such a small touch had made him lightheaded, left him itching to go in for more and not stop until his lungs gave out.

Richie realized then that the silence had stretched out between them, Eddie obviously confused and, Richie realized with a pang in his heart, probably horrified.

“T-there.” Richie tripped over his words, cursing his nerves for mistaking him for Bill. He cleared his throat and tried again. “There. Now you’ve kissed someone.”

Eddie still didn’t respond, and Richie’s heartrate began to tick up into something erratic.

After a pause that probably aged Richie ten years, Eddie finally let out a laugh. A small titter that dissolved all the anxiety Richie was harboring.

“You dumbass.” Eddie giggled. “Now we’re stuck together forever!”

Richie couldn’t hold back the grin that stretched his cheeks so wide they burned. If believing that him and Eddie were now solidified as soulmates meant also believing in some invisible universal force carried on for decades by a fucking bridge, then so be it. He’d believe in every fairytale ever told if it meant being with Eddie.

Richie scratched the back of his neck, a nervous twitch he’d had since childhood. He only hoped that Eddie couldn’t see it.

“Yeah, I guess I kinda screwed the pooch on that one huh.”

“I mean, there’s worse people to be stuck with for life.” Eddie countered.

“Well I am honored I’m not the worst.”

“That honor is gonna have to go to Henry.”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about him because he’s already promised to Greta for eternity. We’re clear.”

“Good. He can have Greta as long as I can have you.”

Richie’s brain stopped functioning, all reasonable responses escaping his mind. ‘As long as I can have you’. Richie would be repeating that to himself as a lullaby from now until forever.

“You can have me.” Richie responded on a shaky exhale.

Eddie’s breathing sounded just as unsteady as it filled the space between them. With nervous hands, Richie brought the flashlight back up to illuminate Eddie’s face. He was quivering, although Richie wasn’t certain whether it was still from the cold, or from the same feeling that had caused Richie’s limbs to feel like rubber.

“We gotta get you home before you become an Edsicle.” Richie teased, breaking the tension between them and leading them back into safe territory. Eddie rolled his eyes, but traces of laughter were evident in his small smile. He shouldered Richie out of the way gently, passing him and making his way back over to the hill that he’d fallen down.

“Well, you better help me back up this hill then.” He demanded.

Richie bounded over to him with newfound glee in his heart, vowing to never take the prospect of magic bridges for granted ever again.

[bamfbuddie]

We Have Eternity In This Moment (Coda 3x15)

“Eddie! Baby!” Buck runs to Eddie’s side as people make a clearing for him. “Fuck!” He grabs his boyfriend’s arm as Eddie falls to the floor.

Buck pulls him up, staring at him in awe.

“Eddie,” he says again softly, not believing his boyfriend was really in his arms.

“Let’s get you checked up buddy, so we can get you home,” Hen says, holding him up from behind.

“I got a show and tell Friday, I can’t miss it,” Eddie huffs out.

He gives Buck a shaky smile and Buck grips him tighter helping him to the back of the ambulance. He gets Eddie’s top layers off as Hen and Chim check him over. He grabs the emergency blanket and wraps it around him, putting an arm around his shoulder to help warm him up. Eddie’s teeth are chattering as he leans into Buck’s warmth.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, babe. You scared the shit out of me,” Buck whispers as Hen checks his blood pressure.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie replies through chattering teeth.

“I thought I was the one to make impulsive stupid decisions, not you.”

“I… couldn’t just leave... Hayden down there. He’s just a kid.”

“I know. I know baby and I’m so proud of you.” Buck kisses the top of Eddie’s head.

“How is he?”

“He’s okay, he’s cold and a bit scared but he’s okay. He’s with his mom right now. They’re taking him to the hospital for observation.”

“Thank god.”

“No, thank you, Eddie. You saved him. You got him out. I love you so much.” Buck tugs Eddie closer.

*

That night Buck lets Christopher sleep with them in their bed. He knows Eddie needs it. Buck himself needs it. All through the night Buck keeps an eye on Eddie as he sleeps, holding his son tightly against his chest. Buck’s body is always in contact with Eddie, whether it be his hand or his legs tangled with Eddie’s. He needs to know that Eddie is okay and that he’s here with him and Christopher.

Seeing the tunnel collapse in front of his eyes while Eddie was still stuck down there was the scariest moment of his life. Even worse than the truck and tsunami accidents. All he could think about was how he was going to tell Christopher that his dad is gone and never coming back, about how he was going to have to keep going without Eddie by his side. That he had to get Eddie out, no matter what. Even if it means digging with his hands.

He fingers tighten around Eddie’s arm. Eddie twitches in his sleep and Buck forces himself to loosen his grip.

Read the rest on AO3

[rchtoziers]

let the space boys be happy, 14 for fluff plz kat

14. “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

ohohohoh i love this for them. anything for you my dear to make our gay suffering less

*

The past two hours since he kissed Eddie Kaspbrak have been kind of perfect, if Richie is being completely and totally honest.

He’s not biased.

He’s not.

Honestly. Okay, sure, he’s been waiting for this day since the literal second he saw Eddie Kaspbrak for the first time, probably, but he thinks that the last two hours would have been pretty damn great regardless of whether or not he and Eddie has kissed on his porch two hours ago and he’ll say it to anyone that listens.

Okay. Maybe that’s a lie. Richie’s good mood is probably, definitely influenced by the fact that Eddie’s tongue was in his throat two hours ago and it’s probably gonna influence Richie’s mood for the rest of eternity.

Still, it’s pretty fucking great being able to sit on the couch with Eddie and curl into him and not wonder if it means anything when Eddie plays with his hair. Richie can safely assume that it does mean something, and that it means something fucking awesome.

“You’re such a fucking loser,” Eddie mutters, when Richie expresses all of this to him, but his cheeks still go pink and there’s no hiding the faint smile that keeps threatening to take over Eddie’s face no matter how hard he tries. He curls a little bit closer to Richie.

“Like, I know we’re forty year old men, and I should not feel like a middle school girl whose crush just asked her to prom, but here I am,” Richie says dreamily. If he turns his head to the left, he can press a kiss to the top of Eddie’s forehead. He does it after he realizes there’s literally nothing holding him back from doing it.

“Oh my god, stop,” Eddie laughs.

“I shan’t,” Richie says honestly. He’s not sure he’ll ever shut up now that he knows Eddie Kaspbrak loves him back.

Eddie sighs like he’s extremely put out, but his hand is still scratching lightly at Richie’s scalp and coming through his curls calmly and Richie knows, honestly, that if they both had it their way neither of them would move for days.

Richie huffs in indignation when Eddie shifts them just enough so he can pull his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, stop,” Eddie mutters, but when he settles back down he pulls Richie even closer to him.

“It’s so cute that we’re cuddling like we’re teenagers,” Richie says. He half expects his parents to walk in and start teasing them again.

“Do you want me to move?” Eddie asks wryly.

Richie tightens his arm around Eddie’s waist. “Don’t you dare.”

He can feel it on the inside of his bones when Eddie laughs. It starts in his ribcage and expands until his toes are warm and he’s certain his heart could burst right out of his chest. He decides it doesn’t matter, if it does; Eddie would catch it either way.

“Wait a second,” Richie says, when Eddie unlocks his phone. Eddie sighs like he knows what’s coming. “Wait. Please lock your phone again. Please, for science.”

“Just because we’re scientists doesn’t mean you can use for science as an excuse to get people to do things.”

“Eddie,” Richie insists. “Eddie, babe. Love of my life. Light in my sky.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rich—”

“Am I your lockscreen?” Richie asks gleefully.

Eddie sighs for nearly fifteen straight seconds, extremely put out. Richie loves him so much it’s going to kill him. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Babe, we literally just kissed for the first time, like, less than two hours ago,” Richie goes on. “Did you change your lockscreen the second I planted one on you? That’s so fucking cute. Wait. Oh my god. Please tell me I was your lockscreen before I kissed you. Please, Eddie, for my health.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie snaps. “You’re so annoying, I hate you.”

“You literally don’t, I’m your lockscreen. That’s, like, the millennial way of confessing your undying love for someone.”

“I’m changing the picture,” Eddie deadpans.

Richie laughs, loud and bright and happy and warm. “Fine, change it if you’re gonna be whiny about it, but at least make it a sappy picture that you and I take, right now, sitting on this couch and cuddling.”

“What is this, 2015?” Eddie grumbles, but there’s still pink on his cheeks and his eyes are bright and happy when he lifts his phone up to take a picture of the two of them. It’s honestly one of the corniest things Richie’s ever seen, with his arms wrapped around Eddie’s waist and Eddie’s face pressed against his. Still, it’s the best picture Richie’s ever seen and probably the happiest he’s ever looked.

“Send that to me,” Richie asks, and he nuzzles his nose into Eddie’s hair.

“So bossy,” Eddie says around a sigh, but he sets the photo as his new lockscreen and sends the picture off to Richie right after. He can feel his phone vibrate but he makes no move to grab it, too comfortable and happy where he is.

“I love you,” he murmurs, even though he just spent the last ten minutes giving Eddie shit and neither of them have any business being as soft as Richie feels right now. Even though it’s not the first time he’s said it today and likely won’t be the last time he says it today.

He can feel Eddie’s smile even without seeing it. “I know, you weirdo,” Eddie says back.

“Say it back,” Richie whines.

“I literally just changed my lockscreen to a couple picture of us,” Eddie says.

“And now I want you to tell me you love me!”

Eddie laughs. “I said it earlier!”

Richie pinches Eddie’s side. “Eddie.”

“I love you, Christ!” Eddie says around another laugh as Richie pinches his side again. “I’m fucking in love with you. Happy?”

Richie ducks his face into Eddie’s shoulder and holds Eddie just a little bit tighter. “More than I can even say, baby.”

[bowieandqueen11]

While They Were Thinking It Over / Bill Denbrough Angst

Request: Could you Maybe write an IT imagine where the reader protects someone of the losers from Pennywise and she dies because of it? Thank you 

Ooof my heart! <3

Warning: Some strong language!!

‘I’m so sorry, so damn sorry to have dragged you into this, y/n.’

‘Billy, you didn’t drag me into anything’, you try to shout over the deafening sound of Richie and Pennywise’s screams as Eddie runs past you in a blur, the room shaking and blurring in front of your eyes as Mike is flung into dirty, bloody water nearby. You gaze up at the floating bodies, your eyes wide as you shout, ‘this was my own damn decision. Plus, I can’t just leave you all alone again to fight this clown bastard, we’re in this together Bill. We always have been.’

Bill’s lips twitch, and you swear you see tears well up in his eyes as he turns towards you, looking away from the spider that’s stabbing its thick legs against the ground, cracking the stone and managing to nick Ben’s side as he rolls out of the way. Bill steadies himself against the jagged stone pillar, dropping his flashlight, and you grimace slightly to see the blood that soaks his shirt as it pours like tears from the deep cut on his forehead, his hands shaking.

‘I…I wish I had more time, y/n. I k-know we m-met after Georgie’s d-death, but it feels like j-just one second. Y-you deserve more than t-this, l-love, more than m-me.’

His heart hammers as you squint at him. ‘I have so many questions, but you’re kind of scaring me with this whole ‘more time’ bullcrap, Bill. For better or worse, don’t forget that.’

Your voice nearly breaks as you continue. ‘You better not be trying anything, because I’m not going to let you. I promised you when we were fourteen that you wouldn’t be alone in this anymore, and I mean to keep my word.’

Bill’s hands clench against his dirt flecked jeans, one slipping up his thigh as he stares at you, afraid to move but knowing the only way he could keep you safe, the girl he had been in love with since the first day of school, the girl he had shared countless sleepless nights with, the girl he had married, was to end this himself.

He finally allows the tears to slip down his cheeks, and you huff lightly as you finally take in his meaning. Letting out a shaking breath, you whisper, ‘not on your life, Denbrough.’

Stumbling to your feet, feeling angrier and more indignant now than you ever had in your life, you turn to face the thing that had plagued this town and the boy who owned your heart for too long now, raising your arms out in tight fists by your side before running forward out of a floundering Bill’s grasp, passing Eddie’s reaching hands as he tries to hold you back, instead picking up the piece of fence railing you had broken off from outside the well house and slamming it down into the spider’s mouth.

Staring into its eyes, you feel its cold, slimy tendrils wrap around your mind, making you drop your arms down to your side, scraping and winding around your brain as Richie scrambles back, nearly falling down as an eternity of razor teeth roar out across the sewer. Everyone freezes, shocked and scared as you see the spider spit out the cold rail of metal, roaring as it moves closer, your grunts and moans of frustration bursting against your lips as you feel the blood start to trickle against your chin, feel the air begin to leave your lungs as your chest begins to squeeze. Hitting out against the thing, you kick and scrab and fight with all that’s left in you, closing your eyes tight and thinking only of Bill’s laugh. And for a moment, as its hold begins to loosen, it feels as if you’ve won.

Until you feel a sharp point rip through your chest and pin you to the floor.

For a peaceful few minutes, you lose consciousness, dreaming of your childhood in short flashes, not noticing Bill stumbling to his feet, his eyes bloodshot and cloudy as his heart begins to pound, whispering small little ‘no, no, no, please god no’ ‘s to himself like a mantra as he hobbles across the ground, his boots nearly slipping in his desperation to get to you, to hold you, to know that you’re alive. He pushed Mike harshly out of the way, falling to his knees by your side, as Pennywise moans, receding slowly into the background with blooding pouring out of its face.

‘No, no, goddammit y/n, not now. You can’t die now, not now! Come on, I love you! Please, y/n, I love you. I can’t lose you now.’

Eddie doesn’t think he’s seen Bill cry so much before, but as he wanders over to stand next to Richie, watching the tears drip down his cheeks in hot streams, his eyes nearly shut with pain as his lips blubber, so unsure as to what or say or what to do as his hands tremble, hovering over your body, he’s frightened by its intensity.

‘Somebody-somebody help, p-please! I can’t lose you now, y/n. Please, god just please. I’m an idiot, I know, but I’m you’re idiot, y/n. If you can hear me, please open your eyes. I c-can’t do this, n-not again. Not again.’

Pressing his head down onto your neck, he begins to sob gently, before they turn into devastating, racking sobs that echo throughout the silent building.

‘Why would you do that? Why would you do that, y/n?’

All the losers bend down to wrap their arms around Bill’s back, wiping away tears of their owns as he rests his arm around your middle, having to squeeze his nails so far into his palms that they draw blood in order to stop himself from killing Pennywise with his own bare hands.

‘Come on, come on Bill, we need to go’, Mike tugs on his shirt gently, ‘Pennywise may be gone, but he’s not dead.’

[littlemissvincentvega]

could i request how the dogs + eddie would react to their s/o curled up like a blanket burrito/worm because they had a bad day and want to cuddle but he wasn’t there for them? i’m just in a cuddly mood 😩

YES YES OMG this is so CUTE ASDJLSKDLA im-------- i need this now

mr. pink:

honestly he almost attacks you at first bc he doesn’t realise it’s you

what does he think it is????????????? we will never know. his paranoid brain is hard to understand

“fuck, baby, i almost crapped my pants!! what’s up-- what the fuck are you doin’?”

he marches over to you, hands on his hips, and sits beside you

when you tell him you’ve had a bad day, his chaotic face softens into more of a sympathetic look-- “aw, i’m-- i’m sorry”

he pulls you close to him and presses a few repetitive kisses to your temple, then flicks on the TV for you

we know pink’s kinda lanky and cold but he snuggles up under the blanket with you on the couch, and the warmth you make him feel inside just kind of radiates to you (he’s............. a sweetie really)

yea but he genuinely feels bad that he wasn’t there for you

mr. orange:

unlike pink, he knows a sad burrito when he sees one

hurries straight over to baby you, pulling you into a warm cuddle

he picks up one of his action figures from the coffee table and makes it talk for him (in a fucking ridiculous dorky voice might i add)-- “why’s the pretty girl sad?”

you giggle softly and tell him

“i’m sorry, baby. i know-- let’s order takeout, sit in our PJs and watch TV all night. s’what i always do”

and that’s exactly how you spend the rest of the night

he’s kind of a hog with the blanket but 

idk u probably end up making out let’s face it

mr. blonde:

squints over at you, curious as to what’s up

he approaches you slowly, suavely, and takes a seat beside you, setting a loving hand on your knee-- “whatsamatta, doll? tell Daddy”

you instinctively huddle up to him and explain, sighing

tutting to himself, he slaps the back of his own hand-- “now tha’s a shitty boyfriend, huh? i gotta make it up to you, sweetheart, i’m sorry ’bout that”

you giggle softly and he peppers kisses on your cheek

he cradles you, letting you have all of the blanket, his thumb brushing against your skin every so often. u know the gesture

“you, uh, want Daddy t’make you feel better?”

it’s cool if not but it’s also cool if u do ;---))))) (u kno what he’s hinting at 👁👅👁)

mr. white:

his face drops a little when he sees you and he comes straight over, hugging you to his side comfortingly-- “oh, nononono, sweetie, whatsamatter?”

he’s the kind of guy you can just immediately open up to, so you rest your head against his chest and have a little cry first

he holds you while you cry, rubbing your shoulder. he’s real good at consoling

mr fuckin compassionate

he’s so patient too like you can cry for 10 hours and he’ll sit there and hold you, wait until you’re comfortable to tell him (even if ur not comfortable with it he knows your feelings are just as valid and you aren’t inclined to tell him everything)

“let it out, sweetheart. let it out. i’m here now”

kisses the top of your head!!!!!!!!!! 🥺

probably just holds you for the rest of eternity bc he can’t stand seeing you upset

he does find it kind of funny though like the way you look all bundled up in a blanket burrito. like it’s just amusing to him and he’ll probably make a little joke about it while you’re crying to try and make you giggle through the tears

mr. brown:

tbh he gets excited at first bc he sees you in a blanket and he’s like omg!!!!!!!!!!!! she’swatchingamoviewecanwatchmoviestogetheromgiwonderwhatsheswatchingletmejoinheribetwecanstayupallnightwatchingeverysinglefilmicanrecommend

but then he like approaches you and his face drops when he realises

he sits beside you and pulls you into a hug, resting his chin atop your head-- “no, no, no, baby, what’s wrong? what’s wrong?” 

why is he so sweet????

he feels so bad that he wasn’t there for you alkdjskldja

honestly he’s a little awkward when it comes to like. knowing how to deal with a sad person so he’s just like “do you want a candy bar?” and digs one out of his jacket. it’s probably been there since july 2008

but the thought’s there right??? 

“you wanna watch the breakfast club?”

nice guy eddie:

“oh, fuck”

he knows a sad burrito when he sees one

marches over to you, pulling you into a big bear hug-- “whatsamatter, honey? i’m real sorry i didn’t get here sooner”

he’s really good at hugs ok so you instantly begin sobbing probably

he rubs your back, holds you close

probably whispers soothing things in your ear-- “who’s a beautiful burrito? who is it?” and smiles KLSJFLKFJKDA aw

lots of kisses peppered over your face & neck to try and make it up to you a little. he really does feel awful but like, it’s part of his job to be gone quite a lot so ):

but he sets aside the whole of the next day so you can both lounge around under blankets, cuddle and lazily fuck. he takes care of you, makes sure you don’t lift a finger (by that i mean he fetches drinks from the kitchen and orders takeout to be delivered bc he’s lazy too)