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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

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A/N: Timeskip Lev make me go BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF AAARF ARF. P.S: For double the experience, read while listening to this

diapason. | haiba lev

summary: in which lev meets you again and you develop some sort of warm reconnection with your past underclassman. (Continuation of this fic)

word count: 4402

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) a full, rich outpouring of melodious sound

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

The Danube Canal in mid-winter reminds you of a lot of things:

The Shakujii River flanked with its timeless parade of cherry blossom trees. Christmas celebrations spent at home with your family, popping bottles of soda and whining about misshapen gifts. Your piano recitals played in utter devotion, like the winter would never end.

You’re a long, long way away from home, and you start to hope if anyone is missing you. If there’s a hole in your figure carved into someone’s heart back in Japan or some place in the other side of the world—

What am I thinking... you sigh, bashfully urging yourself to keep on walking.

Nestling deeper into the warmth of your wool scarf, you wonder if it’s the cold ambience of the night that’s making you feel all sappy. Twinkling lights, murmured chatter from late-night cafés, the occasional gust of wind against your cheeks. You never thought you’d get so nostalgic on your “vacation”, but perhaps you’re just like any other hopeless romantic.

“Come to Vienna! A whirlwind of budding love!”

You’d read that advertisement in one of the catalogues your symphony’s personnel manager had excitedly dumped into your lap the day she announced your personal invitation to spectate the Vienna Philharmonic live a few weeks ago. You didn’t think much of the slogan, but even so... you have to admit you’re a tad bit lonely, aren’t you?

You can barely remember a moment where you didn’t feel lonely. You had your family at home, but you’d considered it your fault for being such a shut-in for the most part of your life. The neighborhood kids weren’t exactly the nicest people. And school life hadn’t been much of an improvement either.

Of course, until him.

A colossal first year stumbling into the desolate Orchestra Club room, with a mouth just as big as his stature. Haiba Lev who had been anxiously lost that day you’d met. With such little sense of direction, you can’t help but laugh at how much times he’d managed to find you in that maze of your high school.

He’d find you, talk to you, laugh with you. And you’d never felt all the rushing feelings you’d felt when you were with this dewy-eyed boy. He was the perfect image of confidence—radiant, ambitious and all the more charming.

If only you can thank him. Your hero of sorts. Haiba Lev who poured into you all the faith he had so you could move forward—

“A-ah, excuse me?”

Whipping your head into the direction of the choppy English, a seething blush rises onto your cheeks when you zero in to the large camera lens pointed right at you.

The bearded man speaks again. “Eh... you’re Japanese, aren’t you? Sorry, but we’re having a photoshoot right now, and you’re in the way of our model. Could you maybe...”

Oh dear, you frazzle. Prostrating yourself incessantly at the camera crew, you blunder. “I’m v-very sorry! Waah, I must’ve ruined your picture!”

“It’s fine,” the man smiles kindly. “Things like this often happen anyway. Ain’t that right, Hafu-sama?”

The lean figure behind you laughs, and for a second, you feel your chest flutter in your throat when you hear him. “Yep! Don’t worry about it, Miss—”

You really wish you hadn’t turned around because the moment your eyes locked with a pair of emeralds, you swear that your heart leapt out of your chest. All feeling of chilliness lamented, you feel red heat stretching out across your skin.

“H-Haiba-kun?!”

Unable to keep your footing steady, a stagnant lump rises in your throat when the familiar man grins at you with galaxies in his eyes.

“Fairy-senpai!!”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. October 2012.

“Senpai!”

Footsteps echoing down the corridor, a wave of frightened third years part to let the gigantic creature of a first year through. Haiba Lev, age 16, is excited. Haiba Lev, 194.3 centimeters tall, is burning with so much resolve that he pays no heed to the Discipline Committee member who is resentfully yelling at him to “stop running in the hallways, you hoodlum!”

But who could blame him?

When you turn around and jolt in surprise, Lev drowns in the tiny fairies that flutter in his chest.

“Haiba-kun? What are you doing here?” you take a moment to register his full presence—considering his substantial size, Lev would probably understand your current disposition.

Finally, you whisper in a low tone, highly aware of the crowd that’s pivoting towards your conversation. “... Did you get lost again?”

“Of course not!” Lev replies rather gruffly. “I wanted to look for you to give you this so I can thank you for when I got lost.”

Thrusting a daintily wrapped bento towards you, the tall boy is rather unabashed about the entire situation—lace cloth and all. There’s a fragrant steam seeping out from the gaps of the box, spooling and wafting (and you think your ears pick up the noise of someone’s rumbling stomach).

You’d thought of spending your lunch alone in your club room, or maybe even the rooftop if you were up for it... like the usual. But the moment Lev starts talking again, you completely forget the idea as a whole.

Innocently grinning, he asks, “Do you want to eat lunch together, L/N-senpai?”

How could you say no?

And thus, here you are in the courtyard with a titan first-year who is nearly twice your size, jovially chattering about as you quietly eat your lunch.

When was the last time you ate something so cute? Your parents stopped making you character bentos since you got into middle school (“Aah... sorry, Y/N. Dad’s hands aren’t as artistic as they used to be,” your father had told you that day, an utter look of guilt dancing across his face). You weren’t too confident in your own skills either, so bentos with endearing faces and shaped cut-outs of vegetables were simply a fragmented piece of the past.

First-years today are so talented, you think, shoveling down your meal in sheer politeness. “This is delicious, Haiba-kun! The chicken is so tender and the rice is so well-seasoned! I wish I had your sense for cooking...”

“My sister made it, actually. I tried to help her cut the eggs, but it ended up being a mess and she told me to just sit and wait in the dining room,” he replies sheepishly, a bubble of laughter slipping from between his lips. “I’m glad you like it though, Senpai! Just wait ‘til my sister hears about your reaction!”

“Does your sister always make your lunches for you?” you ask, curiosity subduing your reserve.

Lev takes a moment to swallow the lump of rice in his mouth.

“Mm, sometimes. If she’s not having a lecture in the morning, she’ll make breakfast. Otherwise, the teriyaki set at the cafeteria is just as good!”

Cafeteria. You shiver. That hellhole of shoving and scrambling and incessant talking... You’re thankful the school had decided to set up a few more vending machines close to campus when you entered your second year.

And then you think of Lev. With that extreme height and intimidating presence, he wouldn’t have to put his foot on the line every time he wanted melon bread, right? And he is definitely the type of person to be able to talk to the loud cafeteria lady without dropping his change.

Confidence. Recklessness. Bliss. All the prime features you wanted, right in front of you—and yet...

“Hey, L/N-senpai?” you snap awake from your thoughts. A dash of concern flashes over your underclassman’s features before he repeats his muted question. “Can I have one of your sausages?”

Peering down at the cluster of uneaten octopus sausages, you quickly nod, face reddening once you realize how close Lev is breathing near you. “G-Go ahead.”

Chirping out a “thank you for the food!”, the silver-haired boy swoops down on a miniature octopus, a sound of immense satisfaction humming in his chest. He’s like a child, you laugh to yourself. A young boy with no sense of care of the world, no concern of what’s going to happen to him unless he really does it.

Leaning back on the bench, you sigh, a smile dawning on your face. “You didn’t have to force yourself to eat lunch with me, you know. I usually eat by myself anyway.”

You’re being apologetic again. You want to punch yourself for even thinking of it. But your habit precedes your intentions, and you can already feel the mood turn sour—

“Why not though?”

Looking up at him incredulously, you can barely string together a coherent response before Lev pipes up again.

“Isn’t food always best when eaten together?”

How pretentious.

There are already valleys of flowers blooming in your stomach at his innocent reply. The same kind that sprouted the day he’d burst into your private practice room. You really hoped you wouldn’t get ahead of yourself anymore. Not with the risks that it carried. But this guileless first year was a much more difficult case than you’d imagined, and thus the flowers go into full blossom.

You smile, the faint blush on Lev’s cheeks going unnoticed. “Yeah. We should eat together more often.”

And so you did. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. The passage of time a trivial shadow beneath your budding happiness.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

“You work in a symphony?! Senpai’s job is super cool!”

Under the amber light of the cafe’s chandelier, you can’t help but feel a certain déjà vu at your current situation. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re having tea with your high school underclassman, or maybe it’s simply the residue of your more recent wistful thinking.

Yet again, it still hasn’t registered into your mind how you’d miraculously manifested Lev into proximity just from your sheer yearning... You kind of feel selfish.

“It’s just a freelance job though, it’s probably not as impressive as being a model,” you say.

Lev crosses his arms huffily, and you worry if you’ve started to offend him. Until he opens his mouth again. “Modelling is suuuper embarassing. Sometimes, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that ‘that’s my face!’ or ‘I made that pose with that other model’. The agency’s really harsh on the way I dress too—I mean, what’s wrong with wearing a shirt that says ‘HERBIVORE’ to go to Lawson’s?”

You stifle a giggle as he rambles on about “the time I had to cross-dress as a woman because the female model quit on the day of the shoot”. For someone who had grown up to be a lean, rather attractive figure, you can’t shake your head away from the thought that the 16-year old Haiba Lev is still stuck inside the body of a corporate slave. There’s a sense of relief that accompanies the feeling, and memories of your high school days slowly come into picture—

“One black tea and a latte for the lovely couple?” a kind-looking waiter gently sidles in between you, cutting Lev off from his rant, and you from your reflection.

Turning a vivid shade of crimson, you stutter, “O-oh... we are not—”

“Thank you,” Lev grins dashingly, enough to make your heart race and a few passers-by to stop in their tracks.

Once the waiter retreats back into the pantry, the man across you slowly leans forward to whisper endearingly. “My sister wants me to practice my English while I’m abroad. You think I got my message across, Senpai?”

“You did well, Haiba-kun.” There are a lot of things you want to ask him really. If he really knew the meaning behind the waiter’s sentence. Or if he realized he’d nearly pronounced ‘you’ with an extra ‘th’.

... Or why he’s pouring in a mound of sugar into your cup of tea.

“H-Haiba-kun, that order’s mine...”

“Hm? Yeah, I know,” he mutters, the soft clinking of the spoon against glass echoing in your head. “You like your stuff really sweet, right? Man, I used to be really worried the first few times we had tea together.”

That’s right, you gulp. The endless hours you’d spent together in the Orchestra Club room... he really did learn a lot of things about you that time, didn’t he? Although you had merely been friends, Lev had grown on you, as if he’d always been there from the start. And you wonder: what else does he remember about you?

“Ah, by the way,” Lev starts. “Are you still thinking about setting up that music store you wanted?”

“Of course,” you mumble. It was only a naïve dream was what you meant to say, but in the presence of such a captivating man, all the gears in your head seemed to... dislocate.

Lev smiles a simple smile. Boyish at best, but still enough to enrapture you into his lingering gaze.

“I’m glad.... I’m glad you haven’t given up. You know, the old L/N-senpai would’ve called it quits because you thought you weren’t good enough. But look at you now! Soon enough, you’ll be off to teach music to the world.”

Your heart is already doubling in size at his words. Any more and you’d probably explode... You’d lost it. You’ve lost all the capability to keep your heart in control, and now you are smiling like a maniac in front of the last person you wanted to see in this state.

But he only laughs. Youthful and full of color. Unchanging from all those years ago.

“Wahahaha! You finally smiled! We should celebrate, you know. Just a small holiday from all that hard work. Say... are you still going to be in Vienna in the weekend?”

“I’m free on those days. But what’s all this about?”

Hiding his bashful smirk behind his cup of coffee, Lev murmurs. “We have some catching up to do, don’t we—Uwaah! Hot!”

Unchanging indeed, you shake your head, calling over the waiter for an extra set of napkins.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. February 2013.

There is a tea party set stashed between the two cardboard boxes filled with sheet music and spare melodicas. They’ve been left behind by your graduated seniors, who insisted that tea, “as the prime component to a good host”, was to be kept in the club room at all times, case there were any visiting guests.

...Of course, such things never happened. And you always ended up drinking the tea by yourselves. But even with the departure of your beloved seniors, you can never shake off the habit of drinking and restocking the supplies whenever required.

So you wonder if you should really be thanking your tea-loving upperclassmen for the free beverages.

“That’s a lot of sugar!” Lev gasps in awe, the emeralds in his eyes twisting and shining with the cascade of crystals falling into your cup of tea. “I bet you have a lot of cavities in your mouth, Senpai.”

“I brush my teeth very well so I don’t think anything like that’s every happened to me,” you say, irritably trying to ignore the tactless comment from your starry-eyed underclassman. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in my club room, hasn’t it? I’m glad you didn’t get lost trying to get here.”

He grumbles, crossing his arms in faux-anger. “Geez! I won’t get lost like that so easily! Besides...”

Lev takes a moment to drink in the warmth of the club room’s solace. The grand piano in the corner. The orange light streaming through the open curtains. Your curious face, like something out of a fairytale book.

“This place is full of good memories, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll ever forget something like that.”

You chuckle at his monologue. “You sound like my grandfather, Haiba-kun.”

Lev’s face warps into something reminiscent of a prune.

“Senpai, we’re only two years apart!” he fumes. “You didn’t invite me here just to crush my self-esteem, right?! C-Come on, aren’t you going to show me the audition piece you wanted me to hear?”

There is a burning urge inside of you that’s telling you to “pull at his leg just a little more...”, but nevertheless, the artist within you says to keep your audience at bay. And so, the curtains open and your fingers dance on familiar keys.

You’ve played for him before. Songs like ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ or ‘Ma Mère L’oye’. Songs that you love, much like the one you’re performing for him right now. But you’re shaking in your seat. Wondering, anticipating, fearing.

He’s staring so much, you bite your lip, trying to avert your focus from Lev’s unbreakable gaze.

A single spectator wracks your brain even more than a theatre full of different kinds people—enthusiasts, university scouts, onlookers. But in your dismal, little club room, there is only your underclassman. Someone who knows nothing of music, but lacks so much knowledge that you know any of his critique would come from honesty alone.

...Why do you care so much about one person’s opinion?

You don’t realize how long you’ve been pondering until your train of thought is abruptly thwarted by the end of your song. You finish on a satisfying note and your endearing onlooker suddenly springs on his feet to shower you in applause.

“What the heck—that was so cool! I’ve never seen anyone play like that before!” Lev stumbles, everything and anything he’d planned to say pouring out as a blubbering mess as your face grows hotter from the attention. “Senpai, you’ll definitely pass the audition if you play just like that.”

“Y-You really think so?” he’s probably just being nice, you think. But for a spare moment, could you simply imagine that he means every word?

“I know so!” he smiles, the palpitations in your chest growing intense by the second. “You just have to keep going, won’t you?”

Even if you’re not brave enough to believe it, you want to believe that there’s a single Haiba Lev in this unyielding universe who believes that you, a mere side character who wishes for more, can and will.

You feel invincible.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

Did you know that swans mate for life? As a symbol of love and affection, they’re widely known to curve their necks together in a shape of a heart when courting. A form of elegance at its finest... until they start hissing.

“They’re so big! Senpai, come take a look at the swans!”

Folding the brochure into a tiny square, you return to your companion’s side, peering over the railings of the bridge to catch a glimpse of the thrush of white feathers down below.

You gulp. They are much larger than you expected.

“They’re surprisingly loud, aren’t they?” you mutter, watching a cygnet waddle its way out of the water onto the banks of the canal. You didn’t want to say, but it slightly reminded you of Lev the first time he’d waddled his way into the the Orchestra Club room.

With the constant squawking of the swans, the both of you find yourself in silence. For you, at least, the past two days viewing all sorts of Austrian sights with Lev had been strangely more gratifying than you’d fathomed. Lev, who’d been as excitable as he’d always been, breathes in peace, plumes of white forming from his mouth.

“This weekend’s been nice, hasn’t it?” you break the silence, observing the smooth junctures of his face. Lev turns to you slowly, his voice squeezing out.

“Don’t say that.”

Your blood freezes. “What?”

“Saying things like that...” Lev sighs wilfully and turns back to the view of the canal. He frowns. “I don’t want to think that this weekend is going to be over soon.”

You want to cry out. Me too. Me too, me too, me too. Your entire body is so full of butterflies you want to double over and pass out. But he continues.

“Travelling and talking with you is so fun, I never want it to end... It’s kind of embarrassing,” he says, eyes sparkling. “D-Do you think so too? Am I a selfish person for thinking that?”

You shake your head. “It’s not embarrassing, Haiba-kun. I—”

Are you red? Are you blushing? Your face feels so hot, you can’t even finish your sentence. He’s so close. So close to you. You want to be reliable, you want to reply, but you can’t. Under his bewitching gaze, you’ve fallen so deep.

When Lev opens his mouth again, it’s like everything around you—the bridge, the people, the swans have entirely vanished. “L/N-senpai, c-can I tell you something? Something I wanted to tell you for a long time.”

Eh?

“I’ve always liked you, Senpai. I really, really like you.”

Blank. Your mind goes blank, even when you whisper a small, “Really?”

You’re happy, you’re so happy you want to jump and shout to the world that you love him. Awfully. Dearly. It’s all like a train had crashed into you headfirst, and you can’t settle on a proper response before the floodgates burst open.

“Wh-Whoa! Don’t cry!” he flails his arms in panic as more tears dribble down your cheeks. “Geez, Senpai, at least reply to me first...”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you laugh, wiping your eyes with the edges of your scarf. “I’m just so happy, I didn’t know how to react.”

Lev’s chest inflates for a moment before he lunges forward to encapsulate you in his embrace. Between the persistent layers of clothing, the beating of his heart resonates deeply against your face. It’s quick and lively, warm enough to remind you of the swirled feelings that you harbor for one another.

“Oh, thank god...” Lev grins, burying his face in your shoulder. “You feel the same way...”

Humming calmly into his ear, you revel in the closure. “I really, really like you too, Haiba-kun.”

And none of you lets go—save for when a swan makes its way up to the bridge to peck at Lev’s boots.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. March 2023.

“... Lev, wake up.”

Feeling a slight nudge on his cheek, Lev tethers over opening his eyes to wonder at your beautiful smile or bury his face even deeper into the sheets.

It’s not like he didn’t favor you, but as of now, the comforts of your shared bed was more important. And thus, Haiba Lev, age 26, shrouds himself under the plush duvet and focuses himself on the sweet dream he was having about you.

“Lev, I know you can hear me...” he hears you sigh, long and airy, just enough to lull him back to sleep. “You have a fitting today, don’t you? You’re going to trouble Matsuyo-san and Alisa-nee if you arrive late.”

Isn’t that on Thursday? Actually... what day is it today? He isn’t very good with dates and formalities—that’s why he considers himself lucky to have you! A cute lover to bring him back to land during the day, and to shower with love and to cuddle with during the evening.

Yawning widely, Lev owlishly wrenches his eyes open, the crystalline sunlight from the bedroom window illuminating your face like a halo.... and was that his shirt you were wearing?

Lucky me~ he grins goofily.

Pressing his lips together, Lev pulls you by the wrist and before you can avoid the sudden attack, you’ve collapsed once more into a tangled mess of limbs and crooked sheets, with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Let’s just stay in bed today, Y/N-san~” he slurs, nuzzling closer to you. How catlike, you think. “I want to be lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy again...”

He yawns again, a few stray tresses of silver falling over his face. As if he wasn’t as attractive every hour of the day, you really have learned how to take control of your extreme heart palpitations around him.

Your adorable younger boyfriend, ah... he really is your weakness, isn’t he?

“I’m really sorry, but I have to open up the shop soon,” you reluctantly peel yourself away from him, eliciting a small whimper from the Leviathan in your bed. “I’ll make it up to you when I finish teaching my evening lessons and when you come home, okay?”

Stubborn as a goat, Lev grumbles. “I’ll come back early, you know. Can you not do your evening lessons today?”

“Hm? Why not?” your raised eyebrow is cynical, but is juxtaposed by the gentle strokes of your palm on the crown of his head.

As much as Lev loves you (he does, he really does!), it’s rather annoying when he can’t tell if you’re seriously being oblivious or simply teasing him. He hopes for neither, but in his case, you’re an addict to his gags and without a doubt, you’re definitely messing with him right now.

“Those damn brats... I don’t like the way they stare you up during your classes.”

You laugh, raucously. And Lev considers leaving you to catch a break from the constant jeering. When you finally pipe down, you shift closer to him and press your head onto his bare chest.

“Lev, they’re nine. How else are they going to learn to play if they don’t watch me do it first?” you chuckle. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me. You should be worrying about that fitting you have in a few hours.”

“Geez, fine,” he groans. “A kiss before I shower?”

You know exactly where this is going. “Just one.”

Lighting up like a Christmas tree, Lev makes quick work of his hands and tenderly cup your cheek before placing a timid kiss on your lips.

No morning breath, you notice. As expected of a professional model.

“One more...” he whispers, swooping down on your lips once again.

Two, three and maybe seven kisses later, Lev has you caged between his arms, his looming figure propped proudly over you as he continues to pepper you with affection. The moment he starts to lap up your bottom lip, you know you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

“It’s so early, Y/N-san,” he mumbles, pleading eyes making your heart turn to jelly. “We have a few more hours before we really have to go, don’t we? So... in the meantime...?”

Sighing, you can only turn a deep red—he really has you around his finger, doesn’t he? Oh well. You suppose it won’t hurt to push back your morning lessons for a few minutes, right?

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sourcherrybomb · 4 years

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SoKai Week 2020 - Day 4 - How to (Incorrectly) Summon a Demon

Synopsis: Sora, a wizard in training, prepares to summon a demon in a desperate attempt to improve his magical prowess. However, things don’t go exactly as planned...

Sneak Peek: “Hey now, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stare?” the demoness asks Sora in a playful fashion. “At least focus on my eyes for now, darling.”

Tags: Light Romance, Comedy, Slightly Mature, Slightly Coarse Language, F/M, (It’s not smut, I promise)

Prompt for the Day: AU Day!

Words: 2.4k

Fanart By: karya_mukti (Fiverr)

As a pale moon rises, a wizard-in-training rushes around the confines of a messy tower chamber. Curious-looking tools hang on the walls of the chamber alongside the lamps that light the darkness of the room. Various scrolls, textbooks, and phials of mysterious elixirs are strewn across the floor in a messy and uncaring fashion. The moonlight is let in through a singular, round window, the young wizard waiting for it to line up just right with the carefully detailed magic circle drawn in chalk on the floor.

The trainee’s master would most definitely be angered at the state the room is in. The thought of her in another rage brought a shiver down his spine. Besides making a mess, the various summoning taboos the young man was breaking would be enough to make a more rule-abiding student faint.

But to Sora, none of that matters.

After years of messing up and being the laughingstock of his fellow trainees, he would finally have the power to succeed. His days of messing up incantations, having spells blow up in his face, and more would all end once he summoned a powerful enough demon to assist him. Sora wasn’t just aiming for any regular old demon, he was aiming for an Archdemon.

Everything was set up. In the sky was a full moon on the sixth month of the year and the stars of Altair and Vega aligned at the perfect angle. Within Sora was enough mana saved up through the use of elixirs. On his right hand was a special tattoo made to match the summoning circle drawn on the floor. And finally, the coup de grace, a forbidden tome from his master’s personal library, one that would aid in demonic summoning rituals. Written in demontongue, Sora had spent a whole month deciphering the text in secret.

All of these tools would aid Sora in summoning a demon and becoming their master.

Wiping the sweat off his brow, he rolls up the sleeves of his uniform’s cloak. Picking up a book bound in a scaly black leather, Sora opens the ancient tome to a page he had previously marked. Raising his right hand, he waits for the moonlight to shine through the window and line up with the magic circle on the ground.

It’s now or never… he thinks to himself. As the lunar rays make their way across the room, Sora begins to speak.

L'ta raeq yoq aem saowar…

The marks on his hand begin to glow a crimson red.

Aem nph soin…

The flames from the candles surrounding the magic circle on the ground change to a violet hue.

Aem aony ardor…

The various runes within the circle begin to glow

Maezzael zes gazina…

The center of the magic circle begins to glow various shades of red.

Oth yaeza qae esaeun zoedabbi!

A blinding red light fills the room as a powerful force knocks Sora backwards and onto the floor, scattering all the texts and tools within the room alongside him. As he rubs the back of his head and his eyes regain focus, the light starts to dissipate. In its place in the middle of the magic circle was a young woman sporting a devilishly smug grin. Garbed in pink and black garments, at first glance she seemed normal, but only if you ignored the blood red horns and demonic wings behind her back.

“Hey now, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stare?” the demoness asks Sora in a playful fashion. “At least focus on my eyes for now, darling.”

Shifting his surprised gaze away, Sora stands up in confusion. “This… is not what I was expecting to happen.”

The demoness pouts and she inches closer to the young wizard. “Oh, so you didn’t mean to summon little ol’ me?”

“W-well I meant to summon a demon,” Sora stammers out. “Besides the wings and horns, you aren’t exactly what I imagined…”

“Oh don’t forget the tail, darling,” she says as the aforementioned limb slowly wraps itself around Sora’s right hand, eliciting a reaction from him that the demoness finds particularly amusing. “I swear, sometimes it has a mind of its own. As for what you imagined, at least when it comes to Succubi like me, I can’t imagine any other appearance would be as… Sensually inclined.”

“S-succubus?!”

“One of many, darling!” The succubus says as she winks. “What, don’t like what you see?”

“It’s not that I don’t, it’s just-”

“Ah, wonderful! Here I thought you were trying to summon an Incubus.” The succubus stares up and down at Sora. “You certainly do give off the disposition of someone who would do so… But darling, your reaction to me certainly proves otherwise!”

As she laughs, Sora sighs and makes a mental note to watch his words around the demoness. “Listen when I attempted to summon a demon, I was aiming for an Archdemon!”

“One of those prudes?” The succubus scoffs. “Honestly darling, you’re better off with me. Afterall, you did use a summoning circle specifically for succubi.”

“I what?!” Sora grabs the demonic summoning tome off the ground and flips to the page he bookmarked. Pointing at the page, he shows it to the succubus. “Here, doesn’t this read Archdemon?”

Pulling a pair of red glasses from thin air, the demoness reads the page. “Hmmm, nope this is a summoning ritual for me and my many sisters. Demontongue is a complex language for humans, I’m not surprised that-”

Sora lets out a frustrated yell and throws the book at the ground. It’s enough to surprise the succubus and cause the glasses to disappear. “Damn it! Why does this always happen?!” This accident was all too reminiscent of how his magical studies would go. Attempt something, fail, look for a crackpot solution, and fail again.

From behind, the succubus wraps her arms around Sora. “Awww, what’s wrong darling? Want to tell little ol’ me? I promise I’m a good listener.”

“And why do you keep on calling me Darling?” Sora asks angrily. “I have a name, you know!”

Letting go of Sora, the demoness puts her hands on her hips. “Ah yes, and I certainly would love to know it. As much as I adore calling you this little pet name-” Moving closer, she softly strokes Sora’s face. “I’ve been told by many men and women that they love it when I call their names out.”

As she continues to caress Sora’s face, he feels the anger melt away. Amongst other feelings and emotions, the gesture calms him down from his rage.

“Sora… It’s Sora.”

The succubus flashes a warm smile, one much different than the smug one she had been wearing since her summoning. The sight of it is enough to get Sora to blush ever so slightly, something she keeps a mental note of for the future.

“Well then, Sora. I’d imagine it’d be my turn to introduce myself.” As she floats backwards away from Sora, he subconsciously takes a step forward towards the demoness. “I am a Greater Succubus amongst my succubi sisters. My name in its native Demontongue is unpronounceable by most humans, but if I were to roughly translate it, in the human language it would be Kairi.”

That’s… A surprisingly cute name, Sora thinks to himself. “Okay then, Kairi. Is there any way to send you back to the Underworld?”

“My my, Sora!” Kairi feigned surprise. “I didn’t peg you as the type to toss aside a woman if she bored you.”

“N-no! It’s not like that!” he persists. “It’s just that, I did summon you by accident. The least I can do is send you back to your home without issue. I’m starting to think this whole demon summoning thing wasn’t a right fit for me, with me getting the translations wrong and all.”

“Pfft. That literal hellhole isn’t much as a home as you’d think it be. It’s been many decades since I last stepped foot in the human world, in all honesty I'd much rather stay here.” Kairi points at the mark on Sora’s right hand. “Not to mention, that seal on your hand? That’s not just for show, that’s my contract with you.”

“Contract?”

A master who can’t or didn’t read all the instructions, Kairi thinks to herself. This will be fun…

“Yes, a contract! With this seal I am bound to you until the end of your mortal lifespan.” She says to Sora, lying as easily as she could breathe. After all, the seal was less of a binding contract and more of a leash that could be taken off by the master when needed.

Looks like I have a new mana reservoir for the next… Let’s say thirty to forty years, tops. Kairi thinks to herself. After all, that’s just enough time to play around with my new boy toy…

“So I’m stuck with you then?” Sora asks, his voice slightly annoyed.

“Oh darling, I wouldn’t say stuck…” Kairi’s eyes flash red at the idea of being labelled as any sort of burden. “After all, this relationship between you and me is mutually beneficial!”

Sora slightly shrinks back when he sees the demonic red behind Kairi’s eyes. “I-If I may ask, how so?”

A sly grin shows up on Kairi’s face. “I’m glad you asked! It’s quite simple, all you need to do is give me mana daily. In exchange, I will act as a servant both in the magical sense-” Once again, Kairi closes the distance between her and Sora, putting her face barely an inch away from his. “And physical sense. I am a succubus afterall, depriving me of my more carnal desires wouldn’t be the best for either of our interests…”

Sora, being the blushing mess he his, could only let out a nervous laugh.

“Of course, you do seem much younger than most of the people who have summoned me in the past.” Kairi floats away, making space between the two. “How old are you anyways?”

The tight feeling in Sora’s chest fades away as he lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m sixteen as of this year.”

“Tsk tsk. Naughty boy, summoning someone such as myself at your age.” Kairi teases. “For now, your dreams should suffice. At least, until you become of age.”

Deep down, Sora becomes slightly disappointed that he’d have to wait a couple years. However, Hell would be more likely to freeze over before he admitted that to Kairi. Pushing those thoughts away, Sora shakes his head to refocus himself. He may have messed up the summoning, but he was going to make the best of this situation.

“Okay so you say you can help me with my magic,” Sora states. “Even someone as inexperienced as me?”

Kairi lets out a chuckle. “Can you really call yourself that after summoning the wrong demon? There’s definitely potential in you, after all. I had every right to avoid your summons and let one of my sisters take my place, but I chose to answer it.”

“But why?”

“Like I said, I wanted a taste of the human world once again!” Kairi stares out the window, gently smiling as she stares up at the starry sky above. The moonlight shines on her in a way that makes Sora stare in awe. “Oh how much I missed it! The last few masters I had always kept me at arms length, never letting me enjoy my time here. I’m only asking this because you seem to be a kind one, but please don’t be a spoilsport and let me have some innocent fun?”

Can’t help but wonder what your definition of “Innocent” is, Sora thinks to himself. “Okay, then. I’ll make a deal with you then.”

“I’m certainly listening.” Kairi focuses her gaze on Sora.

“I supply you with my mana and let you have your ‘innocent fun’ here in my realm,” Sora says sternly. “In return, you assist me in everything having to do with my magic. Giving my spells more power, creating potions and elixirs, you name it.”

Sora extends his seal-adorned right hand. Smiling, Kairi puts her hand on his.

“It’s a deal then,” she says. Pulling his hand, Kairi once again closes the distance between her and Sora, creating an intimate amount of space between them. “Of course, when you come of age, I have a feeling you’d want to revisit our arrangement to factor in my other services.”

As she speaks, Sora feels her scaly tail stroking his chin. Between that and her suggestive smile, he finds himself paralyzed. Sora finds himself unable to say anything in response.

I may have bitten off more than I can chew, he thinks to himself as images of what Kairi could do to him fill his mind.

“Now then!” Kairi claps her hands together. “I know it’s nighttime and you might pass out after all the mana you’ve just expended summoning me, but I saw a field of flowers at the base of this tower and I demand you take me to them now!”

I do feel pretty damn tired right now, Sora thinks. Some fresh air might do me good before bed, though.

“Let’s head downstairs then.” As he leads Kairi to the stairs, she does a little spin in the air and follows him.

“You’d best prepare yourself, Sora!” Kairi says. “When you wake up, the first thing you’re doing is making me some human food!”

“Hey now, aren’t I the master here?” Sora asks.

“True, but what woman wouldn’t want to be fed breakfast by their boy toy?”

Sora lets out a sigh. He knew what he was signing up for when he planned to summon a demon, he just never expected their mischievousness to include so much teasing.

Things are about to get a lot more interesting, aren’t they?

---

Gonna be real, part of me really wants to make this oneshot a multi-fic story. I’d change some details, but I think it’d be doable and a pretty fun experience. Fun fact, the root words for Succubus (succuba) and Incubus (incubāre) actually imply who’s on top or bottom, Succubi being the former with Incubi as the latter.

(Demon girls ftw, go play Helltaker on Steam. It’s free!)

Since this entry was for AU Day, so I decided to go a bit nuts and write something that’s a bit out there. Like before, thanks to the Sokai: Destined Oath Discord server as well as the member Gee for acting as my Beta Reader!

Thanks for Reading!

#sokai #sokaiweek #sokaiweek2020 #kingdom hearts fanfiction #Demon AU #sora #kairi #fanfiction #oneshot #F/M #sourcherrybomb

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just-jordie-things · 5 years

Text

What Happened 27 Years Later - Richie Tozier

word count: 18k warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, gore summary: 27 years after the horrid summer of ‘89, (y/n) gets a call that the Losers Club need her to come back to Derry to put an end to It once and for all. But she’s got quite a history with Richie Tozier, and she’s not sure how great of an idea seeing him again is. (a/n): after IT Chapter 2 I got the inspiration to write for the fandom again, not sure if I'll stick with it or not but enjoy this super long fic anyways lolol

___

When Mike Hanlon called on that fate damning day, (y/n) had almost forgotten that it had been twenty some odd years since she’d seen her childhood friends. Or even heard from them. And despite the wave of nostalgia she felt when she heard his voice, a part of her still wanted to make up a reason as to why she couldn’t go back to Maine. Any excuse would have worked, she was an excellent liar.

“(y/n), you have to come back,” Mike had pleaded into the line. “IT’s back, (y/n). We promised”

Her heart sank to her gut, and it was as though her insides were digesting themselves. All rational thought told her to decline, to go back on her promise, to tell Mike she would never step foot in Derry again. But instead, what came out of her mouth was-

“Of course. I’ll get the first flight out tomorrow”

It was like her instincts kicked in and spoke for her, knowing that she was going to do everything in her power to avoid going back to that hellhole of a town. For years she’d rebuilt her life, pushed down her trauma, lost the memories of the horrors that occured when she was just a child. And not even just that fucking clown.

“See you soon, (y/n/n). RIchie will be glad to know you’re coming”

He hung up before she could catch her breath, not having heard either of those names in… well, twenty seven years. ___

“(y/n/n)! Richie! Get the hell over here before we fuckin’ leave without you!” Eddie screamed from outside, where him and the rest of the Losers Club were waiting with their bikes to head to the quarry.

“We’ll just meet you there!” Richie called back through (y/n’s) open window. She was preoccupied with packing up her backpack with adventure necessities.

“No we won’t!” (y/n) added in a holler, shaking her head at Richie. “Come on, let’s go now” She said, throwing her backpack on her shoulders.

“No,” Richie whined as he dragged his feet after her. “Can’t we go on our own in a few minutes?

“Why?” (y/n) laughed, grabbing a can of rootbeer from the fridge on her way out the door. “That desperate for some alone time?” She added in an overly theatrical sultry tone, laughing at her own funny voice.

Being Richie’s best friend had definitely rubbed off on her.

“Well, yeah” Richie chuckled, hoping he could just laugh over the awkwardness.

(y/n) spun on her heel, the corner of her lip tugging upwards even though she bit her cheek to keep from grinning. It was kinda hard not to smile at him when he gave her that dorky look.

“Come on,” She giggled softly, tugging on his wrist with the hand that wasn’t holding a rootbeer, and pressing a quick and chaste kiss to his cheek. “Our friends are waiting”

With that, he groaned, but nevertheless followed her out the door.

He’d follow her anywhere. ___

They were going to meet at a chinese restaurant. Well, the chinese restaurant, the only one in the small town of Derry. The one that they went to after getting plastered prom night, the one they went to to pick up dumplings to sneak into the Aladdin. It had so many hazy memories surrounding it. The more (y/n) tried to remember, the less she could actually recall.

It almost felt like they were made up. Instead of being precious childhood memories, they felt like dreams she’d had years ago and could only vaguely remember. They were real, though, right?

It was strange, second guessing herself when it came to some of her memories of growing up in Derry. Especially the ones with-

“(y/n),” A voice announced behind her, like they’d forgotten her name until the moment they saw her standing outside the restaurant. She spun around, staring wide eyed at Big Bill Denbrough. “Hey” He breathed out, and once again her instincts kicked in, making her feet move until she was in his arms, hugging him tightly, and burying her face in his coat.

“I can’t believe… I can’t believe you’re here. That I’m here even” She chuckled bittersweetly as she pulled away, eyes flickering over Bill’s features. He’d aged well, all things considered.

“Yeah, me neither, to be honest,” He gave a half assed laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well look at you, what are you up to these days?”

“I uh… I’m living in New York now…” She started, nodding her head slowly. “Trying to be a journalist but… it’s hard these days, you know?”

“Oh really? I’m writing too… got a few things published but I’m in a bit of a stump right now”

(y/n) gave him a small smile, and nodded her head. She had dealt with her fair share of writer’s block.

Mike was the next to show up, and again they played catch up, and he told them that he’d started working at the library, and had never left Derry. This confused both Bill and (y/n) but neither criticized him for it.

Then came Beverly, whose presence was enough to make things easier, and conversation seemed less forced. It must be her wit and charm. They were all grateful that she didn’t grow out of it.

Eddie arrived not too long after, jittery and awkward as usual, but it was endearing.

Ben gave them all a surprise, he’d grown up real well, and seemed to finally have some confidence in himself as well. (y/n) started to wonder if everyone really was doing as great as they were saying. If they were all doing better than her.

Or maybe it was because she wasn’t around.

The more the others started to catch up and get into a more natural conversation, the quieter she became, observing them, seeing how happy they all were together. She debated whether they would notice if she left right now, if she turned and walked down the alley, and then flagged down a cab to take her straight back to the airport.

“Well look at all you motherfuckers standing around outside in the cold!”

Suddenly she was drawn right back into reality, perking up to see Richie Tozier getting out of a cab, rubbing his hands together and then stuffing them into his coat pockets. He was grinning from ear to ear, that same, dorky, adorable grin. That grin made (y/n) certain that she was remembering Derry correctly, that it wasn’t all made up in her head.

His smile went soft when his gaze landed on her, while Bill was greeting him with a hug, and Eddie was making fun of how he must’ve never cut his hair, which hung in messy curls just past his ears.

“Hey,” He said, after what felt like a lifetime passed. Bill let go of him and he wandered up to (y/n), a disbelieved scoff of a laugh escaping his lips. “Wow, look at you, toots,” His hands wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing them gently as he smiled at her up and down. “Sure grew up to be a Maxim model huh?”

Finally, she made a sound, laughing and punching his shoulder before he tugged her against him for a hug.

“Well c’mere rascal,” He said as he wrapped his arms around her tight, and it felt natural to rest her cheek against his chest. “Missed ya”

“Missed you too, Rich,” She mumbled against his coat. Even though she hadn’t missed him until she saw him again, just now. “But- uh- what about you?” She asked, pulling away far too quickly for Richie’s liking, and wrapping her arms around herself. It was to keep warm, but Richie knew it was a defense mechanism.

“Oh, you know, LA, radioshow, adult life and all that bullshit” He rolled his eyes, and (y/n’s) lips parted as though to convince him otherwise, but she quickly shut it and nodded her head awkwardly.

“Right” She mumbled, and everyone filed into the restaurant. ___

“Alright, my turn. What’s your dream job?” (y/n) asked curiously while she unrolled a fruit roll up.

“My dream job?” Richie scoffed at the question. “We’re paying a game where you can ask anything you want, and I have to answer honestly. And you still haven’t asked how big my-”

“Beep beep!” (y/n) screeched before giggling. “Jesus Rich, it’s my turn, and that’s my question”

“Alright alright…” Richie trailed off, staring up at the sky while he thought.

They’d been laying on her roof for a few hours now. Originally they’d just come outside because the sun was setting, and (y/n) thought it would be neat to watch. But the sun had long set, and the stars were twinkling in the inky sky now. They’d gone back inside, only to get a blanket to rest on, and snacks to keep them energized through their game.

“What do you think I’d even be good at?” He finally asked. “I mean, really, besides flipping burgers at Burger King, what is there for me?”

“What?” (y/n) hummed, looking over at him and furrowing her brows. “Richie, you’re good at everything. You could be… a professional dancer-”

“What the fuck!?”

“Or a doctor-”

“Opposite sides of the spectrum toots-”

“Maybe a love doctor then,” She giggled, and then looked over to see Richie furrowing his brows and shaking his head at her ridiculousness. “What? You’re flirty, you’ve got moves. But if not that then-”

“Why do you believe in me so fucking much?” He cut her off again, this time quietly, and his eyes stared into hers seriously, trying to figure her out.

“What do you mean?” She replied. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Of course, he could give her his endless list of reasons why she shouldn’t. But she’d spoken so confusedly, like the very idea of not believing in him never once crossed her mind. Something about it was so sweet, so innocent, so loving, that he forgot all about his hidden insecurities, and instead was overcome with adoration for this girl.

He realized he must’ve been thinking and staring at her for too long, because her brows drew together like she was worried about him.

“Richie? Are you alright?”

He nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and his hand reached out to take hers, the one that wasn’t holding a fruit roll up. Despite blushing at the action while he intertwined their fingers, she was still confused by the action.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ marry you one day” He announced, and (y/n) let out a laugh, surprised by the comment.

“Why?” She asked through her giggles, eyeing their connected hands.

It wasn’t like it was the first time Richie held her hand. He did it all the time, the boy craved physical attention. But something about laying on the roof, stargazing, and his hand in hers, was different.

“No one in this goddamn town’s good enough for you anyways. Your other options are a group of psychopaths, or the vapid dick-twitches from school-”

“Alright, alright,” (y/n) squeezed his hand, getting him to stop running his mouth. “So you’re my ideal husband then, huh?”

“Sure am toots,” Richie grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him. “What do you say, when we do it, we move the fuck outta Maine”

“When we do it?” (y/n) repeated, and moved to lay on her side to give him her full attention. Their hands still clasped together between them. “You’re serious? You actually want to-”

“Hell yeah,” He answered sincerely, but the dopey smile on his face made (y/n) curious if he was being serious or not. “Why not?”

She let out a huff, eyes wide, somehow still surprised by Richie and his antics. After all these years, he still managed to sweep her off her feet with surprise.

“Because we’re seventeen!” She exclaimed. “I don’t even know where I want to go to college yet- or even what to major in and-and you want to get married?”

“Hm,” Richie hummed, as he contemplated it for a moment. “How about this then, when we’re, say, thirty? If you’re not married yet, I’ll marry you”

“Uh huh, and if we lose touch? You just gonna show up out of nowhere with a ring?” (y/n) teased, and Richie faked a glare towards her.

“You think we’re gonna lose touch? Us? No way. Not in a million years”

She nodded her head side to side in agreement. There wasn’t a chance the two of them could lose touch. They were best friends, if not just a little bit closer, and dangerously sitting on the line of something more.

“Okay then, a marriage pact it is,” (y/n) chuckled. “Shouldn’t there be like… rules?”

“Nope,” Richie said, popping his lips dramatically, and making her furrow her brows in silent question. “Because then you’ll make a rule against me killin’ all your boyfriends so I can marry ya”

She scoffed out a laugh, before going instantly silent as she saw the serious look on his face. She stared at him for a minute, trying to read his complex expression. Richie was fairly good at hiding his emotions, but she had a way of getting under his skin and getting him to confess to whatever it was he was hiding.

Tonight all she had to do was raise her eyebrows, and the trashmouth caved.

“Or we can say fuck the pact, and just get married next year” He told her. And the girl’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“What?” She mumbled.

“We’ll be eighteen,” Richie shrugged. “And then we can move outta this awful fuckin’ town together. I’ll follow you, to whatever school you choose, I’ll go with you. I probably won’t get in but that’s alright, I’ll work, and help make rent, it’ll be fun. Adult life shit”

(y/n) laughed breathlessly, her eyes full of wonder at how he’d thought up all of this in that eccentric mind of his.

“You want to marry me that bad, huh?” She asked softly, and Richie just grinned back at her. “And you want to live with me? Damn Tozier… I thought you were a commitment-phobe?”

“Toots, I’ve been hanging around you for… ten whole years now,” He told her, and his thumb began to stroke over the back of hers. “I don’t think I’m scared of committing to you. Do you?”

Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly this was less fun and light hearted, and more sincere, and heavy. And his seriousness was starting to make her heart beat a little harder in her chest. And gravity was weighing down on her, pinning her body to the blanket and shingles underneath her. Tears welled in her eyes from the pressure of the situation she’d found herself in.

Richie’s thumb still caressed hers.

After a long moment, she finally shook her head, unable to find her voice.

“You alright?” He asked, “You look like you’re gonna cry”

(y/n) chuckled sadly, wiping at her eyes with her free hand.

“Sorry, you just… you’ve got me thinking about the future now” She told him, and the corner of his lip tugged into a smile.

“Gotta think about it at some point toots,” He said. “Can’t stay here forever, seventeen, in Derry. That’s a nightmare. This place is a nightmare”

“Yeah, it is,” She agreed quietly, eyes wandering back up to the sky for a moment. “Not all of it though” She added, eyes wandering towards Richie’s again, only to find his gaze fixed on her still.

He gave her that big dorky grin that she loved so much, and then laughed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. Her smaller frame fit perfectly against his, and she let out a sign, content. Perfectly content.

“Alright then, Tozier,” She hummed, shutting her eyes as she used his arm as a pillow. “When do you want to start this adult life?” ___

Everyone was full from the abundant amount of food they’d ordered, and were relaxing together. The awkward tension had fizzled out as Bill tried not to brag about his novels, Ben hopelessly flirted with Beverly, and Eddie complained about the smoking habit most everyone had. No one could deny the hole in the conversation where Stanley was supposed to be, but they tried their best to remember him how he was, and honor his life.

And then came the hard part. The part where Mike told them about the disappearances, about the numerous children that have gone missing. Just like they had twenty seven years ago.

“It’s back,” Mike said solemnly, and suddenly the laughter died, and the seven of them went silent. “It has to be Pennywise. How else could fifteen children go missing in a week in Derry?”

(y/n) stared down at her hands in her lap, her fingers wringing together anxiously.

She wasn’t sure she could go through this again. Her trauma had just gotten under control, as the years passed she remembered less and less of what happened, and that helped, but it could only do so much when every other thought she had tonight was a horrible memory of her life here. It had taken so many kids when she was growing up, and once the Losers Club had figured out what was going on, she went to bed every night afraid It would take her too. And that fear lasted for years, until she was finally old enough to strike out on her own.

It seemed the further away she’d gotten from Derry, the more distant the memories were too.

Finally, when it was too late to stick around and the owners were silently begging the group to leave, they started saying their goodbyes, and headed to the door to call cabs.

“Hey, toots, wait up,” Richie called while (y/n) was putting her coat on and making a bee-line for the door. She paused, reluctantly, and then turned to look at him. “You stayin’ at the hotel up the street?”

“It’s the only one in Derry… so… yeah” She answered, quiet, and sheepish.

“Wanna split a cab?” He asked, and she didn’t know how to politely decline his offer, so she nodded silently, and he followed her outside.

November in Derry was relentlessly cold, and even in her coat, with her hands stuffed deep into it’s pockets, (y/n) was shivering, and bouncing on her feet in hopes of producing enough energy to keep warm. While Richie was calling for a cab, she was watching her exhales visibly blow out in front of her.

“Alright, should just be a few more minutes” He told her as he stuck his phone back in his pocket.

“Hopefully sooner” (y/n) mumbled back, bringing her hands to her mouth, and cupping them together so she could blow warm air into them.

“So you’re still always cold huh?” Richie half joked. “Nothing’s really changed then”

She looked up at him for a moment, but bashfully diverted her gaze when she saw him looking back at her, and decided instead to study her boots.

“Everything’s changed” She said quietly, shamefully.

She felt embarrassed that she’d done little to nothing to keep in touch with her friends. Especially Richie. But it felt even worse to realize that she’d just about forgotten them, replaced them, and created a new life in order to further stomp away the few good memories she did have in Derry.

“Yeah, I’ll bet it has” Richie replied soberly.

“And I know it has, because I have no clue what to say to you” (y/n) spoke in a whisper, her eyes round and full of sadness as she blatantly didn’t look at him. But Richie wasn’t afraid of staring her down.

“Yeah,” He agreed. “Me neither”

She finally met his eyes for more than two seconds, a sad sort of smile tugging on her lips. He returned it, letting out a huff of a laugh.

“It’s really strange seeing you again, toots,” He told her, the old nickname never died, but it did sound more depressing than it once did. “I uh… I can’t believe I almost…”

“Forgot about me?” (y/n) finished wistfully, eyebrows drawing upwards in a knowing manner.

Richie only nodded his head, and he was the one to stare down at his shoes now.

“Yeah…” (y/n) sighed, wrapping her arms around herself as she felt the coldness spread further throughout her body now. “I mean, we were…”

“Who would’ve guessed it, huh?” He spoke sarcastically, kicking at the pavement of the sidewalk they were waiting at.

She looked at him again, at a loss of words. It broke her heart to look at him now, to see how handsomely he’d grown up, knowing he had a whole life of his own now, without her. And they’d once planned their life together.

“Cab’s here” Richie announced when a taxi rounded the corner.

They fell back into silence as it pulled up, and Richie got the door for her to get in first. Always a gentleman, (y/n) thought to herself, before remembering the day he’d gotten into a mud fight with Beverly over something she couldn’t quite remember. Well, always a gentleman with me.

She sighed contently as she relaxed in the back of the tobacco smelling cab, enjoying the hot air blowing, and rubbing her numb palms together to heat up quicker.

Richie hastily gave the driver the address, and again, it was silent.

When he let out a heavy breath, (y/n) looked over to see him fogging up the glass, and then drawing a smiley face. She let out a laugh at the childishness, and he looked over at her with an amused smile.

Maybe not that much had changed.

When they got to the hotel, they split the pay, and Richie paid the tip, even though (y/n) argued to split that too.

They walked inside together, but stalled awkwardly in the hall by the elevators.

“I’m- uh, on the fourth floor” (y/n) said, though she wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t asked, and she wasn’t trying to invite him to her room by any means.

“I’m on the second” Richie replied, bopping his head in a nod. She felt relieved that he’d even responded, since she’d said something so weird.

(y/n) was mentally kicking herself, begging the elevator to get to the first floor faster, so she could go to her room and be alone sooner. Probably to cry. She guessed when she shut the door and was in privacy, the stress would overcome her and she’d have a mini breakdown.

“You want to go to the hotel bar for a couple drinks?” Richie spoke suddenly, just as the elevator doors opened.

It would be so easy to jump inside and press the fourth floor button and get the hell out of this situation that made her palms clammy and her knees weak.

“I’d love that” She said instead, a smile spreading across her lips that took away some of the nervous tension that blanketed the two of them. He grinned back at her, and they abandoned the elevator to head back to the lobby. ___

After they each had a drink, it became easier to talk to one another. And slowly the tension went away, and they could catch up about their lives. (y/n) was eager to hear about Richie’s radio show, giggling when she realized that it probably had been his dream job.

“I should’ve known that you would find a job where you could keep all your voices,” She giggled, swirling the ice in her drink around with her straw. “Probably talked more in them than in your usual voice”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended,” Richie declared in a british accent that he’d definitely gotten better at. “But I’ll let it slide, since it’s you” He finished in his normal voice.

“Alright then,” She giggled softly before taking a drink. “So, besides work, what else is new? What’s Los Angeles like?”

“Loud, full of angry people. I love it. You would’ve liked it-” Richie stopped himself with an awkward cough. “At-at one time anyways, you would’ve liked it. But you’re probably shacked up somewhere real nice in New York, huh? Big city?”

“It’s alright,” She shrugged a shoulder. “I live in an overpriced studio apartment that I can’t afford, and can’t afford to lose” She told him, making him chuckle.

“A journalist in New York City,” Richie mused as he looked at her.

She looked so goddamn pretty, as always. Her hair falling in messy waves around her shoulders, wearing a simple sweater and jeans, the coat she’d been wearing hanging off the back of her chair. She’d angled the seat to be facing him rather the counter, giving him her undivided attention. Well, him and the near empty drink in her hand. She was smiling, that cute smile that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing for all these years.

“Told ya you were destined for something great-”

“Rich” (y/n) laughed, shaking her head shyly.

“What? That’s amazing!” Richie said proudly, and then in a softer and more sincere tone, “You’re amazing”

Her cheeks were pink, and she stared down at her drink so that he wouldn’t see her blushing, but he saw anyways.

“So, now’s the big question” Richie said, and she grinned back at him curiously, finishing her drink and flagging won the bartender for another.

“Shoot” She said, propping her elbow on the counter, and leaning her head in her hand while she studied him.

“What’s the boyfriend situation?” He asked boldly, and while the question made him nervous, her certainly didn’t show it. He kept a straight but questioning face, raising a brow at the girl after she hesitated for a few moments too long.

“Uh.. no, actually,” She answered, and happily took the new drink from the bartender, just glad to have something to hold onto. “You?”

“No boyfriends here” Richie grinned, and (y/n) chuckled but gave him a pointed look. “Nah, you know me. Dating isn’t my scene” He said, setting his beer bottle on the counter and watching her look skeptically at him.

“Dating isn’t your scene?” She repeated in a monotone of disbelief. RIchie shrugged and nodded, but the smile on his face said that he knew otherwise. “You tried to marry me, Rich” She reminded with a small laugh.

“Well, that was different,” He answered simply, but the girl’s brows furrowed and her lips parted in surprise as she shook her head. “You were… you,” He clarified. “But, I suppose you know that” He finished in a near mumble. However, it did not clear up her confusion.

“Rich…”

“You don’t remember, do you?” He asked, and she shook her head, waiting for him to explain himself. “That night I told you I wanted to marry you?” He suggested, hoping that she’d be able to remember.

He knew as well as the others that recalling memories of their childhood in Derry was the damn hardest thing to do. But he was desperate for her to recall this one specific night.

After a few sips of her drink, and a troubled silence while she racked her brain, her eyes widened, and her head shot up to look at him, and he knew. She remembered. ___

“Alright then Tozier,” (y/n) mumbled as she nuzzled her head on Richie’s arm.

The small affectionate action alone nearly made his heart burst out of his chest. He figured she could hear it, or feel it even. Her chest was pressed against his, she had to feel his wild heart beating against hers. But if she did, she didn’t mention it.

“When do you want to start this adult life?” She finished, sleepy eyes meeting his. The faint smile on her lips made them look so kissable.

“As soon as fucking possible toots,” He answered with his usual dorky grin. “Whenever you’re ready to get outta here” He added in a more sincere tone. I’ll just… follow you”

“You’re really gonna follow me wherever I go to school, and marry me?” (y/n) asked, swallowing the nervous laugh in her throat.

It was quiet for a moment, which was very unusual for Richie, but then again, everything about his friendship with (y/n) was unusual for him.

“Of course,” He told her, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. “Anywhere you wanna go, as long as you’ll take me”

“Of course” She mimicked him, voice quiet, barely a whisper, but he still caught what she said.

“Well then, next year” Richie grinned, and (y/n) nodded in agreement.

“Next year” She repeated.

Richie smiled at her, eyes flickering over her features, admiring how pretty she was in the moonlight. She was pretty in any lighting though. His free hand, the one that wasn’t trapped from her lying on his arm, reached up to tentatively trace over her cheekbone, before pushing her hair back behind her ear. He didn’t miss the way her cheeks turned rosey pink from the gentle action, but he knew full well that he had that effect on her.

“You trying to make me fall in love with you tonight?” She asked, in that soft sleepy voice that made his heart soar. She practically whispered it against his lips, the words filling the short inch between them.

He wasn’t sure what it was exactly that brought him to do it, but the moment was there and he just couldn’t not kiss her. Not with her looking at him like that, not with her laying so close. He was just dying to do it.

So he did, he closed the space between them, and with the hand he still had on her cheek, guided her lips to meet his in a soft and sweet kiss. So sweet, (y/n) couldn’t quite believe it was Richie Tozier kissing her. She wasn’t sure he’d ever been this gentle, even with her.

They parted slowly, and her eyes fluttered open to see Richie smiling back at her.

“Don’t have to make you do anything toots,” He murmured, finally answering her question. His thumb caressed over her cheekbone. “You did that all on your own”

She let out a huff of a laugh, eyes flickering between his, trying to figure out if he’d meant that, or if it was just another one of his grand romantic gestures. She didn’t find even a sliver of deception.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and he chuckled a bit, making her brows knit confusedly.

Confusion seemed to be the theme of the night.

“You taste like fruit roll up” He told her, and they both burst out laughing.

“Shut up” (y/n) scolded between giggles, swatting at his chest affectionately.

“Mhm, make me” He said teasingly, leaning back in again, this time letting her be the one to initiate the kiss. She’d wasted no time in doing so. ___

“Oh my god…” (y/n) murmured, staring at Richie with wide eyes, and he chuckled at the reaction.

“That forgettable, huh?” He joked, and she rolled her eyes. “No… I know it’s this place that made you forget. We all forgot stuff, you know”

“But that… I can’t believe… I mean-”

She cut herself off, shaking her head, a rush of embarrassment flooding over her.

“I know,” Richie told her, hoping she wouldn’t feel guilty about it. He’d forgotten too, for a while anyways. “But, we’re here now?” He suggested, in an attempt to lift her spirits. “I’m staying here the rest of the week”

“Me too,” (y/n) said, a smile pulling on her lips before hastily finishing off her drink. Richie watched with a startled expression as she drank the rest of her liquor, and set it back on the counter. “Wanna go do something stupid?”

“I love a woman that’s forward” Richie laughed, and followed her out of the bar without question. ___

“You know. When you suggested we do something stupid, this isn’t exactly what I thought you had mind” Richie said.

“What’d you think I meant?” She replied innocently, peering up at him from under her lashes.

“It’s just… so cold”

She giggled, poking his bare chest, and then turning back to face the pool in front of them.

The artificial blue waters reflected off the plain white walls and the slick tiles of the room, the only light there being the spotlights from outside that barely seeped in through the windows, and the moonlight reflecting off the waters.

It was probably one in the morning by now, and the pool had long been closed. And they were standing at the edge of it, chilly in their underwear.

As she looked down at the seven foot deep end of the pool, (y/n) was reminded of standing on a cliffside, and peering down at waters a hundred feet below her.

“I dare you to jump first” She told him, too nervous that the water would be even colder than the air in here.

“What? No, I dare you to jump first” He responded, and all the drinks in his system started to show.

She giggled at him, shaking her head and then staring down at the water again. She was starting to think that this wasn’t her best drunk idea. If they got caught, they’d definitely get kicked out of the hotel, and there was no way she was going to stay at her parents’ house while she was in town. She hadn’t even told them she was in Derry this week.

“Okay, maybe this was a bad idea” She muttered as her tipsy brain began to overthink the consequences of skinny dipping in a hotel pool in the middle of the night.

“Oh come on I didn’t raise you to be a pussy” Richie said, and before she could process what he was doing, grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him as he leapt off the edge of the pool and cannonballed into the deep end.

She barely even had time to let out a screech before she was submerged in the freezing water. She thrashed her legs around quickly to resurface, letting out a surprised gasp. Richie came up moments after her, pushing his wet hair back off his forehead and laughing almost maniacally.

(y/n) playfully scowled, shoving her hands in the water at him, and splashing a big wave of water into his face.

“You’re the fucking worst!” She shouted at him, her voice and the sloshing water echoing loudly in the high ceilinged room. Despite her scolding, she was laughing, and unable to contain the grin on her face.

Maybe it was the three drinks, maybe it was the joy of the risk they were taking just by being here. But she was overcome with excitement and laughter as they got into a splash war. The first one to be a baby and whine about the chlorine in their eyes loses.

“Ow!” Richie cried out.

He lost.

His fists were rubbing his eyes, and (y/n) stopped splashing him, trying to stifle her giggles as she swam closer to him while he rubbed his irritated eyes.

“You’re a baby,” She teased. “Come on, I splashed you like- twice-!”

She was cut off by a screech when Richie suddenly splashed a huge wave of icy water, directly at her face, before grabbing her shoulders and shoving her under the water.

“You tricked me!” (y/n) gasped when she came above the water again, teeth chattering while Richie just laughed at how funny she looked with her hair stuck all over her face.

“You look like a fucking newborn” He gagged in between laughter, pushing her hair back behind her head.

“Fuck off” She chastised, a breathless laugh escaping her lips.

They were treading water pretty close to one another, and his hands were still cradled around her head. Twenty seven or so years ago, he would’ve kissed her right now. He probably wouldn’t have been able to help himself either, just like every other time he’d ever kissed her.

“Truce?” (y/n) asked, and he laughed, nodding his head, and taking his hands off her in order to shake her outstretched hand.

“Truce” He agreed.

They swam around a bit, every once in a while surprising each other by chasing the other. At one point, while (y/n) was swimming away from Richie, he’d grabbed her by the ankle, taking the risk of getting kicked in the face, and tugged her back towards him.

She was drunkenly laughing at the action as his arms wrapped around her torso to trap her, proudly grinning that he’d won this round. Her hands were pressed against his chest as she giggled up at him. Her eyes twinkled the same way they used to when she laughed, whether sober or drunk, they always lit up.

“Humor me for a minute?” He asked, and she looked at him peculiarly before nodding her head.

“Alright”

“What do you remember?” He asked, and she blew a raspberry as she raked her mind for the memories that felt vivid enough to be real.

“I remember… the Barrens…” She said slowly, and drifted out of his arms. “I remember jumping off the cliff in our underwear, and… and we found a turtle”

“That’s the most important thing you remember?” Richie scoffed, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Shut up I’m thinking. Can’t think when you run your mouth”

“Alright alright, continue” The trashmouth waved his hand dramatically for her to go on, and watched her smile as another memory came to mind.

“I remember Prom night,” She added, and he smacked his hand over his eyes, groaning with embarrassment, and making her giggle. “Dancing with… uh… Eli? Eli Hopkins?”

“Fuck you” He muttered, but she continued.

“And you scared the shit out of him. You were too chicken shit to ask me to Prom yourself, but had no problem making the poor boy terrified to tears over dancing with me!” She teased him while laughing loudly.

“Eli Hopkins was a- he was a fuckin’ prick! I saved you” He tried to be convincing, but (y/n) didn’t buy it.

“Uh huh,” She said with a scoff of a laugh. “And I remember throwing our own after party, getting wasted and then… well we went to that chinese restaurant we were at earlier”

Richie nodded, recalling the memory perfectly. It was the first time he’d witnessed (y/n) drunk off her ass, and as hilarious as it was, by the end of the night, he’d been genuinely scared for her. That was when it dawned on him that maybe he didn’t just have a little crush.

“Oh! And I remember Street Fighter,” She said, a playful smile on her face. “You were going to-”

“-train, yes, and I did! I was great” Richie finished for her in a serious tone that made her giggle.

“Yeah, and I’d just sit there and drink slushies until you were ready to leave to do something fun,” She reminded him. “Who was I kidding, it was very entertaining to watch you play,” She added more lovingly then she had been. “I remember the night on my roof,” She continued softly, and Richie could already tell she was going to bring up their more intimate memories. “I remember you kissing me, for the first time,” She said, impossibly quieter. Her voice wasn’t echoing anymore.

Richie swallowed thickly as she swam back closer to him so that she didn’t have to raise her voice to share these specific memories.

“And the second time,” She added with a breathless laugh. “At the arcade, after you beat your high score,” Richie smiled back at her as she went on. “And the third time, at… at…”

(y/n) trailed off, brows furrowing together as she tried to remember where they had been, the night that Richie ran up to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her as passionately as she’d seen in the movies.

“After graduation,” Richie told her. “That night, after the ceremony and everything”

Today was the first day of the rest of their lives. Their real lives, the ones they were going to start outside of Derry, and no one was more eager than (y/n) was. She’d bragged for weeks about getting into a college in New York City. Not because of the prestige of the school, or the flashy city, but because it was far enough away from Derry, and the boy-slowly-turning-man was going to come with her.

She hoped.

She hoped he remembered his promise, to follow her wherever she so chooses. But it had been a year since he’d made that promise, and she wasn’t sure that being with her was what he still wanted.

It was no secret that the future was a scary thing to Richie Tozier. He didn’t handle the unknown well, or the part of growing up that required him to be an adult and make adult decisions.

She went home alone after the ceremony. After taking a picture with the rest of the Losers to commemorate their big day, they’d said their goodbyes and parted ways. Surprisingly, Richie left on his own without another word. Which was very out of character for him, everyone had just assumed he’d leave with (y/n). Including (y/n).

So as she began listing out all the things she still needed to pack for New York, she tried her best to push away the troublesome thoughts.

What if Richie didn’t want to be with her anymore? No, they weren’t anything official, and he’d only kissed her twice, which they never really talked about, but it had to count for something. They certainly weren’t platonic kisses. Not to (y/n), at least.

And she hadn’t thought they were platonic coming from him, but maybe… maybe he just didn’t feel the same way she did. They way she thought he did.

When her mother yelled up the stairs for her, she had completely stopped writing in her notebook. After only writing ‘clothes’ and ‘buy laptop’.

“Someone’s outside for you!” Her mother yelled again, and (y/n) set her things aside to head downstairs to see which one of the Loser’s were surprise visiting her.

After how awkwardly they had parted at graduation, she didn’t expect to see Richie standing at the door.

“Hey,” She greeted, forcing a smile on her face. “What’re you doing here?” The words weren’t malicious, more curious, but there was definitely and undertone of hurt in them as she crossed her arms.

“Wanted to… uh…” Richie brought a hand to the behind of his neck, nervously tangling his fingers in his hair, before rubbing the nape of his neck. “See you” He finished lamely.

(y/n) let out a giggle that couldn’t have been contained if she tried, and leaned against the doorframe casually.

“Well, here I am,” She told him. “So why are you really here? You’re a shit liar you know”

Actually, he was a great liar. She just knew him so well now that she could read his body language like an open book. And there was something he was anxious to tell her.

“I should apologize, about today, leaving without….” He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d told her goodbye, what else would he have said or done? “For leaving” He finished.

His eyes squeezed shut before he hung his head, mentally beating himself up for how bad he was at this.

“We all left, why are you sorry for leaving?” (y/n) asked, ducking her head so she could be a bit more under him, since his head was hanging, now she could meet his eyes. She gave him a gentle smile, that soothed him enough to lift his head back up and look at her normally again.

“I just am, alright? I feel like shit about it” He said defensively. (y/n) shook her head at him, brows furrowing.

“Richie, you’re acting weird,” She told him. “Even for you”

“Fuck it, I don’t even know what I’m fuckin’ doing right now” He muttered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket and spinning on his heel to get off her porch. “I’ll see you later”

(y/n) let out a silent scoff as he started to walk away, off her porch and down the driveway. Her and Richie rarely had awkward interactions. They always clicked, they were always comfortable. Whatever he wasn’t telling her, was really driving a wedge between them that she didn’t know how to un-wedge.

“Rich, wait!” She called, shutting the front door and heading down the few steps off her porch. “What’s going on?”

He turned back to look at her, standing on the sidewalk now, while she was planted in front of the steps. He threw his arms out in a helpless fashion, before letting out a heavy sign.

“I want to go with you!” He declared in a reluctant confession. “Everywhere. Anywhere, really, I just want to fucking go and- and be there with you”

(y/n) stared at him in shock. Richie wasn’t the loud professions kind of guy, but here he was, yelling what excited and scared him the most in her front yard.

“You do?” She asked breathlessly, like she was scared he was going to take it back and leave. “You’ll come with me? To New York?” Tears welled up in her eyes from relief and nervousness.

“I- Jesus fuck” Richie muttered, before heading back up to her through the dewey grass, practically breaking into a run as he got closer to her.

His hands seized outwards, cupping her face and pulling her against him as he slammed his lips down against hers, kissing her fully, and passionately.

This wasn’t like their other kisses. This wasn’t a gentle kiss in the moonlight, or an excited thoughtless kiss. This was purposeful, and conveyed everything they’d both been harboring for years now.

Her arms lazily reached up to rest her elbows on his shoulders, fingers toying with his hair as their lips met repeatedly and in sync with one another, sharing ardent kisses in between quick breaths.

“Of course I want to go with you,” He mumbled, lips brushing over hers, and then kissing her once more before pulling away to look at her. “I fucking love you”

The tears in her eyes spilled over, streaming down her cheeks and running against Richie’s fingers and palms. A barely audible breathless laugh left her lips.

“I fucking love you too” She whispered back, pushing his glasses up his nose for him before tightly wrapping her arms around him, pressing her lips against his, and then burying her face in his neck.

She remembered standing there for a long time, just crying and embracing as tightly as they had after they’d defeated Pennywise. It would’ve been impossible to break them apart.

(y/n) stared at Richie for a long moment, blinking away the mist in her eyes. He could tell she remembered, because she had that same look on her face that she did at the bar when she’d remembered their first kiss.

“The only thing that would’ve made that better would’ve been if it were pouring rain,” Richie said in a half assed joke. They both laughed weakly. “That’a been some real… real sappy shit”

“It was plenty sappy” (y/n) murmured, swimming just a little bit closer to him. Close enough to tell he was squinting just a little bit without his glasses on, and for a moment she wondered just how blurry she was to him.

“Yeah, well,” Richie coughed, trying to break up the tension. “You brought out the romantic part of me that I didn’t fuckin’ know existed” He laughed, but she smiled softly at him.

“I know,” She whispered. “I… I bought tickets, bus tickets”

Richie stared down at the waters, watching his legs kick back and forth to keep him afloat. This part of the memory ate him up inside, made him sick with nerves, and guilt.

“Two of them. For New York”

He still wouldn’t look at her.

“I waited for you, at the station, begged the driver to wait a few more minutes, so many times”

As (y/n) continued talking, the memory kept coming back to her. Until today, she’d had it in mind that she left Derry without looking back. But she had looked back. She’d looked all over the bus station for Richie that night.

“You never showed” She finished weakly.

Richie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head at her.

“I…” He couldn’t even find the right words to say. An apology seemed too small. “I couldn’t… be there,” He said, only to shake his head again and try to find a better way to put it. “With you. In your dream. You- you had a whole life ahead of you, waiting for you in New York, and that proved to be true”

“Richie…” (y/n) murmured sadly, knowing what he was going to say next.

“I didn’t want to get in the way of that. I didn’t realize when I made you that promise that… I was imposing on your dream, while trying to live out mine”

She moved even closer to him, grabbing his hands under the water, squeezing them both securely. Her lips quirked into half a smile as her eyes flickered between his. He had to see her clearly now, seeing she was a mere few inches away from him.

“That was our dream,” She told him softly, sincerely. “I would’ve given anything if you’d come to the station that day”

“Yeah,” Richie mumbled, looking down at the distorted water where she held his hands. “And I’d give anything to go back and fucking run to the bus”

She giggled, and it was a sad sound, but it was still music to his ears.

“I fucked up” He said, and she nodded, unable to deny that.

“Yeah, you did,” She agreed, in a tone too sweet for the occasion. “But… you also brought back memories I can’t believe I lost, so I’ll forgive you”

He grinned at her, and his hands grasped hers more securely to draw her in closer.

“It’s really great to see you again” He told her softly, and (y/n’s) legs slowed in their kicking to keep her afloat, making her lower a bit in the water until her chin rested at the surface.

“Great to see you too” She mumbled, eyes flickering back and forth between his repeatedly. She could still read him as easily as she had when they were kids. She knew he wanted to kiss her. Hell, he probably knew she wanted to kiss him too.

“And you’re not married…” He added, one of his hands releasing hers to wander further down in the water, before settling on her hip and drawing her body against his completely.

“I’m not…” She said, brows crinkling in confusion at his comment.

“And neither am I,” He added, and she nodded, clearly not following. “And I do believe we had a deal, toots”

She giggled, rolling her eyes at the idea of the marriage pact they’d foolishly, drunkenly-in-love made when they were seventeen.

“I see you for the first time in twenty seven years, and you still want to marry me?” She asked, only half teasing, as her hand settled on his shoulder, holding herself against him. She didn’t want him to let go anytime soon.

“You’re the one that taught me to commit, sweetheart,” Richie reminded her, and his nose bumped into hers as he leaned down towards her a bit. “Pretty sure I would’ve waited a hundred and seven years to marry you”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tozier” (y/n) replied in a murmur, shutting her eyes as she nudged his nose to the side with hers, blindly searching for his lips.

They met with ease, the kiss so electric both were surprised the water didn’t fucking electrocute them to death. Both of Richie’s hands gripped her hips while (y/n’s) hands played with the curly wet strands of his hair. And as soon as that kiss ended, a second began, and all either of them could hear was their erratically beating hearts in their chests and the echo of the waters sloshing around, spilling over the edge of the pool and making the tile floors even slipperier. With each connection of their lips, they became more desperate for more.

Perhaps to make up for time lost, or maybe just because they’d forgotten how good it felt. And good was an understatement.

She whimpered a bit as she wrapped her legs around his hips, trusting him to keep them afloat while his hands roamed over her back, before tangling up in her hair.

When it got a bit too… steamy… to stay treading water in the deep end while making out, they parted just long enough to swim over to the wall, and (y/n) giggled as Richie pulled on her arm to bring her back to him, pressing her up against the edge of the pool, and caging her in with his hands on either side of her, holding onto the lip where the flooring jut out just a bit over the water.

“Much better” He mumbled, making her smile as he leaned down to kiss her again, fully, passionately, it was like their lips still molded perfectly against one another.

She let out a long sign through her nose as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his body to be flush against hers under the water.

“This is my new favorite kiss” He told her, and she giggled against his lips, tilting her head back to look up at him.

“What was your favorite before?” She questioned.

“What was yours?” He shot back.

“I didn’t have one,” She laughed, “I personally ranked them all equally”

“Well, mine was the one on your roof” He answered, and she giggled again.

“Which one? There were like- fifteen that night-” She teased.

“Wow (y/n/n),” He replied, tone thick with sarcasm. “You must really get around, huh?” He quirked an eyebrow at him, and she bit her lip to keep from grinning like too much of an idiot.

“No… no, I’m just a bit of a slut for you” She joked, and pathetically splashed water at his chest. Richie laughed, shaking his head at her.

“Don’t say that,” He told her. “God, that sounds awful, what’re you trying to make me out to be?” She continued to laugh, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

There was nothing but adoration in her eyes, and as usual, Richie couldn’t help himself when he leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, and then leave a peck on her lips as well.

“Coulda been kissin’ you for like thirty years,” He mused. “I really am an idiot”

“Shut up, you’re gonna ruin the moment” (y/n) ordered, drawing his head down close to hers again.

“We’re having a moment?” He replied like a dumbass, and (y/n) just rolled her eyes before pressing her open mouth against his, which did the trick in shutting him up.

“Not if you keep running your mouth” She hummed, as she caught her breath, before sensually kissing him again.

“Hey! You two!”

The pair broke apart, but put no distance between them, even as a flashlight shone in their faces, effectively sobering them up the rest of the way.

“Pool’s closed, horny freaks,” The security guard muttered and shook his head. “Get the hell outta here and back to your rooms before I go report you to my manager”

Richie cussed under his breath, but pulled himself out of the pool anyways, and turned to help (y/n) out as well. The guard waited impatiently as they grabbed their clothes and towels, and scurried out of the room.

The corridors of the hotel were even colder than the water, and as they took the elevator to their floors, both of their teeth were chattering from the unforgiving air conditioning.

“Well that fucking sucked,” Richie grumbled. “Guy totally ruined our moment”

(y/n) scoffed before giggling and swatting an arm at his chest.

The doors opened when they got to the third floor, and Richie dropped a kiss to her hair before stepping out.

“Goodnight, toots” He told her with a half-smirk half-smile that made her heart flutter, just like it used to.

“Night Richie” She murmured back with pink cheeks.

The doors began to close, and he began to head down the hall to his room.

However, before they could shut, and before the elevator could take her one floor higher towards her own room, (y/n) shot her arm out, triggering the sensor that made the door open again, and raced out onto the third floor hallway.

Richie turned around, a grin already growing on his face to see her standing there, looking surprised by her own actions.

“Can- can I stay-”

“Come on, toots,” Richie cut off her stammering, reaching his arm out for her to tuck herself under, and he kept his arm around her the whole walk down the hall. “Let’s go” ___

As the sun seeped in through the cheap thin curtains, (y/n) stirred in her sleep, letting out a whine as she stretched her legs, inadvertently kicking another pair of legs under the covers. Which earned her a playful groan and a chuckle from Richie Tozier, who she realized now had his strong arms wrapped securely around her middle.

“You awake, toots?” He muttered, lips brushing lovingly over her forehead as he spoke. “Better be, ‘cause if you kick in your sleep you’re sleeping on the floor tonight”

The girl leaned her head back, peering up at him with half lidded sleepy eyes. But the sun hit them just right, illuminating the (y/e/c) hues, and for a moment Richie was reminded of the stars.

“You’re that certain I’m staying here tonight?” She teased, fingers toying with the messy locks of hair that fell over his ears.

“Well, seeing as I checked you out of your room this morning…”

“You what?” (y/n) gaped at him, a surprised and tired laugh escaping her throat. Richie shrugged guiltily, but the proud smile on his lips told her that he didn’t regret it one bit.

“Yeah, this morning,” He informed her. “Took a lot of effort to get you fuckin’ off of me though. You still death cuddle in your sleep”

“Shut up” She mumbled, wacking the side of his head lovingly before going back to playing with his hair.

“You know your entire body was on top of me?” He asked, and she rolled her eyes, not even sure she believed him. “It’s like after you were done last night you just passed out-”

“Beep beep, Richie” She hummed with a pointed glare. Although her cheeks flushed pink as she remembered the events of last night, after she’d followed Richie off the elevator, and into his room.

“I can’t believe I didn’t suffocate,” He went on dramatically. “You coulda killed me woman!”

“And yet, you checked me out of my room so I’d stay here the rest of the week” She teased, and bumped the tip of her nose against his affectionately.

Richie smiled down at her, leaning in closer, but before connecting their lips he just had to run his mouth first.

“By the way, you have to get your stuff packed and outta there before noon”

(y/n) leaned backwards so he couldn’t have his satisfactory good morning kiss, brows furrowing.

“And what time is it?” She asked, watching him grumble before looking over his shoulder at the clock on the bedside table.

“Uh, 11:30”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, and shuffled out of bed. Only then realizing she was only clad she in his mustard colored button down.

“Richie,” She sighed, gesturing downwards at the barely-covering-her-ass shirt and bare legs. “Where are my pants?”

“What pants?” Richie played dumb, and she gave him a bored glare. “The only thing I remember about pants was ripping them off-”

“Beep beep!” She squealed, already rushing about the hotel room in search of something that covered just a little more skin. She found his tee shirt, which she threw at him, and her own shirt, which she just held on to.

What? She was already wearing a shirt.

“Did you hide them?” (y/n) asked, hands on her hips as she stared Richie down, where he still laid comfortably in bed. Too comfortably.

“I told ya toots,” He grinned. “Haven’t seen ‘em since I took em off ya”

Her brows furrowed as her eyes narrowed skeptically.

“Who knows?” Richie pretended to ponder it. “Maybe I threw them out the window. Legs like those shouldn’t be covered-”

“Alright. So what you want right now, is for me to run out of here, pants-less, go up to my floor, pack my things and come back here to stay for the rest of the week, right?” She asked, done with the playful bullshit.

“That’s exactly what I want. Yes” He agreed with a sly grin as he folded his hands over his stomach, watching her curiously to see what’d she’d do next.

“Fine” (y/n) huffed, and headed for the door.

“Well- wait- hold on toots,” Richie called, and she turned to look at him, hoping he’d just give in and get her the pair of jeans so that she didn’t have to do the walk of shame across the hotel.

(Not that there was anything shameful about what happened last night)

“You’re gonna leave without kissin’ me goodbye?” He asked, puckering his lips playfully.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, and action that Richie had grown quite fond of, seeing that it was almost always directed towards him, before tugging open the door and racing down the hall to the elevator.

The less people to see her in just a weirdly colored button-up, the better.

She made it into the elevator without any complications, and sighed in relief as it took her up the one floor to get to her room. All she had to do now was run to her room, slam the door shut, and pull on a pair of jeans. How many people could be up and about in the hallways anyways? It’s not like Derry was a destination overflowing with people-

“(y/n)?”

The doors opened on the fourth floor, revealing Eddie Kaspbrak and Ben Hanscom waiting outside of it, jaws dropped open and eyes wide with realization as they looked at the girl.

“Holy fuck you slept with Richie!” Eddie screeched, his joyous laughter echoing down the halls, before he suddenly cringed and groaned in a disgusted manner at the girl. “Why?”

“Because they’re still in love” Ben cooed adorably.

(y/n) shook her head at the both of them, realizing just how much they hadn’t changed.

“Excuse me” She managed a mumble as she pushed past them, cheeks pink as she speed walked towards her room.

“Those two are still fucking digusting” She heard Eddie tell Ben before she got into her room and was finally able to shut the door and have some privacy.

And despite the teasing, it made her smile, because what Eddie thought was disgusting, (y/n) and Richie had waited a lifetime for. This was their fate, finally coming true. ___

After packing up her things, putting on a pair of pants, and moving her bags into Richie’s room, the old gang headed into Derry with Mike, awaiting further instruction on how to defeat It. For real, this time.

Much to everyone’s dismay, he’d told them to split up, to search for the artifacts they’d each left behind when they left Derry.

“Woah woah woah,” Richie spoke up, shaking his head almost comically fast. “That’s probably the worst thing we could do right now!”

(y/n’s) hand grabbed his wrist calmly, and her thumb stroked over the soft skin to settle him down.

“For once, he’s fucking right. Splitting up is how we die” Eddie agreed.

“You have to find it on your own,” Mike said. “That’s how this works, it has to solely be yours”

Richie frowned deeply, but didn’t argue again. Mike had spent the last twenty-seven years plotting, studying, trying to find a way to stop IT through hours, years, of research. If he said this was the only way to do it, then it must be.

“Once you have them, meet back at the library, okay?”

Everyone nodded, and began to head off in search of their artifacts.

Richie however, tugged (y/n) back, and gave her a look she could only describe as lost.

“It’ll be fine,” She told him with a reassuring smile, her hand settling against his cheek. “I’ll be fine,” She clarified. “And you will too. It’ll only be a few hours, and I’ll see you at the library, alright?”

“I hate this” He muttered, and she giggled softly. Richie took her hand from his face, holding it delicately in his.

He gazed at the matching scars in the palms of their hands before looking back at her again.

“Be safe?” He spoke in the form of a question, and she nodded.

“And you don’t be stupid. I mean it this time”

“This time?”

“Could never stop you from doing stupid shit before” She teased, and pulled her hand out of his as she turned to leave the woods. “See ya in a bit-”

“Hey! No goodbye kiss? Again?” He complained, and she grinned back at him.

“You can have it after your special mission,” She mocked. “I’ll see you at the library, Tozier” She added before finally heading off in the direction of town.

She had a pretty good idea of what her artifact would be. She just wasn’t totally sure how to get to it. ___

The (y/l/n) household looked the same as it had twenty seven years ago, if not a little more run down.

As she stood in front of her childhood home, (y/n) couldn’t hide the grimace on her face. Countless memories of the suffering she’d gone through growing up in that house. From her neglecting parents, to the nights she’d spent crying herself to sleep after being plagued with nightmares, her house was her least favorite part of Derry. And it was supposed to be a safe haven.

She could have walked up to the door, greeted her parents, and then went up to her room to retrieve the artifact, sure. It would have been relatively easy.

But she didn’t want to see her parents. She wasn’t ready, and somehow, it seemed easier to scale up the side of the house to her bedroom window, and sneak in as quietly as she could, rather than have to face the people who raised her.

As she struggled to force open the window, she wondered how Richie had managed to creep in all those years ago. He’d done so every night, how the hell did he get himself all the way up to the second floor?

Finally, the plane cracked as the worn wood gave out, and (y/n) was able to the window upwards and open. She cheered silently to herself as she crept inside her bedroom.

She left a considerable amount of things behind. Her bed was still against the same wall, and her desk and dresser on the opposite side. There were a few boxes of things that she’d left behind to be donated, but it appeared her parents had never taken them to the donation center.

Actually, the more she looked around, she wondered if her parents ever even came into her room. It looked untouched, dusty, and not a single thing had been moved since the last time she’d been here.

She curiously looked over the photos she and Richie had taped onto one of the walls, a collage of the Loser’s Club. Polaroids of the gang at the quarry, in their Halloween costumes, at school dances, regular ones from sleepovers.

But in the center of them all, she’d plastered one right overtop of a picture of Bill on his bike, with Bev holding onto him from behind. She’d covered it with a picture from Richie.

The photo was a blurry one of the two of them, (y/n) sitting on his lap, on Eddie’s couch, she thought. Her hands were on his cheeks, shoving them together adorably and making his lips pucker. She was grinning down at him, and despite his mouth being forced into looking like a fish, she could tell just by looking at the picture that he was smiling back. Ben had taken the picture, she remembered. And she remembered Richie giving it to her.

She carefully pulled the polaroid off the wall, fingers stroking over the delicate image, before flipping it over.

It was still there. The note.

In his typical messy handwriting, he’d written her a little note on the back of it before thrusting the picture towards her for her to take.

Stay adorable, sunshine.

And a little heart scribbled underneath it.

(y/n) found herself giggling as she looked at it, the same giggle she’d let out the day Richie had given it to her.

This was her artifact, she knew it, she could feel it.

She carefully tucked the precious photograph in her pocket, eager to get back to the library to show the others.

Just as she was halfway out her window, a voice whispered to her.

“(y/n)? Sweetheart, is that you?”

A shiver ran down her spine. Her mother’s voice hadn’t aged a day.

She was frozen in the windowsill, staring with wide eyes at the closed door. There were footsteps on the stairs, and she could see a shadow walking beneath the crack of the door. If she didn’t move now, she’d be caught.

“My little girl?” The voice called again, but this time it was distant, and distorted. “Is it really you?”

Her heart pounded in her ears, absolute fear in her bloodstream as all she could do was watch as the door suddenly swung open, revealing her mother.

Except, it wasn’t her.

It was her body, with torn, yellowing skin. Once dull (y/e/c) eyes glazed over with a milky film. Saliva dripping past rotting teeth, and over pale lips.

“My child,” The thing that wasn’t quite her mother called, and (y/n) let out a guttural scream as It raced right towards her. “You’ve come home! Back to mama!”

“No- No!” She screamed, and It took a few taunting steps towards her. Close enough that the stench of rotting flesh wafted into her nose.

And as quickly as It had stepped towards her, it’s limbs bending and snapping unnaturally, as It took a different shape. A new shape, that was also vaguely familiar.

Her father.

“It’s about time you came home…” He drooled all over her carpet, and if she wasn’t so overcome by fear, she probably would’ve thrown up. “It’s been so long, your mother just about died. But now you’re here. To stay”

Her breath caught in her throat, swallowing a scream and in turn letting out a whimper.

“No-! No you’re not- this isn’t- you’re not real!” She squealed, and forced her legs to swing out the window.

“Not real enough for you?” The gnarled voice of her supposed father asked, and slowly, the parts of him that were torn, the glossy eyes, and the drooling lip, disappeared. And just like that, it looked just like her father, the one she’d known as a child.

She wasn’t sure if this was worse than the zombified version.

“Stay!” He surged forward, snatching (y/n) by her wrist. “Stay and float”

At that, she found her voice and screamed again, yanking with as much force she could to get her arm out of it’s dirty grasp.

“Stay and float! Stay and float! Stay and float!”

As it continued to screech it’s mantra, his voice became more and more deeper, louder, monstrous. And she was afraid she’d have to risk getting her arm ripped off just to get out of it’s hold.

He threw his head back, a disgusting shriek escaping it’s throat as it’s jaw unhinged, and the body took on a new form.

“Come on toots,” An all too familiar voice took over. “Stay and float”

It took all of her fear and willpower to get away in order for (y/n) to muster up the courage to swing her leg in through the open window, kicking not-Richie’s jaw with a loud and unpleasant crack against her boot.

It stumbled backwards, finally releasing her arm as it did, and collapsed inside the bedroom.

Because of the force of her kick, and because of It letting go of her hand, she stumbled onto the roof, and rolled backwards off of the slope of shingles. Landing back down flat on the dewey ground with a thud and a groan.

She whined as she just laid there for a moment, processing (as best as she could with the wind knocked out of her) what had just happened. From It attacking her, to falling off the roof.

Richie was gonna love to hear about the latter. He’d fallen off her roof countless times when they were kids, in failed attempts to sneak out of her room.

With a wheeze she pushed herself to sit up, wiping off the grass and wetness from the sleeves of the ugly button up she still wore. After getting used to being in an upright position, she forced herself to stand, huffing and puffing and mumbling profanities.

Her hand subconsciously hovered over her back pocket, pulling out the photograph and panted out a ‘thank fuck’ seeing that it wasn’t too damaged from the encounter. Just a little bent at the edges.

A rush of adrenaline surged through her, and for the first time since coming back to Derry, she truly believed they could defeat It. The Losers could win this. ___

“Hello?” She called out into the library, eagerly running in and searching for the others.

She held the polaroid in her hands firmly, glancing around the aisles of books, but judging by the lack of response, she figured that no one was back yet.

She had known right away what her artifact would be, so perhaps the others were still on the search for theirs.

She began to wander amongst the shelves, curiously admiring the very old looking books on them. But in a small town like Derry, it wasn’t too surprising that they hadn’t gotten anything new in the last thirty years. Or by the looks of it, one hundred and thirty years.

Just as she was about to actually pick out a book to pass the time, she heard a muffled noise, which sounded all too much like someone struggling to just be the old building settling.

Her instincts told her to call out to see if anyone was there, but her history with terror told her to keep quiet, and follow the noise to see what was going on.

She crept on the tips of her toes down the aisle, and again, a definite ‘hmph!’ could be heard. She surely wasn’t alone in the library.

Peeking her head around a shelf, she was certain that this was where the intruder was.

Her heartbeat spiked, seeing him there. He had aged horribly, as expected, but something about him still had that terrifying ‘Henry Bowers’ vibe.

It was probably because he held Eddie in a prison-like grasp, a hand clamped over the hypochondriac’s mouth, and his other hand pressing a knife dangerously close to his neck.

(y/n) could see there was already a stab wound on his cheek, covered by a small square of gauze.

“(y/n)? Is that really you sweetheart?” Bowers asked, tongue licking over the front of his yellowing teeth in a sultry manner that made her shiver and grimace at once.

“Let him go, Henry,” She muttered, and tucked her photograph in the back pocket of her jeans. “You can still walk away from this. Walk away”

“Whatcha got there?” He asked, ignoring her completely. “Somethin’ sentimental? Hm? Somethin’ that’s gonna save your sad little lives? Aww…” He mocked, and shoved Eddie forward with him as he stepped closer to the girl. “Give it to me and I won’t fuckin’ slit his throat”

Eddie let out a whimper, muffled against Henry’s clammy palm.

“Not a goddamn chance” She said, voice clear, hands curling into tight fists.

There was a time that Henry Bowers could’ve threatened her into doing anything, but that was a lifetime ago, and she wasn’t afraid of his pathetic ass any more.

“Now let him fucking go”

“So pitiful. Always so naive, bitch” Henry said, and took his hand off of Eddie’s mouth to grab him by the back of his shirt, still holding a knife to his neck.

“You alright?” (y/n) murmured to Eddie while he sucked in deep breaths.

“He smells so fucking bad” He muttered back, and (y/n) chuckled, and gave him a certain nod. A nod that told him that he needed to make a move to distract Henry, and get that knife away from his neck.

The idea of fighting against a crazed man with a knife petrified Eddie, but he trusted (y/n), and right now, he trusted her with his life.

So before he could chicken out, he kicked his foot backwards, effectively swinging his foot right between Bowers’ legs. This distracted him just long enough that Eddie could run away, and (y/n) grabbed his arm to pull him with her faster, towards the library doors.

“He’s still fucking alive?” She screeched as they ran, and Eddie fumbled for his inhaler in his pocket.

“Yeah, and he’s still a fucking psycho!” He replied, taking two puffs of proventil.

The doors were just in sight, they were just a few quick strides from the exit.

But out of seemingly nowhere, (y/n) was ripped away from Eddie, and thrown against the ground. She groaned aloud as her head slammed into the floor, leaving a bruise where a bump would later rise.

“I’m tired of you fucking running away!” Henry screamed down into her face, making her wince and shut her eyes, shuffling as much as she could to get away from his knife that was threateningly pointed at her. “I’m gonna fucking kill you this time” He muttered, raising his arm with the knife, and (y/n) held her arm over her face to brace for the sharp impact.

However, she barely felt the swipe across her cheekbone, before there was nothing.

She dared herself to open her eyes, lowering her arm just as the weight of Henry Bowers fell off of her, a metal beam shoved into the back of his skull. She let out a squeak of disgust at the gruesome sight.

Just as quickly as she felt sick to the stomach, she was flooded with relief to see Richie standing over her, panting heavily and staring wide eyed from Henry’s corpse, then down to her.

“Holy shit,” He muttered, mostly to himself, and took (y/n’s) hand to help her off the floor. “Are you alright?”

She could only manage a shaky nod, her hands grasping his wrists, and her hold tightening on him the longer she held him, the reality of the situation settling in. She could’ve died.

“I killed him?” Richie half asked her, and she nodded again, glancing for half a second at the body on the ground. “I fucking killed him” He breathed out, both surprised, and a little proud.

He was beginning to smile, before he abruptly ripped himself away from (y/n) and threw up the contents of his stomach on the floor. Apparently reality had just settled in with him too.

“Oh my-” (y/n) gasped at Richie’s violent puking. She turned her head away, but patted a comforting hand on his back.

Mike, Ben, and Beverly came into the library a few moments later, all groaning and shrieking at the sight of Henry Bowers’ body on the floor, a pole through his skull.

The day had just started, and there was so much to catch up on, and so much left to do.

But for now, they had to go get Bill before he stupidly walked into Neibolt alone. ___

Richie’s hand had never held (y/n’s) so tightly. His heart dropped to his stomach as soon as they’d stepped foot into the (definitely haunted) house, and his hand had instantly shot out and grabbed hers.

For her or himself, he wasn’t sure. But they were both grateful for it in the moment.

“It’s just like last time” (y/n) mumbled, shining her flashlight all over the floor in front of her.

“If you thought that was romantic, it wasn’t” Richie replied, giving her a small smile, that she weakly returned.

If her heart wasn’t about to beat out of her chest right now, she might’ve even laughed.

After a horrible encounter with a creature designed from Stan’s corpse head, and having to swim through greywater to get to the tunnel, her heart only beat harder, and louder. Fear and adrenaline mixing together in a toxic concoction that made her swear she could feel her blood pumping.

She peered down the tunnel, afraid to even trust the rocky walls of it to climb down, much less what was on the other side.

Mike had already hoisted himself down, and Ben followed shortly after. (y/n) was the next closest to the opening, so she knew it was her turn.

“You’re alright,” Richie told her as she tied her flashlight around her wrist. She nodded, wanting to believe him, but her eyes were full of tears, and her bottom lip quivered a bit. “I’ll be right behind you, okay? It’s gonna be fine”

With a kiss on the cheek, she believed him a little more, nodding again, and then slowly lowering herself into the well.

Her hands shook as she grabbed the jutted out rocks, but she didn’t slip up the whole way down. And when she finally landed on her feet, in a cave beneath the town of Derry.

Richie dropped down a few short minutes after her, and wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her against his side almost comfortingly as they waited for the others to come down.

“What’d I tell ya?” He said with a dopey grin down at her. She let out a small laugh, and for a moment, leaned her head against his chest.

Her cheek had stopped bleeding, and while the cut that Henry Bowers had made wasn’t deep, it looked awful. Dried blood smeared over her pretty skin, dirtying it. Richie made a mental note to help her clean that up later.

“Yeah yeah, you’re always right,” She muttered, looking up at him again. “Thanks for saving my life earlier”

“Yeah, I’m a real hero, huh?” He said with a heavy sign, and she swatted at his chest with the back of her hand, and then wandering a little further into the cave, exploring the path they’d have to take to get to their final destination.

The journey continued as Eddie was the last to come down the well.

And after what felt like hours of walking, it was obvious when they reached the place they were looking for.

“Alright, quickly now!” Mike called, running up to the large rocky structure in the vast open space. Rocks jutted out from the ground, almost forming a crown in the cave.

The others followed behind him, and watched as he placed the pyramid on the ground, filled it with lighter fluid, and set it on fire.

“Okay, now place your artifacts inside” He instructed.

Bill was the first to pull his out, a paper boat, with neat handwriting on it’s side that read S.S Georgie.

Then Beverly, a taped-together postcard that she didn’t really share about before adding it to the fire.

Next was Eddie, who threw in his old inhaler, but not before taking a puff from it first, making everyone cringe.

Richie threw in an arcade token without a word. And when Eddie called him out for having an artifact that would take forever to burn, he snapped back at him. No one asked any questions about it.

Ben added a piece of paper to the fire, which he admitted was a page from his yearbook, and the only signature on it was Beverly’s.

(y/n) was next, and she reluctantly pulled the polaroid out of her pocket, gazing down at it lovingly, and smoothing her thumb over the bent corners.

“Is that…?” Ben peered over, grinning to see that the picture he’d taken all those years ago, as a joke about how much (y/n) and Richie cuddle, was still in near perfect shape.

“Wow,” Richie mumbled, reaching out to hold one side of the polaroid, as (y/n) held the other. “Look at that”

He turned it over, curious to see if his message had faded away. But there, in black sharpie ink, written in his handwriting, Stay adorable, sunshine. A sloppy heart scribbled underneath.

She grinned bashfully up at him, before a sadness settled on her features as she looked at the fire. Richie squeezed her hand, as if to tell her it was okay, she could throw it in.

“It’s uh…” She cleared her throat, hand a bit shaky as she held the picture over the fire. “It’s the one thing I should have brought with me but… didn’t”

With that, she dropped the photo into the fire, and watched edges curl up and turn black, before the flames ate it up.

Mike held up a rock, painted with what had to be blood.

“Do you remember this, Bev?” He asked, a knowing smile on his face, and her own features lit up as the memory replayed in her head. “It’s the rock that hit Bowers” He said, looking at it, and admiring what it had done for him all those years ago. It had saved his life.

He tossed in the rock, and the flames erupted even larger, brighter.

And above them, a portal, of sorts opened up. (y/n) got a glimpse of bright orange streams of light before Mike hollered for everyone to look away from the deadlights.

She had more trust in him than she had curiosity in the lights, and was quick to look downwards, pressing her hand over her eyes for safe measure.

Richie’s hand grabbed her free one, pulling her closer, and even closer when the power of the deadlights going into the pyramid was blowing harsh winds all around them.

The ground began to shake as the orbs were completely submerged inside the pyramid, and (y/n) pressed her face completely against Richie’s chest, holding him tightly and fearfully. She wasn’t sure what was happening, or when it was safe to look.

But things settled down, the winds stopped, the ground stilled, and slowly, everyone cautiously peeked their eyes open.

Mike was quick to slam the lid over the pyramid, trapping the deadlights inside.

“We did it?” Bill breathed out, unsurely.

“It’s gone?” Richie asked. “Just like that?”

“We did it,” Mike said, a tired grin tugging on his lips. “We did it, we trapped the lights”

Everyone seemed to smile, and let out sighs of relief.

(y/n) pulled away from Richie only to reach up and eagerly press her lips against his, hands splaying across his cheeks, and grinning even wider as she pulled away. He took her in his arms, lifting her off the ground as he hugged her enthusiastically.

“We fucking did it!” He cheered, even spinning the girl around before setting her back down.

Their moment was short lived, as they were soon joined by Pennywise, who mocked their efforts at defeating him, and released the deadlights from the pyramid. And if that wasn’t enough to make their fear settle in their bones again, he grew about a hundred feet, taking on the leg form of a monstrous spider, and chased them amongst the rocks with crazed laughter.

Richie haphazardly reached out for (y/n), and pulled her with him behind a tall rock that should keep them out of It’s view for a few moments, which was all he needed.

“Listen to me, are you listening to me? Listen,” Richie instructed hastily. “We dont- we don’t have much time-”

“What?” (y/n) said, urging him to hurry up before Pennywise rounded the corner and was able to see them.

“First chance you get, you run the fuck out of here-”

“Richie no-!”

“Promise me, fucking- swear to me, that if you get the chance you fucking book it, okay?” He pleaded, but she shook her head back and forth, tears welling in her eyes as Richie continued to beg her. “Swear to me- do it (y/n) swear”

“I- I can’t” She whimpered.

“You can, please, please. If you stil love me just- just fucking promise me you’ll get the hell out of here, and get safe,” She cried harder, a small gasp departing her lips as her throat burned with tears. “I need you to be safe, okay?”

He peered around the rock, seeing Pennywise nearing where they were hiding, and then turned quickly back to (y/n).

“Richie I can’t leave- I’m not leaving you again,” She wept, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Please don’t make me-”

“I’ll be there with you as soon as I can,” He promised, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “I swear it, alright? I just need you to swear to me you’ll get out of here”

“Rich” She cried, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and for a mere second relished in the feeling of the pads of his thumbs swiping away her tears.

“Do you understand me?” He spoke after a moment, and she nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Her sad eyes met his, and they alone told him everything that she needed him to know. He gave her a bittersweet smile, before drawing her face in close for him to press his lips in the space between her eyes.

“I love you,” He murmured before pulling away. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Richie could see that It was even closer, and he pushed her away from him. “Now go!”

She let out a cry as she was forced out of his hold, and the tears started up again as she made a bee-line towards the entrance of the cave they’d come in through.

She made it through the passing just before It was able to spot her, and hid under the rock as she watched It pass, and Richie ran from his hiding spot to another.

Her hands had been shaking, and she couldn’t get herself to move, even though at this point, she probably would get away. But looking at the Losers, her friends, all running about the cave and trying to hide before It could grab them and terrorize them, she couldn’t go through with it.

Her eyes caught Richie’s, who began to shake his head, already knowing what she was thinking. She gave him a sad smile, and realized she wasn’t shaking anymore.

She wasn’t afraid.

Richie shook his head again, waving his arms around in an ‘x’ sort of motion, desperate for her to listen to him. To turn around and start running.

‘I’m sorry’ she mouthed, and wiggled out of the crevice.

“(y/n)! No!” The scream Richie let out echoed over the sounds of Pennywise’s snapping jaws and clattering crab-like legs.

She wasn’t afraid, but he certainly was.

She scaled up to a cliffside that was jutted out from the cave’s wall, collecting as many rocks as she could and beginning to throw them with all the force she could muster.

And if their lives weren’t at stake, he would be proud and cheering her on as she began to launch rocks at It. But instead, his heart was beating erratically with fear as he watched her do something so reckless.

Nevertheless, he ran up to her, and joined her in pelting the monster with the largest rocks they could lift.

“You’re stupid! You’re insane!” He yelled at her, but she just gave him a wide grin, and shrugged her shoulders, before heaving up a rather large rock, swinging low so she could throw it as high as she could. It landed with a loud ‘thunk’ ‘crack’ against Pennywise’s skull, and he screeched as the area began to crack, blood pooling upwards.

“Well where do you think I picked it up from?” (y/n) asked teasingly, hands dropping to her knees as she bent over and heaved.

She only had a moment to catch her breath before Pennywise whirled around, and the small moment of victory was gone in an instant.

It’s large crooked leg knocked her off the cliffside she stood on, and sent her tumbling down to the ground below. Richie shrieked, scurrying to get down to her, but in his haste his eyes went upwards, landing on the blue circling orbs, and he was trapped in the deadlights.

(y/n) pushed herself up on shaky arms, spitting out blood and wiping haphazardly at her mouth to get the excess blood off her lips. As she got up, her eyes caught Richie, floating above her, staring with dull eyes at whatever Mike had told them not to look at.

“Richie!” She screamed, and despite her legs feeling like jelly, she shoved herself upwards and ran towards him, hoping if she jumped high enough, she could grab his leg and pull him down to her. “Richie! Come on!” She pleaded, eyes welling with tears as she tried, and failed, over and over again to grab onto him.

“(y/n)! Look out!” Eddie blared, just in time, as It came running towards her, reaching greedy hands down towards her body.

“Come on toots,” It’s voice was deranged and she hated the way her special nickname sounded coming out of it’s clown painted mouth. “Don’t you wanna float with your lover?”

She scrambled away as quickly as she could, but It was so close behind her, she was bound to be snatched right up.

“Help!” She screamed, begging her legs to move faster, but sure enough, a large hand wrapped around her torso and picked her up like she was a doll.

She screamed, throwing her fists against the back of Pennywise’s gloved hand, as though it could cause any damage anyways. The higher he pulled her upwards to his face, the more she realized she didn’t actually want him to let go of her. A fall at this height was bound to kill her. So eventually, she stopped hitting his hand, and instead clutched onto the silk glove to keep her secure.

“You’ve caused quite some trouble” It spoke angrily, leaning in close so she could see it’s bright orange eyes.

“There are other ways to make him feel small!” Mike shouted. “You have to make It feel small!”

Her eyes darted from the man on the ground, back up to the large figure that held her captive in it’s hand.

“I’m not afraid of you,” She declared, voice clear, and candid. For a moment, she swore It’s face twitched with a wince. “You’re just a clown. You’re not fucking scary. And I’m not scared of you!”

It snarled, baring it’s endless rows of razor sharp teeth as it roared right at her face. She screamed, suddenly very afraid that this was how she died, that she’d be just another one of it’s snack-turned-victims.

But just as she thought she was going to be thrown into It’s mouth like a potato chip, the roaring ceased, as a long metal spear had been thrown into it’s exposed throat, ripping through to the otherside.

Her eyes widened at the gruesome sight, and It stumbled backwards, dropping her body in the process. She screamed as she fell, but was silenced as soon as she hit the ground.

“Oh my- fuck! (y/n)!” Eddie ran over to her, helping her sit up and make sure she hadn’t hit her head too hard. “Did you see that!? Did you see what I just fucking did!?” He cheered for himself, but his voice was merely a distant echo in (y/n’s) ears.

“Wh- what about Richie?” She mumbled, rubbing her head as she looked over to see him falling from where he was floating. “Is he- oh my god”

Her legs shook, so much so that she kept on tripping and falling as she made her way over to where Richie laid, and eventually her knees completely gave out, and she collapsed at his side.

“R-Richie?” She shook him, afraid to see his eyes shut as he laid there, almost lifelessly. “Richie!?” She yelled now, grasping the material of his shirt in her hands as tears built up and burned her eyes.

He gasped, head shooting up for a moment before falling back down against the rock. He took in deep breaths and stared at her with wide eyes, not sure what had just happened that had knocked him out.

“You’re okay, you’re okay?” She repeated herself, hands moving rather quickly over his face, both comforting him and inspecting for any blood or injuries.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” He wheezed, and (y/n) took his face in her hands, a cry of relief coming from her throat. She was smiling, but still crying. “You gotta stop crying today toots, I don’t have the time to kiss all those tears away” He teased, and pushed himself to sit up on shaky arms.

“Shut the fuck up” She whimpered happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to sit up the rest of the way so she could hug him as tightly as possible.

Her hands grasping at his hair, and then his shoulders, and then the back of his shirt, anything she could hold. Richie buried his face in the crook of her neck, arms encircling her torso and squeezing her tight against him.

“God, Rich,” She mumbled, pulling away from him to look at his face. His glasses were a bit cracked, and there was a nasty bruise along his cheek, a little bit of blood trickling down his forehead from his hairline. “You look like shit” She giggled, carefully wiping away the blood with her thumb.

“Yeah yeah, real hot coming from you” Richie said, silently counting the cuts and bruises littered over (y/n’s) face. The cut from Bowers, a bruise at her temple, a slightly blackening eye, bloody nose, split lip, she was a mess.

It hurt to smile, but she couldn’t help it. One of her hands shakily racing to place her palm against his cheek. The expression on her face something that made Richie want to both cry and hold her in his arms for as long as possible.

“Richie…” She mumbled. “I-”

The world stuttered in it’s timeline, it had to have, because what happened next, Richie was certain it was in slow motion.

A large claw protruded through (y/n’s) chest, making her words stutter to a stop, and slowly, she bowed her head down to see that it was, in fact, It’s razor sharp leg. Impaled clean through her back.

“(y/n)!” Richie’s scream was blood curling, but all she could hear in that moment was white noise, eyes trained on the wound in her chest. She was frozen in fear, and the realization that she was going to die here hit her like a truck on the highway.

Her chest suddenly felt very warm, and as It retracted the claw that had pierced through her whole body, she realized it was because of the fresh blood streaming out of her body, dampening her clothes in a soggy red.

Richie’s hands were fumbling over the wound as Pennywise’s claw was retracted, and the other Loser’s were screaming insults at it to finish the job. Meanwhile, Richie carefully laid (y/n) down over his lap so she’d be more comfortable.

“(y/n), no… no no no, sweetheart, hey,” Richie cooed quietly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. “Hey it’s alright, you’re alright, we’ll get you out of here real soon-”

“Richie,” She whimpered, taking his bloody hand away from her face, and intertwining his fingers with hers. “Listen to me”

Her voice was small, but she needed him to stop his rambling so he could hear her.

“Listen- listen,” She mumbled, gathering what little strength she had to squeeze his hand. “It’s okay”

“No-! No, no it isn’t it’s not fucking okay-”

“Richie,” She cried, one tear rolling down her bloody cheek. “I’m okay, I’m gonna be okay,” She was lying through her teeth, just trying to calm him down even if it was just for a moment. “You’ll be okay”

He shook his head, tears falling freely now, but he didn’t cut her off.

Thi couldn’t be happening, not now, not after he just got her back. He just got her back, last night. And they’d had a wonderful time together, they clicked just like they had back then. He’d gotten to kiss her again, hold her again, love her again, how could this happen? How could she be ripped away from him so soon? This wasn’t fair this wasn’t fair this wasn’t-

“I love you,” She whimpered quietly, sad to even say it, given the circumstances, but she knew she had to. For both of their sakes. “Okay? I love you, I always did, okay?”

I told you to run, why didn’t you run away? Why didn’t you listen?

It wasn’t fair. But there was no changing it, there was no way for him to fix it, and that’s what broke him the most.

There was no saving her.

“Okay,” Richie mumbled back. The finality of their situation could be heard in the one word he spoke. It was a goodbye. Holding her hand tightly in his, and his free hand stroking her hair out of her face to keep it from getting stained with blood, he nodded his head a bit down at her. “Okay. I know, toots”

It was quiet for a minute as she tried to hold back her tears, for him. SHe could feel her heart slowing, and most of her body had gone numb in shock. All she could really feel was Richie’s hand tightly holding hers. She hoped that when the time came, he’d let go. Begged whoever was up there to help him let go.

“Hey,” Richie called softly, hastily wiping at his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “(y/n) (y/l/n)”

“Richie Tozier?” She replied weakly, confused.

“Will you marry me?”

The question was so soft, she almost didn’t catch it.

A cry left her lips as she nodded, unable to hide her tears from him any longer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” She mumbled. “Yeah, I’ll marry you”

Her whimpers broke his heart, but he smiled gently down at her nonetheless.

“Alright then toots,” He whispered, and stroked her hair back again so he could lean down to her, and kiss her forehead with a featherlight touch.

She closed her eyes at the action, and they both missed Pennywise being shrunken down into dust. Too wrapped up in one another to even realize he was gone.

“Rest easy, baby” Richie said quietly, his nose pressed into the crown of her head, and his eyes squeezing shut tightly, too afraid to look at her as she took her last breath. “I love you so fucking much”

When he finally pulled away, he knew her eyes wouldn’t open again.

The Losers were quiet as they gathered together, all staring at (y/n’s) boneless body in Richie’s arms. He was holding her against his chest, rocking slightly as he cried into his shirt that she still wore. If they’d stepped closer, they would have heard him cursing straight at God. But no one dared to take another step forward, letting Richie have this moment to mourn. ___

“She saved my life,” Eddie declared, while everyone was floating in the quarry, rinsing off the blood and gore that stained most everyone’s clothes and skin. “At the library. If she hadn’t come in, Bowers would’a killed me”

The others nodded solemnly as Eddie spoke.

“She genuinely cared about me,” Ben said next, remembering the first time he’d met her. She was the one that offered to let him ride on her bike after his run-in with the Bowers Gang. She’d demanded that they helped clean him up. “I guess… she saved my life too”

“Mine too,” Beverly agreed, smiling bittersweetly. “Beat up Greta Keene in the seventh grade. She was half her size, and she lost terribly but… she did it anyways”

“Me too,” Mike added. “Told my grandpa she was a vegetarian so when she came over we didn’t have to slaughter anything,” He chuckled a bit. “We always starved but… she knew I was always too chicken shit to do it”

“She used to help me with my s-” Bill cut himself off before he could chop up the word. “She’d help me pronounce things b-better,” He looked down at the water with a frown. “She always just wanted to help”

Everyone was looking at Richie now, while he was holding his glasses in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I have too much to say” He finally spoke through his tears.

Beverly swam over and held onto his arm, leaning her head against his elbow to comfort him.

“You always do,” Eddie said, but the teasing words came out in a gentle whisper, as he floated to Richie’s other side, and wrapped his arm around him. “And somehow, she loved that about you”

Richie laughed humorlessly, and for a moment wondered how she’d put up with him all through their adolescent years.

“I abandoned her,” He told them. “We were supposed to go to New York together, but I left her” He frowned deeply, but the corner of his lips twitched up in a small smile. “But when she came back… when we all came back she…”

It was like his voice broke at that point, and he shoved his glasses back onto his nose.

“She still loved me anyways” He finished in a hushed voice.

“Of course she did,” Beverely cooed. “No one’s ever loved anything as much as (y/n) loved you” She told him sincerely.

“Back then and now,” Ben added. “Just so you know. It was always obvious to the rest of us”

Richie’s lips pulled into a small smile at everyone’s kind words, but they didn’t stop the tears from falling down his cheeks.

Everyone gathered around him to embrace tightly, all mourning the loss of their friend, and admiring her for saving all of them in her own little ways.

“I just miss her so much,” Richie whimpered, leaning his head down onto Eddie’s shoulder as he cried. “I don’t know how to go about the rest of my life now without her”

“Day by day,” Bill said softly. “We’ll get a gravesite for her, alright? So we can visit?”

Richie nodded, wiping at his face.

“Yeah, that’d be nice” He mumbled out. (y/n) wouldn’t have wanted to be buried and forgotten in the place Neibolt once stood. She’d want a real memorial, and Richie wanted it for her.

He was going to do for her what she deserved, for the rest of his damned life, he swore it.

It would’ve been in his vows, anyways.

___

taglist: @hippeyhaley (i'd had my taglist for IT closed bc i didn’t think i'd be writing for it again, but i'll re-open in the case that i do continue writing for it, hmu if you want to be added)

don’t worry, here’s the alternate ending. i knew y’all would cry about it.

xoxo ~ jordie

#IT #IT fanfiction #Richie Tozier #Richie Tozier x reader #Richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier imagine #finn wollfhard x reader #bill hader x reader

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pettyprocrastination · 4 years

Text

Hell is a Nine to Five Max Philips x Reader

Summary: Max Philips is your new boss at your hellscape of a job. He can’t help but be drawn to you and when he learns your lineage and last name (Harker) he fears this may put a dwindle on his plans. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to ask you out though,,,right?

Chapter summary: Max doesn’t show up until next chapter this one is just set up about your place in the office environment. And for those who don’t know her last name is Harker as in Jonathan Harker from dracula. Don’t worry future chapters will be full of that sweet sweet tension and yearning.

@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa this legend has fucking iconic writing and got me to watch bloodsucking bastards and HERE I AM. Please check out their stuff yall holy shit.

“Yo Harker!”

Your eyes flicked away from your computer screen just in time to see your grinning blonde coworker push himself over to you in his cubicle chair with a flourish. “Mike is kicking my ass this round and I know somewhere under all that nerd there is a girl who loves video games, tap in?” He pointed to his own cubicle, his computer screen flashing with some video game that he and 90% other men on the floor were constantly playing. You knew this because no matter how loud your sales call was, you can always hear him scream profanities in agony when he inevitably gets killed by some other dumbass who should also be doing his job instead of playing video games like a fifteen year old with a rattail.

You feigned interest for a moment, before your focus went back to your screen, fingers tapping away on the too-damn-old-and-fucking-sticky-to-properly-work keyboard so you can finish this report that Mike was suppose to have done...Yesterday.

“Hard pass.”

“Oh come on!” Tim pushed his chair closer to you so he could slump his head on your shoulder, but you remained focused on the task at hand. The task being doing your goddamn job which nobody on that floor seemed to do. “I've got to piss like a racehorse but if I drop this round I owe him fifty bucks!”

Okay. That got your attention.

“Where the hell did you get fifty bucks?” You pushed yourself away from your tiny desk for a moment, wheely chair spinning to face him. “I know for a fact that not even ten fucking minutes ago you asked Evan if he could spot you a twenty so you could pay Dave for the NBA pool that you always lose.”

Tim opened his mouth for a moment before closing it with a huff. “You fucking suck, you know that Harker?”

“Love you too Tim.”

That’s how your work days went.

Spend hours on end stuck in a windowless room, hunched over a computer from the fucking 90’s, doing not only your work, but the work of 70% of your coworkers who are too busy playing video games, gossiping, or watching porn to even pretend like they're doing their job. Occasionally Tim would try to pull you away to tag in for him on his video games, rate the new interns, or make fun of Evan during your lunch break.

Speaking of which.

The fluorescent lighting wasn’t any less nauseating in the breakroom, but it offered you a slightly lower volume of the endless ringing of phones, piss poor marketing tactics used by your coworkers to convince people to buy whatever dogshit product you had to push for the week, and the oh-so-obnoxious shouts of Mike, who’s main purpose in life was to bully nine-year-olds who he played video games with.

“That’s right you fucking pussy! I’m the king!”

Keyword: slightly lower volume.

“All I’m saying is that you're one of the smartest people here.” Tim plunked himself down in the plastic chair to your right, while Andrew sat on your left. “You’re always doing work-”

“Because I’m at work.”

“-you can type without looking at your hands-”

“Really not that complicated of a skill but okay.”

“-And you're not easily distracted!”

“Because nothing in this hellhole is worth my attention.” You mumbled into your sandwich, which was then flung out of your grasp and onto the floor as Tim slapped you on the back with what you assumed was supposed to be gusto.

Five second rule maybe?

“Which is exactly why you-oh my bad sorry- but that is why you should team up with me and Andrew to kick Mike’s pimply ass!”

Andrew’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Dude. I agree with you but I could do without the description.”

You stood up to retrieve your fallen turkey on rye. Looks like you're going without lunch today “Yeah, I second that notion.”

“Listen I just think-”

Evan, your lanky acting sales manager walked into the breakroom with purpose, and coincidentally, right onto your lunch.

Yup. Definitely no saving that.

“Hey Tim, have you started on the Phallicite presentation yet?”

Tim froze, stroking his chin in fake thought before letting out a sharp laugh “Yeah no.” Evan threw his head back and groaned. “Sorry buddy.”

“Come on man! Could you please, just this once-”

“I already did it.” You cut in, Evan turning to you, bagged eyes wide.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked twice, then again before his mouth hung open.“Like..like the WHOLE presentation? All on your own?”

You shrugged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of him as you waited for him to take his foot off your fucking sandwich. “Yeah. stayed overnight yesterday because I knew damn well Tim wasn’t gonna do it-”

“Rude but fair deduction Hark.”

“-so I pieced something together. I emailed it to you ten minutes ago. Now all you have to do is nail the actual presenting part.”

Relief washed over your not-acting-sales-manager-but-still-kind-of-sales-manager’s face. “Oh thank you so much Harker, really. That means a lot. If we land this then-”

Enough was enough.

“You're standing on my sandwich.”

“What?” Evan looked down at his feet and winced at the site of your squashed lunch under his shoe. “Shit. Sorry Harker.”

You gave your food one last wistful glance before shrugging. “It’s fine. My break is almost over anyway.”

“Harker.” Mike snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only goddamn person who adheres to a timed lunch schedule. Just stay over! Who the fuck cares?”

You stuffed your water bottle back into the fridge before standing up straight. “This job may suck ass, but it’s the only one I have and I don’t feel like losing it. So I do what I can to keep it.”

You turned on your heel, their voices dying as you walked back to your desk. As you sat down, the hairs on your neck seemed to stand and a prickle went down your spine, you turned around to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

Coworkers not doing their job? Check.

Interns being taken advantage of? Check.

Broken clocks still broken because it keeps employees from constantly seeing if it’s time to leave? Double check.

You pushed your paranoia away and answered a sales call, though the feeling never truly left you until the work day was over and you were driving out of the parking lot.

Notes: Anywhomst chapter one is just set up of your place in the work place, as well as relationship to the other characters. In future chapters their will be plenty of interaction between you and max, as well as a deeper look into your family line! Please don’t hesitate to send me reuquests and headcanons i need some fuckin interaction lmao

#max philips #max phillips x reader #pedro pascal #x reader #bloodsucking bastards #imagine

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multifandomwriter56 · 4 years

Text

Freaks of Nature Come Together: Chapter 1

Summary: Y/n was born on Earth; but it was never really home. Day in and day out people treat her like a freak. She’s a weapon to them, a blood sample once a week, nothing more. One day, she runs into trouble and somehow she teleports herself to another world. There she meets a Witcher, a freak like her. He promises to get her back to the world that hates her; but she’s not sure she wants him to keep that promise.

Characters: Teen!Reader, Geralt of Rivia, and other characters in later chapters

Warnings: language, small amount of violence, there is a scene at the beginning where a man is trying to force himself on the reader (I don’t go into detail but please skip if it’s a trigger, I don’t want to hurt anyone), there’s talk of abuse, talks about experimenting on kids

A/N: I plan on posting a chapter once a week on Saturday’s. Let me know if you want to be tagged in this series.

Word Count: 2,581

"Don't let her escape! We need her DNA!"

Y/n's running as fast as she can as she swings her arm behind her back, commanding the human-sized containers to fall on their sides; forcing the guards to come to a halt. She does the same action again, only this time her arm is in front of her. The door breaks free from its hinges and goes flying behind her.

She smirks when she hears a thud and a cry of pain. Two more doors and she’s home free.

“Ahh!” She cries out when something hard smacks the side of her head. The pain brings her to her knees.

She looks around for her attacker, ignoring her blurry vision. She comes face to face with a man she would rather never see again.

“Boss says we need your DNA; said nothing about you being alive to get it.”

Y/n can feel her whole body shaking, all she can think about is that she needs to get out of here now.

As the man rests the barrel of his gun on her temple, Y/n closes her eyes.

When a full minute passes, she opens her eyes; wondering if she is dead. She frowns at the scene before her. There are six men with swords and one with a crossbow standing a few feet in front of her.

“How the hell did I get here?”

“Don’t move, witch; or I’ll shoot you where you stand." The man with the crossbow shouts.

“Witch?” Y/n murmurs to herself.

“Don’t even think about trying to put a curse on my men.” Another man growls as he places his sword to her neck.

“A curse? I’m not a fucking witch, you dumbass.”

“Oh, the little witch has a mouth on her. So disrespectful. Let’s see how disrespectful that mouth is after it tastes my cock.”

Y/n eyes widen as the man starts to pull the string that is keeping his trousers up. “No. Don’t touch me!” She clamps down on her screams as the man grabs her neck.

“Let her go.”

The men laugh at whoever spoke while Y/n tries to see where the angry growl came from.

“And what are you going to do, Witcher? There’s no monster here for you to kill.”

“The way I see it, there are in fact, seven monsters I need to kill.”

The leader of the group releases Y/n and she immediately crawls away.

She watches in slight fear, slight fascination as the Witcher, whatever the hell that is, fights and wins against the bandits.

When the man turns his attention towards her, she stands to her feet; ready to defend herself if need be.

“It’s alright, I'm not going to harm you. My name’s Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.”

“What’s a Witcher?” Y/n blurts out before she can stop herself..

Geralt’s surprised by the question. There’s not many people who don’t know what he is. She is young, so maybe her folks haven’t told her any stories about them. "I kill monsters for a living. Usually doesn't include humans, but there's an exception to everything."

"I'm not a witch." Y/n felt the need to point that out.

"I know."

"Where am I?"

"Geralt frowns at the question but answers anyway. "You're a few miles outside of Crow's Perch. I can take you home, make sure you get there safely."

"Crow's Perch? I don't know where that is. What state are we in?"

"State?"

"Y/n bites her tongue to keep herself from yelling at the man. He did, afterall, just saved her life not ten minutes ago. "Okay, what country are we in?"

Geralt shakes his head. The girl is talking nonsense. "You're in the Continent." He tells her, hoping that would ease her anger.

Y/n snorts, her patience gone. "For a guy who can handle himself in a fight, you're fucking stupid."

"Watch it." Geralt growls, his own patience thinning.

"Where the fuck are we, man? I just want to go-" She sniffs away the tears. Does she really want to go home? "I am not going to cry." She mutters to herself.

"You're not from this world, are you?"

"Jesus!" Y/n shouts. She didn't even realize the man moved closer and is now only about a foot away from her.

"Who's Jesus?"

Y/n ignores his question, pretending it's not a red flag that she is, indeed, in another world. "Why would you say I'm from another world?"

"You don't smell like anything from this world."

Y/n blinks rapidly, processing his words. "Ookay; that didn't sound creepy at all." She may not be scared of this man, but that doesn't mean she trusts him.

"Why don't you tell me where you live and maybe I'll be able to point you in the right direction?" Geralt suggests, forcing his annoyance down.

Y/n opens her mouth to do just that, but closes it when she remembers the only home she knew betrayed her. Her life was hard, lonely, and uncaring. Why would she want to go back?

She shakes her head. "You know what, nevermind. I don't want to go back to that hellhole. Which direction is this Crow's Perch?"

Geralt's not sure what made the young girl change her mind. He's hoping she came to terms with being in a foreign land. "Roach and I are headed in that direction. You could travel with us "

"Roach!? Where?" Y/n immediately starts to search the ground for the dreaded insect.

Geralt's lips tug upwards as the girl starts to panic when she can't find the insect. He lifts his fingers to his lips, letting out a loud whistle. He watches as she steadies herself; ready to fight.

Y/n relaxes her arm muscles, letting her hands fall to her sides as a horse comes to a halt beside the man.

Geralt murmurs praises to the horse before focusing his attention on the stunned girl. "This is Roach."

Y/n narrows her eyes at the Witcher. "I'm so glad you were able to amuse yourself at my expense."

Any signs of amusement leaves the Witcher's face when he glances up at the sky. "We better make our way to town if we want to get there before dark."

Y/n shakes her head. “I’m exhausted. I’ll head towards town in the morning. Just point in the direction I need to walk. Five miles, right?”

Geralt frowns. “I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”

“I can hardly stand, let alone walk for five miles. Once I get some sleep, I’ll be good to go.” Y/n argues.

“Good thing I have a horse.”

Y/n shakes her head, taking a couple of steps back. “You can’t make me go with you.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I can; and I will if you force my hand.”

The Witcher watches as the crossbow rises from the ground before the arrow is released, heading straight for his heart. He easily dodges the arrow; but not the sack of furs. It smacks him right in the face, knocking him on his back.

“What the fuck?” He sits up, searching for the girl. “Dammit!” He shouts when he notices the girl riding Roach, his horse, into the woods. “Can barely stand, my ass.”

***

Once Y/n believes she put a safe distance between her and the Witcher, she pulls on the reins until Roach comes to a stop. She dismounts, running her hand along the horse’s mane and neck.

“I guess I should let you get back to your owner. Who knows what they do to horse thieves in this world.” She holds her palm up, a light purple floating in her hand. “Find your owner.” She orders.

The horse immediately obeys, setting off towards the direction they came from.

“I hope you make it back to him safely.” She waits for the horse to disappear from her sight before focusing on how she’s going to survive the night.

Geralt curses for the umpteenth time as he slows down to a jog. The brat can ride.

He comes to stop when he hears a familiar sound. As the horse gets closer, Geralt hides; hoping it’s the girl with his horse.

When the horse with no rider comes to view, he steps out of his hiding spot, calling to Roach. He murmurs comforting words as he strokes her mane. “Easy girl, easy.” He sighs, his frustration clear. “Where did that girl go?”

He mounts the mare, hoping nothing’s happened to the child. The child that he doesn’t even know the name of.

It takes him about a half hour to find the girl. He can’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips at the sight before him.

Y/n had found some small rock and sticks so she could make spears. Once she had about a dozen spears, she spread them out except for one. That one stays in her fist, or at least on the ground right next to her. She then used the rest of the sticks to make a fire.

Geralt got as close as he dared before calling to the kid. He quickly moves his body behind a tree as a spear comes flying at his chest. “Come on, kid. I’m not going to harm you. I just want to help.”

Y/n’s not sure if she believes the man; but not only did he save her, but now he’s wasting his time tracking her down and making sure she’s okay… or he’s just that pissed about her taking his horse.

She slowly sets the floating spear down. “Are you going to hang me for stealing your horse?” She kept seeing images from westerns of men being hanged for stealing a horse.

“What? No, I’m not mad that you took Roach. Annoyed, yes.”

Y/n scoffs, not believing him. “Yeah, okay.”

Geralt slowly moves away from the tree so the girl can see him properly. “You were scared and you had no idea if you could trust me. You didn’t hurt Roach and you sent her back.” He guessed that last part. He has a feeling the chestnut mare didn’t just happen to find him on accident.

“I can influence animals.” She decided there was no harm in telling the Witcher her other gift. He already knew about her telekinetic abilities. “I told her to find you.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I figured you would give up on finding me if you had your horse back. Guess I was wrong.”

"Are you going to try and kill me if I come closer?”

Y/n fists clench at her sides, internally fighting with herself. She exhales, her body relaxing as she does. “No, but I will warn you; I have fast reflexes.”

Geralt swallows his chuckle. The kid’s got guts. It only takes him a few strides to make his way to the girl’s little camp. “What’s your name?” He asks, his curiosity done waiting.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” She offers her right hand.

Geralt takes the hand in his. “I have questions.”

Y/n releases his hand. “As do I.”

Geralt nods his head for her start.

“Y/n sits on a log she found and the Witcher follows her lead. “So this world, you call it the Continent?”

“Mhm.” Geralt nods. “Where are you from?”

“We call it Earth. Why do your eyes look like a cat’s?” Like the Witcher, Y/n couldn’t hold in her curiosity any longer.

Knowing this question would surface at some point, Geralt hides his annoyance. He knows the girl is not from this world, so there’s no point getting upset with her. “I was taken as a boy and put through the Witcher Trials. If you survive the trials, your body changes. Cat eyes are one of them. It helps me to kill monsters.”

“And by monsters, you mean?”

“Drowners, Hags, Wraiths, Ghouls, Werewolves-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. There are a lot of monsters in this world.” Y/n says through fits of laughter; trying to hide how scared she is at the thought of what this world is filled with.

“Are there any in your world?”

Y/n sobers at that question. “Only monsters in my world are humans.”

Geralt’s surprised when he feels anger rising in his chest at just thinking about anyone hurting this girl. He buries the feeling as he clears his throat. “Unfortunately, as you have seen, there are those types of monsters here as well.” The Witcher tilts his head as he asks his next question. “How old are you, Y/n?”

“Technically I’m fifty-four, but my body hasn’t aged since I was fifteen.”

“Is this normal in your world?”

Y/n scoffs. “No, I’m one of the few that have this ability. Like you, I was put through trials, but for different reasons. The children they would experimented on before me would die, so they worked out a way to change our bodies to be able to heal itself. Having this ability is what makes it hard for us to age.” Y/n frowns when the Witcher makes a noise of disbelief. “You don’t believe me?"

“I do. I thought it was going to be difficult to answer when you’d ask me how old I am.”

Y/n’s eyes narrow, wondering if he’s making fun of her. “And how old are you, Geralt?”

“A century.” He tells her bluntly.

Her jaw drops. “Are you shittin me?” When he shakes his head, Y/n laughs bitterly. “Guess fate fucked us both over.”

Geralt relaxes, glad the young girl is getting more comfortable in his presence. “Do you know how you teleported here? Did you use a portal?”

“I’m not sure. I do know it was something I did. I just don’t remember how I did it exactly. I tried to teleport myself earlier, but I passed out; too weak from the trip here I guess.”

“Maybe Yen could help this girl.” Geralt wonders. “I should take her to Kaer Morhen; keep her safe.”

“Hello? Geralt? Earth to Geralt.”

Geralt snaps out of his thoughts, frowning. “I would rather not go to your world. I’m already a freak in this one.”

Y/n giggles. “It’s just a saying. A phrase you say when someone zones out into their own head."

“Y/n, I think it would be wise if you traveled with me. I know a sorceress and I can take you to her. She might be able to help you harness the gift and you get you back home.”

Y/n tries not flinch at the word 'home'. “A sorceress?”

“Yes.” Geralt pauses, not sure how to tell the teenager this next part.

“I can take it.” Y/n’s seen that look more times than she can count.

“You’ll have to wait about three months. I was on my way to a place called Kaer Morhen when I found you the first time. It’s where us Witchers stay in the Winter. Not many monsters like the cold. No monsters means no coin which means no food or places to stay.”

Y/n takes a moment to think it over. She’s not even sure she wants to go home. Three months will give her time to make her decision. Also if the Witcher has a hard time surviving in his own world; she’ll probably die in a week.

“Okay. I can do that.”

#the witcher series #fonct ch1 #geralt x teen!reader #geralt x platonic!reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #teen!reader series

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queenofcats17 · 5 years

Text

A Different Loop

So...I got this idea...And...I’m doing it. So enjoy Sammy being Alice’s loyal lapdog.

-----------------------------------------------------

Henry knew as soon as he set foot back into the studio that this loop was going to be different.

“Alright, I’m here, Joey. Let’s see what you wanted to show me.” He said his line, looking around the entryway. Something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, as though something had changed. The air was different somehow.

But it wasn’t like Henry had a choice in this, so he just went about his usual actions. He collected the items, turned on the machine, got chased by Bendy into the lower levels. Everything went the same way it usually did, which did assuage Henry’s fears a little bit. He was probably just paranoid, he told himself. Everything was fine. Or, as fine as it could be when he was trapped in a neverending loop of events in this hellhole. Then he got to the Music Department.

It started out as it usually did. He fainted in the room with the coffins, woke up, then hacked his way into the stairwell. The message at the bottom of the stairs had changed, but only by one letter. “She Will Set Us Free”.

“No more Bendy?” Henry let out a weary laugh. “Guess you’re worshipping Alice this time around.” He moved to the right and pressed the play button the tape recorder he knew would hold Sammy’s voice. But the message he heard wasn’t the one he was used to.

“She appears from the shadows to rain her sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me. Those old songs, I still sing them. For I know you are the one who will save us. I must show my devotion, and then I will be swept into your final loving embrace. But love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?”

“I said, can I get an amen?”

Henry had gone through this enough times that he wasn’t startled by Sammy’s sudden voice behind him. He wasn’t even really startled by the change in the recorded message. He’d been joking about Sammy worshipping Alice, but it did sound like that was what was happening this time. So that was probably the change he’d been feeling. Henry took out the seeing tool to see if the message was still the same. “Deceived” was still written above the tape.

“Some things never change.” Henry put the seeing tool away, sighing to himself. He hoped that was the only change to the story. Sometimes Joey liked to mess with him and throw him a curveball. Those were always the worst loops. But it wasn’t like he was getting out, whether or not he liked the story. So he continued on. He started to wade through the inky hallway, watching for Sammy’s inky figure. Sure enough, it crossed the doorway. Henry only really glimpsed him for a moment, but he was sure Sammy looked different somehow. He looked more...human. Was that a ponytail? Unfortunately, Henry didn’t get to study him properly as the prophet was soon gone.

“What on Earth?” Henry frowned slightly. Maybe Sammy’d gotten some kind of upgrade? Ugh. He was too old for this shit. Might as well keep going.

He flipped the switches and headed into the department, waiting for any other differences. Sammy’s tape right next to the sign for the department was the same. It was still him complaining about Joey. Norman’s and Wally’s were unchanged as well, and he got into Sammy’s sanctuary the same way he usually did. The message in Sammy’s sanctuary was mostly the same, aside from the change in pronouns.

When Henry left the sanctuary, after defeating the Searchers, he looked up to see if Sammy was watching him from the balcony. Sure enough, the prophet was standing there, leaning on the railing. Henry frowned. He’d been right, Sammy did look more human. Patches of yellow skin were visible amongst the ink and Sammy very clearly had long shaggy hair tied up in a ponytail. His mask was part of an Alice cutout rather than a Bendy cutout as well.

“You’re looking better than usual,” Henry called up to him. “I like the ponytail.” Sammy said nothing, continuing to watch him. Henry shrugged and left. Next was down to Jack’s area. Maybe he wouldn’t need to crush him this time. Henry never really liked crushing Jack with the crate. He knew it didn’t actually hurt the Searcher, but it still didn’t feel right. Especially since Jack had never been at all hostile toward him in any of his loops.

“Here we go.” Henry groaned as he lowered himself into the flooded tunnel. He hated having to wade through the ink. It always seeped into his shoes and then he’d have to walk around with wet shoes until they dried out. It always dried rather sticky and uncomfortable as well. But he had to get the valve so he could get into Sammy’s office and drain the stairwell.

“Jack? You down here?” He called out as he waded. He didn’t expect any answer other than a groan. Instead, someone spoke.

“Yeah?”

Henry stopped. That...That had been Jack’s voice. In front of him, behind the boards that always blocked his way, a shape rose from the ink. It had a bowler hat and held the valve to its chest, but it didn’t resemble the swollen Searcher Henry was used to seeing. It looked like a human being. Just...made out of ink. There was the outline of clothes, of hair. This was Jack Fain, Henry was sure of it. But why did he look so different?

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” Jack said, tilting his head to the side. “How do you know my name?”

“I, uh, I used to work here.” It took Henry a moment to respond. “I got a letter asking me to come back.”

“Mm.” Jack nodded. “Joey send you that letter?”

“He did.”

“You must be Henry.” Jack snapped his fingers, a smile spreading across his face. His teeth were black, just like the rest of him. They probably weren’t even teeth.

“That’s, uh, that’s me.” Henry smiled back shakily. “How’d you guess?”

“Can’t think of anyone else Joey would try to get back. Everyone else is already here.” He laughed briefly before sighing. “Uh, anyway, I’ve heard about you from the others.”

“Sounds like I’m famous around here.” Henry had expected to be recognized. Alice recognized him every time, after all. But he hadn’t thought Jack of all people would recognize him, especially since they’d never met.

“That’s one word for it,” Jack said under his breath before quickly moving on. “So, why are you looking for me?”

“I was looking for that valve.” Henry pointed to the valve held against Jack’s chest.

“Oh, this thing?” Jack held it up. “I found it floating in the ink just a little while ago. You want it?”

“Yeah. I need it to stop the ink flow to Sammy’s office so I can get in and drain the stairwell to the exit.” Henry said, starting to reach for the valve.

“Ah.” Jack grimaced. “You trying to get out through that exit?”

“I...might be?” Henry paused. “Why?”

“That’s not gonna work. You getting out through that exit door.”

“Why not?” Henry frowned, making a grab for the valve again. He knew perfectly well he wasn’t getting out through that exit door, but he had a feeling Jack’s reason would be different than the actual reason.

“We’ve tried that.” Jack let him take the valve, a look of pity on his face. “The door won’t open.”

“What does that mean?” Henry’s frown deepened.

“It means it won’t open.” Jack shrugged. “You tug on it and it doesn’t do anything. But, uh, good luck. I’m sure Sammy’d be happy to get into his office again.” Before Henry could ask him anything else, he melted back into the ink. Henry let out an exasperated sigh. Well, at least he hadn’t been forced to crush Jack this time.

“Let’s get out of here.” He turned around and headed back to the infirmary. There weren’t any hiccups in fitting the valve and getting into Sammy’s office. He got in and turned the pump switch.

“And now to go get knocked out by Sammy.” He sighed heavily as he exited the office. He knew he’d be fine. It wasn’t like he was a real person. Getting hit in the head with a metal dustpan still hurt like Hell, though. Despite his dread, he proceeded down the hallway to where he’d inevitably get knocked out. Sure enough, once he reached the area beside Sammy’s second audio log, he felt the familiar pain of a dustpan to the back of the head.

“Sheep sheep sheep it’s time for sleep.” He heard Sammy whisper as his vision faded to black.

When Henry regained consciousness, he found himself on his back, being dragged by the legs. His view was currently of the ceiling as he was being dragged along. Huh. Well, this was new. Presumably, he was being dragged by Sammy, since he could hear Sammy’s voice, along with Jack’s.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy. If I’d known the Lady wanted to see him, I wouldn’t have given him the valve,” Jack was saying.

“You have no reason to apologize, Jack,” Sammy replied. “It’s not as though he would have succeeded in his escape. You did nothing wrong.”

“Well, okay.”

“So, uh, where’re you taking me?” Henry asked.

“We are taking you to see our Lady, my sheep,” Sammy said. “She has taken notice of your presence and wishes to speak with you.”

“Your lady, huh? Is that Alice?”

“Hey! Don’t use her name so casually!” Jack snapped, falling back so that his face entered Henry’s field of vision. He looked irritated, but not righteously angry, so he probably wasn’t nearly as fervent in his belief as Sammy.

“What happened to Bendy?” Henry lifted his head a bit, completely ignoring Jack. “Not worshipping him anymore?”

“Why would I worship that blasphemous demon when I could worship an angel?” Sammy’s voice was cool. Henry thought he glimpsed a glowing yellow eye looking back at him from behind the Alice mask.

“I’m guessing she’s responsible for you two looking so good.”

“Our Lady blessed us with her gifts,” Sammy said. “We are truly lucky to be among her followers.” His voice subtly changed when he spoke of Alice. It was still cool and calm, but he almost sounded a bit awestruck. It was different than the way he’d talked about Bendy. He sounded rather like a lovesick teenage boy. Which, if this “Alice” was still Susie, would make sense.

“It helps that you’re her favorite.” Jack slapped Sammy’s back.

“I-I’m not worthy of that title.” Sammy fumbled with Henry’s leg as he began to stammer. “I am simply her loyal servant. Noth-Nothing more.” Henry snorted. Well, at least it seemed like Alice was treating Sammy better than Bendy ever had.

“Would you mind telling me what you find so funny, sheep?” Sammy demanded, directing a pointed glare back at Henry. Well, he was pretty sure it was a glare. It felt like a glare.

“Nothing, it’s just cute,” Henry said. “You’re cute.”

“I am most certainly not cute!” Sammy sputtered, yanking on Henry’s leg and eliciting a yelp from the animator.

"Sorry, sorry.” Henry put his hands up.

“You know, now that he’s awake he can probably walk,” Jack said. “You don’t need to keep dragging him.”

“Ah, yes.” Sammy stopped, dropping Henry. “Get up, sheep.” Henry got up, groaning as he did so.

“I’m getting too old for this.” He muttered.

They continued the rest of the way in silence. They’d almost been at the Heavenly Toys area when Henry had woken up. It looked about the same as it usually did. But Shawn’s workshop was where things changed. As they approached the workshop, they found it filled with Lost Ones and Searchers. They were in various stages of looking human and many were talking quietly amongst each other.

“My prophet! You’re back!” One of the Lost Ones said, immediately brightening.

“I found the intruder our Lady wanted to speak with.” Sammy jerked his thumb back at Henry.

“That’s him?” Another Lost One peered past Sammy. “He looks so...old. Why would our Lady want to see him?”

“We shall see.” Sammy began to push past them, dragging Henry by the hand.

“My prophet, you might not want to go in there just yet.” A Lost One tried to pull him back. “Lady Allison and Tom are a bit...busy.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Sammy continued to push past.

“I’m gonna head back to the department.” Jack took a few steps back. “I, uh, kinda want to check on Johnny.” It was hard to miss how his tone had changed at the mention of Tom and Allison being “busy”.

“Very well. Watch out for the demon.” Sammy nodded back to Jack before opening the door to the Alice meet and greet room.

Henry stifled a gasp as they entered. The room didn’t that different, at least in terms of structure and decoration. What was different were the numerous Butcher Gang corpses littered around the room. They were everywhere. Pipers, Fishers, Strikers, all of them mangled and battered. They had to be fresh, given they hadn’t reverted to ink yet. All of their chests were ripped open, ribs sticking out at odd angles.

His gaze then fell to the three people in the middle of the room. He recognized one as Allison, looking about the same as she usually did. She was wearing what appeared to be a salvaged pair of overalls but had her trademark sword at her hip. The man beside her was probably Tom, judging by the mechanical arm, although he too looked much more human than he had in previous loops. He still had dog ears and tail, though. In between them was a bloodied Piper, its chest ripped open. It was still alive, though, judging by its ragged breaths and panicked groans.

“Lady Allison.” Sammy bowed before her. “I do hope I’m not interrupting.”

“We’re almost done,” Allison replied, not turning. “Get the heart, Tom.” Tom nodded, shoving his hand into the Piper’s chest cavity to withdraw the inky heart. Allison held out a bag and he deposited it inside.

“That should be enough.” She said, letting the bag fall back at her side. Tom nodded, glancing back at Sammy. Immediately he noticed Henry and narrowed his eyes. He tapped Allison on the shoulder, pointing at Henry. Allison turned to face him.

“Is he the one Ali wanted to see?” She asked. She regarded him warily, one hand on her hip.

“This is the interloper, yes.” Sammy nodded.

“Hi.” Henry waved awkwardly. He was used to the distrust from Tom, but Allison was usually on his side. It was strange to see her look at him with such disdain. She seemed much more in control than in past loops.

“I’m Henry.” He continued. “Henry Stein.”

“Henry Stein?” Allison’s eyes widened and she went for her sword. Tom got in front of her, signing something to her. Henry suddenly wished he knew sign language.

“I...I guess you’re right.” She sighed, letting her hands fall at her sides. “Ali would be mad if I just killed him.”

“Is our Lady still in her sanctuary?” Sammy asked.

“Yeah." Allison started walking away, Tom following close behind. “You know how she gets when she’s working on fixing someone up.”

“She’s...fixing someone?” Henry asked, stumbling forward after being kicked by Sammy.

“Our Lady is most merciful,” Sammy said. “She takes care of those who have been harmed by the Demon.” Henry frowned. He couldn’t imagine the Alice he’d known taking care of anyone.

They proceeded in silence, going through the Angel path (the Demon path was firmly shut) and down the hallway that led to the room with all the plushes. As soon as they got into the area with the plushes, Allison seemed to decide that it had been silent long enough. She gestured to Tom, who fell back to take Sammy’s place behind Henry, and dragged Sammy to the front.

“So, why do you think Ali wants to see this guy?” She asked, hooking her arm with Sammy’s.

“I-It would be most presumptuous of me to make such assumptions,” Sammy replied, fiddling with his mask with his free hand.

“Come on.” Allison gave him a mischevious smile. “I know you’ve got some kind of theory cooking in your brain.”

“I do not dare to guess at what goes on in my Lady’s mind,” Sammy said.

“You’re adorable.” Allison ruffled his hair.

“Thank you, my lady,” Sammy mumbled, sounding rather like an embarrassed teenager who’d been complimented by their crush.

“Why are you referred to as Lady Allison?” Henry asked as they entered the room with the elevator.

“She is our Lady’s second in command.” Sammy stood up a bit straighter as if he’d regained his confidence. “She is blessed with the form of the Angel and must be treated with proper respect.”

“And why does she get to call your Lady by a nickname?”

“I’m her girlfriend,” Allison answered, pressing the button to call the elevator. Henry blinked. Huh. That was new. There was a beat of silence as the elevator arrived on their floor.

“You could call her by a nickname too if you wanted, Sammy.” Allison leaned over, poking him gently in the ribs.

“It would be incredibly inappropriate!” Sammy sputtered, storming into the elevator as soon as the grate opened. “I am not worthy to address her by name!”

“Alright, alright.” Allison couldn’t help but laugh, following him inside. Tom rolled his eyes and dragged Henry in.

“What? It’s cute.” Allison slapped his shoulder. “You don’t see me rolling my eyes when you get all snuggly with Jack or Grant.” Tom blushed, or did the closest thing he could to a blush, making an indignant sound. Sammy jabbed the button for floor 9 and the doors closed.

There wasn’t much in the way of conversation on the way down, mostly because it wasn’t a very long ride. Allison informed Sammy of the ink hearts she and Tom had evidently collected while Tom kept a grip on Henry. As if he’d have anywhere to run to. When the elevator reached Level 9, Henry was surprised by the number of Lost Ones and Searchers that were present. It seemed Alice had gained quite a following.

“Is Alice done with Lacie yet?” Allison asked as she stepped off the elevator.

“Almost, my lady.” A Lost One replied.

“You should be able to go in, though.” Another added.

“Right. Thank you.” Allison gestured to Tom as she headed for the doors under the “She’s Quite A Gal” sign. Sammy followed behind, speaking to a few of the Lost Ones and Searchers before joining them. The room that was normally filled with Butcher Gang and Boris corpses had no such things now. It was still flooded with ink, a path of boards the only means of crossing, but there were no corpses.

“Careful with him,” Allison called back to Tom, already halfway across the boards. “We don’t know what’ll happen to him if he falls in the ink.”

“I’m sure he won’t be harmed,” Sammy said. “He traversed Jack’s sewers, so I imagine the ink has no effect on him.” Tom grunted in acknowledgment, pointing to the boards and then to Henry.

“Alright. I’ve got it.” Henry nodded, beginning to gingerly make his way across. He knew he’d be fine, that the ink couldn’t hurt him, but his heart still pounded. He remembered what happened when he “died”. That feeling of being surrounded by ink, almost as though he was drowning. He didn’t ever want to find out what it felt like to drown in ink.

He made it across without incident, joining Sammy and Allison at the entrance to the area where Henry had seen Alice torturing a Piper in many loops. She wasn’t torturing anything when he entered the room this time. The table he’d seen the Piper tortured on was still there, but it now contained something resembling a Fisher. It was more human in appearance, but still recognizable as a Fisher. Its was groaning in pain, its voice sounding strangely familiar. Alice stood over the Fisher, wearing an ink-stained apron. Her face was still disfigured, but much less so.

“I know, Lacie.” Her voice was soft as she pressed down on the Fisher’s head. “We’re almost done, I promise.” She drew a syringe of ink from her apron, injecting it into the Fisher’s arm.

“Give her a minute,” Allison said when it looked like Henry was going to say something. Henry closed his mouth again, watching Alice finish up with the Fisher.

“I’ll have to find more hearts to help you further, but you should at least be able to talk to Bertram more properly now.” Alice helped the Fisher sit up. Henry had never met Lacie Benton before, but he was pretty sure the Fisher before him looked something like her.

“Thanks.” Lacie nodded respectfully toward Alice. Her voice sounded more gravelly than it had on the recording, but not enough for it to be too immediately noticeable. The only reason Henry knew was that he’d listened to that tape half a million times.

“Alice.” Allison walked up and knocked on the glass. Alice looked over, her face lighting up.

“You’re back!” She walked over, putting her hand on the glass. “Did you get the hearts?”

“I did.” Allison put her hand where Alice’s was. “And Sammy found the man you wanted to see.” Alice looked past Allison to where Henry stood between Sammy and Tom. Her eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in interest.

“He was in the Music Department.” Sammy removed his mask and bowed his head. His face was still mostly covered in ink, but it did appear more human.

“I’m gonna...get goin’.” Lacie hopped off the table behind Alice. “I’ll talk to you later.” She disappeared out a door Henry couldn’t see. Tom stayed by the door.

“Hello, Henry.” Alice’s voice was a low purr as she watched him. Henry felt his stomach beginning to sink. Most interactions he had with Alice in the loops were not positive, and that was when she didn’t have a legion of followers.

“Hello.” Henry tried to keep himself from stammering. “I heard you wanted to see me?”

“I did.” Alice nodded, folding her arms. “You’re the one who created Bendy, yes?”

“I...Yes?” Henry frowned, a bit taken aback by the question.

“Why does it matter if he made Bendy?” Allison asked, equally perplexed by her girlfriend’s line of inquiry.

“He made Bendy. That means there’s a possibility he can defeat the Ink Demon.” Alice said. “Joey couldn’t control that creature. But its true creator might be able to.”

The room went silent as the others considered this possibility. Slowly, all eyes fell on Henry. Henry didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stood there.

“I mean...I...I might be able to?” He finally said, when the scrutiny became too much. “I’m not entirely sure. But I guess it’s worth a try?”

Alice smiled wide, the expression surprisingly kind and genuine. “Well then, it appears we have quite a lot to discuss.”

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #batim au #henry stein #sammy lawrence #alice angel #susie campbell #malice angel #allison pendle #allison angel #susie campbell x allison pendle #jack fain #tom boris #thomas connor #sammy x susie #violence tw #gore tw #lacie benton

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thunderheadfred · 5 years

Text

æther

so, uhhh.... A) I have no idea if this ficlet will end up in the final chaptered version of Mirror, Mirror or if it’s doomed to be a permanent headcanon and B) I spent too much time to just let this sit in my WIP files for however long it takes to finish this monster of a fic because my brain is a shrivelled little acorn that requires constant validation

pairing: Asra x Julian (plague-era, post-Lazaret, AU-flavored) length: 3,750 words rating: explicit. bitter. citrus. warnings: gore, plague-related horror, trauma, unresolved angst, emotional constipation, gothic narrator syndrome, a 200-coin paid Asrian bath scene

...well. here goes nothin’...

It might be two in the morning.

Something about the tightness of my chest, the irregular, lumpy beating of my heart… tells me the night must be wearing thin. There is no other earthly way to divine the hour. No light penetrates the dungeons, and Valdemar seems to loathe timepieces; I have yet to find a single clock squirreled away in this bottomless hellhole they call a laboratory. What good would time do us, anyway? Other than to mark the endless stream of anonymous deaths, one tick after another…

tick… tick… tick…

Something drips onto my notes, running ink all over the place, ruining whatever half-lucid thought I’d been in the middle of. Useless anyway. I’m getting nowhere. I throw down my quill and drop my face into my hands. Crying does not feel good, or even bad. Like everything else in this place, it is simply draining, inevitable. Often, I seem to leak unwittingly, my body going through motions my mind has become too numb to sense.

I should sleep. I should. But the thought of that cramped bunk, at least half a foot too short, crammed against the molding, always-damp wall… It makes more sense to rot where I sit.

Outside, someone moans hoarsely. My hands turn to fists in my hair. No… not again...

Valdemar and their retinue of nameless numbered assistants have retired for the evening, leaving half a dozen “experiments” in mostly-inert pieces on various slabs to chill overnight. One of those unfortunate souls is coming back around, and it’ll only be seconds until they feel the extent of the horrors that were inflicted… Hands moving to either side of the desk, I brace myself.

Nothing prepares me. Young. Too young. Her voice, even in agony, sounds just like… I’m up and out the door before I know what I’m doing.

I lunge for her: the one writhing body amidst a pile of dissected remains. One look at her puts a clamp over the bleed in my heart: not a red hair in sight. She’s too tall, too dark, too anonymous to be my sister. But all the same, she is suddenly every bit as dear to me.

I take one of her hands, stilling her grasping, spasmodic fingers. My other hand takes up the cleanest rag I can find and mops sweat and muck from her forehead, a flimsy excuse to comfort. She’s too far gone already; all I can hope to do is ease this wretched passing. In shock, the body can act out a series of stirring autonomic reactions… or so Valdemar claims.

My tears fall freely now, because I’m still not dead enough to know better.

This girl should have died hours ago. Days ago. Should have died at home in her bed, tragically, yes… but whole. Not like this. But what Valdemar never understands—refuses to understand—is that people don’t die clean, on a schedule. It’s startling how many of these abandoned experiments wake up hours after they’ve been declared hopeless… and still go out screaming. In my own twisted way, I suppose I find their tenacity inspiring. The girl beneath me wails incomprehensibly, but I know exactly why, and I tighten my hold.

End it.

The pain of being left here, the fury of being abandoned, the indignity of being cut open for beetles and maggots and the curious field notes of a demon.

End it.

She writhes and foams and her ferocious red eyes track my every movement. Obeying her wordless commands, I grab the precious vial of contraband æther from my pocket. Keeping a firm hold on her hand, I depress the trick top of the vial and tip a few potent drops onto a rag, pocketing the bottle as quickly and secretively as I produced it.

Blackbreath Æther: the reaper’s kiss. A single whiff of the fumes is enough to dull the most extraordinary pain, and any more than that, well… Even at a distance, I can feel my own head swimming. Carefully, I hold my breath and bring the cloth to cover her nose and mouth. The æther smells warm and earthy, like fresh-tilled dirt, and the girl gulps down her own inevitable darkness, her shrieks of agony transmuted into the deepest, sweetest sighs…

Through the hole Valdemar left gaping and raw, I can see the girl’s healthy pink lungs expanding with the last breaths she’ll ever take. And just like that… she goes still, her face slackening. The way her pupils blow wide as they stare at me, gazing through me, seeing nothing and everything… fills me with hideous peace.

The silence she leaves behind knocks me off balance. Clinging to her lifeless hand, I stumble into the nearest stool, landing so hard I bruise the length of my thigh. The pain is welcome: at last, a feeling. It wakes me somewhat, and I realize that head to foot, I’m shaking.

Behind me, the door to my office creaks.

I leap from my own skin, wild with terror. No one else should be down here. The lift hasn’t returned, I would have heard it, I would have known... I can’t be that far gone…

I grab the closest, sharpest thing I can find, slashing a broken bone saw through the air. When I turn on my heel… I see Asra gaping at me, hands held up in surrender.

Inexplicably, the magician is emerging from my office. He looks coiffed and groomed, every bit the pampered palace pet he so skillfully plays at… but the moment our eyes meet, his façade flickers, words dying on his lips.

I swallow heavily, realizing I’m still clinging to the girl’s hand. “You don’t belong here,” I spit, unable to force the hostility from my voice.

As far as I know, Asra has never visited the dungeons before. He’s never so much as asked what work is done in this ever-worsening dark. No, he’s always dancing around the subject of the Plague. Always running back to his shop, or his “realms” or his god-forsaken dreams. Always pretending Vesuvia might wake up from this whole charade some day, like it was all just a terrible Masquerade-weekend hallucination.

Why should he open his eyes now? Why even bother? No one can wave a hand and vanish the apocalypse.

“Get out.” Suddenly infuriated, I brandish the bone saw in his direction, flinging at him all the bits of gore Valdemar left so carelessly behind, hoping the gesture looks as horrible as it feels.

“Blackbreath…” he whispers, voice gone ragged. “That’s why you wanted it…”

Funny. At the time, he hadn’t bothered to ask why I would beg for a vial of something so deadly, so forbidden. He’d just handed it over without so much as a ‘do not imbibe’, as if he’d give me anything I wanted… as long as I pleaded wantonly enough… as long as I spent enough time bloodying my knees for his amusement.

My stomach turns. “Thought I wanted to off myself, is that it? And you just handed it over anyway, you absolute bastard.”

Slowly, reverently, I tuck the dead girl’s hand neatly against her side… and then throw the bone saw onto a steel tray full of tools. The broken blade lands with a dull clang and a satisfying explosion of scalpels and clamps.

“You don’t know anything, do you?” I hiss, revolted by the deepening permanence of my own snarl. “What kind of magician has never sawed a person in half?”

His turns as if to leave—but how? Through my office?—and stops himself, eyes falling to the floor. He stands there silently, shoulders slumped in a noncommittal gesture: half dismissal, half acknowledgement. For a brief moment, Asra allows the expression on his face to play out naturally, a whirlwind of confusion and pain.

Good.

He holds out his hand, and my sneer falters.

I don’t move, but the mind-reading devil always seems to know what I’m thinking. His face softens into true pity and my intestines knot together.

Part of me wants to trust those watery, delicate eyes… and part of me will always be wary of snakes. As he waits for my answer, his unguarded gaze slides behind me, darting across the pile of nameless bodies. I don’t even have a shroud to cover them.

He seems unable or unwilling to hide his terror; I’ve only seen him look so lost once before. That horrible beach in the shadow of the Lazaret, where everything came apart, never to be put back together again… As if I’d spoken aloud, his jaw sets and his eyes snap back to mine. Witch.

I expect him to turn tail and run, but his hand stretches for me with redoubled insistence.

Well. He’ll never say ‘please.’ I know that.

I wish I had something else to throw at him, but I’m all that remains. Huffing out a breath, I step down from the stage and clap our hands together so hard that my palm stings. Asra doesn’t flinch, but tightens his mouth as if under better circumstances, he might owe me a smile.

He gently leads me into my office, the last place I want to be with him, with anyone. I open my mouth to protest, but in two steps he crosses the room and presses his pristine hand against the far wall. A sigil of light pulses beneath his palm, resonating with magic. Solid brick shimmers like water, opening into a portal, and he looks back at me, waiting.

I’ve seen other such passages hidden throughout the palace, but never trusted one enough to walk through it. I want to ask how long that secret escape has been there, how long he’s been waiting to taunt me with it. I have a feeling he wouldn’t answer honestly anyway, so I keep my mouth shut and square my shoulders, allowing him to pull me through.

As the portal envelops us, Asra feels so close he might as well be a part of me, as if the universe has folded us together inside a bolt of loose silk. A heartless drop, then we step unharmed into a room so bright I have to squint and cover my eyes.

He pulls me deeper into the blinding light, until carpet gives way to tile and the melodic trickle of flowing water. His guest chambers, his bath. Dimly, I realize he’s speaking to me.

“…here. You’re freezing.” He drops my hand and begins to gently lift my shirt. I flinch. He stills, but does not let go. If anything, he takes a surer grip. “Let me help,” he whispers.

My eyes finally adjust, and the room comes into focus. I didn’t realize he was standing so close… as he looks up at me, his perfumed hair tickles my chin, and his eyes seem to get caught on my mouth. I feel my breath quickening as the last shreds of equilibrium crumble out from under us.

“What do you want from me?” I didn’t mean to grunt that so pathetically. Didn’t mean to say it at all; and maybe I didn’t. Maybe he’s just in my head again. Always.

His brow crumples; his eyes glisten. “I… Nothing…”

We’re a hair’s breadth from it now, but this is as close as we’ll ever get to our apologies. We have too much to be sorry for, too many losses, too much yet to lose. Never mind the words. All this steam and closeness, he’s making it hard to even breathe. This shouldn’t be complicated. My chest hurts.

I can’t…

The first sob cracks me open like the chink in a dam, and it’s already too late. I can’t stop it. I fold over his shoulder, clinging to him, burying my face in his shield of silken scarves. Just being near him… too much. Warm and bright and blinding, like something that fell from the sky and left me smoldering in a crater of blackened glass. A dangerous star to wish upon.

He stands still and lets me weep on him. Seconds, hours, I don’t know. I don’t know. He lets me empty out.

When my eyes clear again, I see that I’ve stained one of the patterned scarves on his shoulder. A new one. A gift.

“Was that expensive?” I mumble, stupidly.

He jumps as if I’ve startled him from a dream. “What?”

I try to explain, but he pulls my shirt over my head, muffling my nonsense before it can begin. Warm hands skitter over me, and I watch, dumbstruck, as he traces countless bruises I didn’t even know were there. I shiver, finally feeling the cold of my own skin under this new and burning touch.

Healing magic moves up my chest, my neck, leaving tingling warmth in its wake. Slowly, he cups my face in his hands and forces me to meet his eyes. I feel my mind churning, and wonder if this tilting feeling is magical too… or a symptom of mutual insanity. With his fingers covering my ears, all my terror seems to ebb, all the kicking and screaming misery of the past few months reduced to the pulsing white noise of a tide. The muffling calm of deep water slips over my head… pulling me toward him… just him…

I want him so badly it hurts, but I know if I close the distance now, I’ll make a fool of myself. So I root down, standing there, waiting. Trying not to care what happens next.

He grabs the waist of my trousers. Like all of him, his hands are small but surprisingly strong. His swift, certain movements jerk me to and fro, and by the time he’s loosened my belt and unbuttoned my front, I’m rigid with need.

His eyes pass over my arousal. “Get in the bath.”

I struggle with the fastenings on my boots, distracted by the sight of him removing his own clothes and slipping gracefully into the water, like he belongs there.

The water feels painfully warm, but I force myself to submerge to the chest. I’ve gotten so accustomed to the cold, so numbed by it, that here in tepid bathwater, I feel like bones boiling in a pot, all pink marrow and jelly.

The water must be enchanted. The dirt sloughs from me in grimy clouds and then vanishes as if it never existed, just like the bruises. Too comfortable, too easy, like this is only a dream or another frivolous, expensive illusion.

Asra floats nearby, glittering and feral, watching his magic take hold, his spell forcing me into human form. Gulping, I dip my head back to wet my hair and face, scrubbing hard. My scalp burns, every inch of me burns, but I feel… I feel…

I should say it, I should tell him, but what? I don’t know. Too much. What name could I give this thing that’s been eating us both, whittling us down to salt and gnashing teeth, leaving only a bitter taste?

Just as I feel my heart tightening with panic, Asra’s hand slides over my chest. He waits for my pulse to slow, or quicken, or simply obey, then he moves up my neck, behind my head. He pulls me up by the root and all of my traitorous body throbs at that touch. The sight of him, too, is equally bewitching. Heavy wet curls falling over hooded eyes, lips moist and soft.

He’s leaning in, pressing his open mouth to my cheek, hot breath melting the path of my tears. When he pulls away, he looks feverish, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip, tasting.

Oh, Asra. That’s too much…

His eyes flash. Did I say that out loud? I don’t know. I can’t think. My head is moving back and forth—yes, no, yes—my mouth opens but my words are swallowed by the thickening steam. Asra’s lips graze over mine once… twice… again… again…

Who made that noise? I don’t know. We both vibrate, and I’m done for, my hands are on him, my mouth locks over his, the heat of his skin burning through my palms. I’m breathing too heavily, his teeth are too sharp. His kiss plucks my nerves and cuts my tongue, but I need more. This is all there is.

My back meets the edge of the pool with a painful thump, and our mouths break apart with a clack of teeth.

Asra pushes at my hips, urging me out of the bath even as he bends to lick water from my neck. Between breathless sweeps of tongue, he barely gets out one word: “…Bed.”

It rings like a command, but as I’m stumbling toward our mutual goal, I realize that it might have been a question. I trip horizontal and pull him along for the ride, our knees banging together. A lingering pause as he pushes up onto his elbows and looks down at me, his eyes wide, his chest heaving, water dripping from his face to mine.

I try to swallow, licking my lips. “Maybe…”

The thought dies as his hand closes around my cock. He watches my face, giving me a chance to stop this… but I can’t, I won’t. I pull him down and invite his ragged breath into my mouth, let him bite and steal and consume. He tightens his hand and pumps me to full hardness, his kiss deepening as he scrapes my lips with his teeth. The only indication of his own arousal is the ragged sound of his breath, the low moans he tries to mask against my tongue. Knowing that I have any effect on him at all… even this meagre sampling… I writhe greedily and Asra drags his mouth away. As if to distract himself, he tongues the sharp bend of my jaw and opens his mouth, bares his teeth… then stops, breathing deep.

No, no… he can’t quit now. At least one of us isn’t above begging; I turn my head and offer him my neck.

Asra looks at me with darkening eyes. He’s breathing hard, his face strangely tight. “Julian… I… I want to hurt you.”

I laugh on reflex, dizzy with light-headed relief. Knowing how desperate I must look, I surge my cock against his idle hand and croak out: “That makes two of us.”

The shift is immediate. Just like that, he becomes ravenously, furiously alive. His teasing hand tightens around my cock, and with a slap of fervor, his other hand meets my throat. He tightens both hands until I’m gasping.

He straddles my waist and hovers over me, his mouth wide open and inches from my own. Eyes aflame, he devours every scrap of desperate air… and just as my lungs start to burn, he releases the pressure and grants me one gulp of relief before sealing his mouth over mine, choking me with his searing tongue.

Electrified, I reach for him, my hands roving up his well-shaped thighs, squeezing greedily over his muscled rear. I feel him roll with a fleeting show of pleasure… before he yanks my hands away and throws my arms to the mattress.

Forget shame, I whine and fist my hands into the sheets. I hold on as he scrapes his teeth down my neck, bites my collarbones, stutters his chin down the heaving, bony column of my sternum…. and eases his thigh between my legs. Using both sets of nails to draw angry red lines over my ribs, he bites my nipple hard enough to bruise. I squeak as he laves the wound with his tongue, soothing just long enough so that when he bites again, the pain sings through me even more sharply.

Keening low and long, I shamelessly thrust against his thigh. Just as I’m edging close, he pulls away, extracting his leg with a cruel bump of his kneecap. I open my eyes, bleary and confused, as his dark chuckle roils in my blood. I see the sweetened plum of his grin rising over my groin and he pulls my hands into his damp ringlets.

“Hold on tight.”

There’s no further warning. His soft lips slide down around me, his luscious, infuriating mouth swallowing my cock as his otherworldly eyes stare up with the confidence of the damned, daring me to breathe. An unholy sight, one I’ve dreamed of all too often, and the sound I make is anything but human.

He laughs, his tongue pulsing, his teeth scraping just enough to keep me from shoving all the way to the back of his throat. He works me expertly, easily reading my moans, setting a confident rhythm. My eyes roll back as the room spins. I cling to his hair and match his movements: thrusting and fucking his mouth as he bobs up and down. Every few strokes he scrapes me with his teeth, threatening to bite, savoring my yelps. He seems to know exactly how much I can take until my toes curl with pain… then he opens his mouth and slathers me with a cooling dose of lewd, loud, whorish spit. There’s barely enough relief to breathe… then he starts the torture all over again until I’m cursing, begging, speaking in tongues.

I try not to think about how he might have gotten so very, very good at this… but it’s impossible to resist imagining a barrage of possibilities. Asra choking on a thousand healthy cocks, cum sliding down his throat… Asra buried between countless sticky thighs, his face drowning in mystical, hallucinatory pussy, his eyes iridescent with a rainbow of shifting, seething pleasures…

…the world tilts around those lips, spinning on that magic tongue. I’m upside-down… look at this maze, we’ll never get out… she throws her head back and moans so loud that anybody might hear… her loose curls trail into the fountain, bobbing with pleasure… she’s grown her her hair long in the Prakran style and trussed it with tiny moonblossoms… dressed like a silver moth, her skirt pulled up, her leg thrown over his narrow, muscled shoulder... oh, yes… you two are so beautiful like this… both of you… Asra, Emry, my darlings… her hips roll as she cries out his name, clings to his hair, rocks into his eager face… his tongue lavishes her to oblivion, drinking her, worshipping her, fingers pumping into her until she sparks and ignites, lost to the flames…

Asra jerks away, staring at me like a man about to die.

#asra x julian #asrian #lemon #asra #julian devorak #the arcana game #fred writes #mirror mirror #long post #it doesn't have much of a beginning or an end #because again... larger fic plans #but still #i think this stands alone fairly well #asra alnazar

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theunholygrails · 6 years

Text

Saved

You’re kidnapped and Frank comes to your rescue. The catch? You didn’t know he was alive.

Peril, angst, fluff. The good stuff.

Masterlist

The barrel of the gun was growing warm from how long it had been pressed against your throat. As soon as the faint rumbling of an attack was heard outside the warehouse, one of your captors had thrust the muzzle against you and it turned into a waiting game while the other men went to eliminate the threat.

You tested your restraints for the thousandth time but the zipties held strong, wearing another layer of blisters into your wrists. Your heart pounded with the faint hope that you would be rescued from this hellhole but the demon of a man next to you kept inching that hope away with each jut of the gun harder against you.

“Don’t make a goddamn noise,” he growled, “or I’ll cut up your pretty mouth.”

After a few tense minutes of gunfire and grunts and what sounded like a few brick walls crashing down, the rest of the warehouse had gone eerily silent. The only sound left was the faint echo of a single pair of footsteps growing louder until they stopped just out of view.

No one had yelled to identify themselves as officers or agents yet, which you found strange. Apparently so did your captor because he quickly lost patience.

“Show yourself or I’ll shoot her right fucking now!”

“Alright! Alright,” a gruff voice called.

It was jarringly familiar but you had no time to even think it can’t be before Frank Castle rounded the corner, gun in hand but pointed at the ceiling.

Frank was dead. You and the rest of the world knew that.

But somehow there he was, slowly pacing forward, bruised and sparsely splattered with blood that did not seem like his own. A true menace.

Your last tears had dried a full day ago, minutes after your captors had first dragged you into the warehouse, but tears pricked at your eyes once more at the sight of the man alive and well in front of you. You couldn’t help the choked breath edging from your lips.

“Frank…”

His voice softened slightly to address you. “Hey. Let’s get you outta here, hm?”

Relief washed over your tired form but it didn’t last long. The gun dug further into your throat as your captor crouched behind you and barked, “I don’t think so. Drop the gun! Toss it!” When Frank didn’t immediately comply, he continued, “Do you want her brains blown out?! Toss the gun!”

With a snarl on his lips, Frank let the gun clatter to the ground and kicked it away. “You take me. You don’t need her, man, let her go.”

“Frank, wait,” you protested, swallowing thickly against the gun.

“Frank, is it? Not a chance.” Your captor moved beside you again and grabbed your face harshly, hissing, “And what did I tell you about talking? As soon as I’m done with you for leverage you’re dead, bitch.”

A scoff echoed around the large room, drawing both you and your captor’s attention to Frank shaking his head. “You’re wrong about that, asshole.”

“Oh yeah? Get over here. On your knees, now!”

Frank’s boots reluctantly scraped on the cement as he traipsed forward and knelt a foot away from you, his eyes boring a reassuring strength into yours. But an angry fire ignited as he gazed up at your captor.

“Happy?”

It was the captor’s turn to laugh, sending a cold chill up your spine as he swiveled the gun to aim it at Frank. “Yeah, I am. Because now I’m gonna kill you, you son of a bitch.”

In a flash Frank knocked the gun away and punched the man in the stomach, sending him reeling. Frank lunged at the captor and pummeled his face a few too many times before getting him into a chokehold, angrily grunting all the while.

Panic had gripped your chest and left you suffocating, too, and you finally tore your eyes away. As soon as the struggling stopped, Frank picked up the gun and dragged the limp body out of the room. A single shot rang out.

Your eyes were squeezed shut but you heard footsteps running back in and then Frank was at your side, cradling your neck. Only at the sound of his voice did you blink open to meet his gaze.

“Hey, I’m here, ok? I’m right here.”

He briefly disappeared from view to cut your bindings and then he was in front of you again, rubbing circulation into your stiff arms. His calloused hands were so warm and strong and they flooded you with memories that had stung for so long. Your faces hadn’t been this close since the last time you saw him and he was muttering promises that everything would be alright and here he was, holding you and repeating the same words.

Your lip trembled but your voiced shook harder as you stared at your lap and whispered, “Frank, what happened? You…you didn’t come home. It was all over the news and I didn’t –”

“I know.” It was a soft interruption but did the trick. He couldn’t meet your eyes, either. “And I’m sorry. I had to get it done and you were safer this way. I always meant to come back. Thought about you all the damn time.”

With his hands clasping yours like an anchor during a hurricane, you had the strength to look into his face again. “And you did. You came for me.”

The usual set line of Frank’s stern mouth slid into the barest smile and he gingerly cupped your cheek, only to notice the bruise blossoming near your temple.

“Did they do that to you?” he clipped, jaw flexing with guilt.

“Just once, Frank, I’m fine.”

His anger dissipated at your single brush along his cheek and he murmured, “Ok, let’s get you home.”

Your weakened body would have stumbled with every step if it weren’t for Frank’s strong shoulder supporting you and after a few steps he swept you into his arms anyway. Piling you into the van waiting around back was effortless, too, and you almost missed the way he pressed a soft kiss into your hair.

It took a few correct turns down familiar streets for you to remember that you’d never told Frank your new address.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

He flashed a brief grin, eyes still on the road. “Yeah, sweetheart, I do.”

#the punisher #frank castle #the punisher x reader #frank castle x reader #the punisher oneshot #the punisher fanfiction #frank castle oneshot #frank castle fanfiction #marvel's the punisher #marvel

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creepynoodleheadcannons · 6 years

Text

Asylum Au-New Home

Rating-definitely F

This is some fucked up shit so have fun

The second those white white doors opened, I knew I was dead.

Why couldn’t I just be taken to court? It would’ve been better than being in this fucking asylum. But then again, maybe I could get out of here. One day. But that day seemed much too far.

“Keep walkin’.” The guard snapped, her hands tightening on my wrists. She shoved me through the halls. Screams came from every corner, every passageway, everywhere.

I don’t know which ones were real.

“And you’ll be staying in here Mrs. Robertson.” She had a soft smile on her face, walking me to the room. “Would you like to rest first, or go to the main recreation room?” “I’m fine in here, thanks.” I sounded much more harsh than usual. I didn’t really take kindly to being put in a fucking asylum. She nodded, carefully walking me into the room. It had bare walls, a small bed in the corner. The windows were too high to reach and were barred anyways.

Nothing left to do but sleep and wait to wake up from this god awful nightmare.

The slamming on the door is what first woke me up. “Social hours, crazy bitch. Get up.” It was the same guard who took me to the registration place when I first got here. God was she a bitch.

I reluctantly shambled my way to this large room, looking out over the room.

Only a few were in here, some looking normal. A guy in the corner, one looking out the window, a woman with a mask in her hands, and a guy with a bandaging over his cheek and hands.

Great. Fucking great.

She practically shoved me in, explaining what would happen if I tried anything, if something happened and it was my fault, blah blah blah. None of it mattered. What I was focused on was the guy with the bandages.

If you looked long enough, it seemed like he was…ticking? He cracked his neck occasionally, arms and muscles jerking in strange rhythms.

That’s when everybody’s eyes went to me.

They were strange eyes. One pair was a nice amber, one black, one brown, and one…red. His eyes were deep red.

It had to be my mind fucking with me.

Well, the guy with the golden eyes seemed…okay. He wasn’t screaming or rocking so I assumed he was decent.

I sat in front of him, just watching him twitch for a minute, before he finally noticed me. I almost got punched.

His voice stuttered and stopped, like a broken record. “Fucking c-Christ! Why w-would you-” I spoke in a soft tone, trying to keep us both calm. “I’m not that bad. I’m just really crazy, apparently. Sorry I scared you or whatever.” I wanted to make friends here, not enemies. Or allies at least.

“W-why would y-you w-w-want to be by m-me? I’m t-the only t-twitchy o-one here.” He glanced down, trying to hold still.

“You seem like you wouldn’t try to kill me first. I’m Alice.” I offered a smile. He didn’t return it.

“I’m T-Toby.” He glanced at the window, at the door, the table, but never at me. He didn’t want to look me in the eye.

I understood why.

“Want me to leave-” “no! I mean…w-well uh…hi?” He looked like a confused teenager trying to find something to say. It was cute. As cute as it could be on a slouching, twitchy guy.

“Hi. How are you?”

“…” he went silent. Dead silent. Like I had just killed his mother or something. “Nobody cares h-how we’re doing. W-we are patients. N-not friends w-with-with them!” He glared at the officers, then he finally looked at me. His eyes looked scared. Afraid. In danger.

I was about to snap back, then I remembered. Making enemies in an asylum is an easy way to die.

“Well I care. How are you?”

He sighed softly, tapping on the table. “I’m horrible. A-and you?” “About the same.” He cracked a smirk. I hoped I didn’t just fuck up.

I glanced around the room, almost jumping when I heard his voice. “You don’t f-fit in well. W-what b-brings you h-h-here?” I didn’t want to say it. I hated saying it.

“I accidentally killed someone. But it was fucking self defense!” “Oh? H-how cute. You think t-that’s bad.” He got closer. Almost a foot from my face.

“I-I’ve killed f-fourty.”

I went dead silent. I didn’t want to make him angry, but I felt really compelled to scream my lungs out.

“T-that guy in t-the corner? D-drowned h-his father-r. H-he’s Ben.” I turned around, seeing him frantically looking at everyone. Except me.

“G-girl with the m-mask? P-p-parents were m-murdered. S-she went c-crazy and s-s-stabbed a s-shit ton of people. W-won’t say h-h-how many.” I looked at her as well. Her neck and arms were coated in scar tissue. Her hair was draped in front of her face. She seemed…upset by something. “I w-wouldn’t ask. S-s-she’s been trying to k-kill little s-smile cunt for m-months.”

“G-guy by the w-window? N-name’s t-Tim. He’s r-real good friends w-with b-b-Brian. B-both were in t-the same f-f-fucking movie that d-drove them crazy. T-Tim did the k-killing first. Then b-Brian went b-batshit crazy a-and started k-k-killin off a-anyone who w-watched it.” He grinned, the bandaid almost pulling up. “I wouldn’t t-talk to Brian w-w-when he gets in h-here. It’s an e-easy way to d-die.”

I just nodded. I didn’t want to seem like an idiot.

“Y-you’ll m-m-meet the rest t-tomorrow. W-we have to alter-rnate some of u-us. I-I can’t be b-b-by this one g-girl. Natalie. G-good god t-that clock was f-fucking a-a-annoying.” I could see the tension in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, laughing. “B-better yet, d-don’t talk to a-a-anyone if you w-want to make it o-o-out alive.”

That last sentence is what really fucked me up. I didn’t want to die. But at this point…it looked inevitable.

That’s when the guy walked in.

He had an okay build, but I’m not one to judge. He had this small scar under his chin, brown hair swept back. He ripped his arms away from the guard, groaning. “I’m fine.” “Don’t cause trouble Mr. Thomas-” “yeah yeah. Tell someone who cares.” He had a deep, smooth voice, but it got worse the more he spoke.

“S-speak of the f-fucking devil.” Toby grinned again. His eyes were set on the guy. Then again, so were mine.

He did look like he’d snap someone’s neck any second.

He had red marks on his wrists. Looked like he’d been strapped down for a while.

He walked over to Tim, both laughing about something quietly. Considering what both looked like a minute ago, I guess they were friends.

“Thanks Toby. Nice meeting you and everything I guess-” “I wouldn’t.”

He didn’t stutter.

“Don’t t-talk to him. D-don’t go near him. D-don’t even l-look at him. J-j-just steer clear.” I nodded quickly, heading to an open table across the room.

If I wanted to get out of this hellhole, I’d have to stick to myself I guess.

“You okay?”

Her voice sounded smooth. I could see her shadow on the table. “I’m fine. Sorry for bothering yo-” “it’s okay, you aren’t bothering me.” She sat herself in front of me. It was that girl with the black eyes. I got a better look this time. The scar tissue stopped at her jaw, right beneath the mask. It had black lips, black lining for the eyes. The ones behind it…the same color.

“I’m Jane. Could I get your name?” “Alice.” I glanced back at Brian, scared he’d come beat me any second. I guess she caught my gaze. “Don’t worry about him, Alice. He doesn’t screw with anyone he doesn’t need to. Only if someone pisses him off.” She pulled the mask up just above her lips to offer a scarred smile. I didn’t want to return it.

“I won’t hurt you. I saw you talking to Toby over there. He knows about us, he just hasn’t told you what we’re all like as people.” She seemed like the most sensible person here. If that makes any sense.

I finally sat up, hearing footsteps down the hall. “Good god.” Her voice held anger beneath the surface. “That would be Jeffrey the asshole woods. Don’t look at him.” I nodded, keeping my head down.

He finally walked in, scaring the living shit out of me. The sides of his cheeks were…stitched shut. It looked like they were sliced open with a shitty bread knife. His arms were bound by a straight jacket, a manic look in his eyes. His skin looked like it could’ve been made out of leather. From the second he walked in, Brian groaned.

“Come on Brian, haven’t you gotten in enough trouble?” The guy, I think his name was Tim, said with a soft voice. I avoided everyone’s gaze, looking up on occasion. I regretted every second he came into my vision.

He had a smile carved into his face. It had strips of tape across the length of it, holding the pieces of skin together. His eyes had dead skin around them, surrounding his…nevermind. He didn’t even have eyelids. He looked like something out of a nightmare.

This was a fucking nightmare, of course something like this would happen.

Jane groaned softly, grabbing my arm. “Don’t look at him-”

“You.” That Brian guy stood up, his hands clenched into fists. The joker looking shit grinned even wider, some of the tape moving. “Hey buddy, nice to see yo-” his jaw clicked as it was punched out of place. Joker guy’s actual grin faded, the carved one tilted downwards. “Oh you fucking-”

Before I could see what happened, someone grabbed my arm. I was practically dragged from the room, voices echoing through the halls. “Wait! What’s going on? Let go! Let me go! Let me go. Let me…go…” the sedation finally kicked in, my vision going black.

As I stared into the pitch black ceiling, I could hear screams from every corner of the room. Some may not have even been there, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t have a choice. I guess this was my new home.

#asylum au #Brian Thomas #Tim Wright #Jane Arkansas #Ben drowned #ticci toby #creepypasta au #marble hornets au #Alice Jane #creepypasta asylum au #Jeff woods

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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In Ten Years’ Time (Shalaska) - jazz

Summary: In which Sharon and Alaska attend their ten-year high school reunion together.

A/N: Showing the judges versatility by writing a lesbian AU and by trying out present tense! This fic goes out to my loves, Alaska del Needles & Dottie, and to @alaskasthighs for the inspiration. ~5k words.

“We have to go,” Alaska whines. She rests her chin on Sharon’s shoulder, pouting at her through thick lashes.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Sharon says, punctuating her response with a light kiss to Alaska’s forehead. “We could stay here, and watch Sons of Anarchy, and fuck.” Sharon thinks she’d prefer that, if she were being honest.

The kitchen’s flooded with pale sunlight, the kind that comes only at the end of long, hot day. Sharon’s doing the dishes, and it’s so painfully domestic, but she loves it: loves that Alaska saves vegetarian recipes for her on Pinterest, loves that Alaska hovers while Sharon cooks, rambling on about her coworkers, or the dreams she had the night before, or now, apparently, their upcoming high school reunion.

“But it’s a milestone, Shar. A milestone.”

“Since when is returning to that hellhole of a place after ten blissful years away cause for celebration?’”

“Hey, rude. It wasn’t all bad – it’s where you met me.” She slinks her slender arms around Sharon’s waist and allows herself a moment to reminisce: back to the English homework that Alaska would unfailingly complete for the both of them, the cigarettes Sharon used to sneak in between periods despite Alaska’s complaints, and the study halls spent making out in the heavy heat of the gym locker room.

“I just liked watching you run around in your cheerleading uniform,” Sharon smirks.

Sharon’s only half-kidding. No part of her feels the need to subject herself to the watchful gaze of stuck-up socialites, college dropouts, and obnoxious abusers of the inevitable open bar.

“But we have a fireplace,” Alaska states, and she sounds almost wistful.

Sharon wipes her palms on her leggings, turning to lean against the sink. “Okay…” she prods, hoping for further elaboration.

“I want people to know,” Alaska says. “I want to go to the reunion and show everyone that I didn’t, like, peak in high school, you know? We’re homeowners with a fucking fireplace and a cat and I get to see you naked, like, every day.”

Sharon pulls her in and smiles into Alaska’s mess of blonde hair, feeling herself weakening. She wants to stay strong, she really does, but she’s no match for her girlfriend, as usual.

“Don’t you at least wanna see how fucked everyone else is doing?” Alaska tries.

“I’m a little curious, yeah.”

“Yeah?” She bounces on the balls of her feet, her smile reaching her eyes, bright blue and crinkling at the corners. That’s when Sharon knows it’s game over.

“You owe me, Lasky. I mean it.”

“You love me, you really love me,” Alaska singsongs.

“I wanna see what kind of work Willam’s had done, and that’s it.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” Alaska slides her hands under Sharon’s loose V-neck, soft from over-wear, her manicured fingers tracing each rib individually until she can feel goosebumps rising on Sharon’s milky skin. “I can think of a couple ways I could make it worth your while…”

Sharon’s already pushing her toward the couch, Alaska’s bottom lip captured between her teeth. “Try me.”

And that’s how Alaska, against all odds, convinces Sharon Needles to attend their ten-year high school reunion.

Sharon can admit, now, that it’s not the worst idea Alaska’s ever had.

She watches her girlfriend check herself out in the floor-length mirror propped in their bedroom, and she looks stunning in a skin-tight cocktail dress. She’s wearing her hair half-up, half-down; she won’t stop running her fingers through the ends. Sharon thinks that Alaska’s nervous, that she wants to make sure she looks absolutely perfect (which she does) in order to make all of their classmates sufficiently jealous (which she will.)

Sharon loves that she’s the one who gets to show her off.

“What are you gonna wear?” Alaska spins around and her eyes are wide, frantic. “Oh my God, you can’t wear ripped jeans. You’re not gonna wear ripped jeans, are you?”

Sharon places her hands on Alaska’s shoulders. “First of all, chill.” She waits for Alaska to take a deep breath in, and out. “And why does it matter what I wear? Everyone’s gonna be looking at you, anyway.”

Alaska chooses to ignore the flattery, though she appreciates the attempt. “I want everyone to see how hot my girlfriend is,” Alaska coos. When Sharon makes a face, she adds, “You’re hot, Shar. Stop that.”

Sharon’s changed a lot since high school, and while Sharon might not be able to see it, Alaska can. The Sharon she met over ten years ago sported ratty band tees and Chuck Taylors over fishnets and didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought about it. Her platinum hair is shorter now, styled into a sleek bob, framing her angular face in ways that her former tangled hair never could. She’s filled out, too, curves existing where there used to only be hard lines.

Alaska loved her then, now, and all through the in-between.

“Let me help you pick something out,” Alaska decides, moving to sift through their closet.

There’s the red blazer and skirt set that makes Sharon look like a risqué, power-hungry CEO – one of Alaska’s personal favorites – or the lacy green gown that hugs her hips in all the right ways. She runs her hands over different fabrics, stopping when she brushes across sequins. “This is so it. This is the winner!”

Alaska holds out her find: a black sequined dress that she’ll pair with thigh-high boots. She knows it’ll definitely turn heads, while still screaming Sharon.

“The things I do for you…” Sharon grumbles, even as she pulls the garment over her head. It’s a little itchy, but Alaska’s right: the small sequins catch the light attractively, her legs elongated by the short cut of the dress.

She stands next to Alaska and assesses their reflections in the mirror. Alaska’s radiating; she’s a couple inches taller than Sharon without heels, and tonight her hairdo only serves to give her extra height. They look good, and Sharon feels that familiar pang in her chest, associated with somehow landing a girl eons out of her league.

She’s still not entirely sure how it happened. Sharon and Alaska didn’t exactly run in the same circles back in high school – Sharon didn’t really run in anyone’s circle. She wasn’t bitter about it: she knew she came off as kind of thorny, maybe a little abrasive, and, at any rate, she didn’t care for most of those people.

But Alaska was different: kind and gentle and pure, in the way she’d walk Sharon to class just to talk to her for a few minutes, or when she’d invite her over after school to make flashcards for their exams, or how she’d told her, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, that she wanted to take Sharon to homecoming senior year. Alaska was good, the only one able to soften her edges.

The only one willing to try.

So Sharon would try, too – try to enjoy herself at the reunion tonight, for no other reason than to make Alaska happy. Because that’s what you do in relationships, Sharon reminds herself, ignoring the tightness in her chest.

“I don’t wanna be early, but I don’t wanna be too late, y’know?” Alaska’s saying now, admiring her ass in the mirror.

Sharon sighs, reluctantly accepting her fate.

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Sharon forces a smile and grabs the car keys from their nightstand, to head back to the one place Sharon could’ve sworn she’d never step foot in again.

Alaska’s all but sitting in Sharon’s lap at one of the circular tables that the school’s set up in the gymnasium.

“Being back here with you…” Alaska says, her voice husky in Sharon’s ear, “I don’t know, it turns me on, I guess.” She giggles, and Sharon’s reeling, heat pooling between her legs.

Sharon has to say, having her girlfriend draped over her like a blanket is proving to be a nice distraction from the otherwise cringeworthy events taking place around them: the small talk, the forced mingling, the not-so-subtle judging. Sharon’s been tense ever since stepping foot into the school again, constantly looking over her shoulder – for what, she didn’t even know.

She’d almost forgotten how much she used to despise it here.

High school wasn’t filled with happy memories for Sharon like it was for Alaska. She wasn’t popular by any stretch of the imagination, and she definitely wasn’t head cheerleader or teacher’s pet. Hell, she wasn’t even just gay – she was gay and weird. Kids could be cruel, and they never let her forget it.

Alaska picks up on Sharon’s anxious disposition almost instantly, lacing her fingers through Sharon’s and pulling the back of her palm up to her lips to kiss. “Thanks for being my arm candy tonight, babe.”

“Is that all I’m good for?” Sharon jokes, choosing instead to focus on the peachy shade of gloss Alaska’s wearing, how she wants to lick it off later.

“Clearly. Now let me parade you around.” Alaska untangles herself from Sharon and hops up, giving Sharon no choice but to follow.

When she’s by her girlfriend’s side, Sharon can accept it, almost: that she’s beautiful, that she’s worth parading around. Alaska pinches the flesh on Sharon’s hip and squeals whenever anyone gives either of them a once-over. Sharon’s not used to the spotlight, but thinks she could learn to tolerate it with Alaska right next to her, admiring Sharon with goddamn stars in her eyes.

“Did you see that?” Alaska hisses. “Jaremi Carey just winked at you.”

Sharon doesn’t respond.

She spots Willam and Courtney first, and it stops her dead in her tracks.

Her stomach clenches instinctively and she braces herself, realizing too late that she didn’t properly mentally prepare for this moment, and that it’s only a matter of time before Alaska locates her old best friends, too. Sharon had her reservations about them from the get-go, and for good reason.

Seeing the two girls forces Sharon to reluctantly recall her first real fight with Alaska: they were seventeen, and Willam and Courtney had invited Alaska to a college party.

Alaska had casually announced her Friday night plans as Sharon drove her home from school that day, and Sharon was freaked. Being caught underage would absolutely destroy Alaska, who’d never even gotten so much as a detention before, and she was so cute – too cute – and what if she wasn’t watching her drink closely enough, or if she got separated from Willam and Courtney?

And it’s not like Sharon even wanted to sip lukewarm beers in the dingy basement of a fraternity house, but she would’ve liked to have been asked, at least.

She’d never forget how Alaska seethed at Sharon voicing her concerns, accusing Sharon of not trusting her, of being jealous, and why couldn’t she loosen up like Will and Court? Sharon sat there in the driver’s seat, stunned, as Alaska flung open the passenger door and stomped up her driveway. No goodbye, no “I’m sorry” – nothing.

Sharon couldn’t sleep until she knew Alaska was home safely that night.

She’s snapped out of her thoughts abruptly when Alaska eventually identifies Willam and Courtney from across the room and shrieks, heels clacking against the linoleum as she run-waddles toward them with enthusiasm, tugging Sharon along with her.

Sharon briefly wonders if Willam and Courtney arrived together tonight; they used to be inseparable in high school, prompting Sharon to frequently question their relationship status – not that she’d ever say so to Alaska.

Courtney was nice enough, but had always been wrapped around Willam’s finger. Willam was harder to read: more intimidating than the smaller blonde, she was a matchless combination of indifference and vanity. You either wanted her to like you, or you wanted her to leave you the hell alone.

Sharon subscribed to the latter philosophy.

The obligatory round of hugs and compliments passes at an excruciatingly slow rate as Sharon searches, unsuccessfully, for an out.

“Ugh, you two are such couple goals,” Courtney slurs, her mouth seeking out the straw to her fruity drink. “Aren’t they, Will?”

“Who woulda thought? I didn’t see this,” Willam motions between Alaska and Sharon with a flailing hand, “lasting past prom.”

Sharon bites her tongue, the words stinging like salt in an old wound. She wraps an arm more tightly around her girlfriend.

Alaska’s rendered unbothered. “It’s so good to see you girls again, God. We used to have some fun.” She looks over at Sharon, who’s staring at the floor.

Courtney grasps onto Alaska’s wrist. “Remember skinny dipping at Violet’s?”

“Oh my God, is she here? Tell me she’s here.”

“Her slam piece back then was something else,” Willam muses. “What was his name? Brian? Bob? Who the fuck knows – I blew him in her poolhouse.”

They’re screeching, reminiscing about chugging Breezers after football games and setting each other up with their hot friends, and Sharon feels herself withdrawing, retreating back to a place she thought she’d left behind years ago.

She never fit in with Alaska’s crowd, she’s always known that. Alaska had this whole other life before Sharon, though, and Sharon knows she shouldn’t care – but she does, because it’s a life she can’t even begin to understand, to relate to.

She wasn’t invited to college parties. She wasn’t invited to anything.

Sharon’s struggling to get enough oxygen into her lungs, and she thinks she might be making a strange face at Courtney, thinks she can hear Willam laughing at Sharon’s expense.

“Yeah, same,” Sharon interjects loudly, earning her a puzzled look from her girlfriend.

Before anyone can ask what the hell is wrong with her, Sharon puts her head down and makes a beeline for the open bar. She doesn’t want to see anyone, doesn’t want anyone to see her – all she wants is a vodka soda. Better yet, she wants to go home, wants to slam the front door to her apartment and scrub off the stench of this awful night in the shower. She knew it wasn’t a good idea, coming back here.

Sharon isn’t bulletproof, despite her fervent efforts to convince herself that she is. Most of the time, she can fool herself, but Willam and Courtney and everything they stand for is just a painful reminder that Sharon’s skin isn’t as thick as she’d like it to be, that she’s the butt end of some sad inside joke that everyone else seems to be in on.

Picking up her pace, she knows it’s nothing that a strong drink can’t fix. As she’s making her way through the throngs of her former classmates, Sharon’s shoulder connects with an unsuspecting victim, nearly knocking her over.

“Fuck, sorry,” Sharon mumbles, her cheeks flushing red. She readjusts her dress and attempts to regain her composure.

It takes her seconds before it registers: the inked-up, tan-legged woman in front of her is none other than Raja Amrull. Her hair is long and dark, interrupted by a singular grey streak, and, luckily, she seems to be unharmed after Sharon’s clumsy tirade.

“Looks like you need this more than I do,” Raja says, handing Sharon a shot of what looks like whiskey, and, after she tosses it back eagerly, can be confirmed as such.

“Shit,” Sharon exhales, the liquor warming her chest. “I didn’t think I’d be glad to see anyone tonight.”

She means it; she hadn’t even considered that Raja might attend this sort of event, but she’s glad for it, reaching out to give Raja’s hand a grateful squeeze. She’s taller than Sharon remembers, and there’s something calming about her presence.

Aside from Alaska, Raja was the closest thing Sharon had to a friend in school. Raja also tended to keep to herself, but sometimes they’d hotbox Raja’s car while Sharon waited for Alaska to finish up cheer practice, get high and think about life post-graduation. She’d been the one to give Sharon her first tattoo, a small stick-and-poke, which, in hindsight, was probably a terrible idea, but Raja listened to her rant about her crush on Alaska and always nodded at the appropriate times, and Sharon appreciated her for it.

“Bitch, I’m surprised they even let you in.” Raja laughs, and her teeth are so white, and Sharon finds herself laughing, too, each peal easing some of the tension out of her shoulders.

“You and me both.”

They fall back into a normal rhythm effortlessly. Raja secures her hair into a low bun at the nape of her neck with an elastic, tells Sharon about the studio she’s opened up in California, how she’s been drinking wine in the afternoons and experimenting with oil pastels. Sharon thinks it sounds nice, promises to let Raja know if she ever travels out west.

“You’re still with Alaska, yeah?” Raja asks finally. “I mean, of course you are, she was the love of your life. How is she?”

“She’s… Alaska,” Sharon says, choosing her words carefully. “Dragged me here against my will. The usual.”

“Sounds about right.”

Raja smiles from her eyes, like she knows – and she probably does, can probably sense Sharon’s regret over letting her old ghosts resurface, and in front of Alaska and her friends, no less.It makes Sharon want to open up to Raja, tell her everything: how Alaska’s only gotten more beautiful with age, if that’s even possible, how they’ll go home later and strip down to their underwear, probably apply one of the fancy face masks Alaska’s ordered online.

“We made zoodles the other week,” Sharon blurts, laughs when she says it aloud. “Zucchini noodles,” she clarifies, and Raja just nods, like it’s the most natural thing Sharon could’ve said.

It’s more than the eccentric dinner entrées, though. It’s the way Alaska knows Sharon’s favorite brand of cheap ass red wine from the store, and how she’ll try to surprise her with it. It’s when she comes home from work with Dollar Store fuzzy socks with pumpkins on them, and she’ll say that they made her think of Sharon so she just had to buy a pair. It’s how she’ll walk around in those same pumpkin socks and a giant sweatshirt, quote entire episodes of the Golden Girls aloud in the middle of the day.

“We have a townhouse near the city now, too,” Sharon continues, “with a fireplace.”

Her throat catches on the last three words, and her heart swells with pride.

“You guys are lucky,” Raja muses.

Sharon feels lucky; her body is buzzing with it, and she knows she has to find Alaska and kiss her, let her know with lips pressed firmly against hers that she’s sorry for overreacting, that this place messes with her head, but that it’s okay – it’s okay because she’s so totally enamored with Alaska that she’d do it all ten times over again if it meant she could keep falling in love, here, with her.

“I should go find her,” Sharon says apologetically.

“No worries,” Raja says, and then, earnestly, “we turned out alright, Needles.”

Sharon scans the room for her girlfriend and pinpoints her, gives her a sheepish wave from over near the bar. Sharon watches as Alaska finishes up her conversation, embraces her friends one final time before sauntering over to Sharon. The sea of unfamiliar faces parts for Alaska, unsurprisingly.

“Hey, there you are,” Alaska says. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Was hoping I could take you home tonight.” She waggles her eyebrows.

Despite everything, Sharon laughs at her ridiculous, adorable girlfriend. “Thought you were gonna get lucky, huh?”

“Well… am I?” Alaska steps closer to her, and the whole mood shifts; she smells like perfume and spearmint gum and Sharon’s very nearly transported back to the first time Alaska had leaned in for a kiss – Sharon remembers thinking it had to be some elaborate prank – but Alaska’slooking at her with those smoldering blue eyes now, and Sharon’s hands instinctively move to her waist to pull her in.

Sharon knows she’ll never get tired of kissing Alaska, of the way she sighs into her mouth happily, pressing her chest hard against Sharon. She knows this, just like she knows Alaska’s the only thing that matters, the only thing that ever really mattered, and Sharon nudges her tongue against Alaska’s teeth.

“I kinda freaked out back there,” Sharon admits.

Alaska scoffs, as if to say that’s an understatement, but places a small peck on Sharon’s nose anyway, which she welcomes happily. “I can’t believe you left me alone to third-wheel,” Alaska pouts.

Sharon tilts her head questioningly.

“Babe,” Alaska says, “I’ve been Will and Court’s third wheel since the ninth grade. You had to have known.”

Sharon wants to gloat, say that she called it, but there’d be time for that later. Instead, she’s hyperaware of Alaska’s hands travelling south, dancing across her lower back. Every gesture with Alaska is a tease, designed to make Sharon crazy.

“Can I tell you something?” Alaska murmurs, her cheek brushing lightly against Sharon’s.

Sharon hums her approval, lets her eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath this dress,” Alaska whispers, and she drags out each syllable. She gives a slow twirl to illustrate, clearly impressed with herself.

Sharon lets the words linger in the air, an electric promise, and it takes all of her strength not to undress her right here – she thinks she might if there weren’t so many people around. She opts for another kiss, this one sloppier than the first, Sharon securing Alaska’s chin in place with a thumb and forefinger.

Sharon is the first to come up for a breath, uttering a low, “follow me,” before ushering Alaska toward the outskirts of the room, a hand resting on the small of her back. Sharon loves it: the way Alaska obeys without hesitation, always being one to follow directions. Sharon’s hand is tingling; she can nearly feel the heat of Alaska’s skin beneath the thinness of her dress, the modest amount of contact hardly enough for either of them.

As they walk, the crowd begins to disperse, and the two are able to slip away undetected into an adjoining room, humid and dimly lit and all too familiar.

“You’re so dumb,” Alaska giggles, as Sharon leads her through rows of rusted lockers with chipping paint. “The girls’ locker room? Really?”

Sharon stops abruptly and pushes Alaska against the cool metal of the lockers, the rattling reverberating loudly throughout the otherwise unoccupied room, and a soft moan escapes Alaska’s lips. Suddenly, she’s not laughing anymore.

There’s a moment that passes, when Sharon and Alaska are only inches apart, and they’re breathing each other in, unmoving – when a few loose strands of hair fall down into Alaska’s face, and she doesn’t reach to fix it, doesn’t dare to be the one to break – that Sharon feels the gravity of the past ten years, of the girl pinned beneath her, who’s been here through it all.

And Sharon’s still just as fucking attracted to her as she was the day they first met.

Their mouths crash together simultaneously, and they’re kissing like kids again, fast and hurried, as if they didn’t have all the time in the world to kiss and touch and explore. Sharon tugs the straps of Alaska’s dress off her shoulders, peppers kisses onto the exposed skin, loves the way her girlfriend’s breath hitches when Sharon scrapes her teeth across the flesh.

Alaska instinctively grinds down on the leg that Sharon has pressed between her own. Her dress is riding up and Sharon eagerly takes note, running her hands up Alaska’s smooth thighs, allowing a thumb to rest near her entrance. She’s already dripping, and it drives Sharon absolutely crazy; she can feel the wetness seeping onto her leg.

Alaska guides one of Sharon’s hands to where her breasts have spilled out from her dress, now bunched around the hard planes of her stomach, and Sharon’s positive that her body is a work of art as their mouths fight to stay connected.

Sharon can hardly help it: she drops to her knees, her nails digging into Alaska’s ass as she licks the moisture from her girlfriend’s inner thighs. She’s reveling in the sounds Alaska makes, the way she says Sharon’s name, urging her on.

She’d have to remind herself to thank Alaska later, in bed, for choosing to forgo the panties tonight.

Sharon looks up, sees Alaska groping her own breasts with heavy-lidded eyes. Her mouth is open, just barely, and Sharon’s sure that Alaska has no idea how gorgeous she is, right at this exact moment – and it’s all the motivation Sharon needs.

She swipes her tongue, once, over Alaska’s folds and pauses, the neatly groomed hair tickling Sharon’s nose. With a free hand, Alaska reaches down and laces her fingers through Sharon’s platinum locks, drawing her closer to Alaska’s heat.

Sharon whimpers against her, the vibrations evoking a strangled whine from Alaska. “Fuck me, Shar, please.”

“This was our spot, Lasky,” Sharon says. She sucks a mark onto the patch of skin above Alaska’s sensitive bud, and she takes her time, enjoys it. “Remember?”

Alaska stretches an arm above her head, lets her fingers wander until they find the gouges in the metal, jagged strokes notched years ago. She traces the imprint of the SN + AT that Sharon carved onto locker number 66 – which Sharon had obviously haphazardly etched an extra 6 into, despite Alaska’s protests about vandalization on school property.

Anyone can just walk in, and that’s half the fun of it, Sharon had argued. She used to wish that someone would wander into the locker room, catch Sharon with two fingers pumping in and out of Alaska, whose skirt would be around her ankles until the late bell rang out over the loudspeakers.

“Of course – of course I remember, fuck,” Alaska manages, her voice strangled from both the sweet sentiment and her growing impatience.

“I wanna make you come right here.”

Sharon says it like it’s a challenge, and she makes quick work of unravelling the gorgeous blonde quaking in front of her, lapping at her opening. Alaska’s hot and swollen around Sharon’s tongue, and Sharon settles in, using the hand still on her ass as leverage to pull Alaska toward her face. Sharon’s chin is soaked and she doesn’t care, moaning into Alaska, guttural and muffled.

She realizes that, at some point, she must’ve started to rub herself through her thong. Sharon can feel her own dampness now as she circles Alaska’s clit with her tongue, inserting a finger into her and crooking it upwards. She’s so slick and Sharon can hear it; she can picture how Alaska’s touching herself, pinching and squeezing her small breasts until she gasps.

Alaska’s grinding her hips onto Sharon, desperate and fast, and Sharon lets her, lets Alaska smother her until Sharon can barely breathe. She seals her lips around Alaska’s clit, rolling it between them before sucking hard, and Alaska’s legs are quivering. Sharon can tell that she’s close; she slides a second finger into Alaska for good measure, hitting the spot she likes again and again and again.

Alaska can’t keep quiet for the life of her, and it’s almost too much for Sharon to handle. Even after ten years, she still feels a jolt of satisfaction whenever she’s able to evoke those pretty little moans from her girlfriend. Sharon pulls her panties to the side as she massages sloppy patterns into her pussy.

“Sharon, I… I’m –”

Alaska clenches around Sharon and comes, loudly, tugging on Sharon’s hair as she shudders, spurring Sharon toward her own climax.

Surges of pleasure roll up Sharon’s spine and out through her fingers and toes, wave after orgasmic wave crashing over her as she coaxes Alaska through her own aftershocks with a delicate tongue, wringing out every drop that she can, before Alaska sinks to the floor next to Sharon. Alaska captures Sharon’s mouth in a lazy kiss that tastes of her.

Alaska’s half-naked and spent, wrapped around her girlfriend, whispering gently into Sharon’s neck, “Let’s go home.”

They exit through the gymnasium, hand in hand. Alaska’s hair’s a mess and Sharon’s sure she’s sporting a nice post-sex glow, but she doesn’t care – she feels good, better than she’s felt in a while. She even flashes a genuine smile at Willam and Courtney on the way out.

Sharon holds the heavy door open for Alaska, watches her walk through, out into the parking lot and toward their little car. She’s laughing about something and Sharon repeats the sound over and over in her mind.

They decide to drive backroads tonight, and everything’s different, but it’s all still the same, really. Alaska’s hand is resting on Sharon’s inner thigh and she’s humming; Sharon thinks she’ll probably let Alaska eat her out when they’re home. They’ll open the window and let the cool breeze in and they won’t even bother making the bed.

#please remember your tags!#jazz #shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #lesbian au #au #rpdr fanfiction

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cassiopeiassky · 7 years

Text

I Don’t Want the World to See Me (Cause I Don’t Think that They’d Understand) #11

Write a companion piece, I said. It’ll be fun, I said. It’s just drabbles, it won’t take too long.

I’m still lying to myself as I post this 3k+ ‘drabble.’

This is a companion piece for When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) from Bucky’s POV - if you haven’t yet read WEMtbB, this won’t make much sense.

#11 takes place during part 41

***If this is your first time reading through, and you HAVEN’T yet read through part 45 of WEMtbB, this will contain major spoilers***

Word count: 3251 *slams head into desk*

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: thinly veiled threats, injury, violence, threats/mentions of death, panic, anxiety If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie. I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests. Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

He shouldn’t have let his guard down; he shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

Not that it would have mattered. The outcome would have been the same.

Bucky wakes when the door slams open and the lights come on, but there’s nothing he can do. When she’s torn out of bed and he can’t hide it – he knows in that split second that his face has betrayed his emotions - he can only hope that the men mistake it for being startled.

Get your shit together, or you’re gonna have to explain to Artie and Jimmy why you couldn’t save their mom.

Or rather the team will, because Bucky has no intention of leaving here alive without her.

He allows the Soldier to take over as he’s pulled out of the bed by his hair. It doesn’t exactly tickle, but compared to what he’s been through it’s easy to ignore. He relaxes his body to minimize potential damage as he lands roughly on his knees, and then sways with Anatoliy’s hit.

“Just kill him, Kapitan, his skillset is not worth the lives of our men.” Grigory speaks from behind her; Bucky can see her visceral reaction to the man’s hands on her, but is distracted a moment later when he’s kicked in the stomach.

Once again the Soldier ignores the pain; the cold metal of Anatoliy’s gun against his temple has his full attention.

Oh shit. Oh shit. This is real; Bucky can read Anatoliy quite clearly, and right now Anatoliy isn’t bluffing. This isn’t supposed to happen – he made damn sure those deaths weren’t traceable to him.

Panic washes over him as he realizes he overplayed his hand. He’d assumed that after all the trouble they’d taken to get him that they wouldn’t kill him recklessly – that they’d need a compelling reason that was backed up with some sort of proof. Proof he knows they don’t have, and they’re willing to kill him anyway.

He’s never made a tactical mistake like this before. Never.

If they kill him, she’s gonna end up paying the price for his error.

Bucky weighs his options. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to choose from. There are eleven men in the room; under different circumstances he would like these odds, but she’s being held by Grigory and the bastard might snap her neck before Bucky could get to her. Even if he could manage to take Grigory out first and get her behind him so he can protect her, he’d still have to get through the other ten men before someone sounded an alarm. Getting her out of this room alive doesn’t mean shit with that collar around her neck; they can still kill her with the press of a button. Then again, she’d probably prefer that over the alternative.

His other option is to do nothing.

He has to try; he can’t allow them to kill him when he knows what they’ll do to her once he’s dead. He can’t leave her like this, thinking he did nothing to save her.

His mind made up, Bucky readies himself to move – then stops as Nicolai walks into the room.

“That would be a bit merciful, yes? He still has some suffering to endure, I think.”

The statement is meant to intimidate, but it’s all Bucky can do not to exhale in relief. He’s not worried about whatever pain Nicolai plans to inflict, he’s more focused on the time he’s been given. He just needs a few minutes to think. If he can figure out how to take out Nicolai, Anatoliy, and Grigory all at once, that might give him enough of an advantage...

“Hold out your right arm, Soldat.”

Well shit. This is going to be incredibly inconvenient.

Bucky lifts his arm and does his best to relax his joints. It won’t be the first time his shoulder has been dislocated, but that doesn’t mean it will be fun.

Nicolai takes his arm and forcefully twists; Bucky feels the bone leave the socket.

Yep, that stings a little.

He doesn’t feel the burn of torn tendons, so it’s not as bad as it could be, all things considered.

Everyone looks up at the sound of running footsteps in the hall – Bucky wouldn’t have expected salvation to come from one of Nicolai’s men, but it does.

“I reviewed the camera feed as you asked,” the man gasps, “It was not him.”

Well glory fucking hallelujah.

As he watches the conversation, he sees how he moves once again from liability to Asset in the eyes of his captors. He’s relatively safe now, and by default, so is she. It’s enough for now.

His name essentially cleared and their minds now occupied by an unknown threat, Bucky allows himself the tiniest breath of relief when he sees that the chaos he’d sown finally begins to take root and spread. This had been his intention – the fear and unease of an invisible enemy within their own defenses has visibly set them on edge. Good.

Still, he’s going to have to be more careful; he can’t make a mistake like this again.

***

Bucky sits in Yakov’s hidden room and rubs his tired eyes as he waits for Steve and Nat to show up. His reset shoulder aches, but it’s nothing more than a minor annoyance.

He’s got more important things on his mind, like getting her the fuck out of that hellhole.

Bucky has already spoken with Stark, who left immediately after to arrange the coverup for the next round of executions – he was visibly disappointed that Bucky wasn’t able to provide any new information on those goddamn collars.

Well, Bucky’s disappointed, too. At least she’s relatively safe; he’d listened carefully to make sure that prick Grigory really did just escort her to her room and didn’t try anything, and now that he’s at Yakov’s shop he’s able to monitor her through one of the tablets Stark has piggybacking on their security system. He tries not to do it too often, though, because she doesn’t know it’s him and he feels like he’s invading her privacy. It’s…difficult, to say the least, when all he wants to do is see her and take comfort in knowing she’s okay.

His thoughts are interrupted when Steve and Nat enter the room; they prop the door open since they don’t have anyone standing watch as everyone else is working with the targets of Bucky’s current mission.

“Alright Buck,” Steve unrolls large sheets of paper and places them on the table. “We were able to find the building permits and blueprints for the Krakken manor. This should help with logistical planning, so why don’t you give us a tour.”

Bucky nods as he stands to get a better view of the plan. “They keep her here,” he points to a room on the second floor in the eastern wing. “This area has mostly guest rooms, but their non-militant staff, the few that primarily do housekeeping and the like, are housed here as well. Most of the common areas are on this floor, like the kitchen and dining hall, but there are some recreational rooms on the first floor and a gym in the basement. Krakken’s men are quartered in the west wing; the higher the rank the higher the floor. The first floor is more like a barracks than anything else, and the third floor is where their most trusted people have suites. Nicolai and Anatoliy have full apartments on the third floor of the east wing; Metzger’s lab is in the center.” He chews on his bottom lip as he considers the prints, “The armory is on the first floor in the eastern wing along with their security equipment, which is probably why this side of the building is more heavily fortified.”

Steve lets out a noisy breath. “Well, they certainly didn’t do us any favors, did they.”

“The eastern side is surrounded by the wooded area, right?” Nat questions with her brows furrowed.

“Well, the entire area is wooded, but it’s thickest there, yes,” Bucky mutters as he turns to study a map.

“That might be your best place to escape, then. Even if it’s got higher security, the woods give you a greater advantage over the driveway or the sparser areas.”

“I think you’re right, Nat. I hid my motorcycle over here and walked up when I first arrived,” Bucky points to a spot in the woods roughly 4 miles from the manor, “but if I can move it closer and part it here, then we’ll have a vehicle. It’s not ideal if the weather stays so damn cold, but a bike is a lot easier to hide then a car.”

“Easier to maneuver through the woods, too, if they give chase. They’ll have to follow on foot or slow down considerably to get a car through there,” Steve murmurs. When his comrades nod their agreement, he continues, “I’ll find a way to get your bike closer. Maybe Stark has something that-”

Bucky tenses when he hears footsteps coming quickly down the stairs, but Steve is quick to assure him that it’s just Yakov. “He wants to help, he just had a customer he had to take care of.”

Choosing to trust his friend over his own unease, Bucky again turns his focus to the plans in front of him.

A door slams, and another set of footsteps is heard barreling down the steps as an unfamiliar voice begins to speak from the doorway.

“You…You are not really the Soldier…”

Bucky clenches his jaw as he reaches for the firearm at his back; he can see Nat and Steve doing the same in his peripheral.

“You have been pretending.” The blonde stranger stares at Bucky from behind two black eyes.

“No!” Yakov’s panicked voice echoes down the stairs along with his hasty footsteps, “Do not hurt him, please!” He gets to the door and pushes the other man aside. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, bratishka??”

|bratishka – little brother

“I need to talk to them!”

“You need to go back upstairs!” Yakov says forcefully, but he’s unable to completely mask the fear in his voice.

“He’s not going anywhere, Yakov,” Nat says calmly, but doesn’t lower her gun. “Bring him in here.”

Yakov goes white as he stands frozen.

“You heard her, Yakov. Bring him in,” Steve’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Yakov still doesn’t move as the other man pushes past him to enter the room. “Please, he is practically family…”

Bucky stares for a moment before lowering his firearm. He’s seen this man before. “Mikhail?”

“You know him?” Nat keeps her focus and her gun aimed on the stranger.

“He works at the manor, but he’s collared.” Bucky remembers how his girl reacted when Mikhail was beaten; she wouldn’t have acted like that if this man hadn’t treated her with kindness. Besides, Bucky is confident in his ability to read people; this man means no harm. “He’s not a threat.”

Yakov audibly exhales when Bucky holsters his weapon; Steve follows Bucky’s lead immediately, but Nat keeps hers trained on Mikhail.

“You sure about that?” she asks sharply.

Bucky nods. “I trust my girl; from what I saw, she seemed to consider him an ally, maybe a friend.”

“But how do you know? You-“

“I know her, Nat. Yes, I’ve have limited observations, but she’s not afraid of him, in fact, she’s shown concern for him, and on the night I arrived, he was the one that got her out of that goddamn hall.” Bucky places his hand on her gun and lowers it. “I trust my girl, Nat.”

She huffs noisily but holsters her firearm with one last glare at Mikhail, who has been watching the exchange with wide eyes but is seemingly not frightened.

Steve turns his gaze to Yakov. “We’re already working with your family, why didn’t you mention – Mikhail, is it? – why didn’t you mention him?”

“I am not family by blood,” Mikhail takes a step forward as he speaks, “but we grew up together, Yakov and I. He was the older brother to me that my blood brothers were not. Our families were close; close enough that my parents gave their blessing for Yakov to ask for my sister’s hand.”

Nat turns sharply to Yakov. “His sister was the one that was murdered by Anatoliy? The one you were going to marry?”

Mikhail’s jaw clenches as Yakov whispers, “Her name was Izolda.”

Mikhail’s eyes lock on Bucky’s. “We need to get her out of there. I do not know what your plan is, but I want to help. Let me help solnishko as I was not able to help my sister.”

Bucky feels something akin to relief at Mikhail’s words, or maybe it’s the feeling of solidarity that comes with finding a comrade behind enemy lines. Either way, he nods. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Nat tilts her head as she thinks, “Don’t they call her lisichka?”

Mikhail scoffs, “Of course they do, it is part of their sick little game; they think they are clever. She understandably does not want to be called that, and I respect her wishes as far as I can. I am not allowed to address her by her actual name, so I gave her a different one.”

Bucky is really starting to like this guy.

“You used to call Izolda by that name,” Yakov murmurs, lost in the memories of a life stolen from him.

Mikhail nods slowly. “It suits her; she has the same kind of soul as Izolda. Besides, there was no reason to make her feel even more degraded than she already does by them; they treat her as though she is a pet, and the name they use emphasizes that. It is a small thing that I can do for her, but at least it is something. I refuse to aid in their attempt to strip her humanity from her.”

Yes, Bucky likes this one.

“So what can I do? I am technically supposed to be running errands for Dr. Metzger, but I can cover for a bit of extra time. How can I help?”

“Is anyone following or tracing your location?” Nat asks before tapping out a text on her phone.

“No, they do not bother. Besides their ability to set off the explosive around my neck, I still have a family. Their way is to control people by using others; in my case, they would use my mother against me since she is the only surviving member of my family whose wellbeing means anything to me.”

Steve is quiet for a moment as he considers Mikhail’s words. “Are you sure you want to do this? We’ll be as careful as possible, but there are no guarantees. You’ll be potentially putting your mom at risk if you help us.”

Mikhail nods decisively. “Yes, I am sure. She would want me to do this, to do what is right. My mother has nothing but disdain for my father and is ashamed of her other sons. She would tell me to make her proud.”

“He is right,” Yakov interjects, “She would want him to do this. I overheard her tell my mother once that her four eldest sons were children of duty, but that Izolda and Mikhail were the children of her heart.” He pauses, gazing at Mikhail as he thinks. “We have not been working with the Davydov family – mostly because there has been no need, but also because they would be difficult to sway to our side as they are loyal and firmly within the Krakkens’ control – but perhaps it would be beneficial to speak with Galina. She plays the part of the dutiful wife when her husband is around, but she is quite powerful in her own right. There are quite a few Pakhan that keep a respectable distance, and more than one have been known to seek her counsel. She works as a nurse at one of the clinics in the southern part of the city; she may have additional resources that we are not aware of.”

“Can you get a letter to my mother?” Mikhail allows the tiniest of smiles, “I haven’t been allowed to contact her.”

“If you’re sure about this, we’ll make sure she gets it,” Steve promises.

“Yes. I am sure.”

“Alright then.” Steve points to the black strip of metal around Mikhail’s neck. “What do you know about that collar?”

“I know only that I cannot get it off, and that it could be set to explode by them at any moment.” He pauses for a moment as he shrugs, “It was terrifying at first, but the novelty of the threat has worn off by now.”

“Do you know where they keep information on them? Or extra collars?”

Mikhail bites his lip as he thinks. “If they have anything, it is likely somewhere on the third floor, perhaps in the doctor’s lab or even Mr. Krakken’s suite.”

‘What are the odds you could get a hold of something?”

Mikhail shakes his head. “None. I do not have clearance to access the third floor without an escort. Mr. Krakken requires all staff to be very thorough and vigilant; I would not be able to look for anything without being caught.”

Bucky bites his bottom as he considers Mikhail’s words. “Do you think you could come back tomorrow so Stark could take a look at it? He said a collar would work – I don’t think he planned for it to actually be on someone, but we can tell him now so he can prepare for it.”

“I can arrange for some of Dr. Metzger’s supplies to be damaged upon arrival. I doubt they will send me back out tomorrow, but perhaps the day after.”

Nat looks up from her phone. “That will have to work – Tony won’t be able to get here before you leave today.”

Bucky swallows back his disappointment – this is more than he could’ve hoped for, but still. He gestures to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mikhail. I think we have some things to discuss.”

Mikhail takes the offered seat before staring at Bucky intently. “You cannot tell her.”

“What?” Bucky is somewhat taken aback by the intensity of Mikhail’s voice.

“You cannot tell her that you are not really the Soldier. I am sure it will not be easy for you to deceive her, but she will not be able to hide it when the two of you are in the same room together. Her heart is in her eyes when you are around as it is”

“I know,” Bucky mutters as he pushes his hands through his hair absentmindedly. “I want to tell her, God, I want to fucking tell her just to give her some damn hope, but I can’t take the chance. She wouldn’t be afraid of them anymore if she knew that I was there with her. She - she has too much damn faith in me.”

Mikhail shakes his head slowly. “It seems clear to me that you have earned it and that her faith is not misplaced. She loves you, you know. She worries more for you than she does for herself. I know it is difficult, but let me handle the hope, yes?” Mikhail smiles brightly. “Now, I have roughly 40 minutes before I need to leave, so let me tell you all of what I know of those bastards.”

Tags Round 1: : @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @musichowler @ms-potts-to-you @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @4theluvofall @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire3303 @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007 @sarahjeaniejean @canumoveyourseatup-no @unpredictable-firecracker @omalleysgirl22 @crazyliraz @shamvictoria11 @kaaatniss @lillian-paige @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @sexyseabass1231

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #my work #i don't want the world to see me (cause i don't think that they'd understand)#IDWtWtSM #11

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as-be-low · 7 years

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Time Has Changed Me, Chapter 11

I Long To Belong (But I Always Have To Go)

Home ties me up with discontent Since the day I first went Yearning to be back again, How will I return, and when?

Though tranquil, Sunday was filled with small challenges, most of which included trying not to step on tiny fingers. Breakfast had hardly consisted of anything. Stanley had been quiet and unresponsive and Stella turned her nose up at the leprecorn-infested cereal and refused all but the plain toast Stan had cajoled her into accepting.

There had been no tears on Sunday, but Stanford wasn't sure the sheer malaise was much better. After eating half of the toast and leaving the rest as crumbs across her face and Stan's lap, Stella stuck out a little leg in order to climb down. Stanley wrapped an arm around her middle.

"Wait, sweetie."

"But I want to go outside."

"You're not dressed for outside, sweetie. How's about we go outside a little later 'n right now we play somethin' inside?"

"Okay." Stanley set her on her wobbly feet and she tottered off towards the living room with Stanley not far behind.

"Can we play giggle bunny?"

"...Giggle bunny?"

"Punch buggy with more laughin'." Stanley mumbled. "That only works for cars, sweetie. We'll have to play somethin' else."

Her little face puckered into a frown of concentration. "I spy?"

"That might work, sweetie, but I dunno."

"Giggle bunny spy!" She hopped as she made her proposal.

"What?" Ford couldn't stop the word from slipping out.

"We play I spy and...and...'n we giggle when we see something!" Another hop.

"This game doesn't sound sustainable."

"Shut up, Ford."

"But–"

"Giggle bunny spy. Alright pumpkin. Let's play."

"You go first, Daddy."

"No, you go first. You gotta show me how t'play, remember?"

"Oh." Stella was silent for a moment before snickering.

"Has the game started?"

"Yeah."

Stanford would never understand this "game," and resigned himself to his fate.

Giggle bunny spy soon turned into a nap in the floor for Stella after she laughed herself into a coughing fit. "Giggling is tiring work, it seems." Stanford mumbled as he stared down at the child asleep in the threshold.

"Everything's tirin' work when you're three."

"That may be true." Ford hovered in the doorway.

"You can just step over her, y'know." Step over her?

"No, it's fine."

"You're tryin' t' get out of the room 'n you're just standin' there. Just step over her." He sniffed

"I..."

"Ford. You gonna just wait for her to wake up ‘n move? Just go."

He refused.

With a groan, Stanley stood and ambled over to the pair and hunched over to lift Stella. Ford slipped past, and when he returned, he found the child once again sprawled out across the threshold.

"It's where she wanted to be." Stan shrugged. He made no motions to move her. Well, damnit. Ford lifted his foot high, and with one white-knuckled hand gripping the jamb, stretched to tiptoe over the sleeping lump.

"There. Now, was that so hard?"

Yes. "I could have stepped on her." He could have broken her tiny fingers. His heart raced at the prospect. His thoughts wandered back to his childhood, when he and Stanley had been cornered by the neighborhood bullies and gotten into a fight. He’d made a fist wrong and broken his hand and had to be taken to the hospital and gawked at. He didn’t want that for Stanley’s child. She didn’t deserve it. “I could have stepped on her.” He could have broken her fingers and ruined her hands and—

"Ford. It’s fine. Calm down." A few minutes later the child sat up, groggy and rubbing her eyes. She bumbled to her feet and crept closer to Stanley, who pulled her into his lap. She hunkered back down. "Still sleepy, sweetie pie?" She didn't reply. "Alright, sweetie. Go back to sleep." Ford watched as Stanley began to rock her from side to side, the movements slow and clearly practiced. Sure enough, Stanley's eyes began to fall heavy-lidded themselves and the two were soon sound asleep. Ford watched them for a long moment before actually moving. A pen slipped into his hand while the other slapped flat against a leather-bound book. The scene was too pristine to let it pass unnoted, and he’d yet to document their visit.

And so he sketched, taking care to hatch out the details of the napping scene across from him. There were better, more precise ways to commit it to memory, he knew, but this one brought him the most satisfaction in that moment.

His hand traced the lines of Stan’s face, which was a great deal more relaxed than he’d seen in over twenty years. He wasn’t smiling. There was just… an absence of anything, if he was honest with himself. Stanley was just asleep. No sleeping with a smile, no frown. An absence of any discernible anything. Even as children, when Stanley slept like the dead, there was a certain careless ease with which he did so. Not anymore. Even his sleep seemed to hold that standardized disinterest Stan seemed so eager to front.

And so Stanford wrote.

After many years since our last encounter, Stanley actually agreed to meet with me once again. Imagine my surprise when my long-estranged brother returned, and with a child in tow, no less! I have a small niece, and her name is Stella. I have yet to ask for her second name. I suppose I should get around to it soon, before the question becomes out-of-place. She’s quite small; Stanley says she’s three years old, yet I’d assumed she was barely two. Despite her small stature, her resemblance to Stanley is quite striking. Stanley refuses to tell me who her mother is, so I find it safe to assume that I wouldn’t know her anyway. Nonetheless, there’s something familiar in the features she doesn’t share with Stanley, or myself by extension, I suppose. Her hair is certainly curly, as would befit any Pines, but there’s also something about it I can’t quite place.

Hair aside, she and I share the distinct misfortune of having inherited the polydactyl gene, though she doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. She’s too young to understand the birth defect now, but I fear she will learn, in due time, how distinct her hands are in comparison to others. I can only hope that other children will not be as cruel to her as they were to me. Though he insists that he does not want to turn her hands into an ordeal for her to be ashamed of, I can’t help but worry that Stanley’s indifference towards the matter will cause more harm in the long run, from our personal experience. Our very first day of school was none too enjoyable with the realization that my hands were decidedly not the norm.

He hatched out the details of the little girl’s hair as she dozed.

Little Stella is certainly a charismatic child and it’s evident that Stanley loves her dearly. He’s changed a great deal from how I remember him.

Is it my fault?

Stanford’s brow furrowed.

She seems to be a content little girl, despite the circumstances. I question the normalcy of it, though I suppose I should rather appreciate her versatility than wish upon her the turmoil that such a life must surely bring. I can’t help but wonder how Stanley managed it. She seems accustomed to such a life, though not bitter or resentful about it in the least. Is it that she doesn’t know enough to feel indignant? I shouldn’t wish such on either of them. Stanley has suffered enough. It’s a wonder that he appears to have shielded his daughter from the brunt of it.

Her current interests include:

Naptime, apparently

Being held—she seems to be a very affectionate child. She must get that from Stanley

Stanley himself—she insists on remaining in his company and the depth of her affection nearly moved him to tears the day prior

Coloring and the color green

Giggling, running and playing in water—she’s quite adept at all three

And worst of all, the Leprecorn! I don’t understand what it is she sees in the horrid creature. It does nothing but play annoying music, stand in the way, and giggle. Maybe she likes it for its giggling. If that happens to be the case, perhaps a hyena would make a better companion.

Stanford left the pen in place as he stilled, the ink crawling across the page to feather into a crackling pattern as the nib lingered.

How was it possible for Stan to care for a newborn with no means, and from the backseat of a car, no less? I shudder to think of the ways in which such a situation would have compounded the inherent difficulties of childrearing. It’s astounding that Stella survived infancy. Statistically speaking, she should not have survived.

His eyes flitted back up to Stanley, catching the hint of a frown that began to curl across his features. Stanford let the ink dry into the page before flipping to the next.

It pains me to accept it, but Stanley appears to be much worse off than he was the last two times I saw him, which is saying a great deal, since he was (still) homeless the first time, and just plucked from who knows where on the other side of the portal the second. He seems worn out completely. It’s as though he’s just done with everything that arises. It’s a long ways away from the brazen and outgoing child he’d been when we were young.

His physical condition is more shocking than I anticipated. Stanley has numerous scars and injuries, though I must admit I do not know at what juncture each appeared, save for one.

His hand lingered as he hesitated over the words, inadvertently bolding them with his shaky letters.

I do not know how Stanley survived the brand.

His thoughts strayed back to an earlier journal entry, the one he’d written after sending his brother through his hellhole. Fool Fool FOOL FOOL FOOL—He’d nearly gouged through the page with the force with which he bore down on the nib. The same frenetic force had kicked Stanley against the metal that seared and bored into his skin. I killed my brother. I know I did. I killed him and he is dead. Stanley is dead because I killed him I did it myself I—

Ford remembered the page well. His eye had wept tears and blood again, and the oxidized stains crackled when he turned the pages. These two pages had blessedly stuck together, though it didn’t matter. They were still stuck well within the forefront of his mind. I never wanted to but he won’t know that because he’s DEAD and it’s entirely my fault I killed him twice I killed my brother three times—It was true. Thrice he’d killed Stanley. He’d killed his dreams when he’d shut the curtains on him and turned away. His future died along with them. He’d killed his flesh when he kicked him into the branding plate, and he’d killed and damned his existence when he sent him through the portal. He’d been so eager to condemn him for his past affronts that he stepped into the roles of both jury and executioner without a second thought. He hadn’t considered that it would actually take him from this earth until it was too late.

He’d managed to bring him back if only the husk, but it was far too late to bring his spirit back, wasn’t it? That died and withered a long time ago.

The only thing that seems to engage Stanley, other than frequent spats with me, is Stella. The child has him wrapped around her little fingers (all six!!) and I doubt he would have it any other way. I don’t know how not to instigate a fight with him, apparently, as most interactions end with at least some tension. I believe outward actions may be a better means of communication in this circumstance, though the theory remains to be tested. He seems to take offense at several smaller gestures, though with the potential aid of my own mouth.

I can only hope this will prove successful.

Stella sneezed in her sleep and woke herself in the process. Stanford raised an eyebrow, forcing back a chuckle as she sat up and searched for the culprit. She squinted at him.

“I believe we’re supposed to cover our mouths when we sneeze, Stella.”

“No.” she rubbed her eyes before settling back down. Sleepyheads, the both of them. Ford smiled. He’d let them sleep for the time being.

Hours later, a sharp inhale of air preceded Stanley’s eyes peeling open. “Ugh.”

Stan had woken up stiff and sore, Ford could tell. He’d made that same face enough. “…You alright?”

“Yeah.” He grumbled back.

“If you need, I’ve got some—”

“I’m good.” So he wouldn’t admit to his obvious discomfort. Alright.

Stella was still sound asleep in her father’s arms as he inched his way to his feet to pace with her. Wasn’t that for children who were upset? She was asleep. What was the point?

When she finally did wake, Stella slapped a hand to her face to rub at her eye, letting out a little whine as she tried to take in her surroundings.

“Hi, sweetiepie,” Stanley cooed, in a voice so gentle it unnerved Ford. “Hi! Oh, sweetie, you’re okay.” The child had begun to whine as she turned her head from side to side. “It’s okay.” Stanley shifted her to place an onslaught of kisses to her pudgy cheek and gradually the small whimpers turned to faint giggles. She rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s more like it.”

He stood in place and rocked for a few moments before she spoke up. “C’n I go play?”

“Outside?”

“Yeah. I wanna play outside.”

Stan mulled it over. “You’ve been so quiet all day. Sure.”

“’Kay.”

“Let’s go get your coat.”

The pair wandered outside while Stanley finagled a little arm through a sleeve, his own thin jacket tossed over his shoulder. “Lucky!” Stanford heard a set of hooves lope across the porch. “Hi!”

“TOP ‘O THE MORNIN’ TO YA!”

“OHH. Oh. It… It actually does talk. Geez. Okay. Alright.” Ford heard a series of stomps and hops interspersed with laughter. He could have done without the leprecorn’s laughter. “Yeah, you two practice gallopin’. Good plan.” Stan’s voice was muffled.

Stanford let the syncopated clomping fall to the background as he turned his attention back to the stacks of paper strewn across his worktable.

By the time he looked up from his work, the sun had long since set and Stan and his daughter had been tucked away upstairs for what might have been hours.

≈

The following day, Ford waited for Stan to make his way down the stairs before stopping him in his tracks. “We should go out today to buy a baby gate.”

“The f—I don’t know what it is you’re gettin’ at, but whatever it is, it’s too early for this.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Ford, can I at least set my child down before you start throwing sh—throwing stuff at me?”

Ford relented long enough for Stanley to do just that, and watched as his brother sat his groggy daughter in the kitchen chair. She let out a whine on contact with the wood, and he promptly lifted her back up. “It’s a good investment.”

“Listen t’what you just said and think about how that makes any sense.”

“Stanley, I’m serious.”

“So’m I. We’re not gonna be here that long. What sense does it make to buy a baby gate?”

“The point still remains that it would be useful while you’re here.”

Stan paced in place for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as though he were interrupting himself. “Why are you doing this, Ford?” his voice was barely above a whisper and everything about that screamed wrong in Stanford’s ears. Stanley wasn’t supposed to sound like that. That broken, ragged tone was not supposed to leave his mouth.

Stella, who was slung over Stanley’s shoulder, looked around for a moment before giving Stanford a grin. “Hi!”

“Good morning, sweetling.” He hummed. She stuck her hand out and it took Ford a moment to realize he was probably supposed to take it. “Oh.” He offered her his hand and she strained to grab it, clamping two of his fingers in her tiny fist. Ford stared at the small digits. It earned him a coo. How sweet. She was certainly a happy baby, and for that, he was thankful.

Stanley moved to step forward, not realizing she had a grasp on Stanford, and garnered a yelp from all three parties for it. As he froze, Stella stuck her free hand out towards her uncle.

“I… You want me to carry you?” She was already in Stanley’s arms, why would she want him? Her little free hand waved in the air and he reached for her, hesitant until she slid out of Stanley’s arms and her weight dropped into his. Ford pulled her close and tried to imitate Stanley’s posture, unable to school his face into anything other than shock as she wiggled and made herself comfortable. He craned his neck to get a better look at her. “Ah, good morning?” Her warm little cheek pressed against his as she leaned in despite his efforts to inspect her face. He couldn’t bring himself to mind. “Stella, would you like to go to the store today? We could get some things.” He offered.

“Stanford!”

“Yeah.” Stella hummed, unenthused yet without her father’s outright disdain for the idea. Her hand came up to his shoulder and she balled the fabric of his shirt into her fist. He might’ve been dismayed if he’d ever cared about wrinkled fabric.

“I…” He wasn't sure what else to say. How did one hold a conversation with toddlers? “Are you...having a good morning?"

“Yeah.”

“Good. I'm glad.”

"Stella, sweetie, let's get some breakfast in you. You want some of your cereal?"

"No." She reached for Stanley all the same.

"No? But it's got Lucky on it."

"No."

"Toast? How 'bout toast?"

"I don' want any." She frowned. Stan sighed.

"Okay. Whatever. You'll pipe up when you're hungry. What about thirsty? D'you want some milk?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Okay. But only a little!“

Stanley plucked his child from Ford's arms and placed her back in the chair, ignoring her little huff as he pulled out a glass. "Here, pumpkin."

"And you?"

Stan paused. "What?"

"What'll you have?"

"I'm good."

"Stan."

"Ford." He mirrored his tone.

Ford pursed his lips. "I'll repeat. What should we have for breakfast?"

"I'm fine, Ford." Stanley mumbled, clearing his throat shortly after. That didn't sound fine. His brother eyed him. “Stop worryin’ about it.”

“Someone has to if you won’t.” he grumbled under his breath. Stanley shot him a glare and he made it a point to ignore it. "I'll try not to ruin the eggs again."

"Ford, don't bother."

"I will do exactly that." He heard Stanley force a groan from between pursed lips. "I'm assuming scrambled is fine? Because I'm afraid any more than that might be asking a bit much at this stage." He turned to look at his brother, unnerved by the way he'd contorted himself to lay his head against the table without disturbing Stella and her glass of milk. "Are...are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Ford." Stanley sighed. "It's just a headache." It sounded like an afterthought.

"Are you sure?"

"Ford."

"Right. Sorry. Maybe. Possibly. I suppose."

"Oh, sweet Moses."

Stella jerked her glass away from her face with a cough and Stanley bolted upright. "Shit, sweetie, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay." She wiped at her eye as he patted her back and it took Ford a moment to realize the egg in his hand was now the victim of his balled fist.

"You said a bad word." Her little voice was watery.

Stanley's nervous chuckle was high-pitched and wavering. "Sweet Moses, don't scare me like that. Don't drink so fast, okay?"

"I didn't!" Her small voice had a slight rasp and she struggled to clear her throat. Stanley leaned her forward as he thumped her little back. After a few moments she began to hum, her voice rattling.

“Now you’re just playin’. Feel better?”

“Yeah.” She drawled the word out.

“Good.”

Ford’s shoulders loosened as Stanley pressed a kiss to her forehead and he looked down at the egg dripping from his wrist with a scowl. “Tch. Wonderful.”

Stanley turned, poised to speak, then paused. “Oh. Egg. Gross.”

“Suffice it to say my appetite has been lost.”

“I was tellin’ you that before.”

≈

“Ford, enough with the baby gate. It’s fine.”

“Didn’t you say it only takes a second?”

“I—Oh, fuck you.”

Ford had kept at it for hours. Stan did his best to ignore him, but he was only a man. He could only put with so much before he snapped, and he refused to do that in front of Stella again. He gave in instead. He only wished he could wipe that stupid smirk off of Ford’s face as he buckled himself into the passenger seat of the Stanleymobile.

“It only takes a second.” Stanley mimicked as he finished buckling Stella into her car seat and folded himself behind the wheel.

“What?”

“Nothin’, sweetie. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” She seemed uncertain as her little feet flopped to and fro in the seat.

Baby gates.

They were headed two towns over for a baby gate. What sense did that make? What did he have to do to get Ford to understand? They weren’t gonna stay for long. Coming up here was a stupid idea.

They just needed to grab the cheapest baby gate they had and run back out. That wasn’t too tall of an order.

This was Stanford Pines. Of course it was a tall order.

Once inside, Stanley grabbed a basket and plopped Stella in the seat. It’s too early for all of this. “Baby gates. C’mon.”

“Why?” Stella piped.

“The baby gate? It’s for you.” He gave her a quick peck on the nose, satisfied with her little grin. That’s my girl.

“Why?”

“Beats me.”

“Now, Stanley—Oh, wait.” Stanford stretched out an arm to still Stanley, his spare hand reaching out to point to a shelf.

“What?” Stanley’s eyes trailed upwards to follow the line of Stanford’s arm. “No. Not at all. Absolutely not.

“Stanley, be reasonable.”

“I’m perfectly reasonable. You be reasonable. No one needs 100 Toaster Pops. Put that back.” He caught Ford wincing at his daughter and glanced down. Stella’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men as she gripped the basket’s handle bar, one hand creeping towards Stanley’s. It seemed her worried little face was the only thing that convinced Ford to acquiesce.

“Fine. But bulk stores like this are an excellent opportunity to stock up on much-needed items.”

“Mmm hmm, and Toaster Pops ain’t one of ‘em.” It was with determination that Stanley pushed the basket up and down the aisles. “Really, Ford?”

“What?” This was why Ford wanted to come all the way out here? Did Ford not expect him to catch on? Jesus Christ, he was dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb.

“Really, Ford? Really?”

“What? What, Stanley? What?”

He’d caught the man in the middle of tossing something extra into his basket. “Really?”

“A multi-pack of shirts is a necessity, Stanley. You know this.” A necessity for who? Stanley just stared at him. This was all too ridiculous for words. “You know I buy shirts in multiple sets.”

“And you have those sets, Ford. You don’t need any more.” Stan grumbled. “You’re not buying this for yourself.”

Ford was silent for a moment as Stanley scowled. “And if I’m not? It that really so bad?”

“Yes. Put ‘em back.” The pair stared at each other, long and hard. Fords scowl matched Stanley’s and he cocked a brow, reaching for a nearby pack of socks. “Ford.” Stanley’s shoulders fell. Why was he doing this? It was damn near taunting.

“It’s going in the basket, Stanley.” Ford’s voice was soft but he still found it abrasive all the same. Where the hell did he get off with all of this? Ford sent him a searching look. Oh. He was trying. Was that it? Trying or not, Ford was out of line. Stan glared at him for a few moments.

“Come on. We’re not even on the right aisle for Pete’s sake.”

“Very well.” Very well. Stan was able to stop himself from mimicking Ford out loud, but only just.

“C’mon, sweetie pie.” Stella’s little hands splayed out over his as he pushed the basket. She was pouting up at him. He leaned down to place a kiss to the tip of her nose. Still frowning. He kissed her again. And again. And blew a raspberry against her forehead. There we go. “There’s that lil’ baby laugh.” He grinned, speeding the basket along. He’d find the baby gates his damn self. Maybe Ford wouldn’t be able to pick up more shit without a basket to throw it in.

He’d been wrong. Stanford went and got a basket of his own and passed by father and child as they made their way across the store. Damnit. Stanley wanted to shove the damned thing against a wall. He paused to hold Stella for a little while, after she’d grown fussy and tired of riding in the basket. He figured he’d get tired of riding backwards with nothing to look at but his ugly mug, too. The only problem now was that she refused to get back in the basket.

“Sweetie, I need you to sit here. What’s wrong?” What had gotten into her?

“No. I wanna stay with you.”

“I’m right here, pumpkin. Right here. You know that.” Stanley sighed and hefted her higher in his arms. “What’m I gonna do with you, huh?”

“No.”

“Let’s go find this gate before you get any fussier.”

“No.”

“Oh, geez.”

Ford had beaten to the children’s section. He’d propped two gates in his basket—because of course he did, when one was already overkill— and was mulling over diapers? Stanley thanked his lucky stars Stella had been easy to potty train. It had still been absolute hell, but considering his circumstances, he figured he’d gotten off easy. “Stanford, she literally doesn’t need those.” He leaned in to inspect a brightly-colored box at the bottom of the basket, underneath the gates. “Ford, put the Blebbos back. Seriously? Space Princess Magic Castle?” Ford had always loved the stupid little blocks when they were kids. Of course he’d pick up a set.

“She may like it, Stanley.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. And where would she play with it? For once, reading would actually save Stanley. He lurched forward to reach into Ford’s basket, ignoring the little whimper Stella gave him as he stepped away.

“Look.” He stretched an arm out to place a hand on her tummy, hoping to placate her. “Ages six and up. Choking hazard.” He watched Ford blanch.

“Shit.”

Stella whined.

“I didn’t realize. I just thought she might like to put it together, I didn’t—“

“Ford. It’s fine. It’s fine, okay? She just doesn’t need that.” Ford gave him a crumbling nod and placed the box back on the shelf. Stanley turned back to his own basket, adorned with his wet-eyed baby doing her best to reach for him. She let out a little hiccup. He wilted. “Oh, sweetie.” He pulled her into his arms and she immediately grabbed a fistful of his hair. He figured there was no putting her down now. He settled for swaying from side to side, letting her bury her wet little face in the crook of his neck. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Ford swooped in and transferred the contents of Stanley’s basket into his. “Oh, for fu—would you just leave it?” he hissed.

“No.”

Stanley let out a guttural groan. “Let’s just go, okay? We’ve been here too long.”

They didn’t make it three yards before Stanford stopped to look at an endcap. He was staring at more baby items. “Stanford, no.” Stan whispered, one hand rubbing smooth circles along his child’s back. “No. Just stop.” This was entirely too much. He wanted to be sick.

“What does she need?”

“She needs you to not do this, how ‘bout that?” He didn’t appreciate the glare Ford sent him.

“Stanley, be reasonable. I want to do this.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.” Her stuff was fine. Some of it was big enough that he didn’t have to worry if she hit a growth spurt soon. It’d be fine. He’d get away from Ford and all this stupid shit and he’d be able to start scrounging and saving up again once he paid him back, and he’d be able to get her stuff when she needed it. Right now, she was fine.

“I’ve decided it’s my duty as an uncle.”

“You don’t do these things for Isaac, I bet.”

“Isaac doesn’t—“ Isaac doesn’t need them. He dared him to say it. “Isaac isn’t here right now.”

“Stanford—“

“I only have one niece.” He only had one nephew, too, if they were gonna play this game. “And one twin.” Stan was certain he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He didn’t want to hear it. He bit down on his tongue and pushed a heavy sigh from his nose. Deep breathing never calmed him, but there was a first time for everything. “What does she need, Stan?”

Stanley shook his head, holding his lip captive between his teeth. “No.” There was no way in hell.

“Stanley. I want to do this. It’s the least I can do, all things considered.”

The least he could do was stop humiliating him in public, but Stan didn’t see that happening in the next century.

“What about socks? I didn’t see many that had mates.”

“Oh, for… She needs some of those lil’ stretchy baby pants. ‘N some jammies.” Stan grumbled. He did his best to keep his voice as soft as possible. It was either that or shout, and even he wasn’t dumb enough to want to do that in the middle of a store. His little girl looked on the verge of tears as it was. Part of him hoped that Ford didn’t hear him. Another part knew that he’d only ask again if that were the case. This shit was mortifying, why couldn’t he figure that out?

Stella began to scrub her face against his shoulder. “Look, can we speed this up, Ford? I think she wants to be here ‘bout as much as I do.” She was probably tired. She’d never had a definite naptime, but she’d usually have fallen asleep at least once by this point.

“Right. Okay.” Stan watched Ford reach into a rack of children’s clothes before he paused. “She wears a size—”

“Get 3T.” Ford’s brow wrinkled at that, but Stanley chose to ignore it. It might be too big, but she could grow into it that way. If he was gonna waste money, there was no need to waste money on something she wouldn’t be able to use as long. He began to bounce slightly with each step, pacing back and forth along the aisle. He was too busy soothing his fussy child to notice Stanford grab an oversized stuffed unicorn and shove it in the basket, underneath the second baby gate.

Of course Stanley noticed the stupid horse once they reached the cashier.

“What is this?”

Stanford pretended not to understand for a moment. Smooth. Real smooth. “It’s a stuffed animal.” He sniffed.

“Ford. Seriously? She doesn't need that thing.”

“Look at her. She loves it.”

“Her eyes are closed and she can’t see it.”

“She wants it.”

“She—You didn't even ask. She didn’t ask.” A trickle of both shame and panic ran down his spine. What if she would have asked? He would’ve had to say no. What if she didn’t ask because she knew that already? Did she understand how decidedly not well off they were? She didn’t need to grow up that fast. It’s my fault if she does.

“It's a unicorn. She likes unicorns. Of course she wants it.” Ford rolled his eyes as he held the large fabric beast up for the disinterested clerk to scan. “She should have nice things.”

Stanley’s lips curled back taut and pressed against his gums. “Are you saying I don’t think my child deserves nice things?” His voice was low and gentle, but oily black venom dripped from behind his teeth all the same. It was a disgustingly low blow. His stomach coiled and knotted like a spring. “Is that what you think?” He loved his little girl. He knew damn well that she deserved this world and a thousand more. He knew there were so many things she deserved that he couldn’t provide, and he knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He knew he was failing her as a parent. He was failing her, but he was the only parent she had, and he hated it. He hated that she was stuck with his sorry hide, and he couldn’t help the thick, heavy guilt that accompanied his joyful pride for having her. He could have strangled Stanford, then and there, if it wouldn’t have woken his daughter. He could have strangled him, and it wouldn’t have meant a thing because he was right.

“I—That’s not what I meant.” His voice was emphatic. Of course it wasn’t. As smart and well-spoken as Ford prided himself on being, that wasn’t what he meant. Sure. Stanley turned away from him and stalked out towards the parking lot. “Stanley—“

“Shut up, Ford.” He could hear the basket wheels trailing behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care either way.

The two fumed their way towards the Stanleymobile, and Stanley buckled Stella in while Stanford maneuvered the large boxes in around Stella. She’d woken up with a whine in the process and Stan fumed as he watched Stanford reach into one of the bags to pull out the stupid unicorn. He handed it to the disoriented child, bleary-eyed and confused by the fuzzy waste of money she couldn't even wrap her arms around. It was as big as she was. Why the fuck did he buy that thing? Part of Stan was sure Ford bought it just to piss him off. She didn’t need that thing, hadn’t even noticed or asked for it, and Stanley didn’t have the space for it. Where was he supposed to keep it? Maybe she could use it as a body pillow back there until she outgrew it or it got too worn-out to keep.

Stanley couldn’t afford these things, and Stanford knew it. All he was doing was setting a precedent that Stanley wouldn’t be able to keep up. Another entry to the list of things he couldn’t provide. It would end up being nothing but trouble.

He kept his eyes trained straight ahead on the road as Stanford mumbled out the occasional direction back into Gravity Falls.

Here, have a thing that I did.

#Gravity Falls #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #reverse portal au #single dad stanley pines #angst #fanfiction #thcm

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