#YUP I PULLED A BEN HANSCOM | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

likesomekindofcheese · 4 years

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When I’m With You (Ben Hanscom x fem! Maid!Reader, Soulmate AU)

A/N: Hello @may85, it is I!!!! Your Secret Santa revealed for @bowieandqueen11‘s Christmas event!! I hope you like it, I have never written for The Loser’s Club before and now this is the right time! I hope you like it!

Here is a link for the song at the end of the Oneshot, for anyone who’d like to listen!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_VpBqHYv0M

Word Count: 2066

Warnings: maid/domestic work, a meet cute, drinking, swearing, a bit of angst, doggos, soulmate au with marks and the whole shebang and a bit of Reddie thrown in too!

You looked at the mark on your forearm under your stuffy black dress. A single red mark the shape of an oval, but all alone. No soulmate, no second mark. You covered it up before some old woman in a tiara could see you and spit at you for another Rose glass.

Snooty Architect parties made you want to crash your head into the wall.

Maybe it was because it was long, it took hours to prepare and hours to clean after, but that was not all. It was the people.

“Hey, gimme another martini, will you?” your boss asked. “And there’s something on your apron, sweetheart, wipe it off.”

You sighed. You knew that being a maid would not be easy. But the thought of dropping to become a stripper making a thousand a night seemed a little tempting that night.

You went into the bathroom and wet a towel to clean your apron, noticing a strain of meatball sauce, but as you squeezed out the surplus liquid you got a look at yourself.

Who would pay to see me strip, though? Your eyes looked puffy and your hair was a mess.

As you turned back to go to the party, you turned back to your senses to make it more enjoyable. There was beautiful jazz piano music drifting through the air along with some clicking heel steps and laughter that was small and polite.

Rarely, you would see a pair with the two red marks. It would peek out from a sleeve on the wrist or revealed on a shoulder thanks to a woman wearing a dress with no neckline. But there were a lot of double marks and happy faces to go along with them.

Armies of black tuxedoes and sometimes the glittery green and blue and red dresses the women wore would catch your eye. They smiled with bright pink lipstick and then men would take out a cigar occasionally, mixing it with the smell of flowery perfume and the spray you have been using to keep it clean.

And speaking of clean, there was a mess on the floor again.

Snapping out, you were about to run back to the cleaning supplies to fetch a mop when someone called

“OOOF!”

BAM!

You looked over and saw a man was lying down over the stain.

People turned around and gasped pretentiously at this event. You could swear the piano stopped too.

Hurrying over, you offered your hand to the man.

“I’m so sorry! I was just about to clean that mess up! Are you okay?” you ask in one breath.

As you got a good look at him you had to revise that second thought.

It was a handsome man who was lying over the stain.

He was slightly freckled with brown hair and a beard that seemed as soft as clouds. He was tall and muscular with high cheekbones on his face. And as for his tuxedo…well, you know what they say about a man in a tuxedo. He was like a walking ken doll.

Too bad it was now ruined, considering that said stain was over the seat of his pants.

You helped him up and led him to a back closet. Pushing aside from any snide looks at the sight of a man and woman going into a room alone together, you sat him on an upside-down bucket and began searching the containers.

“Trust me, this isn’t the first time this has happened, but I know how to clean it” you insist.

He looked down at his pants and then at you.

“Oh, thanks a lot! That’s very nice of you” he said cheerfully.

“I’m just doing my job” you replied with a shrug. A half-smirk made it’s way on you as you checked the stain conveniently on his gluts. It wasn’t a sight to complain about.

“A lot of people here would have just turned away…” he mumured, looking at the door back to the party.

You give him the bottle of the mixture you kept for stains and hand it over to him.

“What’s your name, by the way?” he asks politely. He looks down a little and puts an arm on his forearm, rubbing timidly.

You answer him with your name.

“Lovely, I’m Ben, Ben Hanscom.” he replies.

The party felt a little faster after meeting Ben, but once the clock struck midnight you sighed at the streamers and stains and bits of food everywhere. You had just gotten the broom and dustpan, ready to go only to notice that one guest hadn’t left yet.

“Ben? What are you doing here?” you questioned your eyes the size of the moon.

“I couldn’t just say thank you, look!” he points to his pants where the stain dipped.

It is barely visible.

“Let me return the favor, okay? I’ll help you clean up” he begs.

May 2019

Winter and Spring had long since passed. But your friendship with Ben had not. Just his face and the thought of his voice made every grueling day of scrubbing floors pass by with a smile on your lips.

Feeling a buzz from your purse, you looked down to see it was Ben’s name on top of that happy little green square. Joy buzzed in your guts as you sat down on your boss’s yellow couch, freshly vacuumed, and read the text, the phone almost to your nose.

Ben: Hey there, I’m having dinner with someone.

Now a different feeling buzzed in your guts.

Ben: It’s someone important. What kind of drink should I have? You’re a total drink expert so I wanted to ask you.

Someone important. Probably a female someone.

You texted back with an angry huff escaping your lips.

Y/N: Depends, what meat are you having?

Ben: I’m fixing a meatloaf. I know, it’s old fashioned. I’m a mom at heart, Y/N

IY/N: t’s alright! Well, since that’s darker meat, go with a bottle of red wine!

Ben: That’s perfect! Thank you!

Y/N: I swear Ben, you make buildings, cook, and you’re learning the piano! You’re a real Renaissance man!

Little did you know that Ben was roasting his mother’s signature meatloaf at home. The thought of your name made him feel warm, and not just from the oven.

Flutters aside from your comment, he reached over and texted.

Ben: You always help me give such good advice, it’s for my buddy, Ritchie! I haven’t seen him in years! I’ll tell him that the wine was your idea.

Y/N: Ritchie? One of your Derry buddies?

You got up from leaning on the couch and nearly let out a whoop, but stopped, knowing your boss was in the midst of his nap. That jolt of happy lightning was still going through you.

Ben: Yup! He’s coming over to discuss proposal ideas….

Y/N: Lucky girl.

Ben: Well, Eddie’s not a girl, but he’s lucky. I hope you like Pomeranian pics bc his new puppy is the cutest thing…

Y/N: Please send them!

He immediately sent you a picture of the sweetest looking Pomeranian curled up on a large bed, sleeping under the covers with his front paws tucked over like a polite child.

Y/N: Awwwww! Any name?

Ben: They don’t know. I keep trying to tell Ritchie that Punk Ass Bitch isn’t an option.

Y/N: How about Penny! Cause he’s the color of one!

There were five minutes of silence.

Not Penny was all that he said.

Tears returned.

August 2019

“I have never seen someone so disrespectful,” your boss glowered. From behind his desk, his shadow grew so large it seemed to swallow you whole.

“Sir, it was a mistake!” you begged.

“Not a mistake! An insult!” he screamed, banging his fists on his desk.

“Sir, please listen! I am truly sorry; I didn’t know this would happen! I didn’t know it was wrong! Here, let me take care of it, I swear…” you beg, your legs begin to buckle beneath you.

“Get out! You’re fired! And so, help me, I never want to even speak to you again!” he thundered, pointing to the door.

Nauseous and sobbing violently, you ran out.

But the sun was setting, and it seemed there was no one. Almost no one. There was one person you wanted to see more than ever now.

Nerves shackled your stomach. You hadn’t talked to Ben much since that day because you were so ashamed, but here you were. Knocking on his door, he opened wearing a button-up shirt that made you want to swear under your breath.

“Ben, let me just make this quick, I’m so sorry. I sent that text...”

“No, no, please Y/N, don’t worry! I’ll explain everything. You had no way of knowing, please come in!”

You walked into his house, admiring all his things. His black dog trotted over and smiled in a greeting, wagging his tail so hard that it hurt a little when it hit your leg.

Looking over, you noticed a picture frame. It must have been Ben with his family but…there was only one kid. One kid that had his eye color but not his body type.

“Is this your family?”

“Yes, uhm…take a seat, Y/N, I have a lot to tell you.” He says, rubbing his hands together nervously.

“And is this you?” you asked, still looking at the frame.

He nodded “uhm…yes. I used to be heavy. I was bullied a lot. I spent all my summers at the library too.”

He lifted his shirt to show his stomach. Your eyes widened at the sight of some scars.

“Some bullies got me one day and almost stabbed me.”

“That’s awful. You’re lucky you survived.” you comforted, blinking slowly and trying to see it in your head. The thought of someone hurting Ben made your fists clench.

“That’s an understatement,” he said.

It was in the privacy of that house Ben explained everything. Derry’s curse. Pennywise. The deaths. The visions.

“But Ben….” You explain softly “I understand…I really do…”

You begin to reach over for his hand and instead, he hugs you deeply. Warm, soft, and safe, you feel some of his tears fall down his face onto your shoulder.

Suddenly you notice for the first time that his forearm has a mark just like yours. After the shaking and crying have paused for a moment, you touch it.

“Ben…look…” you whisper.

But he is staring at you back, mouth open and silent.

And your forearm is feeling very warm.

Ben barely gets the question out before you pull up your sleeve and show him your mark.

Only this time, there are two red ovals, just like his.

December 2019

“The day after Christmas has to be the saddest day in the whole year” you sigh, swirling the drink in your glass.

The sky was dark and full of gently falling snowflakes. You were lounging on your boyfriends' seat and his dog was curled up next to you. The dog’s hair was on almost all of your clothes now, but with such a sweet face (and an even sweeter owner), you couldn’t care less.

Ben looked at you, in his cream-colored sweater, and grinned. He then turned to the new piano he got for Christmas and sat down.

“Funny you should say that ever heard Alex Duffy’s music?” he asked, starting to play chords to get into the right key.

“No” you answer with your head shaking.

He offered an arm and gestured next to the piano. You walked over and stood still, watching him as he began to play and sing:

“I walk down the street and see a wintery wonderland

The candles in the windows and the salvation army band

All the people wandering 'round in a sudden state of glee

But all of those people, they ain't me

I smell in the air pine needles fresh and new

And everyone's cheeks have got a pleasant rosy hue

They've got visions of the gifts that underneath their tree will lie

But to that I say: not I”

He then looks at you, and plays a bit further, only glancing at the keys.

For I've got a secret that no one else can know

That keeps my temperament even during times of snow

I've got the perfect present, one not wrapped up in a bow

It lifts my spirits high when I'm feeling low

Others long for the holidays, yes indeed they do

But every day is Christmas when I'm with you”

You keep listening to the song, then go around and wrap him in his arms. He keeps singing softly, for only you to hear.

Now some might say it's unfair and severe

That I get a Christmas gift each day of the year

To them, I would say that I've no guarantee

But maybe one day they'll find someone as sweet as she

I've got the perfect present, one not wrapped up in a bow

She lifts my spirits high when I'm feeling low

Others long for the holidays, yes indeed they do

But every day is Christmas

Yes every day I deck the halls

Everyday is Christmas when I'm with you!

He gets up and hugs you deeply, your arms entwined and your marks touching together. It snows a little harder when you both kiss.

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ddproductionsw77 · 5 years

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Whatever You Want

Fandom: IT (Muschietti Films)

Pairing(s): Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak), Stenbrough (Stan Uris x Bill Denbrough)

Characters: (Major) Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, (Minor) Stan Uris, Bill Denbrough, (Mentioned) Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Sonia Kaspbrak

Rating: T (Unless language offends you, then it’s M)

Description: Eddie is sick with the flu but there is no way he is going to compromise getting Richie sick or worrying him… Not when Richie has about a million other things going on outside of Eddie and Eddie knows it.

Author’s Note: Inspired by an idea of foulwitchqueen on Tumblr for Eddie being sick and not wanting to bug Richie when he’s super busy.

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Richie Tozier was fucking exhausted.

He was pretty sure he’d never been as busy in his fucking life as he was now. To be fair, he’d done it to himself. He didn’t let himself want too many things as a general rule. He’d been conditioned by a childhood of disappointment to not try too hard at anything; it was how he’d barely skated through high school and how he managed to get into college.

The only thing he could remember ever really wanting and trying for was Eddie but that was something completely different.

The point was in his sophomore year of college he found himself... wanting again.

He could blame his GE requirements or he could blame the fliers up in the quad or a million other things but really, he’d done it to himself. One communications class as an undecided freshman and he’d been hooked. It had been the first class he could ever remember actually buckling down in and he’d done well, really well actually. So he’d taken a few more classes second semester and declared a communication major at the start of sophomore year. And when he’s seen the audition flyers in the quad for a campus radio personality, simple disc jockeying... he’d gone for it and he’d gotten it.

The problem was now he was nearly three fourths through the year, taking and maintaining 18 credit hours and running the 4pm to 9pm slot of the campus radio, queuing music and doing some of his impressions between cramming for his midterms next week. Not to mention actively dating and living with his boyfriend and regularly meeting up with and seeing his friends... he was just so fucking exhausted.

Getting home, Richie tossed his keys on the little table next to the door Eddie had gotten for them to put their shoes under and rubbed the back of his neck. Dropping his backpack down beside the same table, he made his way to the kitchen and glanced at the clock on the stove. 9:47. Fucking typical.

Digging around, he found everything he needed for a sandwich and quickly threw one together, staving because he hadn’t eaten since noon. Taking his first bite, a thought occurred to him and he was actually surprised he was only now thinking it.

Where’s Eddie?

Usually, he’d stumble in close to 10 and he’d start making himself something to eat and before he could finish, Eddie would be padding out from the living room to scold him about eating a vegetable or some shit. But his favorite adorable little nuisance was nowhere to be found. Downing his sandwich in a few bites, Richie went off in search of his boyfriend.

He found him almost immediately.

Eddie was sprawled across the couch, the textbook for his Basic Nursing course open on the ground beneath him liked he’d been attempting to read it and couldn’t keep his eyes open. Richie smiled involuntarily at the pure cuteness of his boyfriend before he went to crouch down beside the couch, picking up the textbook and gently setting it on the coffee table before reaching over to run his fingers through Eddie’s hair.

Richie waited, expecting Eddie to groan and smack his hand away like he normally did but the boy only half mumbled something Richie couldn’t make out before snuggling himself up closer, leaning into Richie’s light touch as his breathing slowed again.

Confused, Richie glanced at the clock again, double checking it wasn’t later than he thought... Eddie never fell asleep this early. In fact, Eddie pretty much never fell asleep before Richie. He was always the last of the two of them to drift off and the first one to slip out of bed in the morning. He was a light sleeper, waking up every time Richie used the bathroom or a car alarm outside went off.

He was never this fucking out of it.

“Eddie,” Richie sighed, reaching out to wiggle the other’s ear, “Eds, baby, come on. You can’t sleep on this couch, it’s shit.”

Slowly, groggily, Eddie’s eyes fluttered open and he looked at his boyfriend, who was still lightly tugging on his ear. Reaching up, he shoved Richie’s hand away, “G’the fuckoff.”

“Come on, get your cute ass up so we can get you to bed. I don’t feel like carrying you bridal style tonight.” Richie smirked as Eddie groaned and ran a hand down his face, sitting up. “Textbook that boring, huh?”

Eddie looked up at him confused, “What?”

“It’s barely ten and you’re passed out and you usually find boring bullshit like this,” He lifted the nursing textbook from the coffee table, “Interesting,” He smirked at Eddie’s unamused glare, setting the book back down to stand and take his boyfriend’s hands, pulling him up beside him.

Eddie rolled his eyes, one corner of his mouth curling upward as he shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe I just didn’t sleep well last night. You sure as hell wouldn’t shut the fuck up.”

“You’re the one who forgot to get me more snoring strips,” Richie replied defensively.

Eddie shot him a look over his shoulder as he lead the way to their bedroom, “Nasal strips, dumbass. And you didn’t put them on the grocery list so no I didn’t forget them, I just didn’t fucking get them.”

Reaching the bedroom doorway, Richie reached out and carefully grasped Eddie’s wrist, tugging him back into his arms. Eddie easily fell into place there, putting up no fight. Softly, Richie asked, “How was your day?”

Eddie shrugged, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck, “Not my best but I’ll be fine. Yours?”

“Fucking exhausting and I missed you the whole damn time,” Richie whined into the hair on top of Eddie’s head.

Eddie sighed, sweeping his hands over Richie’s chest, “I missed you too,” He pulled back to meet his boyfriend’s eyes, “I’m just really ready go to bed.”

“What so we can get up and do the whole fucking thing again?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, slipping from Richie’s arms to do to his dresser and change into pajamas, “That’s life, babe.”

“Our life,” Richie managed an exhausted smile as he watched Eddie from the doorway. It’d been years now since Eddie had worried about being naked in front of him.

Throwing on a long AC/DC t-shirt and boxers, Eddie turned to his boyfriend and gave him an exaggerated look, “Our life, yes.”

“Together,”

“Together, now shut the fuck up and come to bed, you sappy dipshit.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Eddie woke up, his head pounding, body aching and the bed empty beside him. Groaning, he covered his eyes and rolled over, gripping the comforter closer as a chill ran through his body. Taking a deep breath in, he swallowed and his heart sank.

It hurt to swallow.

Bolting up in bed, Eddie swung his feet over the side of the bed and immediately regretted it, spots appearing in his vision as his head throbbed. Hissing, he clutched his forehead and used his other hand to steady himself, “Fuck!”

After a moment of adjustment, he attempted to get up again while breathing in and out slowly and purposely. As he tried, he found himself forced to cough and pause to make sure he didn’t make himself sick. Shaking his head, he grimaced the whole way to the bathroom down the hall, muttering, “Shit, shit, shit!”

Pulling open the mirror medicine cabinet, he grabbed their thermometer and carefully put on one of the protective plastic sleeves before sticking it under his tongue. He knew for a fact Richie didn’t used the fucking covers and if he by some miracle didn’t have a fever, he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask for one…

He recognized the irony of being more than willing to stick his actual tongue in Richie’s mouth a beat later.

Once the thermometer beeped, he checked the results and groaned.

One—oh—fucking—two point nine.

“Shit,” He moaned miserably as his throat burned and head throbbed. Padding begrudgingly out of the bathroom, he went back to the bedroom and glanced at the clock next to Richie’s side. It was Friday, he didn’t have any classes on Fridays and he didn’t have to get to work at the Village Grocery for another two hours.

I just need a little more sleep, he thought already feeling drowsy again. His head hurt so much less when his eyes were closed. Just a little more sleep and then he’d be fine…

But an hour later when Eddie startled awake again, his—well, Richie’s—AC/DC shirt sticking to his back, he had to admit he might need more than just a little sleep. Bring a hand up to his cheek, he found it worryingly warm.

Yup, he was sick.

“Fuuuuck,” He groaned again, throwing his hand down on the mattress.

Coughing, he crawled across the bed and picked up the phone, quickly dialed his manager at The Village Grocery. Apologizing profusely, he called off work and started to lay back down before a thought struck him.

Fuck, what about Richie?

Sure, Eddie hated calling off work but one shift was manageable without getting fired. That wasn’t exactly true for Richie. The campus was filled with wannabe disc jockeys and Richie had been giving a three strike policy on his first day, three days off for any reason and he was fired. Not to mention if Richie got sick, he could possibly miss classes during fucking midterm week.

No way could any of that happen. First of all, they were barely making rent as was with his thirty-six hours and Richie’s twenty-five hours a week. It wasn’t like grocery stores and internships paid well. Second, if Richie got fired, they’d be basically forced to move in to some cheaper, even shittier place further away from campus, thus throughly screwing them even more. And third, Richie could possibly fail a whole course if he missed a midterm or a due date.

So, no way that could fucking happen.

Picking up the phone again, Eddie called the only person he could think of at that moment to help.

_______________________________________________________________________

Richie came home late again on Friday night, rolling his shoulders as he schlepped off his backpack and called out, “Spaghetti Man! Bev wants us all to go see this band she found. It’s gonna be fucking lame but I said we were—“

He paused, noticing a note left on the counter next to the fridge. Looking around, he went over and picked it up, eyebrows drawing together.

Richie—

Went to stay at Stan and Bill’s. Studying for midterms so no interruptions, okay, asshole?

Stay home and feed yourself, I’ll be back.

Eddie

P.S. By feed I mean BALANCED MEALS!

A small heart had been drawn beside Eddie’s name. I love you in his boyfriend’s written language.

The whole thing didn’t sit quite right with him. Eddie didn’t usually leave the apartment to study… actually his go to move for avoiding distractions at home was to lock himself in the bathroom and sit with his textbooks and notes in the empty tub. They’d argued about it a few times in the past.

Still, why would Eddie lie about studying? And why lie if he could easily be caught? All Richie would have to do was call the nausea-inducing Stenbrough train and ask if his precious little Eddie Spaghetti was there. Which, he told himself rather firmly, he wasn’t going to do.

He trusted Eddie. If Eddie said he was subjecting himself to Bill and Stan’s PDA so he could study then that was probably the truth.

Rolling his eyes, Richie set the note down and muttered, “Fucking dumb ass balanced meals bullshit…” He left the kitchen and went to change into something he cared about less to go and meet the others.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Drink,” Stan held out a glass of water to Eddie as the boy exited the bathroom, having just been sick for a fourth time since his arrival.

Eddie gave the glass a look of intimidation before shaking his head, “Give me another ten minutes.”

Stanley sighed, “If you get dehydrated, we’ll end up having to take you to the fucking hospital so which would you prefer, drinking this now or hydrating through an IV in a few hours?”

Glaring, Eddie took the glass and gingerly sipped its contents as Stan lead him back to the couch. He laid down and Stanley helped cover him in two layers of blankets, reaching out to feel his forehead, “Eddie, drinking or not, if your fever doesn’t break soon—“

“Shut up, Stanley!” Eddie groaned, “I just want to go back to sleep.”

“How you two doing?”

Stan looked over the back of the couch to see his live-in boyfriend had returned from his single Friday afternoon class. Meeting Bill’s eye, he made a face that meant nothing to Eddie, watching them from his spot on the cushions but obviously made sense to Bill because a second later the other boy said, “Eddie, have you taken your tuh—temperature in a while?”

“An hour ago, it'd gone up to 104.3,” Stan answered for Eddie, “He hasn’t let me take it since but I think he’s warmer.”

“Fucking snitch,” Eddie whined, burying his head down away from the light of the living room.

Bill shook his head, “Ignorance is not bliss, Eddie. Y—you more than anybody should want to know how sick you are.”

Eddie glared into the darkness beneath the covers, “It’s the fucking flu. It’s what everyone goddamn has right now. And I am training to be a registered nurse, you know. Being sick doesn’t scare me anymore!”

“But hospitals do,” Stan quipped, glancing between Bill and Eddie with his arms crossed over his chest, “Threaten to take him to a hospital and he’ll basically do whatever.”

“It is not the hospital!” Eddie shot back, tugging off the covers just to glare at Stan, “It’s…being an actual patient.”

“What does that even mean?” Stan asked, looking up at his boyfriend, silently asking if he knew.

Bill did know.

Bill and Eddie had been closer when they were younger, a lot closer. In fact, they’d been friends with each other before even becoming friends with Richie and Stan, even though only by a year. There were things about that that made their dynamic just different from the others. Richie and Stanley had a similar connection to each other; they just knew things that the others didn’t or got things before the others did.

Things like this.

Shifting on his feet, Bill sighed, “His muh—mom. Being a patient reminds him of his mom.”

After a moment, the explanation clicked for Stan and he suddenly couldn’t believe he hadn’t put two and two together before. Of course being locked up and plied with different prescription drugs would remind Eddie of his mother. She’d spent nearly thirteen years of his life doing exactly that to him before he’d figured out it was all bullshit.

Stan cringed and leaned over Eddie, “Hey, okay, no hospital but you have to let me take your temperature, deal? You can sleep a bit but when I ask, you have to do it.”

Eddie nodded mutely, eyes closed as he was already drifting back off.

Bill went over to his boyfriend, looking down at their sickly friend with his brow set in concern. Softly, he reached out and ran his fingertips along Stan’s arm, “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry too much.”

Stanley sighed and leaned into Bill’s touch, weaving their fingers together, “I know… he just worries so much about everyone and everything else. He needs someone to worry about him, at least a little.”

Bill laughed, tugging Stanley from the living room, “Usually Ri—Richie’s all over that. Where is he? You only said on the phone that Eddie was s—sick.”

“Yeah, well,” Stan sighed in minor annoyance, “He doesn’t want Richie to know he’s sick. Pretty stupid plan in my opinion, like those two don’t have some weird psychic connection between them, but whatever. I told him I wouldn’t say anything.”

Bill shrugged, “Well, it might be pointless anyway. Bev invited everyone out tonight; suh-someone’ll notice the three of us aren’t there.”

“He told Richie he was coming over here to cram for midterms next week,” Stan said, shaking his head. He leaned forward quickly to peck Bill’s lips before starting on dinner, “I feel like we’ll be seeing Richie sometime tomorrow with the whole thing figured out. As much as he acts like one, he’s not an idiot.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Richie woke up the next morning feeling about as exhausted as he had felt going to sleep, if not more. His whole fucking night had been nothing but tossing and turning. He wasn’t used to sleeping alone and when he did have to, it never went well. He couldn’t get comfortable without Eddie to snuggle or spoon and if he managed to fall asleep, he was more prone to nightmares when his better half was gone too.

Sitting up, he looked at the clock and smirked. It was getting close to noon and if Eddie were home, he’d have been telling Richie off right about then for potentially fucking up his sleep schedule.

Your day and night cycle are a delicate balance, genius. You screw with it and I promise you’ll fucking regret it, He could almost hear his boyfriend in his ear.

Speaking of his boyfriend… Noon, huh?

Eddie would be at work right then, would have started his shift at nine and only be about halfway through. Smirk widening, Richie got up and quickly got dressed, planning on paying his Eddie Spaghetti a little surprise visit.

The Village Grocery wasn’t far from the apartment, a stroke of pure luck honestly since Eddie’d had the job since before they’d moved in together. Richie could walk it relatively easily if New York traffic was agreeable. Slipping on his Chucks, he hopped out of the door, locking the place up behind him.

The walk only took fifteen to twenty minutes, Richie guessed. He didn’t wear a watch, usually just grabbing Eddie’s arm and using his when he needed one. When he made it to the front of the store, he paused looking through the glass sliding door. Eddie wasn’t at any of the registers. Generally, he usually just rung people up; only stocking or anything else if he was picking up someone else’s slack.

It was a small store, during the later hours only one or two employees would be present at a time and even at 12:30 Richie only saw three people in uniform when he went inside. Being blasted by a cold jet of air from the AC, he went over to the only vaguely familiar face he could find.

“How’s it hanging, Mary?” Richie asked, going to lean up against one of the empty check-out stations where a curvy, olive skinned girl stood.

Marisol turned to him, eyebrows coming together, “Better if it weren’t for your boyfriend.”

Marisol was the only employee remaining who’d been working at the store since Eddie started. They were casual work friends and she’d joined the Losers once or twice to hang out. She was nice enough and according to Eddie, was easy to kill time with.

Richie quirked an eyebrow, “Just the person I wanted to hear about! And where is he around here anyway?”

Mary stared at him for a moment, startled, “What do you mean ‘where is he’? I assumed home with you.”

“It’s Saturday,” Richie shrugged, tapping mindlessly on the divider between them, “He always works on Saturdays.”

“Except that he called in sick this Saturday,” Marisol said slowly, shaking her head, “Which is why you can tell him that he owes me big time for covering for him on a weekend shift.”

Richie stood for a moment, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on before starting to back away, “Right, sick… Cool, Mary, I’ll tell him, check you later!”

Leaving the store, Richie quickly haled a cab and headed toward Bill and Stan’s.

_______________________________________________________________________

Eddie awoke to a cool washcloth being placed carefully on his forehead. He hummed in relief, slowly pulling the stands of sleep away from his brain before slipping his eyes open. Richie’s hand slipped down from his forehead to his cheek, lightly pinching it as he smiled lightly, “Even flushed and feverish, you’re fucking adorable, Eds.”

“Whaddya doin’ here?” Eddie whined, “You’re suppose to stay away!”

Richie rolled his eyes, brushing Eddie’s sweaty hair back out of the way of the washcloth, “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure you’re suppose to tell me shit like when you’re sick. Let’s call it even, huh?”

“I didn’t wanna get you sick…” Eddie mumbled, reaching up to put a hand over his eyes to block out the light of the room, “You’ll get fired and flunk outta school…”

Cocking his head, Richie let out a single laugh, “I think you’re blowing this a bit out of proportion, honey bunny. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m your boyfriend. I’m supposed to take care of you, sickness and in health and all that,” He shrugged, continuing to play with Eddie’s hair, “And if you’re gonna fucking bite it from the Black Plague, I wanna go out with you anyway.”

“It’s not the fucking Black Plague, dickwad,” Eddie pinched his nose, “It’s just the flu.”

Eddie heard only silence for a long moment.

“Eddie,” Richie said, his tone taking on a sincerity that Eddie knew he, and he alone, got to hear. Peaking out from under his eyelids, he hummed in acknowledgement. Richie continued, “Please don’t pull something like this again. Please just… talk to me next time?”

Eddie sighed, looking up at the ceiling as guilt filled his chest. Richie wasn’t exactly a please machine. He used the word about a sparingly as Eddie tended to used the L-O-V-E word. At least, in a non-joking manner. It was actually pretty fucking unfair because it meant that when he did drop it, it was fucking impossible to deny him whatever he was asking for.

Swallowing and cringing at the searing in his throat, Eddie nodded, “Okay.”

Richie let out a long breath and nodded, reaching out for Eddie’s hand to lace their fingers together.

Eddie felt his heart skip a beat, all the air in his lungs seeming to evaporate as he took in the sight of his boyfriend lightly playing with his fingers and the way he was mindfully tracing patterns on the back of his hand. He realized suddenly Richie had been worried; that he was still worried.

He didn’t have to say so… with Richie silences tended to mean more than the words that the boy so often wasted on meaningless things and sometimes the only way to get an honest answer out of him was to watch his body language. Eddie read Richie better than anyone else, even when he was running a fever.

“Stan said my fever broke a couple hours ago,” He supplied, wanting nothing more in that moment than to stop Richie’s worrying. “It’s been going down… just takes time for the body to bounce back from high fevers. But I—I’m fine, Rich. Really.”

Richie glanced at their intertwined hands for a long moment before looking up and cracking his usually smirk, “Well, thank fuck for that because I can not afford rent with my broke ass alone.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and instantly regretted it when his head throbbed in protest and his stomach churned. He groaned, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand, “Richie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Take me home,” He whined, looking over at his boyfriend, “Stan and Bill’s couch is somehow fucking worse than ours.”

Richie laughed and nodded, squeezing Eddie’s hand back, “Whatever you want, Eddie, my love.”

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reddieao3feed · 4 years

Text

De Profundis

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2t9igiT

by thefutureisbright

Considering it was the first time in just under a month that they had spent more than brief moments in the hallways together, small waves and tiny smiles at each other over the raging sea of other students, before one of them got swept up in the tide and was pulled away before greetings could be exchanged.

“I’m going to take a lit elective,” Richie said, as easily as if he’d just told Eddie that it was going to snow the next day. “Oh, and it’s supposed to snow tomorrow”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, the weather dude said we were supposed to get a few inches over-night, but I’ve got a few inches I can give him overnight if you catch my drift,” Richie said, grabbing at his crotch gratuitously.

‘What? No -- gross. I’m not -- No. I meant the lit elective, you’re taking a lit class?”

“Yup,” Richie said, popping the ‘p’ like it was bubblegum, “I got it all sorted a few weeks ago, actually. I’m taking the ‘poetry and experiment’ class”

[ Or, Ben starts a new literary journal for the University of Maine, and, unbeknownst to each other, Eddie and Richie start submitting poems under psuedonyms ]

Written for Holly as a [very late] Secret Santa gift!

Words: 7295, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon

Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, very background Stanley Uris/Mike Hanlon, very very background Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Poetry, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Set in 2003, they're about 21/22 ish, i fucked around with the timeline don't come for me, Slow Burn, Canon Compliant, but no one dies and they killed Pennyfuck the first time, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2t9igiT

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #reddie #it (2017)#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

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hypnoidvoid · 5 years

Note

Uhhhh for the prompts can you write about reddie just goofing around and then accidentally finding themselves in a compromising position??

[Title: Twisted Up]

A/N: Yo listen, this is the kind of shit I live for. Especially if it involves Reddie playing Twister and both being too stubborn to lose, no matter what position they end up ;)

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak, (minor) Bill Denbrough x Stanley Uris, (minor) Beverly Marsh x Ben Hanscom

Words: 2.2k

// Link to Read on Ao3 //

Permatags: @edstozler @kaspbrak-eddie @noahschnapp @richiefuckfacetozier @reddies-spaghetti @tozier-boy @eds-kas @thatgazebobullshit @honeybeehanlon @constantreaderfool @reddie-for-anything @s-tanleyuris @beepbeepdickie

Game night was no time to fuck around.

The Losers Club fucking around? Absolutely not. This shit was serious.

Bill looked down at his hand of cards (pretty much the whole deck at this point), then to Stan’s complacent face from across the table. His features spoke ‘there’s no fucking way you’re winning’, and he was fucking right…. maybe. The worst part about all this is that both of them bet $50 on a game of luck, $50 that neither of them really wanted to or could afford to sacrifice, but both did anyway, and Bill had spat mad smack the entirety of their game.

Uno was no laughing matter.

Running his eyes over his fan of cards, Bill hesitantly chose a green 8 and slid it across the table. He was satisfied with his pick, for Stan had played all yellows and reds for the past 6 turns, and yes, he counted. The odds seemed to be in his favor with this track record. Stan pinched his lips and anxiously scratched the underside of his chin with the hand not holding his last card. He took dreadfully long, in Bill’s opinion, and laid down the the only card he had, but upside down.

Getting impatient, Bill rustled, “Well s-show it already! There’s n-nuh-no strategy, just lay down t-thu-the damn card, Stan!”

Stan hung his head in defeat and reached for the pile of shuffled scrap cards, “Fine.”

“T-T-That smug fuh-ucking face all for nothin-”

He sharply retracted his hand and flipped a green 9 over to slam on top of Bill’s card without looking up.

“You mother f-fuh-f-fucker.”

Devious, slit pupils peeped from underneath his tight curls, “Looks like you owe me fifty big ones, Denbrough.”

“Fifty b-bucks yeah, not five huh-dred,” Bill slumped in his chair like a pouty child, defeated. He wanted to buy an upgraded XBOX controller with that money, and a new bean bag chair with the $50 he was preemptively expecting to win from Stan. Instead, he sat in his metaphorical salt marsh of being short $50. Stan only straightened his posture and gleamed, holding out a flattened palm for his reward.

A crash of pots and pans hurdled out from the cabinets and on to the linoleum floors, puncturing the ear drums of everyone in the Hanscom household, even the cat. A collective flinch among the Losers was shared from the clanging metal.

“Fuck, sorry fellas!”

Beverly popped her head out from around the corner of the kitchen, “Dumbass thought Eddie hid his Christmas gift in the cabinet.”

Mike, who had been observantly watching the Uno game from the couch piped up, “And was it?”

She licked her finger and slicked a curl behind her ear, “Nope.”

“Fuck!” Richie yelled again.

Normally, game nights would be held at Bill’s house, but tonight was an exception. Ben’s mom was visiting his lonely aunt in Washington and asked her responsible son to watch the house. Of course she allowed him to have friends over, she trusted him more than God himself, but even Ben had to admit that keeping his house out of harm’s way was a big task. A task, but one that was worth it to have his best friends brighten his home on a snowy winter’s eve.

Eddie’s head breached underneath Beverly’s, “He’s not even close,” and mouthed to Mike ‘it’s in the trunk of his own fucking car’.

“Gimme a hint?” Richie hailed.

Eddie just endearingly smiled at his friends in the living room without turning his head, “Absolutely fucking not, Rich.”

“Fuck!” He chirped for the third time.

Waltzing with a chipper pep to his step into his living room, Ben held both hands behind his back, “Hey guys, I found an old game of mine. I used to love this one.”

“How old can it be Benjamin, you’re 18,” Stan snorted, pocketing the money he won from Bill.

Ben bellowed a characteristic bellied laugh, “Old enough to still be fun.”

Beverly skipped out of the kitchen and attempted to snatch the item Ben was hiding behind his back, “What is it? What is it, what is it, huh?”

He gently pushed her hip aside to divert her grabbing twirl, and managed to plop a kiss on her nose as she was scooted to his left, “Twister, honey.”

She swiftly yanked the game out of his hands on the outturn of her twirl and shook her body with excitement, “I love Twister!” Clutching the box to her bosoms and tipping a foot off the ground, she gave Ben a firm kiss on the lips.

Bill sat closely next to Stan on the couch, with Mike lounging on the arm, “Y-Yak.”

“Don’t be such a bitter butter, Denbruh,” and Richie kissed the air consecutively in his direction, after sneaking behind Eddie and pulling him into a suffocating hug.

“I-I think you mean Nu-nuh-tter Butter.”

Richie happily planted sloppy pecks onto Eddie’s rosied cheeks as he squirmed away, “Yeah whatever.”

Through sullied giggles, Eddie meekly protested, “Richie, fuck, Richie STOP!”

As Eddie made his way to the couch, Richie obediently followed, with his arms looping around Eddie’s waist and mimicking his short-legged gate. Eddie may have told Richie to stop, perhaps even a thousand times, but here he was, placing his heated palms on top of Richie’s on his hips and leaning his head back against his chest.

“Who wants to play? We need four players.” Ben asked, laying out the plastic gameboard with the help of his girlfriend. Beverly splayed out across it, even in her primly ironed dress, to flatten the thing out for gameplay.

Richie blew a tickling raspberry into the side of Eddie’s neck, initiating a surprised yelp.

“Okay so Eddie wants to play, any other takers?”

“Really?”

“Oh me, please me good sir!” Richie snarked after being elbowed by Eddie, who was nearly in his lap.

Mike sniggered, garbling under his breath so only Stan and Bill could hear from the couch, “Get a damn room, motherfuckers.”

“I’ll play, I’m on a winning streak anyway, Bill, want to bet again?” And Stan shot a coy glare at Bill as he stood up.

Bill puffed his chest, “Yeah m-me too. Count m-me in.”

Even though she was disappointed she didn’t get to opt in and play this round, Beverly was pleased with the opportunity to spin the color directory alongside Mike and Ben. She made sure she held the wheel so that if there were chances to make this game as tedious as possible, she would have the liberty to cheat if need be and make that decision. Right now, she was their God. And Beverly Marsh was going to make this game as inconvenient as humanly possible.

Sitting with her legs awkwardly crossed on the shag carpet against Ben’s body, she announced with a devilish lull, “So, who’s first?”

“Bill,” Eddie chortled coincidentally in sync with Richie, who nudged him kindly in agreeance.

Beverly spun the wheel, “Right foot red, Bill.”

Many turns came and went without problematic intervention, snide comments, or even side chatter. The farther the game deepened, the more serious it got. The four playing were in no mood to lose to their childhood friends, and in Bill and Stan’s case, their significant other. Even Richie, who took nothing seriously and absorbed certain things with a grain of salt that should be taken with a brick of concrete, and who at other times could make events that would usually be fun and games become life and death. Twister was a gladiator’s battle.

Eddie admired Bill and Stan’s relationship; how he wished that he had had something like that. As he pinched Eddie’s side to make him squirm, Richie thought the same thing.

Unfortunately, Bill and Stan relinquished their efforts relatively soon. They were both struggling, and without words made knowing eye contact, crumpling to the floor simultaneously so that they both lost at the same time. As much as Bill would have loved to beat Stan once tonight, at any fucking game that they played really, he found a peaceful truce to be just as satisfying, especially, when it resulted in extra affection that he wouldn’t have gotten if he had boastfully won. Losing the $50 and a round of Twister was worth it if he went home with a pleased Stan. A happy Stan was the best Stan and every Loser could attest to this. You didn’t have to date Stan to know this.

“Left foot yellow, Eddie,” Bev cackled, knowing very well that the arrow had landed on a different color and direction for her to announce. Bill and Stan cuddled close on the couch, watching Richie and Eddie continue their chaotic game of tangled limbs.

Eddie shot her a horrified glance, “This game is hacked, there’s no way. There’s no way, Ben? Help? Bill?”

Ben calmly overlooked Beverly’s shoulder to see that it indeed should have been right foot blue, “Yup, left foot yellow.”

Stan let out an incredulous twitter with Bill’s arm around him, blatantly amused.

There was no hiding that grin. Richie’s face darkened into a smirk that could have physically assaulted Eddie with his satisfaction, but instead, Bev and Ben did it for him.

“Listen to the Lord Eds, She hath spoken.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Ben?”

“Sorry bud. She hath spoken.”

Begrudgingly making his body twist over, Eddie had no choice but to straddle Richie’s torso to reach his toes of his left foot to touch the closest yellow circle, otherwise risking losing the game. Their groins pressed against each other too tightly, even for Richie to keep his propped body up in pristine form. This position made it fucking hard to maintain any kind of strength, focus, or composure.

Richie’s face blushed crimson with his delight, “Bev, next? Please?”

“Right foot blue.”

This was a harmless enough turn; all Richie had to do was shift his foot one circle up. He did so with minimal grace, and was able to support Eddie’s body weight on top of him. Eddie lightly bounced as Richie shifted his body weight under him, and if Eddie didn’t feel his sprouting boner beforehand, now it was painfully obvious. There was no hiding the excitement in Eddie’s pants either, from Richie’s point of view.

Sitting in Ben’s lap, Beverly spun the arrow of the wheel and unleashed a harpy’s laugh, “Right hand red!”

Both Eddie and Richie’s faces dropped. She couldn’t be fucking serious.

“Ben? Is she fucking serious?”

Even Richie weakly asked with droplets of sweat making their way down the side of his face, “I’m dyin’ here, you trynna kill me Haystack?”

Leaning up from his comfortable perch, Ben sternly analyzed the chart in Bev’s lap, and for the first time it had actually landed on what Beverly shouted aloud, “Right hand red, she’s not lying.”

Eddie shook his head, making eye contact with Richie, “Don’t hate me for this.”

Richie unsuccessfully gulped the growing lump in his throat, his eyes widened to a cartoonish size, and his breathing picked up, “I won’t, trust me. Go for it.”

Extending his body over Richie’s while still straddled, Eddie scooted his short frame forward to place a hand on a red circle. Eddie’s crotch hovered directly over Richie’s face and he worked to the best of his ability to keep himself from relaxing even an inch. Otherwise, he’d literally be sitting on his face.

“Rest in pieces, Richie,” Mike giggled.

“Can it, Michael,” Eddie barked.

The rest of the Losers not playing were muffling fits of laughter. Even Stan, who initially found this ploy to be childish, was now hiding his head in his shoulder to keep from outwardly laughing. Seeing Richie struggle so hard was a damn treasure.

Eddie’s crotch brushed Richie’s nose and he whispered to himself, ‘Fuckin’ Christ, Eds’.

His body began to horribly tremble. He was close to buckling completely; from holding the same position with his noodle arms for so long, and from the electric surges of arousal he felt swarming his pants. The tickle his nose endured was the cherry on top, and there was no avoiding the sneeze building in his sinuses. A fucking sneeze doomed him to a loss.

“Achooo!”

Violently sneezing into Eddie’s crotch, both of them collapsed, with Eddie falling onto Richie’s face. Exactly what Eddie didn’t want to happen. Eddie scrambled to roll off of Richie, flustered beyond his control. They whipped their heads to look at each other for a moment of silence before breaking out into laughter with their audience. Both of them were scarlet, and not just in the face— but everywhere.

Richie sat up dumbstruck, quickly crossing his legs to avoid himself further embarrassment. He flashed a goofy grin at Eddie with fluttering eyelids and a wink, “I don’t know, I think I fucking won.”

Eddie, who also had his legs crossed, laughed into his hands, “You lost the game, liar.”

Pushing himself off the floor to tackle Eddie, Richie smittenly cooed, “Wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout the game.”

If they weren’t dating before, it was bound to happen sooner or later, especially after that tomfoolery. Dumb boys, dumb boys. One day it’ll happen.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #stanley uris #losers club #drabble #oneshot #my writing #hans writes #hannah writes #it 2017 #it 1990 #it fandom #it fanfiction #it au

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kennacrab23 · 6 years

Text

Kids In The Dark

Summary: Richie didn’t know what to expect when he was saved from an abusive household and placed in a group home with six other kids his age, who were all as deeply troubled as himself. All he expected was a roof over his head. Finding a family and falling in love only existed in his wildest dreams. But not anymore.

Pairings: Reddie, Stanlon, Benverly are the main ones, with a hint of OT7

Chapter: 1/?, 2, 3, 4 (Read on AO3)

Words: 3403

Warnings/Tags: Aged Up Characters. Lots of dark subject matter, including: abuse, self-harm, mention of sexual abuse, mention of suicide

Notes: This is a new fic that I’ve started working on. I was hoping to get some feedback and see if this is something people would like to read. It deals with a lot of dark subject matter (see tags) so please proceed with caution. There are too many couple interactions to tag, so I just tagged the end game ones. But there are plenty of interactions among all of them. Let me know what you think!

—

Sirens.

All he heard was the roar of sirens in the distance getting closer and closer, but never close enough. Even when they were right outside his house they sounded as if they were miles away. Everything seemed far and distant, except the sound of his own labored breathing. Each breath rang loudly in his ears, seeming to be amplified against the cold bathroom tile.

Red lights.

All he saw was the flashing red lights illuminating the glass. From where his head laid against the bathroom floor, he could see straight through into the living room. With each heavy blink, he saw less and less. His vision was becoming so dangerously blurry, he couldn’t see the ambulance and cop cars pull up out front, just the way the window lit red.

Relief.

All he felt was an immense amount of relief washing over him. The second the phone fell from his loose grip, he knew it was over. There was no going back at this point; he couldn’t take back what he had done. Whatever happened beyond this moment, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. There was nothing left but relief at the rapidly approaching end.

No one in their right mind would ever want to spend a week in the hospital. They were cold and stuffy, death hung in the air like a clingy relative who didn’t know when to leave. It was suffocating. But in his current state…necessary. And even at it’s worst, it sure as hell beat where he’d come from. In the seven days he was there, trying his damn hardest to recover, all he could think about was where he was going. Over the course of his stay, he had been visited by countless adults he did not recognize, all joined by one shared objective.

“We’re here to help you, Richie.”

He was extremely grateful for all those people. God knows he needed all the help he could get. What that help entailed, he had absolutely no clue. As his discharge day came around, he realized he was about to find out what it meant when some adult he didn’t know said they wanted to help.

No one could put it past him, his complete and total lack of trust in adults. The two he trusted with his life almost ran it into the ground. They almost took it away from him. So when he was promised care and safety, skepticism rode right along with the relief he initially felt. A handful of other emotions were also riding in tandem.

The past week had left him feeling emotionally drained; he just wanted some sense of normalcy back in his life. Something told him his new normal was a far cry from his old normal. And maybe, just maybe, that was the best realization he had ever made.

Nervous.

That wasn’t necessarily the right word to describe how he felt pulling up outside the house. Apprehensive. Uneasy. Unsure. He definitely wasn’t sure what it was going to be like. Nothing like home at least.

He stepped out of the red sedan, driven by his case worker who insisted on walking him in and getting him all settled in. As big of a dweeb as it made him feel, he was appreciative of the fact. It was like the first day of school; being the new kid, all eyes on him. And while most viewed him as the class clown, that usually served as a barrier for his real feelings. How cliché, he thought. School…that was another thought entirely.

As he walked up the steps of the porch, he noticed two individuals resting on the porch swing. One was a young boy around his age with chestnut brown hair and eyes to match. His skin had the slightest tan to it and, even laying down, Richie could tell he was small in stature. His back was flat against the swing, his head resting on the thigh of a redhead girl, who was combing her fingers through his hair. She was cute. But so was he. And he didn’t miss the way both of their eyes raked over him, slowly looking him up and down. He barely had time to throw up a casual way before his case worker was dragging him inside.

Again, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when they walked in, but he was still caught off guard. It looked like a normal home; it felt completely unlike home to him though. The atmosphere was warn and inviting. It was well decorated: pictures on the wall, rugs on the floor, pillows strewn across multiple couches. And they were greeted by a sweet, middle-aged woman. She was dressed in a pair of jeans, a sweater and a gentle smile. She had thick brown hair pulled into a messy bun and thick rimmed glasses, not unlike himself. She reminded Richie of every single adult he’d interacted with in the past week; she looked like someone he could trust. Someone he wanted to trust.

When she spoke, her voice was soft. It sounded so maternal, a tone unfamiliar to him.

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Hanscom,” she said, extending her hand to him, “You must be Richie.”

Richie nodded and shook her head. “Yup, that’s me alright.”

“Feel free to take a look around,” Mrs. Hanscom told him, “Your room is upstairs, last door on the right.”

Richie grabbed his single bag and headed towards the stairs, pretending he couldn’t hear the way the two adults immediately started discussing him. More specifically what he had gone through. It was always so awesome to be reduced to his trauma. But in their defense, there were days where he felt defined solely by it. Today was such a day. Despite what he had already been there, this was incredibly hard to deal with.

He thought perhaps he would feel better once he was in “his” room. Now there was a reason for the emphasis on his, for when he opened the door he was meet with the sight of two other individuals. They were certainly enjoying the, or what they thought was the, privacy of the room. Richie’s eyes went wide, jaw dropping at the sight of two boys, looking to be about his age. The one laying back on the bed was slender and pale, with dirty blonde curls. And the one hovering over him was more muscular, with dark skin and dark hair. He also had his hand shoved down the other boy’s pants.

“Woah,” Richie chuckled under his breath, alerting the two of his presence, “Free board and a show?”

“Hey, do you mind?” the smaller boy underneath exclaimed.

“My apologizes gentlemen,” he said, complete with a bow and British accent. He tossed his bag inside the room and pulled the door shut. The view from the first room made him curious as to what might be occurring behind the other closed doors. He resisted the strong urge to throw them all open. Instead he just ran back downstairs to find his case worker about to leave. She walked over to him and enveloped him in a crushingly tight hug.

“You’ve got my number sweetie. If you need anything, I’m just a call away.”

Richie simply nodded because he wouldn’t need to call her. Or at least he wouldn’t want to. He was never going to. He now had a live-in adult, who pretended to care all too much. He was all set.

Mrs. Hanscom turned towards him with another all too sweet smile. “Get all settled in your room?”

“Uhhh, yeah,” he lied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just thought I’d take a look around.”

“Okay, let me know if you need anything.”

Richie frowned in confusion, “Wait, that’s it? No personal tour? No thick rulebook?”

“There’s plenty of rules,” she let out a laugh, followed by a casual shrug, “You’re old enough. You’ll learn.”

Richie too shrugged, at how ominous that felt. He made his way through the house, slowly and idly bounding through all the rooms. The living room was big and spacious, a couple couches, a few chairs and a TV. Looked typical enough. Same with the kitchen. Except it was clean. Exceptionally so. There were no dirty dishes in the sink and there was actually food in the fridge. So while the rest of the house felt like a home, the kitchen reminded him nothing of his.

There was a window over the sink, looking out into a big backyard. Sitting on the back deck was another boy around his age. He was on the heavier side, with shaggy light brown hair. He had a notebook situated on his lap, pencil slowly scribbling along the pages. On the far side of the yard, there was hammock, tied between two large trees. Sprawled out on it was another boy. He, too, had light brown hair but from where Richie stood he was much more lanky. His head was tilted up towards the sky and his mouth seemed to be moving. Was he talking to himself? Richie couldn’t quite tell from inside.

He thought about heading back up to his room but he’d hate to interrupt again. Once was an accident, twice was just being a dick. Figuring it was a nice day, he decided to join the other boys outside. After all, they seemed to be the safest bet, over the couple making eyes at him out front and the couple getting it on upstairs. He knew he made the right decision when he was greeted with a genuine smile.

“Hi there. I’m Ben. You must be Richie.”

“Ahhh, my reputation proceeds me,” Richie said with a nod as he sat down next to him on the edge of the deck.

Ben chuckled and shut his notebook, placing it down beside him. “It’s nice to meet you,” the second those words hit the air, Ben was shaking his head vehemently and quickly adding, “Actually it’s not. It sucks that you have to be here.”

Richie just gave him a pointed look, cocking an eyebrow. After a few seconds, he broke and laughed it off. “Sure as hell beat where I came from.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why’re you sorry?” Richie asked rhetorically, “Not your fault. Besides, you’re here too which means you’re fucked up too.”

“Well actually–”

“Hey Hanscom, you trying to hog the newbie?”

Richie turned to find the source of the voice to be the boy from the front porch. He had been correct about his stature; he was short and slim, but it seemed like he had the attitude to make up for it. This time it was Richie’s turn to drag his eyes up and down him. A pair short red shorts hugged his thighs ever so slightly and the black band t-shirt he wore was a little too long.

“I’m not trying to do anything. We were just talking.”

“Wait, Hanscom?” Richie said slowly, breaking his attention away long enough to put two and two together.

Ben nodded, “That’s right.”

“So you’re not fucked up?” Richie asked bluntly.

“Ben here is the most normal person I’ve ever meet,” the other boy informed him, moving to stand beside them.

“Fuck you Eddie,” Ben retorted, his eyes rolling affectionately.

“Only if you ask nicely,” he chirped, hopping off the deck and sauntering over to the hammock. Richie watched as he climbed in beside the other boy, the two of them quickly settling into each other.

“What’s his deal?”

“He’ll let you fuck him,” Ben told him matter-of-factly, “If you ask him nicely.”

“Woah,” Richie snickered, “Between that and what I saw upstairs…I know teenage boys are all horny but damn!”

“Ohh, Stan and Mike,” a girl’s voice sounded knowingly, “And hey, what about girls? Are we not allowed to be horny too?”

Richie turned around and smirked up at the girl he first saw on the porch. “No, please. By all means, go ahead!”

She chuckled, moving forward to sit down next to him and pulling out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, “I’m Bev.”

Ben groaned, looking her way disapprovingly, “My mom will kill you if she finds you smoking.”

“She hasn’t yet,” Beverly replied smugly, tucking one between her lips.

Richie watched with fixed eyes as she lit it and took a long drag.

“I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” she exclaimed, holding the cigarette between two fingers and passing it over to him.

“Thanks,” Richie smiled, taking a long drag himself, exhaling it as he spoke, “So who’s that?”

“Bill?” Beverly supplied, continuing when Richie nodded, “Well he’s–”

“Bev, you know the rule,” Ben interjected, “The only story you can tell is your own.”

Beverly rolled her eyes, muttering, “Yeah, yeah. Until we’re forced to talk about it in group.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Ben replied defensively, holding his hands up.

Bev smiled and reached up to ruffle his hair, “I would never,” she spoke honestly, her eyes locking with Ben’s.

“Jesus!” Richie exclaimed, standing to clear some room for the two of them. “Is everyone around here fucking or what?”

Beverly shrugged casually, “I guess. Kinda, yeah.” She paused to take a drag, “It’s complicated. When you all live together….we’re all living with shit. Sometimes you just need a little help getting through it all.”

“So is that what’s happening over there?” he asked, nodding over to the hammock, where Bill had his head buried in Eddie’s neck while he ran his fingers soothingly over Bill’s back. Richie noticed that Bill didn’t seem to be talking to himself anymore.

Ben nodded, “Bill hasn’t been doing so well lately.”

“Eddie’s always the first to pick up on these things,” Beverly added, also watching the two, “And always the first to lend a hand.”

“Doesn’t he have his own shit to deal with?” Richie wondered.

“Sure. We all do,” Beverly murmured softly.

“He has a lot of nightmares,” Ben told him knowingly, “So don’t be surprised when he crawls into bed with you.”

“And that’s a big when. Not if,” Beverly added, quickly and discreetly stomping out her cigarette as the sliding glass door opened.

Mrs. Hanscom popped her head out, “Why don’t y'all come in and get washed up for lunch?”

“Yes, Ma,” Ben called, grabbing his notebook and heading inside.

Beverly stood as well, looking back at him, “If you ever wanna smoke anything stronger, just let me know,” she winked before following Ben inside.

Richie rose, but before he could turn to head inside, he noticed the smaller boy, Eddie, struggling to pull the talking-to-himself boy, Bill, to his feet, who did not seem to be cooperating in the slightest.

“You need some help?” he called out.

“No, I got it, thank you!” Eddie snapped, still struggling.

“Okay then,” Richie said dismissively as he headed inside. It was another couple minutes before they were joined by Eddie and Bill.

Eddie plopped him down in a chair with an exhausted sigh. Richie found his gaze following him as he moved around the kitchen. First he grabbed an orange pill bottle from a cabinet and then he filled a glass with water from fridge. Bill seemed to know what was coming next as he began shifting uncomfortably and squeezing his lips shut.

“C'mon Bill,” Eddie whispered softly, brushing back Bill’s hair. Richie found it odd that no one else seemed to pay this any attention. Was it really that frequent of an occurrence?

“Don’t make this hard on yourself,” he murmured, grabbing Bill’s chin and guiding his mouth to open. He popped the pill into his mouth and cupped his chin as he poured in a drink of water. He forced Bill to shut his mouth, though it was nothing if not gentle.

Richie couldn’t draw his eyes away from the two as Bill eventually swallowed.

“Good job,” Eddie murmured gently, leaning down to kiss the other boy’s forehead.

Richie felt so confused; how could someone so small, yet with such a big attitude be so compassionate? In his experience, those traits rarely went hand in hand. These thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the two boys from upstairs, Stan and Mike. He smirked at just how satisfied they looked. His smug expression quickly vanished when Stan sat down next to him. The long sleeves he wore rode up just slightly, but they fully revealed numerous scars running along his wrists, varying in length and thickness. If Stan noticed him noticing, he didn’t let it show as he casually tugged his sleeves back into place.

Everywhere he had gone, everywhere he had been, he was always the problem. He was at school, not not paying attention and distracting the other students. He was at home for being obnoxious and being a burden. And with himself, for never being good enough. As messed up as he felt for thinking such a thing, Richie couldn’t help but feel relief. It was nice to not be the only one with problems.

“Beverly, dear, I believe it’s your turn to do the dishes,” Mrs Hanscom called from the kitchen.

“Roger that Mrs. H!” she exclaimed, hopping up from her place at the table. She walked around the table, collecting all the dishes before carrying them all to the sink.

“What’re Richie’s chores for today?” Stan asked, resembling that kid who asked for homework after the bell had already rung.

Mrs. Hanscom chuckled, “I thought I would give him a couple days to adjust first.”

“Thanks,” Richie said softly, throwing a pointed look in Stan’s direction. “I think I’m gonna go up to my room and adjust.”

Night fell quickly upon the household. Then again, when there was a 10pm lights out curfew, night fell a lot sooner than in his past experiences. Nights were always the hardest part, having to lay in bed, struggling with the pain rippling through his body.

Richie thought it would be an easy night. Sure, being in a new place made him feel more than a little anxious, but for the first time in years, he felt okay. The same worries were no longer eating him alive and the same could be said for his body too. That’s why Richie thought the second his head hit the pillow, he would pass out. That was not the case. It was probably due to all the agonizingly long nights he’d previously endured. His body refused to believe this new reality. Richie himself could hardly believe it.

2:07am.

He heard the door creak open slowly and the soft shuffle of feet dragging along the floor. He watched as Eddie crossed to the far side of the room. Somehow, through the dark room which was only slightly lit by the moon outside, he looked even smaller. Maybe it was the large t-shirt he wore that hung down right above his knees. Or maybe it was the intense vulnerable expression he wore. His eyes looked red and wet, glistening in the low light.

Richie kept his head pressed to his pillow, eyes fixed on the smaller boy. He wordlessly pulled back the covers, which caused Mike to stir softly. There were also no words on his part as he scooted over, holding open his arm to Eddie, who climbed into bed beside him. Mike wrapped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him up against his side. Eddie immediately snuggled up against him, his head finding the crook between his neck and shoulder. Mike placed a kiss to his hair and pulled the covers over both of them. Within minutes, they were both fast asleep.

Richie felt a pang of jealousy rumble in his chest. Was this due to the fact that he was chasing sleep so desperately and they caught it so easily? Or was it the raw intimacy which he craved just as desperately? He would spend another couple hours with this thought swirling around in his mind before eventually falling into a restless slumber, which lasted mere hours.

Richie was beginning to think perhaps escape did not equal recovery. Perhaps the hardest part was yet to come.

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #reddie fanfic #stanlon #benverly #it ot7 #my work

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