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eddieeatsass · 3 years

Note

If you’re accepting prompts can I get a small smutty Bichie one shot? Preferably including a lollipop and Bill with an oral fixation

I clearly don't know the definition of "small"... so here's 4k words instead uhhhhhhI'msosorry please enjoy this debauchery

Read over on AO3 or under the cut ♡

A lollipop is simply a lollipop until you give it to Bill Denbrough; when in his clutches it becomes a weapon of arousal. It would be fundamentally impossible to see Bill sucking on a lollipop and not pop a boner. Well, maybe it would be possible if you didn't have a dick, and oh what Richie would give to be in that category right now.

The thing is, Bill always seemed to have something in his mouth. He was a chronic nail biter, went through two packs of gum a day, was known to bum a cigarette off Bev every once in a while, and Richie's pretty sure he even caught him sucking his thumb one time at a sleepover.

But lollipops were by far the worst.

"My mom is gonna kill me."

Richie was snapped out of his hyper fixation, his attention pulled back into the conversation as Eddie voiced his newest worry.

"You can borrow one of my shirts if we stop by my place on the way back." Stanley offered, eyeing the big brown stain that now interrupted the pink of Eddie's sweater.

"She'll notice if I'm wearing a different shirt." Eddie objected, scrubbing at the spot with a napkin.

"We can throw yours in the wash and you'll be wearing it again by the time you go home." Beverly suggested, trying to defuse Eddie’s heightening anxiety.

"Yeah, my parents won't mind." Stan added encouragingly.

"This is the last time I ever order a chocolate shake. From now on, vanilla only." Eddie grumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Awe come on Eds, we all know you’re anything but vanilla.” Richie joked, jumping at the opportunity to think about someone else’s sex life instead of his own.

“Fuck off, Rich.” Eddie snapped back with little bite.

“It’s not a secret, we all know you’re a little freaky-”

“You’re the freak! Quit talking about my personal business!” Eddie was getting red in the face, but around him the rest of the Losers were doing little to hide their snickers. Even Bill, whose mouth pulled into a grin around that fucking lollipop.

And Richie was back to square one.

“My parents are gonna be home in a couple hours so if we want the house to ourselves, we should go now.” Stan mentioned, standing up from his spot at the corner of their booth, allowing Bill, Beverly, and Eddie to file out after him.

“So, we’re not going to the Quarry anymore?” Ben asked, sliding out of the other side of the booth and throwing an extra ten dollars on the table as a tip. He grabbed one of the complimentary lollipops that had been left with their receipt and began unwrapping it.

“We won’t have time if we want to keep Eddie alive.” Mike mentioned.

“Then perish.” Richie said, straight faced.

“We don’t all h-have to go to S-S-Stanley’s.” Bill said, drawing Richie’s attention back, once again, to his sinful mouth.

This was becoming a problem.

They ended up splitting three ways; Eddie, Stanley, and Mike went off on their attempt to save Eddie’s shirt, Ben and Beverly decided to go on to the quarry, and Richie ended up sticking with Bill after they’d both agreed that it was too hot to stick to their original plans.

Though, Richie would probably have agreed with Bill no matter what he’d decided.

They arrived at Bill’s place twenty minutes later, heaving hot breaths from their trek in the summer sun.

"You want s-s-something t-to drink?" Bill panted, toeing off his shoes at the doorway but not bothering to chastise Richie when he kept his on.

"Depends whacha got, Denbrough." Richie followed him into the kitchen, hopping up on the countertop as Bill opened the fridge.

"Coke, orange j-juice, and m-milk." Bill announced, his head hidden behind the big metal door.

"Toss me a coke." Richie decided easily, never one to pass up the opportunity for more sugar.

Bill resurfaced with two cans in hand, passing one to Richie and carrying the other across the room where he reached into the cabinet that held the straws.

"Why do you drink everything through a straw?" Richie asked, his cock giving an annoying twitch as Bill brought the straw to his lips and took a sip before answering.

"It just tastes b-better that way." Bill shrugged.

Richie could feel the joke forming in his throat before he could think better than to speak it.

"I know something else that tastes better cumming straight from the straw."

Damn his quick wit.

Bill froze, straw caught between those pretty pink lips as he stared at Richie with an unreadable expression.

"It's your penis, isn't it." Bill deadpanned.

"Yep." Richie responded, popping the 'p' at the end of his statement in sync with him hopping off the counter.

"N-not some of your best work, Rich-ch-ie." Bill teased, biting down around his straw with a flirty grin.

Richie's face flushed a violent shade of red, having to do a double take just to check that his mind hadn't hallucinated the way Bill had smiled at him. But before he could dwell on it too much, Bill retreated to the other room.

The next few hours were torture on Richie’s dick. Bill seemed to find something new to stick in his mouth every two god damn minutes. He was like a badly trained dog.

After the straw, Bill produced a box of pocky which he spent the next hour idling chewing and sucking on. When they finished off the box, he chewed on his fingernails as they watched TV. His pencil was the next victim when they decided to try and do some homework. And finally, as they abandoned their homework for video games, Bill found a toothpick, rolling it around in his mouth like he was fucking Tom Hardy.

But at least things were contained until Richie lost the game of Mario Cart and flopped back on the bed dramatically, resulting in his lollipop from earlier tumbling out of his pocket.

“You n-never ate y-y-your lollipop?” Bill noted, picking up the small, wrapped item and twirling it in his fingers.

Richie’s not sure why his throat immediately went dry.

“I sort of forgot I had it.”

Bill eyed it with interest, which interested Richie far more than it should. He cocked an eyebrow and proceeded cautiously.

“Do you want it?”

Bill’s eyes darted back to Richie’s, quickly schooling his expression as if he’d been caught.

“Only if you d-don’t.” Bill said, trying for nonchalance, but the catch in his voice betrayed him.

A long pause stretched between them, their eyes locked in an unspoken challenge.

“I’m starting to think I do, actually.” Richie responded with much more fervor than the topic demanded.

Bill watched as Richie took the lollipop from him and began unwrapping the small red sucker. The sound from their video game’s pause screen faded into the background as blood rushed past Richie’s eardrums.

Richie was vulgar, all the Losers knew that; he’d been making jokes about his dick since he first learned he had one. But this was something different. Richie wasn’t trying to be vulgar, he was trying to be… something new.

He popped the lollipop into his mouth, keeping hold of the stick so he could hollow out his cheeks and pull it back out, allowing the round candy to stretch his lips as they parted for it.

Richie continued his ministrations for another minute, keeping his eyes locked on Bill’s, whose own were locked on Richie’s mouth.

Richie, self admittedly, had no idea what he was doing. He tried to channel the pornstars he'd watched, to summon some of their sex appeal to guide him along this unfamiliar experiment. But after a moment, he realized the best person to model himself after was already sitting right in front of him.

Richie thought back to how Bill had been devouring his lollipop back at the diner, how his eyes had gone hazy, his attention far away as he moved his tongue around the sucker like it was second nature. His lips had been shiny with saliva, tinted redder than usual by the cherry flavoring.

Richie took the lollipop out of his mouth and dragged it across his lips lightly, as if he were applying lipstick. It glided easily, sticky with spit, and did the job as it left Richie with a tinted smirk.

He loosened his jaw and let it fall open, allowing his tongue to loll out to lick a stripe up the lollipop in what he hoped was a good imitation of what one would do with a cock. To be fair, Richie had never sucked a cock before, so he was blindly guessing. But it seemed to do the trick, because Bill's eyes suddenly broke from their trance, squeezing shut.

"Not f-f-fair, R-Rich..." Bill's voice was broken, mimicking something between a whine and a whisper.

"You want something to suck on, Billy?" Richie asked, surprising himself with his sure-fire tone.

Bill was still for a moment, but when he opened his eyes again, there was something new behind his blown-out black pupils. He nodded meekly, as if scared to admit anything aloud just yet.

"Well jeez, Bill. I've only got the one." Richie gestured with his lollipop, as if to prove his point. “I may have something else for you to suck on though.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, absent of the usual air of humor that accompanied Richie’s jests. But maybe that’s because it wasn’t much of a joke at all; even though neither of them were quite ready to admit it, they could both feel the change in the air between them.

“Anything.” Bill’s voice was still quiet, but it had steadied out as if the prospect of Richie’s suggestion had sated something in him. Richie had to suppress a shiver.

Richie twisted his body to spring off the mattress, and the sudden action caused Bill to follow, moving himself to sit up on his knees and face where Richie stood at the end of the bed.

Neither of them knew how to proceed, cautious to cross the other’s boundary but excited by the new thrum in the air. Richie was the first to move.

He removed the lollipop from his mouth and place it on Bill’s nightstand before reaching forward and cupping Bill's chin, tipping his head up to lock their eyes. Moving slowly, allowing Bill time to move away if he wanted, he let the pad of his thumb gently trace the outline of rosy red lips, and Bill obediently opened under the touch. He darted his tongue out to lick at Richie's finger, wrapping around it and leading him back into his open gape. Once Richie's thumb was resting inside the warm entrance, Bill closed his lips around his knuckle, and with the most confidence Richie had ever seen on Bill, he began to suck.

It was the filthiest thing Richie had ever fucking witnessed in person, and for a moment he was sure he'd been transported to some alternate porn dimension. Bill moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. Richie wondered absently if Bill had done this before, not sucking the life out of someone's thumb, but sucking the life out of something else.

Bill's tongue licked up the sides of his finger like he was trying to catch the drips from a popsicle, and then he was biting down gently into the pad of his thumb, making Richie shiver delightfully.

He pulled off with a heave of breath before uttering four words that were enough to leave Richie speechless.

"Let me taste you." Bill begged.

Richie could have cum on the spot at the mere fact that Bill was so lust-drunk just from sucking on his finger that he didn't even stutter. But if he did, he'd miss out on probably the best blowjob of his life (the only blowjob of his life, thus far), so he had to keep it together.

Now, let it be known that Richie isn't proud of how quickly he whipped out his dick. There was no grace, no sensual teasing or tantalizing movements; it was all fumbling fingers and uncoordinated shimmies as he struggled to get his dick to hit the air before Bill somehow decided to change his mind.

"Uh... Taa-daaaaa." Richie pointed in the direction of his erection with two unsure hands, an awkward moment passing until Richie glanced upwards.

Bill wore an amused smirk when Richie reverted his attention back to him. It was endearing, but Richie already missed the blissed out, desperate expression he'd had not mere seconds ago.

So, Richie decided he would just have to do better. If he wanted to wipe that smirk off Bill’s face, he’d have to step up. No more awkwardness or unsure movements, Richie needed to take control.

Besides, his life moto was "fake it 'till you make it", why couldn't it apply here as well?

Richie willed his hand to stop shaking before he reached out and carded his fingers through familiar auburn locks, pushing them off Bill's forehead and holding them back with a firm grip. That same grip allowed him to pull Bill's head forward, leading him until he was right in front of Richie's cock.

That look that Richie was chasing slowly began to filter back in. Bill's eyes glazed over as he gazed down at the leaking head being offered to him, his jaw going slack as he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, and finally his whole body followed as it slumped forward with the first lick to Richie's head.

Richie felt drunk, his own head swimming with arousal and a lack of blood flow. Bill looked so good like this; Richie wasn't sure he would ever recover from the image.

But if looks alone were enough to kill, the feeling of Bill's mouth must have summoned him back from the afterlife just to murder him a second time.

When this was all over and Richie had had his brains blown out of him, literally, he was gonna have a lot of questions for Bill. Mainly, had he done this before, and if not, then where the hell had he learned to do that thing with his tongue.

It wasn't long before Bill ceased his lapping and moved to take Richie into his mouth in full. Richie wasn't one to brag (a lie he told himself) but he could physically see the strain on Bill's jaw as it struggled to open wide enough to take his whole cock. Though, if Richie were being honest with himself, it probably had more to do with the size of Bill's mouth than the size of Richie's appendage. But for the moment he allowed himself the ego-boost.

"Bill, jesus fuck, that feels good..." Richie's own voice came out unfamiliar to him, wavering far more than he'd have liked. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"You've always looked good with something between your lips, but fuck, it's like you were made for this."

Bill disconnected from Richie's cock with a wet slurp and Richie had to swallow down the noise his body tried to make in response.

"S-s-so you w-were staring at the d-diner earlier." Bill's gaze was mischievous, as if he'd caught Richie in a lie and now he'd earned himself a prize.

"I'm pretty sure everyone was staring, Billy. You were basically fellatio-ing the damn lollipop."

"F-fellatio-ing isn't a word R-Richie."

"I'm the one getting fellatio'd right now, I think I'd know."

"Well, you won't be for m-m-much longer i-if you keep making up w-w-words."

"How do I shut you up? Where's your off button."

Bill glanced down at the cock still held in his hand, and then slowly raked his eyes back up Richie's form. The implication was clear, and Richie was more than happy to oblige.

Richie replaced Bill's hand with his own, his other flying back into Bill's hair to pull him closer. He led Bill back to the head of his cock, taking a moment to paint his lips with the pre-cum that had pearled at the slit. Bill's lips felt like velvet as he rubbed himself against them, but it wasn't nearly enough.

“Open.” Richie commanded, honestly surprised when he was met with obedience instead of a snarky remark. It made his cock twitch as it entered Bill’s mouth.

No more accurate definition of euphoria came to mind as Richie sunk into the heat of Bill’s mouth, shuddering as every inch of his cock was enveloped. Bill kept his eyes squeezed shut as he willed his jaw to take everything Richie was giving him.

When Richie felt the head of his cock reach resistance, he still had about half of his shaft exposed. There was nowhere else to go unless Richie was going to start feeding it down Bill’s throat, and while that thought did make a new rush of arousal flood his body, he didn’t think now would be the best time to try it.

At the pause in movement, Bill opened his eyes, blinking away tears that had gathered along his eyelashes. Richie could see the cogs turning in Bill’s head as he assessed the situation in front of him in the same way Bill problem solved every roadblock he encountered: with reckless determination.

Bill tried to move himself forward, quickly realizing his mistake as his gag reflex kicked in. The resulting noise was so much hotter than it had any right to be, and Richie had to physically hold himself back from trying to trigger it again.

In stubborn acceptance, Bill brought his hand up to circle around the rest of the shaft he couldn’t fit inside his mouth. Richie loosened his grip on Bill’s hair to allow him to move however he needed, and instantly Bill’s head began bobbing in tandem with small twists of his wrist.

“Holy shit, ahhhhh- what the fuck D-Denbrough.” Richie’s words spilled out in a rush, tripping over themselves with a quiver.

Bill pulled back until only the crown of Richie’s cock laid between his lips, setting his tongue to work at the slit as if he could coax out more of Richie’s pre-cum just like that. When Richie’s thighs began to quake, Bill tilted his head and moved ever so slightly so his tongue could lap at the soft tissue that connected Richie’s head to the rest of his cock.

Richie released a sound that would have been embarrassing in any other circumstance, high-pitched and needy in tone. It only seemed to make Bill move faster.

Bill moved back down the shaft, running his tongue along what he could reach, his hand working the rest. He began picking up pace, flitting his eyes open and gazing up at Richie with pure lust-blown pupils.

Richie had a flashback to earlier that day, watching Bill suck on his lollipop with poorly feigned innocence, juxtaposed with the debauched expression he wore now. There was no fooling anyone, Bill wanted this. He needed this. He’d probably needed it for a long time, and that thought spurred Richie on.

“You wanna taste me, huh?” Richie began thrusting in time with Bill, punching a pleasured moan out of him. He chanced a glance down at Bill’s lap for the first time since they’d begun fooling around and noticed the bulge straining to escape his jeans. It gave Richie even more satisfaction to know Bill was deriving just as much pleasure from this as he was.

“Bet I taste better than that fucking lollipop, ahhh, fuck-” Richie’s thrusts were getting unsteady. He could see drool escaping the corners of Bill’s mouth as he struggled to keep up with Richie’s pace.

Richie was getting close, the warmth in his belly coming to a boil as the heat around him become too much to bear. Richie pulled his shirt up, holding it bunched to his chest so he would have a better view of Bill’s face as he swallowed Richie’s cum.

That thought is what finally pushed Richie over the edge, screaming out a delayed warning that did neither of them much good as Richie’s cock was already emptying into Bill’s mouth.

Thankfully, Bill didn’t seem to mind the lack of a warning, doubling his efforts to suck Richie through his orgasm, taking more of him in than he had been able to before.

Reckless determination.

Richie was squeezing his eyes so tight that stars began to illuminate the black sky behind his lids. A fuzzy feeling accompanied them, starting in his head and spreading through his limbs. It mixed with the overwhelming pleasure in each of his nerve endings, dizzying him with overwhelming sensations, and then there was nothing.

Richie thinks he must have blacked out for a second because suddenly he’s splayed across Bill's bed, staring up at the ceiling. His fingertips were still tingling, and his throat was dry and hoarse, but those were the only indications that what just happened hadn't just been a dream.

Richie propped himself up on his elbows, looking around the room in an attempt to piece things together. Bill was nowhere to be found, which made Richie entertain the dream idea even more. He could have fallen asleep on Bill’s bed, had a wet dream inspired by Bill's casual affair with lollipops… he probably moaned in his sleep and scared Bill off, even.

“Drink.”

Richie nearly jumped out of his skin as Bill suddenly appeared beside him.

“Holy fuck, Casper! Warn a guy!”

A cup of water was thrust into Richie’s hands, and without having to think much about it he brought it to his lips and downed a generous amount. His throat thanked him immediately.

“What were you m-m-mutt-ttering about?” Bill asked, hopping on to the bed beside Richie and causing the mattress to wobble them both slightly.

“I was just… trying to figure something out…” Richie raked his eyes up and down Bill’s form, trying to find any sign that he’d actually had Richie’s cock down his throat not even five minutes ago, but the boy looked as kempt as usual.

“Okay, w-well once you figure it out, can y-y-you put your dick b-back in your pants? Georgie is gonna b-be home soon.”

Richie blanched, moving comically slow as he looked down at his lap, revealing that his dick was, as stated, very much not in its confines.

Bill shifted beside him, and it was enough to shake Richie out of his ‘holy shit that actually happened it wasn’t just a dream bill denbrough is a fucking dick sucking god’ epiphany.

Once he was all tucked back in and had finished the glass of water Bill had generously (and forcefully) provided, he finally allowed himself to look at his friend again.

Bill was already watching him, a gentle smile playing on his features as he rolled the lollipop from earlier around in his mouth.

“You’re fucking insatiable, you know that?” Richie’s heart was thrumming in his chest, unanswered questions clawing to get out. But before he had a chance to ask them, Bill removed the candy from his mouth just long enough to lean forward and capture Richie’s lips in a kiss.

It was a little shy, a little tender; the complete opposite from the way Bill’s mouth worked itself along his cock. Richie decided that he liked it that way.

When Bill pulled back, they were both red enough to rival the lollipop in Bill’s hand, which he wasted no time in replacing between his lips.

“By th-the w-way,” Bill began, settling into Richie’s side and reaching for his controller to unpause their game. “You d-don’t taste better th-th-than a lollipop.” That playful smile was back on Bill’s lips.

“I guess I can’t compete with artificial cherry flavor.” Richie conceded, following Bill’s lead and retrieving his own controller.

“I still like you b-better.” Bill stated with so much certainty that Richie felt his whole world solidify.

#bichie #bill denbrough #richie tozier #bichie fanfic #bichie fanfiction #bichie smut #bichie lemon #my writing

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

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Add A Link and See It Grow

Today’s the last day of the Harringrove Week of Love! The final prompt I chose was Found Family! Read this here or on ao3 posted by ej_writer !

Word Count: 7,305

Rating: T

“Are you serious right now Nancy?”

It was 7:30 at night when Steve heard his doorbell ring and, upon answering it, was met with a swarm of middle schoolers rushing into his house. He had plans to go out to the quarry with Billy in like, a half hour, he could not afford to be the babysitter.

“I’m sorry, Steve. My mom was supposed to watch the kids but she had to go out so she asked me to babysit, but I already told Joyce and Jon I’d help them plan Will's birthday party and it’s only a few days away now and-“ Nancy talked about a thousand miles a minute as she tried to justify dumping the brats on him.

“Whatever, it’s, fine.” It wasn’t, but it wasn’t worth arguing over either. “Aren’t they old enough to watch themselves at this point?”

Nancy didn’t even respond to that, just gave him a stern look that said ‘you’re watching these kids no matter what, get over it.’ She crossed her arms and squinted at him and, even if it didn’t really matter if he agreed, his resolve broke. “Alright, fine.”

She smiled and thanked him before hurrying back to Jonathan’s still running car. Steve sighed and braced himself before turning around to go back inside. The brats were known for wreaking havoc in a matter of minutes, and he wasn't looking to let them destroy his parents’ house.

In the five minutes he was outside they’d already raided the fridge of all of his pop, added the leaf to his dining table (how did they even know where that thing was?), had game pieces and boards thrown all over the place, and made a stack of their bags in the corner of his living room.

“Wait a second, is this a sleepover?” Steve groaned at all of the overenthusiastic nods he received. “Where am I supposed to put all of you little shits?”

Dustin shrugged. “You have enough rooms in this place to house the whole neighborhood. I think you’ll be fine.”

“Well, since nobody felt the need to run this by me first, I’m already busy. Can you dipshits handle yourselves for like, two hours?”

The look on Mikes face perfectly mirrored the one his sister had given Steve at the door. “Dude, Nancy will kill you if she found out you left us here alone.”

“Not if I kill her first for dumping all of you on me.” The threat had still stuck, she absolutely would kill Steve. There was no way he could get away with leaving them unattended.

He figured he could just call Billy and cancel, but that was really the last thing he wanted to do. He tried to come up with some compromise, but with all the kids pulling up chairs to his dining table with intentions of staying all night, he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter.

Dialing Billy’s number into the kitchen phone, he walks around the corner into the bathroom, shutting himself in as best he can around the phone's cord in an attempt at having some semblance of privacy from the six sets of prying ears in the next room, but he hears nothing from the other end.

He let it ring a few more times before he gave up, wrapping the cord back up and hanging the phone back in its slot. This wasn’t going to go over well.

Because it wasn’t like he could just be like ‘hey, I have to go do this, be back in a few’ when what he had been planning on doing was going on a date with Billy Hargrove. They were sneaking around behind the kids' backs, so that just wasn’t a luxury they had.

But Billy wouldn’t answer his phone, so he couldn’t explain the situation to him either, and now Steve was backed into a corner, and exponentially screwed.

At first, he was trying to just stay out of the kids’ hair, hover in the corner while they did their thing just to make sure they didn’t get it of hand, but he was feeling too jittery and nervous, so he pulled up one of the thousand extra dining chairs his mother kept around for dinner parties and joined in their stupid game.

For once, they were playing normal people games instead of that role playing thing he couldn't wrap his head around, so he could actually understand what was happening enough to participate.

Not that that meant he ever won, being outsmarted by these kids was his specialty. Round after round they ran circles around him, and he was getting frustrated enough he was considering making them sleep outside.

He was about to throw his cards down and quit for what was probably the tenth time already when he heard the telltale sound of Billy’s Camaro pulling into his driveway.

That was really bad. He’d stood Billy up, and he’d be pissed, he couldn’t let him just barge in here and make a scene in front of the kids. Because not only would that mean they knew Steve was not crushing on some imaginary girl or whatever he’d made up to thwart their suspicions, but that he was with Billy Hargrove of all people. They’d never let it go.

He shot a quick look at Max, who no doubt would’ve been able to recognize the sound of her own brother's car, hoping to somehow communicate to her to keep these other assholes occupied while he dealt with this. He was pretty sure Max already knew about them anyways.

Forfeiting again, he got up from the table and hurried towards the front doors.

Will called after him with a sympathetic, “It’s just a game, Steve!” which thankfully meant they either hadn’t heard or hadn’t recognized the sound of Billy’s car.

Holding up the pack of camels he always kept in his pocket, he turned around to face the kids, backing towards the door still. “Just need a smoke break.”

That seemed to appease them, and they went back to what they were doing. He practically ran the rest of the way to the door, as he opened and closed it before they could see the boy on the stoop.

Billy was standing there probably about to lay on the doorbell, something he always did just to drive Steve crazy, and seemed surprised at the way he came all the way outside and shut the door behind himself. “Listen, I’m on babysitting duty, so I kind of can’t do this right now.”

At the same time Billy’s face fell, Steve felt his heart drop into his stomach. This wasn’t about their rendezvous, turning up at Steve’s house usually meant he needed something, and judging from the way his hands were stuffed deep into his pockets and the way he was worrying his lip between his teeth, it was something important. “Whatever, Harrington. I’ll get out of your hair.“

“That’s not what I meant.” Steve reached out and put his hand on Billy’s arm to get his attention. “I’m sorry. I want you to stay, I just, I needed you to know they were here.” The additional so you didn’t out us and ruin our lives forever went unsaid, but Billy knew the implications of being caught by the kids.

“I need your first-aid kit“ It was hard for him, asking for help, but these days it was something he needed a lot of.

“Okay.”

Without another word he opened the door and led Billy inside, making him kick off his muddy biker boots before following him up the stairs to where he kept the band aid kit in his bathroom. One of the perks of having a big house was that the kids, from where they were in the dining room, couldn’t see the door, and only heard them go up the steps.

This had become routine for them, Billy showing up at his door in need of a little TLC, and Steve desperate to give it to him, but up to this point they’d been able to evade the kids. He didn’t think it would honestly be all that bad if they knew, Billy’s sister was among them and probably wouldn’t let her friends run too wild with the information, but Billy had made him swear on his life he’d never let them, or anyone else for that matter, find out about it.

Of course he understood that. There was a reason this kept happening, these nights when Billy would show up at his door in need of assistance, and that reason, who’s name happened to be Neil Hargrove, would undoubtedly kill the both of them were he ever to catch word that his son was dating Steve Harrington.

Steve had the displeasure of meeting Neil in person only once in late December, when he’d dropped Max off at her house after a Christmas party at the Byers. Being that he was such a responsible and caring father, or at least that’s what he was for the public eye, he just had to meet the boy who was watching his daughter.

Steve’d been beyond unsettled by the unnecessary firmness of his handshake, the distant look behind his so obviously practiced smile, the way Billy, with his arm in a cast for reasons he wouldn’t tell anyone, loomed in the corner as Neil did his interrogation.

When he was satisfied with the answers he’d been given, sure that Steve wasn’t carting the kids around because he was a creep or something, he’d let him go with a slap to the shoulder that was a little too hard to be friendly, and made Billy, maybe as a show of some sort of old fashioned respect, walk him back to his car.

“Did he do that to you?” Maybe it was because his experience with his own father had made it easier to recognize, but Steve was pretty sure he had a good idea of what was going on here.

Billy kept his eyes downcast and his shoulders squared, defensive in a way that was distinctly un-Billy. The broken arm must have been preventing his fighting instincts from taking over, or maybe it was the guilt from already beating the shit out of Steve once. “Maybe.”

That was enough of an answer for him. “Look, if you ever need anything, just like, I don’t know, come find me or something, man.”

Billy’s head snapped up to look at him. Steve could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to think of some response, but that had gotten to him. He kept his lips pressed in a flat line, and stared at Steve like he just grew a second head.

“I’m sorry for lying to you, just, my door is always open, or whatever.” It was extremely awkward, Steve offering help to the boy who’d literally just beat the shit out of him and concussed him like a month ago, but he could see through him.

The scar in his eyebrow didn’t come from their fight, nor did the cast on his arm. Seeing the way Neil acted, the saccharine smile he wore as he made subtle threats on him when he literally did nothing but drive his daughter around, he had enough to figure out that those injuries had been from what Billy had faced once he came home that night.

Billy hadn’t said anything, just scoffed and turned around to go back into his house, but a week later he showed up at Steve’s house, having gotten the address off of their sort of mutual friend Tommy, with a broken nose and bled all over his living room carpet, and the rest was history.

Steve walked him into the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet seat, popping open the first-aid kit where it sat on the tiled counter. “Where’re you hurt?”

A nervous habit of his, Billy was chewing on the side of his thumb nail. His gaze flickered between Steve’s face and the framed painting behind him on the wall. “S’my ribs.”

Steve got him to shrug out of the two different jackets he was wearing, his first winter in the Midwest had proved to be far too cold for a Cali-raised boy like Billy, and pull the Henley shirt he had on over his head. The damage hidden underneath was enough to make him sick to his stomach.

Reaching out, Steve gingerly touched the deep purple bruises littering the other boy's chest and ribs. He felt breathless, this was by far the worst he’d ever seen it. “Jesus, Bills.”

Billy wasn’t very good at accepting sympathy from others. It made him feel all squeamish to be fussed over, and Steve was the king of fussing over him. He muttered, “Think there’s a cut towards the back.”

Steve wrapped his fingers around Billy’s forearm and gently pushed his arm up over his head to inspect the damage, and sure enough, there was a gash about 6 inches long on his left side. “What the hell did he do to you?”

Billy sniffs, looks away and says, like it’s nothing, “Steel-toes break the skin easier.”

Every time they did this, Steve’s heart broke into a million little pieces. The nonchalance of it all was the worst part, the way it was so normal for Billy to have his father kick him until his ribs were bruised black and bleeding, it made him so sad to see his Billy that way.

He let Billy put his arm down and crossed his own arms over his chest, “You’re gonna need stitches.”

“You know how to sew.” Another shot right in his heart, Steve didn’t know how much of this he could handle.

“Barely. And this is completely different.” Steve stepped forward and put his hand on the side of Billy’s face, keeping him from looking away again to stare at that stupid painting on the wall. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I can take it, Stevie. Either you do it or I will.” If Billy gave an ultimatum, he meant it.

He definitely didn’t know how to sew, it was a skill considered too feminine to be taught to a son despite its usefulness, so he never learned how, but if Steve didn’t agree he would’ve very much done it and hurt himself a thousand times more in the process just to prove a point

So Steve reluctantly did it, made Billy hold his arm over his head and turn to face the other wall so he could see it better. Not that he was an overly emotional person, or maybe he just wouldn’t admit he was, but the sight before him put tears in his eyes.

Billy caught that, and despite the swell of nervousness in his own chest as he saw Steve threading a needle from out of the kit, he offered comfort to his boyfriend.

“Only a few more months before I’m outta there, then we won’t have to worry about this shit any more.” Billy would turn 18 in June, just under three months from now, but when he showed up at Steve’s door bloodied and bruised every other day, that long stretch of time offered no comfort.

It wouldn’t be as easy as Billy seemed to think it was to leave. He wouldn’t have any money, the Camaro wasn’t in his name, so he wouldn’t have any way to get around, and he didn’t even know where he would stay yet. That was all hypothetical for if he’d even be able to leave too.

With an abusive father constantly looming over his shoulder and keeping tabs on him, he’d know he was going to leave and try to stop it at all costs. It was only a matter of time before he started trying to manipulate Billy into staying.

It clearly didn’t have the desired effect on Steve. Billy’d even offered his assurances with a smile, but his boyfriends face stayed grim as he wiped at the cut with an alcohol pad so he could start to try to stitch it shut.

They stayed silent after that, while Steve tried to steady his shaking hands for long enough to get the needle in and out of Billy’s skin without hurting him too bad. The only break in the silence was the occasional gasp from Billy when Steve made another hole in his skin, or the noise drifting up from when the kids started yelling downstairs.

After a few more times in and out he was able to tie it off, the sutures were sort of crude, but were doing their job, and he made Billy move his arm all around to make sure they wouldn’t tear right through his skin. Once he was appeased, he made him put a new shirt on, the other one stained with his blood would have to be washed.

Billy stood up and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. “I’m gonna be okay baby.”

Steve reached his arms around the back of Billy’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. “I know but-“

Cutting him off with a quick kiss, Billy interjected. “It doesn’t matter about him as long as I have you.” Another peck to his lips. “Love you.”

It hardly did anything to cheer Steve up or comfort him, but there wasn’t anything that could when every night, he sent his boyfriend back into the arms of a monster. He sighed and ran his fingers through the long hair at the back of Billy’s neck. “I love you too.”

Neither of them knew how much time had passed when Billy pulled away to grab his jacket off of the counter. Shrugging the layers back onto his shoulders, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket again. “I should go. The nerd herd’s gonna wonder where we went.”

“I want you to stay.” Steve kissed him one more time. “Not gonna let you go back to him yet.”

Billy looked like he wanted to protest, but Steve must’ve been looking as sad as he felt, because Billy sighed and gave in. “Fine. But your kids aren’t going to be too happy about that.”

“They’ll be fine.” Billy always seemed to underestimate just how much the kids liked him.

It was true that they hadn’t been his biggest fans at first, but when they first started doing this, Steve made him swear he’d apologize to them, and he did.

They were smart kids, they understood how the situation had looked when he got pissed, all of them hiding from him in a strangers house, and they understood the implications too of him begging Max to leave with him and his arm being broken literally the next day when she hadn’t.

It wasn’t immediate forgiveness, they were pretty wary around him until they felt he’d done enough to prove that he meant it when he apologized, but they’d all more or less accepted it by now.

Because he hadn’t stopped after just saying sorry. The words themselves never meant much to him at all, what with the situation he grew up in, so he tried to show them he was sorry.

Which was how he had become the secondary chauffeur after Steve, taking more than just Max home after trips to the movies or the arcade, and consequently how he had started helping them sneak around.

More than a few times he’d helped them smuggle Eleven out of her dad's cabin, because he understood feeling trapped, before he had his own car Neil had been able to keep him under 24/7 surveillance. He always covered for Lucas too, driving him home first before anyone else, and when Neil wanted to know who Max had been with, he’d lie and say it was just Dustin or El. After what happened it felt like the least he could do, but Steve was right, by now, they were pretty much over it.

Either way, he didn’t exactly want to have to explain away why he and Steve had disappeared upstairs for the last hour, hour and half. They might forgive him for his stupid outburst, but he couldn’t be sure where they drew the line.

Steve smiled at him and wrapped his fingers around Billy’s wrist, pulling him out of the bathroom and back through the hallway to the stairs. “Just follow my lead.”

Any semblance of a plan was lost when they made it back to the kitchen, Billy leaning in the doorway while Steve announced his presence, and they saw Eleven washing blood off of her hands in the sink.

There were some things Billy knew he’d never understand about these kids, Steve had made him promise he wouldn’t ask questions even though that was what had got them into a fight in the first place, so, despite his confusion, he didn’t even try to ask.

Not even when Steve put his hands on his hips and reprimanded her. “Oh, you were not spying on me.”

She smiled coyly. “I was.”

Billy felt the blood drain out of his face, felt his heartbeat skyrocket as he and Steve exchanged a look of fear. Steve stuttered and started trying to explain. “Listen you guys-“

Dustin cut him off, always overly eager to complain. “She won’t tell us anything.”

Nodding, Mike agreed. “She says it’s an ‘invasion of your privacy’.” He used air quotes around the last part as if spying on people in their own homes wasn’t exactly that.

The fear on Steve's face shifted into anger as he pointed his finger in Mike's face. “That’s because it is. I told you little shits a thousand times: no spying.”

Lucas interjected, agreeing with his friends. “What’s it matter if she won’t tell us anyways?”

Max fixed him with a deadly look and scoffed. “It matters because she didn’t want to and you made her. Why should she tell you what she saw?” Typically, Max would be on Lucas’ side, but they must’ve been fighting again.

Billy, watching the scene unfold while leaning on the door frame, clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and announced. “Seems like I walked into something.” He turned to walk away and called over his shoulder. “Catch ya ‘round, Harrington.”

Before he could get away, Steve grabbed him by the back of his jacket and tugged, stopping him dead in his tracks. “No way. You’re not leaving me to deal with this by myself.”

“Your children aren’t my responsibility.” He reminded him, but he had no actual intentions of actually leaving and they both knew that.

The kids hadn’t understood at first why Steve got along with Billy after he’d been the one to be beat up, so, to put it in a way that made sense to the brats, they pretended to argue so it seemed like they were only begrudgingly hanging out, and so far, they hadn’t seen through it.

Steve had a retort ready, but Dustin beat him to it. The kids were constantly rubbing it in Billy’s face that they’d turned him into a babysitter too. “Yeah, we kind of are.”

Lucas, obviously only trying to get some sort of points towards Max’s forgiveness, agreed. “Especially since one of us is your totally awesome sister.” Max just rolled her eyes at his attempt.

Realizing he was still holding onto Billy’s jacket, Steve pulled him back into the room and let go. “You’re staying.” He turned to Will and asked him like nothing had happened, “So what are we playing?”

Unsurprisingly, the kids had developed tiny attention spans. They'd gotten quite the taste for crazy adventures, so unlike normal teenagers, activities like watching movies and playing truth or dare all night wouldn’t really do it for them.

Since Steve had left, they’d apparently played through two different games and had been about to start a third before they decided to spy.

Mike tells them, “We’ve narrowed it down to Uno and Monopoly.”

“Mike, Will, and Max vote Monopoly. Me, Lucas, and El vote Uno.” Dustin further explained, “We need a tie breaker.”

“I’m not any good at Monopoly. Too much counting.” Steve nudged Billy with his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“Last time I played Monopoly I broke someone's nose, and I’m colorblind. Don’t think my vote counts.” Neither of those facts are particularly untrue, but the only reason Billy brings them up is because he’s still trying to deny that he’s their babysitter.

Staying for Steve, whatever, that was fine, but playing board games with the little shits, that would be giving in, admitting that he wasn’t above hanging out with middle schoolers on a Friday night.

But he doesn’t get out of it, because with the excitement of all of the kids combined, Will pipes up. “Don’t worry, I am too! My mom put shapes on all the cards so I can tell the difference.”

He hurries and fishes out the playing deck, bringing it straight to Billy to look through. “See! Reds are squares, greens are circles, yellows are stars, and blues are triangles!”

Steve smirks at Billy, at the defeated look on his face. “Looks like you’re not getting out of this one, Hargrove.”

Tumblr decided this was too long, go ahead and finish reading on ao3! Over there I’m ej_writer !

#harringrove week of love #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#I suppose this is sort of a prerequisite to found family? I don’t really know but you can tell what I’m going for #and that’s a wrap folks!#huge thanks to the people in charge of this event its been really really cool #sorry this is so late I had to do some college stuff and forgot :-(

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cherrybracelets · 4 years

Text

til the end of time

spencer reid x fem!reader / bau x platonic!reader

word count: 5.1k | warnings: typical cm violence, pregnancy and childbirth mention. other than that, all fluff and corniness

an: this is super stupid and corny; just sometbing i threw together !! i also wrote a lot of this on my phone if there’s typos don’t @ me

You had been imagining the day of your wedding since you were 12 years old, and attended your Aunt Maria’s wedding. It was the first wedding you had ever been too, and it was so much fun. Well, looking back, it was actually a very cheesy and poorly thrown together party in a cheap hotel, but at the time you were amazed.

You have attended quite a few weddings since then, much that were way nicer than Maria’s. Every one you went to, you gathered more and more ideas for what you wanted to do on your own big day (when the time came, of course.) You knew you wanted white roses in the centerpieces, vanilla raspberry cake was a must, and your dream venue was saved a thousand times on your Pinterest boards.

But, nothing ever goes as planned, right? When you started planning your wedding with Spencer, you know you would have to sacrifice a few of your ideas that weren’t exactly plausible. But you never in a million years thought you would be here.

It all started about a week ago, back in the lovely conference room of the BAU. You and Spencer sat next to each other, whispering away about wedding and honeymoon plans, the rest of the team scattering in and preparing to hear about a new case.

“I just don’t know what we’re going to do if my Uncle Mike brings his girlfriend…” you frowned, your stomach doing flips as you stressed more and more about the big day.

“Just have your mom call him and talk to him, he’ll listen to her,” Spencer assured you, squeezing your hand tightly, trying to pull all of your stress away. He hated how much anxiety all of this was bringing you. For him, your wedding was the brightest day of his future, it was all he could think about. And you felt the same, of course, but the planning was exhausting.

“Sorry to bring everyone in again, I know we’ve barely been on the ground a day, but we have a weird one today. Garcia,” Hotch motioned to the tech analyst, who smiled happily as she stood up and began her presentation.

“So, my friends, we are going to Spencer’s favorite place, Las Vegas!” She giggled, trying to bring lightness into a place that had seen so many horrors.

“Oh! I’ll have to call my mom!” Spencer smiled, always excited at any chance to see his mother.

“Let’s focus on getting this creep, first,” Garcia shuttered, pulling up multiple photos of dead bodies on the screen. “These are the two victims that we know of, Jenna Benson and Evan Perry.”

“What was the cause of death?” Morgan asked.

“Gunshot to the head. But, there are two ante mortem shots on each of the victim, one in the leg and one in the… nether regions,” Garcia shuttered, pulling up more pictures of the injuries on the bodies.

“Genital mutilation, that’s a statement,” you responded.

“And it was done before he killed them, so it’s definetly torture.”

“Do you think he could be trying to extort information? One bullet each time you don’t get a question right? You have three strikes to get it right?” JJ suggested.

“I don’t know, but these bodies were only killed a few hours apart, and chances are he’s already moved on to his next victim. Wheels up in 30.”

The group began to dismiss, Spencer’s hand still locked in yours as you left and went back to your desks.

“I’m gonna go grab our bags from the car and call my mom, you’ll be okay for a few minutes?” Spencer questioned, his eyes wide as he awaited your response.

“Yes, I’ll be fine on my own, Spence,” you giggled, rolling your eyes as you turned towards him and back at your desk, mixing thoughts of your big day and the big case racing through your mind.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

The plane ride was long, going backwards in time to reach the opposite coast always took a while. The team spoke for a bit about the case, before saying all that could be said and separating into their own comfort. You and Spencer sat close in the chairs, your head resting on his shoulder as he flipped through some case files.

Garcia had popped in earlier with the knowledge that the victims attended high school together, making these killings seem a lot less random.

“Jenna was a freshman when Evan was a senior, it’s probably unlikely they knew each other,” Spencer whispered to you, his brows furrowed as he tried to uncover something between the lines.

“I knew a lot of seniors when I was a freshman,” you shrugged, dismissing his theory.

“Yeah, but you went to a small school, everybody knew everyone. Vegas high schools aren’t like that,” he responded sharply, his knowledge of his hometown showing through.

You decided to let Spencer think silently; he tended to work best that way. You shut your eyes for a bit, only waking back up to feel the plane descending.

You didn’t know how you had managed to let time pass away like that, but the stress of everything must have been wearing you down. Spencer had fallen asleep too, his groggy eyes reopening as the plane hit the ground.

Hotch had already given you your assignments, you and JJ off to the second crime scene, which happened to be Evan’s house. The cars were there when you walked off the plane, and an extra car tasked with delivering your luggage to the hotel you probably wouldn’t have a chance to go to.

As you landed, Hotch took a quick phone call, his face making that familiar look when something happened.

“Another body?” Emily asked as he hung up the phone.

“Two. Let’s all go back to the station, for now. We need to sit down and go over everything. If he’s working this quickly, this is a spree. And we have a lot less time than we thought.”

“I’ll let the Detective know,” Rossi nodded, walking towards the car and hopping in the driver's seat. The rest of the team followed, you and Spencer walking side by side to the car that Derek had claimed as his.

“Glad I took that little nap on the plane, doesn’t seem like we’ll be sleeping for the next 48 hours,” you giggled, getting in the back seat of the SUV.

“Probably 72, if we’re being realistic,” Spencer teased, getting in the passenger's seat. He always got in the passenger's seat when the two of you were in the car with one other person. You never questioned it, but one day he let it slip that he just didn’t want the person in the front to be lonely.

You got to the Field Office about twenty minutes later, partially thanks to Derek’s driving. As the rest of the team continued to arrive, the three of you walked into the building to begin your work. You greeted the Agents and Detectives, avoiding small talk as you knew the urgency of this case. Luckily they had a room and boards all set up for you guys. Spencer and Derek began hanging evidence on the boards, as you called Garcia to get an update on your latest victims.

“Hey baby girl, what do you have for us?” Derek flirted, while neatly hanging photos.

“The two vics were actually killed previous to our two victims. Not graduates of our high school, but! One of them is Jenna Benson’s mother, Cheryl. But I cannot find a connection to the other one.”

“Her mother? So there’s gotta be some dirt in that family. What can you find?” You asked, twirling a pen in your fingers.

“I’m looking, but I can’t find much. Cheryl’s husband and Jenna’s dad, Clint, apparently left them when she was 15. Filed for divorce and just left. Other than that, they look pretty normal.”

“What about hospital records, medical stuff? Are there signs of abuse?” Derek asked.

Your phone started ringing loudly on the desk, which you quickly declined and put in your pocket.

“Sorry, go on Garcia,” you apologized, uncomfortably shoving your phone in your jacket pocket.

“Doesn’t appear so… oh, woah. This is odd.”

“What did you find, baby girl?”

“When Jenna was 14, she had a doctors appointment where they noted she was 6 months pregnant. And there’s no other documentation of it. No other ultrasounds, no birth or death certificate of said baby.” Garcia was clicking away, trying to find any trace of other evidence.

“What year was this?” You asked.

“1991.”

“So if the baby was born, they would be 29 now. Fits the profile of a spree killer,” Spencer shrugged.

“Yeah, but how is there no record of this child anywhere?”

“Children,” Garcia chimed in, her voice filled with dread.

“Come again?” Derek asked.

“According to her doctor, Jenna was pregnant with twins.”

At this point, the rest of the team had finally arrived, coming in just in time for the call. Garcia filled everyone in, each of you silently going over the facts. You tried your best to focus on the case, but your mind was still drudging over the details of your wedding. Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket, and you were certain it was some vendor or family member trying to take your money or beg for a plus one. But you couldn’t think about that, not now. You had to be here, be present. You had to catch this man.

“I have another information bomb that is going to blow your minds,” Garcia chimed in, her voice in shock as she awaited permission to talk.

“What is it?”

“In 1992, Cheryl and Clint Benson deposited two sixty-thousand dollar cash deposits in the same week.”

“That’s about how much a baby would go for on the black market,” Spencer added, his fact bringing you all to the same conclusion.

“We have to find Clint Benson, he’ll be the only one that can help us,” Rossi said.

“Do you think he’ll cooperate? That’s super illegal, he might not indict himself,” Emily added.

“We can offer him some kind of deal. If our unsub is one of the children, he’s the only shot we have at finding him.”

“I’ll work on finding the dad. I’ll talk to you guys soon.”

The team split up into smaller conversations, your phone still vibrating violently in your pocket. Spencer walked up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“You doing alright, honey? You seemed distracted earlier…” he pouted, kissing the top of your head with ease, showcasing his clear difference in height from you.

“I’m just thinking about all the wedding stuff… it’s stupid,” you answered, shaking your head in defense. “It sure doesn’t help that my phone won't stop ringing!” You groaned, ripping it out of your pocket and slamming it down on the table. The team stopped what they were doing and looked towards you, but Spencer waived them away, as if to say, ‘I’m handing this, don’t worry.’

“I’ll answer, and take care of it whatever it is. You focus on the victims, see if we can find some more connections, okay.” Spencer gave you a reassuring kiss on the lips, holding your phone in his palm and walking out to the hallway to handle your never ending stress.

You turned towards the files, trying to take your finances advice and focus on the victims. You looked at the photos over and over, trying to see if there was something you missed. Something that would make this make more sense. And then you had a thought. Something that might make this make sense.

“What if he’s looking for the dad?” You shouted, hoping someone would be drawn to your thought.

“The two men have nothing in common,” Derek responded.

“No, no. I know. But, like…” you stuttered, trying your best to organize the words into your head so they would understand. “The old man is still an outlier. But this younger victim, Evan. He went to highschool with Jenna. What if all the information he had on his dad was he was a senior at her school. Maybe he had a picture, and he’s hunting guys who might be the one.”

“If he came face to face with his mom, though, why not just ask her directly? If he is shooting them to get information, why wouldn’t she give in?” Emily questioned.

You thought for a moment, but JJ came in with an answer before your brain could think of one. Thank god.

“Maybe she wanted to protect him.”

“How would he have gotten a picture of his supposed dad though? Why would she give him a picture and not a name?”

“We’re missing something here. And unfortunately the only way we’ll find it is with more victims,” Rossi said, crossing his arms in frustration.

“And there are. Two more bodies have been found, this time much more recent. Time of death is only two hours ago,” Spencer added, walking back in from the hallway.

“And identification on them yet?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah, they’re sending their names to Garcia. It’s two more men, though. Roughly the same age as Evan. Same look as well, according to the Agent that told me.”

The phone in the middle of the table started ringing, a sign that Garcia had important information to fill your heads. Her voice always brought a kind of sweetness to your thoughts, making the whole room seem brighter.

“Garcia, what’s up?” Rossi asked her, awaiting the key to unlock this case.

“Two more victims both went to high school with Jenna. And they do look a lot alike…” Garcia said.

“Okay, can I state the obvious here. If these babies were sold, what are the chances either of them make it to 29? Most creeps buying infants don’t want them for longevity,” JJ shuttered, feeling sick at the words she was saying, but knew it needed to be discussed.

“Actually, an alarming amount of babies purchased illegally are bought by real parents looking for children to adopt. The adoption process is incredibly lengthy and difficult, and it’s even more difficult to find a newborn. A lot of… more affluent couples take this route.” Spencer nodded quietly after he spoke, something small you had always noticed about him. It was almost if he was reassuring himself that he did okay, that he said all he needed to say.

“So the only shot at finding either of these babies is through Jenna’s father,” Hotch sighed, realizing again that almost all cases came down to one cruical final piece. Clint Benson was your final piece.

“Lucky for you, Aaron Hotchner, I have found our man of the hour. Clint still lives in beautiful Las Vegas, only about fifteen minutes away from where you are now. Sending the home and work addresses as we speak,” Garcia teased, a few of you giggling as your phone’s received her information. Spencer handed you your cell back and smiled, kissing your forehead.

“I handled everything. No one will bother you again,” he assured, making you feel relaxed for the first time in weeks.

“Well, people can bother me a little, it’s still my wedding,” you teased, pushing Spencer slightly as he rolled his eyes and walked back towards Derek.

“I think we should bring Clint here versus ambushing him at home. He may not know about Jenna and Cheryl yet. It only hit the news cycle an hour ago, and they aren’t even releasing the identities,” JJ spoke, her motherly instinct always kicking in in times like these. She was right, as she usually was. It would be better to hear that kind of news here.

“Reid and Derek, go to his house. JJ and Rossi, go to his work. (Y/N) and Emily, stay here and start working on a profile based on what we have so far. Hopefully we can present something soon after we talk with Clint.” Hotch nodded at you all, making sure you all understood your tasks. You blew a kiss to Spencer as he walked out, feeling calmed by his quick smile before he was gone.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

Clint Benson was devastated when he heard the news of his wife and daughter. He still loved them both, but the guilt and shame of what happened was too much for him. According to Clint, the whole thing was his wife's idea. When she found out Jenna was pregnant at 14, she was heart broken. It was too late for an abortion, because they had only officially found out when she was six months.

“Cheryl was humiliated. Pulled her out of school, locked in her room. Didn’t want none of our friends to see her, to know what she did…” Clint sobbed, his voice tripping over itself.

“Which is why she never saw another doctor?” Hotch asked, carefully poking around for answers.

“Yeah… I kept trying to talk to her, ask her what we were going to do. Telling her Jenna needed to see a doctor. But Cheryl just said she was handing it, was taking care of all of it. I… didn’t know what to do. And then when Jenna went into labor, I begged Cheryl to take her to a hospital… but she wouldn’t. She barricaded herself in front of Jenna… until it was too late. She had them… right in her bedroom… a boy and a girl. They were so, so beautiful.” Clint was crying more, his words sounding more garbled with each passing second. You felt sick, horrible for the man.

Times like this made you wish for the distraction of the wedding. You tried picturing the suit you had planned for Spencer. The colors were perfect for him, and would match the rest of the theme perfectly. But then you remembered the guest list, and the caterer not having enough vegan options, and the open bar messing up your signature cocktail… And don’t even start with the DJ!

“Where are the babies now, Clint?” Hotch asked, his voice now rough and full of urgency.

“I… don’t know exactly. There wasn’t much information passed. Just names and cash.”

“What were the names?”

“Uh… the girl… she went to a couple named Ashley and Brian. The boy… Danielle and Andrew…” Clint mumbled, trying to remember more.

“Wait…” you whispered to yourself, something finally clicking in this case. You ran into the interrogation room, interrupting Hotch, much to his shock.

“Do you remember Andrew’s last name? Or what he looked like?”

“Uh… I think his last name started with an M… He had glasses. Does that help?”

“Hotch… our first victim was Andrew Masters.”

“Yes! Masters was his last name! Wait… victim? Did something happen to him? Is this connected to what happened to Cheryl and Jenna?”

You and Hotch looked at each other, a silent understanding between the two of you. You both knew what was happening here. Andrew Masters was killed by his own son. He was one of two babies given away by the Benson family that fateful evening. But why start murdering your family out of the blue? There was still something missing here.

“Have Garcia find out everything she can about Andrew’s son,” Hotch instructed, nodding you away as he readied himself to continue talking to Clint.

You ran into the hallway and called Garcia, looking around for Spencer, trying to tell him about the break in the case. Whenever either of you found something vital to the investigation, you always told each other immediately. You had done that since your first day on the team.

“What can I do for you, beautiful?” Garcia asked, distracting you from your thoughts about Spencer.

“Andrew Masters, our first victim, can you find anything on his son?”

“Uhh, sure. I can do that... what am I looking for exactly?” She questioned, still typing away madly in the background.

“We think he may be the unsub. Any triggers, any red flags?”

“Hmm, well here’s something. Up until two months ago, he was engaged. Can’t find a reason why it ended, but almost two months ago exactly they cancelled the venue, vendors, everything…”

“For no refunds, I’m sure,” you giggled, knowing well how the wedding industry worked. “What’s the ex fiance up to?”

“Well, she moved back in with her parents, Ashley and Brian, who look relatively normal…” Garcia responded.

“Wait, say that again. What were her parents' names?”

“Ashley and Brian Gregg.”

“Holy shit, Garcia. You’re a genius. Thank you!” You kissed loudly into the phone, hanging up the call and running towards the conference room. Everyone except Hotch was there, but you texted him to meet you in the conference room- that it was urgent.

“Guys, you will not believe this,” you finally said, after everyone arrived and was quiet enough to hear you. “Our first victim, Andrew, was the father of the son that Jenna gave away. Now, Jenna also gave away a daughter to another couple. Now, what are the odds of this. These two kids grow up, fall in love and get engaged. Talk about a trigger, finding out the love of your life is your secret twin.”

“You’re joking… evil twins again? Didn’t we already do this?” Emily laughed.

“It’s most likely just the guy. I’ll call Garcia and get her to send us everything she has on him. We gotta find this dude,” Derek instructed, leaving the room to speak to Garcia.

“How did they find out, though? Chances are the parents didn’t even know they were twins,” Rossi asked.

“Most likely not. Clint said the babies were picked up on different days.” Hotch added.

“It doesn’t matter how he found out, what matters is that he’s gonna kill a lot of people until he finds his ‘Dad’. He wants to punish anyone he thinks is involved in this crime.”

“We’ll put his picture out all over the media, and an APB on any vehicles he has. He won’t be able to hide for long. He has a mission, he’ll have to complete it.”

══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

Hotch, as usual, was right about the unsub. He did not stay in hiding for long. The police and FBI searched for six hours in his comfort zone, almost giving up hope, until he finally caved and came looking for another victim. JJ and Derek got to him first, trying to persuade him to drop his gun and come with them.

When it was finally all over, you felt equally ecstatic and exhausted. You couldn’t wait to crawl up onto a leather private jet chair and take an amazing nap. You were sad you didn’t get at least one night in the hotel. Something about hotels made Spencer get in a certain mood… even if you got a night away, there wasn’t much sleeping happening.

But you were grateful to be going home, at least until the next case popped up. You and Rossi were the only two that stayed back while the team went searching, wanting to be here in case any new bodies popped up. Rossi was wrapping up some paperwork with the other Agents out in the main room, and you paced back and forth in the conference room, hating the silence that was left when you were alone.

Rossi walked casually back to the conference room, and you could’ve sworn he had changed clothes. Maybe it was the extreme lack of sleep, but you could’ve sworn he didn’t look so… nice when he left the room.

“You ready to head to the airport? Everyone is gonna meet us there.” Rossi said, holding the door open for you.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure,” you responded, slightly confused at why the team didn’t come back here first. They usually did. But, everyone was tired and there really was no need to come back, you and Rossi had taken care of everything you needed to do to leave.

You followed Rossi down to the car, making small talk as he got in the driver’s seat and began heading away. You had only ever been to Vegas on trips for work, so you’d never really seen much of the city. It didn’t help that every street looked almost identical. You felt lost as you stared out the window, wondering how a young Spencer Reid could’ve survived in this massive city.

“Oh, before we get there, I just have to make one quick stop,” Rossi said, turning the turn signal on and pulling to the side of the road.

“Oh, uh, right now?” You questioned, jolting up as he hastily parallel parked the car.

“Yeah, it’ll be real quick. But, this isn’t a great part of town, so maybe you should come in with me…” He instructed, turning the car off and waiting for your answer.

“Um… I think I’ll be okay, Dave.” You laughed, rolling your eyes and turning to look at your phone.

“I really think you should come with me.”

“Are you not gonna go unless I do?”

“Pretty much.”

“Fine!” You rolled your eyes, opening the passenger door and getting out of the car. You stood on the sidewalk, standing angrily as you waited for Rossi to get out and walk to you.

“What are we even doing here-” you asked, turning around and getting smacked in the face with one of the cheesiest and most stereotypical Vegas chapels you had ever seen. Neon flashing lights, Elvis decor, cheap paint. It was amazing.

“Why the hell are we at a Chapel? Are Emily and JJ finally getting hitched?” You laughed, staring at disbelief at the building.

“Why don’t you just go inside…” Rossi instructed, waiting for you to enter the building so he could follow.

“Alright…” you responded, walking in the door and being immediately bombarded by JJ and Emily. They were in dresses, which made you even more confused.

“Come with us! You’ve gotta get ready!” JJ said, grabbing onto your arm and pulling you towards a door down the hallway.

“What is happening? Did we drink too many Margaritas at the taco place again…” you said, still being dragged against your will to a secret room.

And then you saw it. Emily opened the hideously pink painted door to a small dressing room, and in the middle was the single thing about your wedding that had gone right.

The dress. You found it a few months ago, and immediately knew it was the one. It was one of the first dresses you tried on, but you knew immediately it was the one for you.

“How did you… what is happening…”

“You’re gonna put the dress on, and then you’re gonna get married. That’s what's happening,” Emily shrugged, pushing you in the room.

“But… no… what about… and…” you stuttered, sitting down on the cigarette infused couch, the smell of stale smoke so strong it made you gag when you sat down.

“Okay, let’s not sit on that,” JJ laughed, pulling you up and away from the toxic furniture.

“I can’t get married. I’m not ready!” You protested, Emily stripping your clothes as you stood shocked.

“Just get in the dress, everything will be okay,” JJ assured you.

“No… I can’t…”

“Get in the dress, (Y/N), or I swear to God I will have to hurt you,” Emily joked, her eyes trying to be serious but a tiny smirk made it obvious.

“Fine. But I’m not happy about this.”

But then you put the dress on. And they were right. Everything made sense. You loved Spencer, and nothing mattered except marrying him, promising your life to him. The location, the guest list, the food… it didn’t matter. Your love mattered. He mattered.

“I’m ready,” you nodded, a few tears flowing down your cheek.

You walked out of the worst dressing room of all time, your dress dragging on the cheap shag carpet behind you. Emily handed you a bouquet of fake flowers, which made you and JJ laugh as you opened the doors to the chapel.

On the other end of a long red carpet was Spencer Reid, the one person you loved most in this world. He had on his suit, the one you designed in your head. You weren’t sure how he made it possible- you weren’t sure how he made any of this possible. But you couldn’t stop crying, a gush of hot tears flowing down your face as you walked anxiously down the aisle to your new forever.

“You are the most beautiful person in the world,” Spencer whispered to you, taking your hands as you reached the end of the aisle. JJ and Emily sat down next to the rest of the team, the only other guests in attendance. It was perfect, though. You couldn’t have imagined it any other way.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the love between (Y/N) and Spencer,” the man said. “Thank you all for coming to this beautiful celebration. Spencer and (Y/N) have decided to share their own vows.”

“Um, I don’t have my vows,” you sighed, looking around awkwardly at the crowd.

“Should’ve memorized 'em, like I did,” Spencer winked. You rolled your eyes in annoyance, lightly shoving Spencer on the arm.

“Do we need to do all this? I mean… I know you love me. I know I love you, and I hope you know that. I know that every small thing you do makes me fall more and more in love. And I can’t imagine any day of my life without you by my side. Can’t we just skip to the I do part and get married!” You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s waist and pulled him closer.

“I just want to say one thing before I kiss the bride. Nothing has mattered more to me than you since the moment we met. I would stop the world for you if I could. I wanted to do something to take away all your stress, and although I couldn’t do it perfectly, I think this is going pretty well.” Spencer smiled goofily at you, squeezing on your hand.

“Oh, the rings!” You squealed, looking around for the small box.

“Right here,” Derek smiled, handing the box to Spencer. “Best man duties.”

Spencer slipped the metal circle around your finger, his hands shaky as he slipped it on. You grabbed his ring from the box, putting it delicately on his hand, your heart racing, still unable to process what was happening.

“Is that it?” Spencer asked excitedly, looking up at the ordained Elvis, hoping to be married already.

“Well, I have to say one thing. I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your bride!”

Spencer wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. He kissed you excitedly, his lips moving rapidly with yours.

tags: @gayprentiss @blakeprentiss @bitchyreid @spncersreid @yesimaunicorn @slutforthegubes

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

true love

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: fluff && smut, bucky being a cheeky little shit and soft boy

word count: 2.7k

description: stripper au; bucky is a tease and honestly just such a gooey romantic. just a little snapshot.

A strip club before hours. Inside you’d find the dancers stretching, practicing new routines and a loop of the same song over and over again until they were satisfied or being forced to move onto something else. The servers are wiping down tables, setting up for bachelorette parties and straightening the chairs around the main stage. The host was cleaning the mirrors and the front door with Windex, knowing that they would just be covered with prints from hands and fingers an hour into the night.

The bar was being stocked, backup bottles. Fruit was being cut and sangria being prepped. Gallons of it. The clientele loved sangria. The cocktail of the night, special for the bride to be prepped for the bachelorette party, paid for in advance by the bottle. A sugar bomb of midori sour and vodka, cherries and club soda. Neon green and toxic, it made you gag just mixing it together.

It was the same thing every night. Another bachelorette party, another batch mixed drink, another stack of ones ready to be switched out for bigger bills the clients needed to break in order to stuff those dollar bills in the g-string of one of the many handsome performers that would take the stage tonight.

A destination strip club under the same corporation that owned Magic Mike, just on the east coast. It would be busy. But you and the other three bartenders were ready, the money was good here. Too good for you to ever consider leaving. And since the clientele was made in its entirety women and gay men, you felt safe working there. No sleazy guy on his sixth bud lite wanting to grab your ass as you cleaned up after his spilled beer. Granted some of the clients were still hellish, but you’d take not getting groped over being sexually harassed by bar patrons any day.

The lights would drop low soon, music pumping through the speakers as the DJ finishes setting up his booth. The endless grind from 8pm to 3am that would leave you ready for some diner food and bed.

“Boys!” You call, “What do you want?” Allowed a start of work drink, you called to the men standing on the stage.

“Anything you wanna give me sugar.” You glare at the first man to respond, his cheeky grin knowing how much you hated it when he called you sugar, how patronizing.

“Okay, everyone but Bucky,” You laugh, “What do you want?” The man in question slipping off the stage to walk over and help distribute shots.

“Why are you always so mean to me?” Pouting and arms crossed on the bar. You roll your eyes pouring the requests of green tea shots across the board. And an extra-large one for you and your favorite performer.

“Why are you always so annoying?” A rebuttal. But he loved it. He always does. Your shot glass clinking against his, tapping on the bar top and shot back in two.

“I love you.” He hums, stealing a kiss. The tip of his tongue brushing your bottom lip softly before pulling away and setting his shot glass in yours.

“I love you too.” A shared grin. “Have fun tonight.”

“Oh I will.” He’s cheeky, but it’s a part of him that you found so endearing.

A story you’re sure you’d tell the grandkids, how you met him in the first place. Back when you first started working here. He’d already been performing for a while. Back when you were waiting tables and having to deal with the sloppy drunk clients without a buffer of service bar in between.

Truly romantic how he’d been grinding himself against a woman in a bridal sash and giving you the same cheeky grin that he gives you now. You watched him grip himself through the silk thong and tripped and spilled your tray over a table and all the clients sitting there. An order to go get some air and you cried in the alley behind the building thinking that you were going to get fired and when his set was finished he came looking for you.

“They’re not going to fire you,” He soothed, pulling you into his arms, “You’re gonna be just fine.” You choked out nasty sobs into his chest, the thin zip hoodie he was wearing doing nothing to disguise the firm bare flesh underneath, you maybe pretended to have the need to be held a little longer than you actually did.

That incident was something he carefully held over your head to this day, a funny jab, especially after a night of seeing stars and loud moans. The paint chipped and wall worn where the headboard slammed into it. He wouldn’t paint over it as a matter of pride. A story of his sexual prowess and ability to bend you in half and make you cum so hard that you blackout or cry split on his dick.

He’d convinced you to go back into the club after you calmed down, he bought you a drink after the shift had ended, and then ate you out on his couch after you’d had pancakes at the diner below his apartment. And you’d been in love ever since.

That sick, ooey-gooey, no you hang up kind of love.

“You guys are so gross.” Nat bumped her hip against yours, grabbing the remaining shot glasses and sitting them in the dishwasher. You laugh.

The night began with body paint and blacklights. A steady pump of bass as each performer took the stage, they made their rounds around the room. Back curtains closing for private dances. The bar was full and service bar was popping, the tickets endless. The tip jar stuffed full. A good night. As bachelorette parties often were. They would take up a nice little section, the rest of the walk-ins and birthday parties, etc. taking up the rest of the space.

You could feel his eyes on you, the little games he liked to play at work. He knew you would look at him. The way he danced on stage, sinking down to let someone stick a dollar on his hip. The way he grabbed himself to the squeals of women.

The fucking tease, tugging his lip and meeting your eye. A playful smirk. Watching you shake a drink.

The first time he played this game was the day after he made you cum on his tongue, then his fingers, then his cock. Twice. As you wait tables, he would give you that little smirk, the grind of his hips, a brush against you as you walked around him with your tray. A playful tug on your skirt.

It would end with his back on the wood floor of his apartment, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise while you rode yourself to orgasm. Knees red and sore. And continue after eating a snack on his kitchen floor, your back now on the linoleum and your knees pressed to your chest while you dug your fingernails into his biceps and down his back. Something hastily fixed with concealer for his next performance.

Your friends outside of work didn’t quite understand how you could deal. “How could you be okay with him grinding himself over other people all night?” But you knew one thing more than anything else,

Bucky Barnes was such a simp.

He fucking loved you. And you knew it. He would never let you forget it. Bucky Barnes was the most affectionate, needy, clingy, I would die for you and all you have to do is ask kind of guy. He was the kind of guy to tell you that he missed you when you just went to the store. The kind of guy that would hop in the shower with you just because he wanted to wash your hair.

“I’m not worried.” You would laugh, “Not in the slightest.” And you knew you didn’t have to be. If the way he would hop up on your bar and tug on your hair mid dance was anything to say, him stuffing bills into your bra while you let a girl do a body shot out of his belly button. You didn’t care as much as those dollars and groping hands on his thick thighs you loved to ride would be paying your rent later.

These clients may be groping him now, but later on it’s your thighs that his head will be between.

It’s their money that will be sitting on your living room floor while both of you unwrinkled the freshly washed money. Their money you would use to buy groceries and pay for your portion of the family vacation you were going on in a few months with the Barnes clan.

The shift ends and you’re left cleaning up. With three other pairs of hands it’s quick work, but burning the ice takes a minute, long enough for Bucky to already be sitting down in front of the bar and sorting your tips out for you, sipping on an after shift drink the two of you were sharing.

“We going to Norma’s?” As the other men sunk down behind the bar, a few waving their goodbyes on their way out the door.

“Sam.” Bucky looked at his friend, “We go to Norma’s every night and every night you ask if we are going.”

“It’s because he likes that waitress.” Nat grinned, flipping the dishwasher on to run the bar mats. A glare from Sam,

“I love that waitress.” The bumbling idiot fawned over her and always tipped her $50 on his $8 patty melt. A shared laugh,

“You’ve asked her out, how many times now?” Steve, thankful for the leftover sangria in front of him, took a sip.

“Just like four, five maybe.” Bucky lifted the pint glass, salt lining the rim and a few granules left on his bottom lip. “This margarita is good sweetheart.” A recipe you found online, something new you’d wanted to try. You hum, taking a sip and nodding. “She doesn’t like you.” Directed at Sam. “You need to stop making her job so difficult, you’re a creep.”

“Am I a creep?” Sam looks between you and Nat. The two of you sharing a look and nodding.

“No one wants to get hit on while they’re working.” You laugh, “That’s all.” He huffs, leaning against the back of the bar stool.

“You guys got any of that neon shit left?” The last little bit of the bachelorette slosh at the bottom of the Cambro. Poured in a glass for him with an apologetic smile.

“I already burned the ice.” He muscled it down.

Bucky’s hand in your back pocket with you tucked into his side you entered the familiar diner and slipped into your usual booth, a playful squeeze to your ass before you sunk down next to each other. Sam, Nat, and Steve across.

His hand settles on your thigh as the waitress Sam was in love with brought over two pitchers of water and glasses, more to make her job easier because these boys were thirsty at the end of the night after performing for hours on end.

A minute later she’d return with a couple sodas and take the order. Sam looking dutifully down at his phone and trying to avoid her eyes.

“You can act like a normal person.” You laugh, our leg going across Bucky’s thigh. “You’re acting like even more of a weirdo.”

“Just relax.” Nat’s hand smoothed over Sam’s arm and he lets out a deep breath. “Don’t be weird.” Easier said than done, he took the fact that you told him not to flirt with her as erasing his whole personality.

“You’ve ruined him.” Steve sipped his water, “The both of you.” A pout to stern Dad-Steve, and he rolled his eyes with a smirk, leaning against the booth and throwing an arm over the back. “He’ll never be able to perform again.”

“Fuck all of you.” Sam glared as peals of laughter broke out at the table. A shift as you felt Bucky’s fingers play with the hem of your shorts. Dipping under a little bit. Your hand slips down and grabs his, pulling his hand away with a playful glare.

“Stop.” Whispered between you as Sam pretended to cry and Nat seemed about done with it.

“I wanna play.” A kiss on your lips. You shake your head and roll your eyes, directing your attention back to your friends.

“Later.”

Later would find him on his back lips red bitten and swollen from kissing as you yank his jeans down his legs, leaving him in just his briefs, the hard outline of his cock pressing against them. Your shorts and panties tugged down your legs, crawling over him to hover over his face. His arms wrapping around your thighs and bringing you down to his mouth.

The grind of your hips on his tongue and the rough stubble burning your thighs. Those moans vibrating against your clit, panting moans coming from your mouth as you grip the headboard and find the friction your need to cum. Working out your aftershocks on his tongue.

A shift of position would find your back against the mattress, your legs over his arms and hooked into his elbows, the blunt head of his cock circling your entrance with the teasing roll of his hips. His mouth against yours, sucking on your tongue and tugging your bottom lip between his teeth.

He starts off slow. A gasp into his mouth as he bottoms out, the tip of him brushing your cervix before he pulls almost all the way out, playing with short and fast thrusts against your g-spot. This was his major source of pride, having you drooling and stupid with lust under him, eyes rolling and nails digging into his back, clawing at his biceps, twisted in the sheets by your head while he rolls one of your nipples on his tongue.

The headboard slamming as you gush around his cock, the signal he needs to start thrusting in deeper to chase his own pleasure. Leaning back onto his heels and pressing your legs together, wrapping his arm around them and laying a kiss to your ankle. His red mouth panting as his hips slapped against yours. Your fingers dipping between your bodies to slap against your clit a couple times, the pleasure being too much. He pushes your hand out of the way, hand laying over your mons and thumb pressing against your clit, moving in tight circles.

“So fucking good for me baby.” A pant against your calf. “One more.” A groan, “Just one more.” You sob from the over-sensitivity as he brought you to one more orgasm, the towel laid out on the bed being put to good use as you squirt on his cock. His hips not relenting until you feel him cum, your legs shaking on his shoulders.

A kiss to your ankles. His hands massaging your legs as you come down. He lays himself on top of you, shifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he meets your lips once, twice, soft, “I love you.” And then with his head on your chest. You reason in that moment, and in every moment, that he was the best thing that ever happened to you.

Finding the club was the best thing that ever happened to you.

“You’re just so handsome.” Your hand on your fist, resting your elbow on the table, looking at him in admiration.

He grins around the lip of his coffee cup and softly massages your foot that was in his lap. The morning found you in the same diner as the night previous, enjoying what would be lunch for other people, but breakfast for the two of you.

“You’re just so beautiful.” His hand meeting yours on the table, a soft squeeze. “I love you.” Bringing his hand to your lips,

“I love you too.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #natasha romanov #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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halo-jpeg · 3 years

Text

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 2

Richie's phone buzzed. Instantaneously, his phone was out of his pocket and into his hand, and he opted to check the message rather than watch the sidewalk ahead of him. A grin split his face and he caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth, biting down on that instead of letting out an excited little squeal. The text was from an unknown number and read,

Hi, it's Bill from the coffee shop. Can I get the party information?

With another three guests set to come, Richie was all the more anticipated. That brought the list of guests up to an even 40. With flying thumbs, Richie tapped back his answer consisting of his address and the time the party was starting before saving the number into his phone underneath the name 'Stuttering Bill'. The phone was slid back into the pocket of his jeans. A stiff breeze whisked past him, and he almost felt cold enough to shiver, pulling the edges of his arcade-floor print button-up closer together in an attempt to shield himself. The sky overhead was a pale grey, promising rain soon to come and snow, too, in no time at all. It was nearly November, and while the snow usually fell heaviest from December to January it was no rare occurrence for it to make an early appearance just for a week or two. Again, Richie's phone buzzed.

Thanks. Any snacks we should bring?

For a moment, Richie pondered. He had a perfect reply locked and loaded but didn't know if it was too soon for this kind of joke. What he wanted to say was 'only yourself, hot stuff' and maybe he'd throw in a 'and the short one too' but he quickly decided he didn't want these three random people to hate his guts too quickly on the off chance that they weren't okay with guy-on-guy flirtation like that. Instead of one of the many cruddy pickup lines he has ready to go he says,

No pressure, unless you want something for yourself.

As Richie puts his phone away yet again he found himself right where he wanted to be, the lovely little family-run grocery store known as 'Hanlon Grocer'. The people inside actually tolerated him and took the time out of their days to run 50 bags of Doritos through the checkout, when a few other places he'd been to for party snack stocking had actually turned him away- it also helped that the owners son was one of his best pals. He stepped through the door, running a quick hand through his slightly wind-swept hair. Almost immediately he was greeted by the young lady currently working the register, the younger cousin of Mike Hanlon herself, Jennifer Hanlon.

"Morning, Richie," She greeted with a casual wave, attention temporarily stolen from the book she had open in front of her, "Mike tells me you're having a party tonight. I'm guessing that's why you're here?"

"You're a cunning one, Jenny!" Richie leaned against the counter, his radiant smile making him look something close to insane, "I have about an entire aisle of soda to buy from you!" Jenny smiled back at him, plucking her bookmark from the counter and slipping it into place. She closed the book, sliding it aside, and Richie caught sight of the cover- The Prestige, by Christopher Priest. It was a new one that Mike had been reading a few weeks back.

"Well, Mike's somewhere here. If you flash him that million-dollar smile maybe you can get him to help you carry some things." Richie clapped his hands together, and took a step back.

"Thanks a billion, Jen- I'll see you shortly, I'm sure. Get those scanning hands ready, I'll have quite the haul," Richie took a few more steps backwards, still talking to Jenny as he made his way further into the store, "I really hope you don't mind me always making such a big fuss!"

"Pshh," Jenny waves a hand, "You're our top customer, Rich, I could never mind!" And, with that, Richie spun on his heel, leaving Jenny to return to her fine literature so he could go pack his arms full of snacks, too many to carry for one man alone. Lucky for him, just as he was about to disappear into an aisle in search of his friend, Mike stepped out into view from nearer the produce section, catching Richie's eye.

"Sure an begorahh, me ole' laddie Mr. O'Hanlon, sor!" Richie danced along the linoleum tiles, trying both to stomp and float at the same time, graceful and intimidating as his Irish Cop, "Doh ye mind lendin' me a hand 'er two?" At once Mike set aside the crate of cans he'd been carrying, meaning to restock some shelves- in Mike's mind, that could wait.

"Morning, Richie," He greeted as he stepped away from the crate, instead beckoning with his head for Richie to follow him towards the primary snacks isle, "Putting off shopping til last minute again? Do I have to tell you it might be a little more wise to get this done a week or so in advance in case you forget anything?" Mike glances over at Richie, his eyes alight with a teasing mischief as they turn left into isle 6.

"No, my good sir, you do not." Richie clasps his hands together as he speaks, leaning over just slightly to rake his gaze across the bottom shelf. One bag after the other, he scanned in search of just what he wanted and- aha, there it was, the barbecue chips, and, more precisely, the Lays barbecue chips.

"I called in for an extra order of those just for you," Mike gave Richie's shoulder a gentle push, which Richie returned with one of his own.

"Oh, you!" He was now the Southern Belle, a hand spread on his chest as he batted his eyelashes, "You really shouldn't have, Sir Michael, you are just too kind!" With that, the charade was abandoned and Richie dropped to his knees, none-too-graciously jamming his absurdly long arms onto either side of the rows of barbecue chips. As if they were his bride, he scooped them up, holding them with as much care as he would if this metaphor were true.

"Do you... want a basket?" Mike was snickering to himself, one hand lifted to hover over his toothy grin, the other planted on his hip. "Let me get you a basket." Richie was left alone for a second as Mike hurried away. Right, a basket- that... that could have been smart, Richie thinks to himself, but he isn't always too smart. Case in point, instead of recognizing that his arms were way too full and he couldn't carry anything else, he got distracted by the rows of chocolate bars and hobbled his way over there. A box of Atomic Fireballs sat in the midst of the candy, basically begging him to buy them. Against his better judgement, he tried to free up one hand enough to snag the candy.

-----

Eddie's gaze darted back and forth between two different cereal boxes- the classic Corn Flakes or the new Special K. One had less sugar, the other less calories, and he would be getting about the same amount of cereal for the same price but- All of a sudden, Eddie's careful thinking is interrupted by a crash, and he leaps nearly three feet in the air at the sound of it, letting out a horribly embarrassing sound like a quite shriek. Both cereal boxes went to the ground and he suddenly didn't care about them any more. A sound like that couldn't possibly mean anything good, could it? Someone might have been hurt and he has the equipment with him right now to help them on some minimal scale. Eddie hurried forwards, exiting his aisle and heading straight for the source of the noise in aisle six. As he sped around the corner, he came skidding to a halt for just a moment before pushing forwards once more and stopping at the side of someone covered in a mixture of chip bags, candies, and metal.

"Shit, are you okay? Anything hurt? Here, let me help-" A little metal rack in the center of the aisle had been pulled over onto the poor guy trapped underneath, one rung jabbed against his ribs in a manner that couldn't possibly be comfortable. Eddie fastened his hands around the rack as best he could, pulling it off and away as quickly as possible. As soon as it was pushed aside his full attention went back to whoever had been trapped underneath, and a gust of familiarity punched him right in the stomach. The only one Eddie had ever seen wearing those wretched thick-framed glasses had been the coffee guy from the night before. Eddie brushed away the pang of annoyance in his gut and helped brush bags of barbecue chips aside to pull the barista into a sitting position.

"Ah, thanks," The guy said with a chuckle, pushing his glasses up and reaching for one of the bags of chips. He frowned as he picked it up, suspecting it for damage and most likely discovering that at least half of it's contents were crushed, "My bad for the trouble, my long-ass limbs sometimes get the-" He paused, finally looking up at Eddie, and then his own eyes lit with recognition and he was grinning like a maniac. "Hey, I know you! New guy! Eds!" Eddie fought the urge to roll his eyes at the nickname, brushing right past him.

"Are you okay? Hurt at all? Do I need to call a doctor? When did you last get a tetanus shot? Are you bleeding anywhere?" Eddie was already moving to unzip his trusty fanny pack, knowing he had butterfly tape, disinfectant, bandages and all things alike just inside. "How are you feeling? Dizzy at all? You might have hit your head or something and-"

"Hey, calm down there buddy, you'll give yourself an aneurysm if you don't stop and take a breath!" The barista was chuckling again, hands held out in front of him in some attempt to calm Eddie's already-racing thoughts. Worst case scenarios sprung up left and right, the current most prominent possibility being that this goof could get some sort of instantaneous infection that would transform him into a zombie, "I'm just fine, actually. I've taken quite a few tumbles in my day and this is nothin'. If anything, I'd be more concerned for the chips!" He went to climb to his feet, and Eddie was almost reluctant to allow that. Maybe he'd throw out his back or tear a muscle or fall again- he shoved the thoughts away and instead just stood as well. "Thanks, Eds," The guy said with a big glowing grin and a shrug of his shoulders, one hand rising to scratch at the back of his neck, "If I'd known you were here to save the day I'd have fallen sooner! My knight in shining armor!"

"Don't-" Eddie began, biting his tongue and then finally snapping out, "Don't call me Eds! And for the love of God, don't go getting yourself hurt just for the hell of it. That's stupid. You could have broken something!" Crossing his arms over his chest, Eddie huffed out a breath, shaking his head out of disapproval. Eddie's damsel in distress opened his mouth to speak when a new voice sliced in and someone Eddie hadn't seen before hurried around the corner with concern etched into his every feature and a shopping basket slung over one arm.

"Richie, what- What happened? You okay?" He approached quickly, glancing briefly at Eddie before his full attention went to Mr. Damsel- or, otherwise, Richie. Richie shot two thumbs ups.

"I'm great, Mikey, my good pal Eddie came to help me up."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mikey set down his basket and turned to Eddie instead, extending a hand and a friendly smile, "I'm Mike. I didn't mean to intrude if you two were talking, but Rich tends to get himself hurt more than the average human male. It's second nature now to fret over him." Richie let out a scoff, adopting a dramatic frown and upturning his nose.

"It's really hard to control my noodle arms, thank you very much! And, come on, did you really expect me not to go for the Fireballs? The heart wants what it wants, doesn't it?" Eddie let Mike's hand go and, feeling a little bit awkward now to be talking to these near-strangers, said,

"Well, it's nice to meet you. I, uh... I guess I'll be seeing you again later tonight at the party," Eddie tried to smile, "Don't go knocking over any more display shelves." Eddie was just about to turn and hurry away, just about to get out of the social interaction when none other than Bill appeared down the hall, a grocery basket hanging off his arm, obviously curious and with Stan at his side. Bill spotted Richie, Richie spotted Bill, and then the latter was approaching with his Big Bill smile.

"Oh, hey!" He greeted, nodding cheerfully in Mike's direction as well, "It's you again! I juh-just wanted to thank you fuh-for the invitation to your party." The best thing Eddie thinks Bill has ever done is draw the attention away from him. He has a tendency to do that- most eyes shift right for him when he enters the room, as if everyone sense that he is the leader. That's alright, in Eddie's opinion, because he could never be a leader and is much more content to be a follower hiding in the shadows. Now, both Richie, Mike and Bill are locked in conversation, much more friendly and natural than the one Eddie had been caught in moments earlier. Stan takes a few subtle steps towards his much shorter friend, leaning over a little to hiss out a whisper,

"They'll be talking for hours, I can already tell." Eddie found himself smiling and nodding right along. Stan was absolutely correct. The chemistry that was already brewing was that foretelling of three great friends. "Interested in coming with me to look at the bakery? I can smell it from here and I want to see what they have." Eddie only smiles wider. He nods his head without seconds thought, only trying for a second or two to catch Bill's gaze before just giving up and following Stan out of the hallway and towards the back of the building. Matching him step for step, the two picked up a much more comfortable, much more pleasant conversation that Eddie actually enjoyed having. "The curly haired one sure talks a lot. What are the chances that we're seeing him again today? How many grocery stores are there in Portland?"

"Apparently just the one. Some higher power must hate me to make me run into him again." Eddie rolled his eyes dramatically, and Stan let out a snicker, gently bumping his elbow into Eddie's and quirking a brow. In return, Eddie's own brows bent down into a questioning furrow. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face or something?" One hand lifted to wipe at his cheek but it came back clean. Stan just shook his head, a small smile ghosting his lips as they arrived at the bakery. "Oh sweet, sesame bagels!" His attention redirected, Eddie dismissed the odd look and moved to stand right in front of the glass, hovering over it and scanning it's contents but never putting his hands on it. That was icky, in his opinion- Stan was at his side moments later, scanning over the iced sweets just next to the bagels that had caught Eddie's eye.

"What do you want to bet Bill won't want us wasting our money on any of this?" Stan said with a grin, gaze still glued to a tantalizing slice of carrot cake.

"My soul. How much extra cash do we have to waste?" No one needed to speak another word. The two made a silent agreement- buy whatever the hell you want and defend your purchase with your life. Neither Stan nor Eddie would let Bill scold them for this. They deserved some sort of 'welcome to Portland' treat. In the end, they were both walking away with quite the haul- Eddie had secured a bag of six of those sesame bagels, and Stan had bought the carrot cake along with a loaf of banana bread. Just as Stan passed over the cash needed to pay for the treats, Bill stepped into view, hurrying in their direction with his grocery basket filled with whatever other food the three needed to last them a week.

"Wuh-what did you two get your hands on?" Bill doesn't waste a minute to start interrogating, though the smile on his face betrays his attempts at scolding the two. He doesn't even make them explain themselves, jumping to the next topic right after and beckoning with his head for the two to follow him towards the checkouts, "We should cuh-come here from now on. I like supporting luh-luh-local businesses. It's good for the economy or something, and Mike is n-nice." Eddie almost let out a groan- that was the last thing he wanted, because then he risked running into Richie again. It seemed he and Mike, one of the grocers, were good friends. Why else would he be worried for Richie's well being? Still, Eddie bit his tongue, instead answering with something less rude and more civil.

"We could, or we could go to a bigger store. They'd have more options- we'd probably get better deals, too." Clutching his bag of sesame bagels and hoping Bill would take the bait, he continued in his attempts to convince him, "Here, they've only got so many different things. If we went to the Superstore a ways away we could pick out healthier foods and stuff and probably save a ton of money."

"Eh," Stan answered rather than Bill, holding a hand out in the redheads direction to silently offer a turn carrying the basket, "I like it here. It's quiet, and it's all family run. There'll be less processed items available. You hate processed foods, Eddie, you should love it here- it's all organic." For some odd reason Eddie felt like Stan was maybe... plotting something? The curly-haired boy seemed awfully suspicious. Usually, he just went along with whatever else was decided, and rarely bothered to help in decision making. He never minded what Bill or Eddie chose because, as far as he was concerned, they were both logical and made great decisions. Alarm bells rang in Eddie's head and curiosity began to bubble within him. What was Stanley getting at?

"Luh-let's see how everything plays out. Maybe w-we'll end up going somewhere else next w-week, buh-but we don't ne-need to decide r-ruh-right now." The three arrived at the till.

"Good morning," The lady behind it looked about their age, with bright eyes and glowing sepia skin, her hair frizzy and light, like a cloud around her head. Her name tag read 'Jennifer'. "Chilly day today, isn't it?" Jennifer got right to work, not even glancing down at her hands as she scanned one item and then the next in rapid succession with memorized ease. Bill and her picked up a natural conversation, his great people skills showing through now more than ever. Bill brought up Mike, and the three found out that he was Jennifer's cousin- they also discovered that hers and Mike's grandparents owned the store and kept it running smoothly. Before they knew it, everything was bagged and ready to go. Stan, Bill and Eddie distributed the bags between them, said their goodbyes to the kind girl behind the counter, and made for the doors. The chill that had been in the air when Eddie had first arrived had eased, just a little. The sun peaked out timidly from behind thickening swaths of darkened clouds, and the taste of rain hung heavy on the breeze.

"We should get a cab. I swear to God, if it starts raining and I catch a cold I'm blaming it on you guys." Eddie grimaced as he looked up towards the sky, and the three set off back in the direction of home.

"What are we doing for the rest of the day?" Stan asked, staring up and around at all of the buildings lining the street, taking in every little detail Portland had to offer. Bill was doing just the same as he answered,

"I have nuh-nothing planned. I might take a n-nap or suh-humthing like that before the party." Eddie let out something akin to a scoff, though it sounded more surprised than hostile or anything negative like that.

"Don't you still have unpacking to do? You can't seriously be finished, can you?" Bill shrugged his shoulders, shuffling his grocery bags from one hand to the other. Eddie took that as a sign that Bill was, in fact, done with his unpacking. How, Eddie had no idea- shit, he's hardly finished half of his, and Stan couldn't possibly be done either with how much of a perfectionist he was. As if to prove Eddie wrong, Stan spoke next.

"I finished earlier this morning. You aren't done? How much do you have?" Eddie had brought his biggest suitcase from back home. After all, he had basically taken everything he owned with him; his entire closet, his whole medicine cabinet, more miscellaneous things like some toxin-free cleaning supplies- getting everything into a convenient spot (and needing to clean those convenient spots first) took time and effort and Eddie tended to get distracted. It made sense that he wasn't done yet, but he hadn't expected the other two to have finished so quickly. "That's alright, it's fine," Stan continued, cutting into Eddie's thoughts, "I can help you if you want me to?" Eddie was quick to deny that offer.

"Thanks, but I'm more than capable of putting my own shit away. You guys can do whatever- don't worry about me." Sooner or later, the three arrived back at home, and Bill offered to unload to groceries which left Eddie to get right to work. When they arrived back up in their apartment, Eddie dropped his grocery bags in the new, untouched kitchen and dismissed himself to head for his room. Straight down the hall from the kitchen sat Eddie's door, and behind that, his bedroom, perfectly neat and tidy. As he stepped inside, he took in the sight of it all again with a burst of pride- this was his room, and he finally had the privacy he had always craved. To the direct left of the door sat a small set of drawers with a sizable mirror mounted just above it. Facing those drawers was the king-sized bed fitted with sleek grey sheets and a whole seven pillows of different sizes. Underneath the bed was a rug, the floor a pale hardwood- two bedside tables sat on either side of the bed and a door to the closet was to his right. Finally, the piece de resistance were the large double-doors that led to his own private balcony- since Bill's room had an ensuite and Stan had a walk-in closet, he had scored the balcony and he was more than excited.

At last, Eddie stepped into his room, pushing the door near-shut behind him. The white, cold light filtering in through the glass panes of the balcony doors washed everything around him in a pale luminescence. Any minute now, he was certain, rain would start to fall, and he was glad to have made it home before getting caught in it. Eddie made for his suitcase, which was set at the foot of his bed. It was huge, silver, heavy-duty and still half-full despite a whole hour of unpacking. Pushing it onto it's side, Eddie pulled on the zipper and flipped open the top, not wasting a minute as he began to pick out the pharmaceuticals tucked within. Despite escaping his mother, he hadn't escaped old habits- paranoia still gnawed at his insides whenever he thought of sickness, his own weakened immune system- he pushed the thoughts away and began to arrange his assortment of emergency medications on top of the drawers. As he did so, he stared at his reflection in the mirror- the fear of sickness was, at once, forgotten. Instead, he found himself soaking in the feeling of his newfound independence. Eddie had finally left the nest for good.

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kafka-ish · 4 years

Text

brother | r.t.

can boys and girls be friends without attached feelings?

word count: 2.1k

warnings/included: angst(?), college AU, fem!reader

a/n: based off of this song

Richie Tozier sat in the parking lot of USC’s Law Department. Become a Lawyer his mom said. You’ll make a lot of money his dad said. It only took two weeks into his freshman year of college for Richie to figure out that he actually hated the judicial system and to hell with it. He was about to light a cigarette even though he pledged to quit months ago: the last day of senior year.

He and the rest of the Losers were hanging by the quarry. Beverly was sitting on the hood of Bill’s car, slathering sunscreen on her sensitive skin because she burns easily. Ben sat with her, his arm itching to wrap itself around her pale shoulder. Bill, Eddie, and Stan were playing cards and Mike had to monitor them for cheating. Richie would’ve joined, but he didn’t want to get up from his position that overlooked the quarry’s water hole. He was laying down on the rocks, eyes closed and shades on, in place of his usual glasses.

“I think I’m gonna quit smokin’,” he announced with a certain proudness that his voice normally did not hold.

“O-oh yeah? How l-long’s that gonna luh-last?” Bill looked up from his cards, giving Eddie a chance to sneak a peak.

“I saw that, Eddie!” Mike Hanlon called from above and Eddie flinched.

“Cripes. Warn a guy before you yell first.”

Four months. It lasted four months, Big Bill, as Richie took out his BIC. He had to mess with it a few times to get the flame to startup. He always preferred matches, but the black lighter with flame stickers he kept in his shirt pocker was cooler.

A yellow-orange heat finally flicked the contraption to life when, at the same time, his Nokia 232 buzzed against the gearshift.

Four months and one day.

The small flame died in Richie’s hand that was now pressing his phone to his ear with no hesitation.

“Rich the Dick Tozier speaking, how can I help you?” Sure, it wasn’t the most professional way to answer a phone call, but who was anyone to call Richie Tozier a professional guy?”

“Hey, Richie!” It was y/n. y/n the girl who sat in front of him in his English class. y/n the girl who wore parkas in fucking California because it’s for the fashion and you wouldn’t understand. y/n the girl who got drunk off her ass at the first party of the year—which, ironically, was where they met.

The parties in college were spectacularly different from the parties Richie would go to in high school. More so, the parties in California were more… insane. Wild. The booze was exponentially more expensive—nothing that Bill would ever think of getting at his own. And the girls could closely be mistaken for a Hollywood child star.

Nothing like the parties in Derry Richie thought to himself as he drunkenly swept through the halls of a fucking Mansion. He didn’t realize his feet were working properly until he looked down, seeing as he was standing on all fours—all twos. How he was still standing up remained a mystery to him because he must’ve had ten shots of vodka that was worth more than his entire being and future.

Before him, when he entered the billiard room, stood a girl even drunker than him (somehow). She stood on the pool table, laughing above the crowd of frat boys who were yelling to take your damn shirt off already! And c’mon don’t be a prude. They surrounded her like dogs fighting for the last strip of steak until Richie stepped in.

“A little drunk to be standing on the edge like that.” He took a swig from his red solo cup. “Here, sweetheart, lemme help you down.” He offered her an unsteady hand only to be brushed away like a speck of dust on a grandfather clock.

“I can help myself,” y/n said. She got down from the pool table by sitting on the ledge first, then letting each foot touch the ground one at a time. “See?” She steadied herself using his shoulder and looked up at him with a smirk that let him know they were going to be friends.

And they were friends.

y/n was overjoyed when she found out Richie was in one out of her five classes and Richie was just happy to be able to talk someone’s ear off without them rolling their eyes or giving him the side-eye.

“Hey, y/n/n,” Richie said, mimicking the same enthusiasm from across the speaker. “What’re you up to?”

“Besides calling you?” Richie felt himself beginning to laugh but it felt wrong to do so. As cheery as y/n sounded, there was something off.

“Are you okay?” Richie blurted out, but he couldn’t help himself. It was in his nature; always looking out for y/n; always taking care of her.

“I’m fine, Tozier.” She laughed but he could tell it was fake. The way her voice was still summer in the crisp of fall was fake. The whole call was fake. “You just love checking in on me don’t ya.” Another giggle left the speaker—covering the cracks in her voice, or a sob.

“No, really.” His hand left the phone—his shoulder and cheek propping the device up against his ear—and reached for the gearshift. “How are you?”

Static. But Richie had been over at her place thousands of times before—not needing to ask for her address or pull out a map for directions. And Richie was right (he was always right) when he burst through the wooden door of y/n’s small, but somehow spacious, Los Angeles apartment.

“y/n, I know you’re in there,” Richie said, followed by three curt knocks. His shoulder slumped against the door and he sighed. “y/n, don’t make me go all big bad wolf on your little ol’ door.” He looked down to see the welcoming mat where guests were supposed to wipe their shoes off.

There’s No Place Like Home

A short laugh bounced off the walls from inside and Richie took that as his queue. His hand had a firm grasp around the bronze doorknob, refreshing from the California air. He jangled it, only for the structure to not budge, like it didn’t give a damn that he had to get inside.

“Dammit, y/n/n, get off your goddamned high horse and open the door.”

Richie was never one for words, but at these, the lock broke in and in slipped Richie. It was as if the door had heard his cries and complied—feeling sorry for the boy. But the mysteriousness of y/n’s apartment door didn’t matter when Richie’s eyes caught y/n’s figure—or lack of one. She sat on the leather couch which was a moving present from her parents (“We know how expensive it can be; being a young adult with college expenses. Wow, to think, my baby’s all grown up.”), wrapped in a blanket, burrito style. Even fro six feet away (approximately), Richie could see the tears welling in her eyes and the snot spilling from her nose.

“Richie Tozier, can you ever learn to take a goddamn hint?” y/n’s voice was far too weak to show any sign of malicious intent. He stood in front of her, tentative but also caring. He wanted to help. He just didn’t know how.

“I am taking the hint.” Richie sat down next to the bundle of blankets. He sat close, so close that if y/n’s feet were on the floor, his knees would’ve touched hers. She could smell his mint deodorant and cheap cologne; or maybe she was just so used to having him next to her, that was what she knew he smelled like. y/n smelled like this month’s body wash. Orange blossom. She must’ve taken an extra-long soak today. She always did when something was wrong. “I know you want me here, toots. Otherwise, you wouldn’t’ve called.”

Richie was right and at the moment y/n hated him for being able to read her mind.

She was about to tell him off but a strangled cry left her lips instead. Richie didn’t need to ask what was wrong to know what was wrong. Besides, it would be cruel—condescending—to put a filter over his voice the way you’d talk to a terrier or a baby and ask what’s wrong?

It was clear what was wrong. Judging by the two-hour-long bath she had taken beforehand and off-brand, empty Ben & Jerry’s container on her coffee table: her piece of shit boyfriend had just dumped her. Richie never liked Brandon, y/n’s so-called (now ex) boyfriend. But it could’ve been the other way around, too. His over-gelled head was always stuck in his Levi 512’s and the only time Richie saw that pompous smirk leave his lips was when he walked in on him and y/n kissing. Gag. But y/n had the right to be upset about getting dumped—even if it was by a perpetual twerp who never passed up the chance to brag about his perfect SAT score (wake up, buddy, we all got into the same college).

Richie sat waiting for a reply he was never going to get because y/n was too busy blowing her nose into the sleeve of her robe.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Carefully, Richie unwrapped y/n from the cocoon, similarly to how a cautious child unwraps their presents. “You don’t need Brandon. You don’t need anyone.” It was true. She didn’t need anyone, and if anything people needed her. “You’re y/n.” He spoke the two words with such sureness—confidence. She was y/n, and if that’s not enough for them to see, then they’re delusional.

“How do you know?” She asked. Even if it was just a college boyfriend—her first college boyfriend—it still hurt like hell. The thought of being not wanted. Knowing it was her; that she couldn’t just fix whatever her lover didn’t like that ended up pushing him off the edge. He just didn’t like her.

Of course, she didn’t love Brandon. She didn’t love the way his hair was always stiff and she couldn’t comb her fingers through it the way she did Richie’s. She didn’t love him finding an excuse to say hello to the next blonde he saw whenever they went to parties together. She didn’t love Brandon, and Brandon apparently didn’t love her. But if Brandon didn’t love her, then who would?

Maybe the answer was staring her down right in front of her, or pressing against her shoulder as Richie bent down to pick up the empty ice cream carton. “You are y/n, right?” Richie asked in attempts to bring her spirits up.

And he did.

y/n’s eyes crinkled as she smiled and she chocked on her breath at the laugh she tried to hold in. “Do you think I’m an impostor?”

“Who knows?” Richie sat back down. His shoulder brushed her covered one and his head fell back to look at the ceiling. “Plastic surgery is pretty popular these days. Especially in La City of Angels.” He turned to face her now—a tear-free y/n that stared back at him. Her eyes were much lighter than before and her skin looked like it had just been kissed. By who?

“You’re an angel,” y/n said unexpectedly. Well, this was a turn of events. Richie managed to suppress his cough—a usual reaction that’d take place when he was surprised.

He pulled on the collar of his band-tee (Rock On, AC/DC!) because it was all of the sudden hard to breathe in this small LA apartment of y/n’s. He felt his pulse quicken under the skin of his wrist and neck. A line of sweat was forming beneath his browbone. Oftentimes, it was hard to differentiate if California was undergoing an unforeseen heatwave or if Richie was just drawing a fever. But summer had passed and Richie hand’t gotten sick in years, even if it was just a head cold.

Richie sat there, speechless, and wondered. He wondered why, out of all the nicknames in the world, he hasn’t called y/n baby yet. It was always babe or honey, but never baby. Why was that? Hypothetically, he could call her that. He could call her a lot of things—like his. So why didn’t he? Why had he never asked y/n out?

But it occurred to him, as y/n tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, that y/n was hurting. She needed a friend and nothing more. A brother, per se. He could sense her lean in. For a kiss, perhaps? But Richie was quick to dodge and cup her face in his large palm. An intimate action, sure, but their relationship was far from it.

“Look, y/n/n.” His breath hit her face. It was warm and felt like home. “You’re hurting right now.” His thumb rubbed along her jawline. “We’re just friends, right?”

“Friends,” y/n echoed back to him. And while she wasn’t completely convinced with the words coming from Richie Tozier’s mouth, she’d agree with him for his sake.

#richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x reader fluff #richie tozier x reader angst #richie tozier x reader fanfiction #richie tozier fluff #richie tozier angst #it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #richie tozier imagine

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not-a-space-alien · 4 years

Text

[Best attempt at] A summary of The Magnus Archives. Contains major spoilers up through the most recent episode (168: Roots).

A kind soul wrote this out for me and put it in my submissions box to help me understand the Magnus Archives. THANK YOU SO MUCH and SORRY it took me so long to publish this Dx

Major spoilers ahead for anyone else who wants to read!! But this helped me a lot and I feel like I could keep listening now! Thanks again!!!

Basic worldbuilding details: There are 14 extra-dimensional Entities that feed on fear (Eye, Web, Corruption, Stranger, Spiral, Hunt, Slaughter, End, Vast, Buried, Desolation, Lonely, Dark, Flesh). Various people serve them, and are trying to bring about apocalypses by bringing them into our dimension.

A Victorian guy named Jonah Magnus thought serving the Eye and bringing about its apocalypse would make him immortal. Through trial and error he learned that an Entity cannot be brought through alone, and he needs to bring through all 14 at once. To accomplish this, he needs to take someone (The Archivist) and have them experience EVERY entity - "experience" in this case means "be afraid it's about to kill them."

Until he manages that, he's been possessing various people over the years by means of sticking his own eyeballs in their heads. When the show starts he's possessing Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute.

SEASON ONE: Jonathan Sims becomes the Head Archivist after Gertrude Robinson dies. He's set out to make audio copies of all the statements in the Archives, and he uses a tape recorder for the ones we hear because they won't record digitally. He has three assistants, Tim, Sasha, and Martin. He trusts Tim and Sasha but thinks Martin is incompetent.

Martin gets attacked by Jane Prentiss, who is infested by parasitic worms. Jon lets him live in the Archives because it's safer than going home. The worms start showing up around the Institute, but don't attack anyone (yet).

Sasha meets a man(?) named Michael and learns that the worms can be killed with CO2 gas. They start stocking up on fire extinguishers.

Two deliverymen named Breekon and Hope deliver a spooky table and a cigarette lighter with a spiderweb design on it to the Archives.

Jon smashes a hole in the wall of his office trying to kill a spider, and finds a network of tunnels under the Institute. The tunnels are filled with worms, which attack. Over the course of the attack, Jon and Martin bond a bit, Jon and Tim get partially eaten by worms (mark 1: Corruption), Martin finds Gertrude Robinson's corpse in the tunnels (she was murdered), Sasha gets killed and replaced by a monster that was bound to the spooky table (Not!Sasha), and Elias triggers the Institute's CO2 fire represent system, killing Prentiss. Jon swears to find out who murdered Gertrude if it kills him.

SEASON TWO: Paranoia time. The whole season is basically one long "who killed Gertrude" murder mystery, in which Jon suspects literally all of his coworkers. He works with Basira and Daisy, the two police officers assigned to solve the case, and starts to realize that Gertrude was deeply embedded in the supernatural world (and had access to explosives).

Major events include: Jon investigates the tunnels and doesn't find much. Martin frets a LOT, Jon thinks it's suspicious, but it's pretty clear that he just cares about Jon. It's also revealed that he lied on his CV, and isn't actually qualified for this job, hence his incompetence. Tim becomes very bitter about Jon suspecting him of murder and basically stalking him. Michael shows up again, traps a woman named Helen in a maze of unending corridors, and stabs Jon (mark 2: Spiral). Basira quits the police near the end of the season.

In the season finale, Jon realizes Sasha has been replaced and smashes the spooky table with an axe. This does not kill the monster, instead setting it free to try and kill HIM (mark 3: Stranger). Michael appears and offers him a door into his corridor maze to escape the Not!Sasha, and drops him in the tunnels to fend for himself. Martin and Tim try to find out what Jon's doing, and end up trapped in Michael's corridors themselves.

Jon is saved from the Not!Sasha by a man named Jurgen Leitner, who has a book that can move the walls of the tunnels around (he basically traps it in a wall Cask of Amontillado style). Leitner collected tons of these supernatural books, which are now called Leitners, and has been living in the tunnels for decades. Jon is convinced he's evil, but he reveals that he was working with Gertrude before she died and that Elias killed her. He begins to explain about the Entities, and the fact that Jon works for one (mark 4: Eye), but Jon leaves the room because he needs a cigarette. Elias appears and murders Leitner. Jon returns, finds the body, and flees.

Tim and Martin find their way out of the corridors, find the body, and call the police.

SEASON THREE: Jon is on the run from the police because they think he killed Leitner. He gives a statement about why he always hated Leitner. When he was a child, he found one of Leitner's books, which nearly got him eaten by a giant spider (mark 5: Web). His childhood bully got eaten in his place. Jon is living with his ex-girlfriend, Georgie, while he's in hiding.

Back at the Archives, Daisy (police detective) is convinced Jon is guilty of killing Leitner and Sasha. She's not looking for evidence, she just wants to catch him. Tim is also pretty sure he did it. Martin thinks he's innocent. Elias shows his first hint of supernatural powers by giving a statement about Daisy's first murder, which he just knows without her telling him.

Melanie takes a job at the Archives. She previously appeared to give a few statements. She's the former star of a ghost hunting YouTube show, and now has lost everything due to the circumstances of a few genuine encounters. She recently came back from a trip to India, where (as is revealed later) she was shot by a ghost soldier. She is friends with Georgie.

Basira visits the Archives to try to find Daisy, and runs off again looking for her when she realizes Daisy wants to kill Jon. Martin starts recording statements to "pick up the slack" while Jon's away.

Elias sends Jon statements while he's staying with Georgie, and in a bid to learn more about the supernatural he seeks out various servants of the Entities. Jude Perry nearly burns his hand off (mark 6: Desolation), Mike Crew nearly suffocates him by simulating the feeling of falling off a building (mark 7: Vast), and then Daisy catches him. Daisy kills Crew, and threatens to kill Jon (mark 8: Hunt), but Basira shows up and stops her. They drag Jon back to the Archives.

Everyone confronts Elias. We get confirmation that Jon can "compel" people (force them to answer his questions) but it doesn't work on Elias. Elias confesses to killing both Gertrude and Leitner. Everyone finds out Sasha was replaced during the Prentiss attack. Elias blackmails Basira into joining the Archives under threat of getting Daisy arrested; then turns around and blackmails Daisy into doing his dirty work in exchange for Basira's safety. He reveals that if he dies, or if the Archives are destroyed, anyone who works for the Institute dies too. Elias tells Jon he needs to stop the "Unknowing," which is a ritual the Stranger's servants are trying to complete to bring about the apocalypse.

Jon goes back to Georgie's; we find out she had an encounter with the supernatural when she was in university and now she literally cannot feel fear. Jon is confronted by Orsinov, a living mannequin that works for the Stranger. Orsinov tells him to find a taxidermied gorilla skin she needs for the Unknowing otherwise she'll kill him. He decides to go back to the Archives to get help, but on the way is kidnapped by Orsinov's goons. Orsinov says she's decided to use HIS skin in place of the gorilla one.

He's trapped for a month, and is eventually rescued by Michael, who reveals that he was one of Gertrudes's assistants before she sacrificed him to stop the Spiral's ritual. He wants to kill Jon, but as they are going into his corridors he is replaced by Helen (the woman he trapped in season two) who decides to drop Jon at the Archives instead.

Jon decides to follow in Gertrudes's footsteps to try and find the gorilla skin (to destroy it). He visits an Archive in China, and several locations in America. He is kidnapped by Julia and Trevor (Hunters) and gets on their good side. They let him talk to Gerry Keay (goth ghost that the fandom goes wild over). Gerry gives Jon the rundown on all of the fears, and explains a bit more about Gertrude. Jon agrees to release him from this world by burning a page of the book he's trapped in (this angers Julia and Trevor, which is important later). Jon goes back to England.

They find the gorilla skin in Gertrudes's old storage unit (and explosives), but it has been destroyed. Orsinov exhumes the bodies of Gertrude and Leitner to use their skin instead. There's a stretch of waiting where not much happens.

Jon, Tim, Basira, and Daisy go to a wax museum with Gertrudes's explosives to blow it up in the middle of the Unknowing. Martin and Melanie stay in the Archives to steal the tape with Elias's confession on it and get him arrested for murder.

At the Unknowing, Basira makes it out alive. Daisy kills Hope (one of the deliverymen from season one) but Breekon traps her in The Coffin (this has shown up in several statements before; it's an artifact of the Buried and traps people underground forever). Tim sets off the explosives and dies, while Jon ALMOST does in the same explosion. He ends up in a coma instead.

At the Institute, Martin distracts Elias while Melanie steals the tape. Elias taunts him about his feelings for Jon, then forces knowledge on him about how much his mother hates him (his mother's in a nursing home: caring for her is why he couldn't go to university and had to lie on his CV). Melanie succeeds in stealing the tapes and Martin barely restrains her from killing Elias.

Elias reveals that Jon is trapped in a nightmare realm where he constantly relives the statements of the people who have told them to him directly (not the ones that are written down). He is arrested, and Peter Lukas (servant of the Lonely) becomes the Interim Head of the Institute.

SEASON BREAK: Six months pass. Three major events occur: Martin's mother dies, Jared Hopworth (servant of the Flesh) attacks the Institute and is trapped in Helen's (Micheal's replacement) corridors, and Peter tells Martin that he'll protect the Institute from further threats if Martin works for him and isolates himself from everyone else. Martin, more than a little suicidal due to his mother's death and the man he loves being in a coma, agrees.

SEASON FOUR: Martin's plotline is revealed in drips and drabs throughout the season, and is easier to tell all at once. Basically, Peter convinces him that there's a 15th Entity, Extinction, that is about to emerge into the world and kill everything. This is based on research done by Adelard Dekker, one of Gertrudes's allies. Peter says that Martin is the only one who can stop it, because he has been marked by the Beholding and he is getting closer and closer to the Lonely as he isolates himself. This is enough of a threat that Martin sticks with his plan despite several opportunities to leave.

Jon's plot starts with Oliver Banks giving a statement in his hospital room and telling him he's too human to live, too much of a monster to die (mark 9: End). If Jon decides to stay human he will die; if he gives into the Beholding he will live. Oliver leaves; Jon wakes up. Georgie is disappointed that he gave into the Beholding, and walks away. Basira is cold and practical, following in Gertrudes's 'ends justify the means' logic. She is watching Jon closely, and prepared to kill him if he becomes dangerous. Melanie is boiling with anger and tries to attack Jon whenever they're in a room together.

Jon reads a Slaughter statement and knows (by supernatural means) that Melanie is becoming a servant of the Slaughter because the bullet that the ghost shot her with is still in her leg. He and Basira perform amateur surgery to get it out. Melanie stabs him in the shoulder (mark 10: Slaughter). She is, understandably, furious, but she becomes calmer as she heals and she starts going to therapy.

Breekon (the surviving deliveryman) drops off the coffin. Jon displays a new power by extracting a statement from him. He learns that Daisy is still alive, but trapped in the coffin. Basira leaves the Archives based on information from a "source" (Elias, though Jon does not know this yet). Jon learns that he can go into the coffin and get out again if he has an anchor to the real world. He tries to cut off his own finger, fails, and under Melanie's advisement finds Jared Hopworth (Flesh servant who attacked when he was in a coma) in Helen's corridors. Jared removes two of Jon's ribs (one to keep and one for Jon) and gives a statement (mark 11: Flesh).

Jon goes into the coffin (mark 12: Buried) and finds Daisy. She is much more clear-headed than before, because she has been separated from the Hunt for so long. Jon cannot feel his anchor (rib) at first, but the signal is amplified when Martin places a bunch of tape recorders on top of the coffin. Jon leads Daisy out, and both are extremely confused by all the tape recorders.

Jon and Basira find out that the servants of the Dark might be trying a ritual in Norway, and head off to stop them. On the way, Jon forces a sailor on the boat they're on to give a statement. Basira is disturbed, but doesn't try to stop him. (Back in the Archives, Martin hears from another person who Jon took a statement from, and is rightfully horrified.) In Norway, Jon and Basira learn that the Dark's ritual failed the same week Gertrude died, though there's still an artifact - the Dark Star - left from it. Jon destroys the Dark Star by literally just looking at it, though it nearly kills him (mark 13: Dark). Helen gives them a shortcut home through her corridors.

Martin leaves a tape of his conversation with the person Jon took a statement from on Basira's desk. Jon confesses that he's done this to five people. He promises not to do it again (from this point on, both he and Daisy grow weaker as they try to resist the Beholding and Hunt, respectively).

Jon, Basira, Daisy, and Melanie visit Hill Top Road (I cannot even begin to explain Hill Top Road, there's so much going on and there's no answers yet. Best I can say is it's been strongly affected by both the Web and the Desolation, and there seems to be some warping of reality in the basement.) They find a statement from Annabelle Cain (main servant of the Web) that's basically one long taunt to Jon about how the Web may or may not be orchestrating everything. Main takeaway from this is that once he starts reading a statement, he cannot stop.

Jon finds out how to quit the Institute, via an old tape from Gertrude. Her assistant, Eric Delano (Gerry Keay's father) escaped the Institute by gouging out his own eyes. Jon runs to Martin with this information and begs him to run away together, but Martin refuses. Jon tells Melanie, Daisy, and Basira. Melanie decides to act on this information, and puts her eyes out with an awl. She goes to live with Georgie, who she is dating by this point. Daisy and Basira stay in the Archives.

Season finale, Peter launches his plan. He and Martin head into the tunnels under the Institute. While down there, Peter frees the Not!Sasha and sends it to attack the Institute. He brings Martin to the Panopticon of Milbank Prison, and explains that Jonah Magnus's original body is still in the center of the Panopticon watching EVERYTHING. Elias shows up (he escaped from jail) and reveals that he IS Jonah Magnus. Peter says that Martin needs to kill Jonah's original body and take his place. From the Panopticon, he will be able to learn how to stop the Extinction (it will also trap him there forever). Martin realizes he's been manipulated and refuses, because even though the Extinction is a threat he doesn't want to sacrifice himself just so Peter can win against Elias. It is revealed that Peter and Elias formed a bet: if Peter could get one of the Institute staff to willingly join the Lonely, he would be allowed to kill Elias and take over the Institute forever. Since he failed (Martin is close to the Lonely but doesn't entirely serve it) he instead traps Martin in the Lonely, and then goes in himself.

Meanwhile, Jon finds out that the Extinction isn't as immediate a threat as he thought, and that Martin has gone with Peter to complete his plan. Jon tries to get help from Georgie, Melanie, and Helen, but all refuse. Basira and Daisy inform him that Elias escaped from prison, and they find a tape revealing that he is Jonah Magnus. All hell breaks loose at this point. Julia and Trevor (the Hunters from season three who he stole Gerry's page from) show up to try to kill Jon, and they run into Not!Sasha, which has escaped from the tunnels. Basira and Daisy tell Jon to run and help Martin. He does. Daisy makes the decision to lean into the Hunt again, and makes Basira promise to find her and kill her once it's all over. Basira agrees (unwillingly) and runs. Daisy attacks the Hunters and Not!Sasha.

Jon finds Elias at the Panopticon. Elias explains where Martin has gone, and Jon dives into the Lonely after him (mark 14: Lonely). Jon meets Peter in the Lonely, takes his statement, and kills him. He finds Martin and manages to save him.

Jon and Martin flee to one of Daisy's old safehouses in Scotland. Twenty-two days after they arrive, they receive a package that they think is from Basira containing a bunch of statements and tapes for Jon. Martin leaves to take a walk, and Jon reads a statement. It turns out to be from Elias (Jonah) explaining his whole plan with marking Jon with the Entities and various ways he manipulated events so that that would happen. Jon is unable to stop reading, and at the end of the statement is an invocation that brings all fourteen Entities through into the world. Martin makes it back to the safehouse, and they watch the world end together.

SEASON FIVE: Jon and Martin are still in the safehouse. Martin wants to leave and kill Elias, Jon wants to stay at least a bit longer to grieve the world. They could stay forever: they no longer need food, water, or sleep to survive. Jon's been constantly relistening to the tapes from the package that was delivered, and there's some backstory revealed in them: Gertrude had planned on Sasha being her replacement once she died, and had made a tape with all the information she would have needed to stay alive. She suspected that if the Entities came through into the world, they would be here to stay, and that things like space, time, and the laws of physics would stop working. There's also some nostalgic stuff with Tim and Sasha.

Jon gets hit with the knowledge that the safehouse is not actually safe, and is feeding on Jon and Martin's fear of losing each other. He and Martin agree to leave, setting out on a quest to kill Elias and try to save the world.

The structure of this new world is revealed: each fear has taken up a domain in which it is the primary source of fear for the people trapped in it, and Jon and Martin need to pass through all of them before they can get to the Panopticon and Elias. So far they've been through the Slaughter, the Corruption, the Stranger, the Buried, and the End. People are only dying in the End; in the others, there is no escape from the horror. Any time Jon gets too close to one of these domains he is overwhelmed by the fear and needs to give a statement about it. The first time, Martin just stuck his fingers in his ears, but since then he's been going on walks so he doesn't have to hear.

Annabelle Cain (Web) tries to call Martin via a payphone; he doesn't pick up.

Jon realizes he can know basically anything he wants to, and Martin asks him a series of questions, learning that: Daisy is Hunting between the domains; Basira is chasing her, planning to kill her but starting to doubt that; Melanie and Georgie are in London but he can't see them clearly; Elias is in the Panopticon; Jon and Martin are safe, traveling like they are; Jon can't see Annabelle AT ALL; and the world can be turned back if the fears are removed, but the fears can't be destroyed as long as there are people left to fear them.

Helen shows up to "check up on the happy couple" and try to make friends. Martin asks if her corridors can give them a shortcut to London, but Jon's powerful enough that he would hurt her if he tried to do that. She leaves.

They run into the Not!Sasha in the Stranger's domain. It threatens them, but cannot actually hurt them. It taunts them about Sasha, and Jon kills it. Martin is very impressed.

Helen shows up again, and explains that there are two roles people can take in this new world: afraid or feared. Jon has the ability to make something that is feared afraid, and doing so destroys the feared things utterly (this is how he killed Not!Sasha). Martin wants to go on a murder spree killing any monsters they come across; Jon does not. Helen leaves again.

While Jon is giving a statement Annabelle calls Martin on a cellphone. He answers, and she offers him help. He refuses and hangs up.

Jon reads Martin's mind and learns about the conversation with Annabelle. Martin is annoyed, and Jon promises not to do it again. They stop for a rest. Martin starts wondering about Gertrudes's past, and Jon launches into a statement about it: one of her assistants fell to the Web and killed a bunch of her other assistants, and Gertrude never trusted anyone after that. It is also revealed that if an Archivist dies, their assistants are free to leave the Institute without gouging out their eyes.

Jon and Martin are both disturbed by the statement and by the fact that neither of them could stop it. Jon explains that Gertrude would have lost purpose in the apocalypse without anyone to trust, and that Martin is giving HIM purpose. He also explains that all servants of the Entities have a domain in this new world. His is the Panopticon, and Martin DOES NOT want to know what his own is.

The most recent episode was the End's domain, run by Oliver Banks (the guy who woke Jon from his coma). This statement explained that the End is still killing people permanently, and there is no new life coming into this world; therefore, the End will eventually start stealing victims from other fears. This will ultimately deplete all human and animal life which will kill the Entities themselves and leave an empty universe.

UNADDRESSED TOPICS:

What do the Spiders want? It's surprisingly easy to leave out any traces of the Web's influence from this summary, but Jon is still carrying the cigarette lighter with the web design from season one and he doesn't seem to notice it, several important tapes he's found have been covered in cobwebs, and Annabelle is clearly targeting Martin.

Random plots that have less impact on the main story! This completely skips over characters like Mikale Salesa and Maxwell Rayner, and other oft-appearing but easily missed background people. If there are any in particular you're curious about let me know, but I don't THINK any of them are going to show up again.

Random plots that I don't know if they're going to have an impact on the main story! Agnes Montague, Gertrudes's assistants, everything with Hill Top Road - I have no idea what about their stories is going to be important from this point forward. Maybe everything, maybe nothing.

My askbox is always open if you've got any questions (@cirrus-grey). This is a broad summary that misses out a LOT of details!

#tma #the magnus archives #long post #spoilers #tma spoilers #the magnus archives spoilers #cirrus-grey #submission

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lettersinscarlet · 4 years

Text

Show You Off (Colby Brock Imagine)

Hey guys! I’m sorry I haven’t written anything in a while. I keep starting things and stopping things and I’m really trying to get some stuff out for you guys. I’m still writing I promise it’s just kind of slow. Anyway, I’m still doing request for Sam, Jake, and Colby and I have a few imagines planned for them coming up soon. My holiday break is coming up soon so I should have some extra time to do some stuff. I love that you guys still support me and I hope I can still get some stuff that you guys will appreciate!

——————————————————————————

You walked into pizza night with the biggest smile on your face. You were happy to be at a place you felt was your second home.

You had known Tara since you guys were just kids. Eventually, you had gotten to know Jake, when he started dating Tara. With knowing Jake, you had gotten to know just about everybody else. Katrina, Sam, Corey, Colby, Devyn, Kevin, Mike, and so many others. Pizza night had become your favorite night for so many reasons. Seeing your friends, relaxing, having fun, and flirting with Colby.

You had a little crush on him, so you had decided to maybe just flirt with him, just for fun, and he flirted back. You guys liked teasing each other and it was fun.

So it was no surprise when you flopped down on the couch near your friends and Colby started teasing.

“Wow, you really dressed out for the occasion,” Colby remarked as he took in your outfit.

You looked down at what you were wearing. You had on a pair of ripped jeans with your favorite t-shirt. Granted, the shirt was a little old and faded, but it was still your favorite. You had thrown on your converse and you hadn’t bothered with makeup.

“See, I only dress this way for your benefit. You couldn’t handle this hotness if I went all out,” you said and gestured to yourself. Colby chuckled and smirked at you.

“Trust me, I think I could handle it.”

“Too bad there’s no way to prove it,” you exhaled as you leaned back against the couch.

“Actually, there is,” Colby informes you with a smile. You heard Sam and Kat gasp and you shot them a glare. They chuckled and so did Jake and Tara as you turned your attention back to Colby. “I’m going to a party on Saturday night. How about you show up there and we’ll see what happens?”

You considered the offer for a moment and you could feel that all the eyes were on you.

“It’s a deal, Brock,” you said. You both shook on it and then you continued on with pizza night.

Friday afternoon, you called Kat and tried to see if she would help you.

“Please, Katrina, I need help finding an outfit,” you pleaded with her.

“Sure, I’ll bring some stuff over. Give me thirty minutes.”

Sure enough, Katrina came over in thirty minutes and she had tons of outfits in her arms. You spent what felt like hours trying things on, rejecting them, then trying on more things. Eventually, you decided on a tight and short dark red dress to go with black heels and a black clutch. You found some gold hoop earrings and you decided you could wear them with some bracelets.

As you were running around, trying to find everything you were gonna wear, Kat was smirking at you.

“Why are you trying so hard to win this?” she asked, grinning because she knew what the answer was.

You hesitated for a second, pausing to try and come up with something.

“I’m competitive,” you said with a shrug. “I just want to win it.”

Kat just shook her head at you and went back to what she was doing.

After Katrina left, you had called Devyn to see if she would help you with your makeup. You thought that you were alright with your own, but you really wanted to sell it. She agreed and you set up a time for her to come over and help you.

After you finished setting up the rest of your schedule, you decided that you would gloat a little bit to Colby.

“I’m so gonna win this bet,” you sent to him with a smirk.

“I’ll believe it when I see it...” was his reply.

You laughed and set your phone done, imagining your victory for the next night.

The next day, when Devyn came over, you ended up looking like a goddess. Your makeup shimmered and shined and made you look gorgeous. You had your hair up in a ponytail and you curled it. You looked yourself over in the mirror before smiling, knowing that Colby would be practically drooling over you all night. You texted him and asked him for the address and he gave it to you.

You knew that you were looking good when the Uber driver whistled at you. You smiled and then he drove you where you needed to go.

You texted Colby that you were there before you walked in the door. The music was already loud and there were tons of people, but you knew that Colby would be able to spot you.

And he did. You saw him staring at you, and by the look in his eyes, you knew that you had won. You grinned and you used a hand to gesture to yourself before you locked eyes with him.

“Like what you see?” you asked with a laugh. He tried to straighten his face, but his eyes could not leave you. “I told you that you wouldn’t be able to control yourself if I actually tried.”

You brushed your hair off of your shoulder and looked at him.

“So are we gonna party or are you gonna stare at me all night?” you asked and smiled. He shook his head and then grabbed your hand and pulled you to the dance floor.

You guys danced for what felt like hours and your feet didn’t even hurt. You and Colby were having a blast.

“I’m gonna grab some drinks,” Colby announced. You went to tell him what you wanted but he stopped you. “I’ve known you forever. I know what you drink.” With that, he walked to the bar and your eyes followed him for a moment before you returned to dancing.

While you were by yourself, someone came up in front of you.

“You look like you’re having fun,” the man commented as he started dancing with you. “By the way, you look really nice.”

“I know,” you answered quickly, “but thank you for the compliment.”

“Confident, are we,” he chuckled and you laughed, too. You guys danced together for a moment and were laughing and having some fun.

When Colby came back, he saw you dancing with the other guy and something sparked inside of him. He couldn’t quite name the feeling. He went up to you and after he handed you your drink, he placed one of his arms around your shoulders and he pulled you close to him.

“What’s going on here?” he asked in a friendly but slightly threatening way.

“Nothing, nothing,” the guy said and held his hands up. “Didn’t realize she was taken,” was all he said and he walked off.

You whirled around and quirked your eyebrow at him. “What was that about, Brock?”

He just shrugged and wouldn’t make eye contact with you. “Just he seemed to be intruding is all.” You rolled your eyes and then eyed him with suspicion. He still wouldn’t look at you but instead he grabbed your free hand and pulled you to the side of the room so you guys could enjoy your drinks.

Anytime a guy walked near you and started to flirt, or even had a lingering stare, Colby would subtly put his arm around you or maybe rest his hands on your hips. Eventually, you pulled him into the bathroom where it was quiet enough to hear and you turned to face him.

“What’s your problem, Brock?” you asked and flipped your hands in the air.

“What do you mean?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and focusing on the ground.

“Look at me,” you snapped at him. When he didn’t, you used your hand and you turned his gaze back to you. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed before he started. “It’s just... when I saw you wearing what you are, I realized you were right. And then, I started to wish that you were my girlfriend, because I could show you off at the party. And maybe I could do a little more,” he confessed and gently placed his hands on your hips. You looked up at him and his eyes were sparkling just a little. You leaned up and gently kissed him, smearing just a little bit of your lipstick on his lips.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Show me off,” you replied with a shrug. He got a huge grin on his face and he grabbed you by the hand and tugged you out of the bathroom. When he got to the room, he kissed you on your cheeks, neck, nose, forehead, lips, and just about anywhere he could fine. His hands refused to leave you, whether they were on your hips, shoulders, or intertwined with your hands. When people would walk by, he would whisper to you or say out loud to them that you were with him or that you were his girl. You couldn’t help but smile and blush when he would gush over you.

Colby escorted you to his car when you were ready to leave, insisting that you couldn’t take an Uber back to your apartment.

“I need to make a quick stop,” Colby said with a smirk before pulling into a 7/11. You shook your head with a chuckle when you saw where you were. Colby parked and ran around to your side of the car and opened the door for you. He extended his arm out to you and you took it as he guided you into the gas station.

“Excuse me,” Colby shouted and cleared his throat. The few people that were in the store turned their attention towards the two of you. “This is my girlfriend, (Y/N), and I’m here to show her off,” he announced. He twirled you around and you ducked your head behind his back. A few people clapped and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Colby took you to the back and stood you in front of the slushy machine. “Pick anything you want,” he said with a cheeky grin. While you were working on your master slushy, Colby took a picture of you. He was working on something for the group chat he had with you, Jake, Tara, Sam, and Kat.

“I may have lost the bet, but I won something better,” he sent with the picture. He smirked as he watched you take a sip of your drink and smile.

“We should make bets more often,” he thought to himself before he pulled you in for another kiss.

———

Taglist:

@sp00kybrock @yikes-xander @daddydobrock @trapbrock-local @thenameisbabe @far-to-many-bands @lyssaholic @wacky-webber-458 @colbysbaby @katiaw2 @brocks-girl @chesterbenningtonaremylife

#colby brock imagine #colby brock #colby fanfic #colby imagine #colby #colby brock fanfic #colby fanfiction #colby brock fanfiction #@colby brock x reader #@colby x reader #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader

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trashyswitch · 4 years

Text

The Superior Security Guard

Mike Schmidt and Jeremy Bond over the fact that both of them worked part-time for a week, at a Pizzeria run by Freddy Fazbear Entertainment.

I was inspired by a friend to try branching away from the Afton's this time. So, I spent around 3 hours looking up other FNAF characters' statistics and stuff...

Let's just say: The Five Night's at Freddy's Franchise is even MORE CONFUSING THAN EVER!

But, I can't change that. So, I'm choosing to take advantage of a Fanon headcannon! (Mike and Jeremy are best friends)

DISCLAIMER: A bit of mild language.

Jeremy and Mike met each other during Jeremy's work week at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. When Jeremy was leaving Wednesday morning at 6AM, Jeremy had walked out the door to find a man standing outside, staring at the new pizzeria joint. Recognizing the security outfit from his own experience, Mike asked Jeremy about the job and brought up his own experiences. So, instead of sleeping the day away (Which was his original plan), Jeremy invited Mike to go buy a soda with him.

Before they knew it, they became quick friends.

Over the years, they leaned on each other to mentally deal with their weird, and eventually quite terrifying, job experiences. When the company was hit with missing/murder charges, Jeremy and Mike talked each other through the terrifying nightmare, that was child murderers in animatronic costumes/children being stuffed in the animatronic robots. Once in a while, to cope with the experiences and make light of it, they would make silly jokes while they talked.

One day, Jeremy and Mike were walking around Mike's neighborhood, each holding a take-out cup of coffee. It was somewhat peaceful just walking on the sidewalks, listening to the spring birds singing and watching them fly from tree to tree.

"Hey Mike?" Jeremy called calmly.

"Yeah?" Jeremy replied.

"Which animatronic was your favorite when you were younger?" Mike asked.

Jeremy chuckled. "You seriously don't remember? I've told you so many times! It was Chica." Jeremy replied.

"Why though?" Mike asked.

"I don't know. I like yellow, and Chica's a yellow chicken. Plus, she's the one that holds the cute, pink cupcake!" Jeremy explained.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that cupcake. I think it was actually named something...something that started with a C. Carly?" Mike attempted.

"Maybe?...No, Carl! That was its name! Carl!" Jeremy replied. "Oh! and the other reason I liked Chica, was because she was the only girl animatronic." Jeremy explained.

Mike laughed at the last remark. "Chica wasn't the only girl. There was Bonnie-"

"Bonnie was a male! He just...had a lot of 'robot make-up'." Jeremy replied, making quotation marks with his fingers. "Bonnie, playing his bright red electric guitar, looking like a drag queen back then." Jeremy joked, playing the air guitar to add to the humor.

"Wait, really? I don't really remember that part." Mike reacted.

"I'm just over-exaggerating a little bit." Jeremy mentioned.

"Alright...Since Chica was the only girl animatronic, did that influence your decision on which robot was deemed your favorite?" Mike asked.

Jeremy's eyes widened. He looked away quickly, as to not raise suspicion. "...What are you implying if it did?" Jeremy asked.

"Oh nothing." Mike replied, shutting his mouth with a smug look.

"You know what? No! We're having this conversation! What were you suggesting?" Jeremy asked.

"Oh I don't know...Have you heard of the term...'Furry' before?" Mike hinted.

Jeremy's jaw dropped. How DARE he?!

"Dude!" Jeremy yelled, lightly pushing him with a smile on his face. "What is wrong with you! I am NOT a furry! And I am CERTAINLY not in love with those creepy, toy-looking robots." Jeremy argued.

"Okay, okay. I believe you." Mike said, still wearing his smug look. Jeremy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Something tells me you don't..." Jeremy suspected.

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Are you suggesting I SHOULDN'T believe you?" Mike asked.

"Wha-NO, I'M saying that your freaking eyebrows were telling me a different story!" Jeremy reacted.

"Oh...were they now?" Mike asked in a smug voice, before making waves with both his eyebrows.

Jeremy chuckled in both amusement and frustration. "Do you want a punch to the face?" Jeremy warned.

"Oh please!" Mike exclaimed, pinching Jeremy's bicep muscles with his right arm. "Where's the muscle? I don't feel any muscle." Mike joked.

"I may not have arm muscles, but I can skill kick your ass!" Jeremy shot back.

"How? You kinda need arms, in order to do any sort of fighting..." Mike mentioned.

"How about this: Let's stick a pin into this conversation, and open it back up when we get to your house. Alright?" Jeremy suggested.

Mike rolled his eyes with a smile, but nodded in agreement. "Okay. The conversation's been pinned." Mike replied.

The boys decided to take a side road, to head back to Mike's house. After another 10 minutes or so of walking, they finally arrived back to Mike's house. Mike and Jeremy walked up the driveway, and up the stairs to the door. Mike pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. After removing the key and opening it up, both men walked into the house and closed the door behind them. Unbeknownst to Mike, Jeremy had already been spending the 10 minute walk trying to come up with a plan. By the time they reached the house, Jeremy was ready.

"Okay. I'm pulling the pin out. Let's figure out who can beat the other in a match." Mike decided.

Jeremy walked towards each other. They cracked their knuckles as they stood, getting ready to fight each other. In the background, energetic music played to intensify the moment. Both men readied themselves, and waited for the countdown.

2! Both men clicked the 2 button...

GO!

And, they're off! Both men managed to get the extra boost, and were zooming down the raceway. The selected track for this game, was Luigi Circuit. Though Mike managed to completely miss the question mark power ups, Jeremy successfully got a power up! On the top left side of Jeremy's screen, the cube spun, revealing all the power ups he could get. He ended up getting a banana!

"Aw, come on! Banana's suck! Whatever." Jeremy commented, before clicking the button to get Luigi to throw the banana.

As you probably would've guessed by now: The boys were playing Mario Kart Wii for their competition! Whoever got at least 2 wins against their opponent, was deemed the winner.

"What?! Bowser, get outta here!" Jeremy shouted at the CPU who just passed him.

Mike (King Boo) quickly began to catch up, thanks to the speed boosts littered all over the track. Mike passed baby daily, Wario and Birdo, quickly putting him in 4th place.

Soon, both men passed the finish line again. Lap 2! Both men managed to get a power up each, this time! Mike got a shrinking power up, while Jeremy got a red shell!

Mike activated his power up almost immediately.

"Hey! Who made everyone small?!" Jeremy asked. Suddenly, as if the game was deliberately answering his question, a large King Boo drove past the tiny Luigi.

"Aww! Look at the wittle tiny Luigi." Mike teased.

Jeremy smirked and waited for his character to grow bigger again. Once his character grew back to his normal size, Luigi threw the red shell at King Boo.

"Suck on that, Mike!" Jeremy yelled.

"Ha! Says the character with the ghost vacuum." Mike replied with a smug face.

"I- HEY!" Jeremy yelled, elbowing Mike in the arm.

"Oh, you wanna play THAT game, huh?" Mike asked, elbowing Jeremy back.

"Yeah! Fight me bro!" Jeremy yelled.

Mike shrugged his shoulders. "You asked for it..." Mike replied before tackling the man down.

"Mike! Get off me! OHOHOW! YOUR ELBOWS ARE JABBING INTO ME!" Jeremy shouted, attempting to push Mike off him.

As Jeremy tried to push at him, Jeremy accidentally squeezed his side while he was pushing against it with his hand. This caused a sudden jolt and a short spurt of laughter to leave his mouth. Jeremy paused his actions for a split second, and looked at Mike with a smug, suspicious glare. "What are you laughing at? Is squishing me considered funny to you?" Jeremy asked.

"Kinda, yeah. Your body is just so tiny and squish-able!" Mike teased, squeezing Jeremy's side.

"Dohohon't you eheven tryhyhy tihihicklihihing me, you bahahahastahahard!" Jeremy warned through his giggles, before giving Mike a few squeezes and pokes back.

"AAAAH! Nohohohoho! Quihihit thahahat! Dohohon't yohohohou eheheven ahahahattempt ihihit! I am much bigger, and stronger than you. I could RUIN YOU-" Mike warned. Unfortunately for Mike, Jeremy moved his fingers up to his bottom ribs, and began tweaking and digging into them. "AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAH! NO! JEREMY! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Mike bursted out, falling beside his friend.

"I think you keep on forgetting what tiny people are capable of. I can climb all over you and destroy you!" Jeremy mentioned as he jumped onto his best friend to dig his fingers into the farthest side of Mike's ribs.

"DAHAHAHAHAMIHIHIHIT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Mike shouted, pausing his squirming to just let out all the laughter in his lungs. Jeremy's smile began to grow wider as he tickled him. Jeremy just adored Mike's laugh! It was so bubbly and fun to hear. There had been times in his life where Mike would laugh out loud for a good 5 minutes, and Jeremy would just be over the moon to hear his laugh. It was really contagious, and usually made Jeremy laugh along with him. When they first met, Jeremy would use as many stupid or funny jokes on him, just to hear Mike's laugh. It was kind of silly in a way. Is it normal to appreciate a person's laugh that much? Or is it weird? Jeremy wasn't really sure. So, the best thing Jeremy decided to do with it, was to just enjoy the laughter for as long as it lasted. Jeremy had drifted off into a daydream amidst the fight. He was so deep into the trance, that he didn't even realize what was going on in front of him!

Meanwhile, Mike had decided to take advantage of Jeremy's dreamy state, to tickle him back.

Suddenly, Jeremy knocked himself out of dreamland with his own bout of laughter! By the time Jeremy found out what was going on, Jeremy was giggling and laughing under Mike's wiggly fingers.

"Hehehehehehehe! Mihihihike! Cohohohome ohohohon!" Jeremy giggled.

"What do you mean 'come on'? You were the one who lost his concentration in the middle of beating me! I'm just getting my revenge now." Mike teased.

"Ihihihi dihihidn't mehehehehean tohohoho!" Jeremy mentioned.

"Well obviously, you didn't. I don't think you could've controlled it! But, I'm still gonna make you regret it." Mike replied with a wink.

Mike shoved his hands into Jeremy's armpits next. Jeremy gasped and squealed before rolling into a fit full of laughter. "NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEASE! IHIT'S TOHOHO MUHUHUHUCH! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jeremy shouted.

"Hahaha! This is awesome! Now, how would you feel if I just..." Mike asked, drifting off as he lifted Jeremy's arm above his head.

"Nonononono! Don't you even TRY TO DOTHATPLE-EEEEEAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHOHOHOHOHO!" Jeremy screamed.

Mike jumped and retreated his hands out of pure panic. "I'm not killing you! I swear, I'm not killing you!" Mike reacted, putting his hands up in arrest.

"Yohohohou wehehere clohohohose..." Jeremy warned.

"Oh really? Well, now I wanna tickle you more." Mike reacted before shoving his fingers into Jeremy's armpits again.

"WAHAHAHAHAIT! NO! MIKE PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!" Jeremy shouted.

"Please? Please what? Please tickle you more? Gladly!" Mike replied smugly as he lifted Jeremy's arm up and wiggled his fingers on Jeremy's exposed armpit.

"MIKE! PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOHOHOHOU! DOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jeremy shouted before dissolving into endless hysterical laughter.

Mike began to giggle along with Jeremy. He was enjoying this way too much...But, who cares? Mike certainly didn't! He liked bringing Jeremy down to just a puddle of laughter. Normally, that involved a really good story. Today though, it was achieved through simple play-fighting.

After another minute of tickling his armpits, Mike brought his hands down to his sides again, to let him breath more. Jeremy happily took in as much air as he could, and allowed himself to still giggle through the tickly squeezes on his sides. It was a more comfortable laughing pace. It felt better to laugh lightly, than to laugh hysterically.

So, Jeremy decided to get Mike laughing as well. Jeremy ran his fingers around Mike's sides for a bit. When he felt curious, Jeremy reached his hand under Mike's shirt and discovered something new: Mike's pretty ticklish on his belly! Specifically, his belly button! Jeremy gladly took advantage of it, and listened to Mike's inner music, that was his laughter.

"Hehehehehehehe! Dohohohon't yohohohou dahahahare! Yohohou'll rehehehegrehehet ihihit...GAHAHAHAHAHA! JEHEHEREMY NOHOHOHOHO!" Mike laughed joyfully.

Jeremy's smirk began to widen, as he swirled his finger inside Mike's belly button. "Is someone a little ticky-ticky-ticky-ticklish?" Jeremy teased.

Mike's face almost immediately began to glow a red hue. "SHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHUP!" Mike spat.

Jeremy gasped. "Is Mike a little flustered? Is Mikey-Wikey getting flustered from the ticky-ticky's on his belly button?" Jeremy teased, treating him like a toddler.

Mike was slowly going insane. Teasing his belly button?! Talking to him like a TODDLER?! UH...NO THANK YOU! MIKE IS AN ADULT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

"Quihihihit teheheheasihihing mehehehe! Ihihi'm nahahahat a chihihihihild!" Mike shot back at Jeremy. Before Jeremy could do anything else, Mike had grabbed Jeremy's upper arms and pulled him down onto Mike's lap! Mike sat up and flipped Jeremy over onto his back, before experimentally digging his fingers into Jeremy's ribs.

"NAHAHAHAHAHA! OHOHOHOH, YOHOHOHOHOU SUHUHUHUHUCK SOHOHOHOHO BAHAHAHAHAD!" Jeremy shouted.

"Wow! You're entire upper body is ticklish! And not just a little ticklish, but SUPER ticklish! We'd better make sure no animatronics find out about this." Mike suggested.

"WHAHAHAHAHAT?! WHAHAHAT AHAHARE YOHOHOU TAHAHAHAHALKIHIHING ABOHOHOHOUT?!" Jeremy asked through his hysterical laughter.

"Didn't you hear? The animatronics are able to scan kids and make comments on certain objects and decorations now. For example: the patterns on your shirt!" Mike explained, poking the stomach underneath Jeremy's shirt.

Jeremy's eyes visibly widened, as he bit his lip.

"One of them might scan your body up and down, up and down, up and down..." Mike teased, pointing his index finger at Jeremy as he raised and lowered it to imitate the scanning. "-And they may find out some pretty interesting information:" Mike added as he lowered his hand down to Jeremy's stomach. Next, Mike focused his eyes on a specific tickle spot before lifting his head up and leaning his head in towards Jeremy's head.

"Mr. Security Guard?" Mike asked, in a silly Freddy voice that somewhat resembled Goofy's voice. "You have some very sensitive spots on your body. Are you ticklish?" Mike (Freddy) asked. Despite the small bits of nervous panic going through Jeremy's head, his body began betraying him by instinctively making him smile and giggle like a complete goof. So, Mike began poking, squeezing, and wiggling his fingers on Jeremy's stomach, ribs, and sides.

"DOHOHOHOHON'T! IHIHIHIT'S NAHAHAHAT FUHUHUHUNNY! IHIHIHIHIT'S CREHEHEHEHEHEPPY!" Jeremy yelled back.

Mike smirked and resorted to his Freddy Fazbear voice again. "Don't worry! I'm not gonna kill ya. I'm just gonna tickle you a little!" Mike replied as he skittered his fingers higher up on Jeremy's ribs. "What's that saying again?...Oh yeah! Coochy-Coochy-Coo!" Mike teased in his Freddy voice.

Next, Mike left his right hand at his ribs, and brought his left hand down to his belly again. Jeremy's laughter turned into cackles rather quickly. "Hey kids! Look! This security guard is very ticklish!" Mike (Freddy) exclaimed. "Next thing you know, children are gonna come running over and cheer excitedly as they watch a security guard get tickled!" Mike reenacted. "They'll giggle at the security guard stuck in Freddy's tickle trap, and they'll even give their own little pokes as well!" Mike reenacted further, adding in little pokes everywhere he could reach to add to the silliness. "It will be such a giggly mess, that someone may have to turn the machine off!" Mike added.

Immediately after that part, Mike stopped his fingers and pulled them away from him. Jeremy just flopped himself onto the floor, breathing in as much air as he could.

Jeremy was just about done for. He couldn't even IMAGINE such an embarrassing thought! "Next thing you know: You're getting laid off by your supervisor for 'being too ticklish'. Like you can control that, of course..." Mike concluded. Jeremy rolled his eyes, but giggled at the silly conclusion.

"Shuhuhut uhuhup...Yohohou wohohouldn't behe ahahahable to suhurvihihihive either..." Jeremy replied.

"Mm...Maybe not...Maybe yes, though..." Mike replied.

Mike only continued to giggle as he laid there on the ground. Looking around the room, Jeremy couldn't help but notice the flashing Wii remotes. Looking up at the TV, Jeremy noticed that the TV was still on! The Race statistics were playing on the screen as well! Jeremy looked down the list of places, and looked at the statistics on the bottom:

[11th | Luigi | DNF | +0 | 0pts]

[12th | King Boo| DNF | +0 | 0pts]

Well...So much for THAT challenge...

#ticklefic #switch!jeremy #switch!mike #fnaf

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mammon-sama · 4 years

Text

Simeon’s Café (Fanfiction) Part 1/10

Uhhh just another Coffeeshop AU/Human AU in the wake of ObeyMAX. Here is the link to the work on AO3.

Title:

Simeon’s Café

Summary:

Simeon's café, Apocrypha, is heralded as one of the best in Devil's Point, and not just because of the amazing coffee and confections served there. The coffeeshop owner may as well be an angel descended from heaven based on the way he's expertly able to soothe and nurture his patrons, offering them friendly advice as he takes upon the role as their most trusted confidante.

Rating:

Word Count:

1397

5:45 AM

Simeon did not want to admit how many tries it took for him to download the Yelp app on his phone (hint: it was seven). He also refused to divulge how difficult it was for him to navigate the app and find the search bar (it may or may not have taken him twelve minutes). And there was no way he was going to admit to the sheer volume of spelling errors he committed when trying to type “Apocrypha” in it (there were only nine letters in “Apocrypha” and he managed to skip or replace eight of them).

However, he was most definitely willing to disclose the fact that once he scrolled down to read the reviews, he was filled with the most humbling sense of elation.

“ ★★★★★

I go in there hungry, but always come out full, even if all I’ve ordered is a scone.”

“★★★★★

Apocrypha has only been open here in Devil’s Point for a month now, but I feel like I’ve been enjoying the warm baked goods, amazing coffee, and amiable conversation there for years.”

“★★★★★

Best café in Devil’s Point by far”

“★★★★★

dunno where i’d be rn w.o simeon. he’s the man when it comes to talking thru stuff. Also he serves mad good tea here;”

“★★★★★

I heard the owner was from Celestial Hills and expected a pompous, overblown, religious zealot. It turns out Simeon is down-to-Earth as it gets and can bake any kind of confection with expertise. I highly recommend trying the Blueberry Buckle on days it’s served.”

Something warm filled his heart as he thumbed through the rest of the comments. The reception to his café here in Devil’s Point had been even better than he had hoped, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to heaven for his success.

He glanced at the clock—it was fifteen minutes until six.

Almost opening time.

He heard a beep from the oven and hurried over to check his special for the day, piping hot blueberry bagels. The sizzling tray was carefully placed on the counter next to a pan of the beloved baked good that was served every day—cinnamon and plain scones.

Simeon breathed in the smell of flour and fruit as he turned behind him to check the coffee machine, as well as the boiling pot of water on the stove. When he saw that both were nowhere close to ready, he stepped out from behind the counter and meandered into the main dining space of the café.

Apocrypha was decorated simply, with small, round tables and overstuffed chairs, where he now adjusted the various pillows that adorned them. Warm colors and accents filled the café, giving it a homey feel that made customers feel cozy, especially on rainy days. He couldn’t help the odd Bible verse that decorated some of the surfaces—although he made sure the wording was as neutral but encouraging as possible, so no one would feel uncomfortable.

He walked toward the front windows of the café and flipped over the small chalkboard that hung on the rail. On it read “Special of the Day: Honey Muffins with Unsweetened Whipped Cream — $1.50 apiece,” which had been yesterday’s special. He dug out from his apron pocket a quarter piece of chalk and scribbled (his scribblings strangely looked like the most heavenly of calligraphy) “Blueberry Bagels — $1.00 apiece / Ask for strawberry or regular cream cheese (free),” before walking back and stationing himself once again behind the counter.

Again, Simeon glanced at the clock, surprised that only five minutes had passed.

Ten minutes left.

Before he could busy himself with another task, he noticed someone bobbing up toward the front door.

As the patron began knocking politely, Simeon’s eyebrows shot up. Was his clock slow? Was it already opening time? He couldn’t imagine someone in such a great need of coffee and confections that they’d try to enter his café early.

He hurried toward the door and opened it, before smiling gently. He had been told many times that his beam had an immensely soothing effect on whoever had been gifted with its presence. “Hello, I’m sorry, but Apocrypha isn’t open yet. If you would be so kind as to wait ten m—oh! It’s you, Luke.”

The young child, a white cap covering his blond hair, nodded vigorously, and pointed to the massive SUV behind him, which Simeon instantly recognized as Pastor Mike’s car.

Pastor Mike was one of the youth pastors at Simeon’s church back in Celestial Hills. He had adopted Luke several years ago when both of the then-four-year-old’s parents had died in an automobile accident.

“Sorry to bother you, Simeon! We’re here for the donuts!” chirped Luke.

Simeon nodded. He had forgotten that last Sunday he had promised that Pastor Mike could come in before opening hours to grab a box of a dozen donuts for one of his many trips to the homeless shelters in downtown Devil’s Point. “Come on in, Luke.” He walked behind the counter toward the fridge, where fifteen homemade donuts were carefully arranged on a tray and covered in plastic wrap.

As he put on his gloves and began to place the donuts in a white to-go box, he looked up and beamed at Luke. “Is Pastor Mike driving you to school?”

“Yes! We decided to pick up our donuts on the way there!” said Luke.

“I see. And you go to hm, Celestial Hills Public Elementary, then?”

“Actually, I go to Trinity Private Academy. It’s a Christian school and close enough to the Devil’s Point border that Pastor Mike can drop me off easily after we pick up the donuts.”

Simeon bit his lips. He knew Luke quite well from church—had even been a substitute teacher for his Sunday School class five or six times—and knew that the child was very zealous about his faith, even in a community as religious as Celestial Hills. Was it really wise to send such a child to a school of faith? He knew it wasn’t his place to say anything, but he wagered that it would do far more for Luke to send him to a public school, where he could drench himself in the opinion of other students and not become so wrapped up in his own worldview.

As he placed the last donut in the box, he couldn’t help but ask, “And how do you like Trinity Private?”

Luke blushed and his voice took on an indignant tone. “I—I love it, of course! It—it’s not like sometimes I feel like my head could explode from learning and reciting so many memory verses or anything!”

Simeon couldn’t help but pity the schoolboy, for it felt as if there was something he wasn’t saying. He knew better than to ask any more questions but to ease Luke’s burdens, he offered, “Back home in India, my church hosted many Bible Verse Recitation Competitions. I never won any, but I did manage to learn and quote over six hundred verses. Next Sunday at church I’ll teach you some of my secrets.”

“Would you really?” Luke gasped, his eyes lighting up.

“Of course!” He winked as he closed the box of donuts and gingerly handed them to Luke. “I know how Michael—er, Pastor Mike has a sweet tooth, so I purposely put a few extra donuts in there for you two to share.”

Luke took the box with a beam. “Thanks so much, Simeon!”

Simeon wiped tiny daubs of donut icing off his gloves and onto his apron. “Anytime!”

He watched from inside the café as Luke loaded himself into Pastor Mike’s enormous SUV (which, he knew was to ferry kids to and from church and other events when their parents were unable to) and the pair rode off.

He sighed as he turned his eyes toward the clock yet again, pleasantly surprised when saw that it finally now was six o’clock.

Simeon went to go flip over the sign that read “CLOSED” to the side that said “OPEN,” before rushing to situate himself behind the counter and stir in the coffee powder and tea leaves into their respective containers.

The door swung open exactly at 6:01 AM, and he didn’t even have to turn around to see who it was.

The overworked, early-graying, and rather proud Mayor’s Assistant was always his first customer.

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calpalirwin · 4 years

Text

Insecurities

Summary: You were just a girl in a bar when Ashton Irwin literally bumped into you. His interest in you, although charming, also made you question if he was serious. After all, in what world did a man like that pursue a woman like you?

Pairings: Y/N and Ashton

And away, and away we go!

Part 1

You sighed as you set down your phone for the millionth time. You don’t know why you kept checking it. It’s not like you were waiting for anybody. No, you had made the decision to come out alone, to try and enjoy yourself without feeling the pressure to put on a face. After all, despite being old enough to drink, bars weren’t your scene. You weren’t bound to run into anyone you knew here, which had been the whole point of you challenging yourself to do something outside of your wheelhouse.

You took a small sip of your drink, wincing at the taste. Even with the extra glass of Coke you were slowly pouring into your whiskey soda to drown out the taste, the whiskey was still a tad strong for your liking. Bars weren’t your thing for a reason, you reminded yourself as you took another bitter sip.

So there you were, staring at a still mostly full whiskey soda, in a bar, in downtown LA, on a Friday night, wondering just what the hell you thought you were doing when a loud giggle pierced your ears. The giggle was followed by a body bumping into your shoulder. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you turned to your intruder. “Shit, sorry, love,” the man giggled with an accent you couldn’t place as you weren’t sure if it was actually an accent or not. One of his large hands came to rest gently on your shoulder, as if making his apology more sincere, and you took notice of the heart tattoo on his wrist.

“Whatever,” you answered shortly, eyeing the man standing behind you- a polka dot button down that showed off part of his chest and more tattoos on his large arms, black jeans, and boot-clad feet- with misplaced annoyance. A part of you knew he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of your bad mood. It wasn’t his fault you were in an envious spiral and questioning every life decision you ever made. A single shock of reddish brown hair laid across his forehead, stopping just above the pair of hazel eyes that were constantly changing colors under the lights that stared at you with a puzzled expression, no doubt confused that you weren’t already drooling over him. You decided to stare back, narrowing your eyes for added effect. In any other situation this man would be an intimidating piece of eye candy. Someone that you would sputter some nonsense at with a girlish giggle of your own, smitten that a guy like that had his hand on your shoulder. But tonight, he was just somebody who wouldn’t stop staring at you, and good, God could he fucking stop?! You turned your glare to his hand that was still on your shoulder. “Ya mind?” you all but snapped.

He pulled his hand back from your shoulder and used it to brush the single shock of hair back from his face, only for it to return to its rightful place as soon as his hand fell. “Oh, feisty. I like it.” He smiled, revealing the dimple in his cheek.

“Not feisty,” you shot back, choosing to feed your annoyance rather than risk succumbing to the schoolgirl antics you felt bubbling up inside of you. A crush was the last thing you needed right now. “Just have better things to do,” you added, this time with no annoyance in your tone, just numb indifference.

“Oh, like sitting by yourself?” he teased, clearly enjoying the back and forth.

“Says you.”

He nodded in head in the direction of a booth with 3 men who were equally as large and handsome as he was, and 2 girls with more beauty in their little fingers than you possessed in your whole body. “I’m actually here with friends.”

You waved your hand dismissively, “Well, by all means, I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

He leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “Maybe I want to be kept.” His breath was warm as it grazed by your neck, causing you to shudder.

“Trust me, I’m not that interesting.”

“Cute girl alone at a bar? Isn’t that how all the interesting stories start out?”

“I’m not alone,” you said, your senses on high alert. Never let a guy knew you were alone, c’mon quick, say your friend’s in the bathroom, no, say your boyfriend’s on his way! Your mouth opened to tell him your lie, any lie, but no words came out.

His brows furrowed together. “You are alone, huh?”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Then, “But, it was my choice. And people know where I am.”

He chuckled and nodded his head back to over where his friends were. “Well, why don’t you join us? You’d be surprised at the type of creeps that hang around bars.”

You looked over at his friends. The girls gave you the sense that it was a safe choice, certainly safer than telling him no or staying by yourself. There was something else you couldn’t quite figure out, almost like you knew them. But couldn’t remember from where. You stood up, putting your phone in your back pocket before reaching for your drinks. “Okay, Sir Giggle, I’ll join you and your friends,” you told him.

“Sir Giggle?” he giggled.

“If the name fits,” you answered.

He led you across the bar to his booth, and when his friends looked at you and back at him in question, he answered their unspoken question. “Guys this is… uh… shit…” he giggled as he shot you an apologetic look.

“Y/N,” you said, as you took the seat Sir Giggle was offering you.

“Y/N,” he smiled, both of you liking the way it sounded rolling off his lips. “Y/N this is, Luke, his girlfriend, Sierra, Mike, and his fiancee, Crystal, and that’s Cal.”

They all smiled and offered a small wave as their names were called- first the blonde haired boy, then a dark-haired girl, followed by another blonde boy and blonde girl, and then the dark haired boy- as your brain finally clicked as to why they all seemed familiar, an unintended “Oh, shit…” escaping your lips.

“Is something wrong?” Sir Giggle, better known as Ashton Fuckin Irwin, asked you.

“No. Nothing’s wrong. Just… holy shit, I know you. Well, I don’t know you. I mean… holy shit,” you began to ramble. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m sure you get that all the time… shit… holy fuck, I mean, hi, God, sorry!”

Ashton giggled which caused everyone else to laugh a little, including you. “It’s fine. Cute actually.”

Did Ashton Irwin just call your fangirling cute? No. Fucking. Way. You blushed and ducked your head. “No, it’s actually really stupid. I mean, your just people. People go out to bars. It’s what people do. Normal people.” You were rambling again.

“Normal, Ash, you hear that? We’re normies,” Calum said with a grin.

“Well, Mike probably is,” you put in. “I mean, Michael. Mike? Mikey? Michael. Like you like stuff my friends like. Videogames, nerdy stuff, the likes.”

Michael chuckled, “I think that makes me a nerd, actually. And Mike’s fine. Mikey works too, I’m not picky.”

“Not a nerd,” you smiled. “A punk nerd. Cuz you’re in a… nevermind, bad joke.”

Michael laughed anyway, “Punk nerd, I like it. Got a nice ring to it.”

“Well… I like Mean Girls,” Luke spoke up.

“Oh, my God, shut up, Luke!” Michael said loudly with a roll of his eyes.

Everybody laughed at Michael’s fake-annoyance, and as you laughed with them you felt more at ease. Star status or not, people were just people.

“So, what do you do?” Crystal asked you.

“Oh, I’m a teaching assistant. But I’m finishing school so I can become a teacher,” you answered.

“Picked you a college girl, huh, Ash?” Calum asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I didn’t…” Ashton started to protest from his seat next to you before turning to you to gauge your reaction. “I wasn’t… it was an accident, swear. So, college, huh?”

You smiled gently at him, accident or not, you were now glad he had quite literally bumped into you. This was quickly becoming one of the best nights of your life. “Yeah, I’m gonna be a senior this year. Finally.”

“What do you mean, aren’t you excited?” Ashton asked.

“No, I am. I just… well, college has taken me longer than most, so I feel a little behind the curve sometimes is all.”

“Well, it’s not a race,” Sierra spoke up. “People do things in their own way and time.”

“I guess that’s true,” you nodded. “As long as you get where you’re going, doesn’t matter the pace, right?”

“Wait… so how old are you then?” Ashton blurted. His eyes went wide as the girls glared at him, so he began to backpedal on his question “Shit… I just mean… since you said college has taken you longer than most… Aren’t most college seniors like 21 or 22?”

You nodded, “Generally, yeah. But, I’m 25.”

“Shit, no way! I just turned 25 a few weeks ago,” Ashton told you.

“I know,” you mumbled, cheeks blushing.

“Wait,” Michael asked, leaning forward. “Are you recently 25, like old man Ash? Or…?”

“My birthday was back in December, so I’m older.”

“Isn’t the band’s birthday in December?” Luke asked.

“It’s actually on my birthday,” you admitted, blushing again. “The 3rd.” It had been a fun fact you learned when you became a fan of their work, which regrettably wasn’t all that long ago.

“No shit?” Ashton asked you.

“No shit,” you repeated, cheeks still burning.

As the night wore on, the drunker everyone but you and Ashton became. You weren’t that much of a drinker, and Ashton was on a sober streak of his own. When closing time came around, Ashton offered to walk you to your car.

“A little big for a tiny thing like you, don’t ya think?” he asked, nodding at your truck.

You shrugged. You personally thought the truck was on the small side. “It gets the job done.”

He chuckled. “Text me when you get to where you’re going so I know you got there safe.”

“I don’t have your number,” you pointed out.

“Aw, love, all you had to do was ask,” he teased.

You let a small chuckle of your own as you exchanged numbers. “Thanks. For tonight. It was… nice.”

“We should do it again sometime, then.”

“Well, you have my number,” you told him.

“That I do. Drive safe, love.”

“You, too, Ash,” you said, blushing at the way he called you “Love.”

You watched as he sauntered over to his own car a few spots over, taking a quiet delight in how he waited for you to pull out of the parking lot before he pulled out of his spot. Whether you were misreading his signs or not, there was no denying that he was a guy who looked out for others. And that was never a bad thing in your book.

Your phone pinged while you were still driving down the freeway, your phone sending an automatic text back to the sender. Your phone pinged again and you stole a quick glance at the contact and smiled to yourself.

Once you were safely inside your apartment, you opened your phone to check the texts:

Hey, it’s Ash. I just got in.

I’m driving.

Dang, love, just where do you live?

I’m driving

You quickly shot back a quick text. I live in LA, just not the actual city, lol. Night, Ash.

Glad you’re safe. Sleep well, love. was the quick response back.

You fell asleep, a smile on your face.

#insecurities #part 1 #ashton irwin #5SOS #galcal irwin

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olehistorian · 5 years

Text

PHYLLIS Logan is only minutes back from New York where the actress has been promoting the new Downton Abbey movie. The national station PBS has been beaming out interviews across the nation, given the series about toffs and toff-servers has been such an success in the classless land of the free.

Logan’s voice is soft and a little subdued. She speaks in thumbnails, not given to flourishes at all. I factor in that the expansive, often dramatic language of hyperbole was spoken by very few in Renfrewshire in the 1950s and 1960s (yet actors tend to be more effusive). And I factor in jetlag of course.

But then again, perhaps there’s a little more of her laconic head housekeeper character Mrs Hughes in Phyllis Logan than we’d suspected? “Well, I can be a bit snippy, a bit terse,” she offers, smiling. “But only to my nearest and dearest.” Would Kevin (actor husband Kevin McNally) agree with that? “Probably,” she says, dryly.

Logan’s thoughts on the Mrs Hughes comparison continues: “She was written down in the script, of course, but I like to think I gave her the legs to run. But when you play a character there are always elements of you in that person. You can’t completely step away from yourself.”

Downton is a phenomenal television success story. The series, which began eight years ago featuring the Crawley family and their legion of servants, began with the Titanic going down, and has covered plague, rape, murder, interwoven with romance, often crossing the class barriers.

Logan’s character was voted No 1 Ever in a 2014 Radio Times poll; no mean feat given the subdued nature of Mrs H, a woman to whom flashes of excitement are to be discouraged as much as relations with those upstairs.

Yet, the original script described Elsie Hughes as a Yorkshire woman. Logan reveals it was only when the casting directors heard the Scot’s natural voice that they asked her to read in her own accent. “I was happy when she was cast as a Scot. She had that Scottish bluntness and I felt right because I have known women like her.”

During the six series of Downton, Mrs Hughes negotiated Branson the chauffeur’s assassination attempt, Carson’s Spanish flu and helped Ethel with her illegitimate Upstairs son, Charlie. The psychologist with an apron also sorted out Thomas’s homosexuality. And although she fell for Mr Carson, (or at least lurched slightly in his direction) it took a bit of persuasion before she agreed to a “full” marriage, where he would make occasional visits downstairs.

“We all know those types,” grins Logan. “But what’s nice about her is she does have a sense of humour. And she’s quite forward thinking. She’s a republican, and has a socialist bent to her for sure.”

Does Logan have left-wing sympathies, considering her late father, an engineer, was a trade unionist? She deflects by referring to Mrs Hughes. “She was of a different type. She knew people were thrown into a caste system but had to make the best of it.”

Yes, but what about you, Phyllis? Did you feel working class containment in Johnstone, where most people’s horizons didn't stretch beyond Rootes car plant or the local carpet factory (where John Byrne took inspiration for The Slab Boys – Logan appeared in the sequel, Cuttin’ A Rug)?

“You just accepted the way things were,” she says, sounding ever so Mrs Hughes. “I never thought I’d break out and become posh. But I did think it would be nice to spread my wings a little.”

Just a little? She smiles and adds: “But I didn’t audition for some of the big London drama schools. I thought that was a step too far for me at the time so I went to Glasgow.”

Not a risk taker. Not a wild child. But very, very good at what she does. Despite her careers teacher declaring the teenager was wasting her time with acting, Logan picked up the James Bridie Gold Medal at the RSAMD. On leaving she landed work at Dundee Rep and worked continuously throughout the 1970s and 1980s with the likes of Borderline Theatre. Real talent was revealed. Yet few would have expected her to land the role of Britain’s most popular posh totty in dodgy antiques dealer series Lovejoy.

Aged 30 in 1986, Logan walked into an audition room as Lady Felsham. Logan’s Lady had a cut-glass accent, spoke authoritatively of renaissance art and invoked a world of stately homes and castles. But in reality, Logan’s only castle connection was her housing scheme, Johnstone Castle, where the recognised art on living room walls was a classic Sara Moon picture. This new cut-glass accent had somehow emerged from a world where ginger bottles were a form of currency.

Logan’s clever deception (aided by being forced to speak RP at drama college) revealed that you don’t have to be a loud extrovert to be emboldened enough to convince you are actually blue blooded: you just need to be talented. “I can’t believe looking back now that 20 million were watching us on Sunday nights. The show was so huge.”

Many other drama successes followed such as Mike Leigh’s Secrets and Lies. But did she feel Downton would be the massive success it became? “I read the scripts and loved them. And when I heard Maggie Smith and Hugh (Bonneville) and Penelope (Wilton) were on board it looked good. Then we signed an option for three series but there was always the chance it could have gone down the pan after one.” Her voice lifts. “And then six came along.”

Did this kill the fear, the insecurity that comes with being an actor waiting to be hired? She answers indirectly. “It used to be that you always knew that when one job was finishing another would be on its way. But that seems to be far less the case these days. That’s why it was great having that guarantee of six months' work each year. And each time it was like going back to school after the summer holidays and seeing your friends.”

Logan seems the worrying type, so why volunteer for a life of insecurity? “And rejection,” she adds in soft voice. “And I’ve had a certain amount of that.” She thinks for a second and makes a dramatic statement that seems out of character. “You know, I wanted this part in Downton so badly I think I might have given up [acting] had I not got it. I don’t often feel that. Usually I have a what’s-for-you-will-not-go-by-you outlook.”

She laughs and allows herself a little flightiness: “Somehow I felt, ‘This is mine! It’s meant to be.'" She then contains herself and becomes more Mrs Hughes. “No, I felt I’d like to give it a bash.”

Logan certainly didn’t get into acting for the glory. She doesn’t seem to be consumed by ambition or the fripperies of acting success. She had genuinely forgotten she’d won a Bridie Gold Medal, and mention of her Bafta for Another Time, Another Place, (the 1983 Scotswoman falls for Italian POW tragic romance) doesn’t swell her head in the slightest. What she does want, however, is to act. All the time. In all the best roles.

“I just wanted to be the best I could. To find the truth in every role. You don’t think about awards. Acting has been the only thing that remotely interested me since I played Mary in the Nativity play at primary school. Then at Johnstone High I’d join every club that had anything to do with acting and take trips to the Citizens'. I’d be in any play going, starting in the chorus and working my way up to playing Polly in the Boyfriend.”

But, of course, there have been set backs. “My dad [David] didn’t live to see me graduate, [he died, aged 59] and that was a real shame but my mum would come and see all my shows.”

Logan’s voice becomes more upbeat as she tells of how her mum and aunt landed roles in one of her films, when the actress appeared in a drama set in Spain, The Legendary Life of Ernest Hemingway (1989). “My mum Betty and my auntie Margaret came on set to have a look around, and they were asked if they wanted to be extras. They loved the idea of this, and were dressed up as posh ladies with big frocks and they had all the make-up done.

“But it was a night shoot, and the second night as they should have been getting picked up they declared, ‘Oh, pet, we don’t think we’ll bother tonight.’ I thought ‘Have you never heard of continuity? Do you know what this means? I had to tell the director they’d both eaten something dodgy.”

Betty and Margaret clearly weren’t captivated by the acting world. Logan herself once claimed she wasn’t captivated by actors. She said she wouldn’t have one in the house, that they were vain people. But then she met McNally while filming the 1993 miniseries Love and Reason and they fell in love and married.

“What I meant was I’d never get together with one,” she backtracks, grinning. “But in a way it makes real sense. We know the business. And we can help each other. Recently, Kevin was doing three episodes of the missing Dad’s Army scripts (playing Captain Mainwaring) and I read lines with him every night. It meant I got to play every other character in the cast.” McNally must have found it a delight, given his wife’s talent. (She slips into a remarkable Clive Dunn/Corporal Jones voice. “Don’t panic, don’t panic Mr Mannering.”

But if all that sounds a little perfunctory, Logan, who lives in west London, once declared: “There’s an excitement in discovering that you can still fall in love when you’re an ancient old trout.”

There’s little doubt the relationship really works. But the Mrs Hughes cross voice emerges when I ask if Pirates of the Caribbean star McNally, who has appeared in Downton in the past, playing Horace Bryant, has a role this time around? “No, he does not,” she says emphatically, (subtext: he’s had his shot and should be thankful, a sentiment which sits neatly against her husband’s quote of the time: “Phyllis said it was like take-your-husband-to-work day.”

Was she a bit territorial? “Yes,” she smiles. “I was thinking: ‘You don’t get me a part as Johnny Depp’s mother and take me to the Caribbean. So why are you here?’”

What of the Downton film, set in 1927, two years after the end of the series? It transpires tiaras and silver will be polished until they sparkle. “We get a visit from the King and Queen (George V and Queen Mary) and there’s a bit of friction between the Downton team and the Royal household staff. Mr Carson (now on gardening duty) is begged by Lady Mary to help out. The cavalry ride into town!”

And, of course, there will be lashings of scandal, romance and intrigue “that will leave the future of Downton hanging in the balance,” says the official movie site.

But what of the future for Phyllis Logan? Despite running up continuous film and TV series, success, from Taggarts to Rab C Nesbitt, from the more recent The Good Karma Hospital to Girlfriends – and attracting great crits for her West End role earlier this year as Patricia Highsmith in Switzerland – she certainly has Elsie Hughes’ worry gene.

Logan’s run, she feels, could end at any minute.

“It’s a snakes and ladders life,” she says in Mrs Hughes' tones. “Your career can be going really well and suddenly the snake appears. But I guess I’ve been lucky because I persevered.”

Nonsense, Phyllis. Talent kicked in. You don’t get Bridies and Baftas and almost continuous work for perseverance. “It’s lovely of you to say so, but I’m not sure that’s really the case.”

Downton Abbey is out on September 13

#phyllis logan #downton abbey #interview #elsie hughes #lady jane felsham

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freekshow17 · 4 years

Text

Reddie Ch2 ‘The Red Carpet”

Reddie with short appearances of Benverly and The Uris’

Word Count 1.9K

Richie was able to convince Eddie there was no time for a shower, wiping off would have to do. Eddie compromised with extra cologne. Richie laughed as Eddie sprayed himself liberally, "You can cover up the smell all you want Kaspbrak, but unless you got make up lying around, those little love bites ain't going anywhere." Eddie's eyes shot up to the mirror he stood in front of, he was instantly aware of the perfectly circular near purple bruise dead center, he whipped around to glare at Richie who was standing tall, full of pride, with a toothy grin stretched across his face. "Are you fucking kidding me Tozier?!" Richie kept his pose, only tilting his eyes down to meet Eddie's "Curious. What's a bigger problem? You with that, or me - with these." Richie rotates his head side to side exposing all the blue and black marks that trail from ear, down his neck around to the other ear. Eddie's jaw slowly lowers as his eyes go wide "Shit." Richie lets out a deep belly laugh opening his arms to embrace Eddie "Oh Ed's. It's alright, if you want, I'll blame it on a wild girlfriend, you can... well… say Myra came back to town" as Eddie leans into Richie's chest allowing his arms to wrap around him Richie finished that statement, Eddie snaps back. "Fuck you." Richie nearly topples over from the immediate anger radiating from his new partner, catching himself on the corner of the bed frame. Richie lets himself fall to the bed rolling to his back clutching his stomach, Eddie stares at him blankly "Why? Why are you the way you are?" Richie tries to look serious but the second he looks to Eddie he starts to laugh again. "Seriously, Fuck you Rich." Eddie says as he starts to walk out of the room, kicking Richie’s leg as he walks past him.

A few minutes pass and Richie has composed himself enough to exit the room and join Eddie where he sits on the arm of the couch in the living room by the door "Ready?" Eddie asks with a hint of anger still in his tone, Richie clears his throat before replying "Yes sir… hey, you actually had make up?" Richie says as he approaches Eddie realizing his bruises are not as noticeable. "Myra wasn't good for much but she was kind enough to forget to take all her crap from the bathroom." Eddie said as the two men make their way to Richie's car, Eddie sitting in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest. Richie takes the wheel and begins their journey to the premiere. With only a few minutes between them, camera crews, and more importantly, the other losers, Richie slows down to the actual speed limit instead of his normal 10 over, to give them time to talk. "Really though Ed's, if you don't want me to tell anyone it was you… I won't. But no matter what I say out there, you gotta know I don't regret what we did. Quite the opposite, actually." He turns to look at Eddie for a moment before directing his eyes back to the road, catching a slight smile peek at the corner of Eddie's mouth. That's all Richie needed; some sign, or gesture, to know Eddie wasn't regretting what they had shared. "I don't regret it either Rich… I'm… just not yet, okay?" Eddie looked up to Richie with what Richie could only interpret as uncertainty, he replied with a nod at first "You got it buddy." Richie said softly, hoping it would ease the obvious worry Eddie was feeling. He couldn't blame him, Richie had these feelings for 30 years and is just now acting on them, he can't expect it to all change at once. "It…" Eddie paused a moment, and they both went tense at the word Eddie hesitated on. Eddie quickly tried to continue "It's just, Myra and I haven't been separated long. I don't want anyone thinking… I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea." This time Richie just replied with a nod, he tried his best to forget Myra was ever apart of Eddie's life, tried to forget she got to have him in the years HE should have had Eddie. Just hearing her name would send Rich on a downward spiral. Eddie sees it but thinks it's from his proposed plan to keep the two of them quiet for now. "Also, I'm embarrassed to say I'm with trashmouth" Eddie adds to cut the mood, it makes Richie smile and a slight huff escapes him. "Understandable Kaspbrak. Here we are." He says as they pull up to a Red Carpet roped off with a small walkway for them to follow to the doors. "Are we supposed to walk together?" Eddie asks nervously. "Don't worry, we can wait a minute for everyone to get here." Richie replies as he watches his rear view mirror to see if anyone else is pulling up. "Rich." Eddie says pointing toward the doors. All the other losers are already inside just beyond the door. "Fu- wait!" Richie started and cut himself off "I knew I loved that man for some reason." Eddie turns to look behind them to see Stanley walking around to his passenger door, opening it and holding out a hand, leading Patty out of the car. "Hurry!" They say in unison as they scramble to get out of the car, cameras already flashing in their direction. "STAN! PATTY!" Richie yells to them as he puts a hand on Eddie's lower back guiding him toward their friends, he quickly moves his hand away and whispers a Sorry to Eddie "Oh, we thought we were gonna be late. I'm so happy we get to walk in with the star." Patty says as she opens her arms demanding a hug from her husband's childhood friends. They've met before and had time to get to know each other over the last couple of years, after Stan decided returning to Derry on a blood oath was not something he counted as an acceptable excuse to miss the vacation he had planned for his wife and himself. They were 40 with no kids and made damn sure their time together was memorable, introducing Patty to the horrors of his childhood were not the memorable moments Stan had in mind. However, after he got a SECOND call from Mike, saying it was all over, he decided to celebrate by bringing Patty into a world he did enjoy: The Losers Club. Now it was as if Patty was an honorary 8th member. "Congrats again Rich, we're so proud of you" Patty continued as they separated from their hug to allow Eddie to get one. "Well… more like surprised for me." smirked Stanley, offering a hand to Richie "Didn't think this trashmouth had it in him?" Richie questioned in a rhetorical sort; he knew Stan always showed his love through his sarcasm. A literal translation of what Stan had said would be more like God I love you Richie Tozier, and I am so proud of you for getting past your demons and making something of yourself. and Richie knew that, so he accepted the sarcasm. After the four friends have greeted each other they make their way up the carpet together, Richie purposefully positioning himself to the far end of the line next to Patty, with Eddie opposite Stan. Seeing the other losers inside he waves them out and they follow. "Richie! Mr. Tozier" Richie heard his name being called from multiple directions. As he stops to pose for photos, he answers a few questions Who's your date? "My best friend's wife" the crowd laughs Who are your other guest? "Oh, these people? Just a bunch a losers!" More laughter Is one of them responsible for all those hickeys? Richie looks down the line before replying making quick eye contact with Eddie but breaking before it was too noticeable "They all wish! But this neck is reserved for the finest of teeth… just ask your mom she'll tell ya." The crowd erupts and Richie thinks that's a good place to leave it be, just before entering the door they pose for one last group photo, the photographer tries to split them into two rows with the tallest man, and man of the hour centered back row, to his right stood Mike, and next to him Ben, to Richie's left was Stan. In front of Stan stood Patty making sure to reach a hand behind her grabbing the hand of her dear husband, then Eddie, Bev, and Bill. "Great guys, perfect, okay and three, two..." the photographer counted down and everyone gives their best smile. Just after the flash Patty took it upon herself to approach the photographer to be sure he had the names right and in the right order. Bev, still linked in arms with Eddie leans in close to whisper, "I never noticed just how perfect your teeth are Ed's." She says perfect with a hint of suspicion, she turns to offer Eddie a smile but that too seems pointed. Does she know Eddie panicked in his head; he goes to question the compliment as Ben steps up beside Beverly "Wow! Am I right? This is amazing." Ben says as he slides his arm around Beverly's waist, and she repositions herself against him. Beverly has had issues in the past with being touched like this, she would wince away from it, it was always out of possession, claiming her as if she were property. But that wasn't the case with Ben. Every time Ben touched her, she could feel his love illuminating from his fingertips, making her feel safe and comforted. Ben always had a way to make her feel better, even when she thought she was at her best. "I know right?!" Bev responds offering a bright smile up to Ben. "To think our Richie is getting an award for being the same knucklehead he was at 13? Priceless. Right Eddie?" Ben asked trying to bring Eddie into the conversation, Ben could tell he was in his own head somewhere. "Yeah. Yeah it's great." Eddie replied still giving Bev a confused stare. "Hey Bev-" Eddie started but was interrupted "Hey! There you all are!" Richie approaches with the rest of the losers crew in tow. "We were gonna head in, but I wanted us to all go in together." Everyone nods in agreement ready to go take their seats. "Now once we're all in there I think a couple people speak, they give me the award for 'up and coming blah blah blah' then the special starts. BEFORE you see it, I want you to all know" Richie waves a hand in front of each loser giving a thoughtful look "You're all in it, I bash all of you, it's hilarious!" He continues as a smirk creeps across his face. All the losers give him a wave of the wrist or a fake punch as the laugh their way from the lobby to their seats. Bev takes a step back from Ben and places a hand on Eddie's shoulder, leaning close to his ear "You used the wrong shade of concealer on those love bites babe, it's still pretty obvious what's under it." She pulls back glancing toward Richie and back to Eddie "Don't worry though, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one to notice. And you know I can keep a secret" she smiles widely, leaving Eddie with a wink as she turns on her heels and heads back up to Ben.

#reddie #the losers #fixing the damn clow movie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stans alive #eddies alive #IT movies #richie and eddie

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