#bev and mike should have been best friends

[glitchinginhyperfixis]

bev deserved to kill more men and befriend more men

[cherriesfromeden]

kiss her you fool

...

[requested : no]

[pairing : eddie kasbrak x fem!reader]

[summary : you and eddie have been avoiding confessions with each other but richie's finally gotten tired of that game and at a sleepover at bill's, everything comes crashing down.]

[warnings : none but i used some of this song lyrics in this and they do not belong to me! they will be italicized. also this is kind of long. beware.]

...

it was a lazy day down at the quarry and the losers were all by the shore or in the water, messing around. richie, mike, ben, and stan were in the middle of a water fight while beverly, and bill were watching with amusement. the last two losers, you and eddie, were strolling along the shoreline, making small talk.

"wait, really?" eddie looked up, confused. "you didn't bring a towel?"

"yeah...no i forgot one. i'll just lay down on bev's until you guys get out of the water." you said as you took her towel from the fallen log and unfolded it.

"but it's almost a million degrees! you should at least sit near the water so you don't die of heatstroke." his hands fluttered over his inhaler nervously.

"hey! HEY!" richie, who had already been in the water with the others now was wading back towards the shore. "eds you should leave y/n alone she doesn't wannna bone so c'mon!"

eddie's face flushed and he glanced at you quickly before following richie back in the water.

what he didn't notice is that you seemed just as embarrassed as him, if not more.

"eds, please. for the love of god. fucking tell her!" richie hissed at him when they got back to the others.

"what? no! she probably doesn't even feel the same! why would i tell her now? i mean, it would probably ruin everything that-" eddie was interrupted by a splash of water hitting him in the face, courtesy of richie.

beverly mumbled a few curses next to bill as she watched the two friends start to argue. she knew that you thought the same thing about eddie and she had very similar conversations with you.

bill, who had talked to both of you, was even more frustrated. it seemed like neither one of you would ever blurt out your feelings for fear of rejection when that was the last thing that would ever happen.

"i hate this." bill muttered, sinking down in the water so his mouth was barely above it. bev looked over at him and chuckled slightly. he knew she felt the same but she found it more interesting to see what would ever happen, if anything did.

"TELL HER!" she heard richie scream.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" eddie yelled back and beverly heard a splash, which she knew came from eddie.

after a minute of silence, bill and beverly glanced worriedly at each other, then to the shore where you were curled up in the sun, to eddie and richie. the two boys were having what seemed to be a very quiet argument, which was unlike them.

bill swam over and, after a slight hesitation, bev followed him.

"tell. her. goddamn this eds! come on i promise that you won't regret it!"

"there is nothing more i would regret if she said no!"

"okay this is so stupid. i'll tell y/n myself then."

eddie glared at his best friend. "you wouldn't." at this, richie smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"would i?"

eddie stood there, not knowing what to do. he gaped at richie and waited for him to splash him again or say it was a joke but he was still there with a grin on his face while all his other friends watched from a few feet away.

"what- no you woul- would you? oh shit. oh god. richie please no." eddie spluttered.

"don't be a fool, tell her you think she's cool." richie replied, moving next to ben since he was the least likely to smack him.

"guys? hey, guys!" your voice called from the shore, making everyone turn to you. "it's getting later and i've got to be home for dinner! see you later!" and with a wave, you grabbed your things and left.

"bye y/n!" beverly called and mike waved.

"see you tomorrow!" ben yelled. richie hollered something about seeing you later tonight before he leaped onto eddie before he could say anything close to goodbye. stan and bill were busy pulling the two apart to do much other than give you a quick glance but you got the message.

humming in content, you made your way back home.

...

the next day came rather quickly for you. the plan was that you, richie, beverly, and eddie were going to get ice cream and catch a movie before you met up with the others at bill's house for a sleepover.

beverly was supposed to pick you up any minute now and you were rushing around, looking for socks.

there was a knock at the door and you grabbed the first pair you saw and ran to answer.

beverly looked down at you, her eyes twinkling merrily.

"hello there." she said, squatting down so she was at eye level while you tied your shoelaces. "are you gonna do it? i can drag richie away for a little while but you better not waste that time n/n. today's the day!"

"no way." you scoffed and stood up. you snatched your keys and locked the door while beverly groaned and rolled her eyes. "today is not the day. you said that last time we went to the movies too so it doesn't count."

"yeah well you didn't tell him! so it does count cause nothing happened except that richie got banned from the popcorn." beverly twirled around to face you as the two of you started walking down the sidewalk. "pleeeeeease y/n? i promise it'll be worth it."

"absolutely not."

beverly sighed and gave up on pestering you. this was going to be a long day.

"oh look, there they are." you said and waved richie and eddie over.

"joy." beverly grumbled.

...

"well i'm thoroughly confused." you said, stepping out into the setting sunlight. your lips pursed together in thought and eddie watched quietly from next to richie. "that movie was weird."

he could stay like this forever. you were perfect and right there. why couldn't he just say it? just three simple words.

"i-"

"hey look at that weird bird." richie said, pointing towards a bird that was pecking at something on the ground. but, at richie's words, it gave a caw and flew away as if it were offended.

eddie shrank behind richie and reached for his inhaler as if to use it but stopped when you started laughing.

"richie! that's so mean, look you made him cry!" you choked out through your giggles. richie looked over at you and elbowed your side.

"hey if that made him cry wait till i'm really mean to him."

"leave the bird alone!"

"make me sweetheart!"

beverly, who had been noticing eddie's behavior, decided to get them all to bill's house so she could have a word with richie.

"let's go guys, everyone else is probably already there." she said and herded the other three up the street.

she fell back next to eddie and nudged him. he turned, as if startled to see her.

"hey eddie, you know you have to tell her at some point right?"

"what are you talking ab-"

"eddie." she stared at him until he looked away, a light pink dusting his cheeks. "you've only got one chance."

"yeah yeah. i know." he murmured as they reached bill's front door.

you knocked on the door as richie was still poking fun of the bird and you.

"hello!" a small boy with a huge grin answered the door.

"georgie!" you smiled as he ran to give you a hug which you gladly returned. "hey buddy, where's everyone else?"

"they're all upstairs in billy's room. oh, and my mom is going out to get pizza in a few minutes." he said, dragging you in the house. "i'll be down here if you need me!" georgie chirped and ran away to join his father in the living room again.

"he's so cute." beverly said, leading the four of you up to bill's room.

you nodded and the door in front of you suddenly burst open. stan came stumbling out into the hall and saw all of you.

"oh thank god, i was going insane. bill's got a game of war going on with mike and keeps cheating."

"i am n-not!" a voice came from inside the room.

"yes you are!"

"war? deal me in." richie said and rushed past stan to join mike and bill while ben rubbed his temples from the incoming headache.

you, beverly, stan, and eddie all hurried inside the room and no one bothered to close the door again.

...

a few hours and pizzas later, you were still playing war but in teams and there were many threats, fights, and insults in between rounds.

the current game was probably going to be the last since everyone was calming down. bill and stan against mike and richie. the rest of you were huddled in a circle around them, watching intently.

on your left was beverly who was almost falling asleep on ben's shoulder and on your right was, of course, eddie. though both of you were focused on the game, it felt as if there was something else pressing down on you to worry about.

you felt something press against your hand and looked down. in the heat of the games, eddie had slipped his hand into yours. when he looked back at you, he realized what happened and quickly snatched his hand away.

"sorry." he whispered.

"i didn't really mind." you half-teased, trying to hide your embarrassment. he met your eyes and neither of you seemed to be able to look away.

"HA!" mike yelled in triumph, snapping you both out of the daze, as he and richie took the win while stan and bill both started shouting protests. mike and richie high-fived and richie stood up.

"TOLD YOU BILLY!" he danced around the crowd of losers and made his way towards the hallway. "now i'm getting some ice cream. anyone else want some?"

both you and eddie got up at the same time and followed richie downstairs.

"where'd he go?" eddie asked. the kitchen was empty of richie who was never one to turn down ice cream.

"i-uh good question." you said, tripping over your words. oh no. was this something beverly had planned?

"um. anyways. so, bill's got vanilla, chocolate, mint chocolate, woah he has the whole store. look."

you walked over to where eddie was peering in the freezer. it was a small freezer so there wasn't much room for two people to look in it.

the brush of eddie's shoulder sent a jolt down your spine and you straightened up.

"i'll go with that one." you said and pointed at your favorite flavor. he looked concerned.

"are you okay y/n?"

he knows my name, part of you thought. he's been our friend for years of course he does dumbass, the other part snapped back.

"yes, i'm fine." you croaked. why was this happening now?

"she's thinking the same thing as you." richie muttered under his breath as he watched his friends talk from the doorway with beverly behind him.

the both of you faced each other and froze. it was like the moment earlier, upstairs where the only thing you'd wanted to do was stare at him and have this cloak all of your other problems.

beverly wanted to scream. you were so close and she was silently praying that you didn't let this go to waste.

the tension was so thick in the air it could've suffocated the two of you in the kitchen except both of you were oblivious to the fact that the other was feeling the same.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD." richie shouted impatiently.

you and eddie both jumped and spun around to face him and bev.

"KISS HER YOU FOOL!" he screamed and stormed over to eddie, shaking him by the shoulders.

a shocked silence spread after richie realized what he had done and said. he let go of eddie quickly and stepped away from them. you looked from him to beverly to eddie and back at richie.

"i mean, it had to be said." beverly said, breaking the silence. "y/n i'm sure you wouldn't mind that."

now it was your turn to be stunned into silence.

"bev, we should go. actually, this time." richie said, taking her wrist and leading her away from the two of you.

eddie gulped and covered his mouth with shaking fingers. you felt like you were on the verge of fainting.

but wait. "so, do you-"

"yes! okay? i like you! there i said it. i know you probably don't feel the same but i can't just leave anything unsaid after that and it's not a joke or anything. i promise." eddie said, throwing his hands away from his face.

"eddie. i know it isn't a joke. i feel the same. and if it wasn't for richie, fuck him by the way, i probably never would've told you." you shrugged, too nervous to look him in the eyes.

"and bev." eddie let out a strained laugh. you gave him a small smile and a feeling of pride bloomed in his chest.

"yeah, and fuck bev too." you said with a slightly less strained laugh.

"hey, do you maybe wanna go to that new movie that's coming out friday?" eddie asked.

a smile crept onto your face. "i'd love that."

...

[trashmouthkid]

Bill’s always had a somewhat bad habit of finding himself in Richie’s room after his dates. He knows that he shouldn’t, knows that Richie’s pep talks are notoriously controversial, best friend or not. And now that it’s Mike, and because it’s still new, he’s not sure how much he wants it to be anyone else’s business.

But at the same time—

“I didn’t kiss him.”

Richie’s got a funny look on his face when Bill lets himself in—knees drawn up to his elbows beneath the bundled mess of his comforter, mouth quirked in something that Bill might have called guilt, had he ever seen it on Richie’s face before.

“Oh please, do come in,” he says. “What’s privacy between losers?”

That’s a good question.

“I didn’t k-kiss him, Rich.”

Richie’s eyes follow him warily as he makes his way across the room, softening when he flops down across the foot of the bed.

“You know his room is like, down the hall, right?” Richie asks. “You could go fix that right now.”

Bill stares at the ceiling for a long time, not answering, before turning to look at him again. “D’you think it could ah-actually work?” Richie tilts his head. “Transitioning from friends to…to…I know Ben and Bev did it. But.”

Richie hums thoughtfully. “Well. Stan’s the only one dating outside of our friend group.” He clicks his tongue and adds: “So far. And you know if Stan’s not doing something, it probably isn’t safe.”

It’s a joke, but Bill groans anyway.

“I just don’t want anything to get m-m-messy.”

“Hell Bill, you already asked him out!” Richie rolls his eyes. “Just go kiss him and find out.”

“Shouldn’t I talk to him about this first—”

“No,” Richie says emphatically. “That’s not organic. Or romantic, for that matter.”

“Are you kidding me?”

It happens all at once—so fast, it gives Bill whiplash. The muffled voice, the bed sheets seeming to grow, to heave, and then Eddie popping up from beneath them, bare chested and comically angry. Bill sits up, startled by the extra person in the bed, and Richie throws his hands up in defeat, but Eddie goes on filling the room with his voice like he sees none of it, heated.

“Rich, are you being serious right now? Honestly? Are you trying to break our lease or something? That’s worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What!”

“They should absolutely talk about it! If that’s something Bill is worried about! You can’t just go around kissing people and hoping problems go away!”

“Well! It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, can you imagine if you had asked me to actually think about what we were doing before we did it? Boy, now that would have gone real well.”

Richie gives him an incredulous look, and Bill blinks between the two of them.

“Suh-sorry,” he interrupts, having momentarily been lost in their argument. “Are you two…?”

Aside from the hiding-under-bedsheets, he’s not entirely surprised to see them together. Had figured it would happen at one point or another, here or there, with no less bickering than there’s always been.

“Yes,” Eddie answers before turning back to Richie. His shoulders relax. “I’m not Mike, Richie.”

“Sorry,” Bill interjects again. “So, just t-to clarify. You two are…?”

Richie looks at Bill, and his face splits into a grin. Bill can tell he means it to be teasing, but it’s a little too bright, a little too sincere for that.

“Oh, 100% in love.”

He throws an arm around Eddie, who immediately shoves it off.

“Unfortunately,” he agrees, but sounds fond about it.

Bill nods. “I see.”

Something settles there, on the bed between the three of them, and he thinks of Eddie, of Richie, and their neurotic, fast-talking bodies, pent-up energy, held-back feelings. He thinks of Mike, gentle, warm, open—easy, easy to talk to. Suddenly he’s not so worried anymore.

[rwprincess]

If You Leave: Part One (Richie Tozier xGen!Neutral Reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.7K

Synopsis: A flashback-flashforward relationship with Richie, spanning both Chapter 1 and Chapter 2. Richie and Reader have some kind of unspoken-thing, but when the reader has to move away, they both worry about the inevitable (canonically for It, anyway) fate that whomever leaves loses touch and forgets about Derry.

Songfic based on If You Leave by OMD (but I’ve butchered the order because I needed to. Deal with it puts on sunglasses and rides away on tricycle)

A/N: I apologize in advance for any spacing/formatting and possible autocorrect errors. I wrote a good chunk of this on my phone.

CW: Swearing, Child Death/Gore mentions, Pennywise, angst

You’d ‘met’ him in elementary school, when you were both so small and innocent. For a year or two, you only ever saw him in passing; but when you were eleven, you found Richie at the arcade playing one of your favorite games and your friendship really cemented in that moment, over (several) rounds of Pac-Man. You quickly became the best of friends and he integrated you quickly into his small circle, introducing you to Bill, Eddie, and Stan. But your ties to Richie stayed the strongest. Even when you added more friends to your circle, gathering Ben, Bev, and Mike, your connection to Richie was unparalleled. You felt close to all of them very quickly, but there was something about Richie. Perhaps because you two were different and balanced each other out. You didn’t ‘Beep-beep’ him nearly as much as the others and found his constant jokes and ribbing more amusing than they did. And, Richie being the attention-hound he was, thrived on it. He craved your laughter.

Everything was different that summer. Your group felt complete, like you were always meant to be together. You were truly happy with where you were in life, but you noticed your feelings towards Richie started to change. You had treated each other the same for years but now the jokes, the innuendos, the pet names all caused you to blush and feel jittery: with excitement or nervousness, you could never be sure. But you felt like he treated you the same way he always had, the same way he treated all of his friends, affectionately annoying each of you in his special way. So, you pushed the feelings down, away, assuming they’d resolve on their own if forgotten.

In a fortunate, unfortunate circumstance, you suddenly had bigger things to worry about. Kids about town started to go ‘missing,’ just as Bill’s little brother George had. This catapulted you all into some semblance of maturity, living on edge and having to take care of one another. You soon found out why when a malevolent, shapeshifting clown started stalking you and your friends. Of course, when you had your final showdown with this bastard, it became harder to shove your feelings down, seeing Richie in danger. After Eddie’s arm had been broken and Richie and Bill were about to be mauled by Pennywise’s wretched claws, you didn’t want to let Richie out of your sight. You were worried about what could happen to all of you, but especially him. In the sewers, you couldn’t hide from what you already knew any longer; you had to stop lying to yourself about your secret. When Pennywise offered a bargain, Bill in exchange for all of you, your heart stopped as Richie launched into a rant: “I told you, Bill. I fucking told you. I don’t want to die; it’s your fault. You punched me in the face, made me walk through shitty water, you brought me to a fucking crackhead house…and now, I’m gonna have to kill this fucking clown.” When he picked up that baseball bat and faced one of his greatest fears, that was the pinpoint moment where you realized you were in love with him. He had just listed all of the reasons why he should be mad at Bill, why it would be wise to just go, but he went with his heart and defended someone he loved anyway. That soft, caring inside is what you loved about him above all else.

“You know, that was the bravest thing I think I’ve ever seen, the way you put everything aside to save Bill.” You ruffled Richie’s hair with your non-bloodied hand and he grinned at you with pride. “Promise me that you’ll never do something that stupid again, though.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I think you and I both know I have many years of stupid things to come.” You laughed together and you shook your head as he continued, “You know, almost being murdered really put that in perspective for me: I don’t have all the time in the world, I’ve gotta start working that stupid shit in while I can.”

“You know what I mean.” You looked at him pointedly, and then without thinking about it, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, trying to drive home the point that you refused to lose him.

I touch you once, I touch you twice

I won't let go at any price

Bev was the first to go. While she had only been a part of your group for that summer, you'd become extremely close. But it was best for her to live with her aunt, away from her abusive father. You still missed her terribly. She promised to write, to keep in touch, and for the first week or two, she kept her word. But soon, she faded off and you had no way to reach her, really. So she seemed like a brief, happy memory for the group. Bill's family followed suit about a year later; the loss of Georgie was too great to overcome and living where he was so ruthlessly taken took its toll on the family. His parents desperately needed to get out of Derry, to forget. And Bill, being a kid, had no say in his fate. He tearfully said goodbye to each of you throughout his last week in Maine and it felt like the lynchpin of your group was being pulled and it would unravel soon enough without him. Somehow, however, you were able to move on and those of you that remained stayed together. High school could have meant that you would join different cliques and break up anyway, but you were already pigeon-holed as Losers and stayed together, as long as you didn't move away. By your senior year, Mike, Stan, Eddie, and Richie remained along with you. "Five out of eight isn't bad!" Richie always joked.

One day, you were at the quarry reflecting on this, just you and Richie. After years of pining after him, you'd just settled into your fate accepting that it would be an unrequited love. You'd never actually told him outright how you felt, but you'd gone from hinting about it to practically beating him over the head with obvious flirtation. Unluckily for you, Richie was Richie. He spoke that way to everyone and was completely oblivious that when you did it to him, you meant it.

"Hey, Y/N? Promise me something," Richie said to you after a few moments of silence.

"Oh, no, I'm not falling for that again," you replied, not even turning to look at him. You'd learned long ago not to blindly accept hypotheticals from Richie. "Tell me what it is first."

"No, look. I'm serious," he said, sitting up, "Y/N, look at me." You did and it melted your resolve, like always. Perhaps that's why you weren't looking at him before: you knew you couldn't say no when you were actually looking at him. "This is my serious face," he continued, pointing at himself, "just...promise me that if one of us moves, we'll keep in touch. Like, call and write. Visit if we can. And no half-assed promise like those fucking chumps Bev and Bill and Ben. We'll mean it and follow through, right?"

He looked at you so hopefully, wide eyes magnified by his enormously thick glasses. He took your hand, as if to shake on the promise and seal the deal, even though that motion would be impossible in your current positions. He sat over you and the sun created a halo on his dark, unruly curls. "Of course, angel," you swore to him, calling him what he appeared to be at that moment, "I promise. We'll always be friends; we'll always be together, even if we're apart."

I need you now like I need you then

You always said we'd still be friends someday

Of course, the goal was always to get out of Derry. You all talked about it constantly. You had bigger dreams than this small, backwater town could provide; but you never wanted to acknowledge the harsh truth that that meant you'd have to leave your found family and that no one who left Derry ever came back or even wrote. Naturally, it dealt a devastating blow when your parents revealed that they had just been waiting for you to finish school so they could move away, taking you with them. Derry wasn't a college town and if you wanted to pursue that, you'd have to leave anyway, but there was a sort of nail-in-the-coffin feeling to it when your folks sat you down and told you that you'd be moving come summer.

"How am I going to tell Richie?" You lamented to Stan after telling him the news while the two of you were sat in the clubhouse, which was becoming emptier each year and felt like a relic of another time already. "He always takes it hard when someone leaves."

"The hardest," Stan pointed out, not making you feel at ease at all. Richie had a constant need to be liked and acknowledged; there was never enough attention, and each time another one of his friends left, his circle got smaller and he felt like he was 'socially suffocating,' as he once put it. "I also don't think he'll do well with you leaving, specifically," Stan continued. You assumed he meant because you and Richie were so close. It was probably a tie between you and Eddie being his best friend. But there was no doubt, you needed to tell him.

It went about as well as you expected, that is to say, Richie completely lost his mind. You had asked him to come over and went to your room together, just like the million other times you had done so throughout the years. You perched yourself on your bed, smoothing out the covers underneath you and looking down. You had been dreading this moment for hours, days really. When your parents had told you, your immediate thought was how you could possibly break the news to Richie, quickly followed by how you could possibly live without him.

"What's up with you? You're acting like your goldfish died."

"I don't have a fish, Rich." You mumbled, still not making eye contact.

"Yeah, I know, doofus. That's why I don't understand why you're so mopey," he replied and you picked at the bedspread, letting out a shaky sigh as you tried to hold back the tears and gather the courage to tell him. "Okay, now you're kinda freaking me out. C'mon sweetheart, you know can tell me anything. C'mon, tell meee." He walked over and poked you gently in the side to goad you and you allowed a half-smile to cross your lips; oh, how you were going to miss this.

"I'm moving away, Rich." You said, diving in.

"What? Away from my poking? You know that won't work--"

"No, Richie. As in my family is moving away and taking me with." You clarified and shrank back. For once in his life, Richie Tozier was speechless. Words completely failed him, and in that silence, you studied him, trying to remember every feature as though this were the last time you'd see him, even though you had several months left in Derry. He'd become so tall; he'd shot up one summer. At first he was all long legs and elbows, a 'string bean,' but since then, he'd grown into the frame some. His shoulders were broad and the long arms were filled with wiry muscle; he was stronger than he looked. His fashion sense still hadn't really grown: he was still wearing a loud, colorful unbuttoned shirt over a graphic tee, he still had thick, black-rimmed glasses that were for function, not fashion, but it suited him. Lastly, you took in his face. While his expression filled you with pain, the shocked look wracking you with guilt, his features were still so beautiful to you. The sharp, square jawline and high cheekbones; the soft pink lips, exaggerating the way his jaw had dropped at the news; his dark, lively eyes that you loved the most. His eyes always reflected so much of his soul and even though he was always trying to get everyone's attention, those eyes always made you feel like you were the only one he was focused on. Perhaps that was just an illusion, though, a fantasy.

"That's a fucked up joke, Y/N." He said, finally.

"Richie--" you began, but he stood up from your bed and took a step back.

"No, really," he asserted. "You can't be serious."

"It's not for a few months, but… I just found out, I--"

"No," he cut you off, voice becoming cold and stern with anger. "You don't get to do this to me."

"Richie, honey, it's not like I have a choice," you pleaded and reached out towards him to console him, but he took another step back.

"I've, fuck, I've gotta go." He said and quickly turned away, taking long strides out of your room. He was already halfway down the stairs before you even made it off your bed, calling his name after him.

If you leave

I won't cry

I won't waste one single day

But if you leave, don't look back

I'll be running the other way

There was absolutely no way Richie would let you see him cry about this. That's why he got the hell out of dodge so quickly, to hide the tears that threatened to fall. He also knew he couldn't trust his words and didn't want to say something he might regret. He was known for being a motor-mouth, Trashmouth Tozier, and if he started in, telling you what he thought and how he felt, he might never stop the verbal diarrhea. He knew this whole situation wasn't your fault, and he imagined that you hated it, too, but he couldn't trust that he wouldn't lash out, that all of those angry thoughts and words would come out and be your cross to bear. He also didn't trust himself from telling you how he felt about you these past few years; how he always thought that when you left, it would be together.

He kept his distance for a bit. The first two days, you allotted him that. It was a lot to process as is, and you felt pangs of guilt and pain whenever you caught a glance of him in the halls or in class. But, lying awake on that second night, it hit you how limited your time together truly was. You could not allow yourself or Richie to waste it on being petty and hurt feelings. You wouldn't let him whittle away the short, precious months you had left until you had nothing. So, you cornered him, naturally. You had asked Eddie to invite Richie to the clubhouse to...well, more or less ambush him.

He clearly did not expect you as you came down the ladder, as you heard him curse out the absent Eddie, "That fucking traitor!"

"Look, Rich. This is ridiculous. I know you're mad and upset and I am, too. But I, we, don't have a choice. My parents have arranged things and said we're moving near the end of the school year. Do you really want to spend the time we have left being mad at me? Avoiding me?"

"...No. Guess not," he pouted and kicked the dirt floor. "I just...I hate how unfair this is. It's always like this. Every Loser gets picked up and moved out and...and then it's like they never existed. Like they're only in our heads. And I'm fucking sick of it. But I never thought," he paused and swallowed hard, then finally met your eyes, "but I never thought it would be you."

"I know what you mean, but. Well, we've always talked about getting out of here, we knew it would come some day."

"Not like this!" He snapped back.

"I'm sorry, Richie, we have no choice ---"

"We were supposed to!" He cut you off with a shout, then his voice grew soft, "I mean, I always thought...I always thought we'd leave together. It's not supposed to be one or the other. What am I going to do without you?" His pleading eyes took on a wet sheen as he blinked through the tears forming. There was nowhere to run to now, and nowhere to hide everything he had been trying to spare you. "Nobody who ever leaves writes or calls and, fuck, I can't even breathe right now thinking about never hearing from you again." A shuddering gasp wracked his body before the sobs set in.

You didn't hesitate to step forward and put your arms around him. His head instantly dropped to your shoulder, wetting your shirt with his tears. "I promised you. I'll keep in touch." You thought back to that day at the quarry and hoped he remembered it, too.

"That's what they all say," came his muffled reply from your shoulder.

"I know. But I mean it. I don't know what to do without you, either, y'know? I--I love you, Richie." He tensed up in your arms and you instantly regretted saying it. He stood up fully, placing his hands on your upper arms and gazing down at you.

"But, not in the way I love you, right?" He asked and your stomach plummeted in fear, thinking he would remind you that you were just friends. "Y/N, I love you so much. I should have told you sooner, but I thought I had more time. Like it was me and you against the world. I'm...I'm sorry that I have to be afraid to lose you to tell you how I really feel. Pretty chickenshit, I guess. But I thought I'd lose you by telling you. Seeing as I will either way, I just--" You cut him off by pressing your lips to his.

"I think I do love you the same way, if I'm understanding you. I'm a fucking coward too." You laughed, but it was his turn to interrupt you with a kiss. Soft, yet passionate; filled with so many unspoken words and years of hidden feelings.

Seven years went under the bridge

Like time was standing still

You made up for lost time in the following months, much to the rest of The Losers' chagrin.

"I've heard of being attached at the hip, not attached at the lips," Eddie cried, throwing an empty cola can at you and Richie nestled together in the hammock, "Cut it out! Oh my God!"

"Oh, Eddie, dear, are you jealous?" You asked him, teasing.

"You're more than welcome to join us. I mean, I'm sure we could make room for you," Richie suggested and then laughed, turning to your slightly reddened face, "Oh, come on, you know you're my one and only. At least until you leave, then it's back to Eddie's mom!" You nearly pushed him out of the hammock for that one.

Of course, you couldn’t stop the passing of time, and the last few months sped by faster than any others ever had. You finally had the relationship you wanted with Richie and your heart felt so full, but that only meant the ache was greater as each day ticked off the calendar. You spent that last night together, from dusk until dawn. Neither of you could sleep at all, to waste what precious time you had left together. Instead, you spent it talking: laughing at memories together, crying about how much you’d miss the other, making numerous declarations of how much you loved each other (in various ways). When the time came to finally depart, neither of you could really let go.

“You know I’ll always be thinking of you, right?” You told him, holding him tightly around the waist as you looked up into his eyes.

“I know you will, I mean, look at me. Who wouldn’t?” He scoffed and gave you a goofy grin, full of fake confidence to keep his face from crumbling at the reality of the situation. “I’ll be thinking of you, too.” He whispered and kissed you on the forehead.

Heaven knows what happens now

You've got to, you've gotta say you will

I touch you once, I touch you twice

I won't let go at any price

You kept your promise longer than anyone else had. You called and wrote every day for the first month or so, but it seemed like other forces were at work, driving a wedge between you and your old life. It was odd how quickly Derry began to leave your memory. As soon as you crossed the line out of town with finality, it began to fade away. At first, it was just the people you passed in the hallways or on the streets but never knew the names of. Their faces began to blur and become hard to recollect, but they weren’t important. But as time went on, you began to lose the others, too, even the ones most important to you. You lost Ben first, as you didn’t spend as much time with him as the others. Then Mike, Bill, Stan. It took a few years to lose your grasp on Bev and Eddie, but their faces and names crumbled away from the recesses of your brain, too. Last to go, was of course, Richie. And even though your conscious mind forgot him, your heart refused to let go. You became unaware of his existence in your waking hours, but sometimes you would wake and hazily recall some dream with a boy you weren’t sure you had ever met. One with coke-bottle glasses, a carefree smile, and eyes that beheld you like you were the only person that mattered in this world.

I need you now like I need you then

You always said we'd meet again...some day

[soulwillower]

tozier • stanley uris

(stan x tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here’s my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: semi-public sex, oral (fem receiving), stan teasing the reader a lot, some dirty talk? i think thats it. also a tiiiiny bit of exhibitionism i guess at the end. very unedited

part 6 of the tozier series [  i  ii iii  iv v ]

(losers and reader are 20+ and in college in this)

4.1k words

♡

the door opened and closed downstairs as you towel dry your hair, the fog of the scorching shower you'd just endured fogging your mirrors. you frown as you wipe a line through the mirror and your eyes stare back at you for a split moment before the fog reclaims the image and you sigh.

pulling yourself together, you unlock the door and start to walk towards your room on the other side of the house. as you pad towards your room, a throat clears and you jump a bit, eyes landing on stan from where he stands at the bottom of the stairs. he's grinning, "hey, y/n." he says gently, eyes staying on your face. your face goes warm, "hi, stan. um - richie's- i don't know where richie is," you start, looking around.

richie rounds the corner as if he's been summoned, brushing his teeth as he itches his side. you hiss, "stan's here. why didn't you tell me he was coming over?"

it's quiet enough that the boy down the stairs can't hear you and richie narrows his eyes with a smirk.

"calm down, it's just stan. he's the only one here for dinner tonight. the others won't be here 'till sometime after. why d'you ask?" he asks, his mouth covered in spit and toothpaste. you wrinkle your nose at his poor hygiene but gesture to your frame, wet and covered with only your towel.

richie fixes you with an eye roll, "believe me, nobody is interested in you like that. especially stan. you're just self obsessed, y/n, it's embarrassing for you. not everyone wants to fuck you. i'm pretty sure nobody does." he says with a slight glare. "just because you're into my best friend doesn't mean he's into you."

you shove richie immediately, your eyes catching a glimpse of light brown curls as they zip around the balcony, disappearing. you wish he hadn't heard that. “fuck you, richie. why do you try to embarrass me? i hate you.” 

a moment later, your mom is calling your names. "richie, y/n! stan's here for dinner!"

you're furious and the look you send richie as you turn to escape to your room burns through his skull. you're flustered as you get ready for dinner, pulling on your clothes with bright red cheeks. your mind goes to the party you'd all gone to the other week - the night that you and bill had hooked up.

you can't believe you've almost done it. you've slept with five of richie's best friends, and he doesn't even know yet. the boy downstairs comes to your mind and you sigh, thinking back to when he'd teased you at the party, when you'd sat on his lap to the quarry the other day, when he'd slid his foot against your leg under the table the the other night while you were all eating....

the butterflies in your stomach won't go away. plus, it's stan - and for some reason that seems different than the rest of them....

you find your way to the dining room, eyes meeting stan's. he grins from where he's sat, playing with the bottle of beer in front of him, your father having offered him a modelo. "hi, y/n." he says in greeting, giving you a smirk. you smile back, "hi, stan."

"that skirt looks great." he says, "kind of too bad you changed." 

 and you clear your throat just as your dad and richie walk into the room, hands full of plates of food. you're red, hoping they hadn't heard. what the hell has gotten into stan? 

after that, dinner went by without much issue besides you and richie getting into a fight until your father forced you two to calm down.

now, the losers are over and bev is insisting someone go get ice cream from the store so you can all watch a movie with sundaes. "stan the man, you should go." mike says with a grin, causing stan to flip him off with a bored face. your eyes catch on his hands and you can't help but let your mind wander...

"why?" stan asks. eddie shrugs, "you do drive the fastest."

the others laugh and you smile at the ground a bit in amusement. "fine. i get to pick the flavors, though."

the protests from the others echo in the room and you roll your eyes, "just promise to get vanilla?" you ask, and stan looks at you. "what, you're a vanilla girl?" he asks. the others are buzzing in the background about their favorite flavors, but the intense look on stan's face makes you grin. "n-no, promise i'm not a vanilla girl." you say, lifting a brow. he's smirking full-on. "i just know eddie is." you add, and stan laughs. his smile gives you butterflies and eddie nods, "uh, yeah, it's objectively the best flavor, because then you can-"

he's ranting now, and stan shakes his head with an eye roll as he stands up and flips his keys around his fingers. "i'll be back quick."

"why don't you take your little girlfriend with you?" richie teases, gesturing to you. you throw him a glare. "fuck off, richie. y/n, get over here." stan says, nodding his head and gesturing for you to follow him out the door. it's so quickly that stan agrees to have you come along that some of the others share a look, making your stomach burn. he gives one more pissed off look to richie before he leaves the room, and so you awkwardly follow him out to richie's car.

it's a quick drive to the store. finally, you’re back in richie's car with several different ice creams in your hands. you and stan mostly joke the whole time, until you slide into his car again and fall into a moment of silence.

"it's always been funny to see richie say all this bullshit about you in front of me." stan breaks the silence, and you look at him in surprise. he shrugs, eyes still on the road. "not funny that he's an asshole, but it's just amusing. that he thinks i'm not attracted to you."

your stomach drops just as fast as your jaw does at stan's words. "oh, y-you..." you try to act casual. "what?" you ask then, trying to understand what he means. he laughs a bit, jaw tilting back and glinting in the afternoon light. "c'mon, y/n. look at yourself." is all he says, shaking his head as his eyes drag up your figure before returning to the road.

you stare at him, butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your thighs clenching.

"i know you like me, remember? since what, fifth grade?" he says with a cheeky grin, eyebrows lifting in a tease. you let out a breath, the butterflies thumping in your chest. "god, stan. that's not funny."

"why?" he asks, his voice deep as he sets the car towards your house again, the ice cream at your feet. "that joke is so old." you whisper, looking at stan. he raises his brows, "is it?"

"yes." you say firmly, but you feel your resolve breaking. he hums, shaking his head but not speaking.

it's quiet besides the song playing on the radio quietly - every little bit hurts by brenda holloway - and you pretend not to feel your heart flutter in affection as you hear stan sing along under his breath. 

he's driving with one hand on the wheel, one down on the shift. "you know, you don't need to have your hand there. this isn't a manual." you say, changing the subject and gesturing to his stray hand. 

he laughs and it ignites something very deep inside of you. "i'm so used to shifting gears. force of habit, i guess."

"richie's an idiot, he can't even drive manual." you say, shaking your head.

"yeah, but sometimes there's benefits to richie being incapable of driving anything but automatic." he says, his hand falling softly to hold onto your bare thigh. you grip the side of the car door tighter, unable to take his teasing anymore.

stan's pulling into your driveway, and so you turn to him. "why are you teasing me? did someone tell you something?" you ask. what if one of the losers squealed and told him that you fucked them all? he sighs, putting the car in park and looking at your eyes. 

"what? i'm not joking around. you just look so hot in that skirt." he admits with a light laugh and red cheeks.”if i’m making you uncomfortable, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to at all, i just really want you.” 

it’s honest and bold, just the way stan usually is, and you swallow thickly. he really wants you? "prove it, then." you say, eyes locking with his, his hand squeezing your bare thigh.

two minutes later, you're laying down in the backseat as it’s parked in your driveway, stan on top of you sucking the skin on your neck.

“you want to do this right now? even though we could get caught?” you say breathlessly, hands tangled in his hair. "when else?" he says, staring at your lips. your stomach drops a bit, but you don't let it bother you too much as you have stan between your legs in the backseat.

"then let's go, uris." you say, pulling him down by the neck in desperation. he smirks into the kiss, kissing you so deeply you see stars.

"you think it'd be hot if i fuck you in his car, huh?" he whispers quietly in your ear. your eyes roll back as his fingers rub tight, teasing circles over your core, a fire slowly being lit. you only whimper a bit, biting your lip. "y-yes. we don't have time, th-though-" you gasp then, as he slips a finger into you.

he still watches you intently, listening as if nothing was abnormal as he pumps his finger, curling it and making you whimper as you try to spit out your words. it makes you turn bright red. "the ice cream- it'll melt, they'll know." you say through a moan, eyes shutting as he pumps his finger in and out of you teasingly.

"richie says it...t-tastes different after-" you moan, "-after it's been too melted."

"he's full of shit." stan pulls back, finger still teasing you. your chest raises and falls quickly, feeling flustered and desperate. stan smirks, "plus, i want to taste you first."

your throat gets dry. "p-please." you say, cheeks feeling hot with need. the windows are starting to fog up in the car he's parked on your driveway as he slowly slides the underwear down from your legs, kissing the skin as he goes. you're breathing shakily and then he's bringing his eyes up to you before lifting up your skirt and bringing his head under, your eyes rolling back to stare up at the lights in the back of the car that richie and bev had strung up one night.

you gasp in pleasure as you feel stan's tongue dart out and lick a bold, flat stripe up your heat. "fuck," you whisper, your hands moving from gripping the seat you've laid on to pulling up your skirt to lace your fingers through his hair. he swirls his tongue around your clit and you tense, the feeling of pleasure unlike anything you've felt before.

you wonder if it's because you could get caught by richie at any moment, or because it's in richie's car, or just because it's stan.

his hands snake up to hold your waist as he starts to move his tongue, holding you down so you can’t buck your hips, his thumbs rubbing the skin that's revealed between your top and your skirt.

“stan.” you whimper, back arching and yelping as he slips a finger inside you. he hums around your clit and your toes curl, gasping and whining as he pumps into you and curls his finger. his name falls from your lips like a prayer and you can almost feel his smirk against you as his tongue starts to work circles. 

his hand still presses against you as you buck your hips, your legs wrapping over his shoulders. he pulls away slightly, lips glistening as he smirks up at you. “you're perfect, y/n.” he mutters, making you moan, legs squeezing around his head. he smirks at you, finger coming up to rub at your clit slowly as he brings his tongue to thrust into you.

you squeeze his hair lightly as you whimper, the feeling euphoric as your toes curl. his name falls from your lips every few seconds as he ruthlessly eats you out, the coil in your stomach about to release. “stan, please, i’m gonna cum.” you mutter, eyes closed and chest rising and falling.

“not yet.” he says, jaw set as he pulls back, meeting your eyes. you whimper at the loss of stimulation, looking at him in shock. his hand comes up to grip your jaw softly, and he kisses you sweetly. "i want you to forget about everything and everyone besides me." he whispers against your lips.

chills run down your spine - does he know about the others? there's no way stan knows.

you nod, biting your lip as you watch him move back down between your legs, this time slipping two fingers into you and rubbing your clit with his thumb. "how's that feel?" he mutters, and you feel like you're on fire. "fuck- stan, so good. feels s'good." you mutter. he hums, sinking back down to suck and toy with your clit, fingers curling expertly and making your stomach tense as you try not to cum.

"stan, please, please, please-" you start to beg, arm coming to your forehead as you shake. he hums against your clit and you moan loudly - loud enough that if someone were passing by the car they'd certainly know - and clench around his fingers. "no need to beg, y/n." he says cockily, eyes glinting with pride. "cum for me."

you're shaking and moaning his name as you finally hit your high, the best orgasm you think you've ever had. your breathing stutters as he laps you up with his tongue gently, other hand soothing your hair. your eyes are pressed shut as you clench through your high. "fuck, stan." you whimper.

he's pulling himself to sit up and bringing his fingers to his mouth to clean them off, looking at you with an almost questioning look. it makes you feel like putty. 

"i think you need to get eaten out more often, babylove." is all he says before he opens the door, adjusting his pants, slipping your underwear into his pocket, and grabbing the ice cream. "or at least by someone who knows what they're doing."

you're speechless as you gather yourself, smoothing your hair and sliding from the back of the car on shaky legs. stan turns to walk towards the front door but you shove him quickly against the hood, kissing him deeply. you taste yourself faintly on his soft lips, and his free hand comes to grip you, squeezing your ass as he kisses you back. you pull back, "give me my underwear." you order. he shrugs, "you’ll be fine without them, won't you tozier?"

your jaw drops. "it's like you want richie to find out." you say, giving him a slight glare despite the intense butterflies in your gut. he grins at you, pecking your nose. "so what if he does? doesn't change the fact that i'd do it again."

and then he's pulling you by the hand gently towards the house and you're stumbling behind him with red cheeks and jello legs.

jesus christ, that just happened.

"goddamn, what made you take so long?" richie mutters as you and stan walk back into the room, stan’s hand leaving the small of your back after pinching your ass slightly. you clear your throat. "the self check out line was so long." you respond.  

"whatever. i'm hungry. where's the ice cream?" richie asks, the others in the room all looking at you. stan moves to sit next to bill on the couch.

"it's in the freezer. it softened up on the way back." stan says, seemingly disinterested. his passiveness makes your throat dry. why was that so hot?

"it's a three minute drive." richie says, sitting back down. you follow suit, sitting on the floor and grabbing a blanket, wary of the fact that you're sitting with 7 people who, if looking, might catch that you're not wearing your underwear. that stan has your underwear. 

"okay. guess we just hit a road bump." stan says, picking his nails. bev snorts at that, and ben's grinning. you huff a laugh, too. it's funny when stan's rude to richie.

"bet y/n's just happy she got to spend time with you. she was probably drooling over you the whole time, huh?" he says as if you're not there.

"richie, what's your problem?" you spit. he looks at you, "so defensive." he laughs. bev rolls her eyes, "you're the one who's always teasing her, richie. ease up."

"what, are you two girlfriends now?" richie says, still on his cocky attitude. you glare.

"no, we're not. but we did fuck." bev says casually, staring at richie with a serious look. richie rolls his eyes, "okay, don't joke about fucking my sister. off-limits."

"what?!" you yelp, standing up quickly, adjusting your skirt with a red face. thank god it's not too short. stan smirks as he sees you adjust your skirt, but all richie's friends are staring at him and you. "you have to be kidding, richie. you are such a fucking hypocrite."

he rolls his eyes, "cecily and you aren't even that close anymore!" he defends. "yes, because of you!" you yell. “it’s too late, anyways. i think we’re even.” you add with a grin.

“just get over it. and stop trying to say you fucked my friend, it sounds desperate. as if any of them would settle for you." richie snarls, smirking as if he's proud of what he'd said. 

it makes you smirk, shaking your head. if only he knew.

"richie, i don't think she's joking." ben speaks up. everyone's eyes turn to ben, and your heart pounds as you bite your lip. you look at each of the others quickly - ben's gnawing on his lip and looking at richie uncertainly, mike is staring at the ground in thought, eddie's staring at his lap with an amused smirk, bev is smirking between the two boys with her eyebrows raised, and bill is looking at ben with a small look of realization.

your eyes land on stan, who's staring back at you intently, a suggestive look on his face as he tugs a small part of your underwear from his front pocket as he thumbs it with his finger. you send him an intent look back, trying to beg him not to do it.

when you look at richie, he's shocked, mouth agape. "what?" richie says quietly. 

"you fucked my best friend. it was only fair." you say with a shrug, smiling at him. he looks like he might punch you.

you stifle a laugh, trying to keep a straight face but failing. richie looks furious as he walks up to you, the two of you standing in the middle of the make-shift circle the losers formed in the living room. he’s breathing heavy, face red. you don't think he’s ever looked so furious in his whole life. 

"which one?" he says through a clenched jaw, looking quickly over each of their faces, all of them smirking back slightly. you can’t help your own smirk or the shrug. 

"all of them."

part VII coming soon

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell  @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @melinda-weasley  @ruefulposts

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[yeosanggotaponytail]

Secret Letter pt 1. //Reddie

In which Eddie receives mysterious letters on Valentine’s day:)

Eddie had always been bullied at school, so when a faint pink letter slipped out of his locker, he was taken aback. Valentine's Day had arrived, and couples could be seen everywhere, pink hearts plastered on every closet. Eddie has always hated this holiday, saying if two people loved each other, they shouldn’t just show it that day. Of course, his friends were exceptions to this. He was especially glad that they were all happy now. "Bowers must be having fun." He closed his closet with a sigh, tucked the letter in his bag, and left school with Stan, his best friend.

They met Bill and Richie outside, who had been acting suspiciously all day. "What about you, Rich? I haven't heard a single joke today about my mum. " Eddie laughed as Richie adjusted his glasses in confusion. " As a matter of fact, dear Eddie Spaghetti, I've been considering asking out your mother all day; I don't have time for jokes. " He shook his head. "Where's B-b-bev?" Bill asked, as he got on his bike. "They left with Ben first. I suppose they are in the bunker, so I wouldn’t go there. " Stan said his face flushed slightly as he looked at Bill.

“Guys I got a love letter tho. I guess it’s from Bowers, so let’s read it.” Eddie said cheerfully and opened his bag to search for the letter. Bill and Stan stood beside him, trying to look for the letter too. “I don’t think we should.” they heard from Richies direction. “How long have you been concerned about what we shouldn’t do?” Stan asked while laughing. “What if it’s serious? Would you make fun of the only bitch that Eddie gets? What if it’s just ‘Suck my balls’ with terrible grammar. It might trigger him so much that he calls the...” he was cut off by Eddie. “For fucks sake Richie I won’t read it just shut up.” he rolled his eyes and closed his bag. He is gonna read it when he is home.  “We s-s-should hang out at t-t-the lake... you know with the b-b-big ass cliff.” Bill suggested.  “I can’t. I gotta go home before my mom notices that I’m late. She really learned my schedule to know when I should arrive.” Eddie sighed as he got on his bike.  “Bye Eddie.” They said in unison, and waved. Eddie looked back over his shoulder and smiled. He was so glad that he had friends, he would never admit it but he loved them so much. 

He took his secret route to avoid Bowers and his shitty friends, he biked past the Neibolt street house. This house always gave him the chills, It was perfect for a horror movie shooting. When he got home, he greeted his mom and quickly ran upstairs to his room. He breathed heavily so he used his inhalator. When he normalized his breathing, he opened his bag and tried to find the letter again. He pulled out the pink letter and opened it. It obviously had a feminine scent on it, but from the handwriting he knew that it was from a boy. Fucking Bowers... He started reading it, highly concentrating. It wasn’t long, but it sure made Eddie blush harder than ever.

“I was already holding my breath when we first met, so I thought I'd ask for your inhaler. Since then, I've gotten to know you, and seeing your smile brightens my day. It's even worth going into this shitty place because of you. I've only fallen more in love with you over the years. Your soft hair, beautiful eyes, and rosey cheeks drive me insane. I adore everything about you, including your slight paranoia and the interesting facts you always share with us. I want to hold your hand, hug you tightly, and, most importantly, kiss you. I didn't want you to hate me after I confessed, so I'm writing you this letter to express my feelings for you. I wish I could say this to you; I love you

Your secret admirer”

Eddie was sure that one of his friends wrote this, since they were the only ones talking to him. But who could it be? Stan likes Bill, Bev and Ben are in a relationship, so this leads to three options: Mike, Bill, and trashmouth. 

"Nah, Bill likes Bev." He sat back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. So it's just Mike and Rich. I can't imagine Richie talking like that. I mean, yeah, I do like him, but he always makes fun of me and he is kind of homophobic too... But Mike is straight too, I’m sure of that. Then maybe it’s not my friend... I have to find this out.

It was his first love letter, and even though he didn’t know who wrote it, he put it under his pillow and fell asleep smiling.

[dear-wormwoods]

Ik u moved away from the IT content and moved to south park now (which I also love) but I gotta ask if u had to pick only two losers to survive while the other five died, who would be ur two? (My picks are Mike and Eddie)

That's such a hard question because I think they all kind of need each other and they two survivors would be so broken if the others didn't make it. But...

First, definitely Eddie. But on one condition - that he uses that NEAR death experience to gain the clarity he got in his book-death and goes on to live a life where he puts himself first and knows he's strong and brave and healthy and deserving of love. The problem with Eddie surviving is that he probably wouldn't actually do that... he would most likely continue on his previous trajectory of abusing prescription pills and being incredibly unhappy and repressed. The irony of his death is supposed to be that it was also the exact moment where he accepted himself. Without that moment, he might never have had those realizations or that 'cleansing'. So in a way, he shouldn't survive. But I would want him to survive on the condition that he has that moment of clarity too.

For the other person, I'm tempted to say Richie because... well, I want Eddie to have someone who will love him unconditionally. I'm also tempted to agree with you and say Mike because he really drew the short straw by being the one to stay alone in Derry and lack financial success. So maybe he should survive and go live the life he always dreamed of.

But I'm going to say Bev. She, like Eddie, spent her life reliving the dynamics of her youth. While Eddie recreated his mother by convincing Myra he was sick and found comfort in that dynamic, Bev married a man who was physically abusive like her father and found comfort in THAT dynamic. Sure she had a successful company, but she was miserable and she deserves to live a life free of fear and break that cycle. Now, it's tougher to do that, for both of them, without Ben and Richie respectively, but... they don't NEED a man to give them their happiness. In my mind, they could go live together somewhere and help each other grow like the best friends they always should have been.

Thanks for the question! It feels weird writing about these characters again after what seems like ages.

[kafka-ish]

jealousy is a disease, get well soon | r.t.

richie gets a new girlfriend. she’s smart, popular, and pretty. but where does that leave y/n?

word count: 4,657

warnings/included: nsfw (smut, public sex), cliffhanger, kinda angsty, fem!reader

request: (from anonymous) “jealous richie tozier x reader smut?”

a/n: i feel like richie is ooc in this one but lmk what you think

-

Three months, eight days, and six hours. It had been three months, eight days, and six antagonizing hours since Richie Tozier started dating Vicki Horowitz.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Richie would still make his usual appearance at the lunch table with the Losers. He’d crack his usual jokes, then be on his way. He’d still walk with y/n to the library after school and he’d still make googly eyes at the cheerleaders who frequented the young adult section and hadn’t bothered to change from their uniforms yet.

But as the days got shorter and the timeline of Richie’s relationship got longer, something changed. Richie’s mouth became less trashy. He found the way his hairline was supposed to part. And along the way, the graphic tees he wore were now button-ups in a solid shade.

“What are you thinking about?” y/n asked. The question wasn’t foreign to Richie, but his answer was new to her ears.

They were sitting in the school library, as opposed to the public one they’d usually go to. Richie’s head rested in her lap; his mess of hair strewn all over the skirt of y/n’s dress—but she didn’t mind. He was sneaking a smoke even though there were no windows and offered her one of his cigs even though he knew becoming one step closer to death wasn’t something y/n was particularly fond of.

y/n accepted the cigarette anyway. She didn’t light it but tucked it behind her ear for safekeeping—a souvenir. Because this was the first time they’d hung out in weeks. Just the two of them; skipping their lunch period in an empty library because who even reads anymore?

“Nothin’ I really wanna tell you about, kid.” Richie stopped calling y/n sweetheart and babe long ago. Icky Vicki—a name y/n came up with without Richie’s knowledge—had requested she be the only babe or sweetheart in his life. And that’s how it was so on and so forth.

The heart beating in y/n’s chest grew increasingly louder because Richie used to tell her everything. Her hand left his scalp which she was once massaging under the tangles that were somehow still soft and lush. His eyebrows furrowed when she started to pull away from him.

“You’re disgusting, Tozier.” y/n then realized she didn’t have to ask Richie what he was thinking about. He was thinking about his girlfriend and the nights they’d shared on multiple occasions.

“What did I do?” He was now sitting up and facing his friend. Could he even call her a friend anymore? When was the last time they hung out? Richie stomped out his half-smoked Marlboro on the rug of the library, not caring that it would leave a mark, with the brand-new sneakers Vicki bought for him. His hands dug around in the front pocket of his jeans, searching for the Altoids container he kept on him at all times. Cinnamon. He downed half the box, the same way you’d chug a beer at a frat party because I hate it when you smoke, Rich echoed in his ears everytime he contemplated the pack of Marlboros that burned a hole in his other pocket.

y/n didn’t say anything. She got up, smoothed out her dress where Richie had left wrinkles, and stalked off.

It wasn’t like y/n to be jealous. When Bill got his first girlfriend, she jumped for joy and asked for her contact info so they could have sleepovers and give each other makeovers. When Mike started flirting with the new girl who moved into the plot of land next to his, y/n didn’t bat an eye.

So what was different this time?

y/n didn’t waste her precious time thinking about it. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t let Richie Tozier consume her thoughts, at least not consciously, during her restless nights and grey days. She assumed it wasn’t worth it to let Richie and his icky girlfriend get the best of her. Because that would mean they won.

The two hadn’t hung out since then.

They weren’t in a fight, but they weren’t on each other’s good sides. Necessarily.

Richie opted to spend the rest of the week with Vicki and y/n managed to get by the way she usually had for the past three months.

“Maybe you’re jealous?” Beverly offered. y/n found herself spending a lot more time with Bev now that she marked out Richie’s name with a red marker from her list of friends.

y/n scoffed and handed Beverly her right hand for her to paint. Jealous? That’s absurd. She admired her newly painted left hand. The dark green color surprisingly complimented her undertones perfectly.

“Why would I be jealous?” y/n couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend. She didn’t want her eyes to give away a reality she wasn’t ready to face, and she didn’t want to find a look in Beverly’s that only confirmed what she was suggesting.

“Oh, come on.” Beverly’s head threw back—a sign that she was becoming annoyed with her friend’s stubbornness and groaned. “Put two and two together. You and Richie used to spend every day together.” Her hands left y/n’s to make a sort of sandwiching motion. “Now you don’t.” They spread apart. Beverly shrugged nonchalantly as y/n started to realize something it seemed everyone already knew.

“I can’t believe you think I’m jealous of Richie.” Was all y/n could bring herself to say. But her thoughts wandered exactly where Beverly predicted.

To Richie Tozier, who was expectedly hanging out with one Vicki Horowitz. They were walking the cement of the strip mall. It was something Vicki did often, even before she had a boyfriend, and something Richie did often now that Vicki had attached himself to her like a dog on a leash.

“What do you think about that dress?” Vicki stopped outside of a small boutique. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground and her right arm was linked with Richie’s left while her free hand pointed to a small, black dress that allowed for practically no breathing space.

“’S cool,” Richie said with no sign of interest. He’d sworn they passed that dress three times by now and the pavement under his feet felt like the entryway to Satan’s humble abode.

“Cool?” Richie didn’t notice his girlfriend’s trimmed eyebrow shoot up in disbelief at the boy whose arm she held onto. “Well, what do you think of the dress on me?” Her voice dipped an octave lower and her eyes had that knowing look they always did before she was about to take a standardized test. Or when they were about to do it. Maybe that’s how Vicki roped Richie into this relationship.

Four months ago, Richie would have never thought of dating Vicki Horowitz. Not because she was out of his league. Every girl was out of his league, according to the dopes he called friends. But Richie never thought about batting an eye in Vicki Horowtiz’s direction. She was a governor’s scholar and the school’s class president ever since 1990. She was also a member of the same student council y/n was on, but to think he could score both of them would be a page from a fairytale.

It was a fairytale the day Vicki Horowitz had come up to him and the Losers at lunch, asking if she could have a word with him, no not you, him.

“What’s cookin, good-lookin’?” And Richie scolded himself for those being the first words spoken to the Vicki Horowitz.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Her blazing blue eyes rolled playfully, and Richie smiled because the only other time a girl had called him anything remotely close to cute was when y/n straightened out his collar and fluffed up his hair at homecoming. Don’t you clean up nice. “I want you to go out with me.”

“What sorta charity case are you workin’ here, hot stuff?” In Richie’s mind, he had every right to be incredulous. Girls didn’t ask him out. Girls didn’t even say yes when he asked them out.

And maybe it was a charity case when, a month in, Vicki had convinced Richie to iron his jeans and wear shirts that were only one color. Maybe it was a charity case when Richie found himself eating lunch with Vicki’s group of friends instead of his—talking about scholarship programs and studying abroad instead of the new werewolf movie that somehow scared the cripes out of him and when Batman’s new comic issue would be released. Maybe it was a charity case when Richie no longer used words like fuck and shit and began popping mints like they were drugs because Vicki wouldn’t let him smoke around her.

His white lace-ups kicked mindlessly at the sidewalk he stood at. He pondered the question even though there wasn’t much to ponder about. “Then I’d say that dress just got hot,” Richie smirked, and Vicki slapped him in the side.

Of course, you would were the words he expected to hear. But as much as Richie wanted her to be, Vicki wasn’t y/n and instead said, “Did you go over the vocab packet I slipped in your locker?

“I got it.” Richie’s free hand took residence in his pocket. He felt around for the box of Marlboros there and wondered if he should light one in front of her. Three months—almost four, he’d been in this relationship, and ever since a month ago he was beginning to think it was one-sided. “I, uh, didn’t get the chance to go over it.” He coughed and looked down at her, not expecting to see her eyes burning through his.

“You smell like cinnamon,” Vicki said. Her gaze softened but Richie wasn’t impressed. What was it about her? Was it her who changed, or him? Richie’s mind couldn’t wander any further—his thoughts sliced by Vicki’s voice. “What’s up with you?” She wasn’t usually the concerned type, but Richie knew she was being genuine when her eyes started hopelessly searching his.

“I’m tired,” Richie lied. “Y’know, we’ve been walkin’ so much. Ye ole feet need a rest.” Richie laughed but Vicki didn’t. She didn’t usually find him funny. She didn’t usually find anything funny except for small dogs in purses and grammatical mistakes.

“You could’ve just said so.” It was one of the few times she let up, but she was good. She was good at a lot of things, actually.

Vicki drove him home in silence. It wasn’t a talking kind of day and the radio was left untouched since neither of them could agree on a music station.

“Call me.” Were her last words to him before he stepped out of her daddy’s Mercedes.

Richie didn’t say anything. He stepped inside his house, his back slumped against the front door as he finished his thoughts from earlier that day in the comfort of his own home.

Why, out of everyone in Derry, would Vicki Horowitz choose to date someone like Richie Tozier? Of course, he’d be an idiot—which he wasn’t (that’s debatable)—to pass up an opportunity to go out with someone as eclectic as her. His thoughts betrayed him, finding their way to Vicki’s long, blonde hair and always rosy cheeks.

Obviously, he’d miss her if he broke things off between them. But there was something else that twisted his gut, telling him to do so.

And Richie always trusted his gut. He’d trust it if it told him to pick C on his math test or if it told him to jump off the golden gate bridge.

It was Monday, in the corner behind Derry High where everyone smoked, where the breakup took place. Richie had the decency to break it off somewhere private and Vicki had the decency to not cry or beg him to stay.

“Hey.” Richie’s voice was soft. His back stabilized by the bricks behind him and Vicki didn’t need to question what this was about.

“Hi.” Her tone held the same solemnness as his. “The least you could do was invite me somewhere nicer to break up with me.” It was the only time Richie laughed at one of her jokes and the last time he would. And though he wanted to, Richie couldn’t be surprised that Vicki already knew what he called her over for. She was a smart girl with a smart mouth to match.

“You know?” He stood up straight and took a drag from his cigarette.

“If you weren’t smoking, I would’ve thought otherwise,” Vicki said truthfully. Just then, a flood of students burst through the doors of Derry High. School was out. “I’m not fond of it, but I’m not going to hold you back.”

Richie wanted to scoff. He thought of the one afternoon when Vicki spent an hour combing through his hair, so the strands laid straight and naturally began to part to the side. He thought of how she scolded his unhealthy use of recreational drugs to the point he had to live a double life. He thought of how his time was no longer spent with his friends, but with her.

I’m not going to hold you back my ass.

But this was no time to argue.

Richie put out the cigarette, barely smoked, and walked away. Away from button-up shirts. Away from vocabulary packets and the debate of the use ‘impact’ in place of ‘effect’. Away from Vicki.

His rough footsteps hit the ground under him with a thump. Richie knew exactly where he was going. And maybe it was wrong that his first instinct was to cross the path of a certain someone after he had just called things off with his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend. But maybe Richie didn’t care.

It took him approximately ten minutes to walk to the Derry Public Library and approximately two minutes for an indescribable feeling to tear through his stomach. His feet lurched forward, but Richie steadied himself by reaching for one of the wooden shelves of the bookcase he stood behind.

It was y/n. As he expected, she was sitting at one of the desks. But her nose wasn’t stuck in her chem book, cramming for tomorrow’s test. It was pointed towards Matt Brimmer, upturned, along with her crinkled eyes and dazed smile. Was Matt Brimmer really that funny?

Richie knew he could make her smile like that. He knew he could make her smile even wider. So, he didn’t know why he was having seconds thoughts right now. The other voices in his head, telling him how inferior he was to so-called Matt Brimmer. Matt Brimmer on the football team. Matt Brimmer with the golden hair. Matt Brimmer the golden boy.

Everyone knew who Matthew Brimmer was; it’d be a crime not to. Although he wasn’t the Quarterback, he was the main reason Derry High’s football team got any of the wins they had. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but his prince charming smile and locks that reminded Richie of that Rapunzel story made up for it. He got by.

Richie had two options. He could go home and feel sorry for himself or he could wait for y/n and confront her after her study session. Was what they were doing even considered studying?

He opted for the second since he had already spent enough time feeling sorry for himself. And one dreadful hour later of mindlessly picking at his shoe and flipping through various pages of children’s books, Richie caught y/n alone, about to leave the already dark library.

The lights were dimmed, and the sun outside had already set. There was no sign of the librarian or her volunteers when y/n’s worn in high-tops came into his eyeline. He was sitting cross-legged, with a book in his lap. But his mind wasn’t on the pages.

Richie’s doe eyes widened under his magnifying lenses when they trailed up the skin of his friend’s bare legs that had stopped in their tracks. y/n was wearing a denim mini skirt in the middle of winter and how she hadn’t attracted goosebumps yet was a question he’d save for later.

“H-hey!” Richie bounced to his feet, standing at his full height.

“Hi.” y/n eyed him skeptically. She was holding a book in one hand. Her other hand was attached to the strap of her backpack.

“I saw you with Matt,” Richie blurted out. His own words surprised him because although he wasn’t shy—far from it—he wasn’t confrontational either. No. That was Bill. Bill would be the type to ask about the guy you had just got done cuddling with at the football game even though he was your boyfriend. But y/n and Richie weren’t dating, and Richie didn’t like her like that. Did he?

“Okay.” Was all y/n said. Her face was blank, void of any emotion. A sign. And her eyes bore into his, the way a police car’s emergency lights catch you when you’re speeding.

She was about to leave, probably to return her book, until Richie’s hand coiled around her wrist.

“What?” The irritableness in y/n’s tone became slightly more palatable. The one word struck Richie’s core and the voice in his head telling him telling him that this would be a good idea was now making its retreat.

“Matt Brimmer, eh?”

“Please.” Her expression grew more disgusted by the second; eyebrows raised; lips puckered as if she had just sucked the life out of a lemon. “You’re the last person who gets to commentate on my love life.”

Richie’s heart panged at the last words. Love life. If this were true—if y/n were dating Matt Brimmer—Richie quite literally wouldn’t know what to do with himself. His face didn’t show it, but right now, he was a guest at his funeral. Everyone was wearing black except him and Stan was giving the eulogy.

Only Richie would do what Richie did next. It was an awful act of…whatever because this newfound feeling in his chest was too much for him to take. Both of his hands cupped either side of her cheeks which were now hot, but not from embarrassment. He dove in for a kiss, both of his lips capturing her bottom one. The quietest moan rolled off her tongue, but before any more noises could be made, she pulled away.

“You have a girlfriend,” y/n said, as much as she didn’t want to. “and I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re with Wonderboy.” Richie heaved out a sigh loud enough for y/n to forget what had just happened moments ago and raise her eyebrows, only to ask what’s wrong. In fact, she did oh so conveniently forget about his actions from earlier, and her right eyebrow quirked.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked and Richie didn’t realize how much he missed that question until now. How much he missed her.

The color in his eyes seemed to darken—like they were hooded by a shadow—and she was sure it wasn’t the doing of the lack of lighting in the room.

But Richie didn’t reply. His lips trailed back to hers again. The two melded into each other like iron being welded. This time y/n didn’t pull away. She lingered long enough to taste the cigarette he’d hardly smoked earlier and mints he didn’t swallow whole this time.

It was Richie who broke the kiss, only to press one onto her neck. The tip of his pointed nose tickled as it grazed the skin of her cheekbone and his chapped lips felt new and exciting when they left kisses below her ear.

“Richie.” y/n would be ashamed to admit this was something she’d been waiting for. That this very moment was a scene from her dreams that she hadn’t got the proper amount of time to explore because she’d awoken before the climax.

“You’ll have to be quiet, doll,” Richie mumbled against her skin. y/n could’ve fainted right then and there, but she refrained; wanting to experience this moment fully conscious. His fingers found their way to her side, gripping the fabric of her white mock neck casually as if this were something they’d done hundreds of times before. There was something about the way he handled her that made y/n insecure. Just knowing he had practiced these types of moves on girls before her had sparked a light in the pit of darkness that was her stomach. Her hands flew to his cheeks. The pad of her thumbs ran across his pale skin now blossoming pink.

Richie twisted their position, backing y/n into the case of books behind her—full to the shelf. His hands ghosted their way under her top, brushing her bare midsection. It was soft but cold, even under the sweater textile. It didn’t help that his hands could substitute for ice.

y/n giggled—a sound so sweet he’d cherish ‘til the end of time. A sound he’d never heard from Vicki’s lips. Her breath, smelling of lemon lozenges, fanned his face in a hot cloud. Richie wanted more. If he had any less dignity, he’d beg for more.

It’s not like y/n wanted to giggle during this new act of intimacy between them. To be frank, she was…upset. Who was Richie Tozier to leave her hanging for a girl who wore frilly chiffon blouses on Wednesday only to wear her jeans low rise so everyone and their grandmother could see her pink lace thong peeking from them on Friday? Who was Richie Tozier to leave her hanging at all? The late nights she’d spent at the Derry Public Library alone, in hopes the certain someone she snuck glances at during their passing period and her Pre-Calculus class only left an empty feeling in her heart and a rotten aftertaste in her mind. To let Richie know he was the reason for her pleasure and the hand between her thighs at night would be letting him win.

But what’s life without a few losses?

Richie’s movements never stopped—they were quick, but enough to send sparks to the one place y/n needed attention the most. His hands traveled lower, eventually reaching the hem of her skirt that ended just four inches above the knee. Distractedly, he pinched the thick material between his thumb and index finger. The roughness of the denim somehow satisfyingly scratched the edge of his fingers—drawing him out of his trance.

He lifted her skirt—revealing y/n’s ballerina pink underwear Richie only got to see at the quarry. There was no time for them to completely undress—and if they did, it’d be far too scandalous (as if what they were doing right now wasn’t already sinful).

Richie’s head whipped away from y/n’s neck; his eyes frantically darting around the space around them, seeing if anyone was nearby. y/n’s hands once again took his face in them, directing his attention back to her. Richie smiled as soon as her features came into view: black mascara smudged on her bottom lash line and the lipstick previously on her lips found a new home on her frenulum. She was mind-blowingly good looking even in a disordered state.

His hands left her upper thigh—where he had been leaving feathery strokes. y/n presumed he was about to unbuckle his belt. But he didn’t. He stood there, silently appreciating the scene displayed before him, and also wishing they had more time or had a setup more comfortable. His hands rested at the silver clasp of his belt, daring to make a move but also frozen in time.

“What are you waiting for?” y/n sniped, and Richie’s confidence level was found through the roof; like the green health bar when you first slip a quarter into the Street Fighter machine.

Nimbly, Richie’s fingers went to undo his belt and slip off his jeans and boxers underneath. It didn’t take long for his lips to crash against hers. A bruise would be left later for memories’ sake. His tongue swiped her bottom lip, tasting birthday cake in the process.

y/n’s own hands were small, but they made an effort to run through his hair, feeling the left-over gel from yesterday and the abnormal amount of times it had been brushed through. She tugged at the roots, eliciting a groan from him that was luckily muffled by y/n’s mouth.

His hands found their original place on the curve of y/n’s hips. But first, he made quick to strip her of her undergarments. An innocent shade for a not so innocent act. Richie was fast to slip in—not giving y/n the time to adjust around him. She whimpered and he swore he could feel a tear against both of their cheeks.

“You’re dripping.” Richie didn’t address the quiet tears that rolled down the slope of her face, too concentrated on the feeling of something else rolling against him. y/n’s hips perked up, a desperate attempt to meet his; ardent and needy. He took it as a sign. His thrusts sped up, coated in her silk.

The substance shared between them was like glue holding their bodies together. Richie’s hands surprised y/n when they squeezed the back of her legs, urging her to jump up, and stabilizing her when she did. Her legs coiled around his, allowing for Richie to find a deeper spot none of her other hookups could.

“Can Matt Brimmer fuck you like this?” Despite the shivers his words sent down her spine, y/n finally knew what this was about. She had her suspicions, but his words only confirmed them.

His voice was hushed, only for her to hear, but she supposed if he screamed it no one would hear them in the seemingly vacant building.

y/n didn’t reply. She felt her eyes roll back and his hips snap in unpredictable paces against hers. It was rare—exceptional, even—that y/n found release this fast. She could blame it on the thrill of potentially getting caught. Their bodies covered yet splayed out inappropriately for anyone to walk in on. She could blame it on Richie; that she was finally attached at the hip, literally, with her lifelong best friend and not-so-guilty pleasure fuck whenever Beverly and she ran out of sleepover games. Her grip on his hair tightened as well as the walls around him. The prolonged whines she had been biting between her teeth turned into heavy pants—her breath mixing with his.

Miraculous, it was, that Richie was able to remain noiseless when he came. He stayed inside her for a second more, dwelling in the ecstasy the two had shared for as long as he could. It was only until y/n’s eyes greeted Richie’s when he pulled out and redressed his half-naked body.

She wasn’t glaring this time, but she didn’t look happy either. Usually, girls were supposed to be happy after sex. Second thoughts started to litter his mind. Richie couldn’t help but think he came short. But he was relieved when y/n spoke up.

“Can Vicki Horowitz make you feel that way?” Her skirt was now properly covering her thighs and she must’ve pulled her underwear up and Richie hadn’t noticed. y/n left him with a quick peck to the lips, smirking into it as she did. It was dominant. Possessive. The last of what Richie saw of her was the back of her now messy hair when she picked up her backpack and walked out—through the maze of books and out the glass doors.

Richie was in awe. Still in a post-orgasmic condition, his fingers ran to his neck, tracing over the newly forming blemish y/n left as a trade for the dozens he gave her. Richie stood there a few minutes more. His palm pressed against the mark only to leave so his index finger could trace his lips that a gracious residue of berry lipstick and saliva mixture tacked onto.

He’d catch her tomorrow.

[ghostnebula]

I have now been thinking about this for over 24 straight hours so here’s some fun:

The Losers’ Club’s many and varied allergies.

1. Eddie has zero fucking allergies. The man is invincible. Food allergies? Fuck no. Pollen? Get the fuck out of here. Dust/grass/pet dander/anything else? Weak. In a perfectly ironic turn of events he is literally allergic to absolutely nothing.

2. Richie is an idiot with at least 12 random food allergies he’s managed to ignore for most of his life, but most prominently, peanuts. He does not know he is allergic to peanuts for probably 15 years, until one day Mike is eating his signature peanut butter and onion sandwich and Richie, dead serious, asks, “Don’t you hate that? Don’t you hate how that feels?” and some of the other Losers are like, “....feels? Don’t you mean tastes?” and anyway he may be book smart, but...

3. It’s actually during the fallout of point 2 (see above) that Bill discovers he also, perhaps, has some food allergies. He thought it was, like, normal for your mouth to go all tingly when you eat strawberries. Is that not normal? What do you mean the little seeds don’t like cut up the inside of your mouth and make it go all numb?

(Eddie is this close to a full-on conniption -- how are his friends this oblivious?)

4. Mike is minorly allergic to eggs and that’s just fine by him because he’s a vegan. However, he’s got a sort-of allergy to mosquito bites: his bites swell up worse than anyone else’s, so Eddie, resident mom friend, will douse him head to toe in the absolute best bug repellent available, and also carry an AfterBite stick in his pocket/fanny pack just to be safe (he’s always got allergy meds on hand, anyway; the AfterBite is just an extra precaution).

5. Stan is also allergic to eggs but it is not minor. He will be hospitalized. Do not feed him eggs. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. 

6. Bev has seasonal allergies but bad. Some other Losers have seasonal allergies, too, but not like this. She chugs allergy meds like water and at any point during a particularly bad day can be found zonked out on a sofa somewhere in the Losers’ House with 3000 used tissues piled around her. She’ll come stumbling down the stairs, completely zombified, at ten in the morning, after several Losers have already left for work, eyes puffed up so bad she can barely see, and croak, “Who the fuck left the window at the end of the hall open last night? I just wanna talk.” She’s also lactose intolerant, which we’ll count as an allergy for the purposes of this post, but she isn’t going to let that stop her from eating ice cream straight out of the bucket and chugging cow’s milk, because fuck you.

7. Ben has a citrus allergy but he somehow manages not to learn about it until his early 20s, when the Losers are all out for dinner and they all get lemon slices with their drinks. Richie dares them all to eat the lemon without making a face and he’ll give the winner ten bucks. Ben’s face swells up immediately and Eddie jumps straight into fucking paramedic mode. He probably has an EpiPen handy anyway because of Richie’s allergies (Eddie carries the EpiPens now because Richie managed to lose the last 3 and how the fuck do you just LOSE an EpiPen, Richie? Do you have any idea how expensive they are?)

n e ways feel free to add anything else you feel should be included

[malfoysmaybank]

richie x reader where he pretends to hate her but actually doesn’t and the losers don’t know why he hates her but he’s actually in love with her

The Quarry - Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader

a/n: of course!! nobody died/ moved away in this and some street layouts were changed to help with plot details!! also, this is in she/her pronouns as of the request, but lmk if i need to make an alternate version with different pronouns for anyone!! enjoy, and ty to this anon who sent in requests for a bunch of underrated characters!!

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Finally, the last day of sophomore year. The Losers burst through the front entrance of Derry High School and headed towards the trash cans, like usual, to dump the contents of their school bags into the garbage. Y/N, the only other girl loser besides Bev, joined them as she had done since the 5th grade. 

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Y/N had been brought to the group by Stan, the shyest but most friendly loser. The others had been suspicious of her at first, but she soon proved herself worthy of being a loser when she stood up to the Bowers Gang, who were making fun of the others.

Richie instantly liked Y/N. With her fiery personality and sarcastic humor that in ways rivaled his, how couldn’t he? They grew close fast, soon becoming best friends. They did everything together: homework, skating, they even killed Pennywise together when they were only 12. 

But in the 8th grade, he started pushing her away and blowing off plans with her, he never even told her why. They were obviously in the same friend group, so he couldn’t ignore her forever, so he went for the second best option: being a dick.

Now Y/N had very thick skin, but when he started hating her all of a sudden, she started to become very insecure and upset over him. Alas, she wasn’t about to let a man talk to her like that and not do anything. Eddie was the only one who knew how Y/N truly felt about how Richie treated her, having confided in him early on. But in the eyes of the other losers, Y/N didn’t give a shit what he said about her.

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“Dude, why does she have to tag along for everything?” Richie groaned when he saw Y/N approach. “I don’t know, maybe cause these are my friends too? An odd concept to you, I know, since you think the world revolves around you.” She shot back and turned to the rest of the group. “What are you all doing tomorrow?” She asked. “I-I don’t know yet. I was thinking we sh-s-should go down to the quarry if everyone else is c-cool with that.” Bill said, still stuttering but only slightly, as he was growing out of it as he got older. 

The rest of the group agreed, including Richie, (surprising, considering he never agreed to anything if you did), and you made a plan to meet at the quarry with food at noon for a losers-only picnic. Y/N bid goodbye to her friends and walked back home.

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“Bye, mom!” Y/N headed out of her house, backpack over her shoulder and bike in tow, to meet her friends at the quarry. As she neared the end of her street, she hopped on her bike and started riding down the sidewalk. “Yo Y/N, wait up!” She looked back to see Mike riding towards her, a couple of the others trailing behind. 

Mike, Ben, Stan, and Y/N all lived in the same area of Derry, while Bill, Beverly, Eddie, and Richie lived on the exact opposite side. Going anywhere usually meant each half of the group gathering and then meeting halfway. Speaking of the others...

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“I still don’t understand why we can’t do anything without Y/N. She always makes everything so boring!” Richie complained as he walked to the quarry with the other 3 losers in his half. “Dude, you were just fine and dandy with her until the end of middle school when you started acting like she’s worthless!” Eddie argued back. 

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, but you need to learn to at least deal with her, got it? She’s our friend and no matter what reason, you need to tolerate her because we love her.” Eddie gestured to Bill and Beverly who nodded, and then to Y/N and the other 3 losers approaching, who were all laughing at some dumb joke she said. I do too, he thought.

Richie’s heart skipped a beat and butterflies erupted in his stomach as he looked at you. Fuck, why does this always happen?! He suppressed the urge to hug you (why the fuck did he want to hug you for no reason?!) as he greeted the other three losers with a smile and wave. When she saw him smile, it was her turn to get butterflies in her stomach, as per usual. But forget it, she thinks. He hates you.

Y/N stripped down to her bathing suit and waited for the others to do the same. Richie subtly checked her out as he pulled his shirt off and turned to talk to Eddie and Bill. His muscles became more toned since last year, so Y/N was surprised when she saw him. She not-so-subtly checked him out as well. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” Richie calls behind him. “Could say the same to you, Tozier. I saw that, earlier!” Richie’s face flushed and he turned to Eddie again. That whole ‘jumping in the water with only undergarments on’ thing ended in 7th grade when everyone hit puberty, it just wasn’t going to work anymore (and for obvious reasons). 

Before anyone could battle her, she ran towards the edge of the cliff and jumped off. Her body hit the cold water and it felt amazing compared to the sweltering summer heat. She swam out of the way for the boys to follow and unsurprisingly, Richie was next. He was always the daredevil of the group. This was followed by Beverly, then Bill, Ben, Stan, and then Mike and Eddie at the same time.

After they all ate lunch, Y/N sat on the little shore on the edge of the water. She soon heard her name being called. “Y/N!! We’re playing chicken, get over here!” Beverly yelled. Y/N swam over and hoisted herself onto Bill’s shoulders. Beverly got onto Mike’s shoulders and the game started. Richie sat next to Stanley as he watched the game from the rocks. “You like her, don’t you?” Stan said gently. “What?! Of course not? Why would you even think that...” Richie wasn’t convincing him. “Whatever you say, my friend.” Stan said and patted him on the shoulder. Richie rolled his eyes and turned back to the game.

Y/N defeated Beverly for the second time and raised her arms in victory. That’s kinda cute, Richie thought. And he didn’t even second guess or correct himself this time. “We play the winner!” Stan yelled towards Bill and Y/N. “We do?” Richie whispered to him. “Yep, we do.” Stan replied and swam towards them. Richie soon followed suit. 

“Okay Richie, get on Stan’s shoulders. Whoever wins the most rounds out of 3 wins.” While Bill explained the game and all the rules, Y/N looked at Bev on the rocks. Bev gave her a wink and a thumbs up, whatever that was supposed to mean.

The game began and she tried her hardest to push Richie off of Stan’s shoulders. “Damn Stan, you got grip!” She laughed and Richie laughed too. Why was he being so friendly all of a sudden? She decided to talk to him about it later, she was having fun and she didn’t want to ruin it. 

Richie finally got her off of Bill’s shoulders and she tumbled into the water. She came back up and started laughing along with everyone else. “Y/N, we should clean that up real quick.” Eddie said and pointed to her elbow, which was scratched up. “Oh okay, that’s fine.” She said. “It must have happened when I was fighting Bev because it looks like it already started to heal up. I didn’t notice it at all.” She laughed and went up to the rocks to clean the small wound.

She grabbed the rubbing alcohol from Eddie’s backpack and started pouring some on the edge of a spare towel she brought. “Well, this is gonna hurt.” She said and hissed as she placed it on her elbow. She felt a hand rubbing her back and leaned her back onto the person’s chest, thinking it was Stanley, only to realize as she was reaching for the Neosporin and a bandaid that it was Richie. Since the other losers were maybe 10 feet away, she thought now would be a great time to confront him.

“What’s with you being all chill with me now? I thought you hated me.” She said and Richie sucked in a sharp breath. “Eddie talked to me earlier as about you. He said that I should ‘at least put up with you’ because you were part of the Losers Club and you deserve to be treated with respect because you’re their- our! Our friend.” He explained. Her heart sunk as she thought she realized what he meant.

“Oh, so you’re just being nice to me because you have to be?” She asked, dissapointed. “No no no!! Not at all, I’m genuinely sorry. To be honest... I don’t know why I was such a dick to you. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve had a mature conversation with you on why I was feeling so insecure and shit instead of ghosting you. Not only did it fuck up our friendship, but it fucked up any chances I had of being with you, as more than friends.” Wait, what did he just say? 

“It wasn’t cool and I feel so stupid knowing that I-” “Just shut up.” Y/N cut him off and placed her lips on his. He got over the shock fast, brought his hand up to hold her face, and kissed back. Their moment was cut short by Beverly. “Yeah Tozier, get some!!” She yelled and Y/N giggled as they pulled away and stood up. Richie laughed and flipped her off. 

“I know I’m not off scot-free, but does this mean you’ll at least give me a chance?” Richie asks hesitantly as they walk towards the other losers. Y/N put a finger to her chin and pretended to think. “Hmmm... okay. But only one. And we’ll be discussing boundaries and all that jazz tonight when I sneak you through my window and you stay the night.” She says with a serious tone and Richie nodded. He picked her up and spun her around. “Thank youuuuuuuu!” He sets her down and kisses her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Ewwww, do we have to deal with all your gross PDA now?” Ben and Mike say in sync and all the losers laugh. It’s not perfect, she thinks, but it’s pretty fucking close.

[strawberryaziraphale]

reddie + mistletoe

“Ha!” Eddie nearly fell down the ladder into the clubhouse thanks to Richie leaping up and literally appearing out of nowhere, scaring him half to death. He was about to shout at his friend for being so careless but in a flash, Richie gestured to the sprig of mistletoe hanging above their heads, “gotcha, Eds!”

Once he was on even ground, Eddie sighed, looking up at the offending plant, “again?”

“Thems the rules, babe,” Richie said with an exaggerated shrug, stepping into Eddie’s space, “and ‘cause it’s the second one time today, there’s gotta be tongue.”

“Those aren’t the rules,” Stan spoke without looking up from his comic book much to the amusement of Mike who was currently lying in his lap. This kind of shit happened too often for him to pay any actual attention to.

Richie, who had been busy peppering kisses all over a giggling Eddie’s face, removed his lips just long enough to say, “prove it.” 

"Funny how you didn’t do that to any of us as we came in,” Bev shared a knowing smile with Ben and Bill. Not that the other two even noticed. They were too busy making up for Richie’s dumb tongue rule.

It took Bev throwing her empty soda can to finally separate them. Eddie looked flushed as Richie grinned, throwing an arm around his shoulder, pinching his cheek with the other, “yeah, well, when you look as cute as Eds, then maybe you’ll get one too.”

"Fuck you,” Eddie mumbled, wiping furiously at his cheeks and mouth. Jesus, Richie was so gross. He still followed Richie over to the hammock, climbing in beside him as usual.

-

It took four more encounters under the mistletoe for Eddie to begin to question what the hell was going on with Richie. He’d planted the mistletoe at the quarry, above Eddie’s window in his bedroom, behind a tree at the kissing bridge and even at the arcade. It couldn’t be a coincidence because none of the other Losers had been caught under it once.

The others hadn’t been much help either. Stan and Mike had told him to talk to Richie. Bev had just smiled like she knew something he didn’t. Ben was sympathetic and tried his best to give him advice. But Eddie was still none the wiser as to why Richie suddenly wanted to kiss him all the time. He resolved to bite the bullet and have it out with him.

He waited until the last minute, Christmas Eve of all times. Richie was working a late shift at the record store which was perfect; it was always deserted and he and Richie usually just goofed around in the back room until he had the odd customer to serve. When Eddie arrived, Richie was sitting behind the front desk, his feet propped next to the cash register. He wore a stupid elf hat with large fake ears and bell that jingled every time he moved. He looked so cute. At the sound of the shop bell, Richie looked up from his comic book and grinned.

“Hey, Eds. I wasn’t expecting-”

“You keep kissing me!” Eddie blurted out unceremoniously. He could feel his cheeks heating up as Richie stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. For once, Richie was speechless. He rubbed the back of his neck, self-consciously adjusting his glasses.

“Uh, yeah. It’s Christmas.”

Eddie nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring pointedly at the floor, “you don’t do it to anyone else.”

Fuck, he had a good point. Richie chuckled nervously; he started to hastily put random records away into their places, for want of something better to do to break the awkward tension, "no, I-I guess not. Should I?”

"I dunno. Do you want to?”

"Uh, I dunno. No?”

“Oh,” Eddie swallowed, stepping closer to Richie’s position by the older, dustier records at the back of the store, “I guess I don’t want you to either,” Richie broke into an enormous grin, dropping the remaining records on the floor as he reached for Eddie’s face. Instead of leaning in for a kiss as Eddie expected, he gently titled Eddie’s head towards the ceiling, to the mistletoe hanging directly above them. Eddie smiled, shaking his head, “you’re an asshole.”

Richie shrugged, gently stroking the soft skin of Eddie’s cheek, “yeah but I think we’ve established that you love it.”

As Eddie finally met him halfway for the first of many mind-blowing kisses, he couldn’t help but agree with him.

[trashmouthkid]

In the lull between college and their unspeakable F-words, the losers pool all loose change and concession-stand pocket money and manage a small, uninterrupted break up in the mountains, just to see what they can remember of themselves.

The wind is cool, the air is quiet, and they spend most of their time sprawled around a fireplace out back, feeling known—that summer of ’89 still warm in their bellies all these years later.

What else is there to remember? Over the flames, Stan rotates a still-white marshmallow with steady precision, Ben watches the crackled ends that break away beneath like he’s counting them. Bev, Mike, and Bill swap their one-night-stand horror stories while Richie slouches low in his lounge chair and kicks absently at the bottom of Eddie’s sneakers and Eddie listens, the thud of each kick reverberating in his chest.

“But anyways,” Bev is saying emphatically, which is what she does when she’s embarrassed about something she’s just said, even though she doesn’t need to be. Eddie knows this because he’s known her his entire life. He didn’t have to relearn it—didn’t have to relearn anything about his friends, and why that would even be a fear of his isn’t clear.

But. Another thing about that is: all the other things inside Eddie that he knows. Things that that summer picked and peeled at, that never got a chance to be buried back down. And they grew, and they festered—except Eddie wouldn’t use the word “festered” anymore. Unfolded, maybe. Bloomed, even. The ends of it brushing pleasantly against his insides, curling around his ribcage like a beg to never leave.

There are lots of romantic spots around here, Eddie thinks. This fireplace, for one. They’re the last to leave, Richie and Eddie are, because they’re always the last to leave—both waiting out their friends while quietly willing the other to stay. But all that happens tonight is some shoulder brushing and a hand around Eddie’s waist when he almost trips on their way in. The lingering touch on his skin keeps him up the rest of the night.

There’s also the hot tub, but that thought doesn’t get very far before Richie takes one look at Eddie with a towel in his arms and acts like he planned to join the others on their hike, barefoot in swim trunks, all along—yes, really. But maybe that’s for the best anyway, considering Eddie spent the morning hushing a mild anxiety attack just at the idea of being alone with Richie in a hot tub.

It’s not for another two nights that anything significant happens, when a fuse blows and their heat goes out, and Bill kicks Richie out of bed to see what the problem is. Eddie is already up and follows him out around the cabin in the pitch dark where he can only see the shape of Richie, and even then wonders if it’s only because he knows it so well. Knows that when he says “how about those stars, huh? Really ‘light up’ the night sky,” that he’s looking back at Eddie, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and that when he mutters “lights up my ass” under his breath, he’s turned away.

“I didn’t grab a flashlight, Rich,” Eddie tells him, and it should have been an obvious problem the moment they stepped outside, but they somehow managed their way around without noticing until they were faced with finding a fuse box on a wall they couldn’t see.

“Shit,” Richie says. “Stay there.” But when he brushes past, Eddie turns and grabs his hand.

“Hang on.”

To be clear, it’s not easier to kiss Richie in the dark. It’s not easier because he can’t see his face. It’s just that Eddie’s reached a breaking point, where the number of times he’s gotten Richie alone outweighs his patience, the number of touches, and he is so fucking neurotic he can’t give a shit about the romance now. They can make their own, in the cold, in the dark, with the wet earth soaking through their socks, and if Richie doesn’t get it by now—that Eddie means it—then he can say it out loud. He knows he can.

But for now, he just kisses him, and it heats him up like the fire might have, like the hot tub, and is more thrilling than anything he could make up in his head. Richie sort of whines, sort of melts against Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie can feel, when they touch each other, something more than air come out of him. He’s surprised not to share the same relief, and sorry for not giving it to Richie sooner, but mostly just warm and mostly just content.

They break apart, only some, but Richie keeps his hands on Eddie’s hips, where they somehow ended up. Eddie wants them in so many other places, but he needs them on the fuse box before they can be anywhere else, so he takes them in his own and pulls them off.

“Um,” he tries, voice not all there, “I think if we hurry, we’ll have a couple hours before the others wake up.”

Richie whines again, and there’s a long pause where Eddie can hear his brain cycling through all their options, knows they’re sharing the same ideas and have been all week.

“Okay.” Richie takes a step back. “Okay, I’ll be two seconds. Two seconds, Eddie, I swear.”

And Eddie still can’t see him, but he can hear him tripping and cursing all around the corner, clumsier without Eddie there to guide him.

[19tozier]

wish you were sober (richie tozier)

warnings: underage drinking, mentions of sex, angst, pining, reader is an unreliable narrator at best

inspired by the song wish you were sober by conan gray

[losers + reader are 16+]

if someone were to ask you when you fell in love with richie, you don’t think you’d be able to answer them.

was it when you met him, thirteen and wild and so magnetic you couldn’t stay away from him? was it when you followed him into a sewer, endlessly terrified but trying to be as brave as he made you think you could be? was it when you looked at him and realized he had grown up right in front of you, and you hadn’t realized? or was it all the little moments in between, the mundane and the electric all in one?

you have no clue. all you know is this: you’re in love with richie tozier, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it.

you bring your cup to your mouth, the edge of it pressing into your bottom lip. you don’t take a drink from it; you’re already a little buzzed, and you’re reluctant to get any drunker. you don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.

across the room from you, somehow perfectly visible despite the mass of dancing bodies separating you from him, richie leans against the wall, his arm around the waist of his girlfriend, who isn’t you.

you exhale as slowly as you can. inside of your chest, your heart feels like it is poised to shatter.

it shouldn’t shock you anymore. richie has a new girlfriend seemingly every month, a revolving-door of pretty girls that giggle when he kisses them and wear his jean jacket around school but ultimately never stay long. richie never offers explanation as to why they break up and you never ask. you’re afraid of whatever it is he might say. you’re afraid of knowing you’re not good enough for him if all of them weren’t.

you sigh. you’re such a fucking cliche. falling in love with your best friend, silently pining away as if it’ll make him notice you? you’d gag at the thought if it wasn’t your life.

a shoulder brushing against yours distracts you from your thoughts, and you glance over to see stan’s expectant face. he raises an eyebrow at you. “you alright?”

you want to scream. no, you’re not alright. you don’t think you’ve been alright since before you were officially a loser. but you can’t say that to stan, not without being perfectly honest, so you arrange your features into something resembling a smile. “what’s up, buttercup?”

stan scoffs. “you’ve been spending too much time with richie.”

will it ever stop hurting, the constant reminder of how close you are with richie but never close enough? “or he’s been spending too much time with me,” you say, sniffing arrogantly. the facade you put on sometimes is easier than breathing.

stan rolls his eyes. “sure, that’s it.” he pauses, squinting at you. “are you sure you’re okay? you look… upset, i guess.”

you snort, taking a sip of your drink as an excuse not to respond right away. your heart is in your throat at the idea of being caught. “you guess? gee, thanks stan.”

he narrows his eyes at you, his nostrils flaring slightly. behind him, bill is jumping onto mike’s back, laughing loudly. “shut up, you know what i meant. are you alright? seriously.”

you don’t give yourself time to hesitate. stan has a sixth sense for when he’s being lied to and won’t stop pestering you until you tell him the truth, and you’d like to not confess to him tonight. “yeah, stan,” you grin, feeling the lie like sawdust in your mouth. “i’m all good.”

he gives you a skeptical look, searching your face, but eventually he just sighs and nods. “alright, fine. if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

you nod back, glad you managed to escape that. “thanks, dude. hey, i’m gonna go grab a different drink, i’ll be right back.”

you don’t wait for him to say anything, or for anyone else to come with you. you just slip away, using the hordes of drunk teenagers to your advantage until you manage to get to the kitchen.

your shoulders slump, the smile you’d painted onto your face slipping away. slowly, you pour the rest of your shitty beer down the sink, opening the fridge and rifling around until you find a soda, stealing it before you can talk yourself out of it. whoever’s house this is won’t care, and besides, you think you need it.

when you leave the kitchen, your eyes fall to the spot where richie had been leaning. the wall is empty now.

pathetically, your eyes fill with tears. of course you know richie has a lot of sex, considering the self-satisfied smirk he’ll wear after getting fucked combined with the rumors that follow him like the perfume of whatever girl he’s seeing. the worst part is they aren’t even bad rumors; you’d lost count of the amount of times you had heard of how good a lover he is, or how his dick is as big as he’s often bragging, or how he does this thing with his mouth that feels like absolute heaven—

you’d heard enough. too much, probably. and it burrowed into your brain like the most insidious of weeds, sprouting thoughts you never should have let take root.

but of course richie was off fucking his girl. she was gorgeous, after all, easily one of the prettiest girls you’d ever seen, all smooth tanned skin and long blonde hair and hourglass figure. the kind of girl that richie deserved to have on his arm. the kind of girl that you would never be.

you knew this would happen. still, the pain of it takes your breath away.

you manage to stumble your way back over to the losers, greeting them with a smile that feels entirely too wooden. you play the part, laughing with bev and leaning into ben’s shoulder and gossiping quietly with eddie. you stick to your script, even when richie stumbles down the stairs sometime later with the girl tucked under his arm, both of their clothes in disarray and richie’s curls a wild mess. you’re such a seasoned professional that you barely miss a beat with eddie, even when your eyes find the hickey sucked under richie’s jaw and stay there.

for the rest of the night, you do your best to stay away from richie, always at least one loser between you two. you doubt he notices, too wrapped up in his girl. you think her name is sandy. she’s so beautiful it hurts.

eventually, you think it’s probably late enough that you can leave without raising much of a fuss. all of the other losers are still there, but bev’s already dozing against ben’s shoulder and bill is fighting a losing battle with his own drooping eyelids. you can probably slip out now, you figure, before you fall apart.

you manage to say your goodbyes as quickly as possible, waving as you turn to leave. you drove here with the others in stan’s car but it’s not too far of a walk. besides, the cold might do you some good—

a hand wraps around your wrist, jerking you back against a broad chest. when you turn, you come face to face with one richie tozier.

god, years later and he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. his jawline is sharp and square, his shoulders broad and sturdy, a whisper of the strength he will carry as a man but no less impressive now. gone are the days of the dorky kid you first met; he’d long ago traded in his hawaiian shirts for jean jackets and ripped jeans, silver rings glinting around his fingers and a chain hanging into the open collar of his t-shirt. again, you are reminded of the rumors that constantly follow him. you’re just angry they didn’t think he was hot from the very beginning.

“where are you going?” he asks, his words slurred. he’d been downing the shitty spiked punch earlier like it was his job.

you sigh, tilting your head back to look at him. there’s another hickey just to the left of his adam’s apple. “home,” you say, simply. “i’m tired.”

he frowns, stepping closer to you. the heat radiates off of him. “but i haven’t gotten to talk to you all night,” he whines, pouting ridiculously. “i missed you.”

it shouldn’t affect you. richie flirts like breathing, with anyone who will entertain him. it’s just how close you two are that means his flirting is usually aimed at you. “sorry, rich,” you say, and you find that you mean it. “next time, okay?”

his fingers release your wrist, only to catch on the curve of your waist and pull you close. the heat of his hand burns through the flimsy material of your top. you’re so focused on trying to stay upright just from that simple touch that you almost miss what he says next.

“can i come with you?” his voice is low, rough, more of a growl than anything else.

you blink, stupefied. usually you’re quicker than this, able to keep up a banter with him that’s rivaled only by him and eddie. now, you’re left tongue-tied, the endless wanting inside of you threading around your throat and choking you. “what?”

“can i come with you?” he repeats, looking down at you with his pretty eyes. his glasses slide down his nose. you fight the urge to push them back up. “we can take my truck. this party’s kind of a bore, honestly.”

you swallow, feeling your heart stutter. “what about sandy?” your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.

richie shrugs, casual as all hell and infuriatingly attractive. “she can last without me for a bit. i’d rather hang out with my favorite girl.” he grins at you, his dimples curving into his cheek.

it makes you want to scream. he says things like this all the time, calls you doll and baby and love like he has the fucking right, constantly says you’re the most important person in his life. and yet, he doesn’t feel the same way for you as you do for him. and he never will.

still, you’re a sucker for him. your lips curl into a weak smile. “sure, rich,” you whisper; any louder and your voice will crack. “let’s get out of here.”

he doesn’t even stop to say goodbye to anyone else, just crowding against your back and walking behind you the entire way out the front door. he’s so close that his chest brushes against your shoulder blades, his fingertips grazing over your hip. you focus on not tripping.

once you’re outside, you hold your hand out, not looking at him. “keys,” you command.

he laughs, full and bright as he digs his keys out of his pocket. “yes, nurse ratched,” he teases, dropping them into your hand. “right away, nurse ratched.”

you scowl at him, turning away to stomp your way down the block to where richie parked. it’s not a long walk but the late autumn night is chilly, especially through the thin material of your top and your skirt. you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.

before you can really react, richie’s shrugging off his jacket, settling the heavy denim over your shoulders. he’s just wearing a plain black t-shirt underneath, the cotton clinging to his biceps and chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away, even when he murmurs, “should’ve said you were cold, doll.”

the jacket smells like him: the apple of his shampoo, the warmth of his deodorant, the smoke from his cigarettes. it shouldn’t be a pleasant scent but it is, because it means comfort. it means home. it means your best friend and the love of your life.

your shoulders slump, your hand trembling when you finally reach his truck and reach for the driver’s side handle. “thanks, richie,” you breathe, climbing into the car before he can answer.

you don’t really know what he had in mind when he asked to leave with you, but you’re too overwhelmed to handle being alone with him for too long. already, having him this close is fogging your brain. you need to get away from him so you can fall apart in peace.

you decide to just take him home and walk from there. it proves to be the best choice, because not even a minute into your drive his chin is dropping down to his chest, his eyelids closing in longer and longer blinks until finally, he’s dozing in the front seat, big body curled in your direction. it fills you with so much warmth you think you are burning from the inside out.

it should be ridiculous, how much you love him. you should be at your limit for how much you have to give, capped out a long time ago, but everyday you fall for him a little bit more. whenever he does something particularly sweet, or funny, or attractive, you feel a little more of yourself crumble away to lay at his feet. at this point, you’re more fracture than glass, crushed into a fine powder under richie’s foot.

by the time you pull into richie’s driveway, he’s snoring lightly, his glasses knocked askew on his face. part of you wants to let him sleep, but the bigger part of you knows you need to get him into the house. you already slack on your best friend duties by secretly being in love with him, you don’t need to leave him out in the cold too.

sighing, you turn the key and shut the car off, getting out and walking around to the passenger side. you shake his shoulder, gently at first, then rougher when he doesn’t respond. he grumbles, swatting at you. you can’t help but laugh, shaking him again.

“rich,” you croon, shaking him with both hands. he groans, scrunching his face up. you snicker. “c’mon asshole, you’re too heavy for me to carry.”

he pries one eye open, glaring at you. “or you’re too small to even try,” he taunts back, sticking his tongue out.

you roll your eyes, tugging him out of the car. he goes easily enough, stumbling a little bit leaning into your side as you lock the car behind you.

you weren’t kidding when you said he was heavy. he’s just so much bigger than you, tall and broad and undeniably masculine. you try your best to take some of his weight with an arm curved around his waist, but you don’t think you’re really doing anything.

the lights are all off inside, richie’s parents gone for the weekend at some conference for his dad’s work. it makes you feel better about how you two stumble around in the dark, knocking into the walls and tripping over the stairs. finally, without much incident, you make it into richie’s room, depositing him on his bed before he can fall and brain himself on his table. his desk light is on, throwing the room into shadow but just light enough for you to see his face.

his curls spread around him on his pillow, his eyes already closed. he’s on top of his covers but there’s not much you can do about that. the only thing you can do is untie his boots and pluck his glasses from his face, letting him get as comfortable as he can with his clothes still on.

you stop, looking down at him. he’s almost angelic in his sleep, peaceful and quiet for probably the only time in his life. he’s so gorgeous like this, vulnerable, unguarded. it makes you feel like a creep to be looking at this without his knowledge. or his approval.

biting your lip, you turn to the door, only stopping when you realize you still have his jacket. carefully, you shrug it off, going to lay it on his bed when his voice stops you.

“keep it.”

you look up to see his eyes half-open, locked on you. the lamp throws his face into sharp angles and shadow, but the expression on his face is soft. his fingers stretch towards you.

“it looks good on you,” he continues, his voice barely more than a whisper. “you should wear it all the time.”

you don’t know what to say, frozen at the foot of his bed. it feels like everything you’ve ever wanted, before you remember that he’s drunk and out of his mind. he probably thinks you’re sandy. there’s no way he’d ever say that to you.

but he keeps going, his voice rough, smooth velvet over steel. “you look good all the time. makes me feel insane. just wanna touch you but i can’t.”

your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. through trembling lips, you manage to get out, “what about sandy?”

he shrugs, a tiny movement that feels unsure. you’ve never seen him shy like this. the fact that sandy’s likely the reason makes you burn inside. “she’s cool and all, but she’s not you. you’re my best friend, (y/n). i love you.”

you gasp softly, nowhere near loud enough for him to hear. your heart feels like it’s being pulled in two. “i love you too, rich. more than you could ever understand.”

but he shakes his head firmly. “no, you don’t get it. i love you. you’re my—you’re my other half. my partner in crime. i’d be lost without you.” before you can respond, he sighs and whispers, “wish you were my girlfriend. not sandy.”

his eyes slip closed the next instant. as you stand there, simultaneously turned to stone and burning alive, he gives a soft snore, his features relaxing in sleep.

you stare down at him for what feels like centuries, suddenly too old to move. you look down at the jacket in your arms, then back up to him. a loose curl lays against his forehead. your fingers itch to push it behind his ear.

“i wish you were sober,” you whisper. he doesn’t twitch.

you leave the jacket laid at the foot of his bed when you go.

(part two)

[soulwillower]

crush culture • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: fic where Richie and reader have been best friends since kindergarten, and have always had feelings for eachother secretly, until one day richie gets a girlfriend (just to take his mind off her), and the reader gets jealous and distances herself from him? he obviously gets upset by this- and things go on from there? sorry if it’s too specific! love u!

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of death, fighting, mentions of an abusive relationship, intentionally pissing off richie, a bit of angst, richie is an oblivious idiot, but reader is MUCH more of an idiot, like dude lmao, but i think that’s it, unedited tho

this isn’t rly based off crush culture, but i took the title from conan gray’s song :)  

[losers + reader are 18+ in this!!!]

3.8k words L O L :))

♡

you swear to god, you’re getting sick. that’s what this was, for sure.

it started about a month ago, when you started to get headaches and terrible hollow feelings in your stomach. it happened everywhere - in the line for coffee, in class, driving home from school, at the dinner table. but it got a hundred times worse at night and then seemed to triple in force every morning when you woke.

and it all came at you some time after richie announced he had a new girlfriend.

you were really sick the few days after that, enough that you stayed home from school and laid in bed, the pit in your stomach sinking. it didnt take long for you to realize how bad richie’s girlfriend was - she treated him like a dog, like he embarrassed her - and he didn’t even seem to mind. he just brushed off every offhand comment, rolled his eyes with a grin when she told him she didn’t want to see his friends or when she told him to stop talking. 

he still seemed to like her, anyways. and that thought made your stomach convulse.

so then you had to distance yourself from richie because it hurt you to see him with her. it hurt you to see him with someone who didn’t treat him like the incredible person he was. 

so yeah.

you say you’re sick, but you know that’s not really true. it’s easier than accepting reality at this point, though, so you spew this nonsense (to yourself, mostly) in order to justify ignoring your best friend of nearly a decade because christ, he is becoming unbearable.

like the other day, at lunch while you were all sitting in the courtyard. it was your first time eating with them again after almost a week and a half, as you’d been eating alone in your car recently to avoid richie. “rich, why’d you take off the nail polish?” bev asked, out of the blue, sounding disappointed as she grabbed his free hand and examined it.

he blew smoke out of his mouth slowly and you had forced yourself to look away, the sight of richie doing nearly anything these days being pretty dangerous for you. it also made you sigh a bit - you knew he only smoked at lunch now, since his girlfriend hated it.

“don’t want my paws to be prettier than y/n’s when we hold hands.” he had joked, wagging an eyebrow at you. you’d shook your head and looked to the ground in lew of a real response, just as you had been doing a lot recently.

you'd missed richie’s frown at your reaction, but you did catch his next statement as it was added on, “nah, actually it’s because the ol’ G-F didn’t like it. thought it looked too girly.”

you, stan, bev, and mike all stopped chewing to look at richie, in varying stages of bewilderment. you'd cleared your throat quickly but decided against speaking up just as richie’s phone started to ring. he’d answered it nearly immediately, the enthusiasm of which made you feel like you’re going to be sick again - because richie never answers your calls until the last possible minute.

god, jealousy is a fucking disease.

“hey, sugar.” he had purred suavely into the phone and for some reason, hearing him call someone else sugar had you abruptly rising, gathering your things and nearly running off to put as much distance between you and four-eyes as you possibly could, because you’re not sure how much more you could take.

after that, you were absolutely sure it was just pure denial on your part.

as far as you could tell, richie wasn't noticing too much. he still phoned your house every day, just to be met with your mother telling him you 'weren't available,' and then he'd call your own phone, which you'd let buzz itself into a dark hole on your bedside table while you stared at it solemnly, guilt heavy on your mind as he left voicemail after voicemail. 

he doesn't deserve it, you think as you open the doors to the school library, backpack on your shoulders. but you can't help it. you're not his girlfriend, and you're not mature enough to accept that with any ounce of elegance so instead you just ignore him all together. at least you're self-aware, right? that ought to count for something.

you shake your head just as a voice catches your attention, “well look who decided to show up!”

richie's sitting at the usual study table in the very back corner of the library, a spot tucked away by rows upon rows of dusty books and an alcove of couches. bill sits at the head of the table, scribbling his chicken scratch handwriting onto graph paper, mike next to richie with a textbook spread out flat. across from mike is stan, writing out his statistics work. 

all three of them wave at you before going back to their work, whereas richie just watches you expectantly. his feet are kicked up on the table, textbook balanced on his lap as he hovers on two leg chairs. his smile is as blinding as always, a dimple faint on his left cheek and full eyebrows raised in jest. his curls frame his face perfectly and you want to scream.

but you take your seat next to stan with a tight lipped smile, not really sure how to respond to richie. are you even allowed to be flirty with him like you used to? he still does it on the rare occasions when you do see each other - but that itself is the issue, you figure. his flirting is just a joke, a tiff from one friend to another. but you can't see him as just a friend, and that’s unfair to him.

so you stay quiet, which makes it infinitely more awkward.

richie clears his throat and you pull out your work with an awkward expression, the minutes slowly churning by in what has to be the quietest hangout with the Losers yet.

you feel the tension building in your body and in the air, and you're not sure what's wrong with you or why you have so much resentment towards richie in this moment, because he's not done one single thing to offend anyone in the last ten minutes.

then richie's phone rings suddenly and mike jumps a bit as he's startled out of the passage he's reading. you all look down to richie's screen, where his girlfriend's name blares up at you and all you can feel is white hot jealousy coursing through your body.

richie looks half way exhausted and annoyed at the call, which you find extremely odd and out of character, not to mention persistently frustrating.

as you all stare at the phone, the tension in the room stretches tighter and tighter, like a rubber band and you can't breathe -

"uh, why is she calling you?" mike asks, as if this was something that was forbidden or shocking in any way, and for some reason, that is finally it.

the rubber band snaps.

"how could you forget, mike? they're in love!" you say with mock enthusiasm. 

bill shoots you an alarmed look that you probably should read into or at least consider for a moment, but instead you're looking directly at richie, as if challenging him.

he blinks at you and clenches his jaw, "she and i haven't really been... talking recently." richie says lightly, shooting a glance to mike.

“well then maybe you’re just not right for each other.” you quip, the blood boiling in your veins. richie's eyes snap to you and you see the fire behind them as he suddenly breaks.

“sorry, did i miss the divine intervention when god floated down on a cloud of marshmallows and deemed you expert in relationships?” he says abruptly, making your eyes widen at his outburst. he continues, “because last time i checked, you’re a bit of a failure in that department. so i don't need some jealous, disappearing-act wannabe criticizing my life when she's barely even in it.” he seethes. it’s near quiet in the library anyways, but his words seem to silence the entire town.

with a quick glance to your right, stan and bill sharing an uncomfortable look, and mike is staring down intently at his work with wide eyes.

you want to die.

does richie know? has he known this whole time that you're just deeply, painfully head over heels for him? 

"i'm so sick of your bullshit. maybe you're jealous because you want what i had, but you’re being really fucking rude."

you nearly cry. or scream.

“criticism doesnt equal jealousy, okay?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting even opening your mouth. you're so intent on covering for yourself, you don't even take into account the phrasing he'd used when referring to his girlfriend, instead fighting with richie in order to keep your secret from him.  

this is not how you’d intended today to go. he stares at you, eyebrows furrowed in a way that almost makes you keel over in sadness, the guilt of the situation falling too heavily on your shoulders and crushing you.

it’s tranquilizing to see him like this -  he's fuming, but he's also got bright, glistening eyes which you think may be filling up with tears.

“i didn’t really ask for your input, though.” he mutters, cheeks reddening as tears definitely well in his eyes behind his lenses. “you can’t just ignore me at your every whim just to come right back and tell me what's good for me.”

you blink, shaking your head quickly, deciding to back off. now is not the time to fight, especially when you know he’s right. you had no idea it was hurting him like this. "richie, i... i just wanted-" you gape at him, extremely embarrassed.

“-i don’t fucking care what you wanted, y/n.” richie says sharply, causing you to shut your mouth so quick your jaw clicks in the silence. clearly, even the other boys are perturbed by richie’s actions and everyone’s staring down in silence at their homework.

it’s quiet like that for a few minutes, the tension so thick that you’d need a jackhammer just to chip away at it. but stan rummages through his bag suddenly, pulling out two painkillers and dry swallowing them. you don't look at anyone else, your stomach hollow and your heart thumping so hard in your chest you think you may explode.

"d-do you have a headache?" bill asks, looking at stan with concern. the sudden voice causes you to perk up, head flowing with humiliation at the fight you and richie had just had in front of your friends.

“yeah, but it’s not that bad. i guess i’m used to it.” stan says, pen between his teeth.

“just because you’re used to something doesn’t make it any less unhealthy for you.” you say louder than necessary, your mouth suddenly deciding to speak without consulting your brain. 

the glare of pure frustration that richie throws you pierces your lungs and suddenly makes you feel lightheaded. 

your pettiness doesn’t go unresponsive, of course, and mike sighs into his hands, standing up to gather his things. "alright. i can't study when you two are like this. i'll see you guys later."

richie sighs quietly and bill and stan mumble good-bye's. the library goes back to quiet for maybe three more minutes, until you see stanley start to fidget like he usually does when he's anxious. and then you notice it after a few seconds, too.

richie won't stop tapping his foot on the desk.

for everyone's sake, you try to ignore it, because you know richie can't help his compulsions - especially when he's upset (which, your mind painfully reminds you, is all your fault).

but it's driving you crazy.

“-if you keep doing that i’ll throw you out that fucking window rich, i swear.” stan mutters not unkindly, his eyes rolling to meet richie with a concerned gaze as richie stares out the window.

you raise your eyebrows, “what’re you even looking at?” you ask, trying to mend a bit of the open, festering wound you’d created in you and richie’s friendship.

without looking at you, richie shrugs. “checking to see how high the drop is. may be worth it to have schnoz just toss me down. it would certainly do you a favor right? gettin ol’ trashmouth gone for good.”

what was he saying? you look at him, scandalized. stan and bill don’t even say anything about the offensive nickname as you gape at richie. "what the fuck?" is all your brilliant mind can think.

"what, you can dish it but you can't take it?" richie says sharply. he shakes his head, looking upset. "i'm tired of trying to be friends with a fucking brick wall."

then he's gathering his one notebook and swiftly exiting your alcove in the library in a wind of cigarettes and cologne. 

you blink, his words sinking in and making you sigh shakily. your stomach feels hollow as you remember the expression of glee on his face when you'd walked into the library, and how completely different and broken he'd looked as he'd left. you think you're going to cry.

“every minute that you don't follow him digs yourself deeper into this grave, you know.” stan says, giving you a stern but encouraging look.

you let out a shaky sigh and scramble to grab your bag, tripping over your feet as you run out of the library, flying down the staircase faster than you've ever gone and making it to your lifelong best friend just as he reaches his car in the parking lot.

"-a brick wall?" you ask, out of breath. you see richie hold back an eye roll, his arms crossing over each other as he serves you a look of discomposure.

he shrugs helplessly, looking as if he's at his wit's end.

"what do you want me to say, y/n? you've been avoiding me for weeks. i know i'm annoying and obnoxious and whatever, but i'm not blind." he says, making you swallow as guilt pangs through your chest. you have been so fucking selfish, haven't you?

it hurts to hear him say that about himself. 

he sniffles a bit, sounding choked up as he goes on, "i've had a rough couple of days - weeks, even. but every time i'm near, it's like you've had more than enough, and you just leave. am i that repulsive? why do you suddenly hate me?" he asks, looking desperate as his eyes rim red, filling with tears again.

“what did i do?” his voice cracks as he whispers the sentence and your heart breaks in two.

your own vision goes glassy as he continues, "-i've needed you, y/n/n. i'm lost, i'm seriously not okay and you just don't care at all."

you're stunned for a moment, mouth opening and closing silently as your mind races to rush something out, anything,because you aren't sure you can bear to see richie look at you like this for one more second. but your silence comes off wrong to richie, and tears slip out of his eyes.

“don’t you love me?” he asks, voice hoarse and cutting right through you, deeper than any knife ever could. "don't you want me to be happy?" he adds and you take a shaky breath, looking helplessly at him, where you're met with nothing but glassy eyes and tear trails. your heart is slamming in your chest, tears falling from your eyes and you can't breathe.

"a-are you?" you ask, trying to keep your tone even although it comes out just as vulnerable as you feel. “h-happy. with her?”

richie freezes at your words, mouth slightly open and you watch a single tear course over his high cheekbones and down to his bottom lip as it shakes faintly. you curse yourself for the longing to feel those very lips against yours.

"i was." he whispers, voice shaking as he rubs his face with his hand under his glasses, the moisture of his fallen tears clinging from his long dark lashes onto his slender, shaking fingers. "and then - and then i lost you. and y'know, i got my girlfriend so i could distract myself, but she made me feel like absolute shit all the time and so i went and broke up with her, but -" he hiccups through his tears and you blink, biting your lip as tears cascade down your cheek in wet trails.

they broke up?

he broke up with her, and he's going through this breakup and trying to better himself after she tore him down and you've just been ignoring him - he thinks you don't care about him, that you don't love him. you start to cry harder. 

"-i thought she'd distract me from you. i-i'm sorry." he says, his voice muffled by his hands as they cover up his angelic face, his shoulders shaking as more tears fall. "i'm so sorry."he repeats. 

you see double for a second, completely shocked by his words as the breath leaves your lungs. he tried to distract himself from you... and he’s so hurt because of what you did. 

but finally, for the first time this whole damn day, you find the right words. "i-no, richie, i'm sorry, please - fuck." you break, letting out a sob as you rub your eyes furiously in search of any relief from the guilt ripping you in two. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm so sorry, i can't believe i did this, i didn't want to hurt you, i'm just so selfish." you babble, his sniffles making you open your eyes.

he looks so alone and so vulnerable as he hugs his arms around himself in search of comfort, tears still falling from his bright eyes and down his rosy cheeks. 

he looks devastatingly beautiful in the golden sunlight of the afternoon, a breeze ruffling his curls lightly. "just please, i can't - i can't deal with you hating me. please, please, please."

he's pleading with you and you think you may be sick from the guilt and sadness that envelopes you, so you spring forward and wrap your arms tightly around him. the force of your body pushes him against the side of his car and the way he clings back to you like you're the last thing holding him to earth just makes you cry even harder.

"i don't hate you, richie. i love you, i love you too much." you say, your body shaking as he just holds you tighter against him. "i'm so sorry, i didn't mean any of it. you're right. i was just jealous... i'm so sorry. i was so jealous of her, i couldn't see you be with her." you mumble. "i'm so sorry."

richie pulls you back gently at your words, his eyes wide and wondering as you look at each other. "what?" he asks so innocently, his eyelashes wet and dark and his lips parted. 

you can count the freckles on his nose and cheeks, you're so close. you can feel his shuddering breath against your face as he huffs in a breath. your hands hold onto his shoulders and you decide to fuck it, you just have to tell him how sorry you are, to explain yourself.

"richie, i'm in love with you. and - and when you and her got together, it hurt so much, and i didn't want to deal with the fact that i couldn't have you, so i just ignored you. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry." you say it quickly and in one breath, looking down at your shoes and how they point straight towards his.

"you're in... love with me?" he says weakly, sounding hopeful as you finally look back into his eyes guiltily. 

you laugh wetly, "of course i am, richie. how could i not fall head over heels for everything about you?"

he tears up again at your words, but this time it's accompanied by a beautiful smile and a light, wet laugh. he shakes his head, his arms circling your waist tighter as he presses his forehead against yours. your butterflies tickle your stomach at your proximity.

"fuck, y/n. i can't believe i spend my time trying to get my mind off you." he says and your breath hitches a bit. "do you have any idea how long i've been in love with you?" he asks quietly, and you let out another small laugh out of shock, but it's wet and gleeful.

"i'm sorry." you whisper, your finger curling around a strand of the dark hair on his head. he shakes his head, your noses rubbing slightly. "it's okay, y/n. i love you so much. please let me forgive you." he says, pulling a smile out of you that you don't think anybody else ever could. you nod shortly, looking into his eyes as one last tear falls. 

he kisses you tenderly then, taking your breath away.

richie fills up your every sense as he clings to you desperately, his lips salty from your combined tears and his arms strong. his tongue is gentle as it runs along your lips and enters your parted mouth, one of his hands sliding up to tilt your head up towards him. you're breathless because of him for the millionth time in your life and you decide kissing richie is the only thing you want to do forever. 

you pull away slowly, and as you lean back he presses a chaste second kiss to your lips, causing you to grin. 

you barely make eye contact as you pull apart and then you greedily pull him back to you, his lips finding yours yet again with a sweet, loving laugh.

"i love you too, rich." you mumble against his lips. he sighs almost dreamily as you pull back, biting your lip and laughing when he opens the passenger door, gesturing to it with a shy grin.

"now can i please buy you a burger?" he asks, almost bashfully, and your heart does somersaults. you nod and kiss him again, his hand falling to the small of your back, palm wide and fingers lower than you'd expected. he pulls away and his grin is loving, his eyes hooded in pride as you caress his cheek softly before you slide into the car seat.

he holds your hand the whole night and refuses to let go until you slip through your front door at near midnight, blushes on both of your cheeks and lips kiss-bruised.

the butterflies you feel as you fall asleep with a grin on your face are the exact same ones richie feels as his head finally hits the pillow, a giddy smile on his own face as he smiles to himself in the dark halfway across town.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx@brxken-heartsclub @clownsloveyou @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier   @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s  @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters

[nancythebisexualslutwheeler]

“I have an extra ticket to the football game, do you want to go with me?” Bev asks, hopping onto the lunch table, her ass way too close to Stan’s peanut butter and jelly.

Stan wrinkles his nose. Football is... so not his scene. Not Bev’s either, but her boy-toy of the moment Ben Hanscom was on the team, and while Stan was pretty sure they had some sort of agreement that ended in pot or pills, Bev was still one of the most supportive women he knew, and she was at every game, freezing her little hipster ass off, cheering for Ben, who she insisted she barely gave a shit about.

The only reason Stan may consider going is because of Ben’s best friend, Mike Hanlon. Mike was literally everything Stan’s Jewish ass was not allowed to have, starting with him being a boy, ending with him being black, and the fact that he was actually queer too, falling somewhere in between.

“I guess,” he shrugs. He tries to hold in a grin, but Bev raises a perfectly filled in eyebrow and he blushes and she wrinkles her nose and her silver septum piercing shines in the sunlight and he shoves half his sandwich into his mouth so he doesn’t have to talk.

Stan isn’t allowed sleepovers, never has been, even though he’s seventeen goddamn years old, but his curfew had recently gotten extended to midnight.

Trying not to feel too much like Cinderella, he dresses in a baby blue crew neck and khaki joggers. He slides on his maroon vans, the ones that were covered in song lyrics, pockets his phone and wallet and starts to walk up to the school.

The game is boring. Their team is amazing, and they’ve won before they’d even started. It doesn’t mean that Mike doesn’t look delicious in his uniform. The maroon does wonders for his dark skin and the way the sleeves are a bit suctioned to his bulging biceps. The way the pants pull tight across his ass. The way his calves tighten as he bounces on his toes.

He wishes this was the part in the story where he could reveal that him and Mike are secretly boning underneath the bleachers after practice, but Mike barely knows him.

Stan’s the weird Jewish kid who hangs around Bev because she’s the only one who can stomach his weirdness. Who hasn’t been able to eat any mutual snacks or participate in classroom birthday parties for their entire school careers. Stan who misses random days of school for his holidays.

Stan who’s had a crush on Mike since they were 11 and Mike saved him from nearly drowning on their stupid ass class trip up north. He’d probably forgotten about it, in a way that you do when you become popular and everything before your popularity becomes a blur. At least that’s how he thinks it works.

So they’re standing at the bottom of the bleachers, waiting for Ben to come out so they can go grab food. He’s shivering, he should have brought a sweater like his mom told him, when Ben and.. Mike walk up.

“Hey,” Ben ducks in to give Bev a kiss and Stan awkwardly waves at Mike,

“Good game.”

Mike smiles, his white teeth against brown skin. He’s wearing his letterman jacket and a white shirt and a silver chain and bright orange sneakers. He looks amazing. His twists need to be redone and he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days but he looks perfect.

“Thanks Uris. Hope you don’t mind me tagging along.”

“Not at all.”

“Okay cool. Let’s go. Preferably somewhere I can eat for real,” Mike says as they head to the parking lot.

“Fine fine, what’s that place with the good milkshakes.”

“Sally’s. We can go there.”

“Bet. You drive Stan ok? Bev and I are gonna stop and smoke before.”

As much as Stan would love to try drugs, more to fit in than anything probably, he also very much likes to live.

“You don’t smoke?” He asks, as they climb into Mike’s truck.

“My black ass? Intentionally doing something illegal? In Derry? Get the fuck outta here.”

Stan laughs even though it isn’t funny and when he looks over, Mike is laughing too.

“Hey, wanna ditch them and go back to my place? The barn is really cool at night. Mom hung up some lights so we could rent it out during the off season.”

Stan smiles, bright as the sun,

“I think I’d like that.”

[stanananathon]

So Richie confessed his feelings for Bill. Per their pact, it's now Stan's turn to confess his for Mike. Which is a lot easier said than done.

When Richie and Bill showed up to join the rest of the losers at the barrens that afternoon, Stan felt his heart drop into his stomach. Richie had the worst shit-eating grin on his face and Stan immediately knew that Richie told Bill how he felt.

Don't get Stan wrong, he was immensely happy for his friend, but now that he and Bill had gotten together, that meant he had to hold up his end of the deal. Which he was most definitely not ready to do. As Richie jumped into the water with a whoop, Stan's eyes drifted their way over to where Mike was sitting with Beverly.

She was showing him how to make a flower crown. His strong hands were delicate with the dandelions, carefully folding the stems according to Bev's instructions and him smiling as she praised his work. Stan let out a soft sigh and didn't even notice Bill sit down next to him.

"So," Bill spoke and startled Stan out of his reverie, "a certain Trashmouth spilled some beans about you." Stan groaned and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Did he now?" He propped his chin in his hand and looked up at Bill's grinning face. He could smack that grin off if he really wanted to.

"Yep." Bill nodded. "So, how long?" Stan sighed in reply and picked at the grass at his feet.

"I don't know. A while, I guess. He's just got this warmth, you know? I feel safe when I'm around him. Like I don't have to worry so much." Bill nodded along thoughtfully.

"He's handsome too." Bill quipped. Stan groaned again and plopped down onto his back.

"He's so handsome I might die." He lamented. Bill laughed in response and patted Stan's thigh.

"Well you've only got a few days until the end of the week, and you know that if you don't do anything Richie will never let you live it down, so," he stood up a shucked off his shirt, "good luck!" and with that he jumped in after Richie.

The next day Mike asked Stan if he wanted to come over after school and meet some new baby chicks. The combination of Stan’s love for birds and how cute and soft the chicks would be was the basis of the appeal. And of course, Stan couldn’t say no.

As he made his way to the Hanson farm, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the best time to do it. They would be alone, right? Stan would have ample time to find the right moment and tell Mike how he felt. Time, however, was not the problem--courage was.

Stan remembers the first time he felt brave. It was at his bar mitzvah. He had just finished his speech--if you will--and had run outside with Richie, hand-in-hand.

"Oh my god, Stan the Man, that was insane!" Richie laughed. Stan's heart was racing and he felt electricity buzzing through his body. He couldn't believe he'd just done that. Oh god, his parents were going to kill him. He almost worried himself into a tizzy until he saw the way Richie's eyes shone with pride when he grinned at him.

So instead of worrying, Stan let himself feel that same pride. He let Richie tell him all about how awesome what he had just done was, and allowed the feelings of courage and resilience fill his chest like a balloon.

As he came upon the chicken coop and saw Mike inside, Stan tried to conjure up those same feelings again. He could do this.

"Hey, Stan!" Mike greeted as he ducked his way into the coop. Mike was crouched on the ground and in his wide hands was a little fluff of yellow. Stan's eyes widened and his mind went completely blank. It was so cute!

Mike chuckled as he looked up at Stan and saw his look of awe.

"Wanna hold him?" He asked. Stan nodded quickly. He kneeled down next to Mike and held out his hands delicately. His fingers were stiff and straight and Mike set down the chick carefully before bringing his hands up to adjust Stan's.

"Here. You actually want to cup your hands more so that it's not so easy for the chick to fall out." His hands were underneath Stan's helping mould them into the correct form. Stan gulped audibly and prayed that Mike didn't notice.

Stan had always admired how strong Mike's hands were, but he hadn't thought about how soft they could be. They had their callouses from farm work, but his palms were soft. Stan tried not to tremble too much at the contact. He thought about saying something and went to open his mouth, but then Mike was lifting the chick into his hands and his mind went blank again.

He felt the tiny little talons in his palms and the fluff under his fingertips. He carefully lifted the chick up to his eye level to admire his baby feathers up close. He smiled brightly at Mike.

"Look at how cute!" Mike nodded along, letting out a light chuckle.

"I know right! Too bad they don't stay like this." He smiled at the sight in front of him: Stan smiling at the little chick in his hands, the sun peeking in through the window of the coop to set Stan's curls alight. He was beautiful, Mike thought.

"Huh?" Stan's head shot up at Mike, his eyes even bigger than before. Did Stan just hear what he thought he did? Mike matched Stan's deer-in-the-headlights look. He gathered himself and rubbed his hands together.

“Guess I can’t hide it anymore. I like you, Stan. As more than a friend. I love how much care you put into everything and how brave you are. And, like I just blurted out, I think you’re beautiful.”

Stan’s brain short-circuited. Not only did Mike think he was beautiful, but he liked him! Stan had been freaking out this whole time about telling Mike how he felt but never did he think that Mike would say something first!

Stan delicately set down and chick and stood up. Mike followed suit, his hands nervous rubbing the front of his jeans. Stan tentatively reached out to take one hand in his. He knew he should say something but he’d never held Mike’s hand before.

He traced the lines of Mike’s palm delicately and he heard Mike suck in a breath of air through his teeth. Stan’s eyes left Mike’s hand to look up at his flushed face.

“Tickles.” Mike croaked out. Stan grinned and found his voice.

“I like you too, Mike. I was actually going to tell you myself, but you beat me to it. You distracted me with chicks.” He laughed and Mike laughed and the tension settled.

“Would you want to maybe go on a date with me?” Mike asked, turning his hand to lace his fingers through Stan’s. Stan nodded furtively, his grin only growing.

“I’d like that a lot.”