#losers x reader

[your-honor-im-a-yearner]

Just looked back at my old Wattpad account... Why did my Losers x Reader stories actually do moderately well??? I couldn't get passed the first paragraph before cringing out of my skin.

[occasionaloneshots]

Projector

Stozier x Fem! Reader

Summary: Annoyed with one of her partners, the reader takes a different approach to addressing it.

CW: fluff, joking empty threat, the word h*ll once, I think that's all.

Most people would look at them and be confused, Richie himself was even confused by it. Stan and (Y/n) are the poster couple for the perfect marriage for the whole first year. That romantic comedy opposites-attract couple that could make a watcher swoon for their love story. The sorority girl who was a cheerleader and the quiet stand-offish guy in the back of her freshman year probability and statistics class. One class project and they were wrapped around each other’s pinkies for life. And they were cute, but even the other losers were shocked by them at first. When Stan and Richie came into Bill’s basement, a girl laughing at one of Richie’s jokes, everyone was lost. They assumed she was Richie’s girlfriend, out-going and laughing at his stupid jokes, even making them back. But when she sat on Stan’s side, clinging to his side, Bill nearly choked on his popcorn.

The wedding was perfect, beautiful and pristine. The ceremony was enough to bring a few tears to Mike and Bill's eyes, and Richie was happy for them. Except, the best man shouldn’t have a thing for the bride and the groom, should he? It was weird for him, Stan had been his best friend his entire life, they were even roommates in college. Then suddenly, every time he kissed his girlfriend he was jealous, and at first he believed he was the world’s worst friend. But at the wedding he realized he wasn’t jealous because he wished he was in Stan’s place, he was jealous because he wished he was up there with them. So for a year, the dark haired man kept his mouth shut, not wanting to hurt what he did have with what he wanted. So to say he was terrified when they asked him to meet them on their anniversary, that’s an understatement. Hearing them say they wanted him to be their third? He thought they were using him as a sick joke. But it had been three years of them being a throuple, and he was so happy. But even being a part of the couple, at times Richie didn’t get it. He loved them, and they obviously loved each other as well as him. But Stan still seemed like such an opposite to her, then again, so did Richie.

But it was that morning when she announced that it was a “Projector night” that he finally got it. They had done this before, their version of a family meeting, but normally Stan called for it. Maybe it was passive aggressive, but he had never witnessed them having a fight that led to screaming and crying, so it seemed to work. Richie wasn’t often part of it, he hated making PowerPoints, but it let them all talk without screaming, so it works. Stan and her made eye contact, grabbing her laptop from their shared office and walking into the shared bedroom. Now, as she uses his height to her advantage to hang the projector screen, he knew this was about to be amusing, the girl setting up her projector with a hum. Stan walks into the room as she hooks herself up, falling onto one end of the couch as he looks over at the two. “Hey Stannie,” Richie tone is teasing as he falls onto the couch, arm wrapping around his boyfriend. “Hey Rich.”

Their girl bounces up to the front of the room, a wireless mouse in her hand, and a screen that reads, “Why Stanley Should Sleep On The Couch Tonight,” on the screen behind her. The dark haired man on the couch couldn’t help but laugh at it, had he known this was the point to the night, he would have helped. He loves Stan, they both do, of course, but he was keeping them from sleeping often. “I assumed that this was the point,” the mumble from the man on his left made Richie laugh harder. The slide changes “The Crime” in red font at the top. Richie knew he was in for a long night, and he was so excited for it. “Stan, I love you, Richie loves you, but you, you’re a criminal.” The words sent the calmest of the three into laughter that shook his body, “I’m a criminal?” “You are,” she clicks, making more text show up, “You haven’t let Richie and I sleep through the night in two weeks. And we love hearing about your thoughts, when we want to be awake. But three in the morning is not the time to tell us that you’re having deep thoughts about birds, again.” Once again the slide changes as he opens his mouth to argue. “I don’t wake you up to talk about birds that often, I hear you about to say it, I’ve been keeping documents.” Richie turns his head, biting his fist in an attempt not to die laughing again, earning himself a soft shove from the other man.

Her hands flail as she speaks, reading the slide with a nearly amused annoyance. “Last Tuesday, your first account, ‘Richie, babe, wake up this is important.’ Richie wakes up, worried for you, the light is still on. And you say, ‘Babe, did you know that two different states have the American Robin as their state bird? I can’t believe I let myself forget this, am I losing my touch?’ It was two in the morning, Stan. Last Friday, you woke me up at four in the morning to let me know that the feathered jacket I got at the thrift store that day was made from a brand that killed birds. And I'm sorry that it’s real feathers, I didn’t know the brand did that, but, Love, that’s not a four in the morning discussion. Monday, you woke both of us up to let us know that two birds you had never seen were spotted in town, it was three in the morning. And to top it off, last night at three in the morning again, you woke Richie up frantically which also woke me up to ask if we thought birds had feelings.” Richie and (Y/n) could see a soft blush on the face of their lover, his lip caught between his teeth as he leaned his head on their boyfriend’s arm.

She changes the slide again, “Other things you have woken us up for this week, not including times because they weren’t as wild as the birds. Your favorite novel character died, you remembered that the Beatles don’t make music anymore, you missed Richie even though he was right beside you. There was also the time that you made ribs and woke us up in the middle of the night to bring them to us." Richie interrupts, a finger pointed into the air as he speaks, "Actually, that one was good. Those were good ribs." She pauses, nodding, "Valid, but back to the point. Bill's newest novel released, you tried to convince us to get a cat because ‘you agree to let me buy things more when you’re half asleep’. Taylor Swift surprise dropped a single, and finally, you wanted to know if we could have a fake second wedding to involve Richie since legally we can’t all be truly married.” Despite the whole show, Richie and Stan both knew she wasn’t mad, not in the way one would expect. (Y/n) loved Stan’s ramblings as much as she loved Richie’s jokes. But the woman struggles to fall back asleep if she wakes up in the middle of the night, and she hasn't slept enough in almost two full weeks now. Slowly but surely, it was starting to show, in her face and in her attitude.

So they kept quiet as she changed the slide again. “I love my boys, I really do. But I need sleep, which leads to our topic,” yet another page change, “ Stan, I need you to sleep on the couch tonight. I have a really important meeting tomorrow, when you wake me up it takes at least two hours for me to go back to sleep. And Love, I adore you, but if you’re the reason I lose this sale, we might physically fight.” Despite the words, she was giggling, smiling over at her husband. He got up, wrapping his arms around her, the giggling growing into a true laugh as he picked her up. “You would lose.” “You wouldn’t hit back,” she shakes her head, reaching out to Richie, “Make him put me down before I change my mind.” The dark haired man shakes his head, “Nope, you’re making him sleep on the couch, let him hold you above the ground.” “But Rich! I hate being picked up! I did this for us,” a pout stretched across her face. Stan puts her down, “The laugh said otherwise.” She crosses her arms like a child, walking over to her laptop, “You took me by surprise, it was involuntary.” The curly haired male shakes his head, “Yeah okay, are you going to be able to sleep without me though?” She nods, “I have Richie.” “She’s my wife tonight, Stanley,” he pokes out his tongue like a child.

“You ‘ve both reminded me that we need to discuss the three person wedding for an official partnership. Richie, marry us, please,” Stan mock-begs, wrapping his arms around Richie’s waist to hold him in place. Richie tuts, shaking his head, “You can’t distract me with a marriage proposal twice in one week Stanley. The lady and I need our sleep. I will marry you though, not tonight, but eventually. I need a real proposal though, from the both of you. I'll accept nothing less.” “After my meeting tomorrow,” (Y/n) nods, walking to the office. “Not that early either, but eventually, probably.” She walks back in, an arm wrapped around both Stan and Richie when she meets their sides. “It would be nice to say I have a wife and a husband though,” Richie says, tilting his head to the side, "And they're both hot. I win!" Stan lets go of Richie to high five his wife, “We win! A husband!” “Hell yes! I get two!” She laughs, putting up a fist and bringing it back down as if grabbing the air around her. Richie sighs, wiggling out of their grips, “Babygirl, it's late, you need to sleep. Goodnight Babe, I love you.” He presses a kiss to Stan’s lips smiling down at the woman beside him. “Goodnight Dove,” he turns to kiss (Y/n) too, “Goodnight Babylove. I love you both.” “Goodnight my love,” she smiles, grabbing Richie’s hand as Stan walks over to the hall closet to get his own bed set up for the night. “Sorry for putting you in marriage time out, my love!” “No no, I get it,” he laughs, “I'm annoying! Go to bed, Babylove.” “Yes sir!” She turns to Richie, smiling up at him as he opens the door for her, "Ready for a full night of sleep, lover?" He laughs, shaking his head, "Am I ever. Did he do that before I moved in?" "Never, you truly bring out the worst in him."

[brendaaaa]

Bet We’d Be Naked?! (Richie Tozier x fem!Reader)

“Who wants to play some games?” Beverly asked with a sly grin on her face.

“What kinds of games?” Mike questioned, sitting down on the floor next to her, where she had taken her place moments before.

“I was thinking spin the bottle.”

“Ugh.” Eddie groaned. “What is it with you and that fucking spit swapping fest?”

“Yeah.” Stan said. “I hate spin the bottle. Last time I had to kiss both Eddie and y/n. It was disgusting.”

“Hey!” You protested. “I’m a great kisser!”

“No, no. You’re all right. Spin the bottle sucks ass,” Richie said.

“We could p-play se-seven m-m-min-nutes i-i” Bill struggled to get it out.

“In heaven?” Bev finished for him.

Bill nodded gratefully.

“I like that game.” Ben said, non-so-subtly looking at Beverly.

“Yeah me too,” Stan added, and the rest of the losers all nodded along.

“Then it’s decided!” Bev declared. “Seven minutes in heaven it is!”

Mike went to the kitchen to grab an empty beer bottle and laid it in the middle of the circle. “Who wants to go first?” You asked eagerly. “Uh..not me” Bev laughed. “Me either” Ben immediately said. “Not it…” Eddie touched his nose.

A rushed chorus of not-it's and frantically tapping of noses happened, but it was clear that you were last, and therefore was stuck spinning the bottle first. “Ugh,” you said. “Here we fucking go.” You took a deep breath and gave the bottle an aggressive spin. It went around like five times before decisively landing on Richie.

“Oh Jesus,” he muttered, causing a mini panic inside of you. What does that mean? You thought to yourself as you got up and walked towards the closet. You both walked in and Richie quietly shut the door behind him. You both regarded each other for a moment, before Richie spoke, “Look. I don’t wanna be here any more than you do.” You tried not to look disappointed, but you were. Richie was honestly the person you most wanted to be in this closet with. You didn’t really want him to know that, but then thought, oh what the hell, and you said “Why do you assume that?” He scrunched his eyebrows. “What, you mean you actually want to be stuck in a closet with me where we are supposed to be making out? Is that what you want?” You stuttered, “n-no. Richie what are you talking about?” He rolled his eyes. “Look, I get it. You don’t have to pretend to like me.” You were shocked. “What? No...I, of course I like you,” you said. “Yeah, in a friend way.” Richie said blatantly. “Don’t lie to me.” “Uhm…” you mumbled awkwardly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. This game is stupid. Why are we even here in a fucking closet anyway?” He turned to leave. You grabbed his arm. “Richie wait. I do like you, but why are you acting like this?” He raised his eyebrows. “You like me? Like that?” You immediately blushed from the roots of your hair down to your toes realizing you had just outed yourself. “Uh...yeah?” He bit his lip. “Um...I was, I was acting like that, because, I thought you didn’t feel like that, I, uh, wow I’m such an idiot, uh, so do you, uh I guess I, I like, um I’m sorry?” You smiled and responded by adjusting his misshapen glasses, “It’s ok, Rich,” and leaned in to kiss his lips. He responded with vigor and deepened the light kiss into something more heated. He pressed your back against the wall and continued to kiss you, getting more intense by the millisecond. ~~ “I wonder what they’re doing in there,” Stan absentmindedly asked, picking at a thread hanging off of his sock. “Sucking face, no doubt,” Eddie snorted. “Really?” Mike asked. “Y/n and Richie?” “Y-yeah,” Bill shrugged. “T-t-hey m-make hea-art eyes at e-each-other.” “They do.” Ben agreed. “I’ve seen it.” “Damn.” Bev said. “I must be blind then.” Mike laughed, “me too.” “T-time’s up” Bill pointed at the clock. “Okay place your bets people,” Bev said. “How many clothes will they have on?” “All,” Mike said, still trying to wrap his brain around the idea of a y/n/Richie romance. “None,” Eddie smirked. “Shirts off” Ben guessed. “Pants off,” Stan laughed. “R-Richie’s gl-lasses on th-the f-f-floor,” Bill added. “Yeah, and knowing Richie, imma go for the birthday suits,” Bev giggled. “Five bucks to whoever gets it right. 2.50 to me and Eddie each of they’re naked.” The gang got up laughing, to open that closet door wide. And when they did, they got a surprise. Y/n and Richie sitting calmly on the floor, fully clothed, holding hands. “The fuck?!?” Eddie exclaimed. “You guys were supposed to be naked!” “What?” Y/n made a grossed-out face. “Yeah,” Bev said. “I wanted money.” “And guess who got it?” Mike smirked, doing a lil dance. Richie laughed. “You guys bet we’d be naked?” He snorted. Some of them shamefully nodded. Richie and y/n looked at each other and burst into laughter. “No no no…” y/n grinned. “But we are dating.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, to which he responded with a sappy grin. “See?” Ben said. “Heart eyes. Told ya. I should win the money.” “Seven minutes?” Eddie said, exasperated. “We leave you here for seven minutes!”

“Seven minutes is a long time, my dear friend,” Richie said in an old lady voice.

“Let’s play something else,” Bev said, pretending to be disgusted.

“Y-yeah” Bill agreed.

And so they went on with their Friday night, a new couple happily in their midst.

Word Count: 947

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 12: Changes •

A/N: The missing gaps in time are on purpose since they will be in book 2 as flashbacks, which will include references to events you have not read yet. All fluff and shenanigans this chapter to make up for last, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: brief mention of nausea and gore towards the very end, but otherwise, tooth-rotting fluff!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧

𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬

𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧' 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

              - David Bowie, Changes

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

- 𝗠𝗜𝗗 𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗦𝗧 -

    "I still can't believe you went after Bowers," Richie scoffs.

    As he steps off his porch and onto his lawn he looks over at his best friend and takes another gander at the bruises and welts littering her skin. Her lip was still busted and despite his and his mother's efforts to clean her bottom lip of blood, it must have started bleeding again sometime during the night as more had crusted over.

    "Yeah, well," she shrugs. "It felt good,"

    "Yeah," he snorts. "It looks like it,"

    "You know what I mean," She elbowed him and he nodded with a little laugh.

    "What d'ya want to do? I mean, we could keep standing around here like a bunch of idiots, but-" he shrugs, hands falling into his pockets, and Y/n smiles.

    "I dunno," she shrugs. A wince falls over her face, a painful-looking one at that. "But I don't think I'm gonna be welcome back at the Capitol Theatre any time soon."

    Richie nodded, a ghostly look falling over his face at all that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours alone. He still couldn't believe she had done that. He still couldn't believe a lot of things but her being in his corner after what she had found out seemed a little harder to believe right now. Especially after the junkyard... But - Jesus, that was already a week and a half ago, it felt like only hours.

    He could hear her words from the park the other day in his ears and he suddenly felt the urge to pay her back. He smiled his charming crooked smile and hoped for the best.

    "You still craving fries?"

    "Always," she answered, a look of suspicion written in her features. "Why?"

    Y/n didn't know why she kept asking these questions when she knew the answer. She didn't at all like the look growing in his eyes or the stupid feeling of guilt growing in her stomach.

    "Cause I'm prepared to make a deal with ya toots,"

     "Oh, yeah?"

    "Sure am," he says, patting his hand over his left pocket. "I'd been saving up for a long weekend at the arcade but that's a bust. And I just got a raise on my allowance ━ that's again, toots. Allowance. It's the money you get when you do stuff for people, you might never have heard of it--"

    "Is there a point here, Rich? Cause if so, you better get to it faster,"

    "Point is, I'm packing and I'm also craving milkshakes. So how's about I treat you to the biggest pile of fries your staved ass has ever seen--"

    Y/n shoots him a knowing look, ready to detest when he holds out a finger.

    "If," he continues. "you take me there."

    "Take you there?"

    "Take me there," he nodded. "By piggyback."

    Y/n gave thought to this, all while hiding behind an unimpressed look. As much as she hated to admit it, she was starving.

    Richie shrugged. "Hey, you're the one always saying you don't want to feel like charity. Well, this ain't charity, this is work with a reward. Take it or leave it,"

    Her unimpressed look grows stronger in an attempt to buy her time. But it's useless, her stomach answers for her with a long growl and a smile sneaks up on her.

    She steps forward, crouching down a bit for him to jump on her back. "Alright, let's get this over with."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

    "You know, I was really worried about carrying you, but dude, you weigh like nothing. You're a fucking bean pole," Y/n says.

    She comes to a slow before straightened her back letting him slide off her back and onto the ground. The two of them had arrived at the nearest diner in the town square where they now stood.

    "Well, not to brag or anything, but," he fluffs his collar. "I took a massive shit before we left,"

    "Ugh!" a shocked and uncomfortable laugh breaks loose from Y/n and she sticks out her tongue in disgust. "Regretting this already."

    She threw open the doors and the two found themselves inside one of Derry's lesser diners.

    It smelled like sausage and coffee beans, and it had a vibrant red and black theme. There were maybe nine or ten people there, little kids included and they could hear the jukebox blasting a David Bowie song. Y/n had a hard time enjoying it with the combination of a full bladder and an empty stomach so she turns to Richie and nudges him with her elbow.

    "I'm gonna run to the restroom. Get us a booth?"

    "Do your thing," Y/n nods and disappears around the corner. As his eyes follow her, they land on the corner in question she had disappeared around where there sat the jukebox.

    He wanders over, eyeing the machine as Changes reaches a crescendo. A mischievous smile blooms as the lights from the window illuminated his face.

    "Three plays for a dollar, huh?"

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

    When Y/n returned from the restroom, she had expected to find Richie lounging in a booth somewhere, feet up and bugging the employees. She did not expect to turn the corner and nearly collide with the boy as he stood at the Jukebox and feeding all his money into it.

    "Dude! I carried you here, you owe me fries!"

    "And you shall get them my liege," answered Richie in a Shakespearean tone. "But first!" He dropped the act and looked away from the Jukebox for the first time, wearing an almost evil grin. "A social experiment,"

    Y/n's brow furrowed as she watched Richie punch in the same Tom Jones song over and over and over. It was then she caught on to what he was doing. She held out a hand as her eyes watched the Jukebox.

    "Hey, hey, hey, wait," she said, stopping Richie in his tracks.

    He looked up at her with a pout. "Relax, toots. I saved just enough for their biggest basket of fries, you'll get them." Then Richie saw the look on her face. He could practically see the gears turning.

    "No, not that. It's just..." she said, eyes never leaving the list of songs. "Before you put in more, you should throw in one It's Not Unusual,"

    And that's when the afternoon went from good to great.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

    By now, the duo had ordered and waited. They now sat tucked into a corner booth with a great view of the street corner and the passers-by of Derry. Changes had long since ended, and the remaining songs in the queue had trickled out. Richie memorized the song queue and was silently counting down until the big moment as he sat across from his battered-up best friend.

    Her busted lip poked out in a bored pout, her chin propped up on her palm as she balanced her head on the table while looking out at the graying town landscape. It always escaped her how Derry could possibly look so gloomy on even the hottest, brightest days of summer. Until recently that is, the truth all too clear to her and her friends now.

    The thought of the Losers scattered all over this hellhole only added to the gloom. They should all be here, together. Pointlessly debating which condiment goes best with fries, not fighting over... Over what they had fought over.

    Y/n's eyes finally broke away from the manhole at the center of the little intersection outside and wandered over to Richie. He had stolen the salt and pepper shakers from a few empty (and not so empty) tables and was currently doing his best to construct a salt and pepper shaker tower. His tongue was sticking out from between his curled lips and his glasses were sliding to the end of his nose at the angle he looking. The tower was nearly three shakers high and Y/n could hear him muttering, 'where's Haystack when you need him?' under his breath.

    The gloom Y/n had been thinking so intently on was suddenly ebbed away at the sight, and the corners of her lips hooked into a small smile.

    At least she had her favorite Trashmouth.

    "If you keep undressing me with your eyes, I'm gonna catch a cold," said Richie, never once looking up from his tower.

    Y/n snorts. "You're unbearable,"

    Richie shrugs defensively. "Hey, you're the one who said we're stuck with each other," he clicks his tongue and winks. "No going back on that kind of deal,"

    "Oh, I meant what I said," Y/n releases her chin and folds both arms on the table. She hated getting all serious again, but she just needed to be sure. Her voice softens, trying to catch Richie's eye. "All of it, okay?"

    Richie's hand around the salt shaker stops, and he pries his eyes off the tower and to his best friend. Despite her intentions and promises, everything that transpired the day before -- good and bad -- flooded over him and made him tense.

    She suddenly offered him her pinky and a small smile.

    "Stuck forever?"

    Richie rolls his eyes. He didn't quite know who to blame, maybe just the losers in general, but he was going all soft and lame.

    "Like my ass and a toilet seat, toots,"

    He locked his pinky with hers and the deal was sealed forever.

    Y/n leaned back on her side of the booth and took a large swig of the complimentary water as her eyes returned to the streets. The chatter of the diner had died down a little. There weren't as many people since they got there, but they were still filtering in and out. But when Y/n had a hard time shaking off the images she had of her best friend in the state he had been, she deems it safe enough to lean forward and lowered her voice.

    "You know," she began picking at her napkin, making slow and tiny tears here and there. "I--" she sighs, not knowing how or where to begin. "I wouldn't blame you."

    Richie, having abandoned his shaker tower, frowns.

"I wouldn't blame you if maybe, it was -- or is hard to be..." she shakes her head again and rubs her forehead trying to find the words. "I wouldn't blame you if it was hard to be around me and Eddie," She blurts.

    "I'm gonna stop you right there," Richie says. "We're not gonna do that, okay? You have exceeded your sappy meter and you're gonna need to wait about 48 hours for it to charge up again. I think we've both had enough, right?"

    Y/n swallowed her words. She swallowed any promise she was holding out to him that their feelings for Eddie wouldn't change anything. That she wouldn't ever want to stand in their way, however true it was. And instead, she made a new one.

    "Let's just agree, whatever happens, happens. Let that be whatever it needs to be. Even if that means neither of us gets to see that adorable, asthmatic pipsqueak ever again. Deal?"

    Y/n fought the bittersweet smile threatening to appear. She could see it now. Richie knew what he needed to know about himself now, and that was already a lot for him to handle. She could see in his eyes he wasn't ready for the possibility of whatever was his feelings for Eddie Kaspbrak.

    Y/n's stomach turns to knots when the thought crosses her mind, but that only confirms to her it was time.

    She looks around the diner, looking for prying eyes and she still finds none. She leans in, voice lowered as she fiddles with her napkin again. "I'm uh--," she clears her throat. "I've never told anyone this, but..."

    She lets out a sharp breath. "Well, let's just say Eddie isn't the first Loser I've ever had feelings for,"

    Richie shakes his head, making a "what am I supposed to do with that?" face at her sudden shyness. She only gives him a solid stare until it finally clicks.

    Richie collapses against the seatback with a gaping, triumphant look.

    "No. Fucking. Way," Richie slaps his hands on the table and leans forward, and an ugly excited laugh comes barreling out of his chest. "You big homo!"

    "Would you fucking shut up?!" Y/n hisses, reaching over and shoving him back against his seat by his forehead. She looks around the diner and determines no one had heard that. Maybe except one guy in his forties, but that was most likely about him knowing they did something to the jukebox. He was sat with his young kids, looking tired and all too suspicious of their laughter at the jukebox. Finally, she laughs a little. "Beep, beep you moron."

    "You telling me you and Little Orphan Annie...?"

    "I'm saying," Y/n sighs, shrugging her shoulders. "I meant it when I said you're not alone, alright?"

    The look in Richie's eyes hardly changes.

    "No!" She answers. "No, nothing's happened but..." Y/n shook her head. "I had feelings for a really long time, up until about two years ago."

    "Wowza," Richie sighs, leaning back into his seat and plopping one hand on the table. He sighs. "We sure know how to pick em,"

    "Yeah, you could say that," Y/n laughs.

    In fact, that's all she could say. A million things ran through her head, things she wanted to say to Richie but couldn't. Cause when she looked in Richie's eyes at that moment she -- they both -- knew everything unsaid could remain that way. With one look they knew. They knew that they could both count on each other, have each other's back. And that included Eddie too. They knew that no matter who held Eddie's heart, they could both agree that Eddie's happiness -- and each other's -- was most important.

    The sound of brass instruments invaded the atmosphere, pulling the duo's eyes to the jukebox across the diner. Their faces lit up in matching grins, both of them nearly forgetting the psychological horror they had just unleashed upon the diner.

    "What's new pussycat? Woah, wo~ah,"

    And thus began the best meal they ever had.

- 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗦𝗧 -

    Y/n relished at the demanding burst of cool air that bombarded her sweaty skin as she stepped inside Keene's pharmacy. The grip on the money she had scraped together tucked tightly in her right palm grew tighter when the shopkeeper's bell announced her arrival. Her eyes fell to her injured leg, and by now her feet have already begun their journey forward towards the first aid supplies. The last of the bandages secured around her leg, and she winced at the faded and stained cloth that was in dire need of a change.

    Her eyes pick up from the ground when she hears a choked gasp only to find the boy that had been occupying her thoughts standing before her.

    "Y/n," His voice is meek and heavy with sadness, and you can hear the absence of breath in his lungs that she always seemed to create.

    Despite the staggering stampede of emotions she felt, she found herself releasing a chuckle. "Hey, shrimp."

    The name itself would have been strong enough to send hooks into the corner of his lips, tugging them into a half-smile had it not been for the sight before him; she was a wreck. Looked as if she had been put through an actual wringer and his heart stops for a moment, in fear. At that moment he is grateful he has his inhaler, Y/n had a talent for taking his breath away but he never would have dreamed of it happening this way. Already his mind is going at twice its speed, a mad swarm of thoughts that dizzy his head, and as quickly as he can he tries to pluck one - just one - thing to say to her. When he finally speaks, he is thankful that his voice has returned to him.

    "How's your leg?"

    He doesn't have to ask, the first thing he saw - the very feature that tipped him off about her - was the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around her left calf. He couldn't imagine why it would still be bleeding, much less this profusely given how long ago it had been. Perhaps it had opened back up. And Eddie felt it best not to address the new set of scrapes and bandages that were scattered across her arms and legs, though each one filled him with worry. But her eye... it was completely swollen, and several shades darker than a usual bruise.

    She grew rather sick looking at the question and instantly he was filled with dread. Had It gotten to her again? Was it something new entirely? Either way, he felt a great deal of guilt he hadn't been there, and more than anything he wanted her safe. Maybe, if it wasn't too crazy, be the one to look out for her. To protect her.

    "I just," she swallows thickly, eyes darting around to avoid his eye line.

    Eddie tilts his head, encouraging her to continue. She looks as if she's about to unload a great deal off of her chest, but after a moment she shakes her head.

    "Nothing," she lies. "Just need new bandages."

    Eddie's horrified expression does not waver, but only intensifies, zeroing in on her. He just simply can't ignore the state she's in. And while every instinct inside him screams to jump in and help, he knows that's not his call nor his place. But he had to ask, he had to know.

    "Are you okay?" He blurts suddenly. He mentally slapped himself. Of course she wasn't. "What happened...? You're leg? You're eye? Are you in trouble at home? Was it...?"

    She grows tense, and Eddie scolds himself once more when he sees her walls rebuilding themselves. He hated his stupid word vomit sometimes.

    "No, Eddie!" she says tiredly, sighing at her slight outburst. "I'm..." she sighs again, staring at the floor, looking almost... calculated.

    Finally, she picks her head back up, her expression flat, but her tone a bit softer. "Just Bowers. The usual."

    Eddie couldn't help but feel like she was lying. And that hurt him. But he understood. If she had pressed him about things at home he probably would have done the same. Eddie sighed deeply as well.

    He missed the way things were.

    He missed Y/n.

    He missed the feeling he got around her, the storm of butterflies and mind-numbing fits of laughter they'd bring out in one another. He missed the way his skin would tingle like every blood cell was on fire when their skin accidentally brushed together. Eddie missed the way he'd lose himself in thoughts about her like he was now.

    Eddie didn't realize it until that last thought crossed his mind, but this was the first time in weeks he felt something other than anxiety and fear. And maybe he was crazy, but when he looked in Y/n's eyes now he thought he saw it too -

    "I'm sorry, Eddie," she says, breaking him from his daydream, sending him falling back down to earth. "But I really need to take care of this."

    He glances down at her leg, the bandage still soaked with blood and he feels fear squeeze his chest again. She was leaving. And that meant he had to, as well. He would have to say goodbye and go back home to his mother. He could hear her haunted cries, whining at him and wailing. What took you so long, Eddie? Don't you know what you're doing to my heart?

    Eddie goes rigid at the thought when he realizes; the last time he saw Y/n... Those horrible things his mother had said to her and he... Jesus, what she must think.

    "Y-Y/n," he sputters desperately as she begins to limp around him. She had gotten no answer for once again he had gotten lost in his thoughts. But he couldn't have it end like this. He just couldn't. "Y/n, I'm sorry."

    She stops in her tracks and looks back at him, thoughtfully. A sad smile graces her face.

    "I know, shrimp,"

    Her eyes hold a thousand words, a million things she wants to say to him as he wants to say to her. But they die out, and she turns away.

    "Y/n!"

    He couldn't let her go, he just couldn't. Then why was this so difficult? He always had a mouthful to say, but around Y/n L/n, Eddie was always speechless.

    "I wanna..." he gulps, a pleading, sincere look in his eyes. "I wanna see you again." He admits.

    Y/n smiles sadly. Like she doesn't want to let him go either. But still, she gives him a pleading look after gesturing to her leg.

    "Eddie, I gotta take care of this,"

     His head sunk to the floor and he nodded, embarrassed. Of course, what the hell was he thinking? She didn't need him coming in and messing things -

    Her sudden sigh broke his thoughts. "Meet me outside in five? I could use some help,"

     A nervous smile broke out, stretching and hurting his cheeks and Eddie nodded when he met her eye. He was out the door without another word, back in the alley where he had first bandaged her up all those months ago.

    His mind raced with possibility and more unanswered questions. What would he do, what would he say? What had happened to her, and could he have been there to stop it? His face still burned with embarrassment when he thought of the things he let his mother say to her, how livid he was with himself.

    It was all he could do not to bounce off the walls from the jitters. The crates from the last alley visit, or at least some like it, remained and so Eddie eagerly took a seat. His knee bounced up and down at unnatural speeds as his mind raced, his eyes wandering the alley as the wind swept in a familiar summer breeze against his cheeks.

    "I really need to focus right now," he orders, his hands making delicate work of the bandage over the new kid's stomach.

    "You need to focus?" Richie snorts over his shoulder, causing Eddie's cheeks to burn.

    "Yeah, can you go get me something?"

    "Jesus! What do you need?"

    "Go get my bifocals. I hid 'em in my second fanny pack."

    Y/n leaned forward, balanced on her knees with a crooked smile that would with Eddie for days. "You have a second fanny pack?"

    The burning in his cheeks grew, and Stan joined in. "Yeah, why do you have two?"

    Eddie didn't dare meet anyone's eye, let alone Richie or Y/n's.

    "I need to focus right now and it's a long story. I don't want to get into it."

    Besides! He was telling the truth! He needed to focus. Who knows what kind of shit has gotten into this kid's system by now?

    Eddie had nearly finished with the new kid's bandages when he heard the jingle of the store bell.

    "Yep. Thanks." Came the hardened voice of Y/n backing out and towards the alley with a pressed and forced smile before turning for the alley and away from whoever she had been talking to. Eddie was the only one to have caught the small whispered words under her breath from the silence of the alley. "-for nothing, I guess..."

    Eddie shot up from his seat, subconsciously straightening out his shirt.

    "Everything okay? What was that all about?" He asked as Y/n finally joined him. Eddie sputtered, mentally kicking himself for prying. "I mean, you don't have to tell me or anything, it's just you seemed frustrated. You know what never mind, you probably want to get your leg fixed up, right?"

   Eddie stopped again, shifting on his feet when he realized Y/n must be waiting to talk. "Sorry," he mumbled. And to his great surprise, she smiled.

    "Don't be. I've missed your word vomit," she joked.

    Eddie could feel the corners of his lips twitching up in a smile, and something happened to him he hadn't felt in a long time; flutters invaded his chest, making the air he breathed feel lighter and his stomach was doing flips. And he would have fallen harder had he known Y/n's stomach was doing flips right along with him, and a burning sensation lighting up her neck and ears.

    "Well, here-" Eddie said, snapping out of his daze, no longer able to stand by and ignore the gash in her leg. He supposed it really was like old times. He stepped aside, gesturing for the crates and taking the bag of supplies Y/n had handed over.

    "For real though," Eddie began, eyeing her nervously as he unzipped his fanny bag and begun fishing inside for hand wipes. "What happened, Y/n?"

    Her smile fell, and her eyes dropped to her lap where her fingers fiddled together. To Eddie, it felt like a long time before she finally answered.

    "A lot's happened since Niebolt, I'll leave it at that,"

    Eddie nodded, and stepped forward, lowering himself to his knees before her injured leg, and began unwrapping the first of the supplies from her grocery bag. "It feels like years ago,"

    "Yeah, it does," Y/n croaks.

    There's another small silence and Eddie feels a tug in his chest when her eyes linger over him. He only spares a moment to meet her eyes back before taking a deep breath and holding it. With a wince, he unraveled the cloth and quickly discarded it. He tried not to linger on the injury; the edges of her claw-like scars remained, but it looked as if they had been messily pried back open.

    Like deja vu, Eddie found himself battling to keep his lunch in his stomach, but the overall worry in his system for one of his best friends triumphed over it this time around. He dismissed the urge to gag and instead darted his eyes to Y/n in between his work.

    "So..." he asked, realizing he didn't really know where to start. "how have you been? Other than, you know," he laughed nervously.

    To his relief, Y/n smiled.

    "It's hard not being around the losers. I only ever see Richie anymore. Even Bev and I haven't really spoken since the fight, which has been really hard. We've been in each other's lives for so long,"

    As Eddie finishes cleaning the wound, his heart sinks a little at her words. True, he missed Beverly very much. But he also knew all too well what Y/n spoke of, and judging by the look in her eye as she softens at him, she knows it too. She gives him a gentle nudge with her foot.

    "He misses you too," she says, growing another small smile. "Won't shut up about you, in fact. Which is saying something... Guess I'm one to talk, though," she adds, watching him nervously out of the corner of her eye, and Eddie's heart skipped another beat.

    "What about you, shrimp? Dare I ask?" She says with a smile.

    Eddie, Y/n noticed, had been unusually quiet. By now, on any other occasion, he would have talked laps around her by now but something was keeping him. Maybe he just feels a bit out of step, she thinks, as she did. It had been far too long since things had been normal for either of them. But something told her he was now particularly quiet perhaps because he wasn't all that eager to share how things had been for him since the losers split. She couldn't imagine things had been well at home with his mother given everything that had transpired.

    So she didn't pry. She changes the subject, hoping to get his mind off of whatever might be bothering him. Her mind returns to his previous questions, and she bites the bullet.

    "Quitting my job." She says finally, stunning Eddie enough to pull his attention away for a split second. "You wondered what I was doing there. And aside from restocking, I was um... I was quitting my job."

    "You got a job at Keene's Pharmacy? When?" Eddie asked, reaching for a strip of gauze.

    Y/n seemed to think about it for a minute, counting the days in her head before shrugging. Leaning forward, she holds the gauze in places Eddie begins applying the bandages. "I guess a little over two weeks after Niebolt. I did little things around the store, this and that really,"

    "How come I never saw you?" Eddie asked, and Y/n shrugged.

    "He had me running errands most of the time," and she smiled a little. "But sometimes I'd stick around a little longer. I'd offer to sweep or restock the shelves or something. It's stupid, I know, but... I don't know, I guess I was hoping to see some admittedly cute... shrimpy little dude come walking in to refill his inhaler. Is that stupid?"

    Eddie paused, unable to hide the smile or the raging blush taking over his face. Y/n smiled to herself when she saw it, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't feeling a little bit of it too. Finally, Eddie spoke. Or at least, he tried to. His voice came out hoarse and he cleared his throat, quickly shaking his head as he secured the bandages in place and began disinfecting his hands.

    "No. No, that's not stupid at all. I mean, I don't know if I'd say shrimpy, necessarily, maybe a little skinny but-"

    Y/n laughed, smiling hard at the boy she hadn't stopped thinking about for weeks. Like Eddie, she hadn't realized just how much she had missed him until now. But, she hoped, maybe she could change that.

    Eddie trailed off, his ears burning at her laugh but a smile on his face all the same. At this moment, everything was perfect. Or seemingly so, at least. And then...

    "Thanks, Doctor K,"

     He smiled, a sinking feeling in his chest knowing what was coming next as she hoisted herself back on her feet. "Yeah, of course."

    A silence falls over the two, a silence they know won't last.

    "I guess I should get going," Y/n says finally, gesturing down the alleyway. "I'm meeting up with Richie later, he's swinging by my place." And for a moment, she looks hopeful and Eddie already knows what she's going to ask. "You're welcome to come. We both really miss you,"

    Yet again, Eddie Kaspbrak finds himself with a million thoughts racing in his head, but no words on his tongue. What could he say that wouldn't hurt her? What could he say that wouldn't essentially admit he was still a coward who couldn't stand up to his own mother? What could he say?

    But evidently, he doesn't have to. Y/n can see it in his eyes, and any trace of hope deflates with her. She nods sadly, eyes now on the ground and her freshly bandaged leg. "I get it, Eddie. It's fine. You don't have to say anything."

    "Y/n..." He didn't know what felt worse; knowing he let her down, or the sound of her using his real name.

    "Really, it's okay,"

    But it wasn't okay. And Eddie knew that. Today he had been given a second chance with Y/n, and already he had fucked it up. Or so he thought...

    A smile returned to her face just before she left; it wasn't nearly as bright as it had been moments ago, but it was as real as any other he had seen all summer. And then she spoke. She spoke the three words over her shoulder as she disappeared out of view that returned a familiar spark to his chest.

    "I'll call you."

    There was hope yet.

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[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.

[finalcreacher]

That Summer, And Many More || Masterlist

Description:

It was that summer that Richie confessed, and time froze for me, and we spent the day together talking and holding hands. And that one where the clown came, and the one the year after- where Beverly left. Worst of all, not when IT came back- but 1992. The day they left.

A series of vignettes of Loser's club member, Y/n L/n, and all the summers that went right, that went wrong, and went the worst.

Trigger Warnings:

Implied/Referenced Suicide, Bullying, Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, LGBT Slurs, AFAB! Reader

Ship(s):

Poly!Losers Club x Reader

Chapters: 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Coming Soon:

Chapter 5

[prettybaby-schnapp]

need more eddie kaspbrak. Punk eddie, soft eddie, eddie fluff, eddie fics i lit-rally dont care, just need more.

[parvulous-writings]

Summertime

Stanley Uris x Reader

Request:  Requestttt fluff Stanley Uris x Readerrrrr

Submitted by @mk-tozier

Summary: You and Stan go on a date and share some cuddles.

Warnings: None. Maybe just fluff as a warning?

Words: 2.6k 

(Not my gif)

The day had been an absolute scorcher. The sun bore down with a blistering heat for the entire time it had been out, morning till evening. There had been no clouds as far as the eye could see.

You had spent the early morning with Stanley, apart from the Loser’s Club for the first time in a very long time. Don’t take it the wrong way, you loved them all dearly, they were the people closest to you besides your own flesh and blood, but sometimes they could wear your patience down rather quickly. Richie with his constant inappropriate jokes, Eddie with his constant worrying, Ben with his pining after Beverly, Beverly being oblivious to Ben’s huge crush and pining over Bill.

The only members that ever seemed to be your saving grace were Mike and Stanley. You were pretty good friends with Mike, you were always there to lend a hand to one another or a kind ear if needed. And Stanley? Well... He was the light of your life, your rock in a hard place, your salvation when you were lost.

Always one of the maturer members of the losers club, it was no wonder that you and the curly haired boy had gravitated towards each other. You spent more and more time with one another, in your own little bubble. Most days Stan would sit with you, apart from the others, teaching you to identify different birds that commonly flew over the skies of Maine, and he had to admit you were quite good at it. So far you could identify the Black-capped chickadee, the Common eider, the Gray catbird, the Blue Jay, as well as the Yellow-rumped warbler. Your progress could be slow at times- there were days when the birds moved too fast for you to see what the patterns on their feathers were, but it was better than no progress at all, at least you showed interest in the activity. 

You had really started to spend a lot of time together once school had ended. Stan would take you out bike riding to little secluded spots in the woods, or you’d both go out to the shops together and get a few packets of sweets with your pocket money- despite your parent’s protests. So when Stanley had turned up on your doorstep on that scorching Saturday afternoon, it hadn’t surprised you at all. The curly haired boy gave you a shy smile. “Hey, Y/N...” He greeted, fairly cheerfully for his shy demeanour. “Hey, Stan,” You replied, leaning up against the door-frame of your front door as you spoke. “What brings you here today?” You questioned, quirking a brow playfully at him, which immediately caused his smile to widen quite a bit. He adored all the little facial expressions you did when talking to him, he found them quite adorable. “Well, I know it’s hot out, but I was wondering if you’d want to go to the diner with me, and get a milkshake to share?” He offered, gesturing over his shoulder as he spoke, presumably towards his bike which was leant neatly against it’s stand just off the pavement, barely scraping against the border of your front garden.”As like... A date?” 

 “Yeah, sure,” You responded with a warm smile and a light shrug. You barely had to even consider his offer before accepting, you could never pass up an opportunity to hang out with Stan, and this newly added romantic element just made you want his company more. “Let me just go grab my bike, I’ll meet you round the side of the house,” You told him gleefully, and with his enthusiastic nod of confirmation, you reluctantly shut the door and dashed through your home. As you retrieved your bike from it’s home in your shed, you began to suppose that perhaps the romantic element of your relationship with Stan wasn’t really a new thing, you’d begun to have feelings for the boy for a fair while, but you initially just dismissed it as being really good friends. Now it was beginning to dawn on you that it was more, a lot more than that. You took your bike out of the side gate, round to meet Stan who was patiently waiting for you to join him on the pavement, so you could cycle two abreast on the road into the town centre. It was a familiar route for the two of you, but that didn’t mean it was any less fun. You mounted your bike, swinging one leg over the frame so that you could sit comfortably. Stan was already ready to go, so you both began to push off from the pavement, braving the bump of the curb to settle into cycling at a comfortable pace down the road. 

You built up speed rather quickly, Stan falling behind for a moment. “I’m going to beat you!” You called playfully over your shoulder with a laugh. You heard Stanley scoff from behind you. It wasn’t often you got to see the more childish and playful side of Stan- usually he was busy trying to keep the rest of the Losers sane, safe and alive. One could argue that he did as much as the worrying Eddie, if not more. On the rare occasions you did see that side of Stan though, it was the most adorable thing ever, and you could’ve sworn that those moments alone could’ve made you fall for him almost immediately. “Not if I do this!” Stan called out to you, breaking you from your train of thoughts, and making you look over your shoulder briefly. You caught view of Stan standing up on his pedals and pressing down hard and fast. He was gaining quickly on you, a goofy grin on his face showing off each and every one of his front teeth. The sight made you giggle, and you mirrored him, keeping your pole position for just a little while longer.

 However, as you pulled onto the main street of Derry- which was surprisingly devoid of traffic despite it being mid afternoon- Stanley’s height finally gave him the advantage. Or, to be more accurate, his long legs gave him an advantage. He slowly drew ahead of you, poking his tongue out at you and keeping up his childish demeanour, for now at least. You knew it probably wouldn’t be too long till the old Stan would resurface- though it wasn’t exactly like you minded. 

Stan skidded to a halt on the side of the road, quickly dismounting his bike and hoiking it up onto the pavement, and patiently waiting for you to join him so you could go strap up your bikes besides one another. You joined him soon enough, and thankfully there was a bike rack nearby, with two spare spaces which your bikes fit in perfectly, as per expectation. Stan held the door of the diner for you, gesturing for you to enter the establishment first- he was so polite.You gave him a warm and toothy smile, accompanied with a gentle nod. “Thank you, Stanley,” You said quietly to him, and he soon joined you inside. “So, what would you like? Chocolate? Vanilla? Strawberry?”He said softly to you as you joined the line. You thought for a moment, considering your options. “How about vanilla?” You suggested, and Stan slowly nodded, “Yeah, sure, of course. I’ll pay.” He told you, and when you opened your mouth to protest, he pressed a finger gently to your lips. “I’m paying.” He insisted. You fell silent and began to slowly nod in reply, there was no use arguing. Sure, you’d probably be able to wear him down eventually to let you pay, but that would spoil the mood of the rest of the afternoon, and you were quite sure neither of you wanted that to happen. So, you lapsed into obedient silence, sticking by Stan’s side as you slowly made your way to the front of the line. When you got there, Stan stepped up without a moment’s hesitation, whilst you stepped off to the side to stay out of the way and help prevent congestion. His voice as he ordered your milkshake to share wasn’t the most confident sounding in Derry, but he himself was not entirely confident, around you he could be at times, but there were other times when your actions made him a squishy and nervous mess. How sweet you could be to him, how kind. He adored it, he adored you, more than he’d ever be able to put into words.

 He’d confided in Ben a few times about his feelings, the feelings that you gave him, but he always seemed to struggle finding the right lexis.Who would’ve thought, you could make the well-spoken Stanley Uris trip, fumble and stutter over his words. It was a gift that you didn’t take too lightly of course, though sometimes it was a little fun to tease him and see how flustered he could get. His face would go a rosy shade of pink, and he’d have to stop talking for a minute or two. You’d give him a simple yet sweet kiss on the cheek, and wait patiently for him to come back to planet earth, watching him with the sparkle of adoration in your eyes. Stanley cleared his throat, breaking you from your trance-like daydream. He gestured with his head towards a small and empty booth near the window of the shop, his sandy curls bouncing slightly at the movement. “Over there seems like a pretty good spot to me.” He commented, moving out of the way of other customers as he spoke. You  nodded gently, taking his free hand in your own. “Alright, come on then,” You laughed gently, pulling him across the glimmering tile floor towards the booth he had pointed out. 

You slid smoothly against the red leather material of the seating as Stan placed the made-for-two milkshake in the centre of the surface that now divided the two of you, where you could both just about reach it.  You took the straw closest to you, taking a small sip from the large beverage. Stan took a slightly larger sip, and winced as his hand went to his temple, massaging the skin gently in circles. “Brain freeze?” You asked teasingly, a knowing smile on your lips. The pure tone of your voice made Stan crack a chuckle. “Maybe.” He replied, just as teasingly. “If you think it’s so funny... I dare you to try and drink as much as I just did and not get a brain freeze.” He challenged you, folding his arms one over the other, and leaning on the table, a wide and almost mischievous smile lining his lips. You hummed quietly, considering the offer. “Alright... But if  manage to do it... I get a kiss from you,” You bartered with him, and he looked a little taken aback by the proposal. “I, uh, what? Wait, how about if you managed to do it, you...” He trailed off for a moment, “Or, rather we, can go back to your place and  cuddle.” He smiled his heavenly sweet smile over in your direction. You barely gave yourself time to consider this offer- a running theme in his oh so sweet suggestions- before you began to nod. “Alright, deal.” You brokered, beginning to grin. This would be easy. Or at least you assumed this would be easy. You were quickly proven wrong however, when you started to try and complete his challenge. 

It was after the very first mouthful that you knew you had made a mistake, and understood why Stan had gotten a brain freeze so quickly. Though your small sip a few moments prior had been no trouble at all, a large gulp like this was too much, it was beyond freezing. You tried not to let it show, though, powering through until you were sure you had drunk more than Stanley had done, even if it was only a little bit. Stan was still wearing a very smug look on his face, though. You quirked a brow at him, trying desperately not to wince at the still freezing feeling in the back of your throat. “What?” You asked, rather confused about his expression. “You’re faking it.”  “Am not.” You retorted, not even missing a beat.  “Are too,” He laughed at your expression, which had now become rather grumpy. “Come on, Y/N, I know you. You’re faking not having a brain freeze, I can tell just by looking at your face.” He gestured you as he smiled widely, holding back another laugh. You leant back in your seat with a sigh, “But if I admit to it... Then I won’t be getting cuddles..” You reasoned, pouting ever so slightly as you spoke. Stan seemed to consider this, before giving you a sweet smile and chuckling softly. He adored that you would try to do such a trivial and silly thing just to spend time with him, and be close to him. “Well, I think that just putting that much effort in deserves at least a five minute cuddle...” At this you gave a mild squeak of glee. “Thank you, Stan!” You laughed happily, and you both then made pretty quick work of the milkshake, before sliding back out of the booth and giddily going to collect your bikes. 

The ride to the clubhouse seemed quicker than the one going to the diner, which struck you as a little odd. It should have been at least ten minutes longer, and yet it didn’t seem to even chalk up to your original journey. Not that you were complaining- the faster you got to the underground clubhouse the sooner you could hug Stanley- it was just something you realised as you both laid your bikes to rest against a tree or the bike stand already attached to the pedal-powered vehicle. Stan was the one to open the trapdoor and usher you down there, and although the ladder rungs creaked quietly beneath your weight, you were confident they wouldn’t give out from under you. You had faith in Ben’s handiwork. Stan was swift to follow you, coming up behind you and snaking his arms around your waist, making you squeal quietly. You had more expected for him to wait till you both had settled down in the hammock or another seat, but you didn’t mind this, not at all. You giggled softly as you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder, “You know...” You said quietly to him, a smile creeping over your lips as you spoke, “I think we would be a lot more comfortable in the hammock.” For a moment Stan considered this, before nodding and carefully picking you up by your waist. You let him, shifting slightly so you could wrap your arms around his neck for better support. He placed you carefully in the suspended material of the hammock, before maneuvering his way in after you. After a minute or so of scrambling, it ended up that you were cradling Stan’s head in your lap, wrapping some of his curls around your fingers carefully, his eyes shut in a state of bliss. You smiled warmly at the sight of him so relaxed, it wasn’t often you got to see it. After about half an hour sat like that, no words spoken between you for they were not needed, you decided to speak up. The sun’s rays had begun to wane, and you knew you’d have to go your separate ways for another day soon enough. 

"Stan... We’ll need to make a move soon..” You told him, trying your best not to break the tranquil air around the two of you. Stan grumbled, shifting slightly so that his warm and loving hazel eyes could stare back up at your own. “I know... Just... Ten more minutes... Please.”