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atlafan · 4 years

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Lake House Tattoo - One Shot

a/n: so my birthday is in a couple of days, and I think a lot of you know I write about piercings a lot, but don’t have any major ones of my own...or at least I didn’t UNTIL TODAY! Finally got my belly button pierced yall! I wanted my nose done, but it’s not safe to do so yet, so I got the next best thing. Anyways...the guy that took care of me was really nice, and made me want to write a little piercer!Harry fic. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: FLUFF!

Words: 2.3K

Y/N was a simple woman. She worked a 9-5, regular old office job, and she liked it enough. She had a great group of friends, and a relatively normal family. There wasn’t too much to complain about. She was well past her wild college days, but as her twenty-fifth birthday was approaching, she wanted to do something that she felt was a little out there for herself.

A lot of her friends had different types of piercings. She only had her ears pierced. She had two sets in her lobes, and a simple stud in her cartilage. But her friends has some of the cooler ones, some had their noses pierced, and others had their belly buttons done. Bingo. A belly button piercing would be perfect. It was the little bit of defiance she was looking for, but it was also discrete. Maybe for any other person it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but it was something her mother was adamant about not allowing her to have as she was growing up, which was annoying because it seemed like everyone had it.

“Will you please come with me? I’ll need someone to hold my hand…” She asked her best friend, Maggie.

“Of course! But I promise, it won’t hurt that much. Where are you getting it done?”

“Lake House Tattoo, the piercer came really recommended from some friends at work. I wish I could have my nose pierced, but it’s frowned upon.” She sighs. “And another ear piercing isn’t outrageous enough.”

“Plus it’s discrete like you wanted. Are you going to tell your mom?” She giggles.

“Maybe some night if I get drunk enough and work up the courage. I’m about to be twenty-five, I’m an adult, I don’t live at home, she can’t say anything.”

A couple of days before her birthday, Y/N and Maggie drive out to the tattoo shop. It was on the top of a hill on the coast. The piercer, Harry Styles, came recommended by just about everyone she spoke to, so it was worth the almost hour long drive. Plus, it was a beautiful day out so the girls didn’t mind.

They both walk in, and step up to the counter. There were a couple of people sitting behind the desk. One of them had sleeves on both of his arms and those really large gages. His hair was buzzed short and bleached blond. The other man behind the counter had brown hair with soft curls. It was pulled back by a red bandana and a small clip. His left arm had a ton of tattoos, and his right only had a few. He had a small hoop in his left nostril, and that was all Y/N could see for piercings.

“Hello, I have an appointment at two…I’m Y/N.”

“Ah, the belly button, right?” The man with the bandana says. “I’m Harry, you’ll be with me.” He smiles and then squints at Maggie. “Are you getting anything done?”

“Um…no.” She says.

“Alright, you’ll have to out here, I don’t allow more than one person in the room.”

“But she-“

“Sorry, thems the rules.” He says as he stands up to place some papers on the counter. “Need your license and for you to sign some things.”

Y/N swallows and hands him her license and then signs the forms. She slides the papers over to him and he puts them in a folder. He hands her back her license and comes around from the counter.

“I’ll be right out here when you get back.” Maggie gives her a reassuring smile.

“Ready?” Harry asks.

“Yeah.” Y/N says nervously. She knew it wasn’t going to be that bad, but she didn’t do well with needles, and she knew she was going to be a little bit exposed to a stranger so her nerves were shot.

She follows him down the hall to a staircase, and up they go.

“So, a little birthday present to yourself, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s nice, hope I can add the special experience.” He smiles and gestures for her to head into the private room. It was small so she understood now why Maggie couldn’t join.

“Alright, sweetheart.” He says to her softly. He must be able to tell she was nervous. “I’m gonna take really good care of you, okay? I like my customers to be happy.” He goes into a closet and pulls out a container of different piercings. “Pick your favorite.” He pulls on some gloves. “Just make sure to look, not touch.”

Y/N nods and peers into the container.

“I like this one, the darker clear jewel.” She points to it.

“Ah, so the electric pink isn’t your thing?” He jokes and grabs the piercings she wants. She laughs nervously as he sterilizes it. “So…” He looks her up and down. “You’re not going to want to wear anything high waisted for a while, and you can’t go swimming either.”

“Okay.” She looks down at herself, now feeling stupid for wearing a tucked in short sleeve shirt with high waisted shorts. “I’ll be able to wear these low, it’s no problem.”

“It’s a popular trend right now.”

“They’re just flattering.” She laughs nervously again and he smiles. She watches as he puts something on a q-tip and he looks at her.

“Are you wearing a bra with that?”

“Um…yes?” She had to be blushing by now.

“Could you just tuck your shirt up in it?”

“Oh! Sure.”

She pulls her shirt up and does what he says, and then she lowers her shorts a little. He moves to stand in front of her and then he dips down to his knees, swabbing whatever is on the q-tip in and around her belly button. Y/N was sweating. She knew he must do this a million times a day, but it certainly wasn’t every day Y/N had a cute guy get on his knees in front of her.

“Just cleaning you up, sweetheart.” He must have notice her flinch when the q-tip hit her. “There we go.” He smiles up at her and stands to her feet again.

He sets the bed down so it doesn’t look like a chair anymore for her to lay on.

“Okay, hop on up and lay down for me.”

She nods and does as he says.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m excited, but I’m really nervous.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart. Like I said, I’m gonna take really good care of you.”

Y/N was screaming internally. She wanted to tell him to keep calling her pet names. For whatever reason it was relaxing her. His was voice was also deep and he had a nice British accent, so it was all just very soothing.

“I’m just going to squeeze here for a second to get the area ready.” He pinches down right at the top her belly button.

She flinches involuntarily when he first touches her. Y/N’s stomach was sensitive, it always had been. She takes a deep breath once he’s done. She looks away when she sees him grab the needle.

“Alright, now you’re going to feel the needle.” He says as he presses it through her.

She gasps, biting her bottom lip and pinching her eyes closed. It was over before she knew it, but shit she hated needles.

“Dis great sweetheart, all done. Just need to crew the top of the jewel on and clean it up.” He smiles at her.

“Thanks.” She lets out a breath.

She flinched every time he touched her stomach. He gets the top of the jewel on and cleans the area up. He explains how long it’ll take to heal, and since it was summer it was fine to go in the water, and he touches her lower stomach at about where she could go up to.

“Just don’t be in there along, especially if it’s a lake.”

“Yeah, stagnant water is pretty gross.” She giggles.

“Exactly! No baths either, just as gross. If you’re in the shower it’s okay to get it wet, just don’t let it get beat under the water, yeah?”

“Okay.” She smiles up at him.

“I’m just going to put my hand on your shoulder so I can lift this back up, and I just want you to sit a moment.”

She nods and her eyes flutter closed a moment as his hand reaches her shoulder, and she slowly sits up. She feels the pinch of the jewel as she does so and winces. She can see it in the mirror before her and she smiles.

“Like it so far? You’ll be able to see it closer in a moment.”

“Yeah! Thank you so much.”

“Oh, my pleasure.” He grabs his card and hands it to her. “Okay, now for the aftercare, this is really important.” He goes into the closet and grabs a can of saltwater spray. “You’ll want to get some little paper cups and q-tips, first thing in the morning and before you go to bed you’ll clean it out. Then a few times a day just spritz it with the spray. The less you touch it the better. These heal from the outside in, so it actually takes six months to a year for it to heal altogether, and then you can change the jewel all you want. You’ve got my card, so please, call me anytime if you have questions. The only stupid question you could have is the one you don’t ask.” She giggles at that and he smiles. “Take my hand, I’ll help you hop down.”

She does so and slowly gets off the chair. She blinks a few times, but she’s alright.

“Lightheaded at all? That can happen afterwards.” He gives her hand a squeeze.

“I think I’m okay.”

He nods and lets go of her hand. She steps closer to the mirror so she can inspect her new piercing, and she beams at herself.

“It looks so good, thank you so much. I’m so happy with it. I’ve wanted this for a long time, and it feels great to have it done.”

“I’m so glad you like it. I like when my customers are happy. Come back and see me anytime.”

“I will.”

He leads her back down the stairs with her to ring her up.

“Do you live around here?” He asks as he gets the order together on the computer.

“About an hour away, why?”

“Well, that’s the only aftercare spray I trust and they sell it locally here.” He gets up and grabs a couple of more cans for her. “Take these on the house.” He winks at her. “But promise to come back for more when you run out.”

“I promise.” She smiles and puts them in her bag with the other can. “Thank you.”

“That’s be sixty altogether.” He slides her the receipt. “Gotta fill that out before I run your card, sweetheart.”

She leaves him a twenty dollar tip and gives him his card. He smiles big when he sees the tip and runs the card. She takes it back and puts it in her wallet.

“All set, Y/N?” Maggie asks, coming up to her. “I was just looking around at the shop.” She points towards the room where people could buy piercings and studs.

“Yeah, take a look.” She lifts her shirt slightly so her friend could see.

“It’s so cute! Love the jewel you chose.”

“Thanks.” Y/N looks at Harry. “Well, if I ever need anything else pierced, I’ll certainly be back. This was a great experience.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I also do tattoos if you feel like being especially brave.” He smirks.

“Definitely won’t be coming in for that, but another piercing for sure.”

“Fair enough. Remember, if you have questions, my number’s on the card.”

“Thanks, I’ll definitely reach out if I need to.”

He nods and watches her leave. She hands Maggie her keys, not feeling up to driving.

“Oh god.” She says as she sits down. “Definitely going to take some getting used to.”

“It’s an adjustment for sure. So, was he as short with you upstairs as he was when we first walked in?”

“Not at all! He was super nice, he kept calling me sweetheart. Oh my god, Maggie…”

“What?” She chuckles.

“I got so nervous, before we got started he, like, knelt in front of me to clean me up…”

“Oh, that’s hot.”

“I wasn’t expecting it at all. I know it’s just part of the job so it’s no big deal on his end, but-“

“How often does a guy get on his knees?”

“Exactly! It was…intimate. He made me feel really comfortable. I nearly lost it when he started talking about aftercare.”

“You’ve read one too many erotic novels, Y/N.” She laughs. “He seemed pretty adamant about you calling him, maybe you should find an excuse.”

“He did ask if I lived around here…but that was just to make sure I had plenty of the cleaning spray. He gave me two extra cans for free.”

“You should ask him if you’re cleaning it right, like, explain to him what you’re doing, and then just see where the conversation goes.”

“It’s probably just the shop number…” She looks down at the card and her eyes grow wide. “Oh my god…he wrote in pen and put his cell number on it!” Her and Maggie squeal. “Okay…maybe I’ll call him. He’s really cute.”

“Plus…it’s kind of hot that he works at a tattoo place.”

“Super hot, I don’t know what it is about it. I wouldn’t mind hearing him call me sweetheart again. I wonder how often he does that.”

“Guess you won’t know until you call him.”

“I guess so.” She smiles and bites her bottom lip as she looks out the window. Best start to a birthday ever.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #tattooartist!Harry #piercer!harry

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kafka-ish · 4 years

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without my enemy what would i do | r.t.

richie tozier has been announced to come to dinner and y/n doesn’t know if things could possibly get worse for her.

word count: 8.3k

warnings/included: !!TW!! mentions of suicide/attempted suicide, nsfw (smut, fingering, oral -- male receiving), enemies to lovers, bratty!fem!reader

a/n: this was in no way meant to glamorize/romanticize suicide or any topic relating to that so if that’s triggering for you either don’t read this fic or the end. also i was heavily inspired by freaky friday and some other fics i’ve read

y/n couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mom’s mouth that morning. It had started pleasantly. The two were sharing a fruit medley her mom had prepared the night before at the breakfast nook. But those eight words had ruined the rest of her day.

“I’m inviting the Toziers over for dinner tonight.”

The tea in y/n’s mouth must’ve fallen out because she had been scolded for soiling the white tablecloth. But y/n didn’t care. The only thing occupying her mind was the fact that Richie Fucking Tozier would be in her house.

“How could you do this to me?” y/n accused her poor mother who was now frantically sopping up the stained green tea from the white fabric which she had just bought. She supposed she could just switch out the cloth for the time being, but everything had to be perfect when the Toziers came over.

“I don’t understand why you have... such disdain for them,” her mom said calmly. She always had a way of keeping her heels in the ground while her daughter’s head was stuck in the sky. “The Toziers are a family friend,” she insisted.

“I don’t have an issue with all of them.” y/n got up and gently placed her plate and mug in the sink. She washed them thoroughly before exiting. “Just Richie.” She mumbled the last part under her breath as she made her way up the stairs. y/n still had to put on her school clothes and make her way to school—something she was going to do rather unwillingly now.

y/n and Richie went back—way back. The Toziers and y/l/ns have been family friends since the two were in diapers; always forced to play together while their parents had their Sunday luncheons, the awkward lets-be-partners-since-I-don’t-know-anyone-else in middle school. Sometime in between the summer of ‘89 and their freshman year of high school, something changed. Richie changed. He was still the funny guy who hung out in the back of the room making offhanded jokes, but he was also the guy who made it his mission to hook up with every girl who stepped foot in Derry.

And somewhere in between, maybe y/n changed. She traded her pastel sweaters for cropped, graphic shirts and tight-fitting tees. The pleated skirts she always wore were replaced by ripped jeans that hung low on her hips with the help of her trusty studded belt. And her virgin hair was highlighted to the roots ever since sophomore year picked up.

Maybe y/n changed.

It was after a long day of incessant chatter and a math teacher who couldn’t seem to stop talking about his ex-wife when the dismissal bell rang. y/n was then stopped in her tracks by the one and only, Richie Fucking Tozier.

“Hey, princess.” His eyes were hazy with smoke and she was sure the Marlboro in his mouth wasn’t his first of the day.

“What do you want, Tozier?” y/n was reluctant to actually stop walking so she could talk to the scum on earth also known as Derry’s resident Trashmouth. Her beat-up high tops scraped against the cement and the undone hot pink laces swung in every direction imaginable. How she hadn’t tripped over her own two feet yet was beyond Richie as he watched the girl in front of him with amused eyes.

Richie’s back slumped against the bricks that made up the walls of their high school. One foot was propped behind him on the bricks, the other planted firmly on the sidewalk. “Your shirt’s inside out.” His pink lips curled into a smirk as if he knew something she didn’t, and y/n’s frown turned into a scowl.

y/n looked down. He was right. Her favorite black shirt with neon red and yellow stitching of a guitar on the front was, indeed, inside out. But she wasn’t going to let Richie Fucking Tozier have the satisfaction of getting under her nails. Not like this, anyway. “Thanks.” She let out a breath, half to calm herself and half to let Richie know how annoying he was being.

But he knew.

“You’re wasting precious oxygen.” y/n’s glare flicked from his eyes to the cigarette caught between his teeth and Richie only smiled.

“What, from smokin’?” He took the, what Stan called, cancer stick out from his mouth with his index and middle finger.

“No, from breathing.” It was a lame comeback. y/n was never good at comebacks, but she felt her cheeks heat up and blood stir when a chuckle fell from his breath.

He hummed thoughtfully, “Hmm. Okay, sweetheart.” He stood up straight, now towering over an uptight and pissed off y/n even more. He took another puff from his Marlboro, waiting for her response. But she only plucked the cigarette from his mouth and stomped it out.

“Did you call me over to say something important or did you just wanna waste my time?” y/n should’ve just walked off before this conversation even started, but it was too late and she would curse herself forever for giving this boy the time of day.

She was met with a cloud of smoke in the face and she coughed furiously. His breath smelled like ashes and cinnamon Altoids. Richie Tozier had blown his stupid cigarette smoke in her face. And before she could tell him to fuck off or screw himself, his words rung in her ears.

“Your ‘rents contacted mine. Looks like I’m comin’ over for formalities an’ shit.” His features were still twisted in a sick grin that y/n wanted to slap right off him.

“Formalities doesn’t usually consist of the word shit,” y/n said and began to start on her way home. It was bad enough she was forced to spend an hour (or more) with him at dinner, she didn’t need to linger any longer.

Her feet dragged on the graffitied pavement harshly and her pissed-off-ness transferred from the front door to the dining room where her mom was already setting up. Her dad had yet to arrive home from work, which was at five o’clock on the dot. Their family ate at six.

“Are you still upset about this morning?” Mrs. y/l/n’s soft voice sounded condescending as she was too focused on polishing the fine china to see her daughter’s scrunched eyebrows and squinting eyes.

“Yes.”

y/n huffed and one of the highlighted pieces of her hair flew from her face when she did so. “This dinner is ruining my life. Richie Tozier is ruining my life. You’re ruining my life!” She cried. It might’ve been an exaggeration, but so be it. Her life was, essentially, ruined.

“Your life is ruined?” Her mother was in disbelief. “How so?” Even though she asked the question, y/n could tell she wasn’t interested.

“Because you’re inviting the Toziers over when I’ve explicitly told you how much I hate them.” A growl left her lips in a fairly animalistic way to which Mrs. y/l/n told y/n that hate was a strong word and to make sure she didn’t bring that attitude to the dinner table tonight.

“Why don’t you take a hot bath? You can blow off some steam.” She laughed, thinking about the absurdity of ‘cooling-off’ in a tub of hot water but y/n crossed her arms at her mom’s negligence. y/n’s mother finally looked up at her daughter, her eyes judging y/n’s outfit carefully. “I’d like you to change, too.” Mrs. y/l/n wasn’t really fond of her daughter’s recent style. She had always loved the soft cardigans and floral dresses she used to wear in her early years. Granted, she was the one who picked them out. But they were just so cute. Mrs. y/l/n didn’t understand the recent trend of choker necks and buying jeans pre-ripped and she knew she never would. She could only wish her daughter were the same cute, innocent little girl she knew from way back when.

y/n grunted, making it known that her mother was being unreasonable.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my day? No, because you never do,” y/n mumbled only loud enough for her to hear.

It was after three hours of painfully solving logarithms (which was more like staring at the dreaded piece of paper until eventually expressing defeat), a long soak, and an outfit change when four faces arrived at y/n’s front door and Mrs. y/l/n called her down to greet the guests.

“Are you sure you want to wear that?” Her mother’s thin eyebrow rose skeptically at y/n when she saw—what she would call—the atrocity she was wearing.

y/n shot her mom the same look, unsure of what was so offensive about a black tank top and low-rise jeans. She could be so conservative. “I can change.” y/n didn’t feel like putting up a fight tonight, but her mother placed a hand on her shoulder before she could move.

“There’s no time, now.” y/n could tell she was about to break out in a scowl, but Mrs. y/l/n did a better job at containing herself than her. “Just…just get a jacket or something. I don’t know.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation and y/n left before she could see Richie Tozier unabashedly walk in with his so-called ‘rents.

“Look who I found just as I was coming home, honey.” y/n overheard her dad kiss her mom on the cheek as she fished for her jean jacket in the coat closet. Gag me with a spoon.

“Maggie! Wentworth!” y/n watched her mom hug the two from the corner of her eye as she reentered the foyer wearing a jean jacket. “It’s been too long.”

“Indeed.” y/n found it hard to swallow her scoff and keep a neutral face.

“Yes. I’m so glad you invited us over tonight.”

Richie then appeared from behind his parents. His parents had also made him change, seeing as he wore a navy blue button-up (wrinkled, of course) and the only pair of jeans he owned that wasn’t ripped and reached his ankles. y/n suddenly felt embarrassed about wearing such casual clothes. It seemed as if everyone were dressed for the occasion.

“Oh my, Richie. You’ve gotten so tall,” A gasp left her mother’s red and overlined lips. She took a few moments to welcome the family, making her version of witty banter and repeating how it’s been too long. She then walked them to the dining room which was lit up by the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Why her mother set up a candelabra in the center of the table still unknown to y/n.

“I see y/n’s still shy.” Wentworth chuckled as he took his seat and y/n could feel the blood rush to her neck and cheeks (is it getting hot in here or is it just me?) when she realized she hadn’t said anything since the Toziers arrived.

She took her seat across from RIchie and begun to pick at the green beans on her plate.

“Oh, Went, don’t be fooled. She’s not shy. It’s just her teen angst.” The words left y/n’s mother’s careless mouth and her daughter’s eyes widened at the statement.

“Mom!”

“Ah.” Maggie smiled at her friend knowingly before stabbing into the perfectly seared cut of stake that sat on her plate. “Wentworth and I know a thing or two about teen angst.” She tittered into her napkin and it was now Richie’s turn to shoot his mom the side-eye.

y/n tuned in an out of the Toziers’ conversation with her parents. The topics ranging from their jobs, newfound hobbies, and the best recipe for meatloaf. Surprisingly, y/n hadn’t heard a peep out of Richie throughout the whole meal.

“Wow, you have outdone yourself,” Wentworth said as he had just about cleared his plate.

“Oh, that’s not all. I baked a lemon meringue pie for dessert if you’ll stay.” It wasn’t as if Maggie and Wentworth were just going to leave after finishing their meal. That’d be too easy. They had both complied, exclaiming that they could already taste how delicious it was going to be. “y/n would you be a dear and go fetch it for us?” Her mother asked. “It should be in the kitchen. On the island.” y/n stood up from her seat, grateful to get away from the scene she felt trapped in.

“yeah, y/n. would you be a dear and go fetch?” Richie couldn’t help himself but take a jab at y/n as she was walking towards the kitchen’s entryway. She’d turn around to give him the finger if this were any other setting. Maggie turned to face her soon, silently scolding him and whispering that it might do him good to help her out.

Richie bit back a sigh while he got up and trudged his way to where y/n was.

His eyes roamed y/n’s delicate fingers that moved with grace and dexterity as she handled the sharp knife that sliced through the homemade pastry.

“Hey.” If y/n were any less skilled, she would’ve dropped the weapon, ruining her mother’s sugary creation.

“Jesus, Tozier.” She set down the knife. “Don’t startle me like that.” She made sure to keep her voice low, not wanting her mom to become suspicious.

“You’d hate me for knocking and you’d hate me for just standin’ around like a creep.” He shrugged and y/n brushed past him. She held the pie dish in one hand and a stack of plates in the other. “Lemme help.” His head tilted to the side and his doe eyes looked pathetic under the dim kitchen light.

“You are a creep.” But y/n complied, allowing him to take the plates so she could focus all her effort on the pie.

“I’m a creep?” Richie looked to her amusedly. y/n didn’t answer. Her lips were sewn shut as soon as she found herself back in the dining room with all eyes on her and Richie hot on her trail.

“Thank you so much, y/n.” Mrs. y/l/n awed at her own work and started to dish out the precut pieces onto the plates Richie set down. “Speaking of y/n—as if I don’t speak about her enough—did you know she recently won the Academic Excellence Award for both Math and English?” The enthusiasm in her mom’s voice was alien to y/n’s ears.

“That’s great, y/n.” Maggie looked to her with a sort of light in her eyes she never looked at Richie with. “Rich, you never told us about this.” Her fork started for the meringue on Jenny’s pie first; soon after it would make its way down to the actual pie part.

“I didn’t see the point in sayin’ anything.” His face was stuffed full of pie and he shrugged.

Both Wentworth and Maggie looked at their son with disappointment.

“We care.” Wentworth then looked at y/n reassuringly. “Don’t listen to him, y/n... Wow, Jenny, this is great stuff.”

Once more, y/n got up from her seat. She didn’t bother helping herself to a slice of her mom’s pie and if she had the option, she wouldn’t have bothered making an appearance downstairs. “Can I be excused?” She asked her dad in particular who nodded. A sympathetic look was plastered on his face which was also stuffed with her mom’s dessert.

“Hey!” This was the beginning of one of Wentworth’s many great ideas. “Why don’t you show Richie your awards? It seems our boy could use a new outlook on what an Academic Excellence Award actually means.” He gave Richie a firm pat on the back before he begrudgingly stood up and walked over to where y/n was already making her way up the staircase.

“I wouldn’t blame ya if you feel all hot an’ bothered,” Richie said once they reached the top of the stairs.

y/n’s nose wrinkled at his words and she could already feel herself frowning at his unwanted presence. “What?”

“Aw. Don’t be like that, princess.” He threw his arm around her shoulder and y/n felt an odd warmth heat her body that wasn’t from the doing of her flimsy jacket. “Everyone wants a chance at the Tozier.” He took his free hand, the hand that wasn’t resting on her covered skin, and pointed to himself with his thumb.

y/n was about to ask who everyone was, but she didn’t want to give Richie the chance to list off the names of the girls he’s done. “I don’t like you, Richie.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, babe.” The two were now in y/n’s room. y/n didn’t allow her eyes to meet his. Instead, found herself organizing her already tidy desk. The only thing on it was her homework from earlier and a slew of highlighters.

Richie, on the other hand, took it upon himself to take a tour. His long legs made their way across the perimeter of y/n’s room. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be found and if she had spent half the time she did cleaning to go to the attitude adjustment program his mom always talked about, maybe they’d get along better.

“Your room’s changed.” Richie was now admiring her trophy shelf. Above it hung multiple metals; all gold and he stood in amazement for a while. Richie had always been smart. His grades always surpassed his parents’ expectations, but he never tried. He never made a deal to push himself or shoot for the stars. He never got why awards were such a big deal. Hell, Derry didn’t even make a big deal out of them. But as his magnified eyes stared patiently through his coke bottle lenses at the shiny medallions and gold cups that were displayed proudly in y/n’s room, a part of him wished he had tried harder.

“Yeah.” y/n wished she weren’t so quick as she cleaned because that meant facing him sooner. “People change, I guess. The room’s just a part of the process.” She bit her lip and thought back to how things used to be. Richie and y/n were nowhere near close, but she hadn’t always hated him.

“y/n, I want you to meet someone,” Maggie Tozier said softly to a small girl who wore her hair in pigtails and a puppy dog face wherever she went.

y/n, who spent her days hiding behind her mom’s legs and was never the one to talk to people who weren’t her friends or parents, looked between Maggie and the boy standing next to her as she sat crouched in the grass in her backyard.

The y/l/n’s had invited the Toziers over for lunch and Maggie thought this would be the perfect day to introduce her son to their daughter.

“Hey!” Richie Tozier had always been a loudmouth. From when he was first able to speak, the Tozier household was filled with nothing but incessant chit-chat, whether or not it was worth listening to. Maggie and Wentworth loved him regardless. “I betcha can’t fit your whole fist in your mouth. I can-!” Richie unhinged his jaw and he was about to force his balled-up hand to the back of his throat until Maggie scolded him for being ungentlemanly. “Sorry, ma.” He looked down, discouraged until he caught a glimpse of y/n’s shy smile and the beginning of a laugh.

It would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship—maybe even more—both the Toziers and y/l/n’s had suspected.

How wrong they were.

Sure, Richie and y/n were ‘friends’, but they were the forced-acquaintance-like type. The only time Richie and y/n had any solid interactions with each other was when their parents had their lunch dates together and they served as the tag-a-longs.

At school, y/n found her own group of friends with Stacy Howards and Regina Carmichaels. Stacy was a pretty girl who found out about her love of cheerleading at an early age and even though the popularity got to her from time to time, she still knew where her loyalties lied. Regina was like y/n—quiet, reserved, and focused on her studies. But she didn’t wear anything that revealed above the knee, on account of, she wasn’t allowed. The three had been inseparable ever since the third grade.

Richie had seemed to find his own group, too. A young boy named Bill Denbrough who would grow into his looks and lead them through silly adventures, Stan Uris (one of the only Jews in Derry), and a hypochondriac whom Richie called ‘Eds’, short for Eddie Kaspbrack. But his group would only continue to grow while y/n’s would stay because while seven’s the lucky number, three’s company.

y/n exhaled sharply, recalling how things used to be. The simpler times. She looked over from her desk to see Richie, whose hands were tracing the raised words scrawled on the metal trophy.

Perfect Attendance Award (1989-1990)

“Don’t touch my stuff!” She shouted and a startled Richie pulled his hand away shakily but also clumsily, causing the golden cup to fall from its stand and the others to shift. They were now slightly askew from their original place. y/n cringed at the sound of the award hitting the hardwood floor; certain that would leave a mark.

“Sorry,” Richie mumbled insincerely while he bent down to pick it up. He recklessly put it back and it was definitely not in the position it sat in beforehand.

A scoff accidentally left its way from y/n’s mouth and an idea formed in Richie’s head.

“Is this how you treat all your guests?” y/n couldn’t see the smirk on his lips because he was turned away from her.

“Only the insufferable ones.” y/n’s eyes narrowed at the back of Richie’s head. “You can be a real asshole sometimes.”

“I hate to break it to ya, but you’re no walk in the park either.” Richie turned around. He was preparing himself for a smack to the head or jab in the gut. He didn’t expect for y/n’s searing stare to have some sort of newfound effect on him.

y/n had always been pretty. Whether it be when they were twelve and she wore white, collared shirts under her yellow, cable-knit sweaters. Or in freshman year when her hair grew longer and her shirts got shorter.

But the question, if Richie had ever thought about her or not, would remain a mystery to y/n. It would be weird to make out with the girl you knew since Velcro shoes and He-man, right? Right?

y/n’s eyes trailed from Richie’s to his lips, similarly to how she’d done earlier that day. But earlier that day a cigarette was nested between his perfect—chapped lips. Now, the only thing that stood between their lips was the space between them and tension.

“Whatever.” y/n was about to leave, not caring that Richie Tozier would be left to his own devices in her room. She just wanted to be in any room he wasn’t. But a hand, decorated in silver rings and chipped nail polish, stopped her from doing so. This was the second time someone had stopped her from leaving by laying their hand on her shoulder.

There was no time to ask for questions because Richie’s lips were attached to hers, kissing away her grimace. It was a total paradox: his lips were cracked, yet soft and even though they had just eaten dinner she could taste mint on his tongue.

The kiss was rough and full of want. Richie wanted to know what she tasted like. Richie wanted to know what she felt like. Richie wanted to know her.

y/n pulled apart from him. She stayed long enough to know what his kisses felt like but left fast enough to leave him wanting more.

“Why’d you do that?” She said in between gasps for air. They were both left breathless from the intensity of it all.

Richie shrugged and y/n hated how apathetic he could be. “Just felt like it.” His hands slipped into his back pockets. His eyes then started to travel from her neck to her body. He started to wonder what she looked like without that jean jacket on. Or any clothes on.

y/n knew what Richie wanted. It was just the question if she’d give it to him or not. She shrugged her shoulders in an equivalent fashion as to how Richie shrugged his so that the jacket slipped off, revealing the exposed skin her tank top allowed for.

A faint whistle echoed from Richie’s lips. The same lips that were just on hers a moment ago. He took the time to stare at—no—admire her sharp collarbones and the skin that her top left no imagination for. A sudden rush of goosebumps pricked y/n’s now exposed shoulders at the sound of him whistling and she had to tell herself to keep her composure.

“Is this the part where we have amazing sex and afterward I’m just suddenly supposed to forgive you?” y/n’s words were like a knife, stabbing into Richie’s unusually open state. Nonetheless, her arms were reaching to take off her shirt and her legs were already kicking off her loose jeans.

“Don’t try an’ break the fourth wall.” Richie mirrored her. His shirt flew across the room, it wasn’t like he cared where it landed. His only pair of good jeans marked where he once stood. He was now on her. His lips left sloppy, wet kisses that trailed from her heated cheeks to her neck.

The two were fast to make their way to y/n’s bed—Richie taking his rightful place on top of her and y/n wrapping her legs around him. Her hips bucked up to his as she tried to relieve the built-up stress and ache in her core, but it only caused the heat in her underwear to pool, even more, soaking it further.

“Christ, you’re dripping.” Richie felt the dampness from her panties transfer to his boxers. His index and middle finger reached down, swiping at her heat through the lacy fabric. y/n whimpered as she watched him lick the slick from his fingers afterward. “You have to be quiet, okay? If we get busted my dad’ll sock me.” Richie whispered in her ear, his lips barely ghosting the shell of it.

y/n’s eyes fluttered at the small sensation. Do it again, Richie. But she would never admit her longing for him. Her legs tightened around him (if that were even possible) and she only wished that Richie would get the hint without her having to say it.

“Needy, are we?” y/n’s eyes rolled under her shut eyelids at the sound of Richie’s voice. The boy was all talk, non-stop. If they didn’t hurry, y/n feared her mom would check up on the two. All she could do was pray the Toziers kept them busy with conversation.

Richie held himself up with his left arm while his right hand rubbed indecipherable shapes on her clit. y/n wanted to cry out, but she knew better than that and she would get more than just a handful from Richie if she did. His long, dexterous fingers knew their way around a girl and y/n couldn’t help but think to how many times he’s done this before.

He was fast when he slipped a finger into her, then one became two, and two became none just as the top of y/n’s head hit her headboard from throwing her head back in pleasure.

“Why’d you stop?” y/n whispered. Her hips ground against him again and she could feel how hard he had gotten. These few seconds of paused breaths were about as much fun for her as it was for him.

“I think I hear someone.” Richie blinked and sat up. His full attention had reverted to the sounds outside her room and he was sure those footsteps weren’t y/n’s imaginary friend.

y/n saw this as an opportunity to get Richie back for all the times he’s gotten at her. The accidental trips in the hallways. The snide comments. The times he’s hooked up with other girls that weren’t her. She pushed him so he laid flat on his back, all sprawled out for her. She pressed a kiss to his lips. She kissed him hard. All the pent-up anger and resentment she had towards him was released into that kiss. Her lips then trailed their way down his body. They were feather-light and tickled his freckled skin. She was careful not to make marks, but it was tempting. It was tempting not to leave a purple bruise on his hipbone only for his next hookup to ask who’s that from? And for him to reply actually, I don’t think we should do this.

y/n looked up at Richie with the same puppy dog eyes she used to wear when they were six and Richie just about had a heart attack. The girl relieved him of his confinements (and other things), only for his manhood to unveil itself. It was eager for her, the tip glazed with precum and y/n’s mouth couldn’t help but water at the thought of being the one to get him off. She took him in her dainty hands. The same hands he watched handle the knife with. The same hands that wound their way around his neck and played with his unruly hair when he was on top of her. She pumped him cautiously; tenderly, before taking him in her mouth. She first kissed the tip, remnants of precum glossing her lips, and then swallowed around him.

Richie moaned at the feeling and y/n giggled, the vibrations sending him into endless bliss. The girl below him took one of her hands and placed it over his mouth in the same way he had told her to be quiet earlier. She smiled, feeling his mouth on her hand and her mouth-

“Richie?” It was Wentworth Tozier and y/n had never been so glad to be behind closed doors.

y/n released the hand that was cupped over his trash mouth. “Yea-yeah, dad?” His eyes were wide and not because he was in awe of the night he had been waiting for since forever, was finally happening.

“Are you ready to go? We’ve just about finished up.”

Richie found it all of the sudden harder to contain his sounds and the sensation of y/n’s mouth taking his length multiplied by tenfold.

“Ye-yeah.” Richie cursed himself for turning into his stuttering friend. Except instead of a stuttering Bill, it would be a stuttering Richie.

“You’re not having any issues in there, are you?” Wentworth pressed further and Richie’s hands flew to y/n’s hair. Her head bobbed up and down at the command of him and the only thing Richie could do now was cross his fingers for a fast release.

“I just lost my ring,” he managed to get out.

“Aw. It’s not the nice one, is it?” Wentworth recalled how much that one had cost. The rings Richie wore were mostly costume jewelry, aside from the one plain band made of real silver.

“N-no.” Richie was frantic. “But it’s just one I like.” He stifled a grunt using his own ring-clad hand—where every ring resided just fine.

“Do you need any help?” I need you to go away.

“No!” He was suspiciously eager. “y/n’s helping me.”

“Okay, okay. Three’s a crowd.” Wentworth knew how to take a hint. “Your mom and I’ll be waiting in the car. Please be down shortly.”

It was only until Richie couldn’t hear his father’s footsteps anymore when he choked out a moan he’d been holding in for far too long.

y/n separated from him after swallowing the lst of his high. She left him with a thick stripe from her tongue pressed to the underside of his cock and breaths so heavy he could barely hear himself think.

“Christ.” Richie was still trying to find his breath and y/n only eyed him innocently. She got up from the bed to retrieve her clothes, he would have to get his own, giving him a full view of her backside.

“You talk too much,” y/n said nonchalantly. Her hands that were once on him were now searching through her drawers for a different pair of underwear. She’d have to shower again once the Toziers left but the pooling between her thighs felt too uncomfortable to tolerate for a second more.

Richie was sat upright on y/n’s four-poster bed. His glasses were fogged, an accurate representation of how his mind felt. A weird haze kept him from thinking straight. It was different from when you smoked green and he couldn’t help but think that this was the first time he’d gotten off in weeks.

“Richie?” y/n asked almost concerned. She appeared in front of him and she looked like she came straight from one of his dreams. Her cheeks were still flushed and hot from earlier when their skin collided and she hadn’t combed the sex out of her hair yet. Richie hated the Led Zeppelin t-shirt that covered her figure and he wordlessly pleaded to stay the night, the only indication coming from his big doe eyes that were blown with lust and sinful thoughts. “Richie!”

The shrill sound of her voice made him blink and he finally saw y/n for who she was.

“You have to leave.”

“Gee, sugar. You sure welcomed my stay.” His pupils were quick to contract when they made a trip to the back of his head.

y/n scoffed and before Richie could make a smart comment he was met with his clothes thrown at his chest and another order to leave.

“The princess gets what the princess wants,” were the last spoken words before y/n slammed the bedroom door behind him. But y/n wouldn’t confess that it was Richie she fantasized about that night while her left hand traveled beneath her fresh pair of underwear. She’d pretend her fingers were his, but it wasn’t the same when she couldn’t meet the same feeling of euphoria he gave her.

Unsurprisingly, it was Richie to address their rendezvous the next day. They were at school: y/n hung by a row of lockers with Stacy at her hip as she talked about her new cheer routine.

Richie immediately spotted y/n who was sporting dark wash skinny jeans and another band tee, but the hem reached just above her navel. He faintly recognized the blondie next to her, recalling if they had ever done it or not but he assumed if y/n was friends with her the answer was most likely no.

“Hey.” His voice was coarse and a shallow part of y/n wanted to know if he had found another girl to get off with when he left her place.

“Hi.” y/n’s eyes never left Stacy’s and she pretended not to be interested in what he had to say.

“y/n.” Her stomach felt hollow at the sound of him saying her name. She digressed, still giving her friend her full attention. “y/n.” His voice was firmer now. They had all the time in the world, seemingly because it was the end of the day, but Richie needed to talk to her now.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to someone?” y/n bit back harshly. She didn’t mean it.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to you?” Richie grew agitated and y/n liked the sound of desperation from him. Desperate for her.

“It’s fine, y/n.” Stacy was understanding but she shot Richie an offhanded glance that left him speechless and self-conscious. “I have practice anyway.” After she kissed y/n’s cheek goodbye, she skipped off to what y/n presumed was the football field.

“Whew, where can I get some of that action?” Richie wiggled his eyebrows which earned him a slap to his shoulder.

“What do you want?” y/n still didn’t make eye contact with the boy in front of her—a pattern he was just now starting to pick up on.

“Last night…” Richie’s eyebrow raised suggestively, and y/n knew exactly what he was hinting at just from the tone of his voice because what else had happened last night?

“Last night was a mistake,” y/n lied. She had to keep her guard up around him or else she’d get hurt.

“You think so?” Richie’s back slumped against the lockers next to hers while y/n continued to shove books into her bag. “I kinda liked it,” he admitted.

y/n’s eyes widened, and she swore her ears were deceiving her.

They weren’t.

Richie and y/n had spent the past week switching between each other’s houses. On Tuesday it was Richie’s because the ‘rents would be AWOL and on Wednesday it was y/n’s because it was her house the yearbook club would be meeting on that day and she had to be there to set up.

“I don’t see why ya have to go to that stupid thing,” Richie grunted before pushing in. “Who buys yearbooks anyways?”

“A lot of people.” y/n said, partially annoyed that they had to be fast and also annoyed at how much Richie talked during sex.

Their sessions were usually quick and sloppy. Neither taking the time for foreplay, and neither caring. Hands gripped skin and teeth clashed. As long as the other got their release, it didn’t matter. It was a system. Richie would meet y/n at her place and y/n would meet Richie at his. They’d part with a goodbye and nothing more. Anything more would be crossing the line.

It was on a Monday when Richie Tozier found himself shakily opening the handle to y/n’s front door. It was out of character for him to be nervous about this stuff, but he was. They’d been hooking up after school for a few weeks now and although they hadn’t had a session planned for today. It was like an unspoken agreement.

He didn’t bother to see if the door was locked or not. He already knew the y/l/n’s kept a spare key under the welcome mat so he welcomed himself to use it.

Her house was eerily quiet. He bet he could hear a pin drop if he tried to find the one sitting at the bottom of his backpack. But he didn’t. For a second, it occurred to Richie that no one was home. He wanted to recheck if the cars were in the driveway until he remembered y/n didn’t drive. Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was now Richie ‘The Snoop’ Tozier as he made his way up the stairs to her room. An uncomfortable stillness blanketed the air but Richie only continued his path.

He caught on quick once he saw the door to her room was open, giving Richie a full view of y/n leaning against the edge of the balcony that was connected to her bedroom.

“y/n!”

She looked peaceful as the wind lifted her hair—it would take her body too, just one push.

y/n didn’t notice her name from his lips as he called for her. The only cohesive thing that ran through her mind was the sound of her thoughts. Do it. Do it. Do it.

She was about to. Her grip on the railing tightened before letting go completely and her feet pushed off to meet the air’s welcoming breeze. But the exoneration y/n had ever so hoped for was replaced by the tight embrace of Richie Tozier as his arms wrapped around her torso. He held her tight even though her body fell limp at his touch.

“y/n.” She wanted to crawl in a hole at her name on his tongue. The high-spirited and playful little girl Richie Tozier once knew and held close was replaced with a sad—miserable—teenager and Richie had to take a step back because it became apparent to him that he didn’t know her at all.

A hot tear burned its way down her cheek which Richie wiped with the pad of his thumb.

“Why do you care?” y/n whispered. She was too weak to move so she sat with him. She sat with his arms strewn around her to keep her from doing anything stupid.

“What do you mean why?” Richie was calm under the weight of the situation. Honey dripped from his voice, soothing her open wound and y/n reluctantly felt her body relax with his.

“We hate each other.” The words stung because honesty hurts and Richie’s dry mouth swallowed, buying him time to think of a reply.

“Where did it all go wrong, sugar?” He asked. Richie genuinely wondered what had changed between them and y/n’s heartbeat picked up rapid-fire because she remembered the events, as well as she, remembered her eighth-grade valedictorian speech.

It was the summer of ‘89. School had just let out and y/n rushed home to change from her school clothes and call up the Toziers’ landline—a number she had memorized by heart.

She threw open her closet door, blood was rushing through her veins as she decided what to wear. It took her a moment and she wondered what Richie’s favorite color was. She finally decided on blue to match his eyes.

Mrs. y/l/n had scolded y/n for running in the house because she just swept the floor and she didn’t want tracks again, but y/n didn’t care as she dialed the home phone with the precision of a hunter. y/n sat patiently in her baby blue sundress with her legs crossed on the velvet armchair while the dial tone rang. A giggle couldn’t help but escape her lips from the thrill of it all.

She’d never been so bold to call up her crush and now she was finally doing it.

“Hello?” It was Maggie Tozier’s voice and y/n could tell she hurried to the phone before this.

“Is Richie there?” y/n asked timidly. She wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t get the chance to talk to him because she died from a heart attack right there, but she praised herself in her head for containing her loose giggles.

The other end was silent for a moment. “Richie can’t come to the phone right now.” Maggie sounded sad and y/n understood. “Maybe try again tomorrow?”

She did. She had tried again that whole week and she was met with the same answer each time.

Embarrassment finally took the form of a soon-to-be-highschooler as y/n couldn’t bring herself to call the line, or even look at the phone that next week.

Summer of ‘89 went by as fast as it came. y/n had grown a few inches only for Richie to shoot up like a tree.

She’d only seen him sparingly. Once at Mr. Keene’s pharmacy where he was hanging out with Eddie, Bill, Stan, and a few other familiar faces; faces she’d seen before but couldn’t place a name to. The other times she’d seen him were at the barrens, but she couldn’t bring herself say anything to the boy, let alone look at him.

Their final meeting was on the first day of school: freshman year. Richie stood a good head above her and y/n had finally found the courage to confront him after her fun-less summer.

The days were still hot even though school had started to pick up and it didn’t help that Derry High had neglected to get their AC unit fixed until snowflakes carried through later that year. To combat the scorching sun that beat down on the Derry residents’ backs, y/n wore a yellow, pinstriped sundress that jutted out at the hip and ended above the knee. Her mom insisted she wore the new Mary Janes she’d splurged on, just for her, and to go with them she paired white frilly socks and a silver necklace.

“Hi!” y/n was hopeful that the one and only Richie Tozier hadn’t forgotten who she was over the summer of not calling back and sparse interactions. She stood at his locker and looked at him with the same puppy dog eyes she did when they were six. The same puppy dog eyes she’d give him the night he would come over for dinner and over welcome his stay in her room.

Richie stood there frozen. His hand had a death grip on the new history book he had just received earlier that day and even if he wanted to move, his muscles wouldn’t allow for such a thing. He forced a smile on his pretty lips that had snuck a cigarette in the bathroom earlier—a habit he picked up from over the summer—but didn’t say anything.

“I called you…” y/n said, a sort of sadness hinting in her words. She could tell there was something different about him, but she didn’t know what it was. “Busy summer?”

He felt his breath hitched and found his fingers, along with the other muscles in his being, able to move. Richie swiftly and recklessly stuffed the textbook in his backpack while y/n was tracing the numbers engraved on the metal plating of the locker next to his. The thrill of finally being in high school hadn’t yet left her body when all Richie could think about was when they’d get the fuck outta there.

“You could say that.” Richie didn’t really know what happened that summer. All he knew was that there were a couple missed calls from y/n—according to his mom. And it’d be too embarrassing to try and rekindle what little they had now.

“Well, if you aren’t busy right now…” y/n’s words started to trail off, becoming a distant memory in Richie’s mind until they picked up again. “We could hang out after school?” There sparked a glimmer of hope in her big eyes and Richie felt his insides twist into a bow.

The loud, ear-piercing sound of metal hitting metal made y/n jump when Richie slammed his locker door shut. “We’re not friends.”

“What?” She was in disbelief at what the boy in front of her was saying even though he wore a straight face.

Richie sighed. “Look. I don’t know how many times I have to explain this to ya but listen good: just cos our parents are all chummy doesn’t mean we gotta be.” He hadn’t blinked since he started talking and his hard stare confirmed the awful feeling in y/n’s stomach.

“F-fine. If that’s how you feel.” y/n kept herself from bursting in front of the boy she harbored a crush for. She turned away from him and made quick to excuse herself from his presence.

y/n remembered never touching her Mary Janes after that day. They still sat in the back of her closet collecting dust—still shining as if they were new. She would spend the rest of her freshman year in t-shirts she’d cropped herself and figuring out how to get the most natural-looking tears in her jeans.

y/n remembered hating Richie Tozier ever since.

Silent tears streaked her cheek. Some fell on Richie’s sleeve and he felt guilty. “Oh, kid. I don’t hate you.” The sound of his heartbeat through his shirt soothed her, like how a lullaby calmed a child. Richie didn’t expect an answer from the girl in his arms. He just stroked her hair and hoped she’d stay as still as she was in his arms when it was time for him to go.

“Regina hates me.”

y/n gave Richie no further explanation as to why three became two in her already small group of friends. It was earlier that day when she had found out Regina Carmichaels had been talking to Ellie Wozniack behind her back—revealing y/n’s deepest secrets and embarrassing stories—since grade school. She only found out from Stacy who was in the handicapped stall during her lunch period. The cheerleader was doodling pink hearts on the wall that separated the two toilets in the girl’s bathroom next to the cafeteria when she heard a familiar voice groan in disgust about how much she couldn’t stand y/n. It was in study hall when y/n and Stacy finally shared a period when Stacy told her friend what she’d heard and seen through the crack of the door.

“My mom hates me.” y/n’s voice cracked, and Richie felt his grip tighten. She didn’t go into detail either. She didn’t have to.

“You have me,” Richie whispered in her ear. His thumb traced indistinguishable patterns against the sleeve of her shirt much like the night that started it all. One last sob escaped her dry throat and y/n felt herself turning in Richie’s arms.

Her eyes meticulously searched his, noting every fleck of color, every detail. His mirrored hers in expression and she felt her heartbeat slow.

The two didn’t have to say anything, they just knew.

It was Richie who pressed a kiss to her temple. The soft skin of his lips made their way down to her lips—they spent extra time on her cheekbone which was wet and salty from the tears that streamed down it.

The other times y/n and Richie kissed, it was rushed, neither of them taking the time to notice the other; only caring about getting off. But as Richie’s soft lips captured y/n’s, it was different from the times before. It was slow as each party took the time to explore each crevice of each other’s mouth and discover the natural feeling that stayed hidden in the pit of their stomachs in which only at this moment did it reveal itself.

The kiss they shared exuded a feeling y/n had never felt with him the previous times their bare skin found each other. It was nice. Richie was taking all the precious minutes he had with her and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time.

A certain feeling of loss washed over both of them when they had to pull apart for air. When her lips were bare, the only thing y/n wanted being to feel him on her again.

“I never meant to hurt you.” Richie took her hand in his. He knew he wasn’t the sole reason for all her problems, but he could be the one to relieve her of at least one.

y/n was quiet. Her hand squeezed his, letting him know she heard him. “Stay with me?”

“I’ll stay with you forever,” Richie said, his words only loud enough for her to hear, only meant for her to hear.

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x reader fluff #richie tozier x reader angst #richie tozier x reader smut #richie tozier smut #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier imagine #this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and i don't wanna leave u guys in the dark #posting bc i hit 100 followers and im not done w my wips yet #if this is triggering to u just lmk and i'll take it down or we can work something out #maybe this does work out bc it's suicide prevention month..#maybe #tw: suicide mention

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

Text

Prompt: Joan gets a milkshake thrown over her at the stagedoor. Pure self indulgent fluff.

She’s never really liked milkshakes. Milky drinks make her feel a bit sick- it’s the smell of dairy- and now it’s all over her, all over her- it makes her stomach roll, she’s afraid she’s going to retch-

There’s still laughter over her head- the slap of someone high fiving, some shocked gasps being swallowed in laughter and it’s that that makes it feel even worse: she’s not just there to be hurt, she’s an object of ridicule, she’s an amusement, a thing to be laughed at.

‘Oh my god mate, I can’t believe you really-’ ‘Fuck me, that was-’ ‘Oh shit, is she crying?’

She doesn’t want to be but she is- her eyes are hot and her lip is trembling like she’s five…. In films, in books, in the magazine articles that Maria shows her sometimes, the victim of things like this always has a response: a snappy witty oneliner to throw out, or else they get angry, they scream and shout and rage and it always ends up with their attacker flinching away, scared in spite of themselves.

Nobody would be scared of her- she’s too small to be physically intimidating, her voice would crack and waver if she tried to talk right now and she’s dripping with milkshake. She’s just pathetic.

She wishes she’d never gone out on her own- she never usually bothers with the stage door, but Maria had done it once or twice and told her that it was good fun, that sometimes there were even people there specially hoping to see some of the band. She should have waited for the queens though, rather than going out on her own- stupid stupid stupid…

‘Joan-’

The door opens behind her- there’s a little flurry of ‘Oh shit’’s and a bit of jostling as the people in front of her take flight… .but they’re still not really scared, they just want to avoid trouble, and for some reason, that makes her angry too- why does she have to be the one left frightened? Because she was frightened, really frightened, when they rushed at her like that, out of nowhere: ‘Ayyyyyy- dyke! Fucking dyke!’. The sudden shouting, the icy-cold shock of the liquid hitting her- she had found herself frozen and even now it was over, she wasn’t sure she could move.

‘Joan- what happened? Are you alright? Is that-?’ Cathy trails off, her eyes going wide as she takes in the site in front of her.

She can’t move- she can’t answer Cathy, she can’t explain. If she moves, she makes it real- she makes their stinging words, the sting of the hard cup hitting her face, a reality. So she stays as still as she can, taking tiny puffing breaths of air in through her nose.

The milk smells sour, curdled. She wonders if they were just carrying it or if they planned it, and she isn’t sure which is worse.

‘Joan-’

Cathy’s touching her arm and she’d like to respond, to reassure her, but she can’t- and then Cathy is gone, the door is swinging shut, there’s the sound of running feet and calling and then everyone is spilling out of the theatre into the back street, questions and exclamations all jumbled together.

It’s too loud, it’s too jarring, it’s too much like the shouting that’s still echoing in her head- ‘Dyke! Fucking dyke!’- she wants to put her hands over her ears but she can’t, she can’t- and then a softer voice cuts through, there’s a gentle hand on her arm, warm fingers are gently wiping away the milkshake thats still tricking into her eyes.

‘Oh sweetheart-’

Jane.

‘You poor little thing…’ Then, louder: ‘Hey, everyone-’

There’s a lull as they all look to the blonde woman.

‘Kitty, can you go and find Bessie, darling? Just tell her that Joan needs her, that I asked for her to come. And pick up my stuff on your way home? Catalina-’ she turns to the woman at her elbow. ‘Can you go and tell the stage manager what’s happened and explain why none of us will be talking to the fans tonight? And Cathy- you and Anne, can you say something for social media to explain- not graphically or anything, just to explain why we’re not out?’

Like magic, they all melt away, off to their appointed tasks, and it’s a bit easier to breathe now it’s just her and Jane. She does feel bad though- they all know that Kitty can sometimes be a bit shaken up after the show, and that having Jane with her is grounding for her, just as Bessie is grounding for Maggie when things get bad.

‘Doesn’t Kitty need you?’

She almost doesn’t want to say it in case it makes the woman realise her mistake and leave. Her throat feels tight.

Jane smiles sadly and gently pulls Joan into her arms, her face tucked against Jane’s shoulder. Her cardigan is soft, it smells like vanilla- she knows she’ll ruin it but she can’t bring herself to pull away. Jane’s arms are always the safest place- except maybe Bessie’s.

‘You need me too sweetheart.’ Her hand cups the back of Joans neck protectively. ‘-and I need to to take care of my little lamb’

She says it without hesitation, and just hearing it makes Joan’s throat ache worse. She whimpers- and then a hurricane of studded black leather is bursting through the door behind them, pulling Joan towards her, checking her for injuries, her face, her hands, her arms, her neck.

‘Are you alright? Did they hurt you sweetheart?’ Bessie is shaking with anger but her hands are very gentle. ‘It’s ok- if they even think of trying anything else, I will-’ She mumbles the rest- Joan can understand some Italian now but she doesn’t need to be able to translate what Bessie is saying to know that at least some of it is violent threats. Seeing Bessie so worked up on her behalf gives her a tiny warm glow, despite everything: she cares, she matters to her.

At the same time, Jane is talking over her, explaining: ‘No idea who they were…..sent the other girls off….’ And then ‘It’s alright if I stay?’ and Bessie’s ‘Of course-’

She’s confused, through the haze. ‘What-?’

Jane turns to her, cupping her cheek. ‘I want to make sure you’re ok sweetheart- you must be quite shaken up. Would you mind if I came back with you and Bessie tonight? I can stay downstairs if you’d like, if you’d like some space- I just want to-’

It’s too much- Jane is looking at her, so worried, so concerned, as if she really really matters to her-

Joan bursts into tears.

Immediately, she’s being bundled up in two sets of warm arms: Bessie pulls her against her chest, holding her tightly, Jane is rubbing her back. She’s sandwiched between them and it’s so warm, so safe, being literally enveloped in love like this, that she sobs harder.

After a while, Anne pokes her head out to tell them that she called them a taxi to take them home and Jane detaches herself enough to thank her and start to look for it, while Bessie nods her thanks.

‘We’ll be home soon darling’ Bessie murmurs in her ear. ‘Just a little longer and we’ll have you all sorted out-’

Joan can’t quite talk yet but she can hear and she feels a wave of relief at the words. Home. Home sounds good.

She shivers all the way home, thanks to her wet hair and sticky clothing, despite having both Bessie and Jane’s coats wrapped around her.

Once they’re inside, Jane starts running her a hot bath, while Bessie wets a flannel with warm water and starts gently wiping Joan’s face with it.

‘My poor girl- I should have gone with you-’

She wants to say that Bessie shouldn’t blame herself but she’s shaking too hard, her teeth are clacking together.

‘I- I-’ It scares her- why can’t she get control of herself? Bessie squeezes her hand.

‘It’s ok darling- it’s the shock setting in, it’ll go away soon, I promise.’

‘I- I- You-’

Upstairs, Bessie helps her with her clothes- her fingers are fumbling, useless- and steadies her as she sinks into the steaming hot water. It warms her, but it’s not enough- she’s still cold.

Afterwards, Jane brings her pajamas, warm from the dryer, and she and Bessie help her down the hall- not to Joan’s own room, but to Bessie’s. Her bed is the refuge of the household, where they pile together to watch films, where they curl up together to brave thunder storms, where they all find comfort after bad days and scary dreams. Her room smells like patchouli. It smells safe.

The bed is already warm from the fuzzy hot water bottle- the cover is made to look like a penguin- and as Jane tucks the covers around her, it feels like she’s being cocooned from the world.

Once she’s settled in, Bessie climbs in on one side, Jane the other. She’s still shaking, but it’s a bit less violent now. A mug of steaming hot chocolate is passed to her- Bessie’s hands hover over hers as she drinks, to keep her from dropping it- and it’s much sweeter than she’d usually take it, but it’s not sickly- it’s rich, it’s warming, and she feels the icy nub of cold inside her begin to thaw a bit.

Or perhaps it’s the presence of the two women on either side of her, guarding her, protecting her.

She finishes the cocoa, and sinks back down onto the pillows. She rolls onto her side and buries her face into Bessie’s tshirt. It’s stretched, old, worn soft- it smells of home. Soft hands thread through her hair, rub her shoulder.

‘Rest sweetheart, we’re right here’

She isn’t sure, through the fuzz of weariness that’s overtaking her, who says it, but she trusts them, she trusts them both. So she does.

For once, she sleeps soundly.

#six #six fic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Prompt: Joan has a drink dumped over her and is called a dyke at the stagedoor

Sorry if this sends twice- I didnt get into the homophobia bc I dont have the spoons atm but i needed some soft joan, jane and bessie after your last story so here, have some tooth rotting fluff!

***

‘Oh my god mate, I can’t believe you really-’ ‘Fuck me, that was-’ ‘Oh shit, is she crying?’

‘Joan-’

‘Joan- what happened? Are you alright? Is that-?’ Cathy trails off, her eyes going wide as she takes in the site in front of her.

The milk smells sour, curdled. She wonders if they were just carrying it or if they planned it, and she isn’t sure which is worse.

‘Joan-’

‘Oh sweetheart-’

Jane.

‘You poor little thing…’ Then, louder: ‘Hey, everyone-’

There’s a lull as they all look to the blonde woman.

‘Doesn’t Kitty need you?’

She almost doesn’t want to say it in case it makes the woman realise her mistake and leave. Her throat feels tight.

‘You need me too sweetheart.’ Her hand cups the back of Joans neck protectively. ‘-and I need to to take care of my little lamb’

At the same time, Jane is talking over her, explaining: ‘No idea who they were…..sent the other girls off….’ And then ‘It’s alright if I stay?’ and Bessie’s ‘Of course-’

She’s confused, through the haze. ‘What-?’

It’s too much- Jane is looking at her, so worried, so concerned, as if she really really matters to her-

Joan bursts into tears.

After a while, Anne pokes her head out to tell them that she called them a taxi to take them home and Jane detaches herself enough to thank her and start to look for it, while Bessie nods her thanks.

‘We’ll be home soon darling’ Bessie murmurs in her ear. ‘Just a little longer and we’ll have you all sorted out-’

Joan can’t quite talk yet but she can hear and she feels a wave of relief at the words. Home. Home sounds good.

She shivers all the way home, thanks to her wet hair and sticky clothing, despite having both Bessie and Jane’s coats wrapped around her.

Once they’re inside, Jane starts running her a hot bath, while Bessie wets a flannel with warm water and starts gently wiping Joan’s face with it.

‘My poor girl- I should have gone with you-’

She wants to say that Bessie shouldn’t blame herself but she’s shaking too hard, her teeth are clacking together.

‘I- I-’ It scares her- why can’t she get control of herself? Bessie squeezes her hand.

‘It’s ok darling- it’s the shock setting in, it’ll go away soon, I promise.’

‘I- I- You-’

Upstairs, Bessie helps her with her clothes- her fingers are fumbling, useless- and steadies her as she sinks into the steaming hot water. It warms her, but it’s not enough- she’s still cold.

The bed is already warm from the fuzzy hot water bottle- the cover is made to look like a penguin- and as Jane tucks the covers around her, it feels like she’s being cocooned from the world.

Or perhaps it’s the presence of the two women on either side of her, guarding her, protecting her.

‘Rest sweetheart, we’re right here’

She isn’t sure, through the fuzz of weariness that’s overtaking her, who says it, but she trusts them, she trusts them both. So she does.

For once, she sleeps soundly.

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there-must-be-a-lock · 6 years

Text

Memory

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~1700

Warnings: Language, Sam in skinny jeans.

A/N: For @idreamofhazel‘s Throwback Challenge! Thank you for letting me join in on the fun, and for the extra time! This was fun as fuck to write. I totally have a headcanon that Sam was a closet emo kid, and used to listen to MCR and shit behind Dean and his dad’s back. This is also based on that time I snuck out of boarding school to see the Academy Is...

My prompt was Memory, by Sugarcult.

“I’m going out,” Sam says, and he throws his backpack over one shoulder, trying to look like he gives exactly zero fucks. Dean’s giving him laser-eyes, so it’s probably not working.

“Where?”

“Out. To a show. With a girl.” He can’t help but smile a little bit on the last word.

“What girl?”

“Y/N. Just a girl.”

She is, emphatically, not just a girl, but Dean doesn’t have to know that. In fact it’s much better if Dean doesn’t know that, because if Dean figures out exactly how many butterflies are crashing around in Sam’s ribcage, he’ll have to endure a lecture about getting attached and how stupid it is when they’ll be moving on in a week or two anyway. And Sam knows all that. He does. But he’s seventeen, and he has a crush, and he doesn’t want to fucking hear it.

They’ve been dancing around each other for a few weeks now, since Sam accidentally tripped her in the hallway (thanks, gigantic clumsy teenage feet) and then immediately caught her before she could fall (thanks, ninja-like hunter reflexes) and then she grinned up at him with these sparkling eyes all smudgy with black eyeliner. God, she’s cute.

He realizes he’s smiling as he thinks about it, and Dean is looking at him suspiciously. He waves and turns to go before Dean can call him on it.

“Do you need a ride?” Dean asks.

“Nah, she’s picking me up at the diner down the street,” Sam says. It’s partly because he doesn’t want her to know that he’s staying in a seedy-ass motel, but also because he needs to change his clothes where Dean can’t see and make fun of him.

Because Sam maybe bought skinny jeans the other day. And he’s totally comfortable in his masculinity and all that, and he knows he looks good in them (the salesgirl said so, and then she gave him her number, so she definitely meant it) but he also knows exactly what Dean would say. And if Dean knew he was going out to a pop-punk show? Holy shit. It would be bad.

“Well, I’m going out with Amber,” Dean smirks. “So make sure you have your key, cause I might not be back til really late.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Bye, Dean. Have fun.” He holds back the “Love you.” It’s been a while since he could say it casually like that, but sometimes it still jumps unbidden to the tip of his tongue.

He walks down the block quickly, dodging a hooker and a dealer, and gratefully opening the door of the all-night diner that’s become his favorite place in town. He’s been coming in every day to do his homework at the counter with a strawberry milkshake.

“Hey, sweetie,” says the motherly woman behind the counter. “The usual?”

“Just a coffee?” Sam asks. “Thanks, Maggie. Be right back.” He heads to the bathroom to change, shimmying into the black skinny jeans.

She raises her eyebrows when he comes back out, but doesn’t comment, and he’s grateful. He gulps his coffee nervously.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Hey, Sam!” he hears, and almost falls off the stool as he spins around.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly, and jumps up to give her a hug. She keeps her arms around him just a second too long, and he loves it. Her hair smells like strawberries.

She leads him out to where her best friend’s car is idling by the sidewalk. The front passenger seat is also occupied by a girl with purple hair that he vaguely recognizes, which means the two of them get to slide into the backseat.

He doesn’t know most of the songs that play too loudly on the CD player as they drive to the venue, but it doesn’t matter. She sings along to every one. Her voice isn’t great, it cracks noticeably when she’s trying to sing that one Fall Out Boy song, but he watches the easy confident grin on her face, the line of her neck when she tilts her head back to really belt it out, and his face hurts from smiling.

They put on the CD of the band they’re going to see, Sugarcult, and he maybe got the CD at the mall and listened to it in secret for a while, just so he wouldn’t look like an idiot at the show, and so he knows the words to this one. Her eyes light up when he joins in on the chorus, and that makes the last of the self-consciousness evaporate. He drums on his knees, getting into it, and when the song ends they skip back to the beginning and listen to it again, and he rolls down the window and screams the words out at passing cars.

There’s this warm liquid glow in his stomach, fluttering and perfect. It’s her, partly. Those fucking butterflies are multiplying by the minute. But it’s something bigger, something to do with the reckless speed of the car and the blistering volume of the stereo, something about how goddamn normal it is. He feels carefree in this ecstatic, invincible way that he never wants to end.

He reaches out and takes her hand before he can talk himself out of it. She beams at him in the intermittent yellow light of the streetlights, and her fingers are soft and perfect between his.

When they get to the venue, this tiny shitty club, there’s a line out the door of boys and girls with tight jeans and studded belts and flat ironed hair, and they wait impatiently and then get in, with big black X’s in Sharpie across their hands. Y/N makes a face at him, showing off those X’s and rolling her eyes, and he takes it as an opening to grab her hand and hold it again. She smiles that sweet, secret smile, looking up at him through her lashes.

He’s fought demons, for fuck’s sake. He knows how to shoot and how to use a knife and how to get rid of a fucking ghost. But the lights go up and the first chord vibrates through his chest and the crowd surges forward, and the adrenaline rush of it is like nothing else. The entire room screams as one, and he can feel the scream ripping through his throat but he can’t hear it, can’t hear himself in the chorus of voices, and then the drums are snapping out a beat and the singer is leaning out over the sea of upturned faces, and Sam gets lost in it.

He dances, sort of. He jumps up and down, at least. The crush of bodies around him means that he only has so much freedom of motion, but it also means that he has an excuse to be pressed up against Y/N the entire time. They dance, and they shout along, and sometimes they hold hands, fingers clasped tight, and she’s so fucking beautiful when she dances, sweat shining on her cheeks, purple and green and gold in the lights, and sometimes she closes her eyes and smiles blissfully as she sings, and Sam is so, so, so fucked. But he also hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

His favorite song starts, the single, and they’re jumping up and down in sync and shouting the words at each other with big, goofy grins, and when he kisses her, everything seems to freeze. It’s a good kiss. It’s such a fucking good kiss. Everyone around them is going nuts, dancing and moshing and jostling against them, and they’re so still, locked together in the middle of the chaos, and Sam forgets about everything except her and her soft lips and her strawberry-scented hair running through his fingers as he holds her.

They have to leave before the last song, because her friend has to get home before curfew. They hold hands as they run through the parking lot and they’re still holding hands when they collapse breathless and giggling in the backseat.

Her friends in the front seat turn up the stereo and sing along again, but they sit quietly. He runs his thumb over her knuckles. His chest is swelling as he looks from their clasped hands to her beautifully flushed skin and messy hair.

He knows it’s stupid to get attached. He knows they’ll be moving on in a few weeks. But it feels so good to let himself fall, to let himself have this one stupid night of being a stupid careless teenager with a crush.

He kisses her again before he gets out of the car, a quick peck on the corner of her mouth. “See you Monday,” he whispers.

He changes in the bathroom of the diner, and because he’s sure he can’t go to sleep yet, he slurps down a strawberry milkshake and tells Maggie about his date.

When he gets back to the motel, the room is dark and empty. He doesn’t bother showering before he gets in bed. It’s sorta gross, the way his skin is getting sticky, but he doesn’t want to wash the night off yet. He wants to hold onto it as long as he can. He dozes off with drumbeats echoing in his skull and the memory of her smile glowing behind his eyelids.

“Wakey wakey, Sammy,” he hears when he starts to stir. “Time to get packed.”

“What?” he says dazedly. Dean is tossing his backpack onto the bed.

“Time to go,” Dad’s saying. “Hunt wrapped up sooner than I thought. It was a djinn.”

They pack. They get in the car. Sam knows it’s pointless to protest, and he manages to hold back the tears.

He pulls out his Walkman, once they’re on the highway, and turns up the song loud enough to drown out the Ted Nugent cassette that Dean’s been obsessed with lately. He closes his eyes, and tries to relive the high of it, the way her lip pillowed between his, the press of her palms against his back.

This could never start

We could fall apart

And I’d be your memory.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a comment here!

#hazel's throwback challenge #supernatural fanfiction #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam x you #supernatual fic #spn #spnfanficpond

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