(im gonna kms because i was over halfway done with this and then i accidentally closed my browser so take 2 lol)
Thor: A corgi. Don’t even fight me on this.
Tony: A Siamese cat. Compulsively got her after Pepper left. Acts like he doesn’t care that much about her but you can bet your ass that he sits her in the kitchen counter stool next to his when he has his morning coffee. She follows him everywhere.
Steve: A beagle probably. Names it something patriotic like Liberty or America (Meri for short)
Wanda: a min-Rex Bunny. Must I explain?
Clint. He wanted a hawk but Nat (and literally everyone else) told him it was a terrible idea because 1, birds are hard to care for as is and 2, it’s a hawk. out of retaliation he goes to the shelter and picks up the ugliest dog he can find; a pug. He didn’t plan on keeping him for very long, only until the others gave in and agreed to the hawk. But the bug-eyed cutie grew on Clint, and he would rather shoot an arrow through his foot than get rid of him.
(^that’s my dog btw ha if you call her ugly i will literally fucking kill you)
Nat: Getting tired of Vision nagging about how having a pet companion boosts your mental health by blah-blah-percent, she went and got the simplest and cheapest pet she could, a beta fish. She admits to liking the colors of the fish to the others, but behind closed doors she also talks to the little guy, and likes the simple one-sided conversations they have when she’s getting ready for bed.
Bruce: a small gecko or lizard. Something that can stay in his lab without disrupting anything and can keep him company. Will sometimes put it on his head or shoulder when he’s working (never when chemicals are out though)
Bucky: Dogs. Good God. I can’t name a single breed because he brings home so many. Any time he leaves the HQ he coaxes any strays he sees to follow him home. He can’t leave the HQ without someone going with him because they know he’ll bring home strays. He’s drowning in dogs. Help him.
could you do bts reactions when someone walks in on you and them having sex right when they're about to cum .u.
Spend a night at the studio he said. Just be working he said.
Apparently working to Joonie meant having you riding him as he sat in his chair, his hands gripping your arse tight and bouncing you up and down on his thick cock.
He’d thrust up harder matching the bounces, moaning and talking dirty in that gruff tone of his but he’d stop instantly, hearing the door open and someone trip over some boxes.
“Hey Joo-ooh my fUCK” Taehyung was shocked but would probably wiggle his eyebrows and give you guys a wink before walking out cos of his.. pervy? nature.
Namjoon would glare harshly, shouting at him to leave - he’d be ready to grab something to throw but before he could, Tae was gone.
He’d sigh angrily and frustrated. “I’m sorry baby, I forgot to lock the door..”
What better way to enjoy a night than to have rough sex and Tae is no doubt, a kinky bastard.
A collar would be tied tight around your neck, fitted well to a leash that bounded you to his control. He’d ball the end of it and pull it back harshly making you throw your head back, moaning out as you felt him push deeper and harder inside you. His grunts added to yours, making the room louder.
He was so damn close.
Until a poor Namjoon walks in.
I doubt Tae would even notice him, too engulfed in pleasure and his habit to blank out things around him wouldn’t help.
He’d groan out, cumming in you.
“Ah you dirty bitch / boy, taking my cock like this”
He was enjoying the romantic intimacy with you when Hoseok abruptly walked in.
He could feel the tightness in his stomach and the urge to cum, he was about to when he heard the door opening.
“Hyung, play Mario with AHHH”
Seokjin would stop his movements immediately, eyes wide and adding to Hoseok’s screams, he’d panic and quickly grab the covers, throwing it over both yours and his naked body.
“GET OUT NOW!! WTF”
He was so desperate and near to cumming that he’d exhale angrily. “Sorry baby.. Now where were we?”
He was close, so close. He was getting increasingly desperate for the intense wrack of pleasure, his moans short and harsh trailing off into hums as he’d pound into you faster. Your whimpers and cries pushing him further over the edge.
Nothing could go w–
“OHMYFUCKINGGOSH” Hearing the sudden outburst, Kook would freeze - eyes darting over to the door, catching a glimpse of Seokjin rushing out.
He’d hear Jin yelling to himself outside but he’d be too shocked to hear the rest, his heart beating loud in his ears. It’d take him a minute to relax and continue but he wouldn’t be able to shake that shocked feeling.
His mouth hung agape, you could feel short breaths against your ear as he trapped you with his body; your moans sounding so sweet to his own ears.
With eyes screwed shut and whimpers escaping both your lips, he’d make quick, rough movements - eagerly chasing after his orgasm. He could feel it, oh gosh any second n–
“Hey Hyung, what d’you think of th–”
An innocent mochi would raise his head, instantly choking on his words seeing sUCH SIN.
Hearing the voice, Hoseok would freak out and panic. Cursing, he’d throw the covers over both of you trembling, his eyes so huge it could be comical.
His soft whimpers would be such a turn on, bringing you closer. He was nearing his climax too, he could feel it so bad.
Gripping your sides tightly, he’d bite down on your shoulder to muffle his ridiculously loud porn-star like moans as he thrusted his dick in and out of you.
“Hyung, pizza’s here!”
Jimin would audibly gasp, shooting up to a sitting position, gulping and choking out a ‘don’t come in!”
But it was too late and Kook felt the need to bleach his memories, running out in a blind panic - leaving the door swinging open.
His panic would add to Chimins and he’d freeze for a couple seconds before yelling out in frustration. He was so close and Kook ruined it!
"YOONGI!! Turn the porn do–”
Kook halted, his words evaporating in front of him, leaving his mouth agape. His hyung had his eyes screwed shut, drowned out by your moans and begs for him to go faster which he obediently complied with.
Like Tae, I doubt he’d notice him, being too focused on bringing you both to your high and my gosh, Kook had never ran so fast in his life.
Legend says Jungkook still gets therapy to this day..
summary: billy wants to prove that he can get the new girl, but rather than using her, he falls for her
disclaimer:me writing this is not me excusing his abusive, impulsive and racist behavior.
an:i know a lot of you guys like me writing marvel, which won’t stop, feel free to request it, but I also want to write for other shows so.. feel free to leave requests for shows too! also I can make this a series if you want me to? i don’t like the ending of this, but i didn’t want to make them kiss bc i felt like it was unrealistic, sooo just shoot me an ask if you want more parts
Note: I just finished S2 of Stranger Things and let’s just say my crush on Steve Harrington got a whole lot bigger.
Word Count: 1961
Soulmate. It was a heavy word. One that tended to determine your entire life. Society had revolved around them since ancient Egypt. Of course, in the year 2017, there were more advanced ways in which they had been worked into everyday life. Most tops with long sleeves had a little window built in for your soulmate tattoo. Every love song on the radio was about them or about finding them. Apps like eHarmony and Match.com were designed to help you find the one who was really meant for you.
Or so said the fates.
According to town record, the name written on your wrist had been used in Hawkins before. Steve Harrington. But the other Steve had graduated high school in 1985
Steve Harrington was very broken up about his breakup with Nancy. As soon as her soulmate tattoo had appeared, she had left him for Jonathan. Not that he blamed her. They were soulmates after all. But it still hurt.
Hanging out with the kids helped. He finally felt like he had a purpose. Like he was a big brother sort of. He wasn’t just some jock with a nail bat anymore. He was the protector of children. Their mentor. And he had the best hair in town.
When Steve’s soulmate tattoo appeared, he had another mission.
“(Y/N) (L/N)? Who’s that?” Dustin asked, sneaking a peak over the teenager’s shoulder.
“Don’t know. Never met her.” he shrugged, trying to pretend he hadn’t spent the past night and a half combing through a phonebook in hopes to find your name. No such luck. “But she’s my soulmate, apparently.”
“Maybe you won’t meet her until college. A bunch of people don’t meet their soulmates until then.” Max shrugged. Steve rested his cheek on his fist, trying not to look to beat up about waiting an undetermined amount of time to meet the one he was meant to fall in love with.
You knew Hawkins wasn’t ordinary. You knew it. But when you heard sounds, or more specifically, music coming from your closet, you were a little more than intrigued. It was the middle of the night. And there was ‘80s synth pop coming from…somewhere in your closet.
So, you got up and took a few steps closer.
What you were not expecting: some Narnia shit to happen.
You came out of the closet on the…other side of the closet, but you were back in your room. Except, the walls were different and there were different posters. And there was a boy sitting in your bed with an old fashioned curly-corded landline in his hand.
“Yeah Dustin, I’m gonna have to call you back…” He hung up the phone and sat there with wide brown eyes for a second or two. You looked him over. He had hair bigger than your future and a face that just about melted you into a puddle.
“Hello, boy in my bedroom.” You kind of waved awkwardly.
“Hello, girl in my closet.” he replied, eyebrows furrowing. “Wait, your bedroom?”
He tilted his head to the side. “No…”
“Yes…” You looked around. “Except it’s painted. And your posters are different. And…you really have a thing for the ‘80s. I mean they were cool and all, but-”
“Were.” He cut you off. “What do you mean ‘were’ cool? Who even-”
“Dude, check a calendar. It’s-” you glanced at the calendar pinned to his door. “1984?”
“Nonononono…” You walked over and flipped through the calendar, but the year didn’t change. You held your head, dizziness sweeping over you.
“Woah, hey, hey,” the boy got up from the bed and took a few tentative steps towards you. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, okay? I don’t know what’s going on or where you’re from, but-” It was then that he caught sight of your wrist and his heart stopped. “(Y/N) (L/N)?”
“How did you know my-” You caught his gaze, stuck on your arm and grabbed his wrist to take a look for yourself. Sure enough, your name was permanently etched onto his wrist. Your mother’s words rang in your head. Fate finds a way. And sometimes, in this case at least, the way was a time-travelling wormhole in your closet. “Steve Harrington.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, a great big goofy grin spreading across his handsome features. He tried to play it cool, to be cool, but he was too damn excited. “Nice to…meet you and stuff.”
The next afternoon, Steve came through your closet as soon as he got home from school.
“Hey there, girl in my bedroom.”
“Nice to see you, boy in my closet.”
He smirked and walked over to your bed and sat beside you, looking around at how different the space was. The walls were a different color, the furniture was all rearranged, and indeed, there were different posters on your wall. Instead of cologne and hair care products, you had makeup and perfume sitting on your vanity. And where his record player was, you had…nothing.
“How do you listen to music in here?”
“On my phone.” You held up your iPhone. He scrunched up his face and took the phone from you, looking it over.
“This is not a phone.”
“Yeah? Then what is it, Harrington?”
“Not a phone, that’s for sure.”
You sort of laughed at his reaction and then took it back from him, unlocking it with your thumbprint and turned on the front-facing camera on Instagram.
“Woah, you’ve got a camera in there?” He squinted and looked skeptically at the little box in your hand.
“Gotta post my #SoulmateSunday pic.” You adjusted the filter and then leaned a head on Steve’s shoulder. He smiled and then turned to kiss your forehead, resulting in the perfect picture to make all of your friends jealous. As soon as you captioned and posted it, in rolled the congratulatory texts and comments.
“So what do you do for fun in this weird future of yours?” Steve snaked an arm around your waist and you leaned into his warmth. His thumb rubbed circles in your hip.
“We could go see a movie.”
“Are there any arcades still around?”
“Not really. I mean, like besides Chuck E. Cheese and stuff. Not the kind you have.”
“Okay so today we’ll spend the day in- what year is it?”
“Not in Kansas anymore, jeez.” he rubbed his forehead, and then snapped out of it. How far away you two were. How different your worlds were, and yet here he was. In the future. “And then tomorrow, I can show you a real afternoon in 1984. Sound good?”
The two of you went to see a movie and then returned home where you finally introduced your parents to your long-awaited soulmate. They liked Steve and thought he was perfect for you. You agreed.
Then, the next day, Steve took you to the wonderful wacky world of 1984. His hair was even bigger than the first few times you met. Bigger than your future at least. And all of Steve’s friends, and the kids he babysat, were really nice. The curly-haired one, whose name was Dustin, liked to tease Steve about you. You found it endearing.
Steve bought the two of you milkshakes and a basket of fries at this great ‘50s themed diner. You had almost forgotten how much ‘50s nostalgia there was in the ‘80s. But here you were and there was a ton of it.
You curled up to Steve in the booth, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. You didn’t know why soulmate science worked, but it did. You felt like Steve was always meant to be here, to love you. Like he was always supposed to be a part of your life.
You and Steve spent every day together doing everything you could think of. Fall faded into winter, and so Steve was helping you bake Christmas cookies…which led to him lifting you onto the counter and making out with you. His lips were soft and adventurous, venturing across your soft skin and kissing every spot he could reach. You tugged gently on his hair, and just as one of his large, warm hands was wandering up your shirt, you heard a voice from your bedroom.
“Woah, future!” Dustin. Steve basically tore his hand away from your bra hooks and helped you off of the kitchen counter faster than you could say Michael Jackson. “Hello? Anyone home? Steve, this looks just like your house!”
“I told you, she moved into my place a few years ago. Dustin, what the hell are you doing here?” Steve had a towel thrown over his shoulder and his hands on his hips. So this was the ‘Mom Mode’ you had heard so much about. A smug grin found a place on your lips as you watched it unfold.
“Okay, you seriously told me you have a time-travelling wormhole in your closet and expected me not to explore it.”
You curled into Steve’s chest, his arm wrapping around you.
“Welcome to the Future, Dustin. Do you want a snack or anything?”
“Give me the most future-y thing you can find.” He said, taking a seat at the table. You ended up getting him some Oreo Churros and a glass of Crystal Pepsi, both of which he was extremely astonished by.
Steve couldn’t help but chuckle a little. He had been this way a few months ago, but now he was used to it. In fact, he was starting to get a bit confused about what belonged in his world and what belonged in yours. Many times, he had brought Pepsi cans with the old labels or you had accidently taken foods with new logos and things to the ‘80s. Luckily, none of it had left his house or car, so it was easy enough to cover your tracks.
“So, (Y/N), I was thinking that maybe for Christmas, we could have dinner at both of our houses. We can have dinner with my family Christmas Eve and then both celebrate Christmas here.”
“You just want to see a 21st Century Christmas in action.” You tilted your head. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
A few nights later, Christmas Eve, after dinner at Steve’s house and after you had both said goodnight and gone to bed, something came through your closet. It was dark in your room, and you had been asleep until you had heard the noise.
“Babe?” Steve’s voice was quiet, trying not to startle you. “Mind if I sleep here?”
“S’fine.” You mumbled, batting a sleepy hand at your soulmate as he walked closer and climbed beneath the covers. You laid on his chest and tangled your legs with his. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Ah.” You nodded. Steve had told you about the monsters in his Hawkins. It didn’t sound pretty. You didn’t blame him for being a bit more than afraid of those terrifying things. One of them had eaten Dustin’s cat, after all.
Steve brushed the hair out of your face, his other long arm wrapped around your waist. You exhaled a long breath, basking in his warmth. He was always so warm.
“I never thought my soulmate would be from the ‘80s,” Your words barely escaped your lips, but they made him smile.
He kissed your forehead. “And I never thought my soulmate would be from the future.” He held you in his arms and enjoyed the feeling of you laying on him, your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat as it slowed. “Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”
You were greatly surprised as Jin immediately responded to your pleas, flipping you onto your back and throwing you a dark, lustful look. His lips left marks all over your body as his hips clashed with yours, a satisfied grin crossing his lips as a small whimper emitted from you. He continued his relentless teasing as you withered and moaned beneath him, looking up with pleading eyes. Jin would be more than willing to fulfill your needs, he just wanted you to beg him.
“Tell me what you want me to do baby.”
Yoongi [Suga] -
Yoongi groaned with clenched eyes as you shook him awake, trying to ignore your constant pleas. After awhile though he’d lazily hover above you, placing his lips onto yours in a rough, demanding kiss. He’d grind his hips against yours, feeling your wetness soak through your panties while he continued to leave love bites across your neck and collarbones. Yoongi would be a little pissed that you woke him from his slumber, but he wouldn’t want to ignore your begs for him.
“I think you should be punished for waking me up sweetheart.”
Hoseok [J-Hope] -
Hoseok immediately awoke as soon as he felt you place yourself on top of him, grinding down on his already stiff erection. He wouldn’t question your neediness and wouldn’t hesitate to give you what you wanted. His lips attached to yours in a passionate kiss while his hands teared off the little clothing you had on. Hoseok’s mind was clouded with lust as you looked down at him with hooded eyes, causing his cock to become even harder beneath your ass.
“Can you fix my problem princess?”
Namjoon [RM] -
Namjoon glared darkly towards you, neat eyebrows scrunched together in frustration as you fondled his growing length under his sweats. His dominant side would come out in an instant and he’d flip you onto your back before his long fingers teased your clit. He’d demand you to moan his name louder, not caring that you both may wake up the other boys. Namjoon wouldn’t go easy on you and would definitely show you the problem you had caused.
“Do you enjoy making daddy mad?”
Jimiun’s eyes fluttered open only to widen r half nude form straddling his hips. A low whine escaped past his plump lips as you teased his growing cock, leaving kisses down his heaving chest while he let out breathless sighs of pleasure. His hands immediately gripped your ass causing you to grind down slower on his length as your lips left love bites on his bare skin. Jimin could feel a small layer of sweat coat his skin as he tightly clenched his eyes shut in pleasure.
“G-God, you’re gonna kill me one day.”
He’s seriously testing me..
Taehyung [V] -
Taehyung licked his lips and breathed out harshly as you kissed along his jawline, hands placed on his bare chest to steady yourself above him. You could feel his heart beating widely under your hands as his boxers strained against his stiff cock. One of his large hands tangled itself in your hair, while the other settled on your hip as you rubbed yourself against him, showing him how desperate you were. Taehyung wouldn’t be mad that you woke him up and would be very eager to continue your little activities.
“Why don’t you wake me up more kitten?”
Jungkook’s eyes shot open open once he felt your small hand take hold of him underneath his boxers. Low groans slipped past his lips as he threw his head back in pleasure, focusing on how good your hand felt wrapped around him. He scrunched his eyebrows together as soon as he felt you kiss the head of his cock, causing the boy under you to arch his back off of the mattress and tangle his hands in your hair, pushing your head down further. Jungkook wouldn’t make you wait any longer for what you craved, he’d take you right then and there.
Warnings: angst, profanity, mentions of aids, mentions of neglectful parents.
Prompt: F13: “you love me?” “You have no idea.”
Never in your life did you dream you’d fall in love with Richie Tozier.
You’d known him since your diaper days - toddling about together, plump thighs and sticky mouths, with both of your parents watching - your’s attentively, Richie’s listlessly, bored, looking as though they wanted to be anywhere other than watching their only child take his first steps.
Growing up, shared rattle toys became shared peanut-butter sandwiches or bright-coloured hairclips pilfered from your mother’s china dish. Richie loved to wear those hairclips, more than even you. He’d stick an assortment of them into his unruly web of dark curls, specks of pink and lime and chrome swathed in a brunette tide.
Richie had always been… spacey, almost. From the first time, in third grade, you could cross the road on your own (“be very careful, Y/n. Remember to look both ways, and stop and listen for any cars, and never, ever cross on a bend.”) Richie’s parents gave no such forewarning, and it was with cheery ignorance he sauntered right into the - albeit, quiet - road on Monday morning.
Your hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar in childish alarm. “What are you doing? We have to look both ways first!”
“Oh yeah,” he returned cheerfully. “I forgot.”
Brushing off your scandalised look, he pointedly craned his neck left, then right, and then took your hand in his and pulled you from the curb with no warning. You shrieked at him all the way over the asphalt, sure a car would come from nowhere and career into you. When you scrambled onto the sidewalk on the opposite side, you ripped your hand from a giggling Richie’s grasp.
“That wasn’t funny!” you said shrilly. “I told you, we have to be careful when we cross a road, else we’ll both be hit by cars!”
“What happens when you get hit by a car?” Richie countered thoughtfully, as the two of you began walking. You paused to think, chewing your lip.
“We end up flat as pancakes, and the police have to peel us off the road,” you eventually returned triumphantly, but if your aim was to deter Richie, it backfired.
“Cool! I want to be a pancake!” declared the boy enthusiastically, but you merely shot him a frosty look and dragged him through the school gates.
You were there when Richie got his glasses, and the teasing started. Sneering jibes of “four-eyes” were brushed off, kids asking how many fingers they were holding up deflected with ease. You worried for Richie, the sensitive soul that you were, but he only ever laughed about it.
You were there when his parents stopped calling when they weren’t going to come home that night. Before, it was apologetic phone calls (“Richard, sweetie, we’re so sorry, the most silly thing - your father enjoyed himself a little too much at the gathering, you know how he likes his currant wine, only we thought it best to stay at the hotel tonight.”)
You found him hunched up by the side-table where the phone stood. The house was dark and cold - the heating wasn’t on. Richie looked like he hadn’t moved in years, a statue gathering dust, huddled against the wood of the table. You flurried around, snapping the lights on, straining to reach the boiler on tiptoe and turning the dial all the way up before scooting over to Richie and crossing your legs anxiously.
“What’s wrong, Richie?” you inquired. “Where are your parents?”
A pure stab of shock flashed through you at his sudden sob. Tears dripped down his screwed-up face, and when he spoke, his voice trembled. “I don’t know.”
Eventually, after a few phone calls, it was discovered that they were in New Jersey for an open evening of his father’s business. Richie stared at you, stricken, as you solemnly recited what the lady on the phone had told you. “But why didn’t they tell me?” he whispered. You didn’t know the answer to that, so you hugged him instead. He smelled of apple suckers and loneliness.
You were there in fourth grade when Richie discarded his mismatched sweaters and jeans for bright eyesores of Hawaiin shirts and jean-shorts and colourful sneakers. He traded his thin, wiry black glasses for thick red ones that made his eyes looked three times their normal size (you noticed what a pretty brown those irises were, then). He was there when your love for rainbow ponchos and ballet skirts and bracelets with bells on them faded in favour of garish maroons and olives and navies, overalls and sandals and short-shorts. He still wore the hairclips, sometimes - the dark red one that was always his favourite. The rest he kept in a small pot under his bed, along with a photo of you and him grinning toothily in first grade, tucked safe under the velvet lid.
You were there when Henry Bowers, held back for the third year running, decked him for the first time. He called Bowers a “son of a motherless whore” - something impressive-sounding he’d overheard on TV - when he saw him laying into the tiny asthmatic kid from world history. It hadn’t ended well, and you ended up wiping the blood from his nose and lips and teeth. He smiled sheepishly as you scolded him, but his apology was real as the blood staining the tissues. And another plus - from that day, you had three new friends. Stuttering Bill and Eddie Spaghetti and Stan the Man. You five were united as outcasts, not exactly a force to be reckoned with but certainly one that required brief consideration before attempting said reckoning - or whatever.
And in fifth grade, Richie hit some sort of tipping point.
He grew louder and more foul-mouthed, more enthusiastic in his spastic movements, and far more inclined to disrupt a class or smoke in the toilets or flunk school entirely. Then the remarks filtered in - intrusive and suggestive, comments on your legs or your chest or your mom. It annoyed you to no end, but you could think of no way to make him stop. Every time you snarked him or socked him on the shoulder, it made him slightly wilder, a shit-eating grin cracking his face in two - until you remembered something you’d seen once on telly. A man and a woman, and the man talked a lot. Whenever he talked too much, the woman would press a big red button that made a loud “BEEP BEEP” sound.
So, when the next remark came - “Hey Y/n - you have any other hobbies, ‘cept for being my own personal bicycle?” - you stared him dead in the eye and countered solemnly, “beep beep, Richie.”
He gaped at you like a fish out of water, speechless for the first time in years. “Did - did you just - beep me?”
From then on, it seemed to work to shut him down.
But it wasn’t until four months ago - when Georgie went missing, and you met Bev and Mike and Ben, and IT chased normalcy from your life did things between you and Richie start to shift.
You wanted to be with him every second - he was the longest-standing memory you had, the boy with hairclips in his curls who watered your head like a flower the first day of second grade. He was the one who poked your cheeks and called you “bubs” and yanked your ponytail and drew obscene images on your hand in permanent marker. He was the one who spent 70% of his time sleeping round your house when the silence of his was unbearable, who held you sombrely when you cried and cursed at the toughest of bullies in your honour. Richie was, to say with a flair for the dramatic, your life - mapped out in dark hair and freckles and lime sneakers, your other half.
The first time you wanted to kiss him was after the blood oath.
You hissed in pain as you wiped your hands absently on your black shorts. Richie walked beside you, gazing at the jagged cut on his palm with avid interest.
“I swear you can get AIDS from doing shit like this,” Richie commented as the both of you reached your bikes discarded in the grass.
You huffed a laugh. “Probably - but don’t go telling Eddie that.”
“Please. He’d convulse and die on the spot,” Richie scoffed, swinging a leg over the leather saddle. “So, where’ll it be, sweetcheeks?”
You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “I’m kind of in the mood to not think about anything. You wanna head to the arcade?”
Two hours later, pumped up on blue-raspberry Slushies with fingers cramping from the buttons and levers you’d been busy stabbing and yanking, you and Richie sat in a greasy-spoon café, snacking out of a shared basket of cheesy fries as the sky darkened outside the window.
“What do you mean?” You swallowed your fries, reaching for your Pepsi to wash it down.
“Now IT’s dead. Kaput, bitch. No more missing kids, no more hallucinations, no more freaky fuckin’ clowns.” Richie heaved a sigh. “Cause I don’t think everything will just magically go back to the way it was.”
“No,” you mused in agreement. “No, you’re probably right.”
“‘Cept for us,” Richie beamed suddenly. “We’re inseparable, right?”
You grinned. “You bet, Tozier. For better or for worse.”
You looked at him - skin illuminated by the softly-glowing neon lights from the sign outside, the contours of his face sharply shadowed, hair a black, untameable mess as ever - and the urge to kiss him took you so fiercely, it almost knocked you off your chair. You swallowed your mouthful of fries too quickly in your shock, and one ended up dislodged in your throat. You choked and wheezed, and Richie unhelpfully thumped you on the back until you’d swallowed the damn thing.
“Jesus Christ,” he commented. “Y/n, if you wanted something to choke on, you could’ve just asked.”
A week ago, the comment would be met with an eye-roll; now it only made a flush climb your face, and you took a long swig of your iced Pepsi to ward off the redness.
The first time you actually kissed Richie Tozier was two months later.
It was midnight, but sleep troubled you not. You sat wide-awake, flat on your back and staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, when a sudden tap like long nails on wood made you start violently. Clambering to your feet, you glanced at your window; sure enough, a second later, a pebble hit the glass pane and bounced off again, and you sighed, picking your way over and opening it wide.
“Throwing pebbles, Romeo?” you called down teasingly. Richie glared up at you.
“Can I come up?”
You jerked your head in affirmation. At this point, your parents were so used to you going to bed alone and coming down in the morning with Richie, you didn’t even have to worry.
You slid the ladder out the window until it touched solid ground, then went back to your bed. A minute later, Richie’s face appeared at your open window, and he hauled himself in with all the grace of a sack of wet concrete.
You frowned as the scents of - was that wine? Wine and perfume - wafted in after him. He was also wearing a suit - a suit - but the illusion of whatever formality he’d been going for ended at his hair; looping black curls in total disarray, a soft tide of dark hair held back by a lone red hairclip.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” you eventually managed to choke out.
“My parents are home,” he answered non-communally. “And they decided to host a fucking mixer at our house tonight. So I was forced to wear this bullshit thing -“ he plucked at the suit in disgust “-and I only just managed to get away.”
“Wow.” Your eyes caught the red hairclip glinting amongst the soft web of dark curls. “I haven’t seen that thing in years.”
His hand skittered up to trace the clip absently. “My final act of defiance,” he chuckled weakly, before sinking down to sit on the carpet with heavy shoulders and clasped hands.
“Why are they such assholes, Y/n?” he asked suddenly. “I don’t know if I mortally offended them as in infant, or some shit like that - but even if I did, I still wouldn’t know, because they don’t talk tome. I don’t get it. Why have a kid if - if you’re not gonna-“ He waved his hands around in frustration, as if he could wring some meaning from the sentence if he hit at it enough.
“I don’t know, Richie,” you sighed, sliding off the bed and scooting closer until you sat toe-to-toe with the despairing boy. “I wish - I wish I could help you.”
Finally, he looked up; the tear tracks on his face glistened faintly as he smiled - not a smirk, or a shit-eating grin - a real smile that tore a hole in his chest and let all the dully-glowing fragments of the real Richie spill out for you to see. “You already have,” he answered softly.
Your breath seemed to catch in your throat. “But there’s gotta be more I can do. Damnit, Richie, I love you, so much and it fucking kills me to see you just - just take this shit.”
Richie stared at you, stricken. “You love me?”
You scoffed lightly, your face softening. “You have no idea.”
“But…” Richie was struggling to finish a coherent sentence. “Do you love me like - like the kid the split your granola bars with in second grade or do you love me like a…” Again with the wild hand gestures. “Y’know?”
A laugh bubbled through your lips. “Who says it can’t be both?”
As he opened his mouth to retort, you covered it with yours.
It was chaste and clumsy, but the chaps on his lips felt just right against the smoothness of yours, and the squeak of surprise he made at the embrace was swallowed. You could feel the heat of his cheeks and the flutter of his eyelashes and the firm beat of his heart all in that one, fleeting moment your lips touched.
And even as you pulled back, you felt him still. He was stammering in a way that’d give Bill a run for his money, but you could only smile.
Never in your life did you dream you’d fall in love with Richie Tozier - but right now was one of the rare, blissful seconds reality was better than dreams.
Summary: Billy has you on his radar and won’t rest until you go on a date with him.
A/N: So, here is my first imagine ever, hope everyone can enjoy it. Any mistakes on the text let me know, I’m still working on my english.
P.S: Let me know if you guys want a part 2 or not, and REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
You knew that the new kid in town was trouble, staying away from him was the logical thought, however that had been proven difficult once you fell on his radar. Part of you was angry at it, and the other, well, the other part liked it. Perhaps a bit to much, you’d say.
You were at your locker picking up the books for your next class when a familiar sent filled the air around you, a mix of cigarettes, cheap cologne and something natural. You’d never admit that it made you feel warm and slightly excited to smell that around you. Billy Hargrove leaned on the locker beside you, his half buttoned shirt fitted him perfectly in all the right places. God, he couldn’t fully button that thing to save his life. You weren’t complaining though, what he had of doucheness was equally matched by his looks. All of which made you extremely frustrated, it’s a damn waste of good looks in a shitty person.
“Hey there princess.” He said at the moment you closed you locker. A smirk stamped on his face.
“I have a name you know.” You said annoyed.
“I do. But, princess fits you better, Y/n.” He pronounced every letter in your name slowly while keeping his deep blue eyes gazing at you.
You rolled your eyes and turned your back to him. Making your way to your next class. He followed you through the hallway.
“Walking away while I was still talking to you… That’s rude princess.” He faked a disappointed expression and smirked.
“Nothing you can’t handle Hargrove. Now, get lost.” You spoke without looking at him.
He held you by your wrist stopping you from walking, so you turned around and looked at him.
“I haven’t finished yet. Let’s go out Friday night. Try to find something fun to do in this shit town.” You sighed. It was about the hundredth time he called you out.
“I’ll say to you now, what I did all the other times you asked: no.” You released yourself from his grip and walked away.
“We’ve been doing this for a month. How long can you keep this, hard to get act, princess?” He shouted to you.
“Has long as I need to.” You said as you entered the classroom.
The next week wasn’t different, Billy made, yet another attempt at asking you out. And once again you rejected him. You admired his determination, usually a guy like him would just give up. In theory they are not the type to humiliate themselves for a girl. “There are plenty of bitches in the sea.” To quote something Billy said himself once.
You were sitting at the hood of your black chevy malibu, after finishing your lunch, listening music, when you saw that familiar mess of yellow curls, blue eyes and tight jeans walking towards you.
“Twice in a day Hargrove, you really are desperate. What happened? Ran out of bitches?” You said raising one eyebrow at him.
He chuckled. “No. I just am not in the mood for bitches, princess.” He put one of his hands on the hood of your car and leaned in closer to you.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You said.
“Be my guest.”
A brief moment of silence past and he spoke again.
“Come on, Y/n, go out with me. If you hate it, what I doubt it’ll happen, I’ll never bother you again.”
“It sounds like a very tempting offer, but coming from you… I just don’t buy it.”
“Your lack of faith in me is impressive. You really think so little of me?”
“I’m not even answering that.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Okay, let me make a deal with you. If we go out together you get to pick the time and place. Hell, you can pick me up at my house if you want. After that if it is what you wish, I won’t bother you anymore. Regardless of you liking the date or not.”
You took a moment to think on his deal and you decided what you wanted.
“I am shocked that you would humiliate yourself to the point of letting the girl pick you up. You most certainly are desperate to prove something.”
You watched as his lips were pressed into a single white line and his jaw clenched.
“However, if you really want to go out with me, you have to plan the hole thing. Impress me Hargrove. My demands are: take me to a public place and pick me up tomorrow at 8pm.”
He smiled. You could feel his ego boost in the air.
“Finally princess. It’ll be a night you’ll never forget Y/n.”
“I believe you. Let’s hope it won’t go down as my worst date ever.”
You spoke and went back to listen to your music.
You saw when he walked away, appreciating the view. Then you realized, shit, you accepted to go out with Billy fucking Hargrove. What in the hell was wrong with you. You closed your eyes and sighed.
You whispered to yourself.
Then you had an Idea.
You would make him wish he’d never asked you out. You’d turn that date into a living hell. You smiled widely at the thought. Billy Hargrove, you are in for a treat.