#mike it

‘Made-Up IT (2017) Tweets,’

Back to this fandom heh…

Warnings: Suggestive and possibly offensive content!!

⚠︎︎Warning! Suggestive and Possibly Offensive Content Ahead!⚠︎︎

🍂 sweater weather 🍂

(draw the squad//click for better quality)

Eddie: E-d-i-e

Bill:

Bill: i know i'll regret asking, but- shouldn't it have two D's?

Eddie: well you see, the D is in Richie

Richie:

Bev:

Bill:

Mike:

Stan:

Request: hi, um,,, would it be okay for me to request mike hanlon x chubby reader imagines? im a bit of a bigger girl so itd make me really happy, but you dont have to of course sjfhsrgajdsh,,, 🥺👉👈 

Of course it’s okay love, everyone deserves to see how beautiful they are!

The sunlight shone through the oval window, lying on the tiled floor of the library like sweet honey. Derry always did have the most beautiful summer days.

Dust collected lightly on the bookshelves as far as you could see, and you swiped some off with your fingertip as you made your way towards the desks in the centre of the room. You glanced down at your watch, impatient for the last ten minutes of your fiance’s shift to end so the two of you could go out for dinner.

Just like the rest of the room, the bookcase was old and basic, but it still had integrity, The wood was straight and it hugged the wall snugly, but on closer inspection you could see the scratches, the wood a little more pale where it had been dinged over the years of use. You touched the roughness, not minding one bit. To you it just made it more interesting, just like people’s scars and stories - for you, they were always just clues, a look into what people had been through. You glanced down at the scar Pennywise had left on your bicep.

Folding your arms, you took one last glance at the shelves, smiling to yourself as you remembered the way Ben Hanscom used to love coming in here with the rest of the Losers, picking out weird smelling, slightly crumpled books on Derry history. You hoped, more than anything, that he remembered the joy, the way his face used to light up, when he talked to his friends. All that was heard, as you sink into your daydreams, were the faint chirps of birds outside, and the rustling of paper catching the draft.

You were drawn out of your daydream by the sound of a stamp hitting down on the front desk, and the smirk of Mike Hanlon as he glances over at you.

During Derry winters, Mike looked just like any other guy walking down the street in his jeans and duffle coat. There was something a little hippy-ish about him, from the way he moved to the light stubble on his chin. He looked for all the world like he was walking to his own beat, literally, like there was music playing in his head. But come summer when he stripped off to a tight t-shirt and bermuda shorts his muscles popped right out. Suddenly the girls heads would turn. He always returned a smile when he caught an admiring glance, but his heart had long been taken. He gave it away to a girl that fell for him long ago, one that was making her way over to the front desk right now.

He places down the book he was holding, the new paper smell strangely at odds with it’s old fashioned and battered leather cover, the gilded letter faded and tatty. It fell open again with an avalanche of pages, their snowy whiteness bespeckled with a flurry of black ink as Mike slammed a hand down to try and close it again, and you laughed at the concerned look he gave you.

‘You going to be a while?’m you ask, as you place your arm near the corner lamp.

‘With you here, I’m going right now. Can’t keep the most beautiful lady in the world waiting, even for a good book. Just have to finish stamping these overdue cards.’

The noise that burst forth from your mouth was like a cross between a snort and a giggle, as Mike pounces forward and wraps his arms around your stomach. You try to fight his arm off as he brings the stamp around from his back, biting his tongue in concentration as he tries to stamp it against your forehead.

‘Mike, stop it! We’re in a library, aren’t you supposed to tell people to keep quiet!?’

His hand crawls over your thick waist slowly, teasing you, each inch of your skin tingling with goosebumps. He snuggles his head into the bountiful curve of your neck, making use of the plentiful skin along your arms that he loves to hold so much to place hot kisses on every inch he can. He pulls you tighter, loving how safe he feels in your ample, strong arms, ones that can relax him with just one touch. As his warm breath fans against your neck, he loves the way your skin flushes in reaction to his meaningful touches, ignoring the stares from the last few readers sitting in the ancient red chairs near the door.

‘It’s closing time, I can be as loud as I want’, he murmurs.

He drops the stamp back onto his desk as he smiles down at you, his arms flexing as he spins you around. You run your hand over his back, his shirt tickling the tips of your fingers, finding a familiar warmth when you looked deep into his eyes. As you looked upon yourself in his perfect eyes, glistening with love, you knew this wasn’t real. It must be a dream, you told yourself, or one of Pennywise’s tricks, but you couldn’t care less.