#bill denbrough x eddie kaspbrak

[bagerfluff]

You Belong With Me (Kaspbrough Version)

Bagerfluff

Summary:

If you could see that I'm the one Who understands you Been here all along So, why can't you see? You belong with me

Why couldn’t Bill see that Eddie was the one for him. Eddie loves him, makes him smile, makes him laugh, and has always been there for him, unlike his girlfriend, who makes him feel like shit. Maybe Bill will finally see him, or maybe he won’t but he really does belong with Eddie.

[sillyysquid]

hey guys um new obsession unlocked!!! time to read every fic ever written on ao3 about them

[sebacielenthusiast]

[leighbaye]

— BEN’S BUNKER

written by mina leigh 𝜗᭪ , losers club 𝔁 f! reader | wc 2300

summary. spending time the your bestest friends in the world, in ben’s surprise hideout for the losers club. a stronger bond flourishing inside!

labels. feminine reader, happy go lucky girl, shy cute girly girl reader, no definite description of reader, she/her pronouns used, reader is closer to richie toizer & eddie kaspbrak.

‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. hey everyone! i was rewatching it 2019 and me being the self indulgent person i am, i started fantasizing about us (readers) being with the losers! lots of love.

summer days in derry had a special kind of magic, one that was even stronger when you spent them with the losers club. today, ben had promised a surprise, and you couldn’t wait to see what he had in store. the air was thick with excitement as you all made your way through the woods, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

❝ are we there yet? ❞ richie’s voice rang out, filled with mock impatience. you were walking beside him, as usual, and his playful energy was contagious. you couldn’t help but smile.

❝ yeah, ben, how much further? ❞ eddie added, swatting away a mosquito with a grimace. you could tell eddie was getting antsy, but his curiosity kept him moving forward. you gave him a reassuring smile, hoping to ease his nerves. richie noticed and nudged you with his elbow, his grin wide.

❝ you know, eds, (y/n) here could probably carry you if you get too tired, ❞ richie teased, earning a light smack on the arm from eddie.

❝ shut up, richie, ❞ eddie muttered, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to hide a smile. you laughed softly, loving the way they always managed to make you feel at ease, even when they were bickering.

finally, ben stopped in front of a large thicket, and your curiosity peaked. he pushed aside some branches, revealing a hidden entrance. ❝ here it is, ❞ your eyes widened as you stepped through the opening. inside was a large, cozy space, bigger than you’d expected. there were shelves full of books, soft blankets, and a huge hammock strung up in one corner, large enough for several people. the place felt like a secret clubhouse, one that was just for you and your friends.

❝ ben, this is amazing! ❞ you exclaimed, your voice filled with awe. you turned to look at him, and he blushed slightly, clearly pleased with your reaction.

❝ yeah, ben, this is awesome, ❞ mike added, already exploring the different corners of the hideout. ❝ you really outdid yourself. ❞

❝ i thought it would be nice to have a place just for us, ❞ ben said, his voice warm with affection. ❝ a place where we can hang out and just be ourselves. ❞

richie immediately made a beeline for the hammock, his eyes lighting up with excitement. ❝ dibs on the hammock! ❞ he shouted, flopping down onto it with a dramatic sigh of contentment. you laughed and followed him over, sitting down on the edge of the hammock.

❝ you’re such an ass, ❞ eddie grumbled, but he couldn’t resist joining you both. he climbed onto the hammock, settling in beside you with a huff. you found yourself sandwiched between richie and eddie, feeling the gentle sway of the hammock as they playfully jostled each other.

❝ careful, you’re gonna tip us over, ❞ you warned, your voice filled with laughter. richie just grinned at you, his arm draping casually around your shoulders.

❝ don’t worry, (y/n), i’ve got you, ❞ he said, his tone teasing but affectionate. you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. on your other side, eddie was muttering under his breath about how richie was being annoying, but you could tell he was just as happy to be there.

as you lay there, the three of you fell into a comfortable rhythm. richie and eddie kept up their usual banter, tossing playful insults back and forth while you relaxed between them. their voices became a soothing background noise, and you found your eyelids growing heavy as the hammock rocked gently beneath you.

❝ hey, richie, do you ever shut up? ❞ eddie grumbled, though there was no real bite to his words. he was more focused on making sure you were comfortable, adjusting a blanket around you with a careful hand.

❝ only when i’m asleep, eds, ❞ richie shot back, his grin widening as he caught your eye. ❝ and even then, i’m sure i’m the most entertaining sleeper around. ❞

❝ if you say so, ❞ eddie muttered, but you could see the fondness in his eyes as he looked at you. ❝ (y/n), how do you put up with him? ❞ with an exaggerated sigh.

you just smiled, feeling the warmth of their friendship surrounding you like a protective shield. ❝ i guess i’m just lucky, ❞ you replied softly, your voice filled with contentment.

eventually, the steady rhythm of their voices and the gentle sway of the hammock lulled you into a peaceful nap. richie’s arm was still draped over your shoulders, and eddie’s presence beside you was a comforting anchor. as you drifted off to sleep, you felt completely safe, knowing that your best friends were right there with you.

when you woke up, the sun had shifted, casting a warm, golden light through the small windows of the hideout. you blinked sleepily, realizing that richie and eddie had fallen asleep too, their heads resting against yours. the hammock was still gently swaying, and for a moment, you just enjoyed the quiet peace of the moment.

after a while, you carefully extricated yourself from the hammock, trying not to wake richie and eddie. they both stirred slightly but didn’t wake up, so you quietly tiptoed away, leaving them to their nap. as you looked around the hideout, you noticed bill, stan, and mike sitting together on a pile of blankets, engrossed in their books.

❝ h-hey, (y/n), want to j-j-join us? ❞ bill asked, glancing up from his book with a welcoming smile. you nodded, making your way over to them. you sat down beside stan, who gave you a small, shy smile as he handed you one of the books from the shelf.

❝ thank you, stan, ❞ you said softly, returning his smile. he nodded, his eyes already back on his book.

you opened the book and quickly became absorbed in the story, losing yourself in the world of words. the four of you read in companionable silence, the only sounds being the rustle of pages turning and the occasional soft murmur as one of you reacted to something in the story.

after a while, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. looking up, you saw beverly smiling down at you. ❝ hey, (y/n), can i steal you for a bit? ❞ she asked, her voice warm.

❝ okay, ❞ you replied, closing your book and setting it aside. you stood up and followed bev over to where ben was working on some project with a hammer and nails.

❝ we could use some extra hands, ❞ bev said, handing you a hammer. ❝ ben’s been teaching me how to build stuff, and i thought you might want to join in. ❞

you smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude for beverly’s thoughtfulness. ❝ i’d love to help, ❞ you said, taking the hammer and kneeling down beside ben.

❝ thanks, (y/n), ❞ ben said, giving you a grateful smile. ❝ we’re just reinforcing some of the shelves and adding a few more. it’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it. ❞

❝ definitely, ❞ you agreed, already feeling a sense of accomplishment as you began hammering nails into place. as you worked, bev chatted with you about all sorts of things—clothes, movies, and boys. it was nice to have some girl time, and you found yourself opening up to her in a way you hadn’t before.

❝ you know, (y/n), ❞ bev said, her voice turning a bit more serious, ❝ i’m really glad you’re part of the losers club. you bring something special to the group, and i just want you to know that you’re really important to all of us. ❞

you felt your cheeks flush with warmth at her words, and you looked down at the hammer in your hands, suddenly feeling a bit shy. ❝ thanks, beverly, you said softly. ❝ that means a lot. ❞

she smiled at you, her eyes filled with kindness. ❝ it’s true. don’t ever doubt it, okay? ❞

you nodded, feeling a swell of affection for your friend. as the two of you continued working, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the bond you shared with the losers club. they were more than just friends—they were family, and you knew that no matter what, you’d always have each other’s backs.

after finishing up with the shelves, you and bev stepped back to admire your work. ❝ not bad, ❞ ben said, clearly pleased with the results. ❝ this place is really coming together. ❞

❝ it really is, ❞ you agreed, feeling a sense of pride in what you’d accomplished. ❝ i’m glad i could help. ❞

❝ you did great, ❞ bev said, giving you a friendly nudge. ❝ now, how about we take a break? i think we’ve earned it. ❞

you nodded, feeling a bit tired but happy. as you made your way back to the main area of the hideout, you noticed that richie and eddie had finally woken up and were now bickering playfully as usual.

❝ hey, sleepyheads, ❞ you called out, giggling as you approached them. ❝ have a nice nap? ❞

❝ the best, ❞ richie replied with a wink, stretching his arms above his head. ❝ but we missed you, (y/n). it’s not the same without our favorite girl around. ❞

❝ yeah, we woke up and you were gone, ❞ eddie added, his voice mock-petulant. ❝ don’t do that again. ❞

you laughed, feeling the warmth of their affection wrap around you like a cozy blanket. ❝ don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere. ❞

the rest of the day passed in a blur of laughter, stories, and moments that you knew you’d treasure forever. by the time the sun began to set, casting a warm golden light over the hideout, you felt completely at peace.

as you all gathered together in the hideout, huddled close on the blankets and bean bags, you couldn’t help but marvel at how lucky you were. the losers club wasn’t just a group of friends—they were your home, your family, your safe haven in a world that could be so full of darkness.

and as you sat there, surrounded by the people who meant the most to you, you knew that no matter what the future held, you’d always stick by their side as much as they stuck to yours.

© MINA LEIGH 2023 - 2024

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> For technical reasons (for the plot to continue plotting), this chap focuses mostly on the past! Another thing... I appreciate your feedback and comments more than you realise, so don't hesitate to interact with my fics 🥺❣️

-> It's giving Stockholm Syndrome, I'm aware, but that's why it's called fanFICTION.

-> I think it's funny how each chapter turns out to be longer than the last. I'm getting hooked to my own writing I guess.

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish

~ 3 ~

Pennywise's POV 🎈

For five long years he has stayed awake, stalking the streets of Derry... waiting. Pennywise's usual cycle -hibernating after a killing and terrorizing spree- has been disrupted. This time, something -someone- kept him from descending to the deep slumber he usually craves.

He can't fully understand it, but it's because of you -the spark, the tug of connection he isn't familiar with. He's hunted countless children without a second thought. But with you... When he had expected you to cower and break, instead, you had resisted, you had played his twisted games and stared back at him without losing your soul. You had made him so curious. And that curiosity has gnawed at him enough to eat away at his rest, putting him in a sort of restless trance.

Every time he tries to slip beneath the Earth and to return to the darkness he came from, he feels a pull, a shudder that makes him cling to the surface for just a little more, for just another silly, little, stupid, meek year.

But as the years have been slipping by, something else has shifted in him as well -a subtle thing that feels almost like restraint. He still lurks in the shadows, his instincts are still telling him to frighten and to feed… but each time he sees you, that impulse falters. Instead of scaring you, he finds himself watching, almost guarding you from afar.

It feels a twinge of protectiveness -an urge that should definitely not exist in a creature made to hunt and devour. It doesn't get it, doesn't know why It lingers to ensure no danger befalls you, before It vanishes for the usual twenty-seven years. Almost as though, Pennywise the Clown is bound to you by something unexplainable, something that's kept him from retreating to sleep.

And It hates it.

The longer Pennywise watches, the more he wishes he didn't feel this way. But when he does try to stir up the familiar darkness within his core, it's dulled and quieted. All he knows is that his hunger has been overpowered by something else, something… protective.

And this fact is as unnatural as it is inappropriate, for no other than The Eater of Worlds.

1979 Derry, Maine

"Let's play another game..! I... There is... There's one we haven't played!"

The door creaked open and the clown stepped inside with a look you had never seen before on him. He wasn't smiling, wasn't performing... he was serious, unsettlingly so. A reminder that Pennywise wasn't -and isn't- a real clown, not in the way he pretends to be. Drool slipped from his red lips, glistening in the early morning light filtering through a crooked and badly shut window. He had probably just interrupted his breakfast -maybe to see you- and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

"What kind of game?" his voice rumbled low, sending a chill across your skin. Your stomach tightened and you swallowed down the bile that rose. His piercing, yellow gaze left you feeling exposed.

You struggled to think of something, anything that could buy you more time. You had to say something, or else he would just get pissed and maybe have you for breakfast, instead of the one he was -so rudely- interrupted from.

"The first one to… If I can name one friend before you do, I get to leave. If you win… You get to do whatever you want with me." You knew you were cornered, but the words had come out anyway.

A strange look flickered across his face.

"What's your name?"

You frowned at what sounded like an absurd thing to ask out of the blue. "Y/n."

He giggled.

"Oh really?! And I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! Now we've both properly introduced ourselves... We can be friends!!!"

The point of the game was for you to win... but he just had to be a smartass.

"WE CAN'T- CAN'T BE FRIENDS!"

Pennywise pouted, almost like a child who's just been told no. You could see the contradiction in him as he considered your words -a clown who loves games, whose eyes practically gleam with excitement... and yet a predator who's always calculating, always one step ahead, keeping his prey exactly where he wants it. He knew you had just tried to outsmart him, yet he stepped closer, drawn in by the idea of another game. Your captor knew way more about you than you had realized -he had been watching you long before he had decided to 'kidnap' you.

Actually, your desperate answer made him leave his spot by the doorframe and advance toward you, crouching down to your eye level. You were paralyzed in fear he could probably smell. Even while holding your breath, you could feel his own on your face... It smelled like a butcher's shop.

"Don't. Shout. At. Me."

You nodded.

His drool was still glistening.

"You're not leaving either."

Another nod.

Then, he left the room.

Later, you'd realize he had let you have your way with that idiotic game purely out of boredom -a way to break up the ancient routine It'd followed since the beginning of time. But in that moment, you were just trying to survive.

What happened next is clouded in fragments, your memory blurred by fear -or maybe it's nostalgia. Somehow, over time, you became something to him. Indeed... a friend... of sorts.

As more days passed, you dared to start speaking more freely, filling the silence between you. You'd mention that you were cold, or hungry and he would tilt his head in that curious way of his. The next day, a bag of chips might appear on the bed. Once, you coughed, your throat parched. Fortunately, you managed to murmur "water". A few hours later, there it was -water in a bowl.

You found your book -Alice in Wonderland- left in a corner of the room. You read to him, each word trembling from your lips but never letting your voice falter fully. Pennywise would sit at the edge of the bed, sometimes even curling up like a cat -making you question if he had any bones-, his gaze fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. You were scared that when you finished reading the book, your life would end along with Alice's story.

But it didn't.

Still, sometimes you made desperate attempts to escape, bolting to the door. But he'd catch you with a taunting grin.

"Tag, you're it!" he'd chuckle, pinning you effortlessly. "Winner gets a prize!" he'd mock, as if the only reward he needed was to see your defeated face. But despite the mocking, the punishing appearances of the enormous cockroach stopped.

Even his gaze softened over time, slipping from the predator's yellow stare to an electric blue. The games also shifted -grew less cruel- and with them, so did he. He no longer seemed intent on hurting you and instead, observed you with a cautious neutrality.

Each day It brought you random bowls of food and water -most likely stolen from unsuspecting housewives... And sometimes, It would linger just outside the door, listening to your voice as you read to yourself.

One evening, you found yourself in the backyard, gazing up at a lilac sky. He had taken you there -unbeknownst to you- because he had brought a little snack inside and didn't want that to scare you.

You missed your old life with a pang that made your throat burn, a feeling so deep you didn't even notice him approaching. Without thinking, you pressed yourself into the clown's chest, burying your face against his ruffled collar. His strange scent -a mix of damp earth and something much older- washed over you and for the first time, you felt… safe with him.

He didn't hug you back, didn't mimic the gesture, but his voice murmured strange words about humans, their fragile nature and then the usual pet name he would call you: "little one".

It was then that you realized -he wouldn't hurt you. Not now. Not after all this time. But the realization broke something in you, a dam holding back all the emotions that had been bubbling under the surface.

"Y- You won. You won!" you stammered, choking back tears. "I'm your friend! Kill me now!"

You collapsed to your knees and he watched -bewildered- as tears streamed down your face. For a moment, he just stood there and watched you cry. Then, tentatively, he reached out in an almost inquisitive manner, to catch a tear with a long, white finger and taste it. He seemed to pause, reflecting on something only he could understand.

And then on another day, another attempt to escape. You had found a tiny window in the basement and tried to squeeze through it. But he noticed, his monstrous form scraping against the window's frame, shattering the glass in a frenzy to reach you.

When you saw the shards cutting into his skin... You froze, guilt flooding over you. You returned to his side while murmuring apologies, your hands trembling as you pulled the glass from his wounds, piece by piece.

He didn't attack you -just stared at you with a seriousness that sent chills down your spine. You knew in that moment, that you had crossed a line, that there was something between you that shouldn't have been there -because you could've left but didn't and because he could've killed you but didn't either.

When you finished pulling out the glass pieces, he was pouting at you. "Meanie..." he said and stuck his tongue out.

In the days that followed, Pennywise grew quieter. He watched you differently, as if seeing you with new eyes -ones that held a warmth you'd never expected. And in a way, it made you feel… comfortable. Comfortable enough that one day, you dared to reach out, brushing a hand along his white cheek.

He froze under your touch, as if unsure how to react -his usually fierce, yellow eyes softening to that strange blue. A low sound rumbled from him -somewhere between a purr and a growl- and he tilted his head, pressing into your hand like a cat, seeming almost… content.

But that wasn't right. He wasn't human and he definitely wasn't a pet. It was something ancient and boundless... and yet here It was, in its favorite form, accepting your touch and even starting to crave it. You pulled your hand away and his eyes opened, watching you in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate.

Time continued to flow onward.

You were now given strange meals in even stranger containers -a cracked bowl, a chipped mug, even a metal dish that you could have sworn was meant for a dog! He didn't seem to understand the details of human routines, didn't quite grasp what you needed beyond food and water. Yet he tried, even if it were in ways that felt utterly alien.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip, you asked if you could go outside again. You hadn't meant it as a real question, but in the morning, you found the door to the backyard unlocked.

You didn't dare leave the property, but you enjoyed how the air was fresh and the grass was soft and the sky a little cloudy. You stayed out until evening came.

Pennywise watched you from a distance, the colors of the twilight reflecting in his eyes, giving him an almost haunting beauty. He joined you, sitting in the overgrown grass... murmuring things in a language that sounded both ancient and musical, like whispers from an old spell.

In the quiet, you leaned against him, letting the stillness speak for you both. And though he didn't return the gesture, just like last time, he didn't pull away either. You looked up at the stars, feeling that deep ache for home... He patted your head in a comforting manner... and in that moment you could almost believe he was a friend.

You were just a kid, but even with your naivety, deep down you knew the truth -he was a monster that had killed before and would kill again. Yet for now, he seemed content with your presence, more curious than threatening. He tilted his head, watching you with softness in his gaze, as if pondering the mystery of your existence.

Somewhere in your heart, you felt the shift. Pennywise, the monster, had grown attached to you. And you… well, you couldn't deny the attachment had become mutual.

The days blurred together even more after that, filled with silly games, with quiet moments and fragments of a bond you could neither define nor understand.

And yet, even as you tried to push away the thought, you feared that someday he might wake up and no longer see you as friend, or even as a curiosity, but as something he was hungry for once more. Still, in the quiet of the night it felt like a small, tragic eternity -two beings from worlds apart, drawn together and held by something both tender and terrifying.

The last days in the house at Neibolt St were the strangest. Pennywise grew quiet, almost pensive, as if some hidden clock was winding down inside him. You noticed how his smiles and giggles were fading, as if the game he'd once delighted in was losing its thrill. Sometimes, he would simply watch you with an unreadable expression, his eyes that odd, bright blue that almost felt... sad.

You felt a pang of sympathy for him. For all his power and for all his malevolence, he was still somehow... alone. You had felt it in those strange moments when -almost wistfully- he'd listen to you talk and read.

The last night felt different, filled with an air of finality.

As you laid on your creaky bed, you noticed him standing in the corner of the room, like some sort of sleep paralysis demon. He was staring at you with an intensity that used to scare you three months ago. You felt the impulse to speak, but you knew he wouldn't respond. Instead, you held his gaze, feeling a strange sense of sorrow settle over you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Little one, when you leave…will you forget about me?"

The question caught you off guard and you didn't know how to answer. You wanted to tell him that you wouldn't, that everything you'd been through would be impossible to forget. But Pennywise knew that memories could fade, that as you grew older, the edges of this nightmare would blur.

You just stared at him, searching for the right words.

His eyes held a strange depth, a rawness you hadn't seen before. But he didn't wait for your answer. He simply turned, drifting back into the shadows as he whispered...

"The game isn't over."

And as he vanished, you were left in the cold darkness, with the silence pressing down around you like a final embrace. You clutched your knees to your chest, feeling the weight of those words settle heavily in your heart. You knew that even if you did forget him one day, some part of him would linger -an echo in the back of your mind, a memory that would never truly die.

That night, as sleep began to take you, you imagined him in the backyard... looking up at the stars and wondering if you'd remember.

It really felt like something precious had been taken away from you too early.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed, in your home in Witchham Street.

For a moment you thought you'd died... Εveryone around you acted as though you'd never disappeared, as if those harrowing months at Neibolt hadn't happened at all. But there was one particular detail that hinted otherwise... A red balloon, floating silently at the edge of your bed.

That morning, you also got your period for the first time.

Stepping outside, the daylight was so bright and so warm, a stark contrast to the darkness you'd lived in for weeks. You squinted at the light, feeling almost as though you'd stepped into another world. It was hard to believe that just the night before, you had been in his arms -you had been seeking comfort from the monster who had held you captive.

Part of you seriously considered whether it had all been just a dream. Still, for days, you felt his absence like a missing heartbeat.

The world around you seemed much louder and the colors almost too vivid. Sometimes, you'd catch yourself looking for him in the shadows, half expecting to see his shape looming in the corners of your room.

At night you'd lie awake, thinking of his strange question...

"When you leave… will you forget me?"

You didn't know how to answer, even to yourself.

As much as you wanted to return to your old life and to move on from that nightmare, you felt a small part of you ache with the loss. You had lived through something impossible, something that had left you changed.

There was no going back to who you were before.

Over time though, the memory of him faded into something almost surreal. You didn't speak of it to anyone -the words felt fragile and sacred, as if telling the story might diminish it.

But the craziest thing that happened? You continued living as if everything was perfectly normal.

You only thought of Pennywise again that Christmas, in 1979...

The holidays had come to Derry and your family decorated the house with lights and garlands, the scents of pine and cinnamon clinging to every corner. There were gifts under the tree and snow falling outside the windows. Everything was festive and happy.

But when you woke up in your cozy little bedroom -on the 24th-, near the foot of your bed laid a single, crumpled sunflower. It must've been from the patch in the backyard where you'd sometimes sit with him, where the wildflowers had managed to grow despite the gloom. You held it gently, careful not to disturb its fragile petals. It felt like a memento of your time together -a reminder that what you had shared was real, however bizarre and terrifying.

On some nights, when the world was silent, you'd find yourself reaching for that sunflower, feeling the dried petals crumble beneath your fingertips. You'd lie awake, wondering where he was -if he still remembered, if he still waited. And though you'd never say it out loud, a small part of you hoped he did. Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how much you grew or changed, there was one truth you could never deny... He had left his mark on you, a scar that you'd carry forever.

And somewhere out there, you felt certain, Pennywise was waiting.

In the years that followed, you held onto those fleeting memories. They had a strange, magnetic pull -a mix of terror and fascination. You couldn't help but feel that if you let them slip, if you completely forgot, you'd be leaving behind a piece of yourself.

The Losers helped ground you.

They were your anchors to the present, pulling you back to laughter, to familiar faces and to the warmth of friends who shared their own scars and secrets. They never asked about the nightmares that sometimes made you stir, the shadows you occasionally saw out of the corner of your eye. And you never told them.

But there were also moments -quiet and lonely moments- when the weight of it all crept back, haunting you with unspoken questions. You'd wonder if he thought of you, if he missed you in his own twisted way. Did he ever feel the same hollow ache?

And deep down, you even wondered what might happen if he came back. Would he be nice and protecting? Or would he be just as monstrous and alien as before?

On some other nights, when the wind picked up, you swore you could feel his gaze -a distant yet familiar watchfulness that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as though he was still guarding you.

And so you moved forward, feeling the tug of those memories lessen but never fully vanish.

Would he stay away? Or would there come a day when that half-remembered monster with the childlike heart would find his way back to you?

1984 Derry, Maine

You tell yourself you hate Pennywise.

You tell yourself that, because you have to believe it is true, because that's the only way to move on. But deep inside your mind you can still feel him -his question echoing faintly in you, lesser and lesser each year, like a bond stretching thinner and thinner.

Currently, you're pondering over a glass of Cherry Coke. Yesterday, Bill had asked you about your dreams. He wanted to know if the clown that took away his little brother haunted you as well. You had simply shaken your head 'no', but the truth was the complete opposite.

Until you turned fifteen, Pennywise was still in your dreams. You remember those dreams even more vividly than your days in the house on Neibolt St...

You always had a strong imagination, which came with vivid dreams and equally vivid nightmares. In those dreams, Pennywise would come to you whenever you were scared. He'd pull you close in that tender way he never did in reality, fighting off every dark shape in your mind and then wrapping you in a kind of warmth you can't explain with words.

Sometimes, you'd apologize to him in those dreams -feeling an unnamed guilt- and he'd boop your nose with a soft and soothing "It's okie-dokie, Y/n."

Sometimes there'd be a red balloon waiting by your bed when you woke up, or maybe floating outside your school window. And on one specific evening, when the sadness felt like too much to bear, he appeared at the edge of your bed instead of the balloon. He hugged you and stayed with you until morning came, his glowing eyes softly illuminating the darkness. For once, they didn't scare you.

But as you grew up, you began to dream of him differently. In the nightmares, he'd chase you with a crooked smile and eyes that were dark with hunger, until you couldn't run anymore. Then you'd turn, tears streaming down your face, pleading with him and saying you were sorry over and over. You could never remember why you were sorry, but you knew that somewhere deep inside... you had hurt him. And somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was you who'd let him down.

You tried to explain this to him, even though it was only in dreams -your Penny, who had watched over you. But he still seemed sad. So the dreams began to fade and he stopped showing himself altogether. Even then, you could still feel his presence, as if he was looking over you but choosing to stay hidden.

The few glimpses you have left are rather strange. Once, you had a dream with an uncanny intensity. It was the first different kind of dream -a dream where Pennywise was there as well, but puzzled, as you began to see him through a different lens. It left you feeling unsettled. Not sure what it meant, only that it somehow changed everything.

And still, each time you're scared, you call out for him in your dreams. You search, even while knowing he won't appear like he used to. Maybe it's because you had once blurted out that he was a killer, that he took innocent people like Georgie. It's all so blurry now, all these things you can't quite remember but can't entirely forget either.

You miss him.

You know Georgie's disappearance and so many others are somehow linked to that clown. But if his pattern is to stay on Earth for a year and hibernate for two decades (like Ben figured out), why then, hasn't he gone to sleep in five? It's almost as though he can't bring himself to leave.

Maybe you are asking too many questions. Or maybe you are starting to find the answers...

You're just a girl. And he… he's a boy in a strange, unfathomable way.

There are times when you think he's gone for good. But then there are other times -like when Oscar, the thick orange cat you've taken to caring for, curls up by you in a way that feels just a little too familiar. His stare, intense and watchful, feels more like an any ordinary cat.

You call him Oscar, but maybe -just maybe- you know it's him.

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art @urdeftonesgrrrl

[littlebitglob]

the MISS AMERICA of CUTE BOYS. Seriously.

[lavenderstarsx]

The Drawing (Bill Denbrough)

Pairing: Bill Denbrough x Reader

Summary: One day when you were in the library a drawing falls out of a book you were reading- and the drawing eerily looks exactly like you.

Word Count: 1.5k

——————-

You made your way slowly to The Derry Library. The fall weather was now in full effect and you couldn’t help the feeling of the slight chill you felt while you walked. You were looking for more interesting books at the library- currently you were reading ‘The Great Gatsby’ which you knew was a classic- but it was required reading so by that criteria it made it fairly boring. You opened up the door to the brick building and stepped inside. Almost no one was there. It was in fact a weekend so not a lot of people liked to spend their two free days in a dusty old building that probably had a rat infestation. You did see someone you recognized there. The boy you saw was Ben Hanscom. He had his head in a book. You barely knew Ben- the only reason why you even recognized him was because he sat with Bill Denbrough at lunch. Ben had just joined the little friend group that called themselves ‘The Losers Club.’ Bill was in many of your classes. You pretended not to notice him but- man was it hard to. Bill took up most of your thoughts. You memorized the way he laughed- even though it was rare and almost only came out when the Tozier boy whispered an inappropriate joke into his ear during a lesson. Your friends didn’t approve of Bill. They usually called him a ‘freak’ or ‘weirdo.’ You mostly ignored them because in your eyes, Bill was perfect. He was kind, caring, and respectful. Something that half the school wasn’t. Then you snapped back out of your thoughts. You headed towards the fantasy section. You read a lot of fantasy books now ever since you rewatched The Princess Bride a couple weeks ago. You looked through a ton of books but none of them seemed good enough for you. Then you saw one- it looked rather basic. The book had a huge red dragon on the front with a knight giving a cheesy smile next to it. You quickly read the blurb on the back before slightly opening it. A medium sized piece of paper comes gracefully falling from the book. You quickly look around before picking the paper up. You froze. The drawing looked exactly like you. It had your signature y/h/c colored hair. It was like looking into a mirror. The drawing wasn’t signed but it did look weirdly familiar.

“Do you need any help, dear?” An older librarian woman asks you. You practically jump out of your skin when she says this.

“No ma’m i’m fine.” You say gingerly. You try to hide your blush as you find a table to start reading on. You picked the table behind Ben. You thought it would have been too awkward or weird to sit right next to the boy. You could barely focus on your book, you kept finding yourself staring at the drawing of you. You were terrified but also mesmerized at the same time. You decided to leave the library not long after. You held the drawing and your book close to your chest. On your way out of the library you gave Ben a small smile before opening the door back into the chilly air. You walked back home, and when you got to your room you quickly put your new book down and flopped onto your mattress. You stared at the drawing for a while. The detail was so intricate that it got your exact eye color down too.

Finally it was the end of the day, you were now in your pajamas and you were now ~finally~ reading the book you had gotten from the library. You found yourself enjoying the book a lot more. You slowly drifted off to sleep.

The next morning you had to get ready for school. You chose a pair of jeans and a navy blue long sleeved shirt. You quickly brush your hair before rushing out the door. You made sure to grab the new book that you had just gotten and stuff it into your backpack. The bike ride to school was nice. You thankfully didn’t run into anyone from The Bowers Gang and you made it easily to school. The drawing was still in the back of your mind.

“Hey y/n!” You hear your friend, f/n shout to you. You quickly lock up your bike and rush towards them. You smile at them. They start talking about their weekend- which was not truly THAT interesting but you still smile and nod your head. You were more of a listener type. You and your friend walked to class together. But that’s when you saw him. Bill was walking to the same class as you. He was walking with Stanley Uris. Bill then had decided to hold open the door for you and f/n. You tried to hide your blush as you say,

“Thanks Bill”

“No pro-b-le-m y/n.” Bill then gave you a smile which made your heart melt to the core. You and f/n quickly went to your seats. You sat exactly behind Bill. The teacher started teaching the class but it was terribly hard to focus. Bill Denbrough, had given YOU a smile. You couldn’t help but to smile yourself. Bill also didn’t seem to be focusing. He seemed to be writing something in his notebook instead, you narrow your eyes to see if you could read anything of it. You didn’t want to seem stalker-ish so you pretended to be looking at the chalk board. But that’s when you see what Bill was doing- he wasn’t writing he was drawing. Bill wasn’t doing much to hide what he was doing. He seemed to be drawing a girl. Suddenly you feel Bill’s eyes shift. You and him caught eachother’s eyes. Shit. Bill then turns a bright shade of red and hides the notebook away from you.

That was odd.

The class went by quickly. In your head you tried to connect the dots. And that’s when you realize- what if Bill was the one to draw that picture of you? He had to- the style of drawing looked exactly like the picture of you did. Why would Bill draw you?

Throughout the day, you found yourself distracted. The thought of Bill and his drawings lingered as you walked to your next class. You kept replaying the events of the morning in your mind. Bill’s drawing, and the drawing from the library looked all too familiar. It was too much of a coincidence. Right?

Finally it came time for lunch. You spotted Bill with his friends. They were all gathered together. You feel a pang of jealousy as you sit with at your own lunch table. You glanced at Bill. He seemed distracted in thought. You decided to gather your courage and decided to walk towards The Losers’ table. When you reached the table everyone went silent. They all gave you a weird look. Everyone’s eyes were on you.

“Hey uh- Bill can I talk to you- for just a quick second?” You say.

Bill gave you a surprised look before nodding a yes. You and Bill find a quiet place on the stairwell that led to the cafeteria. You tried to ignore the curious stares of all of Bill's friends.

“Wh-at is i-t y/n?” Bill asked.

You take a deep breathe before pulling the drawing from your backpack.

“I- i found this in a book at the library yesterday,” You held out the drawing to Bill. “Did you uh- well draw it? I saw you drawing in class today and it looks alike to this one.” Bill’s eyes widened as he studied the drawing.

“Ye-a-h I did.” Bill admitted- he did look very embarrassed. You felt weird. You felt every emotion possible and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“But why did you draw me?” You said the sentence quickly. Bill blushed.

"Be-because I… I like you," Bill replied, looking down. He was clearly embarrassed.

You froze as blood rushed to your cheeks. "You do?" you asked.

"Y-yes. And I, uh, have for a wh-while," Bill stuttered.

"I like you too, Bill," you revealed. You felt as though you were going to pass out, you were so happy.

Bills eyes widened again. He looked down meeting your gaze.

“Re-ally?” Bill questioned. A very small, shy smile formed on his lips.

You smiled, unable to control the large grin on your face.“Yeah, really.”

For a moment both of you stood there like time itself had stopped. Bill took a tiny step forward.

“So- u-h wh-at now?” Bill asked sheepishly.

You let out a small laugh trying to ease the tension,

“Do you want to go to the movies with me this weekend?” You replied.

Bill’s smile grew,

“I w-ould li-ke that.”

[tulipology]

and in the mourning, i'll rise. in the mourning, i'll let you die.

[kalsiferdraws]

Can you spot the headcanons?

[eternal-sunshine-222]

IT MASTERLIST

Hello! My name is Kandi and I am an aspiring author. In this masterlist you can find all my works for this series linked under their respective characters. I write for the characters listed but I will make exceptions if requested. Thank you and happy reading!

BILL DENBROUGH

-coming soon!

RICHIE TOZIER

-coming soon!

EDDIE KASPBRAK

-coming soon!

STANLEY URIS

-coming soon!

MIKE HANLON

-coming soon!

BEN HANSCOM

-coming soon!

BEVERLY MARSH

-coming soon!

HENRY BOWERS

-coming soon!

PATRICK HOCKSTETTER

-Infatuated (Patrick x Fem!Reader) (part 1?)

REGINALD "BELCH" HUGGINS

-coming soon!

VICTOR CRISS

-coming soon!

This masterlist along with my others will be updated any time a new fic is dropped or in the process of being worked on.

[skeletons-and-roses]

Pennywise: I know your secret~

Richie: Wait how do you know I’m gay?

Pennywise: Ya know how I can smell fear?

Richie: Yeah…and?

Pennywise: I can smell your fruitiness from a mile away!

Richie:

Pennywise:

Richie: I’m gonna kill this fucking clown

[occasionaloneshots]

No Shame - Bill Denbrough

“You're not doing them right." "I am too. Look Ma, no hands."

Bill Denbrough x Tozier!Reader

(minor Stanley Uris x Best Friend!Reader, minor Bill Denbrough x Greta; past Victor Criss x reader)

Pronouns used: she/her/hers

Tropes: Mutual pinning, friends to lovers

Word Count: 5.8K

Summary: With only one summer break left in their lives, the mutual pinning and sexual tension between the two seems to make Derry, Maine sweltering.

Warnings: Alcohol mentions (like a lot, including blow job shots), swearing, suggestive situations but there's no smut (mentions of him having a wet dream about her though), Richie calls the reader a whore once but its not to her face and he doesn't mean anything by it, mentions of old men being perverts, man i don't know I was feeling real silly and this came out a mess. I like my mess though, I think it's neat.

     There were two things that Bill Denbrough was certain of, even if they seemed to contradict one another. The first of them being that Bill was destined for so much better than Derry, Maine had ever been able to offer him, but the second one? The second one was that no feeling would ever match the summers he got to experience in his youth, beating the devil on Silver with the losers club around him like the greatest support system he’d ever been graced to know. Back before the losers club was split at six different colleges across three different states, even before (Y/n) Tozier got wrapped up with Victor Criss when the losers were sophomores in highschool. Back in middle school when the summers came with swimming in your underwear and couch cushion change ice cream cones, no jobs to get in the way of their fun, just summer reading lists. Even if  those summers came with running from the Bower’s gang, nothing would ever touch the feeling of them, he was positive that happiness peaked back then. 

    Summer and winter breaks in Derry still might be able to come close though. Even with the underwear changed out for real swimsuits and the couch cushion change being exchanged for paychecks, the eight of them were still together. For three months things could feel as close as they possibly could to the group's old normal. Of course, even then, nothing lasts forever and nothing stays the same. Bill was finding himself painfully aware that more than just their swimsuits had changed the longer they were in college. Don’t get him wrong, William Denbrough has always been aware that (Y/n) Tozier was hot, or at least since they were hitting puberty and he realized he did find women hot and not just pretty. But he swore the more time they spent apart, the better she’d look by the time they saw each other again. Now though, as he watches Stanley Uris and (Y/n) walk down to them from her car, a shirt in his favorite color barely hiding her swimsuit, Bill is seriously wondering if the girl is trying to kill him. 

    “God, I thought that New York was never letting you two go, It’s been a lifetime,” Richie is springing up from his spot on a towel beside Bill to run to his best friend and sister. A goofy grin stretched across his face and his wet hair dripping on them as he wraps his arms around the duo, pulling both of them against him with so much vigor that it makes the girl stumble into his chest. Despite that, they’re both laughing, leaning their heads against his shoulders as they each swing an arm around his waist. “We got here one day later than you did, Rich,” her words come out on a giggle sounding like sugar as she pulls away first, sliding to the side to she survey the group that’s already there. Eyes bouncing from the four playing chicken fight in the water to where Bill is resting on a towel, legs pulled up as if on the cusp of standing to go to her. 

    Those bright eyes stay trained on him as she reaches down to grasp the hem of the “University of Maine, Ontoro” shirt that barely covers her ass. There’s a bleach stain on the left shoulder, the navy giving way to more of an orange hue that immediately marks it as his shirt that she’d borrowed last thanksgiving break. The one he’d leant her after Georgie spilt a whole gravy boat of giblet gravy on her turtleneck. She’s beaming as she lifts his shirt over her head, bunching it up in one hand as she runs up to him. “Bill!” He barely has time to rise to his feet before he’s catching her in his arms, body flushing at the feeling of her skin pressed up against his. “Hey, (Y/n/n).” “I missed you,” she’s mumbling against the boy’s neck, face hidden from view as she tugs him ever so slightly closer. “I missed you too,” he looks down to the bunched fabric she’d dropped haphazardly  at his side, “And my shirt.” The girl laughs, pulling away from his chest, “Oh please, you couldn’t care less about that old, stained shirt.” Her hands find purchase on his biceps, sliding them down to his elbows as she looks him over with a soft smile, “I’ll give it back if you really want me to, though.” 

   They’re cut off by Stan before he can speak, the boy clapping his hand down on Bill’s shoulder as he shakes his head. “She won’t, she sleeps in it at least twice a week, that’s her favorite pajama top,” as Bill turns to him the boy cuts him a smile, “Hey man.” “Hey Stan, and she can keep it.I accepted I’d never see it again when she went back to New York with it in November.” She’s giggling, ruffling his hair before pulling away from him completely. “Victory is once again mine, William.” It’s impossible to hold back the boyish grin that stretches across his cheeks, the eye roll he couples with it does nothing to counteract it.

      “(Y/n) Tozier! You better get over here before we drag you in this water!” Beverly’s airy laugh cuts through the scene as she screams, Ben throwing her off his shoulders and into the water as she does. It’s enough to drag the gentler of the Tozier twins away, the girl nearly running into the quarry water as she squeals for Beverly. Both girls collapse into each other as they fuss over their long-time missed best friend; wild hands smoothing over hair and pulling bodies together in a long awaited hug.

    Bill lets himself settle back on the towels, eyes trained on the girls in the water as he sits with Richie and Stan. “Uris, and I mean this as friendly as I can, you better not be the person in New York turning my little sister into a whore.” His remark makes the boys on either side of Richie snap towards him. “First of all, you are thirteen minutes older than her, stop acting like her older brother. Secondly, it’s just a bikini, Richie. She doesn’t go home with anyone from parties and she barely dates. In no way is (Y/n) Tozier a whore. A flirt maybe, but not a whore.” It makes the dark haired boy scoff, turning to Bill with this “get a load of this” type look spread over his face. “She’s wearing a thong string bikini right now, Stan. That’s for somebody. And it’s fine if it’s you, I’d rather it be someone I know and trust, but if you make me an uncle before she’s done with school-” “Richie, I have a girlfriend. One you met over spring break,” Stan rolls his eyes, shoving Richie’s shoulder with a scoff. Despite the annoyance in his actions, Stanley has a shit-eating grin stretched across his features. “Maybe it’s for Mike,” the boy's voice has a cheesy, sing-song tone as he nudges Richie. 

    At his words, Bill turns back to the quarry, watching as (Y/n) reaches out for Bev from Mike’s shoulders. Eddie wading in the water near them, quickly talking about something that the boys on the land can’t quite make out. It’s nowhere near flirty, purely leaning on playful and yet it still seems to make Bill’s mouth sour, forcing his eyes away from the group. “Oh please,” Richie scoffs, “Everyone knows Mike’s just as much a brother to her as I am. Maybe Victor Criss, I did let it slip he’s back in town this summer. He called his engagement off, maybe she’s trying to swoop back in.” Bill shoves his side, honestly rougher than he intended as he glares at his friend. “Don’t play like that, you know how that ended.” 

   “Relax, Denbrough. I’m kidding, we all know who she’d be wearing something scandalous and navy blue for anyway,” Richie shoves him back, albeit much gentler than Bill had shoved him. Bill can feel the heat in his cheeks and he finds himself hoping to all things good and holy that Richie will just think he’s getting sunburnt. “God, Richie, it’s hot and their apartment has a pool. I doubt it means anything.” Stan hums at that, leaning around the taller boy between them to look at Bill, equally as teasing as his best friend as he quirks a brow at the shortest boy. “Actually, she bought that one last week before she packed to come down.” Bill opens his mouth to respond but a call from the girl in question cuts him off, nearly being his saving grace. 

   “Billy! Come out here so we can show Eddie and Mike how chicken fights are done! Shorty thinks he could beat me, I need the dream team!” It comes out on a giggle, the girl waving him down with both hands. “Do not call me fucking short, we are the same height, (Y/n)!” Eddie is pushing the girl under the water, or at least doing his best attempt to as she dodges him laughing, sending splashed waves of water up into the boy’s face. “Well,” he smirks, standing up and dusting himself off, “Duty calls.” Bill turns away from them but only seems to make it a couple of steps before turning right back around, “And while I’m thinking about it, Welcome home thing for the eight of us at my place on Saturday, be there, bring booze.” He points a playful set of finger guns to his friends before returning towards his path for the quarry.  

    Finally left alone, Stan leans into Richie’s side, “This is the last summer before we all finish undergrad, if they aren’t together by the end of it, I’m going to have to do something to ensure they’re together before Christmas.” It makes his friend scoff, “If they’re not together by the end of the month I’m going to intervene. I know how she talks to me about him, I’m sure you’re as fed up as I am.” He laughs, standing up and reaching a hand out to Richie, “You could surely say that one again.” 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

     Saturday night couldn’t come fast enough, she’d been certain of that since she left the quarry on Monday. Of course all the losers saw each other in smaller groups, but if you asked (Y/n) it never felt right when the whole group wasn’t together. Instead, it seemed as if a part of her was missing, an empty hole looking for its pieces.  

   At least, she’d claim that was true, but when she and Bill were the only two who came home for thanksgiving no one can remember hearing her complain about that. It’s hard not to think that she’s only there to see him, especially when she’s sitting in a chair across the room from where he’s drinking, barely listening to a word that comes out of Ben’s mouth as her eyes stay trained on the other boy. Following his movements as he unclasps his hands from behind his back and reaches up to grab the shot glass from his mouth. He smirks, cutting her a wink as he notices the eyes on him, alcohol ever so slightly blurring his head from his spot between Stan and Richie. 

   “You’re not doing them right,” she’s sending him a knowing smirk right back. “I am too,” he raises his hands, palms facing her as he ever so slightly wiggles his fingers, “Look Ma, no hands.” It causes a giggle to escape from her lips, shaking her head as she waves a hand for one, “I can prove it, bring me one.” Bill picks up a shot and weaves himself around Stanley as the other boy calls her by her full name. (Y/n) doesn’t think twice before repeating Stanley’s full name back in return. 

   “We talked about you and doing these shots the ‘proper way’. No more of that, you’re going to get yourself hurt.” She rises to her feet in front of Bill, letting one hand fall to his chest as she turns to him, “You won’t hurt me, will you, Billy?” Her voice is dripping honey as she draws patterns on his chest with her pointer finger, eyes blown wide in mock innocence. And Bill knows there’s about a million things he could say, but he can’t bring himself to. So instead he finds himself laughing, turning back to Stan over his shoulder, “Oh come on, Stan. You don’t trust me?” It earns him a glare. “I’m not positive that I trust either of you,” a sentiment that Richie seems to agree with as he watches the two in the corner of the room turn back to each other with equally teasing smirks. “You ready for me to prove you wrong, Denbrough?” He laughs, shaking his head, “Why did I bring it to you if you were just going to get up? You could have got the shot yourself.”  

   She hums, pushing him ever so slightly towards the chair, “How else are you meant to take my seat? I don’t need a chair to be on my knees.” She swears that Bill almost looks sober as she says it, falling into her slightly forgotten chair with widened eyes, “W-What? Why w-would you-” She rolls her eyes, slowly lowering herself to her knees with a warm hand on his thigh for support. “It’s called a ‘blowjob shot’ Bill, you take it on your knees. That’s where the name comes from,” she’s smirking up at him, eyes half lidded with a teasing little smile. “Then p-please, educate me,” he raises his brows, leaning back slightly in the chair as she slots the shot glass between his jean clad thighs. Her hands linger on the outside of his lap as she smiles up at him, “Now, when I go down you can’t clench your thighs, I have to be able to take the glass.” She knows exactly what she’s doing, they both do. Smirking at his pink tinted cheeks and his raised brows as he watches her every move. Her soft, warm hands sliding painfully slow off of the sides of his thighs as if she’s purposely trying to tease him. 

   (Y/n) sends him one last smirk as she clasps her hands together on the small of her back, “Last chance to chicken out, Denbrough.” It makes him laugh, “It’s just some education, right Tozier? I’m not scared to learn.” She hums, mumbling something that he swears up and down has to be “yes sir” before lowering her face down towards his lap. If Bill thought she looked like something out of a wet dream at the quarry earlier this week, he might actively be having one right now. He’s positive he’s had a dream like this before, though there definitely wasn’t a shot glass or denim separating them in his mind that night.Thank the lord for hair ties though. She has her hair pulled back, giving him a full view of her face and the cleavage down her thin little tank top as she pulls away from his lap, tilting her body back so the shot slides down her throat. It’s like his eyes are stuck to her, watching her every minor movement as if she’s playing in slow motion for him, and Bill doesn’t think twice when he reaches forward to pluck the shot glass from between the girl’s lips. She releases it with a solid pop that he swears is damn near pornographic and he finds himself biting a lip to keep himself from reacting. 

    (Y/n)’s got a smear of whip cream from the shot dotted on her top lip and he swears he’s not thinking as he leans forward to swipe the pad of his thumb across it. The eye contact is heavy as she reaches forwards and grabs his wrist, bringing his thumb into her mouth to suck the cream from it. “Yeah, I think,” he swallows, watching her as she lets go of his thumb and just lets her hands rest on his thighs. “Yeah, I think I should leave that to the professionals, I don’t think I could ever do that as well as you do.” She giggles, sliding her hands up his legs as she slowly drags herself upwards. “I guess I’ll just have to give you another lesson, huh?” She stretches as she stands back up and Bill watches as a hand comes to wrap around her waist. The new addition makes him suddenly aware that they aren’t the only people in the room. 

    “Well look at you, huh? Putting on a little show?” Bev is wrapping an arm around her and dragging her back over to Mike before Bill can fully wrap his head around what just happened. “Oh, it’s so fun. You raised a party girl, Bev,” her arm is coming around Bev’s waist as she speaks, leaning into her side with a giggle. “Oh I raised that? We all know that Victor Criss built himself a party girl.” Even though the other girl’s words come out on a laugh, Bill notices the way that (Y/n) squares up, looking down at her hands and then around the room nervously. “Yeah,” she coughs, and Bill gets up to pull her away before she can finish. “About that, I’m actually going out to see him tomorrow night after my shift. We’re gonna get a drink and catch up.” He stops barely in front of the chair he once occupied.The room falls silent, all eyes turning to watch the Tozier girl as she turns in on herself. 

   “You’re going to see Victor?” He’s proud he can keep himself from stuttering, but his voice is barely holding steady as he says it. “Yeah, we’re just you know, we’re catching up. We’re gonna finally talk about what happened between us,” she refuses to meet his eyes, scanning the room to see if there’s someone else who will meet her eyes to no avail. His brows raise, finding himself glued to his spot as he turns to look at Stan and Richie, both boys mouth him some variation of “I’m sorry” as they look at him. “To talk about when he cheated on you with my girlfriend? In your bed? What could there possibly be to talk about there?” 

   She sighs, running a hand over her face, “You act like I’m planning to go fuck him, Bill. I’m just going to talk to him, it’s nothing.” Nothing, it’s always nothing with the Tozier twins, isn’t it? It’s nothing, I'm just going to see a guy who screwed us both over. I’m skipping our movie night that has been a sacred tradition since we were thirteen because I’m going to see my ex who  cheated on me with your ex. It’s nothing. I totally wasn’t shamelessly flirting with you a minute ago, Bill. “Yeah, have fun,” he pushes himself to move, rolling his shoulders as he makes his way back to Richie and Stan’s sides, both boys clapping a hand on his back. “Anyway, I need to leave, I open in the morning,” she sighs, making her way towards his stairs and up out of his house. Bill finds himself pissed at both of them as he watches the way her shorts ride up with each speedy step she takes away from him. Even when she’s playing with his heart, he can’t tear his eyes away. What a fool he was. 

    “Listen, I’m sorry man,” Stan sighs, slinging an arm around her shoulders, “I heard him ask when we were locking up last night but I had no idea she had said yes.” Bill can feel his heart plummet, “He’s working with you guys again?” Of course he was, just when Bill was thinking maybe his friends weren’t just playing him, here comes the same guy who got in his way the first time. Timothy’s Diner and Victor Criss were both becoming a lot more emotional effort than they were worth. “No, he was waiting for Belch to get off, and since Belch is kitchen management there was no use arguing with him. He followed her around like a dog fetching a bone all night. I love her to death,  but I think (Y/n) Tozier might be an idiot, or shameless.” Richie sighs, clapping a hand against Bill’s shoulder, “I think that if my sister is stupid enough to choose Victor Criss over you twice, she might just be the biggest buffoon I’ve ever met.” He sighs, lifting the shaker that Richie had been pouring up to his lips and taking back the double shot without thinking. The hellish mixture of patron and Everclear seeming to slice its way down his oddly tightening throat. “Dude,” Richie steps back from him, staring at the boy as if he’s about to bite. “Are you,” his words fall flat. 

    Bill smirks, looking over at the boys and heading towards the landline hanging on his wall, “I have a call I need to make.” 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

   Stanley Uris started working at Timothy’s Diner the week after he turned fifteen, and he’d spent every school break since he started college picking up shifts there. If it hadn’t been for (Y/n) begging him to come work with her, he’s not sure he would have ever picked a place like that for himself. Despite that, and everything he’s grown to hate about the place, he can’t say he could ever regret it. Stan is pretty sure there's nothing he’d trade for summer afternoons hiding by the ice machine, fanning themselves as she complains about the heat in the room. Or listening to her whine about how unfair his uniform is when she has to wear that starched little dress and tights.  (Y/n) was positive that creepy old men were looking up it while she wiped down tables, and she wasn’t exactly wrong. 

   Stan had developed quite the reputation as he always seemed to slide up right behind her when a guy decided he wanted to be a creep. His hand reaching out to grab the towel from her as he mumbles in her ear for her to go back behind the counter. He wasn’t the only person to develop a reputation at Timothy’s though, as a certain member of the losers club had made himself notorious for bringing first dates to the diner, taking them straight to a section in the corner near the jukebox. So, it was no shock when Bill Denbrough came strolling into the diner at three-thirty that Sunday afternoon with Greta Bowie on his arm. Coming in right on time to be (Y/n)’s last table before she clocked out.  Old habits will always die hard it seems, and Bill Denbrough has always been the type to fight fire with fire. 

    So, with a mischievous little smirk, Stan finds himself leaning through the window to interrupt whatever conversation (Y/n) and Belch Huggins had wrapped themselves up in. “Oh, (Y/n).” Her eyes cut to him, annoyance and exhaustion dancing across her features. “You’re sat.” Her face drops, “I’m off in thirty minutes. You take it.” “Oh, I don’t think they want that. You can take your last table of the day,” he’s raising his brows, smirk growing into a grin as she storms around the corner. “This is ridiculous, I have been here since five-thirty this morning, I should have been cut hours ago,” she’s grumbling more to herself than anyone, adjusting her apron and reaching for her server pad. “Relax, it’s just a two top,” Stan leans against the counter as he speaks, nodding his head over to where Bill is just barely sparking up a conversion with his date. 

   A heat spreads across (Y/n)’s face as she looks at the table and her chest feels like it might be burning too. “What the hell is he doing with her? After what she did to him?” Stan scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Like you aren’t seeing Victor in a few hours. Relax, it’s not like he’s planning to fuck her, I’m sure they’re just talking about what happened between them. You know, nothing serious.” The toe of her non-slip shoe comes in contact with his ankle as she passes him, squaring her shoulder’s back as she forces a smile. Stan finds himself laughing, reaching down to rub his ankle with amusement dancing on his features. Old habits truly do die screaming. 

   “Welcome to Timothy’s Diner, my name is (Y/n) and I’ll be your server today,” she smiles down at Bill, letting her hand fall lazily on top of his shoulder, “Could I get you started with a drink?” Greta’s eyes follow the other girl’s hand up to her face, her own nose scrunched and eyes squinted, “Shirley temple.” “Alright,” (Y/n) lets herself look back down at Bill, “And what about you, sir?” He quirks a brow at her, doing his best not to seem intrigued, “Oh, I think I remember the strawberry milkshakes here being the best in town.” (Y/n) nods, slowly dragging her hand down his bicep, “I’ve gotcha. You two keep looking over that menu and I will be right back with those drinks for you.” Her hips sway as she walks away, steps falling toe to heel as she makes her way across the floor. 

    Immediately the girl crosses to the milkshake blender, muttering something that Stan can’t quite catch under her breath. “I’m sorry, what was that?” She cuts the boy a glare, bending down to grab cherries and whipped cream from the fridge built into the counter. “You know it’s hard to have a conversation when you won’t speak up.” “Eat shit, Stanley.” He lets out another laugh, grabbing a glass and the grenadine to help her out. 

       “It’s just, why does he always do this?” “Do what?” “He always brings his dates here to my favorite table in the building. It’s like he’s mocking me for not being as pretty as them.” Stan swears his eyes have rolled so far back that he could see the back of their sockets. “You are so much like your brother sometimes that it hurts.” She huffs, turning to him with the milkshake on a tray, “What is that supposed to mean?” “You’re just, ya know,” he shrugs, setting the shirley temple on her tray for her, “You’re a little oblivious.” Her eyes rolls, turning away from him with yet another huff as she makes her way over to the table again. He doesn’t follow her, just watches as she fidgets with her pen cap, taking Greta’s order with a stoney face. It’s their old song and dance, Bill ordering and her cutting him off with the alterations she knows he’s planning to get. The boy smiling, looking at her as if he’s in disbelief that she can remember something that he’s done his whole life. Cozy, obviously so. It’s disrespectful to Greta, even as much as he hates the girl. Somewhere Stan knows that (Y/n) knows this, she has to. But she’s too blinded by her adoration of Bill to care. Not that it’s Stan’s business anyway. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

    The losers started movie night when they were thirteen, it was sacred. And normally, it would be Bill’s favorite night of the week, but (Y/n) is all he can think about. She was supposed to be here by now, she promised she’d be here for the second movie of the night. But the beginning credits of Candyman are rolling on his living room TV and she’s still out with her man of the hour. Not that he has the right to complain, he knows that he doesn’t have the right to complain about her being on a date when he went on one the same day. It’s hard not to let broken promises lay on him though, especially when her favorite movie is playing on the screen. Picked for an absent presence. He’s wallowing in his own pity, movie night forgotten for a pity party of one. 

     Stan’s about to comment on it when the doorbell rings. Not once but this incessant sound that nearly makes the noise sound as if it’s jamming on itself.  A groan comes from the whole room as Bill pauses the movie, clambering out of his seat with rolled eyes. 

   “Tell her that if she was driving drunk enough to be acting like that, I’ll kill her,” Richie grumbles, leaning his head back onto Eddie’s from where he’d startled up. “I’ll kill her myself for ringing the bell like that.” Regardless, he makes it to the door, snatching it open in a way that makes the hinges sing. “What?” 

    His chest tightens at the sight before him. Victor Criss himself is standing on Bill’s porch, an arm wrapped around (Y/n)’s waist as she hangs off his side, teetering softly from side to side as he attempts to hold her still. The noise startles her, (Y/n) jumping slightly as she turns to look at the door. “Billy, I was just talking about you,” it’s slurred, the girl drunker than he’d seen her in years. Eyes hazy and struggling to stay open as she smiles at him.  “You sure were,” Victor nods to her, and though his tone is perky for her it’s laced with disappointment, “How about you go inside, huh?” He turns his attention back to Bill, “I believe that this belongs to you?” 

   Bill shakes his head, reaching out to grab her hands to steady her as she steps away from Victor and towards him. “She’s not-” “Can it, Denbrough. She is yours, she always has been. Just,” he sighs, shaking his head as he watches (Y/n) crash into Bill’s chest, “Take better care of her than I did.” “Why did you-” “She wouldn’t let me take her anywhere else. Said she owed you a movie?” Bill nods, smoothing a hand over (Y/n)’s shirt as she nuzzles against his neck, “Right. Thanks for bringing her.” The other boy doesn’t speak, just nodding as he walks away from the duo on the porch and back to his car. 

   (Y/n)’s voice sings Bill’s name from her spot against his neck, muttering something about how she missed him against the skin. He’s nodding, giving her a soft response as he considers what to do with her. She needed to sleep this off, he knew that. “Let me get Richie to take you home.” “No!” She pulls back, clinging to his shoulders for support as she shakes her head, “I wanna be with you.” A frown crosses his face, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her eyes, “You need sleep, (Y/n/n).” She whines, reaching up from his shoulder to cup his jaw, “Can’t I stay here with you?” By all accounts the answer should be no, but he can’t help it, not when she’s looking at him like that. “Fine, but you’re going to sleep.” 

     She cheers, leaning further against him as she mutters about loving him. “Upstairs, come on.” The girl nods, moving to cuddle against his side as his arm finds her waist, guiding her up the stairs to his bedroom. Bill tries not to think about the last time she was like this, wasted past the point of coherent and clinging to his side. But the night that they caught Greta and Victor together rings aggressively in his head. She’d slept in his bed that night too, going home with him because she couldn’t stand to be in the house. Tonight was different though, Victor had been protecting her, nothing like who he was then, and yet, she was still completely sloshed. 

    “Did he say something to you?” She shakes her head, stumbling slightly as they reach the landing of the stairs. Bill’s grip on her tightens, helping her into his room and onto his bed. He steps back, looking her over wordlessly before crossing to his dresser. “I get another shirt,” she giggles, falling back onto his bed, “Nice.” “You don’t get to keep this one,” he tosses it to her, turning on his heel, “I’m going to get something to take your makeup off. Change without falling over, please.” 

    When he’s back with some of his mom’s makeup wipes she’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, his shirt barely covering her lap as she looks at the posters on his wall. (Y/n)’s left her clothes strung across his floor, somehow making a bigger mess than he knew was possible with only three articles of clothing and a pair of keds. The boy’s movements are slow as he sits in front of her, cupping her jaw as he rubs the wipes on her face. “Hey Bill?” He hums, biting his lip as his focus falls to her eyeshadow. “I can get why it’s not me, but please don’t let it be her.” Brows furrowing, he shakes his head, “What?” “Greta, don’t let it be her. You’re too good for her,” She hums, pushing a strand of his hair back off of his forehead, “Too pretty for her too. You’ve always been so pretty. You’ve gotta love someone better than that.” He shakes his head, moving on to the other side of her face, “I’m not in love with Greta, (Y/n). I don’t think I ever was.”    She nods, falling back as he finishes cleaning her up, “I just, I want you to be happy. I need you to be with someone, good. Someone as pretty as you. If they exist, I dunno. I think the heavens might have been inspired by your eyes.” He’s laughing softly, “Thanks for the advice, Tozier. I promise, it won’t be her.” She nods, rolling over onto her side as he pulls the blanket over her, “And if you can’t find someone as pretty as you, can it be me? I know I’m a little shit, but I do love you. Love you so much, and you’re so pretty.” Bill’s lip falls between his teeth, eyes locked on the tired face that stares up at him from his side of the bed.     “(Y/n)?” She hums, nuzzling against his pillow. “Don’t let it be Victor Criss, I can’t stand to see you give him my spot again.” She smiles, reaching out for him from the bed, “It’ll always be your spot. I’ve tried to give it away but they never fit.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, I really love you, Bill.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to her temple, “We’ll talk about that in the morning, okay?” “When I’m sober?” “Yeah, when you’re sober.”

[misswqrld]

Dating Stanley Uris (Head-cannons)

-When you guys started dating he was so nervous!

-He protest against you telling his and your friends, like he would stand outside your house with signs

-Such a sweetheart, will by you gifts whenever

-If you are ever sad Stan will show up at your house with a tub of ice cream and two spoons

-Of course he will cry with you

-Richie will always bully him

-"I could so pull Y/n if I wanted to."

-"Yeah, no"

-You kiss in front of the Losers?

-The losers will pretend to wash their eyes out with soap and vomit

-He absolutely loves calling you darling, honey, little miss sassy, and pumpkin

-You on the other hand betch, sweet cheeks, little jew, and babe

-You always go one dates at parks

-You enjoy the silence and he likes the birds

-He tries his hardest to draw you and they turn out beautiful

-He says they never capture your beauty but you think there to pretty

-If you get hurt Stan will be the first by your side

-He is the most protective thing ever

-Someone hits you to hard with a dodgeball?

-He will smack them right back until they bleed

-He will send glares their way until you tell him to stop

-He is a complete golden retriever boyfriend

-Stan dies when you wear light blue

-Doesn't matter what it is as long as its blue

-Want to annoy him?

-Pineapple on pizza

-Insult his favorite games

-Call him a stupid jew

-You think bird watching is his favorite?

-You watching is

-Not in a creepy way but sometimes he gets lost in your beauty

-The bowers gang will never be able to touch you

[supercap2319]

"Come on, Y/N. You can tell us the truth. Big Bill here has a small wiener right?" Richie grinned.

It was the summer before their last year of school and during the time between defeating IT and letting Georgie go, Bill had gotten himself a boyfriend and he was welcomed by the Losers Club. Even Beverly, who would visit Derry in the summer, liked Y/N.

Of course, this doesn't mean he was safe from the lewd comments of trashmouth Tozier.

Y/N looks at Richie, who is currently huddled with Eddie underneath a tree by the water of the barrens. "It's a shame you think that. He's great in bed. I don't think I've seen anyone bigger than Bill packing downstairs and it's so hot hearing he stutter that he's going to cum."

For a moment, everyone just stares at them as Bill blushes hard. Eddie breaks the silence. "Bullshit! I call fucking bullshit!"

"Yeah, there's no way Billy's tapped any ass." Richie said.

"Well, he has. Big Bill's no longer a blushing virgin."

That just made Bill blush harder.

[leighbaye]

HII!! it's me again with another request for the losers! >:D I didn't wanna bother you with too many requests but since you don't know what to write... I have an idea! What if a feminine Reader with the losers club who's into 'over the top' fashion like lolita or kawaii kei/cutecore wasn't ready to share that with the losers just yet, but they ended up finding out on accident one way or another. Feel free to change up the request however you like or however suits your style better! Thank you for your time!! (❁´◡`❁)

Also! Not sure if you have specific anons on your blog, but if you do could I be 🦢 anon? No pressure if you don't!!

— CUTE FOR THE SUMMER

written by mina leigh ୨ৎ , losers club 𝔁 f! reader | wc 1100

summary. you had invited the losers over to your place without thinking about how your room was scattered with your, from what you thought, embarrassing interests. completely distracted, you hadn’t noticed your mom let your friends in and headed straight to your room where you were practicing your lolita style makeup. looking and appearing completely different from the person you are out in derry. you got flustered by compliments and questions ..

labels. hyper feminine reader, she/her pronouns, lolita style reader, happy go - lucky reader. reader is closest to richie toizer and eddie kaspbrak.

warnings. mild language, fluff, flustered reader, playful teasing

‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. hey 🦢 anon, hope you’re doing well. sorry if i made too many drastic changes to your request. it helped me make it a tad bit easier to write. check out my rules to get a better understanding. hope you enjoy ml ♡

you adjusted the pastel pink bow on your head, tilting your face slightly in the mirror as you perfected your makeup. the lolita style had always been your little escape from the dreary life of derry. out there, you were just y/n — casual, approachable, nothing that would make anyone look twice. but here, in your room, surrounded by frills, lace, and soft pastel hues, you felt like your truest self.

you dabbed a bit more blush onto your cheeks, focusing so hard on getting it perfect that you barely noticed the distant sound of your mom’s voice downstairs.

❝y/n, your friends are here!❞

your heart stopped.

the losers. here. now.

you spun around, eyes wide as the sudden panic hit you. your room was a full display of your hyper-feminine interests: lace curtains, stuffed animals, intricate dresses hanging in the open closet, and makeup scattered across your vanity. you didn’t even have time to hide anything before footsteps pounded up the stairs.

the door burst open.

❝yoo - hoo, y/n!❞ richie’s voice rang out, loud and obnoxious as ever. he stopped mid-step, his mouth hanging open when he saw you.

behind him, eddie, beverly, bill, ben, mike, and stan filed in, each of their faces shifting from confusion to surprise.

❝holy shit,❞ richie muttered, adjusting his glasses. ❝what is this?❞

you froze, your face heating up faster than a kettle on a stove. ❝i — it’s nothing! i didn’t know you were coming up!❞ you stammered, frantically trying to pull off the bow.

eddie, ever observant, stepped closer, his eyes scanning your makeup. ❝wait, you did this?❞

you nodded, chewing on your lip nervously.

❝it’s … really good,❞ eddie said softly, a small smile forming.

❝yeah,❞ beverly added, tilting her head to examine you. ❝you look amazing.❞

you blinked, taken aback. ❝you don’t think it’s weird?❞

❝nah,❞ mike said with a shrug. ❝it’s cool. different, but cool.❞

richie grinned, recovering from his initial shock. ❝dude, you look like a doll. in a good way.❞

you felt your cheeks burn. ❝stop.❞

❝no, seriously!❞ richie teased, winking. ❝you’ve been holding out on us.❞

eddie elbowed him. ❝don’t be an ass. y/n, this is really impressive.❞

beverly nodded in agreement. ❝it’s not just the makeup. the whole style is beautiful.❞

stan, standing by the door, gave a small nod. ❝it’s not what we’re used to, but it suits you.❞

you swallowed hard, the overwhelming mix of embarrassment and gratitude bubbling up. ❝thanks, guys. i just… didn’t think anyone would understand.❞

ben smiled gently. ❝we’re your friends, y/n. you don’t have to hide anything from us.❞

bill stepped forward, his stutter barely noticeable. ❝y-you look h-h-happy like this. th-that’s all th-that matters.❞

richie clapped his hands together dramatically. ❝okay, okay, group vote — who thinks y/n should dress like this all the time?❞

you groaned. ❝richie, i swear —❞

everyone laughed, and the tension broke.

eddie nudged your shoulder. ❝but seriously, you don’t have to be embarrassed. we like seeing this side of you.❞

you glanced around at their smiling faces, feeling a warmth spread through you. ❝okay, but if anyone tells anyone outside this room …❞

richie threw his hands up. ❝scout’s honor!❞

beverly smirked. ❝your secret’s safe with us.❞

mike grinned. ❝besides, you look too good to keep it hidden forever.❞

you laughed softly, finally relaxing. ❝thanks, guys. really.❞

and as they settled into your room, cracking jokes and asking questions about your style, you realized that maybe, just maybe, being yourself around them wasn’t so scary after all.

© MINA LEIGH 2023 - 2024

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> I know Ch1 was a bit on the shorter side, but hopefully this one is pleasantly chunky to make up for it! I kept the whole back-and-forth-in-time narration and just know, if something doesn't make perfect sense, it is because the right flashback hasn't been unlocked yet.

-> ⚠️Arachnophobia & cockroaches (on the 1979 part)⚠️

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

~ 2 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

The summer had been full of laughter and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. But eventually, even the last bits of August's warmth vanished.

September came, and with it, the day he took you.

It was raining as you walked home from what was only your third day of school and you obviously had to drop your book near a sewer. When you bent down to pick it up -fingers brushing against the damp pages- a white-gloved hand gripped your wrist... a hand so large that it made your arm feel like a fragile twig in its grasp.

The next thing you knew? You woke up in a dirty bed, in a place you immediately recognized... As the house on Neibolt Street. Your clothes were still wet and your hair tangled. You were shivering from both hunger and cold. You wanted to cry, but somehow a quiet certainty washed over you -this was Pennywise the Clown's doing and crying wouldn't help.

Your memories from those three months are a scattered mess.

Random moments, fragmented images, bits of conversation. You remember the feelings more than the events themselves -fear, confusion, the gnawing of hunger. You were missing for three months -from September to November- and strangest of all, no one remembers anything from that time. Not even your parents. They struggle to recall anything from that period, as if the whole town forgot you were ever gone.

But you remember. You remember him. And you remember how -against all odds- you formed an unlikely connection with the murderous clown. It's the strangest thing to admit... that you and Pennywise became friends. Or something close to it. There's no clear beginning or end. You knew he was dangerous. You even had dreams of his encounters with other kids, past victims taken without hesitation... and you assumed you'd eventually share their fate.

And yet… for some reason, he kept you alive.

You don't know what made you different in his eyes, but you remember trying everything you could to survive, using all the desperate, unconventional tactics you could think of.

Most of your time was spent in that single room on the upper floor. Leaving it was unthinkable -even going near the door to see if it was locked was off-limits. You can never forget the horrors he put you through, the tricks he used just to draw out your fear. He fed on it, drank it down like a drug. By the time you figured out how to 'speak his language', he was already intoxicated by your terror.

The room would plunge into darkness and you'd hear the sickening rustle of insects in the walls, crawling through the floorboards. Once, a cockroach the size of a cat came skittering toward you, its legs scraping against the floor as it moved and you had nowhere to run, no escape whatsoever. That fear... it's still as clear as if it happened yesterday and not five years ago. The kind of fear that makes you want to vanish, to just stop existing altogether, if it meant escaping the dread. Maybe that was why he kept you alive, letting you drown in despair just to savor the depths of your fear.

One night, you felt the darkness creeping in again, wrapping around the room. By then, even the hint of that darkness was enough to make your heart pound, your throat tighten with a scream. But this time, something inside you resisted. Out of nowhere you spoke, surprising even yourself. You kept your voice steady, holding on to the last scraps of courage you had left.

"Let' play a game for a change."

That sentence... Not only did it save your life... It did more than just that... In the silence that followed, you could feel a shift, as if Pennywise was startled, intrigued. And for the first time, you weren't just his prey. You'd given him a challenge, a reason to hesitate.

You can't pinpoint exactly when and how the game began, but somehow, it turned into a routine between you and him, something to break the silence and stop the nightmares he forced on you. Games of endurance, little moments that made you feel as though you had found a way to speak his twisted language. You never felt safe, but you found moments of calm within the storm -a fragile bond, even if it was born out of fear and survival.

And somehow, through the darkness, you learned how to play along.

At first, the games were simple -things he thought would amuse him, or confuse you. He'd ask you riddles with no answer or have you sit perfectly still in the darkness while he circled around you, close enough that you could feel the cold presence of him, of IT. You'd sit there barely breathing, trying not to flinch as his sniffing nose brushed against your skin. Other times, he'd vanish for hours, leaving you alone with nothing but the fear he'd return at any moment. And sometimes, he'd appear suddenly, his face inches from yours, his glowing eyes watching your every reaction.

But as time went on, you learned how to keep yourself steady. You refused to cry, no matter how badly you wanted to. Instead, you'd lock eyes with him, hiding the tremors running through your body. Slowly, you began to play back. You'd smile when he tried to scare you, a shaky but also defiant smile that told him you weren't giving in. The more you resisted, the more intrigued the monster seemed.

It was another night, his darkness enveloping the room as always, when you spoke up once more -this time a little bolder.

"If I win this game" you whispered "I get to ask a question."

The idea of bargaining with Pennywise felt more than reckless, but you genuinely believed it would pique his childish curiosity. Luckily, you were right. He cocked his enormous head to the side, eyes gleaming with a dangerous interest... and then, he agreed. So, the next time he asked you a riddle, you tried your hardest to solve it. When you finally managed an answer that made him pause, he leaned in close, his smile both pleased and intimidating.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, voice dripping with mockery.

And in that moment, with your heart racing, you asked something simple... "Why me?"

For a split second his expression faltered, his smug smile wavering. But then he regained himself, his grin as sharp as a blade with all the rows of teeth on display... -a predator reasserting dominance. "Because you're more fun than the others!"

And even though it wasn't a real answer, it told you something: he'd chosen you. He decided to keep you with him -in that forsaken house- because you had made yourself valuable to him.

As days turned into weeks, you found more ways to play, more ways to survive. You began to notice things, minor details -how your captor's mood would shift depending on your reactions, how his games became stranger and more complex, almost as if he was testing you, pushing you to find out how much you could take. And though you were still terrified, you also found an odd, unsettling familiarity and comfort in the routine.

In a way, you became his entertainment. But in that game, through the exchange of fear and defiance, you began to feel something else... a quiet sense of control. You were no longer just a victim, you would become something more than just his prey.

You were his game -his fixation- the one he couldn't bear to let go.

There was a childishness to that fixation, a kind of possessiveness that was both stubborn and petulant, like a child refusing to share their toy. Its ageless wisdom knew you were only human -fleeting and fragile- ...but the clown within -with all its childish impulses- clung to you fiercely, not out of love but a selfish and consuming need. You were his and he would not let you go.

1984 Derry, Maine

Lately, when you wake up, you aren't sure if it was a dream or something else. You think you've heard his laugh somewhere, drifting through your bedroom window, or that you've caught a glimpse of that red balloon floating just beyond your line of sight...

It's as if he's still there, waiting for the right moment to step back into your life.

You can't even go about your business without any unpleasant reminders, not when the house on Neibolt Street looms so ominously just by the side of road... The very place you were a prisoner in, not so long ago. Its once-vibrant paint is now peeling. Weeds overrun the pathway leading to the front door and the windows, shrouded in dust and grime, seem to watch you with a knowing gaze. A crooked picket fence surrounds the property, each slap splintered and rough. The house stands as a relic of the past, a place where laughter has long since faded, replaced by sinister whispers.

The only reminder that your time there was real -and not just another vivid dream- are the now withered sunflowers in the abandoned house's backyard, with petals curling inward like they're guarding some secret. You can still picture them the way they once were, bright and strangely out of place amidst all the rot and ruin. A strange gift It had given you that is now an odd echo of something lost and almost tender.

But without you, they couldn't survive. And since the day you parted ways -you can't recall it clearly, but It can- each dry stem and each papery petal became a reminder of how the time you spent together is now just a blurry childhood memory.

Even though it's the beginning of June, the sky today hangs low and gray with the promise of rain, but none of you minded. You've all been through worse than a little weather, than a little summer rain.

Bev is telling a story -something about a dog chasing her on her way home yesterday. She's animated and her voice is alive with mischief, making the boys laugh. You glance over at Bill, who smiles too, though his eyes seem distant. Since Georgie his laughter has become softer, but he is still here carrying on as best he can.

Eddie is walking a little faster than usual, in order to avoid any puddles on the ground, muttering complaints about germs and mud. Richie -in typical fashion- is making a point of splashing through the puddles, a grin plastered on his face while he aims for the ones closest to Eddie.

"Real mature, trashmouth..." Eddie huffs, leaping out of the way as Richie drenches him anyway. Richie just cackles, throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

Ben stays behind, as always, watching everyone with that gentle smile of his. Every so often, he looks over at you and gives a nod, like you both share a silent understanding. Then there is Stan, walking right beside you, his eyes flicking toward the shadows cast by the trees and the buildings. The faintest hint of concern is lingering in his gaze. And just behind you, Mike walks with his usual calm, carrying a worn backpack over one shoulder. He's glancing around too, as if he's looking out for all of you. There's a maturity in Mike's presence, something that makes you feel a little more secure.

It feels good, being with them. Safe even. But something darker is hiding under your steady demeanor.

As the group turns to a corner, you feel your footsteps falter for just a moment. Your mind drifts back to five years ago, to coming home from your third day of school, to how it was raining, to the chilling grip of that white-gloved hand and that knowing, too-wide smile.

Despite the uncomfortable memories you already carry, you feel like there's even more to those three months and it troubles you so much that you can't remember! Still, you snap out off quickly, giving a forced smile to match the others.

But Bev notices.

She nudges you with a playful grin. "Hey, where'd you go just now?"

"Oh, nowhere" you reply lightly. "Just zoned out..."

She looks at you for a second -smart eyes searching- but then she lets it go. You see her pull her jacket tighter around herself as the wind picks up.

Bill also shoots a suspicious glance your way.

You are experiencing a strange mix of nostalgia and resolve these days. Watching as your friends scatter about, laughing and bumping into each other, makes you almost forget... almost.

You hate how, when you are on your own, you catch yourself thinking about him -not in the way you did when you were twelve though, when he was both a fear and a strange comfort. You're seventeen now, too old for childhood monsters.

As you look at your friends, you make a silent promise -to keep growing up, to keep moving forward. But you also know that somewhere deep down, you're still holding on... just in case...

Pennywise's POV 🎈

Somewhere deep within Derry, It stirs. Time doesn't flow the same for the entity... It's all an endless, pulsing hunger.

Pennywise drifts in a half-sleep. His mind slips in and out of dreams of hunger, of playthings. But every so often, his thoughts linger on a small, stubborn memory -you.

The clown hasn't forgotten the girl from all those years ago, the one who looked him in the eye and dared to challenge him. There's a bitter edge to the memory, a childish irritation mixed with a twisted sort of pride. He senses you, a spark amongst all the dull lights that always come and go. The spark has dimmed though, grown older.

That tiny defiant light... It's flickering from somewhere far above. His fingers twitch as if reaching for something that isn't there, something just out of grasp. In the silence, he feels an ache he can't quite name, a hollow that shouldn't exist.

He wakes up.

Pennywise tells himself you're only another meal he's waiting to finish. But something feels different this time, something that gnaws at him. He almost wants to see you again -not just stalk you from afar.

His amber glare is sharp as he considers something. You may try to move on and to forget, but he's patient. He always has been.

Still, you should remember everything. He had taken you, kept you, woven fear into you, put himself into your nightmares. But that delicate and defiant part of you that he once held so close... has faded. Your memories have blurred as you've grown older -and continue doing so!

You are drifting away from the child he once played with.

He doesn't understand why it bothers him. He's supposed to haunt and consume. However, this strange sadness, this fading connection... feels like a loss he can't name.

The memory of you -so small but refusing to cry when he loomed over you- is slipping away like sand between his fingers.

It lets out a low growl, feeling like a child being denied his favorite toy. You're growing up, moving past the games he had made just for you. And worst of all, you have started to forget.

It's as if his laughter and tricks were no more than passing dreams to you, fading away each time you turn your gaze toward the sun.

With an almost petulant tilt of his head, Pennywise glares into the empty dark, like a creature yearning to reclaim what he thinks of as his.

The world feels empty without you here.

He wants you to remember every little thing -to keep him alive in the corners of your mind, not let him drift away like some silly story.

The thought twists something deep in his core, his sharp teeth baring as a low, frustrated whine escapes him.

How could you forget him, when he remembers you so clearly?

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art @urdeftonesgrrrl