#it (stephen king) x you

[kaivenom]

Warnings: cuts, blood, mentions of sex, just Patrick Hockstetter Masterlist

You lie down on bed, body arching from the previous activity, you insides feel like disolving and the cuts on your tights burning. You let out a small groan while you roll on the bed, trying not to make him aware of your pain. Patrick is humming a song while he starts to dress up, then he would go down your window like he always does.

"I am going." you could only huff at that, you won't ussually do that but tonight you feel extremely sensible, "What did you just did?"

"Why don't you can stay with me for one night?"

His intimidating figure got again on the bed and catched your wrists, never breaking that infamous eye-contact, neither did you. Seeing that you didn't flinch or get scared, he proceeded to pinch your nipples, a little to hard. You huffed again but didn't break eye contact.

"Bastard," you managed to get out of his grip, "i give all my body to you and you can't lay next to me for a couple of hours, go to your house but don't try to get here anymore."

You rolled and put a pillow above your head, like a little child. You expected a slap or another cut but you felt his weight falling next to you.

"Don't expect this very often, but i suppose that since you are the best fuck i have, maybe i should try to keep you... not sad, i don't want you to kill you because you try to escape."

Even with that crazy threat, you couldn't feel anything more that hapiness or at least, relieve.

[nemo-writes]

𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 ; 𝚘𝚗𝚎 - 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

➝ steve harrington + eddie munson x loser-club!reader

➝ synopsis; leaving derry behind, you set out to the sunny promise of california. but when your bike breaks down, you’re forced to make an unexpected stop in the enigmatic town of hawkins.

⚠️ warnings; none

➝ series masterlist, moodboard

➝ next chapter

Sunday, January 26, 1986, Derry, Maine

The sun filtered through the towering trees as you pulled yourself up the final ledge of the cliff. Your muscles burned with exertion, clearly unused to the effort. Tight-fitting jeans and the constant chain-smoking were doing you no favours either, weighing heavily on your lungs.

Standing still for a moment, you caught your breath and surveyed the landscape. A rush of familiarity swept over you. The forest was thick and vast, just as you remembered it. You had spent countless hours exploring this place as a child—it was your sanctuary, your playground, your refuge from the world.

You made your way to the nearby quarry, settling down by the edge with a grunt. Reaching into your jacket, you pulled out your crumpled pack of cigarettes, plucking one out with your front teeth and lighting it with your busted but trusty lighter. Taking a long drag, you let the smoke swirl in your mouth before exhaling slowly through your nostrils. You rubbed your thumb over the carved initials, B.M., etched into the lighter as your gaze shifted to the shimmering water below. The surface rippled slightly under the touch of the breeze.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted movement—a familiar figure emerging from the thick foliage. Mike. The confusion on his face melted into a smile the second he saw you.

“Sorry, I took a wrong left and wandered for a while. It’s been ages since I was up here,” he apologised, making his way over. You waved him off, already settled in. Knees knocking against yours, he eyed the cigarette between your fingers with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t you quit?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I’m working on it. The move’s got me on edge.”

He let it slide, leaning back on his hands as he asked, “So, how’s the packing going? That new motorcycle of yours ready for the highway yet?”

“Yeah, everything’s good to go,” you replied, taking another drag. “Even managed to get a decent deal on the apartment.”

“For real?”

You weren't offended by his incredulity. The apartment was a total dump. You were glad to be rid of it, especially after your grandmother’s passing a year ago. Her death had been a moment of clarity—a breaking point.

That’s when you had properly decided to leave Derry for good.

The money you got from selling the apartment helped pay for her funeral and cleared her debts. You then put some toward a motorcycle and the licence to go with it—the rest, you saved up. 

As you exhaled the smoke away from Mike, mindful of his discomfort, you mentioned casually, “Mr. Keene’s taking the place for Greta. You know...”

You made a rounded motion over your belly with your free hand. Mike’s eyes widened.

“She’s pregnant?!”

His shock slowly faded into a thoughtful frown. “Wait, that explains why I haven’t seen her around. She wasn’t even at graduation...”

“Turns out it’s Pete’s,” you said, tapping the ashes from your cigarette.

“Pete? Sticky Fingers Pete?” Mike’s mouth dropped open in scandalised surprise. “No way!”

Pete Brown was the resident bully ever since Henry Bowers had been locked up. His nickname came from his nasty habit of unabashedly sticking his fingers into people’s stuff. He’d openly stolen from you and your friend’s, sometimes with a fist raised high above his shoulder, others without you even noticing until hours later.

You and Mike exchanged a long look before breaking into laughter. You choked on the smoke halfway through, and he patted your back, grinning.

“You good?” he asked.

You gave him a thumbs-up, eyes watering. “All good.”

When the laughter died down, Mike asked a little more seriously, “So, where are you headed to?”

“California,” you hummed, but your voice wavered slightly.

“California, huh?” Mike echoed, catching your hesitation. “You don’t sound too sure.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, not quite ready to share your real reasons for aiming west. It felt a little silly, honestly. “It’s a long ride. Who knows what’ll happen along the way?”

The sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long shadows across the jagged edges of the quarry. The air was thick with the lingering warmth of the day, and the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.

“They’re not coming, are they?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Mike looked startled for a second, fumbling for an excuse. “They’re busy with stuff and—”

“Don’t make excuses for them,” you cut him off, disappointment creeping into your voice. “You’re here, and you’re just as busy.”

A heavy silence followed. Deep down, you had expected this. It had been years since the Losers had biked together or even hung out like they used to. Conversations had grown shorter, turning into awkward nods in the school hallways. Still, knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Mike sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’re right. Life gets in the way, and it’s hard to blame them... but it sucks.”

But you did blame them. Even more now, seeing Mike’s disappointment. You fought the urge to light another cigarette and scooted closer to him instead.

“I get it,” you said softly. “I’m the one who’s upset, not you.”

He fiddled with the paper bag he’d brought, then held it out to you with a hesitant smile. “They wanted me to give you this.”

You stared at the bag, tempted to refuse it out of pride. But Mike’s puppy-dog look made you relent. With an exaggerated sigh, you took the bag, feigning annoyance.

Inside you found a fistful of the granola snacks you liked, a new sketchbook, a box of those fancy-pencils you had been eyeing for months, a neatly packed medical kit, a small wooden turtle charm on a braided leather strap, and lastly, a pack of cigarettes with two missing. You snorted at the last oneㅡthe tightness in your chest loosening. 

Mike pointed at the turtle. “That little guy’s from me. It’s not much, but...”

You shot him a mock glare, silencing him. Pulling out your motorcycle keys, you looped the leather strap through the keychain. “I’m naming it Mikey.”

He snorted, bumping his shoulder against yours. “Alright, Mikey it is.”

Standing up, he offered you a hand. The nearly identical scars on your palms brushed as you clasped hands, a silent reminder of your shared past.

“Don’t forget,” Mike whispered, his voice tight with emotion.

You held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I won’t.”

You stood there for a moment longer, your hand still gripping Mike’s. The familiar warmth of his palm anchored you to this place, to this moment. A part of you wanted to freeze it—hold onto the feeling of belonging, of not yet having to say goodbye. But you knew better.

Some things weren’t meant to last.

With one final squeeze, you let go and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, feeling the cool metal of your motorcycle keys clink against the lighter inside. Mike gave you a soft smile, a wordless goodbye, and together, you headed back down the trail.

.

.

.

Thursday, February 20 1986, Outskirts of Hawkins, Indiana

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the empty highway, you felt a chill seep into your bones. The open road, while freeing, was unforgiving, especially when the weather turned. Your motorcycle, faithful through rain and snow, had become both your escape and your burden. 

The journey so far had been long—longer than you'd anticipated—but that was by choice. You weren't rushing, and in some ways, you couldn't afford to.

From Maine to Indiana, your route had been an intricate web of backroads, motels, and the occasional kind stranger offering directions or a hot meal. However, you had learned quickly that being a young woman travelling alone required a constant balance between caution and determination. Every rest stop was carefully chosen, each small-town diner scoped out before you dared to settle in a booth. You’d developed a knack for reading people, for sensing when a conversation could be friendly and when it was best to keep your head down and move on.

Your new sketchbook and fancy pencils had quickly become your companion on those quiet nights in cheap motels or campgrounds. The sketchbooks cover was scuffed now, a little worse for wear from the miles it had travelled with you, but its pages were filled with glimpses of your journey: the snow-dusted peaks of the Appalachians, a rundown gas station lit by a single flickering bulb, even the faces of strangers who left an impression. Each smooth stroke of your pencil was a way to hold onto fleeting moments, a reminder that though you were always moving, you were still here, still tethered to something tangible.

Pulling into a nearby rest stop, you parked in front of the mechanic's shop. The sign, weather-beaten and faded, swung gently in the frigid breeze. The shop’s exterior was old but well-kept, with faint traces of oil and rubber clinging to the air. Stepping off the bike, you stretched out, hissing at the stiffness in your legs and back from the relentless hours on the road. You guided your bike inside the shop, the engine’s growl fading into a low rumble.

The interior of the shop was warmer, the hum of the radio filling the space. Walls lined with tools, parts, and mechanical odds and ends in various states of use gave the place a sense of organised chaos. Taking your helmet off, you spotted a tall, middle-aged black man in greasy coveralls sitting on a nearby workbench. He wiped his hands on a rag, his gaze appraising but not unkind.

“Yeah?” he greeted, his voice gruff. “What do you need?”

“My bike needs a look,” you replied, your voice raspy from days of disuse. “It’s been running rough the last few miles.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, nodding curtly. “Pull it into the bay, and I’ll take a look.”

You nodded in thanks, rolling the bike into the service bay. The man, who soon introduced himself as Sam, pulled on a pair of gloves as he walked over, eyeing your bike.

“You look like you’ve been on the road for a while,” he remarked, his tone a weird mix of curiosity and indifference as he glanced at the frost still clinging to your jacket and the dirt caked on your motorcycle.

“Yeah, been riding for almost a month,” you replied, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

Sam grunted in acknowledgment, crouching down to inspect the engine. His hands moved carefully, precise in their movements, as he fiddled with various parts of your bike. You watched him work silently, admiring the way his hands seemed to know exactly what to do, even if his demeanour remained brusque.

After a while, he spoke again without looking up. “What’s a young lady like you doing out here alone? Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

The question came out of casual curiosity, and you knew it wasn’t meant to be intrusive. You shifted slightly, uncomfortable but not thrown off.

“I graduated last year,” you replied flatly. “I’m not one for sticking around.”

Sam grunted again, a sound that could’ve been understanding or dismissal, but he didn’t press further.

He continued his work, and you let your gaze wander around the shop. Eventually, you took a seat on a nearby bench and pulled out your sketchbook, this place would make some good practice. You flipped through the pages, absentmindedly sketching the lines of the mechanic’s shop, the bike, the worn tools scattered around. It felt good to focus on something else, even just for a moment.

After a long while, Sam stood up, wiping the grease off his hands. He rubbed his chin with a frown, giving you a quick look. “Well, looks like your spark plug’s shot, and your ignition coil’s about to go too. I can fix it, but the parts are gonna take a bit of time to get. Won’t be cheap either.”

His words made your heart drop deep into your stomach. “How long?” you asked, trying to keep the urgency out of your voice.

He sighed, scratching his forehead with his thumb. “Could take a couple weeks, maybe more. Depends on how soon I can get the parts. This isn’t exactly a prime location for quick deliveries.”

Your heart sank, knowing full well that being stranded in the middle of nowhere wasn’t part of the plan. “And how much is it going to cost?”

Sam crossed his arms. “Well, like I said, parts aren’t cheap. But...” He eyed your worn-down bike, then glanced at you. “I can work something out. You any good at keeping promises?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. “Depends on the promise.”

He grunted in amusement. “My ex-wife runs the bar over in town—The Hideout. She’s always lookin’ for help. You take a job there while I work on your bike, and we’ll figure out the bill in instalments.”

You hesitated. Working in a bar wasn’t exactly in your plans, but then again, you didn’t have many options. “And what’s she like?”

Sam’s lips twitched into what could’ve been a smile. “Don’t slack off, and you’ll be fine.”

You crossed your arms. “.....I’ll think about it.”

He gave a short nod, as if that was enough of an answer. “You’re gonna be in town for a while anyway.”

As he turned back to the bike, Sam’s gaze flicked down to the sketchbook on your lap. “What you got there?”

You shrugged, not bothering to hide the sketch you were working on. “Just passing time.”

He peered over, eyeing the drawing. “Not bad,” he admitted. “You got some talent.”

You felt a flicker of pride but didn’t show it. “It’s just a hobby.”

Sam gave you a look. “That right? How about you give me a sketch as a show of good faith? Consider it an advance for the first round of work I’ll do on your bike.”

You blinked in surprise. “You serious?”

He nodded, leaning back against the workbench. “Deal’s a deal. You give me that sketch, I get started on the bike. Fair enough?”

You nodded, appreciating the unorthodox offer. Tearing a page from the sketchpad, you handed it over. “Deal.”

Sam inspected the drawing and gave a small nod of approval before carefully folding it and tucking it into his coveralls.

As the minutes passed, the sound of Sam working on your bike faded into the background, replaced by the steady scratching of your pencil against paper as you started another sketch. Sam glanced over from time to time, his expression unreadable, watching you work in silence. There was something calming about the way he moved around the shop, the quiet efficiency of someone who had spent years mastering their craft. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke, a rare shared silence settling between you.

Suddenly, the door to the shop swung open, the peace you and Sam had shared dissolved instantly. The figure that strolled in brought with him the distinct smell of cigarettes and an air of bad intentions. 

"Hey, boss," he called out, far too casually as he sauntered over. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. His smirk was cocky, almost predatory, and you could feel his presence encroaching on your space without even looking up.

Sam didn’t react immediately, just sighed, his shoulders sagging a little. The dismay on his face was clear as day. He didn’t want this guy around either.

"Jesse," Sam finally said, his voice filled with reluctant resignation. "Drive her over to The Hideout, will ya?"

Jesse’s grin widened as his eyes flicked over to you. He was white, tall, and lanky, with a shaved head that only emphasised his sharp, almost fox-like features. His murky blue eyes gleamed with mischief, scanning you with a kind of lazy curiosity. Unlike Sam, whose work-overalls were always neatly kept despite the grease and grime of his trade, Jesse’s version was a sloppier affair—stained, wrinkled, and barely buttoned properly. 

“Well, well, well…”

Your gaze met his coldly, shutting him down before he could try anything. "Not interested," you said sharply, leaving no room for debate.

Jesse raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite."

Sam shot him a warning look, voice firm. "Cut the crap. Just take her to the bar and do something useful for once."

Jesse shrugged, clearly unfazed by Sam’s scolding. "Sure, boss. Whatever you say." He motioned for you to follow him. You stood up, giving Sam a nod of thanks. He returned it with a quiet grunt, his expression still disapproving as Jesse walked ahead of you.

"Good luck," Sam muttered under his breath, almost too low for you to hear, as you grabbed your things and followed Jesse out to the truck.

The air inside Jesse's truck was thick with the stench of cigarettes and cheap cologne. He shot you a sideways grin as you settled into the passenger seat, clearly enjoying himself despite your earlier brush-off. Without a word, he started the engine, and soon you were rumbling down the high-way and into the city.

"So, what brings a girl like you out here to a place like this?" Jesse asked, tone dripping with sleaze. "Don’t see many like you passing through."

You kept your gaze on the road, the passing scenery of small houses and barren fields a welcome distraction from his presence. "Just because," you replied flatly, signalling that you weren’t interested in making small talk—or any talk for that matter.

He didn’t seem to care. "Yeah? Well, Hawkins isn’t much of an escape. This place is a hell-hole if you ask me."

You didn’t respond, eyes still fixed on the landscape outside. But Jesse, apparently not one to take a hint, kept going.

"Strange stuff happens here," he added, his voice lowering as though sharing some secret. "Murders, disappearances, all sorts of weird shit. Cops don’t do anything about it either. Makes you wonder if the place ain’t cursed or something."

You shrugged, unimpressed. "Sounds like every other small town."

Jesse shot you a sidelong glance, but you didn’t bother to look at him. "You’ll see. Stick around long enough, and you’ll feel it too. This place… it’s not right."

The conversation died again, but Jesse wasn’t done being a nuisance. "Anyway," he tried, voice oozing with false charm. "If you ever need someone to show you around town, I’m your guy. There’s plenty of spots I could take you. Keep you entertained."

This time, you turned to him, unflinching. "I told you, I’m not interested."

His grin faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, forcing a laugh that sounded weak. "Cold as ice, huh? Suit yourself."

After that, Jesse finally shut up. The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, and you relished it. Hawkins didn’t look like much as you drove through its streets—just another tired, forgotten town. Nothing about it screamed cursed to you, just a place stuck in its own slow decay.

Eventually, he pulled up in front of The Hideout, the bar looking as rundown as you expected. Neon lights flickered weakly in the windows, and the paint on the sign was chipped and fading.

"There you go," Jesse said, cutting the engine with a sharp twist of his wrist. "The Hideout."

You muttered  small thanks as you stepped out of the truck, the gravel crunching under your boots. His eyes lingered on you, leaning against the steering wheel with that same lazy grin, clearly waiting for some other type of thanks. When you didn’t offer him anything else, his grin twisted into something uglier.

He scoffed, his voice dropping into a mutter as he spat out, "Stuck up bitch."

You didn’t turn around and with a flick of your wrist, raised your hand and gave him a firm, unapologetic middle finger before walking away. Behind you, you heard Jesse curse again under his breath as his truck roared back to life. He peeled off, the tires kicking up gravel as he sped away, the sound of his engine fading into the distance.

The door to The Hideout creaked loudly as you pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit space. The smell of stale beer hit you immediately, and the low hum of voices filled the air, mingling with the muted sound of rock music coming from the jukebox in the corner.

A few heads turned your way as you walked in, but no one gave you more than a second glance. You headed straight for the bar, your boots scuffing against the worn wooden floor. The place was exactly what you’d expected—rough around the edges but not without its charm.

Behind the bar stood a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She glanced up as you approached, sizing you up with a quick, practised look.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone curt but not unfriendly.

You nodded. "Sam sent me. Said you might have a job for me?"

Her eyes narrowed briefly in recognition, then she tossed the rag she’d been using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder. "Ah, motorcycle girl, huh?" Her lips twitched up into a small grin. "Sam called. Figured you’d swing by sooner or later."

The woman set her hands on her hips, giving you another appraising look. “Name’s Bev. And you are?”

You gave her your name, watching as her sharp features softened ever so slightly. She didn’t seem like the type for small talk, but something about her made you feel like you were in the right place.

“I like your name,” you said, surprising yourself with the admission. 

Bev raised an eyebrow, but then her face split into a wide, genuine grin. She let out a loud, hearty laugh that seemed to fill the entire bar, turning a few heads.

“Oh, honey, a pretty girl like you saying something sweet like that? You’re gonna light this place up,” she said, still chuckling. “Now, let’s get down to business. You want the job?”

You hesitated for a split second, thinking back to Sam and your earlier reluctance. But something about Bev—her straightforwardness, her no-nonsense attitude—won you over. The hesitation melted away, replaced by a simple, instinctive decision.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice steady. “I’ll take it.”

Bev nodded approvingly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Good. Now, here’s the deal. It ain’t glamorous. You’ll be workin’ the night shifts—cleaning tables, serving drinks, dealin’ with the usual crowd. Pay’s shit, but the hours ain’t too bad, and you’ll get tips. Think you can handle that?”

“Sounds fine to me,” you said, already feeling more at ease.

“And Sam already talked to me about your situation,” Bev continued, her tone softening just a little. “If you want, I can send half your pay to him directly. Save you some hassle.”

You blinked, surprised. “You’d do that?”

Bev shrugged like it was nothing. “Sure. But that’s not all. I got a little extra for you, if you’re up for it.”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. “I own a trailer over at Forest Hills Trailer Park. It ain’t much—kind of a dump, honestly—but it’s got running water and electricity. You can stay there while you’re working here, no rent. What do you say?”

It wasn’t much, but after days on the road and no solid plan for where to sleep, it was more than you expected. The relief hit you hard, but you kept your expression controlled, only a small nod revealing how grateful you felt.

“I’ll take it,” you said, meeting her gaze with sincerity.

Bev’s grin widened again. “Good. You start right now, and we’ll get you set up at the trailer tonight. It ain’t a palace, but it’s yours as long as you need it.” She paused, giving you a wink.

“Welcome to Hawkins, kid.”

divider credit

[dollfxcx]

penny p... pussy eating 🙌🏻 (love your blog btw!!)

Context: after spending the night with a man named Robert Gray, reader wakes up from a nap with someone between her legs. but he's not who she expected to be.

TW: nsfw, mentioned tentacles??

Word count: (1.2k+)

***

You don't see him until late at night. When you woke up, after crawling, the night before, into your undone bed, the blankets fern green, you didn't find him by your side, neither in the kitchen, nor in the living room, as if he had dematerialized. But it's just as you're waking up from a nap, which surprised you in the middle of a movie you've put on to pass the time, that you feel his presence between your legs.

You try to move, idly, eyelids half closed and numb with sleep, but your wrists are locked firmly, as if bound by an invisible rope, above your head, resting gently against the back of the sofa. When you finally manage to open your eyes, a head of red hair happily emerges between your legs, a sight that makes you crane your neck to take stock of the situation. The slight expectant smile that had made its way across your face abruptly disappears when, to your horror, it's not him. Not anymore, at least, better way to say it. Pennywise smiles, bunny teeth peeking out of his cherry red lips, head tilted slightly to the right in a mocking way.

"Aw, is my Y/n disappointed? She doesn't like the way I look anymore?" he questions, his hands slide on your knees to spread your legs and make more space between them. You frown, slightly concerned as the grip on your wrists is getting tighter with every passing second, reducing your chances of escape.

"Oh, but yesterday she looked so happy, sucking on ol' Robert Gray's cock like it was candy, huh?" One of his gloved hands reaches for your cheek, gently grasping it, while the other, fingers light and teasing, caresses your inner thigh. He must notice your confused look as you feel him huffing against your crotch in exasperation, shaking his head slightly with an expression of disgust on his powder white face.

"Silly, silly humans. Always stop at what they see, never go beyond that." One of his fingers flies dangerously close to the zipper of your pants, a gloved touch so faint it almost tickles you. You lean your head back on the couch, lips slightly parted, as you wait for him to speak again.

"The man you so desperately crave is gone. I am him and he is me." Deep down, you knew it very well already and when he takes off your pants with hatefully studied slowness, you stop thinking about it completely .The man from last night must be in there somewhere, anyway, right?

"I gave him one of my favorite forms, the most human of all, for you." You open your eyes again, jerking your head up to meet his golden gaze. He grins at you, but it's not a sweet smile, it's hungry. Craving.

"Mh!! You get it, yes?" he asks, the pad of his index finger traces an invisible line from the elastic of your underpants to your throbbing cunt, slowly poking it with unexpected curiosity. You inhale sharply through your nose and try to wriggle out, lazily, you hear him chuckling in amusement.

"Get what?" you hiss as he pushes your panties to one side, fully exposing you to his critical gaze.

"That you've always been mine, doll." he murmurs, too engrossed in what he has in front of his eyes to pay any attention to you. You moan as he runs the tip of his nose over the skin of your thigh, gingerly sniffing your scent, you notice how his eyes have turned blue again and the sight seems almost enough to make you dizzy.

"Yet, as I am to adapt to the form I take, he gave me a part of his humanity." he explains as his now ungloved middle finger presses against your opening, spreading and stretching your walls with little to no respect, eliciting a whimper from your throat, your hips jerking in a vain attempt to meet and follow his movements, which are excruciatingly slow.

"And his physical needs. And his innermost desires. Oh, you'd never guess what he wanted to do to you, what I want to do to you." His finger curves into you, bumping into a spot you didn't even know you had and making your eyes burn with evil tears you try, in vain, to hold back. He grabs your thighs and yanks you violently off the couch, then pushes his finger back inside you now that the position allows it better, your back arches when his index finger is carelessly inserted too. He starts pumping them slowly, then faster and faster, thumb tracing light, devious circles against and around your clit, until you can't mutter anything but his name, over and over and over. Pennywise leans towards your chest, his free hand, previously gripped around the flesh of your thigh, thick claws now exposed, rips through your shirt, allowing him to dip his cherry-colored nose into the skin between your breasts. Since your wrists are now free, your fingers fly into his hair, tugging at it to pull him closer to you. Pennywise, however, doesn't allow it and stops thrusting his fingers inside you, he blinks quickly as if he has just discovered something new. Something very interesting. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them and if you weren't totally about to pass out, just the sight of it would make you cum.

"Oh yes, now I understand why he liked you so much." he licks his lips, golden gleam back in his eyes, and, without giving you time to say anything, he grabs you by your legs again, this time making the backs of your knees rest on each of his shoulders, cunt dripping right in front of his mouth. And it's a very uncomfortable position, you're already shivering, but you don't care anymore when his tongue, rough as a cat's and disturbingly long, begins to push inside. Your fingers try in vain to find something to grip, but there's nothing, there's just you and him and your whimpers, and they get louder and more shameless with every inch his tongue manages to reach, which is a lot, it seems to be endless, it wiggles and flicks and savors. His claws dig lightly into the flesh of your thighs, which he's still squeezing as if he's afraid you might escape, fine streaks of blood drip from the lacerated skin. When you cum on his tongue, however, after making sure he's sucked, tasted and swallowed every drop, he moves it to your new wounds, lapping away the blood, the color of which blends in with that of his lips, which, for some strange reason, leave a few lazy kisses on your skin, as if to comfort you.

"You taste good." he notes to himself, clicking his tongue. It's horribly enrapturing to see him like this, completely fascinated by the sensations he's felt just now, his gaze darts between your legs, hoping to find some… leftovers. You start to get up, your knees shaking, but you don't even have time to try that he jumps on you, his hands, miraculously and magically gloved again, wrapping tightly around your exposed throat, a treacherous little smile on his lips.

"You know I want more, don't you?"

***

REQUESTS ARE OPEN YIPPIEEE

[yandere-toons]

Yandere Henry Bowers (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

Warnings: Child abuse and neglect (physical and emotional), intense violence, death, bullying, implied alcoholism, reference to divorce, emotional manipulation, toxic mindset.

Platonic:

As soon as his father drinks himself into unconsciousness or throws him out the door, Henry stalks down the street to where he thinks his friend might be. Explaining nothing of his sullen demeanour, he places himself in the middle of whatever they are doing, dragging them into a more private area if their current activity is too public or not to his liking. From there, the hope is that his friend will act in a way that comforts him without him having to ask for it and risk further humiliation.

There are two possible outcomes here, depending on how his friend treats him and who else gets involved. If they accept his presence without prying, Henry will shut down and remain silent for a while, riding out the emotional storm around someone he now has a reasonable chance of trusting. If they stonewall him or others interrupt, Henry will revert to his hostile bully persona and never mention the event again, as it has become a new source of shame for him.

Henry reveals a watered-down version of the truth when pressed for answers, but even then, he refuses to tell the whole story out of a desire not to relive it, not to be seen as a whiner, and not to show how profoundly it has affected him. After all, a history of cruel reactions from his father and the small-town mentality of Derry have taught him that emotional vulnerability is a dangerous mistake of the stupid and weak.

Despite this, it becomes increasingly clear that Henry is stalling for time when the subject of going home creeps up on him. He would much rather stay out all day and night with his friend and the gang, cruising town with Belch at the wheel, forgetting what awaits him when he sets foot on the family farm. But Henry knows only too well that Butch's wrath will double if he has to go looking for him.

Henry will threaten and, if sufficiently provoked, maim anyone who shows an interest in his friend. His worldview is more than a little misanthropic, as his good memories are few and far between, and his father and the community at large have taught him to hate anyone who challenges his idea of the norm. As such, he sees this as a favour to his friend, ridding them of all the scumbags who would inevitably trap them in an unwanted relationship.

But deeper down, in the places that have never quite healed, the places he never talks about, Henry is afraid of powerlessness. He despises the thought that his friend would abandon him because of someone else, as his mother did, so he does not give them that option. Anyone who tries to plant the idea in their head that they should cut ties with him, or worse, leave town, he beats as if it might save his life.

As far as Henry is concerned, no one offers a better source of companionship than he. He is fond of yelling this supposed fact and more at his friend when they refuse to drop everything and join him at a moment's notice. Seeing this as an affront to his authority as well as a personal insult, Henry cannot take it, especially when it happens in front of people, and tries to hector them into submission.

If any of Henry's accomplices disagree with his methods, none will be too honest about it. Henry displays an unabashed willingness to hurt anyone and everyone who comes between him and his friend. Other bullies have required stitches courtesy of Henry and learned to turn tail at the sight of him or them, and the last concerned citizen to intervene was left with a concussion.

Although Henry is a little more lenient with his gang, he still has rules about what kind of interactions are acceptable. Some of these rules go unspoken until one of the other boys crosses a line he did not know had been drawn. On the first day, Patrick Hockstetter lost his right to be alone with Henry's friend and incurred a death threat from Henry after Patrick made advances towards them and asked if they would like to share Henry with him.

Spending time with other people sounds like a waste of energy to Henry, but spending time with the Losers is so inexcusable that he expresses it in the only language he knows: violence. His need to anticipate his father's unstable emotions has made him sensitive to any sign of displeasure in others, which Henry receives in abundance from one of the Losers, Richie Tozier. Tozier calls him an obsessive freak when he cuts one of the kids for staring at his friend.

Romantic:

His only frame of reference is his parents' disastrous marriage, now separated, and the couples at school he enjoys breaking up with shoves and jibes. Henry can be demanding in everything he asks of his partner, putting them in the untenable position of bearing the brunt of his emotional hunger. It is an overwhelming and confused mess of mixed signals and frustration that has built up over years.

Much of Henry's attention-seeking behaviour and unpredictable aggression stems from the fact that he is both ashamed of his struggles and less and less successful at repressing them. When he still tries, it manifests itself in violent outbursts and, in the context of this relationship, defensive anger when his partner does not immediately and completely fulfil his needs.

There are few things Henry would hate more than being compared to his father, so he refrains from using this level of violence with his partner. However, he retains a distinct bullheadedness in the many arguments that do break out, usually over Henry's desire for them to give up any part of their life that distracts from him.

Under no circumstances is Butch to know that Henry has a partner, let alone meet them. He would rather die than have them see what a so-called coward he becomes around his father, and the thought of them being caught in the crossfire of one of his father's explosions makes him want to stick the knife in Butch's throat a little sooner.

At the first sign of Butch's approach, Henry pulls away from his partner and tells them that if things get heated, they should go with Victor and wait for him at a distance. Victor is disturbed by Henry's extreme view of the relationship but is wise enough not to say so to his face.

Watching his partner suffer abuse at the hands of a family member ignites a rage in Henry that stems from his unfulfilled desire to take revenge on his father. He flashes back to when Butch similarly hurt him, reopening the last wound he tried to numb by avoiding his home and seeking out his partner. Every punch Henry lands, every slash with the knife, is almost like getting back at his father for all the scars he gave him.

Henry refuses to feel remorse for those he attacks, as Butch would never apologise for the damage he inflicts and once even rewarded Henry for his violent actions. After making his partner drop a science project in the hallway, the child he forced to eat dirt had it coming. The classmate who sat next to his partner at lunch — a seat reserved for Henry, regardless of whether anyone else knows it or whether he feels like taking it that day — deserved to be thrown to the floor and humiliated in a way that will haunt them forever.

Competition, real or imagined, is unforgivable and will be met with swift, if not disproportionate, retaliation. The first line of defence is a barrage of verbal abuse, escalating to physical assault unless the pest flees the scene and swears an oath never to speak to his partner again. From there, Henry will order his cohorts to hold the person still while he carves, stones, drowns and breaks whatever he finds most offensive.

Part of a community that frowns upon physical closeness between friends, Henry seeks in this relationship the emotional intimacy and affection that his father never provided. He denies having such needs when anyone suggests otherwise, insisting that he only stays with his partner for superficial reasons and would not miss them if they were to disappear one day.

Despite his claims of indifference, Henry displays a violent resentment towards those who befriend his partner, perceiving these individuals as a threat to his importance in their life. This fear speaks to his underlying insecurity of not being in control, the same insecurity that drives him to suspect the worst in people and defend or assert himself accordingly.

[knoepfl]

No One Can Take What’s Mine

Okay this time it's not an anime character from my Hero Akademia this time it's Pennywise! I really love Horror-Movies so I thought I'd bring that in here too! Again this was inspired by @devotion-disorder so check them out! If you want to see more check out the Masterlist and if you have any specific character in mind you'd like to see just text me^^

Masterlist

---

The room smelled of rot and iron, and the dim light flickered weakly overhead. Pennywise the Dancing Clown stood in the middle of the cramped space, his unsettling grin twitching at the edges as he stared at the walls.

They were plastered with pictures—hundreds of them—each one showing you with someone else.

In every image, you smiled at that stranger, leaned close to them, held their hand, and laughed as if they were the only person in the world. The same kind of happiness you once showed only to him. And now it was theirs.

For a moment, Pennywise tilted his head, trying to process the scene with eerie curiosity. His golden eyes burned as they traced over every photo. His painted grin faltered slightly, exposing rows of sharp teeth beneath cracked red lips.

"This… This is funny," he muttered to himself, his voice shrill and breathy.

But no one else was laughing.

5 Minutes in:

Pennywise scratched his head, the frills of his collar crinkling as he shifted uncomfortably. His claws scraped lightly against the paper walls, tapping the photos as he swayed in place.

"Is this… a joke? A trick?" he whispered, his brows furrowing in confusion. His yellow eyes flickered with annoyance.

At first, he wanted to laugh—he’s a clown after all! But the joke wasn’t funny. Not to him. Something cold curled in his chest, a feeling far more unsettling than his usual hunger.

He ran a claw along one photo of you, tracing your smiling face. You looked so happy—but it wasn’t with him. His claw twitched violently, slicing through the paper with ease.

A growl bubbled in his throat, deep and guttural. His smile drooped further.

1 Hour in:

The walls seemed to press in closer, trapping Pennywise in an unfamiliar storm of emotions. He crouched low to the ground, gnawing on his gloved fingers while his golden eyes darted across the photos. His claws twitched, scraping the floor with jittery movements.

"Who… Who do they think they are?" he whispered, his voice soft, crackling with frustration. "Do they think they can take you away from me?"

He giggled—a high-pitched, erratic sound that echoed through the room. But the giggles quickly turned into ragged breaths, his entire body trembling as his mind spun in circles. The stranger in the pictures was everywhere, their hands on you, their face next to yours.

His claws clenched into fists, shaking with rage. "No, no, no… That’s not right! That’s not how it goes!" he snarled, his voice cracking. "You’re mine!”

But the pictures… they told a different story.

3 Hours in:

The grin was gone now—replaced by twitching lips and wide, frantic eyes. His chest heaved as he rocked back and forth on the dirty floor, his claws scratching at the back of his neck. The rage in his mind grew louder and louder, like the pounding of a drum he couldn’t escape.

"Not real… It’s not real… Right?" he whispered, his voice fragile, almost childlike.

His fingers fumbled over one of the photos. He crumpled it in his palm, but the moment he looked away, the image burned itself into his brain. The thought of someone else touching you—it made his skin crawl.

He let out a shuddering breath. “I can’t breathe…” He clawed at his chest, gasping. “I… I can’t—” His breath hitched, and a sharp, wheezing laugh escaped his throat.

His golden eyes twitched. His mind split open, unraveling at the seams. The clown inside him squirmed in agony, desperate to claim what was his.

6+ Hours in:

By now, Pennywise was on all fours, trembling violently, his yellow eyes glowing in the dim light. His claws tore through the photos one by one, shredding them with frantic energy. “It’s not real!" he shouted, the words bouncing off the walls. "It’s not real! It’s not—”

But what if it was?

His breaths came in ragged gasps, a twisted grin returning to his face as his sanity broke completely. “If it is real…” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, “…then I’ll make them disappear.”

He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with each eerie laugh. His mind twisted, and thoughts of you flooded every corner of it. You were supposed to be his. The way you smiled, the way you laughed—it all belonged to him.

And if someone else thought they could have you?

Well… he’d just have to show them why no one crosses the Dancing Clown.

The Aftermath:

It didn’t take long for Pennywise to find you.

The moment you entered the room, his hulking form loomed in the shadows, his bright eyes glowing with a predatory glint. He moved closer with an unsettling grace, his cracked grin spreading wide as if nothing were wrong.

“There you are,” he whispered, voice as sweet as poison. “I was so worried about you.”

You barely had time to react before his long fingers curled around your wrist. The pressure wasn’t painful—but it was firm. Possessive.

“Where have you been?” he cooed, his grin never faltering. His eyes, however, told a different story—something far more dangerous simmered beneath the surface. “You know… I don’t like sharing.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he placed a finger against your lips, silencing you. His other hand caressed your cheek, his claws gentle but threatening.

“Shh, shh,” he murmured, “it’s alright now. You’re back where you belong.”

And in that moment, you knew—there was no escaping him.

Pennywise's twisted obsession wasn’t born out of love. It was possession. A need to control. And now that he had you back, he wasn’t going to let you go. Not ever.

Because in his mind, you were his.

Forever.

---

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

Eddie laughed as Richie continued making up more sayings. "You put the fun in dysfunctional- no wait! You put the fun in funeral!"

He and Eddie would laugh for hours at Richie's attempt at humor, but now, when Richie lies awake at night, he thinks about how Eddie couldn't even have a funeral.

Fuck, if only I dragged your body out with me-

And Richie will spend hours crying out to Eds, yearning for him to come back to him.

[actuallysaiyan]

||Love Like Blood|| Chapter One: The Butt Of The Joke

Chapter One: The Butt Of The Joke

Warnings: menstruations/menarche, bullying, mentions of death, grieving, major religious trauma, dark themes, crossover, reader character Pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Sorcerer!Reader/Carrie White!Reader, mentions of past Emo!Nanami Kento x Haibara Yu and insinuations of possible Nanami Kento x Gojo Satoru Summary: You know you're different and that's never going to change. But what happens when you get your first period much too late in life? You're already old enough to be driving...to be doing all kinds of other things. The fear of dying hits you hard despite the fact that it's completely normal. Meanwhile, Nanami Kento lingers on his feelings and sadness that comes with grieving a lost loved one.

dividers by: @/benkeibear/@adornedwithlight

taglist: @tsukimefuku. @kentocalls @erebus-et-eigengrau @sparklynightm4re @seireiteihellbutterfly

@beneathstarryskies

Masterlist

You were different. You always would be different from everyone else. There wasn’t a single thought or single person who could even change your mind about that.

Every day you were reminded of just how different you were. The girls with their cute outfits, their perfectly coiffed hair and their penchant for fawning over the latest celebrity or star of the local football team.

And yet, here you were, yet to even have your menarche. All the other girls had gone through that so long ago. You didn’t even know much about that sort of thing. You had heard girls talking about it from time to time. Mentions and whispers of needing a tampon, or the many euphemisms that they used for this particular natural process in a woman’s life.

Shark week. Aunt flo. Riding the cotton wave.

You wanted to laugh along with them so badly. You wanted to complain about pimples and cramps and how the boys were so dumb. You longed to be one of the cool girls. So many times you looked over at them, wishing they’d just this once invite you to their table for lunch.

Maybe one day it would finally happen. You longed for the day that maybe Cait Hall would finally fix her attitude, wrap her arm around you and say it was all one big joke.

You knew it was impossible. There was no way it would happen that way. Mostly because you have been painfully aware that you were born to be the butt of everyone’s joke. That’s all you’d ever be. Nothing else could ever fix the situation.

The more you grew up, the more you sunk deeper into this role without even realizing it. You wanted it all to stop; you wished kids would just be kinder to you. But wishing and hoping and praying, it wouldn’t fix anything.

Despite you desperately wanting to break out of this shell that you’ve had to wrap around yourself for protection, you know that it won’t do you any good.

That morning, you felt nothing different. It was a morning just like any other. You made your way to school, keeping your head bowed down. You never met the spiteful and playful gazes of your peers as you made your way into the school.

You didn’t bother even looking at any of the girls as you got changed for PE. And you most certainly didn’t want to be noticed as you all played volleyball and you kept missing the ball.

You weren’t very athletically talented. Hand-eye coordination was never your strong suit. The ball would fly so close to you, and you cowered in fear often. It had hit you in the face one too many times. Your weak and feeble attempts angered your teammates. Most of which sighed in relief when the bell announcing the end of the first period rang.

In the shower room, you hid behind your locker before making your way into one of the cramped shower stalls. The smell of soap and fruity body wash fills the air. You try to hide your body from everyone else.

All the other girls have seemingly filled out nicely. You don’t understand why you have to be the only one to not blossom into a beautiful flower. You look like an ugly duckling and you are very aware of that fact.

Just then, a painful feeling in your lower abdomen. You ignore it, figuring it to be hunger pangs. You continue to soap up your body, thinking a million and one hateful thoughts about it. You wish you could just be swallowed up by the ground completely.

The water is cut off as you turn the dial and you reach for your towel. That’s when the first shriek is heard.

“Oh god! Per-iod!”

The voice is snarky and it hits you right in the heart. You don’t quite understand what’s going on but you know that you are indeed once again the butt of some stupid joke.

The catcalls, the shrieks and the mean words hit you so hard. It’s only when you look down and see the blood that you realize something is wrong. Something is very very wrong.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Nanami is holed up in his room once again. It’s his last year at Jujutsu Tech. He wonders what he’ll do after he graduates. He never even really expected himself to continue after the death of his best friend.

The people who surround him have been so kind to him. Even if Gojo gets on his nerves very often, Nanami is still grateful to have the man with him. They share a pain that not many understand.

Every day he wonders if he’s made the right choice by continuing. Nanami lingers on the last words that he spoke to Haibara. They were words of encouragement, of returning home together safely.

Nanami often hangs onto those last moments. The last moments of seeing his best friend alive. The pain of having to carry his body back to the school alone. The stinging feeling in his heart being ripped from his chest.

The way he nearly collapsed when he finally got back to the school. The conversation he had with Geto. That final time he saw Geto…

He tries to shake these thoughts from his mind but he’s having a hard time. It’s what keeps him going some days. It’s what makes it difficult to get out of bed on other days. The feeling of being alone without the best friend he never knew he could have was what would eat him up inside for years to come.

Gojo bursts through the door, a bag of snacks and treats in his hand. Nanami scowls as he sees his upperclassman. It’s not that it was unwanted completely, but Gojo has a very bad habit of walking into his room unannounced.

“Hiiii Kentoooooo!” Gojo booms. “Are you being all emo?”

Kento sighs, shaking his head. He really isn’t in any mood to talk to Gojo about this. Gojo would understand, but he’s too much in this happy-go-lucky mood to really take it seriously.

“Are you suuuure?” Gojo asks, sitting on Kento’s bed.

The older sorcerer opens his bags of goodies. He knows that Nanami isn’t feeling good. It’s the reason why he came to his room in the first place. While the rest of the students had been out in the field training, Nanami stayed in his room, brooding.

“Yes, Gojo. I am very certain.”

The tone is dry and strict. Gojo feels a tug at his heart. He hates seeing his underclassman like this. He cares so much for the young man.

Gojo hands him a sandwich he managed to find at the cafe near the school. It’s the very one that Nanami goes to whenever he gets the chance.

“Thank you,” Nanami mumbles as he unwraps the sandwich.

It’s quiet in the dorm room apart from the munching and chewing noises and the occasional banter from the older sorcerer. He’s energetic as he speaks, and while this usually annoys Nanami to no end, Nanami is finding it so comforting.

It’s much easier to deal with than the dead silence that rings through this empty dorm room. The same one that used to be filled with laughter and jokes from his brunette best friend.

Now it just seemed sad and lonely…

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

The sanitary napkins and tampons that they threw at you didn’t hurt. It was the notion behind it that stung like a bee’s sting. It was the way they laughed even though you knew something was wrong.

The blood filled both your hands as you grasped at your lower abdomen and reached further. It was dark, blossoming like a rose. In your mind’s eye, you could see yourself falling over and never getting back up.

The belief of hemorrhaging to death was too strong. You shrieked and cried, raising your bloodied hands to shield yourself from the onslaught of the bullies that taunted you your entire life.

“Look at her,” Cait hollered. “Look how pathetic and disgusting!” 

Skye Smith watches on with disgust written all over her face. She knows she shouldn’t keep throwing tampons at you, but she has no choice but to continue. It feels like it’s the apex of something bigger.

You back into a corner of one of the shower stalls and you sink to the ground. You hide your face behind your bloodied hands. The ache in your abdomen won’t stop and you feel helpless at this onslaught.

The blood begins to wash down the drain. But the flow from your own body seems to be endless. It’s like you’re bleeding out all the pain in your body. It’s so painful, the act itself. It’s like a million knives stabbing into your stomach.

“Look at her!” Cait cries out once more, pointing her perfectly manicured finger at you. “It’s almost as if she’s never had her period!”

This almost silences and stops all the young women in the shower room. Then the door opens and Miss Callahan walks in.

“Everyone, back up! Give her some room!”

The voice is authoritative. It’s the kind of voice that you know you need to listen to. And yet you aren’t comforted by it at all. You are convinced you will die in this dirty, filthy shower stall.

“Hey! Are you alright?”

You look up at your PE teacher. Despite her previous attempts at clearing the room with her strict voice and hands on her hips, she’s now kneeling at your side.

You shake your head, tears cascading down your cheeks. She takes pity on you, bringing you up to your feet. You’re shaking; cold, wet and tired.

“M-my…I’m gonna…” The words stick to the back of your throat.

Miss Callahan helps you sit on one of the benches. All the girls have cleared out now. Faster than she could even take names. But she knows who is to blame. She’ll punish them all if she truly has to.

“Now,” she brushes some wet hair out of your face and notices the blood smears that have settled there. “Tell me what happened.”

Your hands shake as you point to the blood going down the drain. You can’t even imagine how she deals with all of this so calmly. The words that come from your mouth are stuttered and you are clearly tongue tied.

Without shaming you, Miss Callahan tries her best to explain what happened. And despite your vague knowledge of a period, you know you shouldn’t be listening to this. It’s a sin. You have received the original sin.

Oh how you would be tainted.

The thought of being tainted by the original sin sends you in a frenzied panic. Miss Callahan watches as one of the lights above you both begins to crack. A terrified yell erupts from her as glass comes raining down upon both of you.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Some would say that was the day you changed. Others say it was the day that everyone was doomed. It was the start of something new.

And with the yellow dismissal slip in your hands, you walk down the road to your home. You tried to rationalize what happened in the locker room. 

There had been so much blood. So much pain. The torments had been relentless. You wondered if you had just dreamt it all. 

A cool breeze makes you shiver under your hand-me-down and sewn-together cardigan. The trees sway in that very breeze. The days were becoming cooler. The nights would get darker.

And you would remain the same.

The butt of every joke. The person they would trip. Your clothes would rip from being old and fixed time and time again, and they would all point and laugh. They loved being able to make you the joke because it distracted them from their own miserable lives.

You enter your home, shuddering at the way all the figures on every cross and in every painting seem to watch you with burning eyes. He’s all seeing, or so you were told. He’s supposed to be forgiving too.

Still, as you make your way up to your room and flop on the bed, you wonder if maybe he wasn’t real. Maybe none of this was real and you’d wake up tomorrow feeling a little more refreshed knowing that this never happened.

The minute you close your eyes and focus on nothing, that’s when you hear the slam of your own bedroom door. Your eyes shoot open, looking over at the door. 

Was that me? Or was that my imagination? 

You focus once more, but nothing else happens. The pain in your lower abdomen starts up again, causing you to curl up into the fetal position. And this is the same position you fall asleep in for a few short hours before your mother comes home and finds you home from school…

[freckleslikestars]

Favourite X-FILES Episode Countdown {14/24} 5.10 | Chinga

[mikewheeler-anon]

I need someone to edit Mike and Richie to ‘we are not the same person’ by Danny Gonzales and Drew Gooden.

[fixfoxnox]

more stanley uris?🙏🙏

Calm Your Nerves - Stanley Uris x Fem! Reader (NSFW)

Description: Stan's nerves are eating away at him before he and his wife are set to meet up with the other Losers again, luckily his wife knows just how to help him calm his nerves. Part 2 of A Better Bath

Warnings: Smut

Names used: Babylove, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 3.1k

Note: I have one more Stanley Uris request in my ask box, but after I finish that I'll be taking a break from writing for Stan!

“You still aren’t dressed?” She stepped into the small room they’d been given at the townhouse. She’d wanted to make her own reservation for the trip, if only to give herself something that she could control, but Mike told her that he had everything handled, and that was that. She stepped closer to Stan, worry clear on her face.

She’d been hard-pressed to let him out of her sight since they’d gotten the call, since she’d practically broken down the door to his office, her eyes immediately zeroing in on the letters that he was writing. She’d known. She’d probably known he would try it since they were kids, since he’d taken that broken bottle piece and jokingly pretended to cut his own wrists when they made their vow. That memory had come from the depths of her mind. The vow. Derry, Maine. The Losers Club. Georgie. It. 

All of it had come rushing back to her and if it hadn’t been for the trashcan that Stanley kept by the door to his office, she knew she would have ruined their carpets. That didn’t matter though. It didn’t matter because Stan was here, he was here in front of her, sitting on a bed in the Derry townhouse, looking like a miserable puppy who’d been forced to take a bath, his wet hair from his shower still clinging to his forehead.

She stepped closer to him, moving to stand between his legs so that she could properly brush the hair from his face. He leaned into her touch, his arms coming to wrap around her legs as he leaned his head against her stomach. “It isn’t too late for us to leave,” he mumbled to her, his voice hoarse. “We can still go home and pretend this never happened.”

“Stan,” she scolded lightly, “We made a promise.”

“When we were kids!” He stressed, pulling back to look up at her with wild eyes. She could see the fear that was reflected in them and it made her heart constrict in her chest. She hated to see Stan so worried. 

“Hun,” she took his face in her hands, trying to comfort him as best she could, “It’s just dinner with some old friends.”

“But Mike-”

“Could be wrong,” she interrupted. She leaned down, capturing his lips with her own in a sweet kiss. She took one of Stan’s hands in her own as they pressed their lips together slowly, sweetly. His hands were shaking. There was another moment as she pressed closer to him, his hands began rubbing at the back of her thighs, skating over the curve of her ass. She pulled away from the kiss slowly, her hands pressing into his shoulders to push him back toward the bed. “I think,” she slowly climbed onto the bed to straddle him, “that you need to take your mind off of things. Calm your nerves a bit.”

Stan’s hands landed on her hips, tugging her down to grind against him in a slow roll. She gave a gasp at the delicious pressure, her hands coming to rest against his naked chest for support. Stan only tilted his head back with a satisfied sigh. “I certainly won’t say no.” He brought her down to roll against him again. 

She could feel him growing harder against her, his boxers were the only thing separating his growing cock from her jean-clad legs. She ground down against him again, tilting her head back as the move caused the seam of her pants to rub against her deliciously. “We have to be quick,” she warned him.

“I can be quick,” he assured her, his hands already tugging at the button of her pants, “But you have to get these fucking things off.” His words were nothing more than a low growl, ripped from his throat viciously. His cheeks were going pink and with that clouded look in his eyes, she knew that he was focused on one thing and one thing alone: burying himself deep inside of her. 

She was quick to climb off of him, shimmying out of her pants and panties as quickly as she could. Stan was in a similar boat, kicking off his boxers quickly to reveal his hard cock to the world. She licked her lips at the sight of it, feeling heat pooling in her stomach and her hands aching to wrap around his length. 

She watched wide-eyed for a moment as Stan wrapped a hand around his cock, giving himself a few slow jerks as moans pulled from his throat. She wasn’t going to stay still for long and was quick to take the few steps back toward the bed, batting Stanley’s hand away to replace it with her own. 

Stan’s head tilted back against the bed, his lidded eyes watching her face as her hand slowly worked his cock. She let her hand tighten and loosen in a quick rhythm. Tighter at the bottom and softer at the top. Her face flushed slowly as Stan’s moans grew more desperate, his hand coming forward to yank at her shirt, trying to tempt her to just climb on top of him and take him already. Her cunt throbbed at the thought. 

Still, she couldn’t force herself to, not when she could see the little bit of pre-cum at the tip of Stan’s cock, the sight was just too tempting. It was too tempting and she loved to hear the noises that he made. With that thought in mind, she let her hand stroke to the bottom of his cock before she dived down, giving a quick kitten lick to the tip of his dick. Stan’s hips jerked under the quick movement. “Fuck! Babylove,” she interrupted his words by wrapping her mouth around the head of his cock, swirling her tongue around him quickly. His voice sounded wrecked as another breathy moan pulled from his lips, “fuck, I thought we had to be- oh god, quick?”

She didn’t answer, only hummed amusedly in response. His responding whine made her throb. She dropped to her knees in front of the man, a bit more comfortable of a position than trying to lean over him. Her mouth continued working him, slowly taking him deeper and deeper into her mouth, laving her tongue over the side of his cock. It wasn’t until she’d taken him almost as deep as she could that she hollowed her cheeks, giving a harsh suck that had his hands flying to her hair and his hips jumping up into the feeling. 

She nearly choked on his length as it abused the back of her throat, but she managed to keep her gag reflex in check, allowing Stan to use his hand in her hair to begin guiding her mouth up and down on his cock, quicker and quicker as his moans grew more desperate. “So good for me,” he moaned out, “so fucking good, letting me fuck your mouth like this.”

She whimpered around his cock, feeling her face flush red again. She could feel herself clenching, aching to have some sort of pressure against herself. Her free hand dropped down, teasing her clit with slow strokes at first before speeding up to match the pace with which Stan was fucking her mouth. As usual, Stan seemed to know exactly how much she was getting off to this. He knew her inside and out, and he could tell from her moans the second she’d started to touch herself.

“Playing with your cunt, aren’t you?” He gave a moaned-out laugh, his hips beginning to jump up into her mouth. She could feel him twitching on her tongue. At his words, she pressed her fingers harder to herself, moving quicker to feel those jolts of pleasure work through her legs and slowly begin to fog her brain. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad, babylove.”

Spit slicked down her chin, the force of his growing thrusts making her gag around his length. He felt too good fucking her throat, she couldn’t even think about the fact that she likely wouldn’t be able to speak properly afterward, but she knew she wanted it. She wanted him to wreck her, she always did. The thought made her moan around his length, her hand on her clit slowly sinking lower to tease around her entrance. She prodded one finger inside of herself, it was far too little of a stretch, but soon she was able to add another and that, combined with the pressure of her palm still stimulating her clit, was enough to have her mind going blank. 

The sounds of moans and obscene sucking noises were the only thing in the room. They were being loud, as per usual, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. The walls in the building were thin, and she knew if anyone else was there they would be able to hear exactly what they were doing. The thought only made her lick and suck at Stan more vigorously. Let them know, let all of their friends know just how much they loved each other. 

Above her, Stan’s hips began to jerk more wildly, his hand tightened in her hair, and his moans grew more and more desperate, choked off with every move. She knew he was close, which was why she was so disappointed when his grip in her hair forced her off of his cock, a small bit of drool still connecting her mouth to his soaked cock. “Fuck,” He sat up from the bed, his face red and his eyes wide, “Get up here babylove, Let me finish in you, huh? Fuck you full.” 

The words pulled a startled gasp from her and she gave herself one last good pump of her fingers inside of herself before pulling them out and scrambling to her feet. She moved to straddle Stan, crawling on top of him and feeling his cock rub deliciously over her entrance. Stan was quick to capture her soaked hand, the one she’d buried in her cunt. He brought it to his mouth, locking eyes with her as he let his mouth wrap around the digits, licking them clean. 

He moaned around her fingers, “You taste so good,” he pulled them out of his mouth, placing a kiss on her palm and beginning to trace kisses up her arm so that he could sink his face into her neck as his hands pulled her hips flush to his, both of them gasping at the resulting pleasure. “When this is all over,” he muttered into the skin of her throat, “I want to taste you. We’ll make an afternoon out of it.” 

“Stan,” she muttered lowly, embarrassment and lust in her voice. Just the thought of Stanley with his face buried between her thighs had her cunt clenching around nothing. “Please, baby,” she begged. 

“Please what?” Stan muttered against her ear, amusement clear in his voice. “You have to be a bit clearer, babylove.” 

She whined, feeling his teeth nipping against her neck, leaving little marks as one of his hands trailed up, tracing under her shirt and up to her bra. He groped at her breast through her bra, pulling a gasp from her throat as his thumb rubbed deliciously over her nipple through the material. “Please,” she rolled her hips against his, pulling a breathy laugh from his throat, “Fuck me. Please!”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Stan pulled away from her throat, quickly capturing her lips against his own, a grin on his face. His hand on her breast pulled away, slowly skating down her stomach to teasingly brush against her clit. He used his grip on her hip to pull her down, his hand grasping his cock to line himself up before he was ever so slowly sinking her down onto his length. 

She gave a gasp at the feeling, a long moan pulled from her throat as her head tilted back. He was moving so slowly, so torturously slowly. She tried to roll down, seeking that little bit of friction from him, but his hands on her hips stopped her, forcing her to take him at the pace that he set. “God, Stanley,” she whined out, her legs shaking as her arms came to grip his shoulders, pulling him tighter against her in a sloppy open-mouthed kiss. 

They both gasped when he finally bottomed out. Stan moved away from her lips, burying his face back into her throat to suck marks against her skin. He just held her there for a moment, not moving. Finally, after she started to squirm against him, desperate little whines leaving her throat, he began to move, using his grip on her hips to roll her against him. “Go on, babylove,” he muttered into her ear, giving a quick nip to the skin there, “ride me.” 

He leaned back then, a smug grin on his face as his hands stopped moving her. It was clear to see that he was going to make her do most of the work. The thought had a shiver running down her spine, her heart beating faster in her chest as she clenched around him. He moaned at the feeling. 

She let her hands move to rest against his chest, using the leverage to slowly lift herself up, before dropping back down onto him hard, both of them moaning loudly at the stimulation. She repeated the movement again, building a slow but hard rhythm that had both of them desperate, harsh little moans forced from their throats. With every move of her hips, she could feel Stanley inside of her, brushing pleasantly against her walls and hitting that spot that had her back arching and her nails digging into his chest. Her clit was rubbing deliciously against the hair at the base of his cock, sending little jolts of pleasure up her spine with every move. 

Stan’s hands grasped at her hips harder, tugging her against him harder and harder with every thrust. His hips began canting up into the feeling, little grunts escaping his mouth as his eyes grew hazy and his mouth dropped open. Whispers of her name, of how good she was, of how much he loved her escaped his mouth, causing her to slam herself harder against him. 

Her legs burned with the movement and she knew that she would be sore by the end of this, but she couldn’t make herself care, her head tilted back at the exertion, but pleasure wracked her spine. Her mind was cloudy, the only thought in her head was a constant stream of his name. Just him, him, him over and over and over. “You feel so good,” she moaned, tilting forward to hover over him. 

He groaned at her words, his body tense. She could tell her movements were growing slower by how tense he was. He was trying to let her do it, trying not to just snap and fuck into her. The thought made her warm and she clenched around him again. There was an itch in her as well, they both knew that neither of them was going to be able to reach their end this way. It just wasn’t going to happen. “Stan,” she moaned, dropping down to press kisses against his naked chest. She took his nipple into her mouth, flicking her tongue over it and rolling forward at the desperate gasp he gave. “Fuck me,” she spoke against his skin, “Please, please, fuck just take me, baby.” 

He didn’t need any more permission than that. With a quick grab of her hips, he was flipping their positions, smoothly rolling her over to her back so that he could begin to pound into her at a quickening pace. Each of his thrusts pulled a whining moan from her throat, the bed beneath them creaking dangerously at the pace and force that he was fucking her with. 

She could feel pleasure rising up inside of her, every thrust forcing it higher and higher until she was threatening to spill, her hands scratching across his back and shoulders. He was giving harsh little grunts into her skin, sweat slicking his forehead as he fucked her harshly. His words stayed sweet though, “So good for me, babylove, so fucking good. Taking me so good, so fucking tight.” She could feel his pace beginning to change, his hips moving more erratically as he neared the edge as well. 

“Please,” her head lolled back against the bed, arching up against him, desperate for that stinging pleasure to continue hitting at her. Stanley delivered, pulling her leg up over his shoulder so that he could fuck into her deeper and deeper. 

It wasn’t long after that, the sounds of skin slapping skin speeding up, growing more erratic, when she finally found herself being pushed toward the edge. She could feel herself shaking, her entire body going tense as the pleasure continued building higher and higher before finally, with one last harsh snap of Stanley’s hips against her own, she was thrown over the edge with a call of his name. 

Stan wasn’t far behind her, the tightening of her cunt around his cock sending his hips stuttering against her own. Only a few more thrusts and he was giving a grunt, burying himself deep inside of her with a harsh grunt. 

She came back to herself several moments later, wrinkling her nose at the feeling of warm cum seeping down her thighs. She didn’t say anything though, only brought her hand up to begin carding it through Stanley’s hair, just letting him lay with his head against her shoulder. They would have to move soon, no doubt they were already late, but she wasn’t going to tell him that just yet. They could take a few more moments, they could be late if they needed to be. 

“Alright?” She checked with him again as they pulled into the parking lot. She was driving, knowing that he was far too nervous and distracted to be behind the wheel of a vehicle. 

He took in a deep shaky breath, wiping his hands on his pants but giving her a smile nonetheless. “I’ll make it,” he leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “Come on, I think we’re late.” He sent her a playful wink, one that had her heart fluttering in her chest and a smile pulling at her face. 

She didn’t know what was about to happen, she didn’t know if what Mike told them was true, but she did know that she would be able to handle it. She could handle it so long as she had Stan beside her, he helped her calm her nerves. 

My Masterlist

[empress-of-snark]

I would never fall in love again until I found her

I said I would never fall unless it’s you I fall into

I was lost within the darkness but then I found her

I found you

stranger things rarepair collection

[richierambles]

Being serious here.

If anyone who reads this simps for the bowers gang, or likes them, or wants to be their friend, or feels sorry for them, or whatever-the-fuck, get the fuck out of my blog<3

This is me being serious rn, no matter how good of a person you are, if you like those assholes in my eyes that automatically makes you a fucking ass. And before you say sum shit like "but they're fictional characters who cares", I do. I care. 😘

[nemo-writes]

𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

➝ steve harrington + eddie munson x loser-club!reader

➝ synopsis; older and just a little bit wiser, you begin moving on with your life, only to find yourself in hawkins—by chance or fate. what begins as a simple mishap, quickly spirals into a twisting path of secrets and suspense, turning a simple pit stop into a pivotal crossroad. so, will you be strong enough to confront what’s coming?

➝ moodboard, playlist

chapter one;

chapter two;

chapter three;

chapter four;

interlude i;

chapter five;

chapter six;

chapter seven;

chapter eight;

and more to come...

divider credit

[dollfxcx]

can you write something about jealous!Pennywise? maybe some marking like bites and shit like that??

I'm finally back!! sorry it took long I was busy!!

TW: nsfw, blood, body gore

Word count: (1.7k+)

"How come they never let you go out alone? Do I look like a murderer that much?" Dave asks, wrapping an arm around your waist, and you shrug.

"Both my parents and…my best friend are missing. Richie's just worried about my safety, I guess." Dave hums, nodding his head slightly.

"Got it. Well, if anything happens, I'm here." You chuckle at the offer and nod, watching the sun dip below the horizon, Dave stops abruptly, grabbing your wrist and tilting his head down to look you in the eye.

"What--" you don't have time to finish the sentence as his lips crash on yours, his hands tighten around your hips as you both back away into the dark alley, Dave pins you against the wall, he pushes one of his thighs between your legs, and it's just as his mouth moves down your neck that you hear a voice.

"Your mother never taught you not to take other people's belongings, Davey?" Dave whirls around, eyes narrowed suspiciously, his fingers tightening protectively around your hips.

"Can I help you?" he asks the man who appears in front of him, his hands are buried in his pockets and his back is bent in a springy position. Pennywise approaches you and grabs your arm, pulling you towards him under the astonished gaze of Dave, who immediately addresses him.

"What the fuck, man? Who do you think you are?" Out of the corner of your eye you can see Pennywise grinning almost gleefully, he extends a hand to him with feigned kindness.

"Robert Gray, at your service. Now if you'll excuse us." In his human form, Pennywise turns around, still squeezing your arm, and starts to walk away, under the shocked gaze of Dave, who looks like a fish out of water.

"Y/n, what the fuck is going on?" he finally inquires, craving answers, his mouth slightly parted in a stunned expression.

"I don't... Look, I'll explain everything to you, I promise." you assure him, letting Pennywise drag you away, a low growl bubbling in his throat as he does. As you turn around the corner, you plant your feet and blurt out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Pennywise covers your mouth with his hand, his blue eyes gleaming gold as his lips come close to your ear.

"You better watch your tongue, pet. I'm seething already." And with a snap of his fingers, you're both in your room, Pennywise grabs you by the hips and viciously throws you onto the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Richie was behind us, he must have seen us, he might come in and--" your sentence is cut short as Pennywise, back in his clown form, abruptly lands on top of your body, taking your breath away.

"They only see what I want them to see." he snarls, one hand yanks your shirt off, some buttons fall clacking to the floor. He buries his nose against the skin of your shoulder, you hear him grumble angrily.

"I ordered you not to go out with filthy humans anymore." his lips brutally drag against your skin as he begins to slam his crotch against yours in slow strokes.

"And I told you I don't really like following orders." you stammer as you feel his rough tongue begin to lick your skin, the bite mark he left on you that was covered by concealer now visible again.

"Oh, what a naughty pet you've been. Covering my mark like that… thought you could get away with Little Davey? Did you think I'd let you?" The question is rhetorical and you can't even answer because Pennywise crawls down from your body, taking off your pants with a jerk and, noticing that you're not wearing underwear, he glares at you.

"Oh yes, you certainly did." he clicks his tongue in disgust and disappointment, writhing in on himself until you can only see his eyes and a shock of red hair peek out between your spread legs. Even though his clown form is remotely humanoid, the golden glow of his gaze is far from human, he's hungry and furious.

"Scream and I'll rip your arm off." he warns you, no hint of playfulness or teasing in his tone, you blink quickly as if that might be enough to prepare you for the worst. You watch tensely as one of his hands lets his claws out, they trace a trail from the skin of your neck to the one just below your navel, a touch so light it makes you shiver. Time seems to stop when one of his claws begins to dig lightly into your flesh, you let out a startled yelp, he glares at you to remind you of his warning. His finger moves slowly across your skin, carving small rune-like letters you can't translate, your head falls back on the pillow as you let the warm sensation that is rising from the painful experience spread through your entire body. When he finishes carving, he sighs with satisfaction, his tongue sweeping over each rune to lick off the blood that drips from them.

"Look at you, just letting me do this to you without objection, so obedient. So pretty for me." he whines, a sinister smile on his face, as he pulls himself up from the mattress to admire his work, he runs one of his fingers, almost fondly, over the writing on your skin. You moan as, eyes narrowed in expectation, you feel him crawl up onto your body again, so close he could sit on your chest, your face practically against his crotch. You look up at him, your hands tighten around his calves, and he stares back, lids almost completely closed as he peers down at you. One of his hands reaches for your cheek, caressing it almost affectionately at first, then grabbing it with more force, he lowers his face towards yours.

"I also told you I don't like when you misbehave, didn't I?" he asks when you complain at his hard grip on your cheeks.

"Do you think you deserve kindness, pet?" he continues, pushing the tip of his thumb between your lips, you give it a swift suck, blinking quickly with feigned innocence. Pennywise can't hold back a grin, his free hand moves to the zipper of his trousers, which then disappear with a snap of his fingers, as you've seen him do so many times, his monstrous body seen from your perspective always has something divine which he can never completely free himself from.

"Oh, I know exactly what you deserve..." he murmurs, arching his back and starting to stroke his tentacle-like cock slowly, his hips having sudden spasms that bring him dangerously close to your mouth from time to time. Your legs start to tremble since you don't know if you'll be able to do much in this position, utterly uncomfortable for you, he's the only one able to move being on top of you, and since you're stuck between his body and the mattress. Pennywise grunts under his breath, his thumb caressing the tip from which a little precum is already oozing out.

"Open." he orders you, narrowing his eyes and digging a hand into your hair, grabbing it tightly and pulling your face slightly upwards. You can't and won't do anything but obey, letting his cock slide between your lips with ease, the sound of your squelchy saliva ringing in your ears.

"That's it, good. Take me, alllll the way. Tastes good?" he asks, you can see how his eyes roll back in pleasure, so you nod frantically, so much so that your teeth involuntarily rub against his oversensitive skin, which makes him groan and thrust into your mouth.

"Don't bite, or I will bite you." you know he's not kidding so you suck on his cock harder in search of magnanimity and he seems to like it as his grip on your hair tightens, his fingers pressing against the back of your head to propel you further forward. After a few minutes you hear him panting, and you can't help but moan when you see his body on top of yours covered in a light layer of glistening sweat, which makes him shine even in the dark of night. Pennywise frowns, his hips shaking, and you feel his knees give out for a split second, your palms clasped around his calves feel the tendons tense.

"So good for me." you hear him mumble, he then grabs your shoulders and pushes you further down, throwing the pillow away so that your head now lays solely on the mattress, depriving you of the only advantage you had over him, now completely blocked and at his mercy.

"Now stay still and let Pennywise fuck your pretty mouth, mh?" Without waiting for an answer, he arches his back and leans on his arms to sink into you, thrusting in and out, up and down as if he were doing push-ups. You choke around his cock more than once, unable to move or slow his pace, and that seems to turn him on even more, he thrusts into your mouth until the tip caresses your throat, stimulating your gag reflex, and sits still in that position for a few seconds, as if it were a plug, if your eyes weren't veiled with tears you would be able to see his teeth becoming sharper as his pleasure increases. With a broken moan, he cums

into your mouth, but he doesn't stop moving his hips, making sure to pump every single drop down your throat. When he collapses on you, after almost affectionately wiping the corners of your mouth, you hear him purr, his nose nuzzles up against your neck, and you can't help but run a hand through his ginger hair, which makes him mumble in a language you don't know.

"What do those runes mean, by the way?" you ask, referring to the writing he engraved on your belly, Pennywise shakes his head slightly and purrs even louder, his teeth gliding over your skin delicately, without malicious intentions.

"It means everything and it means

nothing." he then mumbles, his arms wrap around your waist possessively, you can't help but roll his eyes.

"Now sleep."

[darkcrowprincess]

Richie seeing Eddie's ghost post it chapter two.

[madwomansapologist]

Well, passion fruit and Carrie White 🙂

passion fruit — what are their love languages?

⤷ with: carrie white

Acts of service.

I'm a 103% sure of that. I have no doubts about it. I will die on this hill and i will do it without regrets.

Let's be honest, Carrie didn't have good examples of how to show love during her life. Even when her mother act in a "nicer" way, it wasn't nice at all. And most of the moments someone was kind towards her, it didn't turned out fine.

So for Carrie to express her love, she couldn't relay on her past experiences. She needed to find her own way to do it. Carrie decided that, if she isn't good if her words, than she will be with her acts.

After all, she spend her whole life hearing about devotion.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.