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dollarstoreartsupplies · 1 year

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I just finished ur werewolf richie fic what the fuck what the fuck it was v good and i love all of them so much but it also spat on me and ripped my heart out and i’m mad at you (i’m not ily for making this masterpiece im sad it’s over but not cause u put my favorite characters through it). you wrote it ages ago but i thought i would lyk anyway🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

AHHHH THANK YOU!! :') this is so nice thank youuuuu and I truly apologize it is truly so brutal hgjklf <3<3<3<3

as both an apology and a thank u here's a like full chapter of the sequel fic I never ended up writing about how each of the Losers find out Richie's a werewolf

(for context Mike DEFINITELY knows something is up with Richie by the end of the original fic, or at least suspects, so she finds out/talks to richie about it first)

(and also also for context this is a big streddie fic in my brain this part is just a Stozier Moment but it's important to me that everyone knows this)

Link to fic for context :)

She doesn’t mean to go to Stan’s.

Like super does not mean to go to Stan’s.

Like, the first thought when she woke up, sick on blood, cold and hurting, was ‘I want Stan but I cannot under any circumstances go to Stan’s right now because I can’t drag her into this’ doesn’t-mean-to-go-to-Stan’s.

She meant to go to Mike’s when it became clear going home and being alone was not going to be an option tonight, not if she wants to feel like a person tomorrow.

It’s not that she really wants to drag Mike into this either, but Mike had quite honestly dragged Richie, teeth and all, to her and she’s working on trying not to feel like it’s selfish to get her involved.

But she didn’t go to Mike’s house, because she is selfish.

She knows it’s stupid but tonight was one of the bad nights and she’s hurt and she’s scared and she’s just so tired and all she wants is Stan. Stan just has this practical, mini-adult, weirdo way of making everything feel, even if it’s just for the moments you're with her, like it might be okay.

She considers coming through the window like she does with Eddie’s, but Stan’s parents (fucking surprisingly) don’t hate her guts and her whole body goddamn aches too bad to feel like risking it.

So she just knocks, as boring as it is and as weird as it feels to be doing it so very early. They’ve got a doorbell but it makes Donald pissy whenever someone uses it, so, normally Richie slams on it as many times as it takes to get a reaction. But not tonight. Tonight she doesn’t want a reaction, she wants a Stan. So she waits.

And waits.

And knocks again.

Stan (god, fuck, thank god, it’s Stan) answers the door, finally, and despite her repeated reassurance to herself that Don and Andrea Uris do, in fact, like her, Richie feels her whole body slump in relief.

No reaction, just a Stan.

She’s got her arms crossed tight over the front buttons of a cardigan she’d definitely stolen from her dad, it's way too big on her, hitting well past the thighs of her rolled up jeans and tangling around her fingers. They aren’t pajamas, but they aren’t anything Stan would ever leave her house in either, and something muddled in Richie’s tired brain goes ‘huh’. There's a red calculator-keys indent on her right cheek.

There’s always been a sort of art form to understanding the complicated language that is Samantha Uris’ startlingly expressive eyebrows, one most don’t bother learning and Richie is fluent in. She can easily translate, from the way her cocked eyebrow droops into something furrowed as she takes in the scene that is Richie, that she’s fucking concerned.

She’s sure she’s what one might call.. a sight, bloody and dirty and wearing whatever mismatched, musty clothing she’d managed to keep stored in the clubhouse before the full moon for situations like this.

(Last night had been one of the blurrier nights, when she couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten old barbed wire tangled in complicated knots around her ankle or whether or not she’d killed anything. She hated those nights. Fucking hated them so much. She’d had ample amount of time to adjust, she’d was far better at dealing with the idiosyncrasies of being a monster now than she had when it'd all first happened, but she still hated the not knowing of it all, it made her feel useless and dangerous and often left her in dire need of hugs she was too worried to ask for.)

Stan ushers her in, grabbing her upper arm and then recoiling back in something that could either be horror or hurt when Richie flinches away, hands tucking under her armpits in an awkward crossed-arms self hug.

“What the fuck, Rich?” She hisses, unfolding her arms just long enough to close and lock the front door before she leans against it, shoving her hands back into place. She seems entirely lost on what she’s supposed to do, which is fair enough, Richie hasn't said anything yet. She thinks absently that her silence might be more startling than anything else.

She really doesn’t think she can say anything, she hadn’t thought of an excuse for the injuries Stan hadn’t noticed yet but was sure to once they were out of her dimly lit foyer, she hadn’t thought of an excuse to even be here because she shouldn’t be here.

There is also the dangerous, ever present possibility that she will do nothing but sob if she opens her mouth.

She’s already toeing the thin line between holding it together and a complete breakdown, and Stan Uris has a way of making that already fragile line as structurally sound as a strip of cellophane.

They just stand there for a moment in a silence more awkward than they’re used to.

Richie shifts her weight, wincing when she puts too much pressure on her fucked up ankle, if Stan notices she doesn’t give any indication other than a slight raise of her eyebrows (that means she’s noticed, she’s absolutely goddamn notices, but she’s waiting to give Richie a chance to tell her herself).

The door down the hall clicks softly open, breaking through the quiet. Stan’s parent’s room. Her shoulders immediately tense, hands absently fiddling and straightening the buttons down the front of her sweater so suddenly Richie isn’t even sure Stan knows she’s doing it.

“Samantha? Who's there?” Andrea Uris appears, padding halfway down the hall before stopping, pulling her long, silky robe tightly around itself. Stan’s posture slumps to something more comfortable. She always looks more comfortable around her mom.

(Richie had always liked Stan’s mom, for the obvious reason that she didn’t make Stan all rigid and anxious like her dad did, but there was more to it than that: Andrea Uris was almost startlingly like her daughter. It’s a fact Stan would resent if you told her, so Richie keeps quiet about it and appreciates it from a distance.

Except right now she really, desperately wanted her to go away before she noticed something or told Stan’s dad who would most definitely say it was too early and kick her out. Or call her parents. Which is way worse.)

Her eyes catch on Richie’s ankle and one eyebrow raises carefully. Fuck.

“It’s just Richie, Mama, can she stay over?” Something unreadable flicks across Mrs. Uris’ face, hidden by her quickly pursed lips and slow nod.

“Well, I suppose it’s practically morning anyway, as long as you two keep it down.” She gives a final cursory glance to Richie’s ankle, lifts a hand to wipe a smudge of what she desperately hopes is dirt and not blood off her cheek, and spins on her heel, walking back to her bedroom. Before she closes the door all the way, a snippet of conversation, a lie to Stan’s dad about the paperboy coming bright and early, drifts down the hall that Richie knows only she can hear. Stan’s shoulders untense at the same time as hers anyway.

“Come on, let's go upstairs.” Stan holds her hand out, tentative and wavering in the space between them, not quite touching like she's afraid Richie will flinch again. She takes it, lacing their fingers together and trying very hard not to cry not to cry not to cry as Stan guides her up the familiar path to her bedroom.

She falls back into her desk chair, legs extended and arms crossed as she studies Richie up and down. Richie just stands there, shifting nervously under the scrutiny and shaking her head when Stan looks pointedly at her bed. (She’d managed to slice her back up a little, somehow, and can feel the cuts already scabbing over, they weren’t too deep, but the back of her sweatshirt is still damp with blood and her ankle is still somewhat mangled, she doesn’t want to stain any of Stan’s things. Because Stan gets all panicky about stuff like that and she already shouldn’t fucking be here-)

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Whatever do you mean, Staniel?” She asks, going for casual dismissal and stumbling somewhere closer to ‘I am definitely hiding something’.

“You’ve been acting weird. I thought it was… I figured it was everything that happened that summer,” Stan sat up carefully, one hand subconsciously rubbing up the scars that lined her cheek.

They rarely talked about it, ‘that summer’, nobody quite knew how to go about it and Stan especially could never seem to find it within herself to say Pennywise, not that Richie blamed her.

“But that was two years ago. It’s not that I expected you to be over it obviously, but I don’t think that's what's going on here.”

“What are you talking about?” She laughs, sharp and defensive, and Stan furrows her eyebrows together, rocking out of the chair so she’s standing in front of Richie, one hand firmly on her shoulder like she’s worried she’s a flight risk. Maybe she is.

“Richie, I want to help you but I need to know what's wrong.” She tries for a smile, it’s reassuring in the barest sense of the word but only because it’s Stan. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, she’s worried, Richie is worrying her, that's not what she wanted.

“Nothing is wrong, I’m fine!”

“I’m sorry, but you can't show up on my doorstep at six in the morning, bleeding and covered in dirt, and just expect me to think you’re fine! Why are you acting so weird?” Stan is getting angry, some of her carefully-crafted-Stan-Uris-patented-composure slipping enough that Richie’s instincts are telling her to shut the fuck up or get the fuck out if she doesn’t want a fight. Coming here was stupid.

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid Richie who still can’t bring herself to leave because even as Stan squints at her, all unwanted concern and frustration, Richie feels so much safer than she has all night.

“I’m not acting weird!” She is. She knows she is. It’s a literal wonder she hasn’t had a thorough Stan interrogation yet.

“Yes you are! What the fuck is up with you?” Stan shoves her shoulder a little too hard, prodding her in the chest like she’s trying to force her worry to resonate in Richie with her finger tip.

“Nothing!”

Her and Stan don’t ‘fight’; they bicker and disagree often enough, sure, they playfully argue in a way that makes half their school think they hate each other, but they don’t fight. Not often, at least. It always makes Richie feel constantly overwhelmed and upset and wrong so she tries to avoid it as often as possible, and, despite how easily she gets into arguments, Stan tends to hate confrontation. Especially with Richie.

“Just tell me!”

“I’m a werewolf!”

(Now, to take a step back, the worst fucking possible thing for one to say to their best friend who they most certainly don’t want to know certain things, such as their incredibly traumatically acquired lycanthropy, is “I’m a werewolf!”

Are we clear on that? Good. Because while it rarely comes up for most people’s day to day lives it’s pretty solid advice that in this moment Richie Tozier desperately wishes she’d been given.

In her defense she’s exhausted and achy and just wants a hug from the person whisper-shouting at her so her critical thinking isn’t really powered up to full but, still, it’s an inadvisable tactic that, in her opinion, probably will end with said whisper-shouting should be hugger running for the hills.)

Why the fuck did she say that oh god oh god oh god shes going to hate her now, fucking idiot, why did she just say that-

Stan just lets out a low, angry laugh, startling her out of her panic and into a new, limited edition version of panic that was just sort of confused.

“Fucking fine. Don’t tell me.”

“What?”

“I said don’t tell me. God, fucking… whatever, Rich.

“What?” It comes out all choked and weird the second time. She’s giving her an out and Richie has no clue why she suddenly feels as though she cannot take it under any circumstances.

“Beep fucking beep. I’m not in the mood for a weird, shitty joke, right now.”

“It’s-” (This is where you stop, Richie,) “I wasn’t-” (fucking laugh like your an asshole so she doesn’t know you weren’t lying,) “Stan.”

“What.” She snaps. She’s fucking pissed and Richie is well aware all she’s doing is making it worse.

“I wasn’t kidding.” Well, fuck.

“Sure.”

“Stan.” She’s making it very hard to accidentally expose life changing truths to her tonight. Which is to be expected, she guesses. Stan’s never been into change or mysticism or things that didn’t have concrete scientific evidence backing them up, but she’d figured, with clown shit that at least this would be a little fucking easier.

And then she does something really goddamn stupid.

Stan blinks hard at Richie’s bite-scarred arm, and then down to where she’d yanked off her sweatshirt onto the floor, and then back up to her bite-scarred arm, and Richie just stands there and shivers in her stupid little tank top and thinks that she really goddamned should have taken the out and let Stan be pissed off at her.

She doesn’t look at the scar when she can help it, it’s gross and it’s big and it’s… uncomfortable. She fucking hates it and there's a reason her wardrobe has shifted exclusively to long sleeved button ups and light jackets regardless of the weather. And now here she is. Just letting Stan stare at it over and over and over like she’s got short term memory loss exclusively for big gross bite scars.

Stan’s mouth drops open, a bit fucking belatedly, before she takes a shuddering breath in through her nose and squeezes her eyes shut, “When- what- no. Okay. No.”

“No?” Richie giggles, feeling a little hysterical. Stan does a weird, garbled approximation of a giggle back.

“You… You’re not kidding? I’d like you to be kidding I think.” She just keeps staring.

Richie considers just cutting her arm right off, “Mmm. I’d love to be kidding.”

She finally looks up, makes frantic, slightly insane eye contact with Richie, and offers a sturdy “Well fuck.”

Stan wraps her ankle. Richie tells her she doesn’t need to, that it’ll be fine in like an hour and maybe she should actually just go- but she just rolls her eyes, pushes her onto the bed, and makes some wry comment about Richie needing to pay her dry cleaning that makes Richie a little dizzy from the sudden awareness of the metallic scent of her blood saturating the baby powder clean fabric softener of Stan’s sheets.

She bites down hard on her tongue to keep from wincing as Stan cleans the sloppy puncture wounds. She tastes copper and somewhere in the back of her head Eddie Kaspbrak cries out some probably-wrong-warning about human teeth being able to bite through their tongues or fingers with the same amount of force you would use on a carrot, it’s just that your brain doesn’t let you.

She wonders, if only to distract herself from Stan’s shaky fingers around her leg, where that statistic falls for dogs.

“Am I allowed to ask questions?” Stan asks, eventually, as she messes with the bandages she’s wrapping around Richie’s ankle. Unwrapping and rewrapping and unwrapping and rewrapping the top layer in a way that means she’s probably-definitely a little more nervous about this whole thing then she’s trying to let on.

“I mean it’d kinda be a dick move not to let you, huh?”

“Probably.” She snorts, and god, it’s all so Stan, and so fucking normal, that Richie wants to cry.

“Ask away, Stan-a-rita.” She says instead. Probably a little too choked up for a word like Stan-a-rita.

“Wow. Horrible.”

“Hey, I’m having a day, cut me a break.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile seems supremely forced, which makes Richie nervy. Stan isn’t one to fake smile. If she’s unhappy she’s generally more than fine with making sure you know it.

“When? When did you… y’know?”

“Get bitched?”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, come on do you know how long I’ve been holding off on bitch puns?”

“Richie.” She says, instead of ‘come on, asshole, I know what you're trying to do and I’m not letting you off that easy- answer the question’ but Richie got the message all the same.

“It was fuckinnn’ clown shit, near the end of that school year.”

“Fuck, Rich.”

She lets her head flop back onto the mattress, “Yeah.”

To her surprise, Stan pats her ankle firmly and flops on her back next to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, yeah, course, that'd go well: ‘hey Stan, y’know that fuckinnnn’ monster clown that tried to eat your face and killed Georgie fucking Denborugh?’” Stan flinches and Richie tries to ignore it, even if it leaves her feeling like a complete dick, “‘Yeah, he made me a monster too. SURPRISE! Lets have a fucking sleepover.’”

“Don’t call yourself that.” Stan grumbles, softly, reaching for her hand on the top sheet. Richie yanks it away before she can.

“I mean I am.” She laughs, frantically, “I mean- I mean, god, fuck Stan you shouldn’t even be talking to me anymore, I’m… I’m a fucking monster-”

“Hey! Don’t call yourself that.” Stan snaps, too sharp to leave much room for argument. At any other time Richie may not have even tried, bottled it up and decided later whether to believe what she’d said. But this wasn’t one of those times, this was a matter of Stan’s safety and she didn’t seem to understand.

“No! I’m a fucking- I’m a werewolf and I don’t even know what I’ve killed and I’m… I’m a monster.” She repeats helplessly, shoving herself off the bed. Trying to get Stan away away away but she just scrambles off and sits in front of her. Knees pressing against Richie’s tangled up legs.

“You’re Richie.” Stan says firmly, leaning so close that Richie can feel her breath across her nose, the Stan-specific scent washing over all her senses, eraser rubber and grass and too sweet black English breakfast tea, the kind that costs too much and comes in a fancy little gray-blue can she keeps as storage containers in her desk drawers once she uses the last tea bag-

And then they’re kissing.

Richie Tozier has spent a lot of time picturing her first kiss. She never pictured a face, she had hopes of course, but she wasn’t unrealistic and she didn’t want to let herself down before the kiss had even happened.

In her head it was something prettier, she was prettier somehow, less gangly limbs and tear soaked cheeks and bloody ankles, she never had a werewolf living inside of her, instead it was all some romantic bullshit that Ben would have dreamed up.

This isn’t what she’d pictured, not at all, their noses squished together and her teeth got in the way and Stan pulled back almost immediately, she was filthy and smelled like wet dog and her stupid fucking scar was still on fucking display and Stan hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep and her hands were shaking.

But she was just kissing Stan Uris. Stan Uris kissed her, and that is so much more incredible than anything Richie’s shitty little daydreams could have ever dreamed up (not that she hadn’t pictured kissing Stan, she fucking had, probably an embarrassing amount, but she’d never thought it’d be something that could have ever ever ever actually happened).

“What?” She manages, scrambling back hard against the bed even though there's nowhere to go, blood pounding in her ears.

“I… you were being stupid. I had to shut you up.” Stan chokes, bringing a hand up and tugging hard on a loose curl unraveling from her bun. The whole thing tilts lopsided.

“I’m always stupid! You’ve never shut me up like that before!”

“I’m sorry! I thought- you just- that was… out of line, I shouldn’t have done that.” No. No, no, no that’s not what Richie means, absolutely not. Her heart is hammering so hard in her chest it hurts.

“I didn’t say that! I just… wasn’t expecting it!”

“I should have asked, I’m sorry-” Richie tumbles over her own knees to get back to her, accidentally yanking the edge of Stan’s comforter with her and knocking one of the pillows to the floor. For just a second she thinks about how much Stan would hate that, but then they’re kissing again and pillows aren’t really the first thing on her mind.

Second kisses are supremely better than first kisses apparently, less awkward, she knows how to tilt her head and she is the one who initiates it this time so her teeth don’t get in the way.

Stan breaks away slower this time, keeping their foreheads pressed together, and whispers “Oh fuck… thats why your teeth-”

“Yeah.” She snorts, weakly, “Your bedside manner needs some fucking work, though.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, come on, that’s why your teeth-”

“You said I could ask questions.” And then, entirely too delighted, “Bitch.”

“I told you! Bitch puns are fun!”

“We’re talking about this some more.” She warns, but she’s grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie grumbles, disoriented, a little, by the emotional whiplash of whatever the fuck today is shaping up to be, “Can I take a nap first?”

“If you shower.” She says, flatly, pushing herself up off the floor.

“Together?” She teases, wiggling her eyebrows and Stan presses a flat palm against her face, pushing her farther down to the floor.

“You wish, Tozier. Shower.”

“Come on, seriously?” She whines, “I already got blood on your sheets!”

“Yeah, and I’d like it if you didn’t biohazard up new ones.”

She giggles around the facefull of towel Stan launches into her face, “I’m traumatized!”

“Join the club.”

(Fun fact: Third kisses are even better than first and second ones.

Second fun fact: Richie is really, honestly excited to find out if kissing is just one of those upward trajectory things that never really plateaus out.)

And maybe she’s going to cry a little when she gets into the shower, like Stan’s not gonna be able to hear her right in the en suite. And maybe maybe she’s gonna cry again when she gets out of the shower and sees that Stan’s nicely folded the pair of too-long pajama pants and sweater she always steals for sleepovers.

And maybe maybe maybe she’s going to cry a little when she leaves the bathroom and Stan hands her a neatly-written list of werewolf related questions on a piece of college ruled notebook paper with the ripped-up spiral edges very-precisely torn off so the sides are even.

But Stan just rolls her eyes and calls her a baby in an even, pretending-she’s-not-worried-so-Richie-isn’t-a-repressed-weirdo-about-it way.

She didn’t know it was possible to feel so fucking normal after what the fuck just happened. But she’ll have a subsequent werewolf-and-lesbian related crisis later, maybe tomorrow. Right now she’s bizarrely okay for the first time in maybe two years and it’s time for fucking bed.

(Jesus fuck, going to Stan’s was so the right goddamn call.)

#stozier #fem stozier #fem richie tozier #fem stan uris #werewolf au #fic #im ngl I did not totally proofread this but it think its alright???#I think stan and richie deserve to kiss just a little bit

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arctichotch · 3 years

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omg can you do adult stan and the reader going bird watching and Stan sees his favorite bird and it’s just disgustingly cute 🥺 i love that he and i share a love of bird watching ❤️

i don't really know what this is and it's really short (also i know absolutely nothing about birdwatching so this is pretty vague)

i love the idea of stan taking you out birdwatching. he's never really found someone in his life who shared the same passion, in fact it was quite the opposite. he was always ridiculed and made feel bad for his interest in birds so he's delighted when you ask to go along with him.

you go to his favourite place to birdwatch, the place where he claims "all the best birds go to and you only deserve the best"

he gives you a spare pair of binoculars and takes you out on a nice, sunny sunday. and honestly you love it. the quietness and serenity of relaxing and pointing out different birds is amazing.

but most of all you love to watch stan's passion for it. the way his eyes light up. his quiet whispers of "look at that one" or the many facts about different kinds of birds he can recite from the top of his head. he's just so damn cute.

it quickly becomes a staple in your relationship. so much so that stan proposes on one of your future trips. lets just say you didn't actually get to see many birds that day as your cries of happiness scares them away.

#stanley uris x reader #adult stan #it 2019 #it chapter two #losers club #fic #my writing #stanley uris #adult stan x reader #2019!stanley uris #it chapter 2 x reader #it

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anxiouslymalicious · 4 years

Text

Losers Club Plus One Part 12

A Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series

Read the previous part here or go here for the complete series masterlist!

A/N: Hiya! Quarantine hasn’t been treating me well but I hope you guys are doing alright! This is about 3.3k words long. I hope you enjoy!

There was no time for a break. Taking a breath was all they could do. IT could be anywhere in that place, sitting down, not moving could be dangerous. But so was moving.

Bill, as always, led the group. Followed closely by Mike, Ben, Y/N, Richie, Bev and Eddie. Roles were naturally assumed once more. Bev tried to stay close to Eddie, hoping to provide comfort, hoping to be able to protect him. Although her heart longed to be further in the front. With the man who had captured her heart through a postcard. But she couldn’t leave Eddie behind. It would feel like betraying him. Especially now that Eddie couldn’t even bear looking at Richie without tears welling up in his eyes. Bev could see it. She saw the hurt. But she didn’t know how to help. She didn’t know how the Toziers felt and, frankly, she felt that there were more pressing matters that required her attention.

“A lot of memories, huh?” Ben grumbled, stopping for a moment to look at the well before them. “All bad.”

“Try looking at it this way. This is the last time you’ll have to go down there.” Y/N threw in as she stood by Ben before all of them took the last few steps. The last few steps before the abyss. Before they would climb down again and be faced with things none of them had expected to see again.

Ben smiled at her sadly as he walked, hand reaching over to give her a gentle pat on the shoulder. Y/N returned the smile but her body shook with fear as she stepped down the wobbly, ominously creaking stairs.

What followed was an agonisingly slow descend down the well that held so many dangers. Mike went first. With their generally broader frames, the adults had an easier time gripping the walls, slowly climbing down. None of them showed much of a struggle as they climbed down. Mike, then Bill, Ben, Richie, who helped Y/N, making sure that she wouldn’t get hurt, and at last there were Eddie and Bev.

“Aw, man.” Y/N said as she left the tunnel, stepping into the water of the sewers. Her shoes immediately filled with water and she was sure they would make a disgusting squelching sound whenever she took a step if she wasn’t dragging her feet through the muggy water. A smell that almost burned in her eyes filled her nostrils and as she looked up at Richie, she was sure that she wasn’t the only one overcome with nausea. Richie’s face was as white as a ghost and his hands were evidently shaking. His flashlight moved unsteadily.

“Bleurgh, Grey water.” Eddie said as he jumped into the water, followed by Beverly. She spared a glance directed at Y/N and Richie before taking a second to look around the tunnels that seemed eerily familiar yet incredibly foreign.

“You good?” Y/N asked Eddie who looked up at her with widened eyes. He nodded quickly, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again and moving forward. Richie watched the moment, uneasiness washing over him as Eddie hid away in a shell that Richie wasn’t used to. Y/N looked up at her father, her eyes filled with worry. Richie nodded in understanding before they, too, followed the group, moving together as one.

As if natural, they moved through the tunnels, echoes of the waves they created preceded their own steps. It was an almost calm atmosphere if it wasn’t for the looming darkness, the evil around every corner, behind every wall, hidden away just behind them, maybe in front, but never leaving them alone.

“How do you guys know where you’re going?” Y/N dared to ask, breaking the silence that laid itself over the Losers like a net, trapping them effectively.

“We don’t.” Mike replied. “We just follow our instincts.”

Y/N nodded but she didn’t understand. Richie inhaled sharply through his nose. He wasn’t even sure they understood. But it didn’t matter. Not really. Walking a certain direction just felt either right or wrong. That’s how they knew. But just to be sure, Eddie was walking close to the front, he was the one with the best orientation, even in the sewers where every path looked like the one before.

The water was rising gradually. At first it only reached Y/N’s ankles, then her calves, her thighs and, as they reached what seemed to be a destination, the water almost reached over her hips.

“Shit. This is it. This is where it happened.” Ben said, the words just flowing out of his mouth. Like he had no control over his speech anymore. And he probably hadn’t.

A shiver ran down Y/N’s spine. Ice cold, like a shower. Her body jerked as her eyes landed on the construction in the middle of the room. A wooden platform, surrounded by rubbish, trash, probably debris. Y/N was sure she could even spot a few toys, the thought making her sick to the stomach.

“Is this where IT took the kids to float?” she asked the group, their solemn faces in return were enough of an answer. Bile rose to her mouth, the girl clutched her stomach in hopes to calm it down. Beverly laid a hand on her back as Richie looked at her with curious yet worried eyes. She shook them off, shaking her head as she mustered up a smile. Y/N swallowed the bile before stepping closer to the room that held so many previous dangers. One after another, the Losers climbed into the sewer room. It was deeper and flooded, even the tallest were sinking almost chest deep into the water. Bill observed Y/N as Richie was busy climbing into the cold water himself, holding her up when she slipped, almost getting lost in the dirty water.

“Thanks.” Y/N mumbled. Bill nodded but even in the second of holding her up by her arms, he could feel the tension in the young girl. Something he usually only encountered in adults, most prominently Audra, but he couldn’t help but feel miserable for her. Bill still felt that it was his fault she was dragged into this mess and he wanted to make damn sure that she would get out of it alive. She and Richie. He owed her that much. He was convinced he did.

The group waded through the muddy water. The last time they had been in the sewers, the water wasn’t there, children were floating, and toys and rubble were stacked way up high. They were relieved to say the least as they didn’t spot a child nearby, however the relief was short-lived.

“No, no, no, no, no. Ugh, no.” Eddie said, hands raised above the water, his face scrunched up in disgust while a teddy bear that was floating on the water moved his way. Richie made a little wave, moving the bear into a different direction without touching it and offering Eddie a smile. Eddie returned a tight-lipped smile. But Richie found some thankfulness in his eyes. His heart was put at ease.

Mike climbed onto the platform, followed by Bill. A line had formed and to Y/N it looked almost comically in order.

“Bevvie.” A harsh whisper sounded somewhere behind Beverly. She turned around, body moving on its own as she panned the flashlight around, looking for the source of the sound. The water reflected the light. It moved slowly. Menacingly.

Ben turned around after a few steps. “What is it?” he breathed towards Beverly as he noticed the gap between the two and her back turned towards him.

“I thought I heard something.” Bev replied. Her voice sounded light, relieved. Nothing was there. Just the wind. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. She turned around, a small smile tugging on her lips.

A piercing scream. Beverly. The Losers only had seconds to get a grip on the situation. IT was there. In the form of a deformed old woman. IT grabbed Bev’s head, a threatening yet taunting look on IT’s face as it turned around to Ben. He called her name. But he was petrified.

“Time to sink!” IT yelled out in a raspy voice. A second later, Bev disappeared underwater. Richie quickly pushed Y/N onto the platform before jumping to Bev’s help like the rest of the Losers’ Club. Well, everyone minus Eddie.

Petrified, he sat there, eyes fixed on the water as Y/N moved closer to her only source of protection. Eddie looked at her, eyes wild with fear, as he sat still. Eddie didn’t dare to move a limb.

“Guys?” he called out towards the not calm water. “Okay, guys. Come on.”

“Dad?” Y/N asked, clutching her wet shirt with fear.

“Hey, guys? Hey guys, come on. Please, come on. I don’t want to walk out of here alone.” Eddie whimpered, tears shining in his eyes. Y/N’s head whipped towards the man, sympathy clouding her mind and body.

“Eddie, hey, Uncle Eds.” She said, taking his face into her hands. She forced him to look at her, away from the water. “You’re not gonna walk out of here alone. I’m with you. We got each other.” She said. Y/N tried her best to sound strong, convincing even. But she failed herself, and with that, she failed Eddie.

“They’re gonna be alright, we’re gonna be alright. We’re all gonna walk out of here and we’re gonna be happy and you and Richie can finally get your shit together.” She was ranting desperately. Suddenly, they were clawing at each other, holding onto each other for dear life. They were shaking in each other’s arms, whimpering, even a few tears found their way out. But for the first time since walking down into the sewers, maybe even for the first time since stepping into the house at Neibolt street, they felt something that resembled safety and comfort.

Anxious eyes watched the water surface.

It was still. Nothing happened. Nothing moved. Y/N felt her chest ache with fear for her father. For the only family she had known.

Then, five heads popped up, gasping for air.

Eddie and Y/N exhaled with relief. Beverly struggled a little, coughing and sputtering as her lungs finally filled with air again. Ben held her, supported her body as each of the Losers slowly waded back to the dry land.

“Mike, where do we go from here?” Richie asked as he made his way to Y/N and Eddie. With that, the group gathered around a door in the wooden floor, something that had lain hidden the first time around. The group gathered in a circle around the door with the strange carving. One more fidgety than the other. They were about to enter foreign territory and none of them liked the idea.

“In the depths is where it crept. In the beneath to find belief. In the depths is where it crept. In the beneath to find belief.” Mike chanted; voice eerily calm. To an outsider it might seem like he knew what he was doing, but did he really?

“Is he okay?” Ben whispered; eyebrows furrowed.

“I think at this point that’s a relative question.” Richie replied while his daughter merely shook her head with widened eyes.

“What’s on the other side?” Bev asked. She had her arms wrapped around herself as the cold took over her drenched body.

“I don’t know. No one does.” And with that, he opened the door. The Losers took a step back, taken aback at Mike’s sudden action, the bravery and stupidity it took. Mike shone the light down the tunnel and after a particularly short evaluation, he sat down at the edge, ready to climb down.

“M-Mike, don’t-“ Bill said, reaching out to his friend.

“All right. See you down there.” Mike exclaimed, ignoring his friends. Exclamations of his name paired with the word ‘wait’ were met with deaf ears as he descended into the unknown. Worried glances followed him as he slowly descended into the unknown.

“St-Stay together.” Bill said to the remaining Losers as he leaned down, crouching, ready to follow Mike. Ben replied with a whispered ‘okay’ as he too watched with discomfort as one of his best friends climbed down into the darkness.

“You guys, I can’t do it.” Eddie said suddenly. Y/N felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. Richie felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs as he watched his friend crumble, succumb to his own insecurities.

“I can’t. You saw what happened up there. I was gonna- I was gonna let you die.” Eddie mumbled. He wasn’t sure who he was addressing with his word-vomit. Whether it was the group, the Toziers or just himself. But he knew he couldn’t. The pressure was too high. He couldn’t function like that. He wouldn’t. And, with the trapdoor opened, the finality of the moment seemed all too real. Eddie wasn’t ready to face it. Eddie wasn’t ready to see his friends get hurt or - much worse - die. And he was sure at least one of them was going to lose their life. The stakes were high, the risks even higher. And what were seven Losers supposed to do when facing an entity whose full potential none of them were aware of?

Y/N shook her head, slowly stepping closer to Eddie while everyone else remained frozen. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if words were even so much as necessary in that situation.

“I just fucking froze up.” Eddie continued his little rant. “If you let me go down there with you, I’m gonna get us all killed.”

Eddie inhaled sharply, his new inhalator from Keene’s drugstore filled his lungs with relief, the sharp pain slowly ebbing away. But the relief was only short lived as something – or more someone – grabbed the inhalator and pulled it away from Eddie’s lips. Placebo or not, Eddie felt as though the last thing keeping him alive was taken from him.

“Hey, hey, hey. Gimme that.” Richie said as he tried to steal the little metal piece of shit.

“Richie-“

“Let go, you little turd!”

“Just let me get…” Eddie sprayed into the air, the medicine immediately evaporated, but he tried to breathe it in still. Richie suddenly waved his flashlight before Eddie’s eyes, the light blinding him, causing him to let go.

“Listen to me. You had a moment. Fine. But who killed a psychotic clown before he was 14?” Richie asked as he towered over the smaller man. Richie’s eyebrows were furrowed, emotions not really obvious to those standing by. Except for Y/N. She knew that Richie’s heart was beating faster because he was standing so close to Eddie and not just because of the clown. She knew Richie’s palms were sweaty because he was afraid to let go of Eddie, but also because touching him was just as scary. She knew that Richie was scared because he didn’t know if either of them would make it out alive. She knew that Richie wouldn’t want to lose sight of either of them. She knew that he wanted to keep them close and get them out alive.

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, every fibre of his body begged for him to disagree, to say that it wasn’t him. But he finally pressed out an unsure ‘me’.

“Who stabbed Bowers with a knife he pulled out of his own face?”

“Also me.” Eddie said, not daring to look up at Richie. It reminded him of how Eddie had failed him.

“Who married a woman 10 times his own body mass?”

The Losers were met with silence.

“Really? Wow. Didn’t know he had it in him.” Y/N mumbled to Ben and Bev who almost snorted with surprise.

“…Me.” Eddie finally looked up at Richie. Looked him in the eyes. Eddie felt his heart swell with pride as he caught Richie smiling. Richie nodded.

“You’re braver than you think.” Richie said, hand landing on Eddie’s shoulder. A soft smile still tugged at his lips as he watched Eddie grow in himself. The air was thick with tension. Y/N watched the two men with wide eyes and a grin that couldn’t be bigger. She caught herself just in time, not wanting to ruin the moment by squealing and cheering for the two blind lovebirds to take a step.

“Alright. Thanks Rich.” Eddie replied, facial features growing softer. Richie couldn’t take his eyes off Eddie, couldn’t get himself to look away. He felt out of character as he looked at the smaller man with literal heart eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t want to. He wanted to step closer to Eddie and press his own lips against Eddie’s. He wanted to know how they felt, how they tasted, wanted to know how this side of himself would feel.

Y/N watched on, biting on her thumbnail as to keep quiet and not ruin the moment. She had never seen her father look at anyone with as much adoration as he mustered up in that moment on the edge between life and death. The sewers had proven themselves to be an unpredictable place.

Richie raised his hand on instinct, wanting to lay it on Eddie’s cheek, cup it to pull Eddie closer, but he forgot about the bandage that still covered half of Eddie’s face. Just when Y/N was sure they were about to kiss, Richie lightly slapped Eddie’s cheek and pulled away.

The grin was wiped from Y/N’s face and even Ben and Beverly, who had remained unsuspecting up until that point, found themselves disappointed at the lack of action. Richie stepped away, walking back to his little one who just blinked at him.

“What the fuck, man.” Y/N said, only for her father to hear.

“What?!”

“I had such high hopes for you two. And you fucked up. No wonder you haven’t gotten any in ages, old man.” Y/N mumbled as they watched Beverly hand over the rusty metal pole from the fence outside to Eddie.

“Oh fuck off, I fucked your mum. That should be about enough.” Richie mumbled until he realised what he had said. A joke that usually was so light-hearted between the two now felt incredibly heavy. “Y/N, I-“

“It’s alright, Richie. Forget about it.” She replied, giving him a half-smile before walking over to Eddie. Richie sighed, running a hand over his own face. He hadn’t intended to hurt her, in fact he was trying to make fun of himself, but he hurt the one he loved the most. It stung in his chest, left a foul taste in his mouth as he watched his daughter interact with Eddie. She was his daughter, Richie had almost no doubt. At least one way. She knew she was his in a psychological way too. She would always look at him as such, but it hurt to not know the truth, not know who she was or who he was. She felt incomplete. And yet, she didn’t feel angry about Richie’s joke. Not really. Y/N knew he only meant well.

“Hey Eddie, whatcha got there?” Y/N asked the man, who still warily watched the pole in his hand.

“I don’t know. Bev said it kills monsters.”

“Well, I guess that gives us a little advantage.” Y/N smiled, but the smile faded just as quickly as it had come. “Listen, uncle Eds. Just the fact that you’re here already makes you a brave man. And I don’t mean the sewers. I mean coming back to Derry. It must’ve been a nightmare and I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you for not giving up yet and letting IT win. And I promise you we will all get out of this alive. If you believe that we will.”

Eddie didn’t say a word, he just pulled her in for a hug. His eyes found Richie’s for a moment. Richie smiled. And so did he. It felt like Eddie had just found the family he had always craved.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part!)

@whereyoustand @bellero @shockwavee @daniellajocelyn @robindoesntloveme @halefirewarrior @ucy161 @captainshazamerica @catscrochet @gabiatthedisco @strangemaximoff @robynel @the-summer-of-39 @sammy-salamander @majorlyextra @im-justafangirl @bohemiancrue @weebishtae @nobody7102 @creativedogs @sirenjules @littlemaeve @precious-bands-love @darth-dorle @zigabrielle @ggclarissa @bat-shark-repellant @zoemassingale @avengerswon @artlovingbre @supernovavision @eggytozier @eeemmiillyyyy @russian-romanova @isweareverythingsalright @supernatural3002 @intoomuchfandoms @detroitbecomevenom @hitoshi-s-stupid-bitch @keeley-virgo @deviantly-gayy @thedragonofgallifrey @sycard @sassy-specter @psychosupernatural @jerkyheree-michaelm3ll @chros-nomsworth @princesskhy @chocolatecakeandme @felicityofbakerstreet @transparentaliencookiehoagie @danas-wonderland @paige-howell-lester @1800kaspbrak @donteatmycookiesplease @im-justafangirl @finalfemm @tozierskaspb @afictionaladventure16 @morgan-macguire @niallisworld @sp00kymonthenthusiast @blancastans @delicately-important-trash @blue-paradise-girl @im-a-rocketman @emiliesnowflake @peachysinnermon @whatsupsherl0ck @wheezy-kasp-brak @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @ilovetaquitosmmmm @markiismoo @your-not-invisible-to-me @oisek-si @itsarandomsparkle @queen-fam @antivscogirl @fear-epidemic @burner-cell @cait-elizabeth @kind-sober-and-fully-dressed-99 @srtafarrell @opalof @x0softxgirl0x @cocastyle @themagicianssister @adritozier @the-almost-perfect-username @edwardspaghedwardtozier @attractiveugly @cait-scribbles @bethanyb1110 @the-almost-perfect-username @spacelesbianfanclub @alisoncdariel @pinklyrium @leetaemintrashnumber1 @tozierwheelerwolfhard @stress-and-obsess @httpstannie @purple-brainstorm @bitch-imma-head-out @sleepygal124 @mellorine-paprika @im-an-assho1e @vergassdottir @brooke1419 @shherlxck @lauren-novak @increasinglygeeky @babyyydalis @hotgod-amess @queen1054 @raintoray @frenchiefightingman @70sgubler @ccidk @baconstripstripper @thunderkick44 @spiralingtoinsanity @lcvsbts @nerds4life246 @thelanawinterrs @lovenicolerenee @spaghettijr @karentakerofkids @being-gay-and-doing-crimes

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

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I can’t keep my eyes of off you

A/N: this is my secret santa story for @liilaac, I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Summary: You can’t have a wedding without a ring, is his reasoning behind this, and so the first stop on his; propose to Eddie Kaspbrak and make that man his for the rest of his life- list, is a jeweler store. Or; Richie Tozier has no clue how to propose to Eddie, but that won’t stop him from doing it anyway. Featuring Stanley Uris.

Read it on AO3

#My writing #reddie fic #reddie #reddie fluff #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #richie and eddie #adult Richie #eddie x richie #eddie kaspbrak imagine #richie tozier imagine #stanley uris #adult stanley uris #stan x richie #in a best friend way #I really hope you like it Lily!

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louistommo-lesbian · 4 years

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wouldn’t it be nice by honeycombkiss (20.5k/?)

The beach looked amazing, in Richie's opinion. Granted, the moonlight always made the waves sparkle, and the joyous shouts of friends always made the beach seem alive, but somehow it felt different that night. The waves obeyed their lunar queen, coming back to kiss the shore over and over again. and Richie wants to ask Eddie a million questions, but it’s too loud and the moment is all wrong. If Eddie weren’t having the time of his life, Richie might selfishly whisk him away to somewhere quiet. Somewhere where the music didn’t feel like electricity, and the moonlight like magic.

//or: Magic is in the air when Richie and Eddie fall in love under the golden sun, on the loveliest seaside attraction.

AKA the richie/eddie (+ losers club) magical realism mermaid AU nobody asked for

part two coming soon!!

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readinglikechickensoup · 4 years

Note

poly losers club + nsfw (stan centric perhaps?) pls

Hi there! I really, uh, ran with this prompt. You can find it here: A03 Link

I hope you enjoy it

Words: 2502Rating: Explicit Pairing: Polyamorous Losers Club (Aged up to older 20-somethings) Summary: Stanley Uris is worn down and stressed out from his job. One day, he comes home to a surprise.Warnings: Light BDSM, Shameless Smut, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Lingerie, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Play

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dreamdaydreamer · 5 years

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27 Years [Adult Stan Uris]

A/n: This is over 2000 words, I got carried away, sorry about that! But anyway, hope you enjoy. Requests are open! :)

***

Twenty-two years. That’s how long it’d been since you’d last seen Stanley Uris. He left Derry in 1994, just like you, to go to university. You promised to keep in touch, to see each other as often as possible, you were in love after all. But for some reason that had never happened. At first you would call each other as often as possible. Then it slowly became less and less. Until one day you just stopped speaking. Stopped meeting up. Stopped everything.

Soon after you finished your degree, you ended up back in Derry, having to move back there when your father died and deciding to stay. Until then, you’d forgotten all about Stanley Uris, it was only when you had gone back to Derry that you started to remember. Started to remember him, and the days you would spend together, bird watching, playing board games, studying. You had a lot in common with him, at the time you had believed that you were soulmates, but you didn’t believe that anymore. You didn’t even believe in soulmates anymore.

You’d tried to pursue some sort of happiness in Derry. You dated a few guys, no one special though, no one like Stan. You never fell in love with anyone like you had been when you’d been in love with him. So instead you settled by yourself, opening a little book shop in town, quite popular with the locals. You lead a quiet life, and for the meantime, you were happy with that. You attempted to push Stan to the back of your mind and, although you really did try, it proved very difficult, seeming to be able to relate anything to memories of him.

The autumn season had started to come into its own. The weather cooling down from the blistering summer, breezes whistling through town although it still wasn’t cool enough to wear a coat, orange and gold leaves scattered the path.

It was just a routine day in your simple life, stocking shelves and serving the few people who came in. It wasn’t really the shopping season yet, most of your customers came closer to Christmas, burdened with the rush to buy presents for others. And so today you mainly sat behind the counter, reading a copy of one of your own books, sighing to yourself from time to time when the reading strained your eyes too much and you had to put the book down, boredom overtaking you once again.

Stan made his way through the Derry streets, reminiscing about all the time he’d spent there as a kid. When Mike had first called Stan, memories of Derry had come rushing back to him. Mostly the Losers Club, what they had faced together, as well as the good memories they had made over the years. And then he remembered you. He wondered how he could have ever forgotten about you. You were his first love, his only love. Quite possibly his soulmate, Stan realised this was probably why he had never married over the past twenty-two years. He had tried to settle down, to be in a serious relationship, but he never could. The people he had dated were nice but there was always something that wasn’t quite right, Stan could never put his finger on it. Until now.

Throughout his short time back in Derry, Stan had wondered whether you were here. He knew that you’d gone to university, and he knew that you had bigger dreams outside of Derry, but maybe, just maybe you were here. Maybe he would get to see you again.

Derry hadn’t changed much since the last time Stan had been there. The shops were mostly the same. The antique shop, the pharmacy, the ice cream shop, all stood exactly where they had done twenty-seven years ago. It was like Derry was its own time capsule. History trapped in modernity. The buildings looked more derelict than Stan could remember, but the signs and decorations stayed the same, paint peeled off them now. There was something new though. A bookshop. A bookshop that stood on the corner of the street, the most recent shop to open judging by the appearance of it. The oak wood hadn’t faded, the windows were sparkling clean and the signs hadn’t started to peel off. Stan had to double-take when he saw the name of the shop. Y/n’s Corner. His mind instantly thought of you, you had always loved books. He crossed the road, moving to stand in front of the window, peering in. At first, he couldn’t see anything, and his heart sank. Of course, you wouldn’t be here, you were probably out living your best life, successful, married maybe, a family. The thought chewed Stan like a dog would a bone, sinking its teeth into his flesh. It’s not that Stan wouldn’t be happy for you, he would, he would just wish that it would have been him you had married, him that you’d chosen to settle down with. As he flipped the idea over and over in his mind, he caught a glimpse of someone at the counter of the shop, and with a closer look, he knew it was you. Even though it had been so long since you’d seen each other, he recognised you immediately, you were still the same beauty he had been in love with twenty-two years ago. You disappeared into the back of the shop as Stan entered, the little bell above the door chiming.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” God, Stan thought, even your voice is the same. Lilting, and made Stan’s heartbeat twice as fast. In a few moments, he would be face to face with you, after all this time. What would he say to you? He had too much to say, not sure where to even start. He wanted to apologise for being away for so long, for forgetting, he wanted to tell you that he’d missed you, even if he hadn’t remembered you, there was always a part of him missing, and that it was you, he wanted to tell you how much he loved, loves, you, and how, even now, after all of this time, his heart beats only for you. How when he hears your voice, a smile makes its way onto his face subconsciously, how when he sees your face, he can hear the blood pumping round his body, he becomes light-headed and his knees turn weak, just like they had done when he saw you for the first time. He feels like a teenager again, feelings all jumbled and messy but it’s perfect and he feels liberated for the first time in years. He’s planned a speech in his head of everything he wants to say and how he wants to say it, maybe it will be just him spilling out his thoughts and feelings into one big sentence, the words tumbling out of him before he’s able to pull them back into his mouth. But they’ll be there, out in the open, no matter how they get there, then you’ll know. You’ll know how much he loves you. But how will you react? What if you hate him? What if you resent him because he forgot about you? What if you don’t love him anymore? Stan wouldn’t know what to do. What would be the point in carrying on when all he’s lived for is gone. You’re the reason he forced himself to come back to Derry, to face this clown, the hope that he will finally be able to live the life he’d always wanted too, with you. Even so, he’s ready to tell you all that he feels, no matter the outcome.

But then suddenly you’re stood in front of him. And everything he had planned to say, everything he wanted to tell you, runs away from him so fast that there’s no point chasing after it. Neither of you say anything, there was no reason too. Everything that the both of you wanted to say hung in the air between you, hidden in the irises of your eyes, pushed out in the short breaths. You couldn’t believe that he was there, in front of you, and your face paled, like you were seeing his ghost. He’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. And to him, you are. You’re every star in the sky, every pearl in the sea, every flower on the land. You’re every breezy spring day and romantic winter night wrapped up into one, emitting warmth and light and love with every movement. He’s looking at you in awe, he’s making you feel like he used too twenty-two years ago. He’s making you feel loved.

Twenty-two years ago, you had been in love. Twenty-two years later, you were still in love. You wondered whether it was Derry, everything here always stayed the same, maybe that meant the people within it too, maybe the reason why you still loved him was because Derry had frozen you in time. Still ageing, but always the same. But you also wondered whether it was just Stan. Stan. The man you’d loved for so long simply because of who he was. Maybe you were still in love with him because it was too hard to fall out of love with a man like that.

Then he smiles at you shyly, almost like he’s embarrassed, and in that moment, he looks younger, much younger. Like when you first met and he was looking up at you from the floor of the school corridor, after you’d shouted at Henry Bowers for pulling Stan’s Kippah from his curls. Any thought that the man in front of you isn’t Stan, that he’s some kind of imposter, fades away from you as realisation sets in. It is him. For some reason the thought shocks you more than his presence, after believing for so long that you would never see him again, the fact that he’s here, before you, makes you violently shiver and you wrap your arms around yourself as a tear slips down your face. You don’t know why you’re crying; you’re feeling too many emotions at once. Elation, love, relief, but also sadness too, sad that you’d missed out on so much time with him.

Stan doesn’t know why you’re crying either, so he panics, maybe he shouldn’t have come back. Maybe you really do hate him. He’s hurt, of course, but he only wants the best for you, only wants you to be happy.

“I…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come. You must hate me, and I understand, I mean I…” Stan continues to ramble, listing all of the reasons why he should leave, and then he is. He is leaving and you’re pulled out of your trance. You can’t let him leave again. Stan makes his way to the door, but he’s stopped by a small tug on his woolly cardigan, when he turns, he sees you stood there, tears streaming down your face as you continue to cling to him.

“Please don’t leave me again, Stan.” You push yourself into his arms, burying your face into his chest and crying even harder than before. Instinctively, his arms come to wrap around you as he immerses himself in your scent. Your hair still smells heavenly and your scent takes him back to when he was young, warming him from the inside out and sending tingles down his spine, a feeling of safety blooming in his stomach. Stan doesn’t think he’s ever been as happy as he is right now, knowing that you’ve missed him as much as he’s missed you.

The past twenty-two years Stan had been frightened, frightened of his past. And sure, he has good reason, he was traumatised by a child-killing clown. He almost nearly skipped out on returning to Derry altogether, not sure whether he was brave enough to face his fears again, but now he’s glad that he did. Now, Stan’s more motivated than ever to kill IT, so that he can have the life he’d always wanted, with the person he’d dreamt about could never quite remember.

You and Stan spent the next hour catching up in the back room of your shop. It served as a mini kitchen, small but practical, with a little breakfast table pushed up to the wall. You both sat, sipping from your warm mugs, as your hands intertwined on the tabletop, neither one of you wanted to let go now that you had found each other. The way that you both talked, it was like you’d never been apart. Stan tensed up after you asked what he was doing back in Derry.

“It’s…a long story. A story I don’t think you would believe. Hell, I don’t think I believe it myself.” You nodded, in slight disappointment, Stan had never been the type to keep anything from you. “I want to tell you, I do,” Stan rushes out, “I just don’t want you to think I’m crazy!”

“You know I would never think that about you, Stan.” You try to reassure him, but he wouldn’t crack.

“When this is all over,” he starts, unsure that it ever would be over, “I’ll tell you, I promise.” You nod slightly. “I need to go. Duty calls.” A small chuckle escapes the both of you before Stan pulls himself out of the chair, reluctantly slipping his hand out of yours. He reaches the door, but then turns to look at you, a soft smile on his face.

“I’ll come back, if that’s alright with you?”

“Be careful, Stan.” You couldn’t explain it, but somehow you knew that this thing, whatever it was, was serious. Dangerous, even. “Promise me I’ll see you soon?”

Stan’s heart flutters, you did want to see him again. He nods,

“Very soon. I promise.”

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horrancegreeves · 5 years

Text

fic idea I’m playing with. The losers helping Richie recover from a shitty relationship. Endgame Reddie with lots of angst, probably. College au?

“What happened this time, Rich?” Stan asked. He didn’t bother uncovering Richie from his quilt cocoon, he just sat next to the Richie shaped lump and patted where he assumed his back was.

A head of messy curls popped out. “He said I’m too clingy and then left. Two days ago.” Richie was pale with bruise like rings under his eyes, and Stan knew from experience that Richie had probably been in the same position for the last two days. He took a lucozade from the bag he’d brought and poked Richie until an arm snaked out to swat at him. Top half fully out of the blanket burrito, Richie looked on the wrong side of apathetic.

Stan pushed closer. He ignored the smell of stale sweat and breath because it was Richie. He’d skipped a lecture to check on him and decided he could take some a little gross if it helped Richie come out the other side.

After downing the bottle, Richie flopped back down, looking at Stan with a smirk. “Thanks Staniel. Keep going on like this and the neighbors will talk.” Stan rolled his eyes and got up, pulling the quilt with him. Richie squealed and glared.

“You can’t just take a man’s depression blanket like that.”

“You’ve done the same to me and you know it.” Stan countered. It was true. In their friendship it was an unspoken rule between the two of them, that they’d always pull eachother out. “Get in the shower. I’ll put your laundry in and we’ll order in while you catch up on lectures. Sound good?”

Richie was about to flop back down again but Stan’s hard glare forced him up and out of bed. Stan noted, grimly, that Rich didn’t even have the energy to be a smart ass about it. He just loped off to the bathroom with his shoulders hunched and sad.

While Richie showered, Stan sorted the laundry and tried to count the amount of low dips Richie’d had in the past few months. His relationship with Will seemed to be full of the lows, it seemed like every few weeks they would have a bust up, Richie would be low for a few days then Will would swan back in and Richie would be okay again.

He quickly sent out a group message

To: Bill, Mike, Bev, Ben, Eddie

-don’t tell rich I’m asking this but what do you all think of Will?

@eddiefuckinkaspbrak (if anyone else wants to be tagged in my writing lmk!)

#richie tozier #adult richie #it chapter 2 #college au #reddie #stan uris #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic

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musical-broken-heart · 5 years

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Stenbrough Idea

When the losers left Derry Bill started writing down their sewer experience and he started it with explaining Stan. Later when he re-read his work he couldn’t remember the original plot of the story all he saw was a character who was a curly haired jewish boy the cutest in the group who loved birds. Writing his first book off the person he couldn’t remember every detail of the boy was perfect and on point well all the other Losers he tried to write about had something missing and weren’t just right.

#stenbrough #adult stenbrough #bill denbrough #someone please write a fic #fanfic #story ideas #stephen king #stan uris

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stanthemanstan · 5 years

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒌𝒚 𝑰𝒔 𝒂 𝑺𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 ❧ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑰

A/N: thank you guys for a hundred followers! Sorry about the delay between the uploads, I haven’t been writing a lot lately and I’m still working on the chapter after this. I figured that posting this would be a good way to celebrate a hundred! Hope you enjoy the series, and remember that I’m always open to feedback, questions, etc :)

Word count: 1.4K

Series masterpost

It was twenty-seven years after your final encounter with It when you were called. It was funny, since, like you were of the passing of time, you were unaware of who was on the other line. It took a minute of recollection to realize what the Derry, ME on the phone screen meant to you, and who this man was saying he was. Then it all began to flood back.

“Hello?”

“Is this (Y/N) (L/N)?” you heard on the other line.

“Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Mike. Mike Hanlon, from Derry.”

Derry. The word was so familiar. So strange at the tip of your tongue, yet so… mnemonic. It was the name of your hometown.

“Oh my goodness… Mike, hi, it’s so good to talk to you again.”

It was the place that had seemed to escape your mind for almost twenty years. Where you grew up. Went to school. And, through odd circumstances, formed your strongest relationships and deepest fears. It also wasn’t just the odd place, you thought, that was flitting back into your memories; it was also the people.

“I agree. However, the subject at hand isn’t exactly the most lighthearted.”

It was also the events.

“Hold on… This couldn’t possibly be about—”

The dreaded summer of ’89.

“I hate to say it, but it is. It has returned, (Y/N). You need to come back home.”

The vivid image of that horrid clown pierced your mind for the first time in years. Those were the thoughts that were burned into your brain for the rest of your high school career, only fading when you escaped Derry to attend college.

“I’ll— I’ll make plans to leave as soon as possible, Mike. You’ve called the others? Are they gonna come?”

You remembered your friends, the Losers, the misfits that banded together. There was stuttering Bill Denbrough. Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier. Beverly Marsh. Eddie Kaspbrak the hypochondriac. Ben Hanscom.

“I’ve called almost everyone by now.”

And there was Stanley Uris, the boy who was there for it all.

He was your love and your fear— it was terrifying to realize. While the illusion of the tarantula towering over you was scary enough to your thirteen-year-old self, the thought that came after was much more shattering. The thought of losing him.

“…Do you have Stanley’s number?”

Even though you were deemed too young to have known what love was at the time, you knew that Stanley was too important to you to possibly lose. And that was exactly what you were shown. Being vulnerable, especially after Its assault on him, it was heartbreaking for you to see two of him.

One had begged for you to be okay, telling you that he was there for you, that he would never, ever, ever leave you, that you were everything to him. His voice was hoarse from his previous panicking, screaming, sobbing, and it was ever so desperate when he called out to you. He had blood and sweat and tears staining his face that was bent with fear and worry. He had fresh wounds on the sides of his face from where he was bitten by that horribly warped lady.

The other begged for you to save him, telling you to stop hurting him, that you were killing him, that he would be gone because of you. His voice was hard with disappointment and accusation, sharp enough to pierce your heart and break it permanently. He had blood dried in smears across his face and more of it leaking and sputtering from his lips as he berated you. He had the palest, most lifeless skin, and his eyes were even more so. This impression —Its impression— on your feeble mind was almost emotionally fatal.

The confusion and paranoia lasted a fair amount of time since then.

Completely unwilling to recover and clean up by yourself that day, you accompanied Stan home. You worried that if you weren’t there with him, he would be gone and you would see that deathly vision in his place.

You insisted on helping him disinfect his wounds, even as your hands were trembling, and he eventually had to take care of the matter himself. It was a bit of a predicament for the both of you. You did, however, manage to secure the bandages around his head when he finished. He then cleaned up your scratches for you. It was slightly difficult with one hand, for you were tightly gripping his other one in your own, but he was innovative and concentrated. You just needed to be sure he was beside you.

“Yes, I do. It’s four-oh-four…”

When the oath was made at the Barrens, everyone received a cut on their palm as a token of their promise. You winced as the glass shard pierced your skin, immediately cradling your other hand beneath the cut one. Soon, though, your bloodied hand gripped Stan’s.

You had felt him squeeze your hand, lightly and mindfully enough so that it wouldn’t hurt; a sign of comfort. You gazed at him with such a deep look of admiration in your eyes. The sight of his bandages made your heart ache.

On your right, you held Mike’s hand, and everyone together formed a circle. The eight of you stayed there for a few silent moments before letting your hands fall back to your sides. Your hold on Stan’s was more prolonged.

“Okay, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Stan had glanced at you and then looked up at Bill, who was across from him. I gotta go. Your breath hitched and your heart dropped. I hate you, he told Bill. One by one, everyone cracked grins and laughed. Your smile was a weak echo of the others’. You were nervous.

When the laughter died down, Stan caught your eye. I’ll see you later, he said softly. He began walking, setting out towards home, but he also let himself linger a moment or two longer.

Yeah, same. Bye, guys, you said with a wave to the group. While you didn’t want to leave everyone so abruptly, you couldn’t be without Stan after what It had shown you. The Losers parted ways with the two of you.

“Bye, (Y/N). Be seeing you tomorrow. Travel safe.” Mike ended the call.

When you met up with Stan —you had to rush only a little since he had gotten a head start— it was oddly silent at first. You began overthinking. Does he notice how I’m practically following him around like a lost puppy? I’m probably annoying him really badly. Does he know what I saw? Why I’m so afraid?

You looked between your cell phone and the notepad that you had scrawled a cursory phone number onto. Stan’s number. You hadn’t even realized that your heart was throbbing until then.

Stan, I’m sorry, you told him on your walk. I just— I can’t be alone right now, after everything that’s happened. I should probably be going home, but…

With the foreboding weight of your fear on your shoulders and with shaky hands, you began punching in the numbers. Four… zero… four…

It’s okay, he said quietly in return. He didn’t prod or ask for an explanation, but it did seem like he already knew. However, at that moment, you had a tacit agreement not to ask each other what you had seen.

The dial tone sounded, echoing through your head. One ring.

You remembered spending that day at his house, practically locked in his room. Neither of you wanted to talk about what had happened —not then, at least— but it was evident that you both needed comfort and protection from it.

Two rings.

You made small talk as you sat about a foot apart on his neatly made bed. You learned more about each other. That foot was reduced to inches. You confided in each other. Those inches were reduced to closeness. You cried to each other. That closeness became contact— shoulder to shoulder. You consoled each other. That contact became an embrace.

Three rings.

You spent that night in his arms, needing the constant reassurance that he would be there. That he was real. That he was okay. That he still believed in you. There was always a raging mental battle going on— you could never tell if he was there or just another twisted illusion.

The line connected.

Was he there?

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har-rison-s · 4 years

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heaven: 17

never let her go

request/plot: Stan x Reader where they were together back in Derry and kind of forgot about each other after moving away but they always had a void in their lives. And then when Stan is just about to do it after Mikes call his phone rings and it’s you and you’re crying after just getting off the phone with Mike to come to Derry. You both end up going back and seeing each other at the restaurant and you guys just catch up after all these years that passed and old feelings come back.

A/N: Well hell to the low to you guys! I've missed being on here, and I'm so fucking glad that I'm back to writing and I actually have nothing else to do, really, except write. Oh, and fight for justice online, get to packing and moving and go to work. But other than that, I'm free as of right now. I came back to the document for this fic, and turns out I have material enough to post 2 whole chapters in a row. So, let's go. I'm glad you're all still here and I welcome every new-comer with hugs and kisses! So, happy quarantine reading and stay safe! Don't you ever forget - #BlackLivesMatter!

A/N: Also, quick note: if you're uncomfortable with me posting another chapter of Heaven or posting any writings at all, please don't hesitate to let me know. Writing, especially during times like these, and when I don't get any positive income from the real world or social media, writing is what helps me, and I think reading fics means you dive into another world, sometimes a better world, and you can live another life in them and feel better; I also know writing has helped some people fall asleep. That's why I'm posting. Again, if that makes you uncomfortable/you think I'm injust with posting, please let me know!

warnings: shorter than usual, water, over-thinking (lots)

word count: 2.2k

main masterlist

IT masterlist

heaven masterlist

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A/N: Where are my more gifs and pics of Andy Bean rights huh??

gif credit goes to owner, which isn't me!

Oh, is clean water good. Clean, warm, soapy water. Better than sex, she even dares to think. She smiles to herself at the thought. Stanley looks at her, a soft question in his eyes. Not the sex she has with him. She shakes her head, and then rests it against his wet chest. The shower’s water streams down onto them, warm and welcoming, warm and soothing, warm and healing. It collects their hair into dark, thick locks. The shower’s floor shines with water that is now filthy from all the dirt on their bodies.

Bill collected all their dirty clothing and went to wash it in the hotel’s washing machines. He’d get to shower the last, but he didn’t mind. All of them using water at once wouldn’t be useful, either, but that he’ll leave it to their concern. Mike offered to use his washing machine at the Library, but since he lives quite far from the Derry Inn, they all decided to pass this suggestion.

Y/N’s palms are flat against Stanley’s bare back. It’s littered with birthmarks all over, Y/N discovers when she feels small, almost unnoticeable bumps under her fingers. Stanley, instead, opens the shampoo bottle the hotel offers and squeezes half of it out into his hand. He then runs his shampoo-y hands into Y/N’s hair, against her scalp. She hums. Stanley moves the shampoo into her hair, massaging circles into her scalp. She smiles softly at the gesture.

He does the same to his own hair, and Y/N chuckles at how weird he looks with his hair slicked back. “Reminds me of your Bar Mitzvah hair.” She says and Stanley gives her an airy chuckle in response. He remembers his mom’s effort and frustration into gelling his unbending acorn curls down neatly to his head.

“That was horrible.”

“No, no, that was a statement.” She corrects him and they both laugh. Her arms around him, hands on his back and his arms around her waist, hands interlocked to keep her intact in his embrace, they look up dreamily at each other. The water frustrates their eyes a small bit, making them blink more than usual.

Gazing into each other’s eyes transmits more emotions between them than they could muster to say in the same amount of time. Words really are hard to find to say all that Stanley could say to Y/N, about how much she means to him, about how he can’t breathe without her, how he needs her, how he wants to cherish her and love her for the rest of his life, and how he wishes they never parted. He also wants to say a big thank you for giving his strength, courage and self-belief back simply by talking, by being with him. He could not have gotten into this shower-bathtub, for example, without her help, without her words. Let alone Derry or Neibolt House.

Y/N would like to tell Stanley how grateful she is for his love, and that it is he who loves her. She would want to let him know that he’s the most important person in her life, that he means the most to her, and that she’d do anything to turn back time and relive her—their both’s—life differently, together. Happy.

How happy, how much more happier they’d be if things had turned out differently. And she wants to tell him how grateful she is for him to be here, right now, as well as tell him how privileged she is to love him, and to have him love her back, how privileged it is to hold his hand and look into his eyes.

But to not waste any emotional and physical material, they suffice with a simple—

“I love you.” She tells him in a quiet whisper. It almost drowns with the water in the dark drain of the sewer pipes. She leans up to kiss his lips. She can taste the coffee he drank earlier still, and the water. She smiles, and she kisses him again. And again. She chases his lips with hers, her hands pushing against him slowly, not at once, but slowly, begging. She kisses him, and she almost melts.

Stanley moves her rogue hair strands out of her face, and holds her cheek while looking into her eyes. His orbs move back and forth only the slightest. A corner of his lips raises ever so slightly. “I love you.” He assures her and kisses her again. He then kisses her forehead and pulls her into an embrace against his chest. Even his chest hairs have flattened down from the water, she can barely feel them against her cheek. She closes her eyes, and so does Stanley.

Something about the way he holds her, something about the way he shuts his eyes when he does. Thoughts of what is to come creep into his mind now, despite how badly he wants them not to. What if this is the last time I have her to myself? Selfish to think of her like that, but… She’s the most beautiful angel I’ve met in my life. I want to spend my entire life with her, I want to give her what I did not for the twenty years spent apart. What if, when I go back home, my mind will be changed about her? What if we’ll forget each other again, like last time?

But what if you don’t go home, Stanley? Maybe go to her home, or go home with her. Not your home, but one that would belong to you both. And Patty? What of her? Do I not call her or visit her? Do I just leave her in the dark? I can’t do that to her. After all we’ve been through, after loving one another for so long… After being married, and happily at that, after her trusting me so much…

Do you still love Patty as you did before Mike called you? As you did when she helped you pack clothes and essentials for this trip? How will you tell her you’ve met the love of your life, the love of your childhood again and made love to her in another city, another state? Another place, or void, completely foreign and strange to Patty and her whole life, and how she knows life in general? It will break her. Would it be better if you didn’t tell her at all? No, no, I can’t leave her wondering in the dark.

What if you love them both? What do you do then? Marry Y/N and live together as three married people? That’s complete craziness, Stanley. You can’t do that. But if I can’t choose… If I can’t choose between the two women I love most, what do I do then? Leave them both and live alone? Or should I choose? Which option would be better for everyone involved? Do I choose to be selfish and choose Y/N or Patty for the rest of my life? That’s only fair to me, and I can’t stand by that. But…

Stanley can’t live without Y/N. Maybe it’s just what he thinks now because he’s met her again, but then again—there wouldn’t be these feelings if there wasn’t an old cause for them, old roots grow out of something, not nothing. And they do have roots. Childhood. High school. Before college. The first year of college. Then it faded away… But these feelings are still here, they’re still real, present and true. They’re as intense as before, if not more. It is beyond love and belonging and craving, it is far more than they as mortal humans can understand, can know that they feel. He can only give her the tip of the iceberg that is his whole love, emotions and feelings for him. He can only do so much with his human mind and body.

But Patty… He loves Patty so much. They’ve been married for more than ten years, and found solace in each other. They loved each other even when they could not get children, they loved each other when they’ve woken up to a sour day, they loved each other even when they drive each other nuts (which is rare in their earthly, calm marriage). What fun have they had in these happy, peaceful years… Stanley would not trade it for the world. Ah, then and there, maybe. But here and now...

He doesn’t know. He can’t decide.

But somehow… The marriage ring that lays in the drawer of this hotel room’s nightstand, it feels like an anchor. And it feels old, as well, as strange as it sounds. Old, as if Stanley had lived in a past life with that ring and the person who carries the other ring, the rigs a promise to be man and wife until death do them part.

But it’s not death that will do them part. The happy, peaceful years he lived with Patty were simply years and time that fed on forgetfulness of crucial things such as childhood, and friends, and dreams that little kid Stanley Uris wanted to achieve in life. They were years of tunnel vision, of ignorance, but not his own. His self-consciousness’ ignorance caused by the magical curse IT laid upon Stanley and his friends once they left the town of Derry.

It’s best to think about it on the flight home, not now, about choosing the best option. Shower, heal and spend time with her. Heal together. You’re both still here, so right now you might as well use it selfishly, while you have that. Stanley opens his eyes and looks down at Y/N. The water runs in his eyes a few times. She moves back to look back at him, feeling a slight change in his position. She blinks, because the water gets into her eyes, as well, but she smiles. Stanley does as well, and then he reaches behind her to turn off the shower stream.

Naturally, they both shiver out of loss of warm water, but then hurry out of the bath-shower to wrap themselves in towels. Stanley helps Y/N not fall over on the slippery surface, what with having as many fears as she does. It’s a bath, after all, and he feels they’ll always frighten him a little bit from now on.

They both reach for the towels hanging on the heating pipes, and Y/N hums at the contact with her towel. It’s better than nice, and it’s better than perfect. She feels like falling asleep in this towel. Surprisingly soft for hotel towels.

They dry their hair out as much as they can with single towels, and then wrap the towels around their bodies. Non-verbally, maybe telepathically, they decide to wash their teeth. Stanley uses his own toothbrush and paste, but Y/N uses the tools their hotel provides—in the rush to catch the first flight to Maine she forgot to pack her tooth essentials. How silly and unhygienic of her, you might think. Not in her situation, not this time. Tooth cleaning essentials were really the smallest and most unimportant thing then.

Nor Stanley, nor Y/N speak much. There’s silence between them, tense but peaceful. So many questions nag at both their minds, so many questions they want to ask each other, mostly many uncomfortable questions. Answers to them would be too painful, too frustrating and hard to deal with, in general. Hence the questions are not asked. Many things they’d like to say to each other, but neither of them want to make this a book or movie scene, understand, with confrontation and dramatics. They just… They just really want to be here. They want to live and breathe and move without any complications or heavy-weighing anchors.

Y/N steals a shirt from Stanley, he’s already used it in this trip, and he had folded it to pack into his bag. He snatched his hand after her, but she’d already pulled the shirt over her head and naked breasts and stomach, too late for him to get it back. He looks at her, defeated, and she gives him the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips. Now he can’t help but smile at her, she never fails to make him smile. With her simple enchanting grace and comedic mannerisms. Sometimes Stanley thinks her funnier than Richie Tozier himself.

Stanley now straightens up in his other button-up and underwear and watches her gracefully waltzing back into the bathroom, only in his shirt and her knickers. He can see wet spots on the shirt’s shoulders and over the breasts and back from her free-falling wet hair strands.

How magnificent is she. Arms like feather wings, legs like intertwining ribbons that dance so easily to their own beat. Hair of a color that reminds him of sunny summer and spring days, as well as dark winter afternoons, autumn mornings. Hands with the pads of cotton, cheeks plump and full of color like bright red roses. Her weight almost non-existent, so light and bird-like she carries herself. Her eyes of eternal kindness, the smile of a thousand little suns. And when you add all that together, it seems unreal, doesn’t it? She does. A fantasy only staying for a few moments until it swims away, to someplace else, to someone else. Stanley sighs.

He cannot let this fantasy go. He cannot let her go.

Permanent tag-list: @gabiatthedisco @v0idbella @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @works-of-fanfiction @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @stfxlou @ur-gunna-h8-ths @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie @deardeacy @thewinchesterchronicles @mavieesttriste16 @langdonzvoid @intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131 @eddie-spaghetti-boi @anxiousanakin @terratori812 @urban-dreams @beverlyparkerr

Stanley Uris tag-list: @nightbu-g @sadhwstudent @shawni-h @gothackedalready @seasidecrowbar @starred-river @raspberryacid @facelessbish @tozierskaspb @plum-duels @whereyoustand @kimseungminsgf @stanstan-the-manman

Heaven tag-list: @lovvliies @kaspbrak-uris @happy-at-home @jars-of–jupiter @violetzendaya @veronicapuff

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

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arctichotch · 3 years

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if anyone wants to send me requests for adult stan uris HCs, i will happily accept. idk if there is a demand for them in any way but if there is sent them my way :) i’ll do smut, angst, fluff

i’m also going to start my other cm requests too soon enough!!

#it chapter 2 #it #it chapter 1 #stanley uris #stan uris #uris #losers club #andy bean #wyatt oleff #fic #request #stanley uris x reader #2019!stanley uris #adult!stanley uris

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anxiouslymalicious · 5 years

Text

Losers Club Plus One Part 6

A Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series.

Read the previous part here or go here for the complete series-masterlist!

A/N: I finally made it!! This is so overdue, but some things always kind of fucked me up and kept me from writing. Like my laptop being an old little shit, my dad being a dick, my birthday, my current lack of money as I’m still looking for a job to finance life and the fact that I have to write university applications. But I finally made it and Part 7 should make it out before the end of this week as a little apology. This has about 3.2k words, just so you know!

Also, huge fucking trigger warning! (anxiety, mentions of homophobia, blood, there is a wound, I didn’t go graphic on that one although I really wanted to.)

I hope you enjoy!

Richie felt his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach as his daughter uttered the words. He felt his whole head grow hot, from his neck to the tips of his ears. His heartbeat quickened and nausea took over his body. Richie felt that he was about to stumble, too far in his head to focus on mundane things like walking. And breathing.

Y/N noticed the change in behaviour in her father. She expected him to nervously joke, but when he fell silent, she knew that she must have hit him hard.

“Dad are you alright?” she asked carefully, stopping in her tracks. Richie kept on walking for a few steps, until he noticed that she wasn’t following him anymore. His back was bent, turned to his daughter, as he fumbled with his hands. He remained quiet, nodding his head.

“Yeah, I’m good, squirt. Let’s keep going, alright?Gotta get that fucking token.” Richie finally replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket but he didn’t make a move to walk. Slowly, almost like she was approaching a young deer, Y/N stepped closer to her father’s insecure figure. Her eyebrows were furrowed, face scrunched up with worry, and she felt her own heart drop. A shaky hand reached for her father’s arm, the sudden touch making the man jump in surprise.

Sad eyes met her own worried ones. She could see tears welling up behind the thick glasses and, as if acting on instinct, wrapped her arms around her father’s middle, hugging the man tightly. It seemed that her action was the straw that broke the camel’s back and within a second, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier broke down, sobbing desperately in his daughter’s arms.

“Dad I’m here. You’re alright. We’re alright.” Y/N whispered, overwhelmed with the situation. She didn’t know what to do, seeing her father this vulnerable was, despite the occurences in Derry, still mostly unfamiliar to her. A strange sight. Most of the time, she was the one needing support, leaning onto her father, receiving a heartfelt hug and a joke that ultimately helped her go on.

Richie hugged his daughter tighter for a moment, his knees buckling under the weight of the world on his shoulders. Both of their knees were close to giving out so the young girl did what she could to carry their figures to a nearby bench.

Richie let go of his kid, instead opting to hide his face in his hands as he tried to calm himself down. He hated this. Feeling this. Being this. He didn’t even know who or what he was. He just knew that it hadn’t been right. Not back in the day. Not when he grew up. Not when he felt his heart beat out of his chest as Eddie climbed into the hammock with him. Not when he felt his heart break and drop out of his ass when Eddie broke his arm. Not when he heard how Eddie snapped at his mother, defending his friends and growing into the strong soul he had gotten to know that summer many years ago. Not when Bower’s cousin told him off, when Bower’s called him a fag and made him leave the arcade, his safe place.

It was alright for other people to be gay, but surely not for him. Someone who makes jokes for a living and is dependent on what the public thinks of him. Someone who had a daughter whose mother he couldn’t remember.

“Dad,” Y/N spoke up, voice raspy and pregnant with unshed tears, “I love you, you know that, right?”

Richie nodded.

“And do you know what could change that?” she continued to ask.

Richie shook his head, a sharp pain in his abdomen telling him that he was about to hear something he wouldn’t like. He didn’t dare to look up at her face. He wasn’t ready to face the disappointment on her face, the hurt in her eyes.

“Absolutely nothing. I love you for the asshole you are. You are infuriating, your jokes are inappropriate more often than not, you make fun of my mistakes- “

“Aren’t you supposed to say nice things, squirt?” Richie peeked up at her a little, a warm wave of hope filling his chest.

“Don’t interrupt me, I’m having a moment. You, all in one, may seem like a terrible human being to others. But not to me. You make people laugh, you care about your friends so much, you came back to your friends for a promise you made 27 years ago, you took care of me all my life when you could have given me away as easily as my mother has. What I want to say is that nothing could ever make me hate you.” She continued honestly. Richie sniffed, a smile now on his lips. Silent tears were still running down his cheeks.

“Not even… this?” Richie asked, voice hoarse.

“You’ll find out when you tell me what this is.” His daughter replied, a teasing smile on her lips. Richie appreciated the normalcy she tried to bring to the situation.

“This is…” Richie took a shaky breath. “This is me liking Eddie. Not only as friends.” He finally admitted. He heard a squeal beside him before his daughter’s arms engulfed him. A chuckle of relief escaped his lips as he just enjoyed the new feeling. The feeling of being out of the closet he denied hiding in all his life.

“Dad, a lot of people are gay. That’s who you are and who you have always been. It won’t make a change. I love you, dad.” Y/N whispered to Richie and he swore he could feel his heart jump out of his chest in joy. He held onto Y/N’s arms, relishing in the comfort she provided.

“I love you too, squirt. Just… Please do me a favour and don’t tell anyone yet.” Richie mumbled as the duo moved apart. She contently agreed and, with much lighter hearts, they made their way to the hotel.

The easiness of the moment didn’t last long, however. With every step they took, leading closer and closer to the dreaded hotel, the duo felt their enthusiasm fade away. It wasn’t until they came to a stop in front of the old, worn-out doors that they realised how little they liked the situation the pair found themselves in. Hunched over with the weight of the uncertainty surrounding them, they considered each other’s faces before they slung their arms around each other again. For a sweet, ignorant moment, Y/N felt that everything would be alright. That she would hide away in her and her father’s room, patiently wait for her father’s and the other Losers’ safe return and then… Well, what then?

Y/N shook her head a little at the looming question, telling herself not to worry too much about just that for the moment and, instead, savour the warmth of her father’s hug.

Richie held his daughter by her arms to push her away a little, really looking at her face for a moment, hoping to commit every single detail, every freckle and scar, to his memories. Just in case this would be the last time he saw his own flesh and blood. Richie really hoped this wouldn’t be it, but with that psychotic bitch of a clown running around, he just couldn’t be sure.

The harsh autumn air pulled them out of their comfortable trance and Richie cleared his throat of the lump that had started to restrict his airways.

“Okay, listen up, Y/N. This is going to be hard.” Richie started. He wanted to add a dirty joke in hopes of lighting up the mood but bit his tongue instead. “Get yourself a weapon. A knife or something. Just anything you can defend yourself with. And then, I want you to stay in the room and not open the door to anyone except for me. Scratch that, just don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back to pick you up right here the second I find that fucking stupid token. What else? Uh…” Richie scratched his chin, thinking thoroughly about what they had done to wound IT, to keep it away from him, but his mind was blank.

“Oh! Stay away from the drains!” Richie finally added, a little proud of himself for thinking of that last comment although he had to fight his body’s urge to shudder at the memory of the Marsh’s blood-stained bathroom.

“I will, dad. Don’t worry about me. Please be careful. I know you can be a reckless shit at times.” Y/N mumbled as her eyes glazed over with unshed tears. Richie’s breath hitched in his throat as he pulled his daughter close to his heart one more time.

“I promise, squirt.” He mumbled in return, a sorrowful smile on his lips. He hated himself for putting her through all this, making her see and encounter the things he did many years ago. But he secretly also felt relieved. Almost happy that she was there with him to encourage him, bring him back to the ground when panic took over, and, finally, to meet the people he considered family many years ago and was starting to grow closer to again.

“I’ll see you later. I love you, you little shit.” Richie finally said, pulling out of her hug and taking a step back.

“I love you too, you huge shit.” Y/N replied, stepping towards the door. One hand wrapped around the door handle, the cold metal soothing against her sweaty palms. She felt her heart aching in her chest, the wish to cry out loud for her father to not leave her grew rapidly in her stomach. Tears stung in her eyes as she watched her father turn his back to her. What would she do without him?

Y/N’s eyes followed the lanky figure of her father grow smaller with every step he took into the unknown direction. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and Richie turned around, facing her again. He took a look at her. The young girl who had seen horrors, too many of them already, but had yet to face the personification of a nightmare in a fight for life and death. Richie knew that IT was toying with her, just like it did with each of them, but he couldn’t help her.

Not right now.

Not if he wanted his friends to see the sun rise another day.

Y/N mustered up the most reassuring smile she found in her, hand raising to wave at her father before finally stepping into the musty old hotel. The door swung closed behind her, creaking threateningly.

With dragging feet, she made her way through the entrance hall, her figure hunched over with fear. Slow steps finally took her to the right room door where she fished out the spare room key from one of her pockets before entering. Once Y/N found herself in the security of her room, she made sure the door was closed properly, a relieved sigh escaping her lips. She allowed her body to break down, dropping to her bed, and closed her eyes for a moment.

It wasn’t long until she felt that she was drifting off, her mind hazily floating in that state between a deep slumber and full consciousness. Y/N was roughly pulled back to reality, though, as she heard a sound in the room. Like wood creaking under the weight of a living being. A being that had to be bigger than the mice she assumed were roaming the place.

Scratching. Finger nails on wood.

Another step.

And another.

Something was crunching.

The sound dulled.

Y/N’s heart felt like it had jumped to her throat. Her senses were heightened. Her body was shaky as she rolled herself off the bed, creeping behind the next bed, the one closest to the window instead of the door.

More steps. Faster steps. Shorter steps. They grew louder and louder.

Y/N…

The sound of her own blood rushing through her veins filled her ears as she slowly moved. Crawling on her hands and knees. Hoping to find a spot to hide.

‘Find yourself a weapon’ Her father’s words echoed in her mind.

She cursed herself for not doing as her father told her. The steps continued. She heard them. Heard the sickly sound of drops falling to the ground. Y/N felt the bile rise to her throat with fear of what might be dropping to the ground. Drop. After drop. After drop.

Oh Y/N…

A voice sounded in her head. A voice she knew not to be her own. A voice that was disturbingly familiar. But it never reached her ears.

Poor little baby.

Again. It sounded as though the voice was inside her. Replacing the voice of her own thoughts.

It sounded like IT was in her head.

A shrill laugh filled the room. Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, eyes carefully scanning the room to find the source of the sudden sound. The real sound.

More steps. Angry stomps. Menacing. Threatening.

And suddenly, they stopped. IT should be in her sight now. But IT wasn’t.

Something wet dropped to her shoulder. Her blood ran cold. She didn’t want to turn around. Her mind screamed at her to run. Run away. As far as possible. But her body acted on its own accord.

She turned her head and came face to face with the clown. Blood was dripping down its chin. Mouth wide open, teeth stained with blood. IT’s yellow eyes had nothing human in them as the clown suddenly laughed.

“Boo!” IT growled, Y/N jumped away just in time to escape the teeth. Uncontrollable screams escaped her lips. Claws rather than hands were reaching out to her, trying to pull her closer. The girl rolled around, desperately pushing herself up from her knees to run. The bathroom door was still closed but it seemed like the best option.

As if on cue, IT untangled its body, following her the girl almost mechanically as she stumbled towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She leaned her full body against it, hoping to keep it closed. IT’s claw stabbed through the door. A sharp, throbbing pain shot through her arm.

“Poor little thing, living a lie.” IT taunted the young girl. She shut her eyes tightly, body still pressed against the door.

“You’re not real, this is not real.” She whispered. “I’m in my bed in LA, this is a nightmare and none of this is real. I’m just dreaming.”

“Believe me, little Y/N. This is real.” IT replied, almost gleeful of the situation. The next thing she heard was a pop, then deafening silence. Y/N felt her knees buckle, her body slowly slid down the door, welcoming the cool tiles below her. She remained silent, waiting for a new move by the creature, but receiving none.

A throbbing sensation spread through her arm and she winced as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Y/N’s ears were filled with one sound only. The almost droning sound of her blood flowing through her ears. Her heart was hammering painfully against her ribcage. Bile hit the back of her throat as she gasped desperately for air. A tingling sensation shot through her body, starting at the very tips of her fingers and leading up to her chest where her lungs were screaming for oxygen.

Thoughts of her father filled her mind. Memories of him helping her through anxiety attacks. Memories of him telling her how to breathe. Rhythm.

‘In and out.’ Richie coaxed her, holding her cold hands in his own. ‘Slowly, Y/N.’

‘’m t-tryin’’ she mumbled out, the tingling in her lips uncomfortably familiar.

‘I know, squirt, I know. Come on, I’ll help. Breathe in.’ her father said gently, softly, as to not scare her. He squeezed her hand, signalling her to breathe in. She tried to follow his directions, but panicked gasps hindered her.

‘Shhh, shh… It’s alright. Don’t worry. Just try to breathe.’ Richie continued, relieving the pressure on her hands, silently telling her to breathe out. She tried to do as she was told, struggling, but letting out the air in her lungs until Richie squeezed her hands again.

‘You’re doing so good, squirt. I’m so proud of you.’ Y/N smiled a little as her father talked to her, soothing her, comforting her. Slowly, her breathing evened and the young girl felt like she was in control of her body again.

Control.

Regain control.

Instead of her father squeezing her hands, Y/N balled her hands into fists, pressing them closed, her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palm as she tried to breathe in, releasing the pressure as she tried to breathe out.

Richie. She was missing her father.

Breathe in. Squeeze. Hold it. Breathe out. Let go.

Again, and again, and again.

The familiar tiredness washed over her body, slumping with exhaustion as her shaky breaths evened out, her airways relaxing. Her body eased up, uncramping as she felt a wary sense of safety wash over her.

Some time passed. Minutes, maybe hours, maybe seconds, until she found the energy in her exhausted body to fight herself up onto her feet. She peeked through the hole IT’s claw had left in the door, carefully watching the room. Nothing moved. Not a single shadow. Everything was eerily quiet. Her eyes finally travelled through the bathroom she continued to hide herself in for the moment, landing on her scared reflection in the broken mirror. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, knowing that death was reaching for her.

Y/N’s eyes looked down at the sink, then her gaze travelled to her arm. Blood was running down her arm, dripping down the tips of her fingers. It wasn’t enough to be dangerous, she was sure of that, but she still didn’t want to risk the wound getting infected. Besides, she felt vulnerable in the bathroom, near the drain, the place Richie told her to avoid.

Hesitantly, she walked closer to the sink. Something blinked. She stopped in her tracks. It took Y/N a moment to realise that it was just shards of the mirror lying innocently in the sink, reflecting the sunlight that made its way through the dirty window.

Y/N considered the glass, the sharp tips and edges for a moment. She lifted one of the handy pieces, twirling it around between her fingers before deciding that it would do as a weapon. At least for now.

The girl moved through the room, the shard tucked into the back-pocket of her jeans, in hopes of finding anything to patch her arm up with, but ultimately coming up with nothing.

With an angry grumble, she wrapped a towel around her arm and washed the drying blood off her hands. Then, Y/N walked back to the door and listened for a noise. Any little sound from the actual room. But still, nothing. Absolute silence.

With sweaty palms, she opened the door. The room was empty. Empty, except for a single red balloon. For a moment, it seemed ridiculous. A monster that easily could kill her and half of Derry over the course of a day just up and left, leaving nothing behind except for a stupid red balloon, the maybe least intimidating object she had ever encountered. She scoffed, feeling almost offended at the simplicity of the moment.

That was, until the balloon turned a little and she could see what was written on it.

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