#bill denbrough one shot

[antisociallilbrat]

I keep thinking about Stan getting a pet parrot, naming him Whisper and how Whisper absolutely hates Bill. Chases him around the house, is constantly nipping at him, and screams anytime he enters the room. In Stan’s eyes Whisper can do no wrong and so he’s always like “What did you do to him?!” At Bill and poor Bill is like!!! “Nothing! That bird is just the devil!”

Bonus: Whisper loves Richie and Stan hates it bc he’s always teaching the bird to say cuss words.

[strangesickness]

losers playing ttrpgs... losers playing ttrpgs save me...

mike is running a multi-year homebrew ttrpg campaign that is basically just a combination of any rulebook the losers can get their hands on + anything they come up with. i know it to be true. the campaign started as a call of cuthulu campaign but it is now a terrifying mix of call of cuthulu, dungeons & dragons, and cyberpunk with elements from a dozen other games including star wars: the roleplaying game, warhammer, harnmaster and somehow alma mater(??? idk how. but i know this happened). richie was like. "mike man, i love you forever, you're great at this. but why don't i have magic powers?" and he pointed at ben's collection of d&d rulebooks he'd been browsing through and he sounded so earnest and excited that mike knew in that moment he was going to sacrifice the integrity of his cool mystery campaign so richie could cast vicious mockery (99% sure vicious mockery didn't exist yet... don't quote me on that but it doesn't matter because the idea of richie using it constantly is hilarious)

they've all been playing the same characters for years and they keep convincing mike to add more stuff so they're all like super powerful and mike keeps having to come up with more and more powerful enemies.

mike's dice collection is so so so cool he has so many dice, and whenever he introduces a new important character he goes out and gets dice that fit their theme and it is such a moneysink but it's worth it because ooooh pretty dice

after four occasions where the losers decided to adopt a random npc mike hadn't planned anything for, mike has started planning every single npc out down to the specifics of their childhood education. he has endless character sheets hanging out in his room with characters he's created that populate his game world.

okay hanbrough agenda time: bill is the most oblivious guy in the entire world. i know this. (he is the guy who looks at brokeback mountain and goes "what do you mean it was gay? why can't men be friends anymore?" this is based on that one passage at the beginning of the book where he goes on one of those "why can't the curtains just be blue because they're fucking blue" rants lol. he does not know what media literacy is. to me) and mike is. increasingly frustrated and feels like he's losing his mind. he is like head in hands because he asked bill to go to prom with him and bill was like "yeah sure man! sounds great, you're my bestie forever!", and he has no idea what to do, because how is this man this dense, so he just starts having all of his NPCs fall head over heels for bill's character and flirt like madmen. it is painful for everyone involved. except bill. who still has no idea what is going on. that is a very unfortunate month.

mike and ben hang out a lot and ben helps mike brainstorm for the campaign so ben has all this insider knowledge and mike will just look at him before something insane happens in the campaign. they'll like make eye contact and ben will be like holy shit holy shit holy shit :0 and mike just drops some insane new lore. it's very special to me.

[cosmicbrowniefan]

thinking about a stenbrough coffee shop au one-shot that i read years ago that was cute as FUCK but was deleted and i stg there is next to no stenbrough content so seeing that fic get deleted was really my villain origin story

cutest line was at the end when bill was working and waiting for stan to come in and he didn’t because he was sick so richie bursts in and just yells “ALRIGHT WHICH ONE OF YOU IS STAN’S CUTE BARISTA”

[lefthandersruletheworld]

The Bathroom Break (Bill Denbrough IT fanfic)

Like always, it started with a stutter.

“Cuh-cuh-cuh-cuh,” William Denbrough, or more accurately; Bill, stuttered violently. “Cahhhan I-I go to the buh-bah-bathroom?”

“Sure, go,” his teacher said, her fingers finding her temple in annoyance. She was well aware that Bill couldn’t control that wicked speech impediment, but that didn’t make it any less maddening. Within a breath, Bill had jumped out from his seat and onto his feet. He launched up so aggressively that he slammed his upper legs and hip bones into the edge of his desk. The desk seemed to flinch in return. The resulting squawk the desk's feet made against the floor turned the surrounding giggles and chuckles in the room into all around laughter. Bill looked around the laughing classroom in agonized embarrassment. His classmates were laughing so sporadically and loudly, that one would assume some poor child just let out the most atrocious and fantastical fart known to man in a classroom of thirteen year olds. Bill only wished it was that simple, then he could dispel any mean spirited questions with his own simple answers like, “I couldn’t hold it in anymore” or “my mom made beans, it’s not my fault”, but Bill wasn’t so lucky. Now on his feet with his eyes to the floor, face blotchy and red like a rainier cherry, he sped walked -just shy of a jog- towards the classroom door. As soon as he lifted his hand for the handle, Moose Sadler; the reason for Bill's humiliation, spoke out, “buh-buh-buh-bye b-b-b-b-b-Billy,” in a mock of his stutter.

With that, another wave of laughter came roaring through the classroom. Bill swung the door open and didn’t look back. He could only barely hear the teacher trying to quiet the class down and get them back to their studies, but that didn’t matter now. Bill’s fast pace slowed dramatically once he was in the safety of the hall. He purposely slowed his walk to nearly a crawl, just to extend the time of his little “bathroom” break. His heart was still beating heavy in his chest, and his flushed face marked him like a sticker of shame placed onto his cheeks, but in the hall he was safe. He was unsure if the shame he felt would ever leave. He hated his stupid, stupid stutter. His mind was consumed by self loathing types of thoughts as he fled into the boys restroom. He didn’t actually have to go, he figured his teacher knew, but he walked in there like it would save his life. Despite his teachers' open distaste for his stutter, she likely understood that he loathed it more than anyone else. He is the one who has to live with the damn thing after all. Nevertheless, she likely agreed to let him use the bathroom just to get his pink face and blabbering mouth out of her once calm and quiet classroom.

When the bathroom door clicked shut and the cold air of the bathroom hit Bill's nostrils, he felt like he could finally breathe. He took a moment to just look at that plain tile half-wall before rounding the corner and being met with the full bathroom. The layout of the bathroom was rather simple. Upon walking in there is a short tile wall to act like a privacy curtain. A person would have to take a right turn to really see the bathroom. On the right hand side of the bathroom there was a wall dedicated to hygiene. There were six sinks set at an even distance between each other; with a small mirror for each. Between each sink there was a soap dispenser and a paper towel dispenser for the sinks and boys to share. It was worth mentioning most boys skipped the whole handwashing process altogether, but Bill’s mother drilled it into his head that polite boys must always was their hands after using the restroom. The left side of the room was for doing your “business” so to speak. The left side of said wall was made up of three urinals, all of varying heights to accommodate the young boys in the elementary wing, the growing boys in the middle wing, and the older boys in the high school wing. Then to the right were three toilet stalls for pooping and privacy. Finally the very back wall, right where the wall meets the ceiling, were some thin and blurry windows to allow natural light through the room. There was also a trash bin on the other side of the half wall, right when you walk in. Bill had been in this bathroom what felt like a million times, so he just made for the stalls without hesitation.

The middle stall was occupied, so he slipped inside the third and final stall at the very end. It was the largest stall and arguably the best because it allowed for that natural light from the windows. It was also without the threat of being peeped on due to the frosted glass, but Bill didn’t know that’s what it was called. Most boys just call the windows “blurry” and that seemed good enough. He latched the stall door shut and - with a motion that Richie, the Trashmouth Tozier, would describe as a “majestic twirl” - pivoted on his heel with a spin and made for the toilet. Unlike what you’re supposed to do while sitting on a toilet, Bill kept his shorts on and securely fastened around his hips. No point in dropping them down when he didn’t have to go. He sat his clothed rear onto the toilet seat and put his head in his hands. His palms felt cold by comparison to his flaming cheekbones. For a moment he just moved his hands and fingers around his face to cool it off. He glanced briefly at the brown leather boots in the other stall. Bill didn’t mind that there was another kid in the bathroom with him, but he sure as hell would rather be alone right now though, but beggars can’t be choosers as his father would say.

Back with his head tucked thoughtfully in his palms, his brain replayed that damn scene in the classroom over and over like a broken record.

His teacher had been trying to gather some class engagement for their reading lesson. She spent what must’ve been about five minutes asking for volunteers to raise their hands so they may take a turn to read out loud, but the classroom was completely void of sound except for breathing and the occasional cough. Normally any teacher would be praising the lord for such a relaxed set of thirteen year olds -mixed with some older kids that didn’t quite make the marks- but that quiet and dead classroom wasn’t what she needed at that moment. It always seemed that when she needed kids to be quiet, there they were laughing, talking and being disruptive, but the moment she needed them to chat, there they were, dead silent and disengaged. She cautioned, ’I’ll start calling on people if nobody raises their hands’ but nobody did. With a heavy sigh she began to point to random children in the class, asking them to read a paragraph or two, before calling on another child to do the same with the next set down.

Everything was all fine and well until she pointed off to the back center row of the class, right on Bill Denbrough. The way her face went from a pleasant look of boredom to instant regret washing over her expression haunted him. The way she realized ’oh no. Oh me oh my what have I done? I just called on the stutterer. Oh God here we go. Now I’ve got to sit through this.’ The look was not shocking nor uncommon for Denbrough, but the fact it was so transparent, and on a teacher no less, threw him completely off his rhythm and left him horrified. Why did people have to look at him like that? He doesn’t like the stutter any more than anyone else does, but it’s not like he can control it. While Bill’s stutter in the classroom was normally long and tedious, her visible regret would’ve had him fumbling for his words even if he didn't stutter. He kept telling himself ’just read through this as fast as you can so she can call on someone else’ but it seemed the faster he wanted to speak, the slower he became. He was choking on his words, only made worse by how some kids snickered or groaned at his lengthy stuttering read, but it all went from bad to worse when he got caught on the word “knapsack”.

That damn word had him by the throat and once he got past the “knap” part of the word, he was completely stuck on the “sack” part of it. The kids really began to giggle there, but Bill was so focused on trying to get the word out, he had no idea why they were laughing. It wasn’t until Moose Sadler; one of the older boys and an on and off again member of the Bowers gang, quickly and quietly shouted, “ball sack,” that the chuckles turned into a roar of laughter. The teacher reacted almost instantly, hushing and shushing the class, but it was too late. The damage was done and the kids were hysterical. Poor Bill was left with the icey realization he was blabbering on and on about “sah-sah-sack-”. If that thought was ice, then the next realization that hit him was like a snowy avalanche; ‘Moose is gonna tell Henry about this’. His mind reeled when the thought grew. ’Moose is gonna twist the story; call me a queer, a gay-lord talking about ball sacks in class’. That was the final straw, the one that left Bill clutching his desk til his knuckles were white and his face was that of a furnace. His only fallback was the good ol bathroom trick.

Which brought him here, red faced and hiding away in a bathroom stall.

Bill groaned into his palms and hid his face even more. His brain just wouldn’t shut up with how Moose was gonna run his mouth. What was Henry going to do to him once he heard? It’s not that Bill had any malicious opinions about gay people, quite the contrary really. He was probably one of the most open minded people in their school about gay people, but it wasn’t a label he wanted others to be throwing around about him when Henry - the Psychopath - Bowers was around. He could practically hear it now, in bold letters like a radio announcer for a big talk show trumpeting, “LOOKIE HERE LADIES AND GENTS, HERE WE HAVE STUTTERING BILL, DERRY MANES FAVORITE GOOD OLD FAGOLA. WHO WILL HE DO NEXT? STAY TOONED THIS WEEK FOR THE NEXT EPISODE OF FAGS IN BODY BAGS”. Bill would be considered the luckiest boy alive if Henry only made him bleed a little bit. He could live with the rest of the school thinking of him as a gay, blubbering fool, but with Henry Bowers around, that rumor might as well be written on his obituary. He almost wanted to cry, but he didn’t dare. Crying with another boy in the room? That would be a fast way to get upgraded from ‘Blubbering Gay Fool’ to “The Stuttering Gay Crybaby”. Although that didn’t make him want to cry any less. Quite the contrary, it only fueled it. His unshed tears bit at him hard, but he denied himself the right to cry. After all he hasn’t genuinely cried since-

Since Georgie died.

Since the funeral.

Since his baby brother was buried in a small casket with only one arm, because they couldn’t find the other one.

Bill looked up to the ceiling, rolling his eyes up to force the tears back in. They bit and clawed, trying to crawl out from their prison and his lower lip fluttered with pre-cry breaths. His breathing was louder than he meant for it to be, but not as loud as he believed it was. He fluttered his eyes, trying to banish the salty tears. They fought him, nearly won but soon retreated. They left a burning sensation throughout his face, but he felt pride in his repression. It wasn’t until he was absolutely confident that he wasn’t going to cry that he allowed himself to look down at the tile floor. They rested there for a moment before flicking back to the boots inside the other stall.

It was odd that the other boy hadn’t left yet, and his boots seemed oddly- nearly painfully- familiar but he couldn’t quite place who they belonged to. The boots were quite large, meaning they belonged to an older boy. It was then where Billy finally noticed a scratching sound that came from the other stall. It took Bill only three seconds, one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, to understand the boy must’ve had a knife or something similar and was carving something into the wall. Given the type of graffiti in Bill's own stall walls, it was likely a fowl spirited message or phallic drawing. That’s just how the bigger boys were, and some of them were really good at drawing dicks. It was almost concerning how well they could carve dicks into the stalls. Bill could do without seeing all the cruel messages written along the walls, but he didn’t mind randomly finding a funny looking penis shape in unexpected places. It was always a good laugh when he found one. He pondered briefly if drawing dicks was a boy exclusive trait. He wondered if girls drew dicks in their bathroom too. Although, they probably wouldn’t because how would they know what one looks like? He supposed they probably draw… whatever it is girls have in their pants, but he couldn’t be certain.

As immature and boyish as it was, the thought of all the funny dick carvings he’s seen made his spirits lift a bit. He’d seen all sorts of drawings. Big ones, little ones, ones with tiny little balls and bulbous tips and others with sharp small tips and huge balls like golf balls. Then there were the hairy ones, veiny ones, floppy ones, super straight ones that seemed to be peeing due to the tear drop shapes coming out of it. Hell, he had even seen one once with angel wings with text underneath that read ‘RIP Boogers Balls’, which was a reference to a time where Vincent “Boogers” Taliendo got hit in the balls with a kickball in gym class. The thought of all those funny penis drawings and the memory of Boogers wailing in pain when he was struck in his nether regions suddenly made Bill feel a lot better. His face was no longer red and despite being embarrassed about the whole classroom endeavor and anxious about his fate with Henry, for now he felt stable. He may cry later that evening if the thought of Georgie returned to him, but he’d likely forbid himself once again. That’s just how he was.

Ignoring his thoughts, Bill decided he should probably return to class. After all, he had been gone for quite some time by this point. He rose to his feet and thought about his bladder for a moment. After a few seconds of mental debating, he decided he should urinate before returning to class, after all, he was right there. Might as well go now he figured. With a turn, unzip and let-her-rip, Bill did his business and within a flash he was finished and zipping himself back up. He flushed the toilet and exited the bathroom stall. In a trained and orderly manner, he walked straight for the sink ahead and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. He cleared his throat while squirting some hand soap into his palm. His eyes met with that of his reflections. His eyes were a bit pink around the edges and lower lids, but other than that, there was no evidence he nearly cried. ’Thank God,’ he thought. In the reflection, he glanced at the other stall, a bit weirded out now since the other boy was still in the bathroom stall. No sounds emitted from the stall now. The carving sound had ended once Bill opened his stall door. Other than the carving, the other boy hadn’t made a sound. No typical bathroom noises or anything. Just silence. Bill mentally shrugged, deciding it was just some kid skipping class. He turned the water on and began to clean his hands in the pleasantly warm water. The water was nice, grounding in a way; comforting. He watched the way the clear fluid ran off his skin like a mini waterfall.

His trance was broken when he heard the clunk of the middle stall door lock being unlatched. Reflexively, Bill looked up into the mirror to see who the other kid was. The other boy must’ve been in the bathroom for well over ten minutes. He curiously watched the stall through the mirror, but the door didn’t open right away. Several long seconds ticked on with no movement from the door. It was much too long to be considered normal. Bill’s hands slowly stopped moving as he watched. He was just holding his hands under the water, fingers intertwined. He held still, just waiting and watching. As soon as the thought, ‘who’s in there’ surfaced in his head, it was as if the other boy could read his mind. The stall door began to creak open, but at a deliberately low speed. Bill was transfixed by this point, unable to tear his eyes from the stall door. The boy who was finally revealed by the door was someone that took the breath from Bill's lungs.

At first he almost didn’t even recognise who the other boy was. His brain seemed scrambled by the position of the other boy's body when he opened the door. The boy's open hand was placed on the door, but with his thumb pointed down towards the ground and his elbow crooked upwards, rather than the casual other way around. The position of his head was just- bizarre. His shoulders were askew, one pointed closer to the floor than the other and his head was cocked to the side, exposing a large portion of his neck. It’s not that his head was tilted like someone would do if they were in deep thought, his head was more so vertically pushed to the side, like someone peeking through a crack in a wall. Bill’s heart practically stopped when he saw it. It was so viscerally wrong. His eyes widened and lips sealed tightly. His shoulders tensed and nerves lit up like a flame to a match. The boy behind him was staring right into Bill's eyes through the mirror and his lips curled at the corners when they locked eyes. The worst part about it was that Bill knew this boy.

The boy that was both behind and in front of him, was none other than Patrick Hockstetter.

Neither boy moved. Bill couldn’t. His legs just seemed to freeze up. He was in a state of denial. It couldn’t possibly be Hockstetter. There was no way that out of their entire school, out of the entire male student body, that Patrick Hockstetter was the boy who just so happened to be in the bathroom at this very moment. Bill’s eyes must’ve been playing tricks on him, but as time ticked on, that hope vanished. The fact that Patrick was both in front and behind Bill sent a shudder through his scrawny frame. His instincts told him to run, but he didn’t dare turn around. He feared that if he turned around, it would activate some sort of primal instinct in Patricks brain and cause him to do something dangerous. Bill waited, hoping to God Patrick would just move already. He couldn't stand looking at that expression anymore; that sinister smile with eyes void of any true emotion. There was excitement and emptiness in his face and it had Bill frozen stiff. When Patrick finally did move, it didn’t make Bill feel any better. In a strange way, Bill had gotten used to that stand off of sorts but when Patrick moved, it was a horrible reminder that Patrick was real. A real, breathing and sentient member of the Bowers gang.

Patrick moved like a predator. Low and slow. Like if he stilled his movement and took care to breathe silently, Bill wouldn't see him coming. He approached the sink, but his eyes never left Denbroughs. It wasn’t until he was finally beside the bathroom sink that his head turned to directly look at Bill's face, not just the reflection of it. Bill refused to look. He shot his eyes downcast back to the water; still running in his palms. Standing beside Patrick, he never felt so small. Bill was only around five feet tall, give or take an inch or so. Patrick was just an inch shy of being six feet tall, despite still being around sixteen years old. Bill hardly breathed, he didn’t acknowledge the fact Patrick was watching him, leaning leftwards towards him. It was almost like Bill was a homeowner and Patrick was a ghost haunting the house. Just so long as Bill ignored the presence, it couldn’t hurt him; right?

Patrick observed the unsteady rise and fall of Bill’s thin chest. His eyes scanned along Bill’s scrawny frame. The way his fingers were trembling, despite the assumedly warm water sent a heat through Patrick. He licked his lips at the sight of Bill's fingerprints beginning to prune. Then, what happened next was just about as abnormal as the way Patrick opened the stall door. Patrick reached up for the soap dispenser and squirted a dime sized dollop into his palm. He spread the soap along his hands until they were frothy and then turned the faucet on. Patrick Hockstetter, the boy who so often collects dead bugs, spits in other kids' faces, and spends most of his time with Henry Bowers or in the local junkyard, was washing his hands. Maybe to someone who had the pleasure of not knowing Patrick wouldn’t understand the abnormality of this action, but it was almost as wildly strange as someone sprouting an arm from their forehead. Patrick mimicked the way Bill's hands moved, almost matching the exact movements like the very mirrors they stood in front of. Patrick was really washing his hands. It was a concept so outside of Bill’s perception of reality, he was nearly tempted to turn his head and watch, but he schooled that curiosity back and kept his eyes trained forward. He could see in his peripheral vision that Patricks head was still turned to look at him.

'Just finish washing your hands and go,' Bill told himself. 'Just finish and go, fucking go.'

That was enough for Bill. He hurriedly gave a final rinse to his hands. Although he already knew them to be clean. He considered them clean enough when the stall door opened, but his curiosity and fear were his undoing. Bill twisted the sink knobs, making the water cease its pour. The absence of the water hitting him felt like a spell had been broken. Bill took just one step back, his hands moving down to dry themselves on his denim shorts when Patrick sprung into action. Patrick moved so violently, the water from his hands splattered to the floor and a few droplets landed on the wall. Bill gasped and flinched at the sudden action and his right eye clamped shut expecting a fist to collide with his cheek, but instead of being struck, he heard the paper towel dispenser get tugged, and a rip sound followed behind. Bill opened both eyes and looked at the other boy. He found Patrick with his arm outstretched towards him, with a half wet paper towel in his hand, held up for Bill to take.

The way he handed the towel to Bill made the hair on the smaller boy's neck prickle. Patrick held up the brown paper between his middle and index finger, almost as if he was offering Bill a cigarette instead of something to dry his hands with. The wetness of Patrick's hands soaked about half the towel and the rest of the water fled down to his elbow in a stream and dripped to the floor. Bill felt like ice when his subconscious reminded him, 'he was carving something in the stall. He has a knife.' That knowledge of the knife, the strange way Patrick, Patrick Hockstetter, moved, and that ever present smile - yet not a smile - on his face set Bill's mind ablaze. Every bone and blood drop in his body said for him to run. To forget the towel and high tail it out of there like an abused dog with his tail tucked between his legs in fear of being kicked.

Yet he still took the paper towel.

His hand moved on its own. He wasn't sure why it did. God, he had no idea why his body would betray him like that. It didn't occur to thirteen year old Billy, but social expectation was one hell of a thing, a demanding thing, and the expectation of being polite overpowered the fear he felt. He took the towel gently, not wanting to make even too fast of a movement. A janky motion would certainly provoke something from Hockstetter. That something was a mystery. It could be as simple as a punch in the chest, a hawked loogie in the face, or a push to the floor, but Hockstetter didn't have that kind of reputation. That was more of a Belch Huggins type of thing, or even a Victor Criss thing, but not a Hockstetter type of thing. Patrick was never that easy. He was precise and cold. Patient.

So with trembling fingers Bill took the paper towel, it still partially soaked from Patrick's own wet hands. When Bill tugged it towards himself, Patrick gave it easily. Patrick's hand lowered to his side, and Bill was so incredibly aware of it. He thought for sure at any moment a knife would come for him. Maybe not to actually stab Bill, but definitely to rile him up. Hell, Patrick would probably say "hey mush-mouth, how about a haircut? Free of charge". However, as Bill did his best to dry his hands with the half damp towel, Patrick did no such thing. His hand remained by his side. It was oddly flexed, kind of like how a gunslinger would hold his hand to his holster in an old western movie, but he made no additional movement. His other hand was out of sight, perhaps in his back pocket, and its lack of visibility twisted Bill’s stomach. 'Say something,' Billy thought. 'Oh dear God just say something. Call me mush-mouth, call me a fag, call me queer, call me a maggot brained idiot or something. Just say something.' He begged internally. The silence felt worse than being punched. It felt like a million tiny needles were poking into his flesh, all throughout his small and thin body. Like the world's most excessive acupuncture session. The silence was so painful, and the social etiquette was so punishing, that it was Bill Denbrough who spoke first, or at least tried.

"Th-th-th-th-th," he tried. He was trying to keep it short, simple and fast; just an easy 'thanks' so he could be on his way. Patrick's eyes sparked to life, his mouth flashing white with a smile that was all teeth. There was no kindness in that smile, but his eyes were worse. They glimmered in the same way a monster’s would through the darkness of a child's closet. Bill couldn't escape them. His cheeks began to flush as he struggled through that singular word. "Thuh-thuh-tha-ae-ah-anks."

He had no idea how long it took for him to finish the word, it was certainly no less than seven seconds, that much he knew, but he also knew he had somehow awakened something within Patrick. It was either Bill's stutter or his politeness, or maybe an unpleasant mixture of both, but something awakened a part inside Patrick. A part of him that Bill did not want to be awoken. His eyes were alive now. Predatory and full of youthful spirit. Bill took a tense step back, and noticed how Patrick tracted his movement. Now it was time to go. For real. Any amount of time longer in this bathroom, and Bill might be crawling out with his teeth in hand. He snapped his head to the floor and started for the door, but audibly gasped when, like a lightning strike, Patrick sidestepped and blocked his path. Bill was so astonished by this sudden speed that he stumbled back, dropping the paper towel he had in his hand. Patrick's sink was still on, the water running and draining all at the same time. It was just about the only sound in the room other than footsteps and heavy breathing. Patrick towered above Billy, and he used this extra foot of height to corral Bill around, with his back facing the mirror. He silently led Bill backwards, until his back bumped against the tile wall, with his narrow hips wedged between the two sinks. Patrick swiftly closed the difference between the two of them. They were at most a foot apart, if that. Bill was pressed entirely against the wall, save for his arms which had to be lifted up, his hands placed on the sides of either sink. He gripped them hard, his skin making an audible squeak against the ceramic.

Now Bill was trapped.

Oh yes he was.

Patrick didn’t even have to speak to bring Bill to his mercy. Not one word had left Hockstetters lips and somehow Bill was pinned against the wall. There was nowhere to go now that he was cornered. He supposed he could try to throw himself into Hockstetter, but Patrick was bigger than him, a lot bigger in fact. Bill was only thirteen while Patrick was around sixteen or seventeen. Bill couldn’t quite remember, nor did he care. If they were older, like thirty and thirty three or four respectively, the gap wouldn't be so dramatic, but a sixteen or seventeen year old vs a thirteen year old was like going to a knife fight and the other guy brought a gun. Not to mention only one of them really did have a knife on their person. Ignoring their obvious height difference, there was also a huge weight difference between them as well. Patrick was around fifty to sixty pounds heavier than Billy. If Bill were to throw himself into Patrick's chest, the most likely outcome is that he’d ricochet back into the wall, or at best temporarily throw Patricks balance off. Best case scenario, Bill would throw himself into Patrick, and the complete lack of anything happening would make Patrick laugh so hard that he’d just let Bill go. Worst case would be pissing Patrick off. Although it was worth mentioning that Bill had never seen Patrick angry before. He was sure it was possible. He had seen Henry angry more times than anything else. Victor, Belch and Moose were prone to anger as well, but Patrick? Bill couldn’t recall ever seeing a scowl cross his face. He had seen- what he assumed was- a mask of anger on Patrick's face, but it lacked a certain fire that true anger had. The idea of somehow successfully pissing off Patrick made Bill's blood run cold.

Even with all of that out on the table, there was still one thing left unmentioned. Patrick was one freaky kid. He kept dead insects in his pencil case, something he was always keen on showing off to select kids for some unknown and bizarre reason. He often had a deathly odor wafting from him. One boy, just a grade above Bill, compared the odor to roadkill. However, the worst and most uncanny part about Patrick was his reputation. He had a long and seemingly never ending history of violence among other boys. He had knocked the teeth out of several boys' mouths, broken several fingers and arms, and even bit kids so hard he drew blood from the teeth marks. He even had a reputation among the girls in the Derry school system, one that was so vague and mysterious to Bill, that it sent chills through him just thinking about it. There was just something so wrong about Patrick. An unspeakable and frightening wrong about him. So trying to shove past him with his back against the wall was not an option for Stuttering Bill.

Bill was ripped away from his thoughts when Patrick abruptly lunged forward. Bill's face snapped to the left. There was a brief second that flashed where Bill thought Patrick was- it sounded foolish to even consider- about to kiss Bill. He was close enough to, that's for sure. In an instant Patricks breath was hot on Bill's right cheek. Bill pondered briefly; would Patrick kiss him? He certainly didn't want him to, but Patrick cared very little for what others wanted. Bill's own voice internally cut in, assuring him that what he thought was nonsense. They're both boys after all and sure, queer people exist but Bill was absolutely positive Patrick was not queer… Or was he? He supposed it was possible, but Patrick liked girls. The previously mentioned reputation he had confirmed it. The way he behaved with girls was something that just about every child knew about but very seldom discussed. Patrick did things to the girls in their school. The things he did were vague at best to Bill. He truly knew very little about the matter. He had no idea what Patrick had done to make the girls so frightened of him. Bill could recall once where Richie Tozier asked two girls what they found to be so scary about Patrick. Bill wasn’t a part of this conversation, but he was sitting comfortably within earshot, and he was curious as to why as well, so he elected to eavesdrop.

Richie had said something like, “I don’t get why you ladies are so scared of him. He doesn’t rough you up like he does us boys. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to re-glue my glasses thanks to him”. The more talkative of the girls answered in the most perplexing and eerie way she could’ve. Her answer left Bill scratching his head. She had said, “there are worse things than being hit, Richie.Patrick does things. You’re lucky you’re a boy”. Even though it was not said to Billy directly, that answer haunted him. What on Earth could that have meant? “Patrick does things,” yes he had heard, but what were those things? What could possibly be worse than being hit, being pinned to the ground with dirt and rocks shoved into your mouth? Being forced to your hands and knees and being sat on? Being stripped of your shirt and whipped with the branches of fir trees across the chest and back? Boy’s will scream, cry and run with terror when the Bowers gang show their faces, but only girls cower and freeze up when Patrick walks by. There was something Patrick did exclusively to girls that left them terrified of him. Bill believed them that it was bad- real bad-, but his brain couldn’t fathom what could possibly be worse than what he does to boys. Yet, in this very moment; being pressed against the wall with Patricks breath against his cheek, there was a small voice inside Bill. A voice that he wasn’t even sure if it was his own and it spoke softly; “are you sure he stops at girls Billy? Or are the girls just the ones that talk about it?”

There was a different kind of fear inside Bill now, one he had never felt before. Fight or flight kicked in, and he wished he could say his body picked fight. He wished he had the balls to stand on his toes, and in a stutterless scream yell, “FUCK OFF HOCKSTETTER,” but nothing left his lips. His body didn’t even have the courtesy to choose flight and force him into action, fleeing like his life depended on it. No, unfortunately Bill’s body didn’t choose fight or flight, it chose freeze. So stuck like a fly in a spider's web, Bill's eyes washed over Patricks face. In close range, he could see the hairs on Patricks upper lip, forming a soon-to-be mustache that would never come. He watched his lips, waiting for Patrick to just say something already. The silence was killing him. Patrick hasn’t spoken, touched or hurt him and Bill was shaking like a leaf. Patrick leaned in a little closer, Bill pressed the side of his head against the tile. He held his breath tight in his chest and his entire body was sent into a rigid, rock like stature.

“Sorry about your little brother,” came Patrick's voice, soft in his ear. It was almost gentle, ticklish even but yet, so incredibly uncanny. Words of empathy, compassion and understanding came out monotone with just a hint of elation. Those words were almost incriminating. Patrick apologizing for the loss of another? Patrick wasn’t known for that kind of sensitivity. Even when his own flesh and blood brother, Avery Hockstetter, died from crib death, Patrick asked for no sympathy and didn’t mourn. He went to school, just like the day before. The blankness on his face was no different than the expressions before. Everything was just… as before. Like Avery never existed and therefore, the death never occurred. Bill could still recall his mother Sharon gasping while reading the morning paper a few days later. When asked, she explained that Avery Hockstetter had died. She had to explain to him what crib death was, saying it’s when a baby accidentally suffocated themselves while sleeping. Bill remembered his eyes widening. He never would’ve guessed Patricks baby brother was dead. Patrick didn’t seem to feel anything about it. Almost as if he’s the one who caused it, but Bill figured that thought stemmed from his hate of Hockstetter, and not one of actual likelihood. While Bill couldn’t be so sure about Patricks involvement with Avery’s death, he now knew without a shadow of a doubt that Patrick did not kill George Elmer Denbrough.

At that very moment, Bill would never be able to explain just how he knew Patrick was not to blame for Georgie's death, but he just knew. Patrick didn’t kill him, and that alone sent another swirl of emotion through the eldest and now only child of Sharon and Zack Denbrough. He was relieved, knowing he wasn’t face to face with a child murderer, enraged, knowing the killer is still out there somewhere and terrified of where that killer may be. Bill’s soft eyes looked into Patricks. Tender eyes met with vacant and void pits. Emotionless pools of darkness were Patricks eyes, aside from just a touch of glee. “Sorry about your little brother,” his voice echoed in Bill's ears, just as nasally as before. Bill’s eyes were locked with the other boys, and with tightly clamped lips, he nodded slowly. His nod was an intentional action, one deliberately used to avoid speaking. However, if he would have dared to speak, he would’ve said, ’thank you Patrick, now please, please get the hell out of my way.’

Bill waited for Patrick to move, after all, the conversation seemed over, but Patrick remained in place like he didn’t notice Bill's answer. His lips contorted ever so slightly into a smile, just at the corners. His grin was almost unnoticeable, but there wasn’t much else for Bill to look at in such close proximity. He remained just as invasively close to Bill, just as he was before. This wouldn’t do. Bill didn’t know what his goal was, but Patrick wasn’t satisfied for some reason. Bill wondered, ’he can’t hear my heart, can he?’ Bill looked downwards to the floor, eyes locked somewhere between the tile ground, the corner of the sink and the edge of Patricks leather belt. The thought of pushing Patrick came back to him, but he banished the thought immediately, because only God and Patrick knew what kind of reaction that would provoke from Hockstetter. Instead, Bill, just above a whisper, tried to speak.

“Th-th-tha-ae-ae-anks-s Puh-Puh-,” he tried. Bill's eyes didn’t lift, but if they did they’d be met with a large, tooth filled grin once again.

A bang filled the room, causing both boys to snap their heads over to the left side of the bathroom. Bill jumped considerably, but even Patrick had flinched ever so slightly at the sound. In came another boy, who had entered so quickly, the metal handle for the bathroom door clacked against the tile wall. Belch Huggins stole the rubber door stopper several weeks ago to piss off the custodians. The other boy had an expression of annoyance as he walked about four feet into the bathroom before looking up and seeing the scene before him. He froze the moment he laid eyes on them. One boy pressed to the wall, eyes as wide as dinner plates and Patrick - fucking - Hockstetter pinning him there. With a rush of courage, Bill took this distraction as a blessing from the heavens. Not thinking of the punishment that will follow his actions, Bill shoved Patrick with all of his might. His hands slammed into the right side of Patricks peck and shoulder, forcing him to open up the right side of his body. Bill used this opening to sprint past him, his sneakers squeaking against the wet bathroom floor. Bill dashed past the other boy, and almost like he could see it in slow motion, he saw the boy's face contort from surprise, realization and then horror. The other boy was now to suffer the wrath of Hockstetter for making him lose his prey, but Bill didn’t regret it. Sometimes one must condemn another to a terrible fate to save themselves. Bill would come to regret it later, a sense of guilt rising up when he’d see the boy’s dual black eyes the next day, but for now, all Bill felt was an ecstasy-like rush of freedom. Bill ran down the hall like his heels were on fire. He only stopped running about halfway down the hallway, the reason being he was passing by the school's office and they’d have a bird if they saw him sprinting down the hall. As soon as he passed the office windows, he resumed his dash down the hall.

Once to his classroom door, he stopped and caught his breath. He opened the door and quietly stepped inside. He half expected the class to turn and laugh at him once again, but maybe two people looked over at him from their books. The rest of the class had their noses down and order had clearly been restored. His eyes flicked to his teacher, and she quietly held up her hand. With her fingers she flashed him the number four, before turning her hand into a fist, and flashing the number four once again. Understanding immediately, Bill nodded and walked to his desk. He sat quietly in his chair and opened up the textbook to page 44. He could feel eyes on him from behind. Bill turned his face to his right shoulder and saw Moose grinning at him. The bigger boy made a ball grab motion with his hand, but didn’t say a word. Bill just looked away, almost relieved by Moose’s presence. He’d much rather deal with Sadler than Hockstetter any day. Then again though;

Who knows what Henry’s gonna do?

[rat-typewriter]

hi! i hole you’re doing good! when you get the chance can you do high school aged baseball player bill de brought x fem reader who plays softball headcannons? thank you!

Notes: Girlie im so sorry this has been in my inbox for like a year,,, but better late than never right???? also im not american so i have no clue what a softball is so this is based off of ten minutes on wikipedia

BaseballPlayer!Bill Denbrough with a SoftballPlayer!S/O

alrighty,,, so first off your school only has one pitch - so Bill first sees you while getting ready for practice and your team is finishing up training

Honestly he spots you straight away - not necessarily because you're any better than the rest of the girls, but because of how you cheer your teammates on any time they make a good hit

He finds it so endearing, seeing someone so openly kind and genuinely excited for their friends

Not to mention he thinks you're probably the prettiest girl hes ever seen but whatever

But he's s u p e r awkward so wouldn't actually work up the courage to talk to you for a couple of months

BUT THEN

it's late afternoon in May; he's waiting with his team for practice and your team is finishing up again

you manage to hit the ball into the chainlink fence and it jams into one of the gaps

now,,, your team has a strict "whoever touched the ball last has to go find it" policy (which has left you digging through bushes of brambles on many occasions) so there you were, half on tip-toe and half straight up CLIMBING the fence to try and reach the stupid ball

you could hear your friends laughing across the pitch and (although you loved them to pieces) you definitely shot them a few death glares

One time you turn and stick your toungue out at them, playfully shouting for them to fuck off

and when you turn back, you nearly jump out of your skin

lo and behold on the other side of the fence is the CUTEST boy you've ever seen, reaching up and pushing the ball back through

and when he looks at you with those blue eyes

asafsghadssdhj

let's just say you don't catch the ball when he knocks it out

you stare at him and you can feel blood rushing to your face

internally you're screaming at yourself to stop gawking at him like a weirdo and SAY SOMETHING

if the fence wasn't between the two of you, the space between you would have been too small to be socially acceptable

honestly you're both so awkward you probably would have just stood there forever, but sooner or later his team would notice him with a girl

"Shit, Bill's got game!"

the entire group of boys suddenly broke out into laughs, jeers and whistles

needless to say Bill was mortified

mind you,,, your friends were no better

every time you saw him after that, they would all start giggling and nudging you like maniacs

don't get me wrong, you love your friends to pieces,,,, but you could have killed them all

you occasionally bumped into Bill a few times after that: around school, sometimes in town - but your first proper conversation was while sitting on the grass outside school

Your team was practicing, but you were in trouble with the coach for flunking a maths exam - so she was making you sit out to study for this session

you stared at you maths textbook - lets be real, not really thinking about anything - when he came over

"M-maths, huh?" he asked, craning his neck to read your notebook

"Yeah," you smiled. "Gotta say though, it's just not adding up."

why in the world did you say that

seriously

worst joke ever (not me slandering a joke i literally just wrote down smh)

But it was the first time you had managed to make him properly laugh

he grinned and your soul more-or-less left your body

you chatted for a while after that, him helping with a few questions

but mostly just messing around and laughing

it was only when your coach shouted to you that practice had ended twenty-five minutes ago that you suddenly snapped back to reality

"Oh shit," you gasped, stumbling to your feet; shoving the book into your bag. "I gotta get home"

He stood with you, helping to pick up your pens and papers

"Sorry!" he smiled sheepishly (oh god that smile) "I didn't mean to make you late."

"It's not your fault." you grinned

Suddenly you realised, didn't he have practice now? the baseball team always came on after softball ended

you asked him where his team were and his face suddenly reddened and he admitted that there was no baseball practice that day

"Oh I get it," you teased. "You came all the way out here just for me?"

he didn't reply, instead laughing and looking away

oh.

OH.

"wait, seriously?"

he swallowed and grinnef again. "m-maybe."

"Well," You paused. "We should do this again some time."

And that is how you got your first date with Bill denbrough

((You went cycling))

[bagerfluff]

Stutter Problems

Bill Denbrough x Male Reader

Prompt - “I personally love everything about you”

“Come one Bill” Y/n pushed as he faced Bill. He and Bill were sitting on his bed. But Bill wasn’t talking. He hadn’t talked all day. Y/n thought that Bill didn’t feel like talking, didn’t have anything to say, or was sad. Bill tended to get quiet when he was sad.

But now that they were alone in Y/n’s bedroom Y/n was trying to get Bill to talk. “What’s wrong?” Y/n had asked, and it felt like the tenth time he’s said it. Bill just shook his head as he looked at his lap.

Bill didn’t feel like talking. Not with his stutter. Bill didn’t like his stutter. It made him hard to understand. Everyone at school, except for the losers, bully him for it.

Bill had tried to fix it. By standing in front of a mirror and trying to talk without a stutter. But it didn’t work, it never did. Nothing worked. So Bill decided that he would be mute. He wouldn’t talk.

And so far, it was working. Bill thought he could pull this off. Until now. Because it was very hard not to talk when his boyfriend was sitting in front of him begging him to talk. “Please?” Y/n had asked in a hurt voice.

He felt sad that he couldn’t help his boyfriend. That was his job. Yet he couldn’t do it. And for Bill, that was when the flood gates shot open. Tears started pouring down Bill’s face as he tried to wipe them away.

Y/n was shocked, but he quickly got over the shock and pulled Bill into his lap. Y/n wrapped one of his arms around Bill’s waist as the other went to play with his hair.

Bill wrapped his arms around Y/n waist and buried his head in Y/n’s shoulder as he cried. Bill sobbed as Y/n tried to calm him. But eventually, Y/n was able to slow Bill’s crying.

Tears were still falling down his face, but he had stopped sobbing. And that was progress in Y/n’s eyes. “Now” Y/n said “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Bill removed his head and looked in Y/n eyes.

Y/n was looking at Bill softly. With no anger. Bill felt safe. So he told Y/n. “m-my s-th-t-a-t-tter” Bill stuttered. It was worse than normal since Bill was just crying.

“I h-a-at-e i-it” Bill whispered as Y/n kept running his hand through Bill’s hair. Y/n nodded before he spoke “I personally love everything about you” he stated. Y/n sealed it with a kiss and he pushed Bill’s head back into his shoulder.

“Even your stutter” 

[chyberriesss]

One shot!

First love

Bill denbrough x reader

The middle of fall season, leaves that owned the color of rust and spices fell from the trees as we stared into each other's eyes.

"how are you, william?" I simply ask although he did not answer. "W-w-what are you d-dd-doing here?" "Its stan's wedding, im his friend too y'know" i chuckle at his question with such an obvious answer "well i-i-m doing good and you?" He replied at my earlier question adding such sas.

"im glad you're doing good i have to go now before bev figures out im missing, see you around bill" i say and left not wanting to hear his reply. He was my ex y'know and is still my first love, will forever be. Im glad he's doing well although it stung how it seems that hes happy without me while i suffer every night recalling what i did to him...

_____________________________________________

"What are you doing exactly?" I chuckle as his attempt at painting "i-i-m obv-v-viously p-p-aint-ting you!" I says scrunching his nose covered with different colors of paint "thats suppose to be me??? I look like THAT??" I ask in horror "AHUH! Pp-p-pretty right" he exclaimed winking at me. I laugh at his actions when he suddenly stands up and hugs me! "Bill you're getting paint all over me!" "T-thats fine a-a-n a gr-gre-great artist is never cl-clean" he smiles at me as he hugs me tighter "i wish wecould stay like this forever" i whisper as i rest my head on to his chest "me too" he says before kissing my forehead.

_____________________________________________

"where are you taking me bill???"

"j-just trust me, we're al-almost t-th-there" he chuckles as he leads me up some hill i assume? Covering my eyes with his hands.

"t-t-tada!" He removes his hands exposing a picnic set up on. A hill near the outskirts or derry maine.

"i love you" was all i said as i admire his work and efforts.

We sat down and talked about random stuff for hours while eating the sandwhiches he prepared "extra c-c-cheese like you want" he says smiling as i eat the wonky sandwhich he made.

After eating i start reading a book he prepared for me to read as he lays on my lap "you're pretty" he says out of the blue "d-dont say that" i stutter, covering my red face with the book as i look away. He chuckles "i l-l-ove y-you" he says "i love you too bill" i smile "damn, y-y-yknow one day i-i-ill say i l-l-love you without st-st-stuttering he pouts sitting up crossing his arms making me laugh at his cuteness, making him laugh as well. We laughed like fools inlove for hours.

_____________________________________________

"lets break up"

"what...?"

"look bill, i cant stay here with you and being in a relationship while being far away from each other? I cant handle that" i say staring at him, as much as it hurt, it had to be done for me, and for him.

"a-after everything? S-seriously?!? You know d-d-damn well you can handle that s-stop with t-the ex-c-cuses [name]..." Bill said with an expression too sorrowful hard to describe "i have to focus on my studies i cant abandon everything i worked hard for bill!" I shout at him. I didn't mean to.

"s-s-so you're abandoning wh-wh-what we have?"

How could i ever recover from what he said?

"...."

"answer m-m-e [name]"

"i can't let go of my dreams bill" i simply stay

"am i the easiest t-t-thing y-you could throw -a-away?" He asks me, choking on his own words, holding back his tears

"no"

He stares at me

"you're the only thing....i can throw away"

I walk away, tears going down my cheeks not stopping, how could i say that when i know its all a lie?

I stop for a second when my keys dropped from my hand

"i love you..." I heard him say, not stuttering for the first time

If i looked back i know i would run back to him and abandon my dreams, my future, i cant do that so i picked up my keys and left.

Leaving my first love standing in the rain.

Hurting him was the only way for him to move on, a person like me who prioritizes their future over the person they love doesn't deserve anyone specially bill.

This is super super!! Rushed so im really sorry if there are any grammatic errors i wrote this at 3am so yeah my mind is not working properly, anyways i hope you guys enjoyed it!!<333

[ban-al3x]

INTRO??

HELLOO! This is my intro post!! 

ABOUT ME!!

My name is Alex and I’m new to tumblr. I go by any pronouns. I’m going to try writing fanfics. I never have before so please bear with me. Feel free to send me some requests!

WHAT I WILL WRITE!

One-shots and headcanons (headcanons might be out faster!)

About almost any genre: fluff, angst, smut, comfort, sickfics etc.

I will most likely write in canon, but please ask me about AU’s!

WHAT I WILL NOT WRITE.

Send me any of these and your request will be deleted.

non -con, incest/stepcest, sexual abuse, miscarriages, emergency requests, daddy kinks, knife kinks, foot fetish, age regression, piss play/piss kink.

FANDOMS AND CHARACTERS I WILL WRITE FOR!

Demon Slayer

Tanjiro Kamado| Inosuke Hashibira| Zenitsu Agatsuma| Giyu Tamioka| 

My Hero Academia

Izuku Midoriya| Katsuki Bakugo| Eijiro Kirishima| Denki Kaminari| Shotou Todoroki| Fumikage Tokoyami| Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu| Tamaki Amajiki| Mirio Togata| Mina Ashido| Kyoka Jirou| Toga Himiko

PEN15

Shuji Ishii-Peters|Sam Zablowsk| Dustin Long| Alex| Brandt  

SK8 The Infinity

 Reki Kyan| Langa Hasegawa| Kaoru Sakurayashiki| Joe Nanjo| Miya Chinen

Haikyuu

Hinata Shoyo| Kageyama Tobio| Tsukkishima Kei| Yamaguchi Tadashi| Nishinoya Yuu| Tanaka Ryuunosuke| Sugawara Koshi| Kenma Kozume| Kuroo Tetsuro| Akaashi Keji| Bokuto Koutarou| Oikawa Toru| Suna Rintarou| Sakusa Kiyoomi| Miya Atsumu| Miya Osamu| 

It

 Richie Tozier| Eddie Kasprak| Beverly Marsh| Bill Denbrough| Stan Uris

Stranger Things

Mike Wheeler| Max Mayfield| Lucas Sinclair| Dustin Henderson| Robin Buckley| Steve Harrington

[mrmaybank]

FEM ALLEGED DNI

Fandom: IT

Title: It was so real

Character(s): Bill Denbrough and Georgie Denbrough

Request: No

Genre: Angst and fluff

TW: None

Masterlist

Losers club had defeated IT three days and in those three days no one had seen Bill. They had bounced theories off of each other like oh what if he’s sick or on vacation. Eventually they decided that someone should go check on him. Now that us brings to where (M/N) was now. Slowly inching his way towards Bill’s window on the branch which was connected to the big oak tree next to said Brunette’s window.

Once the (H/C) boy was close enough he knocked on the window, the shades were drawn so he couldn’t look in. About dozen knocks later the shades were drawn and the window was open to reveal Bill. He looked terrible to say the least, he wore a wrinkle black Nirvana t-shirt and pair of green boxers.

His chocolate eyes were puffy and red and he looked so tried. “Hey Bill,” (M/N) greeted.

“G-g-go a-away,” Bill told him. He moved to shut the window but (M/N) quickly stuck his foot in the way of the glass doors stopping it from closing. “(M/N), I s-s-said g-g-go away,” Bill exclaimed.

(M/N) shook his head, “somethings clearly got you fucked up and we can’t have that can we?” the (H/C) boy asked.

Bill sighed and moved out of the way letting (M/N) enter the room. He walked over to Bill’s bed sitting down on it, Bill doing the same. The two boys sat silence, which brought Bill back down that hole. He tried everything to fight but here he was back in the moment.

He found himself staring at his little brother, at Georgie. The boy looked the same from the last time Bill had seen him expect where left arm should be there was bone. Bill should have been ecstatic he found his brother but something told him that this wasn’t his brother.

And he knew that, “He said I could have my boat back, Billy,” His brother said.

Bill let out breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Was she fast?” He asked.

“I couldn’t keep up with it,”

“She, Georgie,” He took a deep breathe, “we call boats she,” he told his brother.

“Take me home, Billy,” Georgie told him. Bill could hear the losers club behind but that didn’t matter to him all that matter was Georgie. “I wanna go home,” His brother cried.

He felt tears poor into his eyes, “I miss you!” Georgie exclaimed, “I wanna be with mom and dad,”

Bill shook his head, “I want for then anything for you to be home,” he told his brother, “with mom and dad, I miss you so much,” he began slowly walking towards his brother.

“I love you Billy,” Georgie told him.

“I love you too,” Billy told him, “but your not Georgie,” he pulled the gun and shot him. His breathing started to become on uneven until he was hyperventilating, he looked around quickly. He was in his room, he wasn’t there he told himself over and over again.

(M/N) quickly placed his hand’s on either sides of Bill’s face, “Billy, hey, I need you to breathe for me,” He told him, “okay? Ready breathe in, now out,” they did that for awhile until Bill finally calmed down.

“I-i-it w-was so-so r-real,” Bill told (M/N), “He l-looked j-j-just l-l-like him,” he cried and at that moment it all clicked in (M/N)’s mind.

“Oh Billy,” he said, “I can’t imagine what your going through, but no matter how real it felt or how much he really looked like Georgie. That wasn’t Georgie,” (M/N) told him.

Billy shook his head, “I k-know,” he replied.

“Okay,” (M/N) replied, he moved his hands from Bill’s face, “You look so tired, why don’t you get some sleep,” he told him. Bill didn’t reply what did what he was told, getting under the blankets and getting into a comfortable position.

(M/N) smiled at him then got up to leave but stopped when Bill grabbed his sleeve, “St-Stay, pl-please,”

(M/N) sighed before talking off his shoes and joining Bill. A comfortable silence fell upon the two boys, (M/N) went to say something but was cut off by soft snores filling the room. He turned to Bill and his smile only grew, “If only you knew how special you were,” (M/N) told the sleeping boy. He placed a kiss on his forehead and then attempted to fall asleep as well.

[a-constant-gay-panic]

— — — — — X — — — — —

! REQUESTS ARE CLOSED !

— — — — — X — — — — —

My masterlist!

Genres I'll write:

fluff

angst

smut

I can and will ignore/not write something (even if it is one of the genres listed above) if I see fit. this could be due to me not feeling comfortable writing about it, finding it offensive/insensitive etc. if that is the case, please just accept the fact and move on.

— — — — — X — — — — —

Type of fics I'll write:

one shots

drabbles

imagines

song!fics

multi chapter fics 

AUs

dark!fics

Not sure if I'm missing anything.

— — — — — X — — — — —

Who I'll write for:

HP

— Golden trio era —

Harry Potter

Hermione Granger

Ginny Weasley

George Weasley

Fred Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Cedric Diggory

Pansy Parkinson

Draco Malfoy (depending on the request)

— Marauders era —

James Potter

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Regulus Black

Lily Evans

Peter Pettigrew

— General/non specific era —

Bellatrix Black/Lestrange

Tom Riddle

Narcissa Black/Malfoy 

IT 

— Losers Club —

Beverly Marsh

Bill Denbrough

Richie Tozier

Stanley Uris

Mike Hanlan

Eddie Kaspbrak

Ben Hanscom

— Bowers Gang —

Henry Bowers

Victor Criss 

Patrick Hockstetter

Reginald (Belch) Huggins 

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

001 / Henry Creel

Max Mayfield

Robin Buckley

Billy Hargrove

Will Byers

OTHER FICTIONAL CHARACTERS 

Peter Parker (tasm & mcu)

Wanda and Pietro Maximoff (mcu)

Elio Perlman (cmbyn)

Hal (The king)

Rue Bennett (Euphoria)

Rodrick Heffley (diary of a wimpy kid)

CELEBRITIES

Either because I write for their fictional character/s or because I just feel like it: 

Jenna Ortega 

Sadie Sink

Sophia Lillis 

Timothée Chalamet 

Finn Wolfhard 

Zendaya 

Other than that, it all depends on said celebrity. If they’re not on the list, ask and I’ll get back to you.

— — — — — X — — — — —

Types of Readers I’ll write for:

In regards to fluff, smut and angst:

fem!reader

gn!reader

male!reader (however I'm not the most experienced in this)

plus sized!reader

In regards to smut, specifically, I will write sub!reader but primarily dom!reader as I have more experience with this.

— — — — — X — — — — —

What I will not write about:

Sexual harassment/abuse

Self Harm

ED's

Con-noncon / noncon

Illegal age gaps (a minor and an adult together)

— — — — — X — — — — —

Things to include when making a request:

who you want to be in it

what kind of fic you want

any specific reader you had in mind

a basic idea / summary of what you want it to be about

any prompts from my prompt list (optional)

— — — — — X — — — — —

That’s all from my side, love ya <3

[antisociallilbrat]

hmmmmm richie🐰

Wilbur asking about an It character? wowowow

If Richie was a little more sober, he wouldn’t think that sounded like Bill was coming on to him but as it is he is very drunk. Okay he’ll entertain this crazy notion, it’s not like Bill can be serious anyways. “Was that a pass at me, Big Bill?”

From my Stenbroughzier one shot that one day I'll finish

Emoji wip ask game

[reddie-ao3feed]

The dust made me do it / Reddie one shots

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/8LiyYjd by sopmare Reddie one shots where Pennywise is nowhere to be seen. The true villain of the books was the kids' deepest fears and the oppressive nature of small town America anyway ... right? (ps. I wrote these when I was 15 - with minor tweaking before posting. Wanted to post it now because my 15 y/o self didn't have the courage to and 2024 is the year of healing your inner child, yall! With that in mind, don't be mean pls) Words: 939, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Ben Hanscom, Henry Bowers, Connor Bowers Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Additional Tags: Gay Awakening, It Chapter 1, it chapter 2 - Freeform, Reddie, Summer Vibes, who is pennywise anyways? read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/8LiyYjd

[wanderingnork]

Best Dying Screams in Horror Movies

Horror is a genre where we celebrate the power of a good scream. We revere "scream queens," female characters whose screams of terror in the face of a monster or killer become the ultimate symbol of horror. (There's a conversation about this idea and the idea of the "final girl" and where they overlap and how they differ, but that's for another post.) A common refrain about the movie Hereditary is that Toni Collette in her leading role was cheated out of an Oscar for her magnificent portrayal of a grieving mother--largely thanks to her screams upon finding her child's body. Screams can be of grief, of fear, of rage...or, as the title gives away, as a final expression of despair and terror before a violent demise.

I'm putting the recommendations under a cut, because the circumstances of these screams will be discussed. By nature, that's gonna get disturbing quick. Besides, since this is about dead characters, it's going to be full of spoilers for twists and plots and deaths. Tread with caution!

Final Prayer / The Borderlands: Released under two separate titles, this movie deals with Vatican investigators sent to look into reports of miracles at a rural church in England. Turns out that the church isn't just a church: it's the maw of an enormous, ancient, supernatural being. Said being is awake. And hungry. Two of the characters find themselves deep inside the tunnels under the church, and stumble into the creature's stomach. This movie put me off saying the word "melt" for three weeks. While we do get a scrap of dialogue at the very end (nearly-silent sobbing and the faint whispers of the Lord's Prayer), it's...quite clear that by this point, both characters are functionally dead.

Saw (2004): The last thing we hear from Adam, as Jigsaw closes a steel door to leave Adam alone in a room of total darkness with no key to unchain himself, are blood-curdling screams. To the point that director James Wan had to leave the room while the scene was being shot, because Leigh Whannell (playing the character of Adam) is his best friend and the screams became far, far too real for Wan to handle. Game over.

Alien: In the final action sequence of the movie, as the Xenomorph hunts down the crew, Ripley sends the other two survivors to get ready to self-destruct the ship. When the Xenomorph catches up with them, Parker gets a quick death by a simple bite. Lambert, on the other hand...well, we see a giant spiked tail sliding up between her legs, then cut to Ripley who gets to listen over the radio to Lambert's dying scream. As an acknowledged scream queen, Veronica Cartwright (Lambert) really gives it her all. On my most recent watch, it occurred to me that doesn't just sound like a dying scream, if you know what I mean. Given the highly sexualized imagery surrounding the Xenomorph...there's probably something to unpack there. And with the knowledge that Lambert is canonically a trans woman, we can add another layer. But later.

IT (2017): Right out of the gate, we get a scene that sets the tone of the rest of the movie: the death of Georgie Denbrough, who has the unfortunate luck of losing his paper sailboat into a storm drain where Pennywise the Clown is waiting. His actor pulled off panicky howls of fear so well it puts a pit in my stomach, and his final cry for help to his brother Bill as Pennywise drags him into the sewers is gut-wrenching. As an older sibling, this is my worst nightmare, and it's so very well-captured here.

Annihilation: This one's different than the other recs on this list, because the dying scream...comes out of the mouth of the killer. It's the bear. When the bear kills one of the team members, we hear a copy of her dying screams for help through the bear's roars when it returns to hunt down the rest of the team. One of the other characters even muses on it later. "Imagine dying frightened and in pain and having that as the only part of you which survives."

Food for thought: What's the emotional impact of a noisy death versus a more silent death? If any of these characters died without screaming, would it change how you felt about that death? Why DO we idolize screams so much in this genre? Do we feel the same about other loud expressions of emotion in horror? Does any of that translate to real life? And, reflecting on that quote from Annihilation, what do you think about the fact that audiences remember many characters in horror only for the fear and pain they endure?

(Previous Recommendations)

[sunshinereddie]

Richie could tell that Bill was stressed just by the way he entered the room. 

Not that Richie could blame him. After all, this was it. Everything he had been planning, everything they had been working so hard on over the past several weeks, whether all of that was actually worth anything- that would be determined by the events of that night. 

Richie wanted to reassure him, but he knew Bill wouldn’t listen. Bill never rested, never relaxed until a job was done. No matter how foolproof it was (which the majority of Denbrough’s plans were), no matter how much he trusted his team, he never let any of that lower his guard for even a minute. Richie decided not to waste his breath trying to convince Bill of something he wouldn’t believe.

But the confidence that Richie had brought to the table that night was crushed in an instant, with Bill’s steady, but definitely nervous announcement, “There’s been a change of plans.”

wip: (as promised.....) an excerpt from my heist au :3 this won’t be a full fic, just a short one shot about it hehehe

[octoberobserver]

Practice Makes Perfect

(Read on ao3)

“I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go full Uma Thurman and kill Bill.”

Eddie blinked, watching as Richie paced back and forth in their living room, running a trembling hand through his hair.

“A sex scene. On HBO. Me. The fuck was he thinking?!”

Eddie shifted on the couch, clearing his throat.

“Well, I’m sure Bill wasn’t actually the one who—”

“Do not defend that asshole, Eds,” Richie interjected with a groan, dragging his palms down his face and hunching his shoulders.

Eddie fell silent, frowning into his noodles, poking at them half-heartedly with his chopsticks.

“I mean, you’re a writer too, Rich. Showrunner. Co-creator. You could just veto the scene.”

Richie groaned louder into his hands at that.

“And be the asshole that turns down a gay love scene a season after his character has a cathartic, emotional coming-out? Yeah, no. I don’t want GLAAD to regret giving us an award.”

Eddie eyed the script that lay crumpled on their coffee table, the title page just about visible.

THE OUTCASTS Episode 2.09 “Confessions” Written By: Bill Denbrough Directed By: Gráinne McGrath February 14th, 2019

“You love Gráinne directing,” he threw out as a Hail Mary, “I’m sure she’ll make it as comfortable as poss—”

“I know she will, that’s not what I’m worried about,” Richie cut him off, beginning his pacing again.

Eddie placed his takeout down on the coffee table, (mindful not to spill any on the script), and stood up, heading over to the fridge to fish out some beers.

“Then what are you worried about?”

He deliberately made sure his back was turned for that question, knowing that if he were facing him, he was less likely to get an honest answer. Unsurprisingly, an inaudible mumble was all that escaped his lips. Eddie kept his back turned, pulling out the drawer and snatching up the bottle-opener.

“What was that?”

He heard him take a deep, shaky breath.

“I said I’m worried about being…you know…shirtless on camera and—and being like that with some random dude in front of like forty people.”

“James isn’t some ‘random dude,’ Rich,” he retorted, trying to shove the image of a shirtless Richie from his brain, walking back over and holding out a beer for him to take. “You’ve said tons of times how great he—”

“He is great!” Richie exclaimed, snatching the beer out of his hand and taking several large gulps.

Eddie watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, a treacherous heat unfurling in his gut that he tried to smother. Because he was a good friend, dammit, and wouldn’t think sexy thoughts at a time like this.

Richie sucked in another breath as he lowered the beer.

“He also happens to be way hotter than me and a lot more experienced in acting.”

The familiar spike of jealousy shot through Eddie’s veins at that.

“He is not ‘way hotter’ than you,” the words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Richie freeze.

“And,” he hurriedly continued, his face on fire, “he might have more experience acting, sure, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t talented. I think the Emmy on our mantle proves that.”

He didn’t need to look directly at him to know that he was blooming as red as a tomato, just like he always did whenever anyone praised his accomplishments over the last two years.

“You’ve already done a kissing scene with that guy Tony and it went well,” he pointed out, hating every single syllable falling from his mouth, the image of Richie (or more accurately, his character Robert) kissing a handsome, younger man burned into his brain for all eternity.

He had been so proud when he first told him of the storyline they would be doing over the course of the first season of his and Bill’s show. The buzz around it had been electric after only the pilot episode and Eddie honestly couldn’t be happier for his two oldest friends, he really couldn’t.

But at the time, he hadn’t exactly taken into account the fact that Richie would spend the majority of his days opposite hot actors that he would ultimately end up kissing on screen to an audience of over five million live viewers every week, while Eddie tried and failed to shove down his complicated, conflicting emotions about it.

Sure, he knew it was just acting. That it wasn’t like James (the actor playing Richie’s character’s love interest) or Tony (his character’s fling from season one) was Richie’s actual real-life boyfriend or anything, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him to watch him (his character dickwad, it’s his character,) kiss and hold hands and touch another man in all the ways Eddie wanted, ached for, for longer than he was willing to admit.

But living with that same best friend for two years now had made some truths absolutely undeniable. The fact that he was ass over teakettle in love with him, the first and foremost.

“I’m sure this will go well too,” he tried to reassure him as he shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. “Jill is a great intimacy coordinator.”

“She is,” Richie agreed, “but I…Eds, I don’t think I can do this. It’s…it’s…” he waved a hand, seemingly unable to put into words what he meant.

Well, that’s a first.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. Can I take a look? Maybe help you run lines? Ease you into it?”

Richie stared at him.

Eddie stared back.

“You wanna…help me run lines for my sex scene, on Valentine’s Day?”

Right. That was what today was. Like he could forget.

“Well, we were just gonna watch Street Fighter for the hundredth time, anyway. We can run your lines first then put the movie on after?”

Something complicated crossed over Richie’s face before he gave a quick shrug.

“...okay.”

They both sank down onto the couch, Eddie careful to not brush against his thigh as he leaned forward and swapped his beer out for the script.

“It starts on page 27,” he piped up, sounding winded as Eddie raised the script to a level that they could both see, flipping through the pages to find the beginning of the scene.

INT. ROBERT’S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT.

ROBERT sits on his couch, staring over at EVAN. He holds out a piece of paper that has seen better days in his hands.

EVAN

What is that, Rob?

ROBERT

Something I should have shown you a long time ago.

Eddie did his best to read ‘Evan’s’ lines as well as the descriptions, while Richie recited his, barely needing to look at the words on the script anymore, having mostly memorized them by now.

EVAN

It’s a letter. Addressed to me.

ROBERT

Yeah.

EVAN

From you.

ROBERT

Yeah.

EVAN

It looks old.

ROBERT

It is.

ROBERT hands the paper to EVAN, who reads silently.

EVAN

When did you write this?

ROBERT

When we were kids. Maybe 16, 17?

EVAN reaches out to take ROBERT’S hand.

Eddie wrapped his hand over Richie’s.

Richie jumped, apparently not expecting him to follow the directions to a T, but didn’t protest, letting his hand be held, eyes a little wide.

EVAN

Why didn’t you give it to me back then?

ROBERT

I was scared.

EVAN

Of what?

ROBERT

You.

EVAN reaches for ROBERT’S face, leaning forward and—

“And then they kiss,” Richie said hurriedly before Eddie could read the rest of the description, snatching the script out of his hand and flipping over to the next page, his cheeks noticeably flushed.

Eddie paused, staring at him.

“Should we…uh…?”

Richie kept staring at the script, his hand tensing under his.

“Should we what?”

Eddie took a breath.

“Kiss.”

Slowly, Richie turned to blink at him. He scrambled to try and make that sound less incriminating.

“Well, the script says—”

“The script also says that we should strip and roll around on the couch, Eduardo. Should we do that too?”

It was meant as a joke. Eddie knew that. Except, his tone was…off, the punchline not quite landing the way it should have. Something about it made him feel bold.

You’re braver than you think.

“I mean if it’s what the script says. I’m just trying to be a good scene partner.”

Richie was studying him now, his bright eyes scanning his face with careful concentration that he wasn't usually known for. Eddie didn’t feel the urge to fidget though because it reminded him of when they were kids. He remembered (now that he was allowed to) how he had sometimes looked up from where he was reading the latest X-Men in the hammock to find Richie hurriedly looking away from him, his cheeks tinged red. He knew that he himself had been drawn to the hyperactive whirlwind, stealing glances at him from across the room, eyes lingering on his face as it was lit up by the TV, when that Trashmouth of his was running a mile a minute, and pretty much any time he wasn’t looking right back at him.

Eddie had always wondered what it was between them exactly that set them apart from the other Losers. While he thought the world of them, he never found himself quite as enthralled by Bill’s drive or laugh, Bev’s bravery or fiery hair, Mike’s intelligence or height, Stan’s dry wit or cheekbones, Ben’s kindness or eyes, or the myriad of other things that were emotionally and physically great about his friends. When it came to Richie, though? He was captivated. By everything. Always had been. His charm and jawline. His humor and shoulders. His generosity and thick Coke bottle glasses that magnified his already giant, gentle eyes.

And it may have taken him over thirty years to figure it out, but now he finally knew why.

It wasn’t new, this unspoken thing between them. But it was still terrifying.

You’re braver than you think.

That was what Richie had said on that terrible, horrible, no good, very bad weekend. And Eddie had been trying to live by it every single day since.

“But yeah no, we can skip it if you want.”

(He just wasn’t always successful.)

Richie nodded fervently and he tried not to let that sting too much, he really did. But he was only human. A human, 42-year-old nursing a 30-year-old crush that had developed into something dangerously deeper, particularly in the last two years of them reconnecting and sharing their lives and space with each other.

He cleared his throat. Focus, Kaspbrak.

“Uh okay, so what’s—”

“Unless you think I should practice?” Richie cut across him suddenly, eyes a little wild as he bunched the script up in his hand, crinkling the pages.

Eddie opened his mouth but Richie breathlessly continued.

“I mean, I’ve only had like two on-screen kisses before and they were pretty awkward and weird looking and I should probably like, I dunno, work on my technique or something, right?”

Eddie’s brain short-circuited.

“You…wanna practice kissing?”

A crease formed between Richie’s eyebrows as he doggedly stared at the now worse-for-wear script still clasped in his hand.

“I mean, you don’t have to make it sound like we’re twelve-year-old girls at a slumber party, Eds. But…yeah. We could—we could just follow the script. To uh, a point?”

He must have been silent for a beat too long because Richie began backpedaling, fast.

“Nope, scratch that, I hear it now. That’s crazy, forget it. I’ll be fine. I’ll work on it with James during rehearsal anyway, so—”

Eddie leaned forward and caught his cheek with his free hand, sweeping his thumb gently over the stubbled skin. He waited, watching as Richie’s eyes grew like saucers behind his glasses, his breaths quick and shallow, before tilting that little bit further until their mouths were barely half an inch apart.

With a shaky gasp, Richie closed the gap, their lips brushing feather-light. A shiver raked through Eddie’s body as he pressed closer, dropping his hand on his hip. Richie jumped at the contact. The kiss—a chaste pressing of lips really—broke.

“Shit, sorry—”

“‘S’okay,” Eddie reassured him, “that was…good, Rich.”

He stared at him, disbelieving.

“That was barely a kiss, man,” he winced. “God, if I can’t even do this without cameras and like a million people watching, what am I gonna be like—”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie swept his thumb back and forth on his cheek as soothingly as he could. “You’re gonna be fine, Rich. You’re a great actor and a great kisser.”

He snorted, “That doesn’t count, Eds. I can kiss way better than that.”

“Okay, so show me.”

Clearly, Eddie’s mouth and brain were not in alignment at all today.

“Uh, I mean…”

Anxiety serging throughout his body, he scrambled to say something, anything, to wipe the look of sheer astonishment off Richie’s face.

“Like, pretend I’m James playing Evan. Just…what would you as your character do?”

Richie stared at him for a long beat.

Again, Eddie didn't feel the urge to fidget, instead waited with a patience he was not known for.

“What would I,” he murmured slowly, “a man who has been in love with his best friend since they were kids, do when finally confessing it after decades?”

Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

“This.”

Richie leaned in and kissed him, his hands coming up to cradle either side of his face. He swallowed his quiet gasp, his tongue darting out to trace along his bottom lip. Eddie’s brain kickstarted at that, his mouth dropping open wider, deepening the kiss as he pressed their chests together, his hands falling to his hips.

Richie licked behind his teeth, one of his hands slipping into his hair and gripping tight, wrenching a strangled moan from deep within him that he would later die of embarrassment from, but as it stood right now, his gut was busy sparking with fierce arousal. He could feel himself already starting to get hard in his baggy sweatpants and panic surged in his veins, mixing potently with the steady thrum of yes, fuck, yes, hammering in his ears.

Eddie Kaspbrak had never been kissed like this. Ever. In his entire life.

In fact, he had spent the last 42 years under the impression that he just wasn’t too enthused with the idea of kissing as a rule. Swapping spit and touching tongues seemed fairly gross actually, and he had certainly never enjoyed it with Myra or his grand total of two dates in college, so it just wasn’t his thing, right?

Well, turned out when you were kissing someone you were actually attracted to, and the love of your life to boot, kissing was pretty fucking awesome.

“H-Holy shit…” he gasped as they eventually broke for air, though not going far, their breaths bouncing off each other’s lips.

"Yeah," Richie murmured, sounding just as winded, his eyes still shut.

As Eddie struggled to get his brain back online, he let himself drink him in, his flushed cheeks, his labored breath, his swollen lips.

“S-See?” he croaked, forcing himself to try and be normal and not think of how he helped cause that. “S’like I said, you’re a great kisser and a great actor.”

Richie heaved in a large gulp of air before his eyes finally blinked open.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his expression unreadable, “you’re…not bad yourself, Eds.”

Eddie snorted at that, rolling his eyes, trying and failing to not let the words rub him the wrong way.

“‘Not bad’? Gee, thanks, Rich. I’ll add that testimonial to my Grindr profile. ‘Not bad at kissing—Richie Tozier, 2019.’”

Richie, instead of rising to the bait, taking the opportunity to lean into their bickering, just kept looking at him in that same enigmatic way.

“You don’t have a Grindr profile,” he said eventually, a tiny smirk beginning to spread across his face.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at him.

“No. I don’t. But I could.”

“You said online dating was the scourge of society and you ‘wouldn’t be caught dead perusing dick pics or hooking up with randos from Asswipe, Michigan.’”

He tilted his head in surprise.

“That was almost verbatim. Since when do you listen to my rants, Trashmouth?”

Richie just threw him another look and tapped his nose, eyebrow arched. Before Eddie could press, he leaped up off the couch, wiping his palms on his thighs and darting over to the fridge.

“Want another beer?”

Eddie eyed the two half-full beers sitting on the coffee table.

“Are we not continuing the scene?”

The words shot from his lips like a bullet.

Richie froze, his back still turned.

“Uh, I mean…if you want to?” he mumbled into the fridge door before letting it snap shut. “But fair warning, Edmundo, it gets uh…” he cleared his throat before dropping down onto the couch. “Pretty intense.”

A thin sheen of sweat was already lining Eddie’s entire body, but goosebumps broke out all over every inch of his skin at that. With shaking hands, he took one of the beers and picked the script back up from where it had fallen to the floor during their…ministrations.

“Intense? Something written by Bill Denbrough? I don’t believe it,” he tried to joke, it landing as flat as a board between them.

Richie let out a noise that sounded something between a laugh and a whine.

“Well believe it, Kaspbrak. Why do you think I’m freaking out?”

Eddie put his new beer down next to the other one on the coffee table to leaf through the script, his eyes scanning it rapidly, his heart rate rising by the second.

“Shit,” he whispered, drinking in the words. “Bill’s uh…not fuckin’ around, huh?”

“Nope.” Richie popped the ‘p’ before taking another large gulp from the bottle.

Eddie’s eyes locked onto his Adam’s apple again, homing in on it like a beacon.

“On a scale of one to the Full Monty, just how naked are you gonna be?”

That did wrench a laugh from him, his eyes dancing, his cheeks on fire.

“You askin’ me if I’m gonna hang dong, Eds?”

“Gross. Don’t quote It’s Always Sunny at me, asshole,” he winced, both proud and appalled that he understood the reference after two years of living with a man who had the humor of a perpetual 15-year-old.

His fingers itched to skim further through the script.

“But uh, yeah. Are you gonna…you know…” he waved his hand in the general direction of his crotch, hating himself more and more by the second.

Richie squinted at him, taking another gulp of his beer.

Eddie did not stare at his lips wrapped around the bottle. He did not.

“Everything but the plums and dingaling,” he shrugged, his shoulders hunched, “it’s HBO, sure, but I gotta draw the line somewhere, man. I’m no Mother of Dragons. Nobody wants to see what I’m workin’ with.”

I do!

He flushed, his throat as dry as the desert as his dick twitched. He had been fantasizing about precisely what his Richie Tozier could be ‘workin’ with’ for the last two years. A lot longer than that if his teenage self had been more self-aware. So, yeah. He very much, desperately wanted to know. For a long, long time.

“Anyway, thanks for runnin’ lines with me, Eds,” Richie continued, unaware of Eddie’s inner turmoil. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Like you said, Jill’s a good intimacy coordinator and I’m sure Gráinne will focus more on James’ abs than my 2-pack gut and hairy—”

“People would camp outside the studio for days just for a glimpse of your fuckin’ barrel shoulders, dude, are you kiddin’ me? You’re hot as fuck.”

Richie’s jaw dropped.

So did Eddie’s.

The fuck is wrong with you, Kaspbrak?!

He looked into his stupid, handsome, dumbstruck face.

“You really have no idea what people say about you online, do you?” He doubled down, shifting on the couch to knock their knees together, pushing through his mortification.

“There are dozens of Twitter accounts dedicated to every inch of you, Rich. Your shoulders, your ass, your thighs, your dumb facial expressions, your bigass fivehead, and how you don’t know what to do with your arms on red carpets. They’re obsessed with you, man. I don’t think it’s gonna be James that people thirst over.”

Richie blinked, his entire face flushing just like it tended to when he was five bourbons deep.

“...I didn’t think you knew what thirsting meant,” he croaked, sounding as if he smoked forty cigarettes a day for the last thirty years.

Eddie’s eyes rolled to the ceiling.

“I’ve spent more than five minutes on the internet, dumbass. Of course I know what thirsting means.”

God knows I’ve been thirsting over you long enough.

Richie tilted his head at him then, eyes alight with that same something that he couldn’t read.

“And how do you know about all these accounts that follow me for my shoulders and ass?”

Eddie shrugged, clearing his throat and shrugging again.

“I’m your best friend, dude. S’my job to look out for you. Have your back.”

His cheeks burned with the honesty of it, but he didn’t take it back, letting it hang between them. Richie blinked slowly, before eventually clearing his throat and gesturing to the script.

“You wanna take it from the top?”

His gut lurched, the pages crumpling in his iron-tight fist.

“Oh, uh—”

“Only if you want to,” Richie interjected, that crimson still tinging his face and making Eddie’s stomach swoop.

God, I want to.

Swallowing down that confession, much like he had with all the others the past two years, he merely nodded, scrambling to the correct page with more zeal than he probably should have let on, his cheeks burning even hotter with embarrassment.

He watched with bated breath as Richie morphed himself back into Robert with a little shake of his head, his hands clasped tight in his lap.

“Uh, so…” he scanned the script and cleared his throat, delivering the lines as best as he could with his half a class of ‘Acting Techniques’ from college.

His throat grew dry as they edged closer and closer to the climax of the scene.

“Why didn’t you give it to me back then?”

“I was scared.”

Eddie kept his eyes on him, voice quiet.

“Of what?”

An azure gaze met his.

“You.”

He didn’t need to read the script to know what to do next. Almost on autopilot, his hand reached up and clasped Richie’s jaw, pulling him into him.

Their lips met again, gently at first. A small noise escaped Richie before he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, pressing harder, one of his hands landing low on Eddie’s hip and squeezing. He felt the heat of his fingers through his shirt like a brand, his stomach swooping with excitement as he felt the brush of his tongue along his lower lip.

He gasped as Richie gave a tiny nip of that same lip, coaxing his mouth open wider. Heat pooled in his gut as he licked behind his teeth, his grip on his hip tightening. Drunk on exhilaration, Eddie finally allowed himself to give in to temptation and buried his hands in his hair, tugging a little, flushing hot when it elicited the tiniest mewl from him.

Spurred on, he used his leverage to pull him down on top of him. As his back hit the couch cushion, something winged took flight in his chest, fluttering behind his rib cage as a thirty-year-long fantasy came to life before his eyes. Eddie Kaspbrak and his oldest, best friend in the world, were making out like horny teenagers on their shared couch on a Thursday night that just so happened to be Valentine’s Day. Holy shit.

“God, you’re amazing.”

The words escaped him before he could snatch them back, gasped into the flushed skin of Richie’s neck. He felt it through his lips as his entire body froze, as still as a statue.

“I—that’s not the line.”

It was mumbled quietly into his hair, stilted and confused. A fist squeezed around Eddie’s lungs.

“No, Rich,” he reached up and coaxed his chin down.

He stared up into the large, blue, bespectacled eyes that haunted his dreams even when he couldn’t remember who they belonged to, a trickle of bravery settling in his veins, the truth flowing from him easily.

“I’m saying you—Richie Tozier—are amazing. You’re gonna knock any scene, sex or otherwise, outta the park.”

Richie’s eyelids fluttered, his hand tightening on his hip.

“Uh, thanks, Eds, but I don’t think this counts.”

Eddie tried not to wince at the stab of pain in his gut.

“Why not?”

Something unreadable passed over Richie’s face as his eyes lingered somewhere to the left of his ear.

“Well, here, with you, it’s…easier. More comfortable.”

Eddie tilted his head.

“What? Acting?”

Richie let out a puff of breath, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not.”

“What?”

“Acting.”

Eddie blinked slowly, his brain trying to make sense of that.

“You’re…not acting? With me?”

Richie bolted up off him as if scalded, flinging himself halfway across the room.

“You know what? I think that’s good for rehearsing. How about we put on a bit of Van Damme and—”

“Rich.”

He watched as he dragged a hand down his face, dislodging his glasses, a noticeable tremor to his fingers. Eddie leaped up and closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, hand closing over those fingers, prying them away and holding them gently.

“Richie. Talk to me. What did you mean you’re ‘not acting’ with—”

“Come on, Eddie,” he interjected wearily, eyes focussed on a point somewhere over his shoulder. “I’m not that subtle. And you’re not that dumb.”

Time seemed to stand still. The air sparked with something exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Their eyes finally met.

A breath shook loose from Richie’s chest.

“You asked me to show you what I’d do when finally confessing to my best friend that I’m in love with him. But to be honest, I wouldn’t do any of this because I’m too damn scared of what would happen if I did.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t—

“...What are you scared of?”

“...You.”

Eddie almost reeled back at that, something jagged and uncomfortable unfurling in him.

“Richie, you don’t need to be scared of me. I’m your best friend.”

A heavy beat passed between them.

“Yeah…you are.”

Eddie’s entire body ignited as the dots connected and stars aligned within him, the truth to Richie’s words ringing in his ears. Hope bloomed from somewhere deep in his core, warm and soft, enveloping that once uncomfortable feeling with something a lot more pleasant, and safe, and familiar, and somehow new.

You’re braver than you think.

Squeezing his hand, he took that final step, staring straight up into that face that never failed to make him feel like he was the only person in the world worth looking at.

“You wanna know what I’d do when finally confessing to my best friend that I’m in love with him?”

A myriad of emotions crossed over Richie’s face, his mouth dropping open to reply and that was when Eddie took his chance—leaning up on his tiptoes and kissing the surprised breath from his lips. It took him a second to get with the program, frozen in place, but eventually, he kissed back with more fervor than ever before, their tongues tangling and hands flying everywhere as if they couldn’t decide where to land.

Clutching at the hem of his T-shirt, Eddie pushed him back towards the couch, biting at his bottom lip and sucking on it like he had been fantasizing about practically every night for the last two years, and pouring in every ounce of love, lust, and admiration he had felt for him for more than thirty years.

The written word had nothin’ on this.

“J-Jesus,” Richie gasped as Eddie shoved him down onto the couch and climbed into his lap, smattering kisses down his throat.

“Not quite,” he couldn’t help but retort, pressing his smirk into the thin skin of Richie’s Adam’s apple and finally allowing himself a small bite.

Richie pinched his side at that, before slowly running his hand up his back and causing a shiver to rack through him, a thousand goosebumps trailing in its wake.

He groaned, eyes squeezing shut as his heart raced a mile a minute.

“F-Fuck, Rich, I love you.”

The room plunged into silence as Eddie’s words caught up to him, washing over him like a tsunami. He squeezed his eyes closed even tighter as his pulse skyrocketed in his ears.

“Ditto.”

His eyes burst open.

“‘Ditto?’ ‘Ditto?!’ Seriously?! After thirty years of pining and heartbreak and separation and more pining, all you have to say is—”

Richie leaned up and crashed their lips together with a loud smack, hand clutching his scarred cheek before pulling back, his own cheeks noticeably tinged and his eyes alight with something like wonder.

“I love you too, Eds. Have since like the sixth grade. I never stopped, really. Not even when I couldn’t remember you. And as soon as I got you back, everything slotted into place, those feelings—the sweaty palms, the jackrabbit heart, the really inconvenient boners—all of it. These last two years have been the best kinda torture for me, man. All I’ve thought about every single second since we reunited has been kissing you into next week. I just…I never thought I’d get the chance.”

Oh. Wow. Sometimes, words are cool too. Especially when they aren’t written by Bill fucking Denbrough.

“You should write that down,” Eddie smiled, sweeping a hand through his hair, a furious blush spreading up his neck, “show Big Bill how it’s done.”

Richie shook his head, staring up at him with a soft expression that if Eddie let himself name, he’d call reverent.

“Nah. Those words are only for you. I’ve kept them in for thirty years. But they’re yours now.”

Happiness burst in his chest, his nerves singing. He traced his finger across his jaw and got a thrill from the shudder it evoked.

“Hey, you wanna practice kissing some more? I think I can be an even better scene partner.”

Richie grinned, blush deepening, large hands squeezing his hips and making his stomach do somersaults.

“Let’s take it from the top.”

(More Reddie fics)

[bagerfluff]

If you like what you see here then you my like my Ao3.

Harry Potter

Stranger Things

It (2017)

Teen Wolf

Voltron

Legend Of Zelda

Riordanverse

Pokémon

Digimon

Requests Are Closed

I write one-shots, headcanons, and drabbles for male and nonbinary readers, no females or fem aligned readers, so fem DNI. P.S. I don't write for OC's. I do not write NSFW or smut, but I do include refences, and I imply smut/sex and I use curse/dirty words.

I count a drabble as a fic that is below 500 words. If you have a different opinion, that is fine, but this one is mine, so please don't be rude about it or rude to anyone else opinion. :)

And apology in advance if I don't do them for a while I can sometimes forget stuff.

IT - Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough, Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh,

STRANGER THINGS - Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Max Mayfield,

HARRY POTTER - Anyone in Harry's era and Marauders era, but no adults. So, no adult versions of Remus, James, Regulus, etc

RIORDANVERSE - Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Nico di Angelo, Leo Valdez,

POKEMON - Gladion, Goh, Hop,