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canislupus-exe · 11 months

Text

In Your Corner | bill denbrough

>>gif credit to @/beenchillin on tumblr<<

fandom | IT: Chapter One

character | Bill Denbrough

reader | (disabled) they/them (she ver.)(he ver.)

requested | anonymous

warnings | cursing, ableism

word count | 1,131

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

summary | Hi! Could I request a Bill Denbrough x disabled!reader? Where Richie compares (y/n) to a bike and tries to ride their wheelchair while (y/n) is still in it- and bill tells him to fuck off? I just think bill would understand 🥺💕

editor | @feliscatus-exe

>> back to prev <<

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You hummed quietly as you pushed against the wheels of your chair. Approaching your best friend’s driveway was the only way you could hang out with him, seeing how inaccessible his front door was. If you thought too hard about it, it didn’t give you the best feeling in the world, so you tried not to.

You saw him sitting on the floor, sketching in his notebook somewhat mindlessly. Upon hearing your quiet hum, he flipped a few pages ahead to a blank one. Looking up at you, he squinted from the sun shining in his eyes but smiled.

“H-Hi (Y/n). You’re the f-first to get here so we can wait for everyone else.” He said, standing up and moving to the couch his dad had put in the garage a few months ago. He realized how much more inclined he was to hang out there now that he was friends with you.

His parents were lovely, but he started to pick up on the sudden stiffness and overall negative feelings you had when they said certain things. About how they were sorry and glad Bill was so kind, which he was. It was one of his greatest qualities, but it was as if they only thought he was your friend because he was so kind.

“That’s alright. What were you drawing?” You asked casually, backing your chair into the space of the wall that was just the right fit. You remembered when he moved aside a table so he could sit next to you. It was one of the moments that made you feel your heartbeat in your stomach, as he so often did.

“Oh, n-n-nothing. Just practicing shape l-language for objects.” He replied, sitting on the cushions in a way that made it easier to look at you.

“Really? What are you trying to learn to draw?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Nothing in p-p-particular. I just think it’s a g-good skill to have.” He replies, closing his sketchbook and setting it aside. You smile and nod.

“Do you know when the other Losers plan on joining us?” You asked leaning on the arm of your chair.

“Right now.” A voice called from behind. You looked over your shoulder to the garage entrance, watching Richie, Eddie, and Stan enter. You smiled and waved, which only Stan returned.

“What are we doing here? You never told us.” Eddie says, sitting on the far end of the couch. You were never sure why, but he always seemed much more tense. You could come up with a few reasons, but they weren’t good ones, and you hoped those weren’t the case.

“J-J-Just a movie night. I made popcorn and st-ocked the drinks.” Bill replied. You begin to self-propel toward the fridge in the far left corner of the room. You looked inside, seeing mostly cokes and water. You opted for the latter.

“Plus, if we run out, we can hop on (Y/n)’s wheelchair. They’re basically a bike.” Richie says with a snicker, placing both his feet on the back of your chair and causing you to become unsteady. You yelp in surprise, immediately swatting him off. You turn your chair to face him, a look of panic on your face.

“What the fuck Richie?” You shout. He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” He asks, lacking a single modicum of self-awareness. You’re so flustered and upset that you find it difficult to articulate your feelings. Bill stands up from the couch, stepping between Richie and yourself.

“Y-You can’t say shit like that Richie!” Bill exclaims, his ears turning red from anger as they always did.

“Why are you guys freaking out?” He asks, raising his arms in exasperation.

“C-Comparing (Y/n) to a bike? You don’t get why that’s f-f-f-fu-fucked up!?” He shouts, finding it harder to speak due to his anger.

“No? It was a good thing. Bikes are cool and they’d be helping us to the store.” He replied.

“It’s fine Bill. Don’t worry about it…” You mumble, trying to maneuver around him.

“N-no (Y/n) I am w-worried about it,” Bill says, turning to look at you. There was a look in his eyes that made you feel warm and safe.

“They said don’t worry about it so I think-“

“Fuck off Richie!” Bill yells as he whips his head around to stare at him, not a stutter in his voice. Richie backs away with his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever dude.” He mumbles, sitting next to Eddie on the couch.

You were thankful Bill was so quick to defend you, but the confrontation still made you uneasy and guilty. You wheeled your chair out of the garage and onto the driveway, stopping when you heard Bill coming after you.

“Where are you g-going? Are you ok-kay?” He asks, walking by your side. You sigh and stop wheeling yourself forward. You say nothing at first trying to figure out how to put your thoughts into words. Bill walks in front of you, so he can see you while you talk, a simple gesture but something so thoughtful.

“You’re the only one who treats me… Well, normal… Richie always has something to say, Eddie avoids me like he’s going to catch something and I just… I hate it.” You mutter, folding your hands in your lap. Bill sighs as he crosses his arms.

“I w-wish there was more I could do. I t-t-tell Richie all the time to quit his shit but he-“

“It’s not you Bill. You do more than enough. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I have in my corner.” You say, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiles, his eyes holding that same shine that made you feel so warm and safe.

“Y-You know, that’s exactly how I feel.” He replies. You tilt your head in confusion. Bill rubs his neck bashfully before shrugging.

“You’re the only one who ever t-tells them to stop making fun of my s-st-stutter. Sometimes it feels like y-you’re the only one in my c-corner.” He replies. You smile, a warm glow rushing to your cheeks.

“We can be in each other’s corner.” You reply, giddily grabbing his hand. It takes you a second to realize what you’ve done before pulling back.

“S-Sorry I was just-”

“No! It’s okay!” He grabs your hand again, this time intertwining your fingers. “I l-like being in each other's corner.”

“Pinky promise?” You ask, holding out your pinky. He chuckles and locks his pinky around yours.

“P-Pinky promise.” He replies.

“Now let’s go watch the m-movie. If Richie says anything else I’ll j-just kick him out.”

“Since when are you Mr. tough guy?” You ask with a giggle.

“S-Since I had to be in someone’s corner. I-it’s a tough job you know.”

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asteriismos · 2 years

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planning fics w eleanor....

these r my ideas. lmk if you want your request to have it's own fic but i may be mushing some ideas together tbh. there are literally over ten fics....... which is why i closed requests...............

for the umbrella academy.

closer series (pt3 on the way, maybe a 5 part series?)

cherry waves pt2

fic based off of "Wow, It’s been forever since I’ve been here, I used to be 🃏 anon! Can I please request Ben Hargreeves smut set during Luther and Sloane’s wedding? Like, they’ve disliked each other the whole time but decide to say fuck it and get together cause the worlds ending😭" and mixing it w "Hello. I love the closer smut. And with that would be grateful if u could write for sparrow Ben x reader where the reader is stressed and honestly exhausted and ben just fucks them to relaxation. Hehe thank u <3"

fic based off of "Can you make a smut ff where sparrow Ben gets jealous cause the reader is flirting with someone else👀? If that's alright with you ofc^^" and mixed w "idk if you're taking request rn but if you are could you maybe write ben smut where he uses his tentacles to choke you? I really like your writing!" and mixing it w "Hii!! Could I request for Sparrow! Ben x Umbrella! Reader where he had y/n back in his arms, he had no intention of letting her go again which meant fighting off the umbrella academy in order to keep her all to himself. Thankuu 🥰" and "hi <3 can you do a sparrow!ben smut where he sees that Marcus likes you and takes it upon himself to steal you from number one please ? ty !! (pls include lots of brat behaviour if you can !! and some like ‘use ur fucking words’ type stuff thank youuu <3)" AND "Hi, I loved your Ben smut so much it sent me blushing😍😍. Was wondering if you'd write another Sparrow Ben x Umbrella smut but with him using his powers and honestly just pure filth and angry sex idk I'm weak for Ben😫😫😫"

fic based off of "Five x female reader, Soulmate au, Rivals to lovers, Where reader has similar powers to him and is also traveling in time ? Fluff plz"

for it

a fic based off of "hey hey! i was just wondering if i could request a fic based off of call your girlfriend by robyn? with either richie tozier or steve harrington? thank you x"

a fic based off of "hii !! would you write something with a trans ftm reader ? something with eddie or stanley ? :]"

a fic based off of "hi hi! it’s so good to see you active on here again! your account is so pretty and your writing is amazing! when you get the chance do you think you could do a stan uris x reader where him and the reader are secretly dating (i’m such a whore for the secret dating trope) and have been for about 4 or so months and one night stan is over at yn’s house and they’re probably mid makeout or smth and the other losers show up unannounced and she tells stan to hide and someone finds him? sorry if it’s too specific lol thank u vv much! :)"

a fic based off of "heyy im sorry to bother you but could you write a bill denbrough smut where they at first have like phonesex/sexting and never really talk together at school, but then they decide to have a sleepover for the first time because readers parents are like out off town and things escalate and they do it in the shower and bed? oh and he keeps praising and degrading the reader<3 i literally envy ur work ur so talented"

a fic for "hey :) could you write a bill denbrough smut with mirror sex and degrading?"

for stranger things.

a fic based off of "Hey love! I was just wondering if you could write a Steve Harrington smut that includes a lot of praise, thigh riding & orgasm control/denial? Thank you x"

i think these are all the requests ive gotten...........lol

#unnecessary info about eleanor's life #eleanor DONT FORGET THIS EXISTS #mental illness tbh

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thedreadlights · 4 years

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rage against the dying of the light

i. It happens like this: Richie Tozier wakes up at 4:26 in the evening, in his house in California, and he orders Chinese takeout. He smokes a bowl while he waits and sorts through 57 new emails. He calls his manager, Stella; verifying the time of his show later. He arrives only slightly late, and five minutes before he’s set to go, he gets a call from Derry, Maine. Suddenly, he’s throwing up under blinding, burning, trembling spotlights, because of a phone call from Mike Hanlon begging him to come back home. He buys a first class ticket on a direct flight to Bangor, because he can and he deserves it. He ignores the wave of nausea that threatens to drown him the minute he gets into his cab.

He throws up on his way through airport security because he remembers Eddie fucking Kaspbrak.

He remembers—standing in front of the Jade of the Orient—that he left what remained of his Chinese takeout on the counter. He’s pissed that his friends are hot. He’s pissed that he left his food out. He’s pissed that he has to eat more Chinese food. He doesn’t even really like it. Too much salt.

He’s pissed that the moment he meets Eddie’s brown eyes, his very real and very painful feelings come flooding back. It’s as if two decades spent apart mean absolutely fucking nothing. The pure, complete, innocent love he felt for his best friend at age thirteen has not wavered, or splintered, or dissolved with time. Apparently, it lodged itself into his very soul. It is as loud and as present as his racing heart and running mouth. He’s pissed that there’s a huge basket of fortune cookies on the table. And then he’s pissed that his fortune grows an eyeball—silently judging him as if it knows exactly what he is and what he thinks when he meets Eddie’s gaze.

He tries to leave, he really, truly, fucking does. But Stan shows up from the great beyond, because of course he does, and the uneasy nausea is back, so he turns back. And it’s a good thing, too, because Eddie has a hole going straight through his cheek, dimple untouched (thank all fuck), and Bowers predictably goes directly to Mike. Which is how Richie finds himself making a shitty joke and throwing up on the floor of the library because he buried an ancient fucking axe into Henry Bowers’ skull. Oh, and Bill decided to try and kill an evil murder clown all by himself. What a way to end the day.

“Here’s a truth: you’re a sloppy bitch!”

continue on ao3

#it chapter two #it chapter 2 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #richie and eddie #reddie ff #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #stanley uris #patricia blum uris #audra phillips #my writing

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gaypasta · 7 years

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7th times the charm

Bill recounts his first seven kisses, it only took him that long before he found who he was looking for in a mess of curls and a kiss to his palm. Read on Ao3

I Beverly

Beverly was Bill’s first kiss. They were in third grade. The stage lights danced across Bill’s vision the same way that Bev’s fiery hair danced when she laughed - she laughed a lot. The entire school and his own parents were watching, his heart was in his throat as he stuttered out the lines. The words got caught in his throat, the lights were taunting him while the audience merged into a uniform sea look of pity and forced grins.

His Peter Pan costume was hanging off his shoulders - it was much too big. Even to this day, Bill still remembers the trailing of his pants along the floor, the conscious thoughts of the movement of his feet to avoid tripping. Anxious butterflies fluttered around his stomach in a way that Bill wouldn’t feel again for several years, the knot that built up in his throat and the quickening heartbeat were all signs and Bill knew.

He was in love.

He was in love with Beverly Marsh, the girl who sat two desks away from him. She bought him a Christmas card and wrote a smiley face in a glittery lilac pen. She twirled her hair and chewed her pencils, she came into school late and forgot her homework and she was perfect.

Bill, of course, wasn’t actually in love - we don’t have to let him know that.

This kiss - the ending scene - was the most important thing in little Bill’s life. To his parents, the teachers and over an ocean of faceless people, this was just a show. Oh no, but to Bill - he knew better - he knew this was going to be how he met his wife, they would get married on the playground, just like Robert McNeill and Kathy Gates.

He messed up his last line in anticipation of the kiss, and just then, with a soft smile and a flurry of freckles - Bill Denbrough had his first kiss.

Nerves, Faces, Freckles.

II Eddie

For the year after kissing a young eleven-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill would flush in embarrassment and change the subject as swiftly as possible. He was embarrassed, guilty and felt ever so moronic.

The locker room lights flickered, giving Bill a headache and almost sending him into a different changing room. However, the wheezes of a broken cough flickered even louder than the light to Bill - and Bill being Bill, he rushed into the showers in his muddy shoes and his lacrosse stick whipping the wall tiles like a drum.

Bill doesn’t remember much, he remembers Eddie curled up in the corner of the shower. He remembers that he was wheezing and tears were cascading down his face with the same pull as jumping off a cliff into an icy ocean. He remembers Eddie’s bright red, neatly ironed gym shorts and his pale legs quivering.

He was scared, his friend couldn’t breathe and he didn’t know what to do. He knew of Eddie’s aspirator, the medicine helped him breathe, but for some reason, it wasn’t working. Eddie kept shaking it furiously at Bill’s face - but Bill didn’t know what that meant. Eddie was crying, long raspy sobs that echoed against the greying ceramic tiles and the speckled white flooring. The dirt from the crevices of the tiles groaned under the pressure from Bill’s fingernails as Bill did all he could think to do in that moment of panic.

Bill did as he saw on the soap operas his Mother watched on TV and pressed his lips roughly against Eddie’s. Eddie stilled for a moment, before shoving Bill away - sending him sprawling into the shower stall opposite. Bill, in the moment, was unfazed and promptly returned to an even more flustered Eddie and soothed his back, rubbing it in gentle motions.

After the moment, however - Bill and Eddie were both mortified and made an unspoken agreement to never bring it up again. Except Eddie had told Richie, and for the year after, Bill stomach twisted in embarrassment and his face lit up the same colour as Eddie’s perfectly ironed gym shorts. For the remainder of the days that he remembered the kiss, however, Bill and Eddie would laugh.

Bill would laugh at how he truly believed the best way to cure a panic attack was a kiss. Eddie laughed at how Bill thought that Eddie would appreciate the exchange of germs. Everyone else laughed with them.

Panic, Comfort, Embarrassment.

III Ben

Bill never counted this as his third kiss. He hadn’t thought about it after the moment it happened - well that’s a lie, he thinks about it every time he has an oral presentation but the memory is nothing but fond. It doesn’t bring the nervous butterflies of his first, or the panic and mortification of his second. It makes him smile, makes him feel at ease and makes him feel like he can conquer the world (with the aid of his friends, of course).

It was spring of seventh grade - Bill remembers this because it was the last spring he attended the annual Derry carnival in May. It was the last spring he had before he would wake up with nightmares, or see yellow flashes of colour in the corner of his eye. Bill found it difficult to appreciate the newborn lambs and calves that roamed the fields West of Derry, but Ben tried his best to help everyone find the light again - and he appreciated Ben.

He appreciated Ben even more when Ben offered to be his partner for his oral presentation. Normally Bill would sit back and watch everyone’s eyes dart to him, before scrambling to find anyone else. But not Ben, never Ben. The presentation wasn’t more than three minutes long, but practising it took every chocolate-fuelled lunch period, every warm pink sky of the evening, every star-littered night, and even well into the ominous blanket of midnight.

Antiduh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-

It’s okay Bill, try again.

Antiduh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-

It’s okay, I’m sure you’ll get it.

And get it Bill did. It took hours upon hours - Bill’s throat was raw from reading, he could feel the scratch in his throat and no amount of icy water would cure it. With every breath, his throat felt like it was on fire.

But, he did it. On the evening of Thursday, May 4th - Bill Denbrough spoke for one-point-five solid minutes, without a single stutter.

And that concludes our study on…. (breathe) …. Antidisestablishmentarianism

He remembers Ben cheering loudly, he remembers dropping his papers on the floor - because his teacher scolded him for crinkly papers the following day - he remembers an overwhelming rush of joy and, in the joy and triumph of it all, he grabbed Ben’s cheeks and landed a wet, firm kiss on his mouth.

Ben laughed and cheered, not even doubting Bill’s impulse for a moment, and standing there, in his cluttered bedroom at eight twenty-four in the evening, Bill would remember the burning of his throat as the fire of determination.

Triumph, Patience, Persistence.

IV Richie

Bill doesn’t remember the events which lead up to this kiss. He knows it involved lots of lukewarm beer and a bottle of Grey Goose vodka that Richie stole from his parents, Eddie had told him not to, because he was only turning sixteen - not twenty one. He remembers the start of the night, where all he smelled inside Stan’s house (his parents weren’t at home, he can’t quite recall why) was cigarette smoke and soft cotton. Richie was soon told off by Stan for smoking, Stan was cross, Bill remembers that. Then Richie kept giving Bill beer, and Bill had no reason to decline. Then Richie started shots, or a drinking game - Bill doesn’t remember.

He remembers a burning in his throat, but not the burn of triumph, a burn that stung like bleach and hurt so good that he couldn’t help himself to stop. The next thing he remembers is Richie’s mouth on his throat. They weren’t at Stan’s anymore - they were in a car. Stan’s car. He remembers the wet and heavy air, feeling like he was inhaling density itself.

There was a fire in his stomach and on his cheeks, and his mouth fought with Richie’s for what felt like hours. This kiss wasn’t innocent or a symbol of a youth, this kiss was wet and hot. Oh, so very hot. Bill could hardly breathe with Richie on his mouth, forcing his mouth open and licking up his tongue, back down, underneath his tongue, the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth - Bill doesn’t remember if he fought back or if he was too busy trying to claw through his drunken haze to deduce whether grinding back on Richie would be a good idea or not.

He concluded it felt too good to not be good. He remembers Richie’s hands exploring his body in a way he had never felt before, fingers tracing his chest and his back and rolling his nipples. Bill remembers liking that. Richie’s mouth doing dirty, painful things to his neck and leaving blisters of purple bruises from his earlobe to his collarbone. He found one on his inner thigh and he couldn’t remember if Richie had put it there or not.

He doesn’t remember taking off his pants, but he remembers Richie’s hands travelling down them - he doesn’t remember much of Richie. Bill reckons that he must’ve had his eyes closed most of the time. He remembers Richie saying dirty things that made him moan and whimper, he remembers begging and holding tightly onto Richie’s shirt when he comes.

It was there, in the back of Stan’s car, with Richie lying on top of him, grinding down on him and whispering dirty things into his ear with a breath of vodka, that Bill realized, only the next day, that he might not have been completely straight.

Blurriness, Heavy, Regret.

V Mike

Mike was the one Bill went to, not even a week after his heavy hour with Richie, for help. Help which Bill needed so desperately that he had cried, wept openly on the edge of the river, tears so heavy with confusion that Bill wished he would melt into the river and float away. Mike sat with him, not speaking, just staring off into the trees, waiting for Bill to be ready. Bill thought he might never be ready.

He was exaggerating, of course he would be ready, but much like how he had thought that kissing Beverly Marsh eight years ago would be the most important moment of his life, he truly believed that having an alcohol-fuelled moment with Richie Tozier would ruin his life.

It didn’t, of course - but Bill would not yet know this, so instead, he wept until his eyes hurt and his flannel shirt was covered in snot and tears. Mike’s shirt was too - but he didn’t mention it.

He wept, fearlessly - his words cried out of his mouth and spilt into the water and floated away as Mike sat and listened. Taking in every word, listening to Bill’s heavy stutter of concerns. Bill wept about wanting Richie in that car, the way boys weren’t meant to want their best friends. Bill wept about liking, no, loving the way Richie made him feel, and the horrible, dirty things he said, he cried about feeling dirty, feeling foolish for getting that drunk.

But above all else, Bill cried, in this cool winter’s afternoon - with the low sun casting long shadows of the squirrels scuttling up the trees, and the soft wind carrying songbirds’ poems down the river like a boat - about losing a friend. Losing a friend to testosterone and Grey Goose fuelled deviance.

Mike listened, squeezing Bill’s shoulders when he felt Bill’s shoulders begin to shake again. Mike’s firm hand on Bill’s shoulder made him feel grounded, like Mike was the weight that kept him from floating out of existence.

Mike had told him that his friendship with Richie would never be ruined, even after something as risque as what he had done. Bill disagreed, wanting the winter sun to go so low that it ate the world up in darkness. The flannel on his shirt made him feel like a bullseye - ten points to whatever tragedy in his life could make his world fall apart around him. Richie’s arrow of backseat handjobs had struck him in the heart, and Richie not picking up his phone for a week had been the final arrow to shatter him.

Mike tried to assure him, no, you’re our friend. Nothing like that could change that.

I don’t buh-buh believe that.

Mike’s arm fell from Bill’s shoulder and firmly found its place on Bill’s hand.

I can prove it, but you might not like it.

And before Bill even had a chance to dispute, Mike had leaned in, giving Bill the softest kiss his lips would probably ever feel. Mike thought that Bill might shatter under his lips, but he didn’t. Their lips slowly, carefully and almost anxiously moved against each other. The feeling of Mike’s lips grazing against his own felt like an angelic encounter, like his soul was lifted and his mind was dusted of his miserable thoughts.

The kiss eventually stopped, and Bill and Mike stared off into the orange ripples of the river, the sun casting it aglow like the book of revelations. Bill had his own revelation, that he and Richie would probably be fine, just like Bill and everyone else were fine.

Bill was right, he and Richie were back to normal not two days later. Bill and Mike were different, however, warmer and more peaceful with each other, as if the kiss that Mike had shared had transferred a part of their soul into each other, forever binding them in a blissful existence.

Connective, Blissful, Serene.

VI Stan

Bill would never forget his first (of many) kisses with Stan Uris. It was the first time he had forgot all about that dreadful summer in four years.

It was a long time coming, admittedly. It took neither of them by surprise. They were walking along the river, no real destination in sight. The moon was high in the sky, watching their fingers brushing together as they walked, bathing Stan’s soft features in a stream of moonlight.

This is how it had been for a couple of months, since Christmas - Bill and Stan took afternoon walks to the store together, then to the quarry, then along the river and slowly as the days went on, the sun got lower when they decided to slip on their walking shoes. Now, it was almost midnight. There was no feeling of dread, no whispers from behind their ears and definitely no flashes of yellow. It was just them, the way it had to be.

Bill could’ve kissed Stan by now, and Stan would’ve accepted it - kissed back. But it never felt like it was the right moment, and Stan felt like the most important thing in the universe, not like the Peter Pan play or like Richie’s vodka breath on his neck - but like once he had begun to look at Stan, really look - he couldn’t imagine a world without him. And if one were to exist, Bill most definitely would not want to be a part of it.

Stan wasn’t just his… lover? Boyfriend? Date? No, he was so much more than Bill, who had the highest grade in English in the forty years of records in his school, could put into words. There are over 170,000 words in the dictionary, and not one of the billions upon billions of configurations of those words could even begin to describe how important Stan was to Bill. That’s why Bill never gave Stan a nickname, all of them felt like they were insults in comparison to Stan.

The wind ruffled Stan’s hair in a way that he hated, but Bill adored. It made his curls bounce and twist around his face and fall into his eyes. Stan’s perfectly ironed white shirt almost glowed in the reflection of the river, Bill watched the ripples lap at Stan’s reflection, he could’ve stared at it all night if Stan would have let him. But alas, Stan marched onwards, looking back at Bill.

Follow me.

And Bill followed. Stan could have led him to the end of the Earth and back and Bill would walk, in his dirty converse, with him. Stan wrapped his hand around Bill’s, their fingers intertwining as easy as blinking, and they ran.

They ran and ran the whole way to the quarry, red-faced and puffing clouds of air into the cold night. Bill laughed at Stan’s grimace as he noticed a grass stain on his white shoes. Stan shoved Bill’s shoulder, and Bill couldn’t be happier.

So there they sat, overlooking the expanse of the water below them, holding hands and knocking feet softly against another.

Stan looked at him as though he were scared that if he didn’t look every couple of seconds, that Bill would disappear, every time he did, Bill would grin and Stan would look away, trying to hide a small smile.

It was then, when Stan brought Bill’s palm up to his mouth and gave it a gentle, but mindful kiss, that Bill knew.

I love you so fucking much.

Stan laughed, not mockingly - the laugh was warm - not warm like Mike or warm like the vodka or any of that - it was warm like Stan . It sounded so right and Stan muttered it back, with a smile present in his voice.

I love you too.

With the moon watching them, casting rays down to make Stan’s lips shine and his eyes sparkle with joy, Bill cupped Stan’s face, faintly feeling the scars under his skin, and kissed him there and then.

The same place they grew up, their go-to spot from when they were in third grade. In a way, it was almost like destiny, like this place was destined to be the centre of all Bill’s life. And Bill wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

Stan’s lips moved with his, softly and with care - but not because they were afraid one of them would break, but because they didn’t need to rush. They had no reason to be firm or fast or rough. That would come, of course, but not tonight. Not on this cold February night. Bill’s thumb softly stroked Stan’s cheek as Stan’s tongue grazed his lip, before retreating.

Stan’s tongue knocked against Bill’s lips half a dozen more times before Bill took the hint, letting Stan’s tongue enter his mouth. It wasn’t hot, heavy exploration - it was gentle, their tongues licking at each other - Bill could feel Stan smile into his mouth, it made him smile too. Their tongues retreated, and Bill gave Stan a chaste kiss, which made Stan grin.

Bill hadn’t seen Stan this happy in a long time. But now he was, right here, right now - and Bill supposes that’s all that matters. They stayed under the stars for a while longer, before retreating back home. Stan suggested Bill stay over - Bill agreed, they shared a knowing look. They didn’t want to be apart again, they’re in this together.

Bill lay, sleeping beside his… boyfriend. Yes, that sounds right this time. Wondering what he did to deserve such a wonderful boy to be his, wondering what he had done to let the moon and the stars bless him on this night. The answer, of course, was nothing. The moon, nor the stars had nothing to do with the two boys falling for each other. They were just a part of the lucky few who had fell in love with their best friend - and stayed that way.

Bill knew that with that kiss, he had sold his soul. He watched the gentle breathing motion of Stan’s chest as he slept and thought, I don’t think I want it back.

Home.

#ff #stenbrough #bichie #bill denbrough #bill/everyone #bill is a THOT #mine

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beepbeepandie3 · 7 years

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Stan and Bill travelling around the country together looking for new birds for Stan's journal. Stan sitting on the grass looking around with his binoculars and Bill sitting next to him, writting his stories. Both enjoying the quiet and each other's company.

#stan uris #bill denbrough #stenbrough #losers headcanon #the losers club #it #it (2017)#just picture them #im crying #let them be happy #ffs #mine

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kafka-ish · 4 years

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the act of being a boy-friend | r.t.

y/n’s plan to make her crush, or ex crush, jealous backfires when she realizes she’s been the jealous one all along.

word count: 6.7k

warnings/included: fluff, losers aren’t friends anymore, fem!reader

a/n: i just rlly love writing love triangles hgeoigso also fake dating tropes ftw🥳

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” Bill sat next to y/n on his worn sofa. The two were watching a movie but he couldn’t put a pin on what was wrong until he noticed y/n wasn’t making her usual commentary. y/n always talked whenever they got together to watch a movie—either letting her petty remarks be known to the rest of the viewers or judging the style choice. And if she wasn’t talking, her face was stuffed full of popcorn or sour candy.

But y/n wasn’t doing either of those things.

She sat in a ball—her bare feet on his couch and her kneecaps digging into her stomach. Her eyes were wide and focused on the screen ahead of them that blared ET. Her nails that were in tip-top condition when she first showed up to Bill’s house, neatly trimmed and polished with a layer of topcoat were now bitten to the bed, ragged and raw.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n said, surprised that she was able to even squeak out the words after zoning out for so long. Something was wrong. But it wasn’t like y/n would tell him. This is what she wanted, right? Just the two of them—Bill’s arm wrapped around her while she pressed into his side while the only light in the room came from his television set.

So why did everything feel so wrong?

Richie and y/n had dated two months prior. Well… ‘dated’. The relationship wasn’t real, but the butterflies whenever Richie called her a dumb pet name or kissed her on the cheek (because kissing on the lips was too far) certainly felt real. And the heartbreak that came from him talking about other girls felt more real than the time y/n got stood up at the eighth-grade dance.

“I don’t wanna be your fuckin’ boyfriend,” Richie protested. His mouth was full of the turkey club sandwich he snagged from a detention buddy and his perfectly straight nose was now scrunched in disgust at the absurd idea his friend had to offer.

“I don’t get why you’re being so pissy about this.” y/n took the sandwich from him, taking a bite of her own and cringing at the taste of mustard that was hidden under the lettuce.

“Grow up.” Richie laughed at y/n who was using a napkin to wipe the tangy aftertaste off her tongue. “You know.” He took another bite. “This sorta shit never ends well.”

“What shit?” y/n prodded. She was still hooked on the idea of getting Richie to play house with her.

“The game where you and I pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend and eventually one of us falls for each other.” Richie was taking an oddly rational approach to y/n’s suggestion. But Richie was logical in a sense where he just knew.

“Who says I’d fall for you?” y/n poked at his shoulder. One of her eyebrows raised because in what world would she let herself catch feelings for Richie Tozier?

In this world. In this lifetime, y/n would let herself fall for one of her best friends, only to be dating her longtime crush.

“How could you not?” Richie smirked but y/n could tell he was just joking. “I’m irresistible, love.” His stupid British-man Voice made yet another appearance and y/n had to refrain from hitting him.

“What about me?” y/n didn’t care whether or not Richie found her attractive, but to say his response never left her mind after that day would be an understatement.

“Well, just look at you.” Richie put the sandwich down. “If it’s anyone, I’ll be having a harder time.”

“So does that mean you’ll go through with it?” A new light hit y/n’s eyes; the sparkle almost blinding Richie who was shaking his head.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this.” He sighed. y/n could tell he was getting annoyed, but y/n was also persistent. If she wanted something, she’d get it; careless about the lengths she’d have to go through for her fantasies to become a truth. Her truth.

“I’m just saying there are benefits for both of us.” y/n’s head tilted to the side, trying to get a better glimpse at Richie now gnawing at his lunch like an animal.

“Benefits?” Richie asked mid-bite.

“Yeah. I can make Bill Denbrough jealous and he’ll fall madly in love with me. Same for you and your ex.”

“Bill Denbrough?” Richie ignored the mention of his ex-girlfriend. He was fifty-percent sure he was already over her, but the other fifty percent of him still stole glances in her direction and kept a copy of her school picture in his wallet. But Bill Denbrough? y/n had a crush on the Bill Denbrough? Richie had to take a moment for his ears to adjust to this staggering news.

Bill Denbrough was a baseball player and Richie’s old childhood friend. Him, Bill, Stan Uris (who was coincidentally also on Derry’s baseball team), Mike Hanlon (who didn’t play baseball but football), Ben Hanscom (he was on the track team), Eddie Kaspbrak, and Beverly Marsh were all a group back in middle school. And Bill and Richie went way back—back to elementary school. It was until the end of freshman year when Stan tried out for baseball (Bill tagged along but made the team anyway) and Mike brought up how he wanted to go out for football next year.

Everyone’s interests started to diverge. Everyone started to diverge. They still went to Mike’s games at the beginning of their sophomore year, but their lunches together only seemed to happen on Wednesday and their afternoon hangouts at the quarry turned into just Richie smoking puffs on the edge; the only company being his portable radio.

Richie befriended y/n sophomore year, around the same time he and his friends fizzed out in January’s crisp air. He met her in his new art class when Derry High released students’ new schedules for the second semester. They’d stayed friends ever since; sharing their lunches and staying after school to finish up on a Social Studies project that wasn’t worth the grade they received. y/n was the one to comfort Richie after his breakup with Vanessa Jennings, but this was the first Richie had ever heard of y/n’s crush on Bill. He didn’t even know she knew Bill.

“You like Bill Denbrough?”

y/n nodded. “So, what do you say? Partner…”

Richie gave in. Although it wasn’t in his interest to get back with Vanessa, he’d still go along with y/n’s scheme.

He’d pick her up at her house before school at seven o’clock sharp—whether it was in his dad’s old Chevy or by foot in his red Converse.

y/n rushed to her front door as soon as she heard a ring. Her hair was half done, and she hadn’t had enough time to do her makeup yet. Luckily, she was already dressed in her school clothes—the denim of her jeans scuffing together when she walked, and her red blouse having to be pulled down every time she rose her arms.

“Morning, sugar.” Richie’s lazy grin and tired eyes never failed to bring a smile on her face even before they started ‘dating’. His hair wasn’t brushed at all, making y/n feel better about her appearance. His body leaned slanted against the doorframe while he waited for her and the white tip of his Converse made its attempt to dig into the porch.

“Sugar?” y/n asked, bemused. She grabbed her keys from the table next to the door, using them to lock the door behind her.

“You look different today.” y/n’s head raised from its once concentrated position from the lock on her door.

“Different how?” She inquired, mostly wondering if this difference was a good or bad thing.

“You look good.” y/n’s cheeks couldn’t help but heat at the compliment. Richie was always calling her cutesy names or saying shit like actually, now that my glasses are on, your ass does look good in those jeans. This should be no different, right?

It only felt different because they were… an item is what y/n convinced herself somewhere along the drive to school. Richie opened the door for her when she got in (and out), but in return, she’d have to let him play his favorite station.

“it’s only courtesy, babe.” Richie shrugged but his eyes kept on the road. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

But two weeks in, y/n found out she liked what this rock ‘n roll guy had to offer. She liked the loud beat of the drum and how the guitar sang in her ears. She liked Richie’s voice that overpowered Elvis’s when he sang along to the lyrics, knowing every word by heart.

“I don’t get why you’re taking me anywhere,” y/n said. She sat in the passenger’s seat of his car like she usually did. “We don’t have to pretend unless we’re, like, in public.” Her voice became small, almost regretting the words that came out of her mouth. Secretly, she hoped Richie wouldn’t turn the 1965 Chevrolet Camaro around.

“It’s not like we aren’t friends.” Richie’s thumb made a tap, tap, tapping sound against the steering wheel. “Friends hang out, right?”

y/n smiled but didn’t answer. It never occurred to her that they weren’t dating. After a while, it just seemed so natural; the hand holding under lunch tables; the way he held her binder for her.

“Is that heavy, sweetheart?” Richie stood next to y/n, intently watching as she struggled with her books in one arm: her other hand turning the combination lock. His gaze never left her figure. He was thoughtful, caring…

“Kind of, but you don’t need to—”

Ignoring y/n, Richie took the books from her hold. He already had books of his own to carry, but he couldn’t let his girlfriend struggle with hers.

“Yeah… friends.” y/n couldn’t seem to face him while uttering the words. Friends. The declaration felt so distant. After all, they had been more than friends—or pretending to be more than friends. But at the end of the day, y/n didn’t know if she wanted to be just friends with Richie Tozier. That was new considering, she never saw Richie as something else. Something that greeted her with flowers before school and held open the door for her. Not until now, no. Richie was always… Richie.

Richie Tozier who was always caught doing his homework last minute in art—because that’s the easiest class, babe. Richie Tozier who liked detention because he could catch up on a few extra minutes of lost beauty sleep. Richie Tozier who stopped bringing his lunch to school because you’re the only sugar I need.

y/n rolled the window down, letting a breeze sweep through her hair and tickle her skin. She needed a distraction because the recent epiphany of the boy next to her being the reason for her heart palpitations was something to need a distraction from.

The sky bled orange and purple—the colors perfectly melted into one another—and y/n wondered if this wasn’t their world after all. Maybe they were being controlled and the puppeteer behind her was playing some sick joke by making her catch feelings for Richie Tozier. y/n didn’t even notice they came to a stop until the click of Richie’s seatbelt grabbed her ears from their trance.

“You comin’?” Richie asked from outside of her side of the car. He was hunched down, his forearm resting on the door to help prop him up.

“Yeah.” y/n swallowed but it hurt. It felt like acid ripped through her esophagus but the only thing she had to drink that day was water. She reached for the door handle, but Richie was faster, already opening the door himself. “Such a gentleman,” y/n snickered.

“Of course.” Richie stayed behind to lock the doors.

“So, you drove me, just a friend, all the way out to the best milkshakes in town?” y/n asked, eyeing the neon-lit sign that read

Hwy 90

The highway to your stomach.

They served other things, but they specialized in milkshakes—something neither Richie nor y/n would care to pass up. But nothing y/n would drive thirty minutes for just for some glorified ice cream in a glass.

“It’s the least I could do.” Richie opened the door for y/n once again. The entrance door to the diner made a jingling sound as the top corner hit the bells which hung from the ceiling.

“The least you could do?” y/n wondered aloud, but Richie wasn’t given the chance to answer her question when a waitress scurried up to them, a stack of menus in one arm and a bundle of silverware in the other. She was taller than y/n but shorter than Richie and she wore black and white bowling shoes to match the wide-legged jeans and polo underneath her apron. “Is it just you two?” She asked sweetly, hiking the pile of menus up higher on her arm.

“Yeah,” Richie said. He stuffed his hands in his back pocket, not knowing where to put them.

The waitress showed them to a small booth that sat in the corner of the brightly lit restaurant. It was too bright for y/n’s eyes under the red, blue, and pink hues that reflected across the shiny white tile, But the corner table the girl had brought them to would do. There was a certain coziness to it, or maybe it was the thought of sitting so close to Richie in a public setting that settled y/n’s eyes.

“I’m Annie. I’ll be your server today,” the girl said as soon as Richie and y/n slid into their respective sides of the red pleather seats. She was fast-talking and all shades of nervousness as her left hand went to grab the number two pencil that fastened the blonde curls that were pinned in a knot on top of her head. “Can I get you anything?”

“A menu would be nice,” y/n said. In front of them sat a table, salt and pepper shakers, and a half-empty Heinz ketchup bottle. Annie had forgotten to give the two a menu.

“My apologies!” She exclaimed, bashful. She handed them each a menu to sift through.

“Don’t sweat it.” Richie winked in her direction and y/n felt herself grow… what was that? Anger? Annie’s pale skin blushed a bright red and y/n could tell it wasn’t the apron making her feel hot.

It took Richie a full-fledged thirty seconds and two skims through the laminated paper for him to decide what he wanted, and it took y/n at least two minutes. “I’ll have a Cookies n Cream. Extra sweet.” Just like you.

y/n was biting her thumb and still reading over the same three flavors that caught her eye while Annie stood patiently waiting for her response. Richie was messing with the saltshaker. His leg found hers under the table and gave it a quick kick.

“Ouch.” She looked up from the menu, averting her attention to the boy in front of her with a fix glare. “Can I have Vanilla? With a cherry on top?”

Annie scribbled down both of their orders in messy writing before making her way across the floor and to the kitchen.

“Vanilla?” Richie laughed and y/n didn’t know what was so funny. “’Cause you’re vanilla?” He covered his mouth with his hand before another fit of laughter would consume the table.

“Shut up.” Swiftly, y/n’s leg propelled into his which caused Richie’s laughs to die down, replaced by a single yelp.

“So…” Richie’s eyebrows wiggled. His nails, which were painted a shade of deep blue by y/n and already chipped, thumped against the surface of the table. y/n could tell whatever he was beginning to suggest wouldn’t be something she liked just from the tone of his voice.

“So?”

“Why Bill?” Oh.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant.

“Why do you like ole Big Bill?” The nickname had slipped out unconsciously. The nickname Richie hadn’t heard in years. The nickname Richie hadn’t said in years. It felt exotic on his lips, but comforting, like a hug from his mom.

Why did she like Bill? y/n asked herself silently. She was gnawing on the inside of her cheek when the question popped up again and the sound of Bill’s voice startled her.

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” What was wrong? Seemingly, everything was perfect. The boy y/n had been crushing on for years was finally in her reach—her grasp, even. Bill’s head turned to face y/n, but his arm stayed tightly coiled around her side. It wasn’t the same as Richie’s possessive hold from two months ago. His hand that played with the fabric of her shirt felt cold. Bill felt cold.

It couldn’t be that she missed Richie, no. Richie was busy—probably swapping spit with one Vanessa Jennings. Vanessa with the light brown hair and curls that framed her not-too-big head ever so perfectly. Vanessa who never needed a tan. Vanessa with the long legs that were probably wrapped—

But it didn’t matter. y/n was busy, too. The Bill Denbrough was at her side and she couldn’t have asked for anything else. She didn’t need anything else. Not when his red flannel hugged her torso because are you could? My parents won’t let me turn up the heat, but I can offer you this. Like a gentleman, he proceeded to strip the flannel from his bodice, leaving him in a white baseball tee.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n looked at Bill then looked down to see the nails she had just painted were now ruined. She looked up again. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured, not all convincingly.

“You just… yo-you ha-haven’t-t s-s-said anything since you cuh-cuh-walked in.”

“I haven’t?” y/n asked, now picking at the tip of her thumb, hoping what had taken two weeks to grow out would magically regrow in seconds. Saving his voice, Bill only shook his head.

“You nuh-know you can tuh-tell me. Ruh-right?” y/n nodded but what could she tell him?

Sorry I’ve been holding a massive crush on you for years like one holds a cleaver over their head but all of a sudden I’m into this guy I met in my art class who never brushes his hair and writes ‘smoking and smoking hot’ on his college resume.

“I think I’m just tired,” she lied while also feigning a yawn. She covered her mouth when it opened, pretending to be sleepy.

“Do-do you want me to tuh-take you home?” Bill asked. He was just as thoughtful as Richie. He was just as handsome as Richie, maybe even more. So why couldn’t y/n bring herself to like him as much as Richie? His arm left from her side and he used it to pick up the remote, turning the tv off. The worst part was, that when Bill’s hand stopped playing with the fabric of the flannel she wore and his arm left her frame, she didn’t feel a coldness that would usually wash over her when Richie’s arm left her. She felt free.

“I don’t want our afternoon to be spoiled,” y/n said. Her eyebrows furrowed and even though she knew she was lying through her teeth, she wanted to make this work. After all these years of pining for her study partner and favorite Derry High baseball player, she needed for this to work. To see the vision she’d created in her head, just a mere two years ago, collapse in front of her very eyes broke her. But at the same time, she was indifferent. Why should she care about the boy in front of her when the boy she actually wanted was a neighborhood away?

“Tr-trust me. It-it’s not.” Bill shrugged. He stood up and offered y/n his hand which she didn’t take. Instead, she sat there, planted in her same seat, waiting for him to continue. “I can tuh-take you home. And wuh-we can hang out to-tomorrow. You nuh-know when you’re well rested.” All of the sudden, this felt very real. Hanging out with Bill felt real. Being at his house felt real. And though his efforts were valiant, y/n couldn’t accept the offer.

A smile graced her lips and Bill mirrored that. “Yeah, okay. Uh, take me home—please.”

y/n stood up and Bill guided her to the door and to Zach Denbrough’s car as if she hadn’t had the place memorized from when she first came over for a History project they’d been assigned to do.

What did she ever see in him?

“I don’t know.” y/n’s shoulders bopped up and down and even though her figure was hunched, Richie still thought she looked graceful.

“Are you just sayin’ that or did you end up falling in love with little ole me and you can’t think of anything?” Just then, their milkshakes arrived. Both in frosted glass and both with a cherry on top. A feeling of relief swallowed the lump in her throat, or maybe that was the taste of vanilla ice cream now that she was given some time, and a reason, to stall. y/n hated how on-the-nose Richie could be. But she also loved that about him. He could be so, so unexpectedly smart about some things. Things that were right in front of her that she’d never even notice until Richie pointed it out. “Oh, come on.” Richie’s words would’ve sliced through the silence in the air if it weren’t for the chatter of other people and jukebox playing in the background. “Seriously, y/n/n, there’s gotta be something that drew you to him.”

“Well… he’s nice.”

“Okay cut the crap.”

“What?” y/n asked, finding herself annoyed that she not only had to reveal her feelings to a boy she may or may not like but also because he’s nice apparently wasn’t a sufficient enough answer.

“I need an actual answer. Not some bullshit response like he’s nice or he’s funny. Anyone can be nice or funny, y/n.”

“Well, whether you like it or not, Bill is nice. He’s genuine, and cares about the people around him… Selfless.”

Richie was upset at her response. Not because y/n countered his argument in a way he was left speechless but because she was right. Bill was the nice guy and Richie… wasn’t. Bill was the one who looked out for others, making sure they were okay. He was the one who made sure no one got left behind. He was the one everyone looked up to—not Richie, Bill. It was always Bill. Whereas Richie’s just the guy who stands in the background making funny noises only to be told to shut up.

“Yeah… Bill is nice.”

“Don’t tell me you’re my competition, Tozier.” y/n laughed at the oddity of fighting with Richie for the chance to be with Bill.

“Nah,” Richie shook his head, his hair flying in any direction possible. “You’re lucky I’m not, though. You wouldn’t have the chance, babe.”

y/n wanted to eat her heart out at the usage of babe in such an informal setting where they didn’t have to pretend, but the maraschino cherry resting on top of the pile of whipped cream would suffice. “Do you still like Vanessa?” The words tumbled from y/n’s mouth like they were nothing. But embarrassment replaced the blood flowing through her veins once she was aware of what she just said.

“It’s… complicated,” Richie said honestly, not caring that y/n might’ve crossed boundaries just then.

“What’s complicated?” y/n cocked her head like a puppy questioning why its master was making weird hand motions.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, kid.” Richie didn’t mean to come off as condescending, but he did.

“I’m the same age as you.” y/n crossed her arms after pushing away the half-empty, frosted glass in front of her.

Ignoring the red straw in his drink, Richie brought the edge of the glass to his lips and swallowed the thick shake. “Here’s the thing. Vanessa and I go way back.”

“How far is way back if you only dated her for four months?” y/n regretted even bringing her up. Maybe it was different back then, back when the two were actually dating. But now, y/n couldn’t remember a time when someone said the name ‘Richie Tozier’ and her heart didn’t feel like it would explode into a collision of fireworks.

“Four and a half,” Richie corrected with a grin breaking out on his lips. “But I dunno. She’s just special.”

“Special as in…?” y/n probed, and she hated herself for her big mouth that wouldn’t stop applying lemon juice to an obviously open wound.

“I love her.” Richie took another drink of Cookies n Cream, which was more cream than cookies, and y/n sat there in shock. She would be silly to think that after all these weeks, Richie would feel the same way about her. After all, he had a life outside of the fake one they’d construed. Or maybe Richie was just less emotionally confined to these sorts of things. He knew better than to get caught up in a fake relationship. Of course he would.

But knowing Richie still loved his ex, struck something in y/n’s core. And the fact that he was able to say it in such a nonchalant manner—such casualty—only dug deeper at the pit in her stomach.

“You love her?” y/n asked, her mouth still full of the sweet treat he’d pay for later in the evening.

“Love. Loved.” Richie shrugged like this was nothing—well, maybe this was nothing. Maybe y/n was the speck of dust on his shirt and him shrugging was the last of her existence from his being leaving. “What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference.” y/n wanted to scream. Luckily, she had enough self-perseverance to keep her composure. She swallowed. “One is past tense, and one is present tense.”

“How ‘bout I put it this way.” Richie set aside his drink so now nothing was blocking his view of y/n. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “I don’t like…” He paused. Revealing that he had no intention in getting back with his once first love would possibly wreck this whole thing. “If Vanessa asked, I’d probably get back with her,” Richie finally said, thinking that must’ve been a suitable way to word the jumble of letters floating around in his head like alphabet soup.

“You would?” y/n asked, feeling like a little kid all over again.

Richie didn’t say anything.

“Do you and her still…”

“Still what?”

“Talk, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” y/n messed with her fingers, pulling at a hangnail she’d know she’d regret doing when it got to later in the night.

“Nah. But don’t worry about it, sweets.” Richie took out his wallet only to be met with a picture of the dreaded girl they’d just been talking about. He gulped. His spit tasted like Oreos and he knew he’d have a stomachache later. Richie thumbed out a ten-dollar bill and five ones to keep Alexander Hamilton company. “Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

It was what she was wondering.

But she’d never let Richie know that. y/n crossed her arms tighter around her torso because right now it felt like Richie could see right through her.

Richie drove her home in the same way Bill would a month from that night. But Richie had a better taste in music and y/n was actually sad to part from him when he left her at her doorstep.

“I’m really sorry I had to cut our time short,” y/n said. She was sorry.

“It’s ff-fine. I al-already sai—”

“Yeah, but I feel awful, Bill.” y/n finally mucked up the courage to look him in the eye. Those blue eyes that’d been searching for hers all afternoon. “This was probably like… the worst first date in the history of first dates.”

“Ih-it’s not so bad. But that duh-depends on how muh-many first dates you’ve been on.” Bill laughed and y/n was trying to figure out what was funny about what he said.

“You’ve been on worse ones?” y/n asked anxiously.

“Luh-let’s just say th-they duh-didn’t get a second date.”

y/n nodded while her hands started to search for the keys in her purse.

“I’ll ss-see you tuh-tomorrow?”

“Or at my funeral. Whichever comes first.” For a moment, the bad thoughts cleared from the surface of y/n’s head. Laughter was the only thing she was aware of for a moment.

“Bye, y/n/n.”

“Bye, Richie,” y/n said bashfully. Her hands were strewn behind her back because she didn’t know what they would do if they weren’t. He was about to walk off—off into the moonlight. And y/n would have to wait until Monday to see him again. It was one day too long because she knew even though the two of them had nothing better to do tomorrow, he’d see it as just friends whereas y/n would see it… differently. “Richie, wait!”

“What?” Richie turned around. His hands sat inside of his front pockets and his posture was slumped, as always.

“Thanks… for tonight.” Richie nodded, and validation from him served as a sick kind of ego booster that egged y/n to keep going. “They really are the best milkshakes in town.”

“Yeah.” Richie’s scratchy voice soothed y/n under the frosty air that came from winters in Maine. y/n stepped closer, her hands still behind her back.

“Did you have a good time?”

“You know I always have a good time when I’m with you.” Richie nudged y/n’s elbow with his but was taken aback by her hands that now gripped his shoulders and how suddenly close she was against him.

y/n kissed him on the cheek, not daring to go for his lips because who’s ever heard of a kiss goodbye on the cheek? Is probably what Stacy Howards would retort back to her after she’d spill the happenings of Saturday night to Derry High’s favorite cheerleader in study hall.

His cheek tasted like salt and Irish Spring—that is, if she knew what Irish Spring tasted like. Which she definitely didn’t.

She didn’t linger long. Richie wished she stayed longer. The kiss was short and sweet and the taste of vanilla on her lips replaced a fraction of his cheek that tasted like body wash and sodium chloride.

“Goodnight,” y/n said, now finally coming to her senses.

“Ye-yeah.” Richie blinked, an alternative to pinching himself in front of the girl he’d been pretending to date. “Night.” But after pretending for so long, Richie couldn’t help but notice the less it felt like pretending.

y/n closed the door behind her with a slam, making sure to lock it in case intruders were in the neighborhood. Now that Bill was gone, her first instinct was to call up Richie—tell him that the date went well, and how he was such a great friend, and thanks for the help. But there were only so many times she could lie to a boy she felt feelings so deeply for. The first, coincidentally, was when Richie had asked how things were going with Bill.

“Make any progress so far?” Richie asked with a face full of ham. They were eating lunch together, per usual. But this time, unlike the many times before, the hand that wasn’t holding his sandwich was rubbing circles on y/n’s small hand that Richie’s swallowed.

“Comme ci comme ça.” y/n smiled to herself at her basic understanding any French One student would master. “It’s going alright…” y/n had never been a natural liar. Whenever she told her parents she had cleaned her room when she, in fact, didn’t, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention and her forearm broke out in an itch she could never quite scratch. But her internal biological workings had given her a break today. There was no itch and her hairs stayed in place from when she styled her hair that morning.

“What’s alright?” Richie questioned, though it sounded more like an interrogation.

“He started talking to me more.”

“He didn’t already talk to you?” Richie’s eyebrow rose because how were you supposed to fall for a guy you barely talked to?

“Well, yeah, he talks to me.” The pad of Richie’s thumb that was drawing slow circles onto y/n’s knuckles turned into lines. Back and forth. Back and forth. “But he used to talk to me about classwork and… you know, like, school.” Richie smiled when she talked. He was happy for his friend. He truly was. But he couldn’t stand the fact that the guy she was talking about wasn’t him—let alone, his former best friend. “And in APUSH, instead of asking about my grade or whatever, he… asked about me.”

“What’d Mister Charming have to say?”

Mister Charming sat two seats away from y/n. But that didn’t stop him from talking to her. Every now and then, Bill would steal glances at the girl from his peripheral vision. Sometimes, if he were feeling bold, he’d turn to face her—but that action only occurred when she was speaking. Today, however, was different. Today he’d talk to her.

Lucky for Bill, the pencil sharpener sat in the back of class—close to where y/n’s seat was.

“Hey.”

y/n looked up from her textbook. She didn’t want to assume the hushed voice was for her—but she had to figure the tap on her shoulder was.

“Hi.” She set her pencil down and folded her arms flat on the desk. “What’s up?” y/n swore she sounded insane. Who says what’s up—

“Th-the sky.” Bill’s smile made cloudy days seem cloudless. “I was wuh-wondering ih—” He swallowed the trail of saliva that gathered in the back of his throat. “If… are yo-you and Ruh-Richie like…”

“No!” y/n said quickly and a little too loudly.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Muh-maybe we cuh-could hang out… This Saturday work?” A stroke of nervousness flitted across his features for a second even though Bill didn’t have anything to be nervous about. The rest of y/n’s words got caught in her throat and she instinctively found herself writing down her number on the scratch piece of paper Mr. Ferguson passed out for notetaking.

“Call me.”

Bill did call. Which was precisely how y/n was stuck frozen in time; her back slanted against the door and her thoughts racing against one another.

She had two options at hand. Call Richie. Find Richie. Or wait it out for tomorrow when Bill’s same car would be in her driveway, waiting for her.

But a third option was already at y/n’s doorstep, contemplating ringing the doorbell.

Richie Tozier stood outside of y/n’s front door, palms sweaty and unusually anxious for confrontation. His pale fingers knotted together. It was their way of stalling from interacting with y/n for as long as possible—or as long as curfew would allow him to.

“Hey.” His stalling attempt was left unsuccessful when y/n opened the door. Ironically, he was just the person she had hoped to run into. “What are… what are you doing?”

“Me?” Richie’s eyebrows stitched together, and he pointed to himself with his index finger.

“You’re the only one here,” y/n deadpanned.

“I was just in the neighborhood, y’know. Doin’ neighborly things.”

“You don’t live in this neighborhood.” Richie feigned laughter but this time y/n didn’t laugh with him. “Seriously, Rich, why are you here? You knew I had my date with Bill and—”

“And what?” His tone grew firm, like it had grabbed her by the hand and urged whatever was eating at her insides out of her.

“And I don’t think you should be here, after I just got done with my date with somebody else!” y/n said with a shaky breath. She could feel her heartbeat almost burning through her chest that rose and fell harshly.

“How was it? Your date?” Richie had calmed down, but y/n didn’t.

“It went bad. Is that what you wanted to hear?” y/n muttered, but it could’ve been mistaken for a yell.

“No, why would you think—hold on. What’s up with you?” Richie’s hands stuffed themselves in his front pocket. His posture was hunched over, and his face now screwed together, trying to understand the girl standing before him.

“I don’t know.” The flame that had once ignited y/n’s lively spirits had died down. “I just. It didn’t go well, that’s all,” y/n said, unable to coax the words she actually wanted to say out of her lips.

“He wasn’t an asshole, was he?” Richie’s tone was protective—nothing y/n would expect from him two months ago when she’d gotten themselves into this mess.

“No! No.” y/n was complicated. First, she’d spew off about how her date was bad and now she was defending said date?

“God, y/n/n, can you just make up your mind?”

She could do that.

“You were right,” y/n declared.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, but Richie could still make out what she was saying.

“Well, I’m always right, toots. I just need context—”

“About the fake dating thing. How eventually one person’s bound to fall for the other…” Her toes curled from under the white Converse she hadn’t had time to slip off. They were worn and the bottoms were yellowing from the number of times she’d matched them to an outfit. “And you don’t look like you’re on your knees, so.”

“So, what?” y/n didn’t notice the smirk edging on the corners of Richie’s lips.

“Tozier, don’t make me say it.”

“You have to, or God knows how long we’ll be standing on this fuckin’ porch,” Richie said patiently. Patient. Richie was never patient—always the one to urge his friends to hurry the fuck up, always the one to ask are we there yet? But this time he was. His figure stood still and ominous, like Santa on Christmas Eve. His breathing held steady in his lungs that had seen more smoke than his mother’s kitchen and his feet stood planted on the concrete stoop of y/n’s house and they’d stay there until she told him the very damned thing she didn’t want to.

“I like you, okay?” y/n knew if she blinked, the dam of tears in her eyes would finally burst and the last thing she wanted was having Richie Tozier see her cry. Well, second to last thing. The first thing on that list had already happened. “Look, I know you’re still in love with Van-Vanessa.” It hurt to say the girl’s name because she wasn’t just a girl, she was Richie’s ex. “But you asked me to say it and I did. So there.”

y/n was about to turn back. Back into her house and back out of this friendship. It was only because Richie laughed that y/n stopped. His chuckle was like music, not the kind that Richie blasted in his car with the windows down, but like a symphony. And if y/n were any less mortified right now, maybe she’d stop to admire it—him—for one second more.

She was about to ask why. Why are you mocking me when I’m so clearly in a vulnerable state right now? Why are you mocking me after I’d just shared something so deep and personal with the likes of you? About the likes of you? But y/n didn’t get the chance when Richie surged forward and pressed a kiss against her lips. She could feel her heart pick up even more at the taste of him: spearmint and tobacco. She thought it’d stabilize itself once his lips left hers, but it didn’t. His taste lingered and at the time it felt permanent, like a red stain on white furniture.

“Like I said. Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you.” His breath hit her face, warm and intoxicating, and y/n could only think that kissing Richie on the lips was way better than kissing him on the cheek.

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jupiterrrr123 · 5 years

Photo

...ok so like-

//inHaLEs//

w why do i actually laugh if i turn my main vision towards his upper, stretched, crocodile lookin-ass fa C E -

like, srsly hoe, why the fuck does he look like a closed-sad eyed, dog-crocodile piece of shit when you cover the teeth w heE Z e

#it #it 2017 #pennywise #bill denbrough #richie tozier #beverly marsh #eddie kaspbrack #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #stan uris #why the fuck did i even do this aAA-#im bored #ffs #im lonely :')

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canislupus-exe · 11 months

Text

In Your Corner | bill denbrough

>>gif credit to @/beenchillin on tumblr<<

fandom | IT: Chapter One

character | Bill Denbrough

reader | (disabled) he/him (she ver.)(they ver.)

requested | anonymous

warnings | cursing, ableism

word count | 1,131

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

editor | @feliscatus-exe

>> back to prev <<

Keep reading

“Oh, n-n-nothing. Just practicing shape l-language for objects.” He replied, sitting on the cushions in a way that made it easier to look at you.

“Really? What are you trying to learn to draw?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Nothing in p-p-particular. I just think it’s a g-good skill to have.” He replies, closing his sketchbook and setting it aside. You smile and nod.

“Do you know when the other Losers plan on joining us?” You asked leaning on the arm of your chair.

“Right now.” A voice called from behind. You looked over your shoulder to the garage entrance, watching Richie, Eddie, and Stan enter. You smiled and waved, which only Stan returned.

“Plus, if we run out, we can hop on (Y/n)’s wheelchair. He’s basically a bike.” Richie says with a snicker, placing both his feet on the back of your chair and causing you to become unsteady. You yelp in surprise, immediately swatting him off. You turn your chair to face him, a look of panic on your face.

“What the fuck Richie?” You shout. He raises his eyebrows.

“Y-You can’t say shit like that Richie!” Bill exclaims, his ears turning red from anger as they always did.

“Why are you guys freaking out?” He asks, raising his arms in exasperation.

“C-Comparing (Y/n) to a bike? You don’t get why that’s f-f-f-fu-fucked up!?” He shouts, finding it harder to speak due to his anger.

“No? It was a good thing. Bikes are cool and he’d be helping us to the store.” He replied.

“It’s fine Bill. Don’t worry about it…” You mumble, trying to maneuver around him.

“N-no (Y/n) I am w-worried about it,” Bill says, turning to look at you. There was a look in his eyes that made you feel warm and safe.

“He said don’t worry about it so I think-“

“Fuck off Richie!” Bill yells as he whips his head around to stare at him, not a stutter in his voice. Richie backs away with his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever dude.” He mumbles, sitting next to Eddie on the couch.

“I w-wish there was more I could do. I t-t-tell Richie all the time to quit his shit but he-“

“Y-You know, that’s exactly how I feel.” He replies. You tilt your head in confusion. Bill rubs his neck bashfully before shrugging.

“We can be in each other’s corner.” You reply, giddily grabbing his hand. It takes you a second to realize what you’ve done before pulling back.

“S-Sorry I was just-”

“No! It’s okay!” He grabs your hand again, this time intertwining your fingers. “I l-like being in each other's corner.”

“Pinky promise?” You ask, holding out your pinky. He chuckles and locks his pinky around yours.

“P-Pinky promise.” He replies.

“Now let’s go watch the m-movie. If Richie says anything else I’ll j-just kick him out.”

“Since when are you Mr. tough guy?” You ask with a giggle.

“S-Since I had to be in someone’s corner. I-it’s a tough job you know.”

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reddieao3feed · 3 years

Text

would anyone like to watch twilight with me?

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3lt0sFv

by missmedda

himbo: i ain't ever seen two pretty best friends

degenerate: eddie and i are right here tho

all powerful: right... anyways who here is trying to watch twilight with me [serious inquires only]

Words: 619, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough, Georgie Denbrough, Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh

Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh

Additional Tags: idk - Freeform, im going through an it phase again pls don't ask, i just like reddie ok i think ab them once every 3 months and now im here, writing it ff like its 2017....... yeaaaaaaaaa, also they r like 19/20 in this bc i am and i can't write high schoolers im sorry, college losers hehe <3, very much based off my friends and i, if u care eddie is based off of how i type so if it sounds dumb and gay well do i have news for you

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3lt0sFv

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #reddie #it (2017)#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

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nooowestayandgetcaught · 4 years

Text

fanfic authors tag game

tagged by @fern-stone ahhhhhhhh thank you!!!

tagging @spookywitchnerd24 @glove23 @clotpolesonly @merlinsbed @rapha-writes @itmakesmonstersofusall @theschubita @paintheskywithcolor and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it!

Ao3 name: Val_Creative

Fandoms: oh god um 261

Number of fics: 1478 fics but I know that is inaccurate cause I’ve got things waiting to be posted and things in fests not revealed yet

1. Fic you spent the most time on: probably The Catalyst I was pre-writing since 2013/2014???? it got posted in 2015 and everyone stop yelling at me I KNOW I NEED TO UPDATE A CHAPTER FFS

2. Fic you spent the least time on: any of the drabbles take your pick

3. Longest fic: besides The Catalyst,,,, for chapter stories it’s Don't Sing Little Birdy with 86,539 words (E-rating, Robin/Raven, Teen Titans) which is a sequel to Darker Edges and for oneshots it’s Our Money's Worth with 19,528 words (E-rating, Merlin/Arthur, BBC Merlin)

4. Shortest fic: Nonsense with 71 words (G-rating, Light/L, Death Note)

5. Most hits: besides the Catalyst,,,, I’m gonna do oneshots and that would be Call of the Bond with 33044 hits (E-rating, Merlin/Arthur, BBC Merlin)

6. Most kudos: besides the Catalyst,,,, A Matter of the Heart with 1335 kudos (E-rating, Viktor/Yuuri, Yuri!!! On Ice) and I personally love this fic

7. Most comment threads: besides the Catalyst,,,, it’s looking like congratulations (M-rating, Arya/Gendry, Game of Thrones)

8. Fave fic you wrote: Right now I’m really fond of,,,,,,,

Take Me And Do As You Will (E-rating, Death/Morrigan | Godfather Death/The Physician, Der Gevatter Tod | Godfather Death)

"Watch over my son Morrigan," the father begged, wheezing. "He has no mother. No kin. I do not have long if you are here."

Death agreed, patiently waiting for his heart to cease, soothing his brow — for in the eyes of Death, all souls are fair and equal.

Head Above Water (No Rating, Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, Lyra Belacqua & Pantalaimon, Lord Asriel & Stelmaria, His Dark Materials)

Winter comes to Jordan College, and so does Lord Asriel. Lyra enjoys playing with the other children and waging war with snowballs, but her heart aches. Sometimes it’s a father she needs most.

work it out (M-rating, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, IT)

“Are you saying this is a group striptease lesson?”

Revel (No Rating, Todd Anderson/Neil Perry, Dead Poets Society)

He's not anything like Neil. Clever, outrageous Neil — who invited Todd to join the Dead Poets Society, who encouraged Todd to chuck his new desk-set because Todd's parents stopped caring about him long ago, who doesn't let Todd mope around.

weaving like a thread within each other, faithfully (T-rating, Korra/Asami Sato, Avatar: Legend of Korra)

Asami is thankful she waited to ask Korra — her girlfriend agrees to visiting the South Pole for a week or two.

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: Lots of them! But nah! Mostly I get asked to do continuations on my oneshots which is not happening.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

(I wrote it a while back but am reworking it -- it’s a Modern Day where Arthur discovered Merlin’s magic in the past and he sentenced Merlin to spend eternity in the Crystal Cave in order to keep the peace in Camelot. Merlin finally gets discovered in 2012/2013 by a reincarnated Arthur.)

The man seems to regard him curiously once he finds footing, wordless for the moment. Merlin doesn't let him get a syllable.

He grabs the man's face, thumbs pressing to sun-browned skin, smashing their lips together. The man utters a pained grunt, raising hands to push at Merlin's shoulders before digging his fingers into Merlin's tunic.

Arthur always smelled like this on the surface—fresh perspiration, and a hint of steel. Always, always like the sunlight.

A bit wild for it, craving more and more of what he could gain, Merlin pries the man's lips apart with his.. He growls, less throaty-human and more animalistic when the man who was Arthur finally pushes him off.

"Christ," the man swears, blue eyes bright as gems, wide. "Who are you?"

"Judas," Merlin answers, grin stretching his now swollen pink mouth.

#about rie

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dedeimagines · 6 years

Note

“I have a confession to make…” with bill aw (ff)

“Bill…” You whispered, fiddling with your hands as you avoid his gaze. “I have a confession to make…”

“What is it Y/N?” You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and your eyes beginning to water. There was a feeling in your stomach that made you want to throw up and a nagging voice in your head. You had to tell him.

“I-I-I- GOD! I love you Bill and-and I know you love Beverly but I just-I just needed to tell you! It’s okay if you hate me or-or never want to see me again, just please, spare me of your apology and-and-”

“Y/N! C-Calm down.” Bill mumbled, hands on your shoulders as your chest heaved. Bill’s head cocked to the side as he peered into your eyes. “Where d-d-did Bev come into this? I haven’t thought about her like t-that since we were k-k-kids…”

“What are you saying Denbrough?”

“I love you too.”

#fluffy friday #bill denbrough x reader

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evakviigmohns · 6 years

Text

clarinet player [bill denbrough]

A/N: i!! loved!! writing!! this! thanks to the lovely person who sent this request & im sorry that is kind of short ¿¿ but yeah!! Hopefully you will love it! & im rlly sorry it took so long but I’ve been rlly busy with back to school stuff and such. Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, yeah lmao

Request by richiee-bitchyy: eyy i heard u wanted requests! could u maybe write a bill X reader fic where the reader is a clarinet player and she tries to teach bill some notes? tysm! Xoxo

A/N AGAAN: YALL I EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT MAKING LIKE A SECOND PART OF THIS¿¿ SO IF YOU ARE INTERESTED LET!! ME!! KNOW!! TUSEN TAKK

--------------------

The girl’s fingers moved around the holes of the clarinet as she blew air from her mouth to make the music flow. A happy lullaby that would probably ease children who were crying and would make some parent’s proud was being played and YN played it with confidence because she felt the stare of certain blue-eyed boy in her.

Once she finished and looked up, Bill was smiling at her and walked towards her direction and sat beside her.

“T-T-That was a-a-ma-amazing.” He said looking at her as he tapped his feet on the ground.

“Than you, billy.” YN told him as she placed a piece of her hair behind her ear and slightly blushed. It wasn’t a secret the odd the relationship that they had. They were a ‘thing’ but without actually being anything. Everyone knew about the feelings they had for each other, even they did, but both of them enjoyed this stage where the flirting was almost inevitable and even the smallest of the touches would cause the other to slowly lose their minds.

“Want me to teach you?” The girl asked him as she looked at him with those beautiful eyes who drove him crazy, how was he supposed to say no?

“Sure.” Bill replied as he sat closer to YN, shoulders brushing with each other as they felt little tingles go through their spines.

“Here,” the girl handed him the clarinet “put it in your mouth and I’ll teach you some notes”

Bill followed her instruction and a few moments later she was explaining him where each finger is supposed to go [A/N I would actually explain this but I have no fucking idea about clarinets like I don’t even know how to play the xylophone]

“Okay, now blow” [A/N IM SORRY I THOUGHT ABOUT FUCKING BLOW JOB FFS WHATS WRONG WITH ME VHDNIDKJFSS] he did what YN told him to do and as soon as the air flew across the instrument a noise that sounded a lot like forks scratching a plate spread across the room; the girl immediately started laughing so hard that she grabbed her stomach and bill blushed in embarrassment.

“I-I-I’m sorry.” Bill said as she grabbed his fingers and placed them correctly.

“Don’t worry, nobody is born knowing everything” As YN looked up, she realized how close she had gotten to bill. Their noses were almost bumping as his eyes were slightly opened in shook by the sudden closeness that the moment brought between them. Her eyes slowly drifted to bill’s lips, that were slightly parted, and YN saw how his tongue licked his bottom lip.

He wanted to break the distance by finally pulling her close and do what he has been wanting to do for so long, Bill wanted that moment to be special, so they could speak about it in their future; the boy didn’t wanted it to be after he messed up.

Bill moved backwards so now their faces weren’t so close and the girl sighed in relieve. YN wanted him to kiss her, but she wasn’t really sure if it was the right time. She wanted to be a hundred percent sure that after they kissed, she wouldn’t be a fucking mess and would actually to be capable of asking bill the long-awaited question

“Okay,” she shyly smiled at him “now blow.”

This time, the note came out good. They spent the rest of their afternoon with YN teaching him more notes and Bill either tragically failing or being oddly good. A few minutes past 6pm he left the clarinet on her lap and looked at her with a little smile

“I-I have t-t-to g-go.” YN nodded and walked him towards the door of her bedroom.

“This was fun” YN said with a smile as she looked at Bill who slightly smiled.

“Ma-maybe next ti-time y-you can te-ach-teach me a fu-fu-full song.” He suggested

“Sure.” She said and saw how he walked towards the stairs that led to the front door of her house.

Bill turned around in his heels and walked with confidence towards the girl that was looking at him with curiousness in her face. He grabbed YN’s face and kissed her next to her lips as he softly thanked her and immediately left without seeing the intense blush that crossed the girl’s face.

YN’s hand raised and softly touched the place where Bill had landed his lips, she smiled to herself and closed the door behind her as the noise of a bicycle being picked up from the street filled the silence in her room.

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough imagine #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough headcanons #jaden lieberher #jaden lieberher imagine #sofia writes it #sofia writes bill #it imagine #it 2017

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birdbooksdenbrough · 6 years

Text

Ghost!Stan

i talked to @bisexualelioperlman about this a WHILE ago and just now got around to posting it but yknow

he died at 14 about ten years before bill moved into the house in derry

he was a 60s baby

when the denbroughs moved into the house he just fucked around in bills room by making stuff fall before he actually showed himself

bill wasnt a believer until then

at first he thought stan was an intruder then he realized he could vaguely see through him and he flipped him shit

“so you’re th-th-the asshole wh-who-whos buh-been making my stuh-stuh-stuff-ff fall a-all o-o-ov-over the p-place!”

everyday after bill gets home from school him and stan sit on his twin bed and talk about the day

stan wants to haunt the fuck out of patrick and henry

for a while stan only acts like he can do normal human stuff but one night bill wakes up to see stan fucking floating about three feet above him kind of upside down and hes leaning his head down and his curls are EVERYWHERE

bill freaks out because he??? didnt know??? stan could do that??????

he gets used to it eventually but its still really weird

stan isnt tangible unless he has a lot of energy so when he has enough energy to fully materialize he immediately finds bill and just hugs him

if its at night he wakes bill up and then just sits and hugs him

the fact that stan isnt tangible gets harder when him and bill start dating

they cant cuddle or hug or kiss as frequently as they want which gets hard so when stan materializes completely its a fucking wonderful occasion and they just sit there and cuddle on bills teeny lil bed

stans super extra, since bills taller then him he makes himself float in order to kiss bill instead of just getting on his tiptoes

richie keeps trying to set bill up with people and hes really confused as to why bill isnt compliant and its so frustrating to bill because he doesnt know if he can introduce stan to any of his friends

he tries introducing stan to eddie first since eddie believes in ghosts

eddie passes out

him and stan get along really well but appearing to more than one person at a time is really energy draining so they cant really see each other often because stans mostly confined to bills house

he introduces beverly next since theyre so close

beverly would protect stan with every fiber of her being

they get along well too and she doesnt freak out until she tries to shake his hand and it goes STRAIGHT through

mike was next

him and stan have nice calm conversations even though mike doesnt know whether or not to believe

hes kind of in denial that stans not there and highkey feels like hes just buying into bills delusion

its not until stan materializes that he really believes

bill then introduced ben and ben was so excited!!! because he reads all about these ghosts!!! and being able to see one himself is so exciting!!! but his energy drained stan REAL quick

finally bill introduces richie and richies mad

“WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME YOU HAD A CUTE GHOST IN YOUR HOUSE? IS THIS WHY YOU HAVENT BEEN DATING ANYONE?!”

“ri-richie dont call him c-c-c-cu-cute, he still is muh-my b-b-boy-boyfriend.”’stans blushing very bad which confuses bill bc does stan have blood? how does he blush?

the week before bills birthday he doesnt see stan at all and hes like ?? did i do something?? is it because im aging?? wh ??

the other losers had been contacting stan via oujia board (courtesy of mike) and planned a birthday party for bill

stan needed to gather his energy so he refused to even show himself or move anything around the house

he fully materializes at bills birthday party and bills parents are like “lol who dis” but bills SO HAPPY THAT HE WAS THERE!!!

“i th-thought you were muh-m-m-mad at me for guh-getting older...”

“i would never get mad at you for having amazing opportunities like that”

bills so sad that him and stan cant grow up together and both of them desperately search for answers as to what they can do about it

theres really not much they CAN do except kill bill or do some crazy ass ritual with stan

theyre too scared to do either

bill doesnt know how stan died until almost two years of knowing him because stan doesnt like talking about it

stan died when he killed himself after years of intense depression

he still has the scars, even in the afterlife

bill hugs him so so tight and tells him its okay because hes happy now and they have each other

stan starts crying because hes never felt this happy and its completely because bill loves him

because they cant go to any dances together, bill will decorate the guest room with streamers and party shit and when his parents leave he brings his boombox into the room and him and stan will dance around to music looking all spiffy

bill still doesnt understand how stan changes clothes

i dont think he ever understands

after georgie passed away him and stan played in the denbrough house together a lot

when bill sees them running around them running around the house together, all happy and laughing, he starts to cry because he wasnt there for george

now stan bill and george all sit cross legged on bills small twin bed and just talk

bill feels bad for wanting alone time with stan sometimes but georgie entertains himself by floating for hours so it works out

when the remaining denbroughs die in a car crash when bill is 16, their ghosts all return to the house

bill immediately finds stan and tackle hugs him and they fall on the ground and bills so fucking sad because what about his other friends?

hes both happy and sad and hes still trying to figure out how that could be

happy hes with stan but sad he cant go see his friends

bill and stan float around the house frequently and mess around

introducing his parents to stan went better than expected

theyve got a “we’re all dead there isnt much we can do about it” mentality

knowing that people have died in the house and the loss of the denbrough family creates a stigma around the house and no one wants to move in

giving the rest of the losers the ability to see them whenever

they all celebrate their birthdays at the house and keep it up throughout the years

as all of them pass they go back to the denbrough house because thats where they were happiest since it was such a warm and loving place

ghost party

#stenbrough #god i need fanart of ghost stan and bill #stan uris #stanley uris #bill denbrough #su #bd #stan and bill #god i love boys in love #it #it 1990 #it 2017 #stephen king #im so proud of this pOST

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