#reginald huggins

[blue-sadie]

Plaid Skirts

Imagine:

Being the only one not taking any of the bowers gangs shit which makes them target you more and on photo day you were forced to wear a plaid skirt which drove the boys crazy so after school they dragged you into an empty classroom to have their way with you.

"You should were skirts more often so it makes it easier for us to fuck you or finger you during class oh you'd like that wouldn't you to get used whenever we want"

#it #it chapter one #it movie #movie characters x reader #it x reader #it x reader smut #it imagine #it smut imagine #poly bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #bowers gang imagines #bowers gang smut #bowers gang x reader smut #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #reginald huggins #henry bowers x reader #patrick hocksetter x reader #victor criss x reader #belch huggins #belch huggins x reader

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl Pt. II — Patrick Hockstetter.

part one

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal cruelty , male masturbation , graphic descriptions of murder and suicide , reader being manipulative , degradation , sexual themes ,

word count : 4.5k words !

a/n : can't believe i'm finally posting this after a year and a half. also this is my first attempt at smut-ish so i'm sorry if it's ass. im not gonna say this is 18+ bc I myself am not 18+ (im turning 18 this year tho) also im not your mom and idgaf what you read.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

"That's not possible," he said through gritted teeth. "I watched you die. I buried you!" He opened his eyes, convinced that this was all some terrible drug trip. Maybe the weed he'd just got from Henry was laced, or maybe he was suffering from a temporary psychosis. Either way, there had to be some rational and logical reason that he was seeing you.

However, when he saw you there, sitting there with a smug look on your face, your presence as solid as any living person, he felt his heart skip a beat.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing as you pouted. "What's wrong, Patrick?" You asked condescendingly. "Don't act so scared now." You walked toward him slowly, watching him scramble backward in a panic. A smile spread across your lips as you saw the pure fear in his eyes when he hit the wall behind him, having nowhere else to go. "You weren't scared when you stabbed me. You weren't scared when you watched me bleed out in your arms. You weren't scared when you buried my body like some animal you found on the side of the road." Your voice was seeping with anger as you stepped closer and closer, cornering him. "So you don't get to be scared now."

Patrick Hockstetter was not someone who was frightened easily. In fact, up until this very moment, he didn't think he had the ability to be frightened at all. His unique ability to remain calm and collected in situations that would often stress others out was one he was prideful of. However, at that moment, he felt all composure and level-headedness dissolve. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Not just scared—terrified.

"What- What do you want?" He asked, his voice shaky as he looked into your eyes. You no longer looked at him like he hung the moon. There were no remnants of your innocence and naivety—willing to trust that people have the best intentions. There was nothing behind your cold, lifeless eyes. It was like staring at a corpse.

"Now, what's the fun in that?" You grinned, leaning forward so your face was inches away from his. Your gaze flickered to his lips. The same lips you thought he'd planned to kiss you with, but instead, he'd stabbed you in the stomach and mocked your intelligence. "You should really watch your back, Patrick," you whispered with a devious smirk, your breath fanning over his face. "I heard the search for me is really picking up after they found my blood in the woods."

Your words snapped him back to the reality of the situation at hand. He had killed you. What you were saying was impossible though. Right? He was meticulous in every stage of his plan. There was no way they found any trace of you. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his eyes searching you for any sign of deception, but you were impossible to read like this. He was no longer able to detect everything from a single glance. He only knew what you wanted him to know.

Without another word, you disappeared, leaving the boy spiraling as he went through all the events of that night over and over again. "Come back!" He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty house. "You can't just leave like that you bitch!"

Patrick let out a frustrated yell as he grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be a porno mag—and threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Who did you think you were to haunt him? To come into his room, make him feel that horrible emotion, and tease him just to leave abruptly?

He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his heavy breathing as his anger took over. You had to have been lying, trying to get into his head. He hated to admit that it was working. He was supposed to be the one in your head. This was his world. He controlled everyone and everything. You shouldn't be here. You should be dead and buried like he had intended.

He fell back in his bed and took a deep breath, letting his mind settle as he chased sleep. He told himself you would be gone tomorrow and that would be that. Your appearance to him, like something out of a Charles Dickens novel, was just a fluke. Tomorrow you would be dead and all would be right with the world.

He drifted off to sleep, having convinced himself that he would never see you again. He was able to get a few hours of sleep, but you weren't going to let him be at peace for long

At around 4 am, Patrick had a very vivid dream that he was choking. He was gasping for air, clawing at his neck as he looked around frantically. His surroundings dissolved into a pitch-black room. He felt his lungs burning, his brain growing fuzzy as the oxygen left him. It felt so vivid, so real.

He awoke in a panic, sitting up straight as he gasped for air. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Like he had truly been deprived of air like he'd dreamed about. He panted, catching his breath as he looked around at his room, thankfully finding no signs of you. However, when he finally felt secure, able to draw a breath without feeling like a thirsty man drinking water, he realized the pillow that had been behind his head was now sat on his lap.

The realization dawned on him that he may have been actually suffocating, and you were the culprit. He shook his head, trying to expel the thought as he laid back down, throwing the pillow off into the black depths of his room, so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It was just a dream. Just as you were just a vision.

Patrick wasn't stupid, though many would argue to the contrary. Just because he didn't give a shit about school and didn't try didn't mean he wasn't smart. He just saved his intelligence for things that actually mattered—like planning and executing a murder.

That in mind, his refusal to accept the things he deep down knew to be true was not, as some would think, him being stupid. On the contrary, he believed himself smarter than to believe in silly things like ghosts. Dead things stay dead. He'd learned that at a very young age. He knew when he killed his brother that he would not be coming back. Just as he knew when he killed you that you would not be coming back.

Ghosts don't exist. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that.

As he laid in bed, trying to rationalize himself into a calm enough state to fall asleep again, he found himself more on edge with every creak of the old house around him. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes conspiring with the moonlight to play tricks on him. His breath hitched at every shadow dancing around the dark.

You were proud of your work, and you had barely done anything yet. You watched from the shadows, pleased as he seemed to run himself in circles trying to cope with everything going on. The mere thought of you was torture enough.

You grinned, biting your lip as a thought washed over you. As a ghost, not bound by the physical realm, you had the ability to do a lot of things. One of those so happened to be raising and lowering the temperature in a room.

You focused hard, raising the temperature several degrees, making Patrick swear at the sudden sweat washing over him. You watched with a satisfied smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, trying to cool himself off.

He didn't have a six pack or anything, but you didn't expect him to. He had a lean, toned torso with a very sexy v-line peeking out from his jeans. A small tattoo sat on his stomach just above his v-line on the right side. You couldn't make it out in the darkness, but you didn't care much. The sight of it alone was enough.

After all, who said you couldn't mix a little bit of business with pleasure.

He had taken away the rest of your life, all the possibilities of experiencing having your first kiss, losing your virginity, falling in love. It was only fair he made up for that in one way or another before your time together came to an end.

The time passed agonizingly slowly with Patrick staring at the ceiling and you watching him, studying him like he was some foreign thing. It was so interesting to watch someone when they don't know they're being watched. Of course, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his body detecting the unseen eyes on him, but he chalked it up to paranoia—as he did every other unexplainable thing that seemed to be happening to him.

His mind drifted off, the heat making him restless as his brain filled with gruesome images of his previous kills. He sifted through his memory for the most interesting ones—dismembering birds, beheading cats, snapping a squirrel or two's neck—but none of them seemed to get him off anymore.

The image of your face right after he stabbed you made it's way into his mind. Your eyes, so wide and filled with fear. He could practically hear your sweet voice crying out, asking why he would do this to you. The thought made his cock tighten in his jeans.

He reached down, palming himself through his jeans with a groan. Reliving the sounds of you choking and coughing up your own blood had his fingers working quickly to undo his belt. He tossed it to the side, practically ripping the button off his jeans as he pulled them down along with his underwear, allowing his dick to finally be free from the restrictive fabric.

He spat in his hand, gripping his cock and lubricating it. He caught his chapped lower lip between his teeth as swept his thumb over his pink head, smearing his precum across it. He let out a low moan, letting his hand travel up and down his dick at a slow, agonizing pace. He kept his eyes screwed shut, immersing himself in the memory of your murder as he stroked himself.

Patrick was not a moral man by any means but this was a new low. Getting himself off to you, in his mind, was no better than if he was imagining one of his dead animal playthings. You were nothing to him. You were roadkill.

But, for some reason, the fresh sight of you, wearing the clothes he killed you in with that dark blood stain right where he'd stabbed you, your hair all matted, and the cold, lifeless look in your eyes, made it so easy to relive that night in great detail.

It was the greatest night of his life. The biggest release of pressure he'd ever felt since he began getting those homicidal urges—those itches. He didn't think he'd ever get to feel that euphoria again, but fucking himself to the thought of it would get him pretty damn close.

He let out a strangled moan, his hips pushing into his hand as he came, and he was right, it was the second-best feeling he'd ever felt. It didn't compare to killing you, but it was enough to satiate his urges once again.

He laid there, panting for what felt like hours. The time moved by so slowly until finally, the sound of the alarm block beside his bed blaring pulled him from his thoughts.

The red numbers reading 7:30 blinked slowly, reminding him that he had to get up and get ready for school. He leaned over, smacking the top of the clock roughly to silence it before falling back flat on his bed, preparing himself to get up.

He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing a random pair of jeans and a shirt that smelled clean enough. He quickly got dressed before making his way back downstairs. He knew Belch would be here any second to pick him up—he always woke up later than he was realistically supposed to.

He slipped his boots on, and a few moments later, he heard Belch laying on his car horn. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door, heading outside and letting it slam just behind him.

"Calm your tits," he shouted in annoyance. Patrick always had a short fuse, but after the particularly restless night in which he'd been visited by some fucking ghost of Christmas Past, he found himself particularly irritable.

"Dude what happened yesterday?" Victor asked as Patrick climbed into the blue Trans Am.

"You were totally tripping the fuck out," Belch chimed in, starting the car and peeling out of Patrick's neighborhood.

"Dumb fuck can't handle his liquor," Henry scoffed from his spot in the passenger's seat.

"Shut the fuck up, Bowers," Patrick bit back, gazing out the window. "At least some of us don't piss our pants when we drink."

"It was one fucking time you dickhead!" Henry defended quickly, his cheeks turning red from the embarrassment.

At the feeling of someone's hand on his thigh, Patrick quickly looked over at Vic. "Don't fucking touch me you-" he paused just short of spitting some derogatory remark about Victor being gay and a freak when he saw you sitting between him and Victor, grinning at him darkly.

"What the fuck are you talking about, dude?" Victor asked, bewildered by Patrick's behavior. Patrick was always an odd one, but he never acted this weird.

"He probably smoked himself fucking dumb," Henry grumbled, still annoyed about the pants pissing remark.

You held a finger to your lips as climbed over onto his lap, holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You just wanted to rile him up a little, make him feel suffocated by you, like he could never escape. And truly, he couldn't. You were never going anywhere until you believed justice had properly been served, and you would take that in any form.

He glared at you, but you paid him no mind, leaning to whisper into his ear: "How cute," you condescended him. "You thought I would just go away." You dug your nails into his shoulders making him sharply inhale, trying not to tip off his friends to the seemingly unwarranted pain he was feeling. "You will never be rid of me," you whispered menacingly, looking deep into his eyes with a sickening grin that made nausea pool in his stomach.

In any other situation, having someone on his lap, digging their nails into his shoulders would probably have been a pleasurable experience, but this was not any other situation. This was a nightmare he couldn't seem to wake up from.

When Belch finally pulled into the school parking lot, Patrick couldn't get out of the car fast enough. You disappeared as he scrambled to unlock the door and get out, finally feeling like he could breathe. He pulled his shirt collar to the side, looking down at the angry red marks where your nails had been. They served as a disturbing reminder that you were really there, and you could do anything to him.

"You get laid last night, Hockstetter?" Belch asked, grinning as he saw the red marks.

"That why you ran off yesterday?" Henry snickered. "You pussy whipped?"

"At least, I actually get pussy," he sneered, paling as he heard your laugh echoing around him the moment the words slipped from his lips. It was a deafening sound. Like a mix between a cackle and a scream that seemed to permeate his surroundings.

His jaw clenched, eye twitching as he resisted the urge to cover his ears. Apart from not wanting to look insane, he also didn't think it would help much. You weren't around him. You were in him, in his head.

The bell could faintly be heard going off inside the school, making Victor curse under his breath. They had two minutes to get to class or they were late.

"Mrs. Denton's gonna throw a bitch fit if I'm late again," he groaned, watching as Henry lit a cigarette.

"Kiss ass," he remarked, taking a long drag before exhaling the puff of smoke into Belch's face as Victor walked away.

"You asshole," Belch coughed, shoving Henry.

"Oh, shit." Henry's eyes widened as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, quickly stomping it out. "Let's go," he ordered, making his way up the stairs to the front doors of the school, looking behind him frantically.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden shift in Henry's demeanor. He followed the brunette's gaze, his eyes locking with those of Butch Bowers, the sheriff.

"Wonder if they're here for you," your voice taunted him, breath tickling the back of his right ear. He turned, preparing to come face to face with that condescending smile you always seemed to be wearing, but you weren't there.

He looked back, finding Sheriff Bowers still staring at him, seemingly ignoring whatever the deputy was leaning into his ear to say. Patrick wasn't one to back down easily, but your presence, your warnings, had him on edge. He quickly advanced forward, his lengthy legs providing long strides as he followed suit in heading inside Derry Highschool.

The sounds of his heavy boots hitting the linoleum floor echoed through the empty hall as he made his way to his math class. Victor was right; Mrs. Densen was going to throw a bitch fit that he was late, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have cared on a normal day, but on this day, with the police sniffing around and you practically breathing down his neck, he cared even less—which he didn't even know was possible.

He pulled open the door to the classroom, a hush falling over the students as he entered. Most stared at him wide-eyed, some avoided looking at him altogether, and he briefly caught Vic looking at him with sympathy. The teacher, however, was glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Mr. Hockstetter, late again I see," she said pointedly. "You've earned yourself a detention after school today." Patrick stifled a laugh as he made his way to his seat at the very back of the classroom. "Is something funny?" She asked, her tone displaying clear annoyance.

"Yeah, that you think I care," he rolled his eyes, slipping into his desk. He tuned out whatever lecture the teacher decided to give him after that. His gaze drifted to the empty desk in the front row— the one you used to sit at.

"Don't go feeling remorseful now," you said into his ear. He felt your arm around his shoulders as you leaned down, your face positioned next to his. He turned to look at you, and you turned to look at him, your faces almost touching.

your breath fanned across his face, the moment oddly intimate until you grinned at him, opening your mouth and emitting an ear piercing scream.

"Ah," he grunted in pain, his eyes screwing shut, and his hands gripping his ears. It felt like his eardrums were seconds away from bursting and causing blood to pour out of his ears. "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, the room, and you, falling dead silent immediately after the words left him.

He peeled his eyes open, his hands falling as he looked around. "Excuse me, Mr. Hockstetter," the teacher gasped, clearly taken aback by his outburst. "Take yourself to the principal's office right this instant!" She ordered him.

His blood began to boil as he stood up abruptly, storming out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him. He was getting very very sick and tired of your little games. He headed toward the back door of the school, not wanting to cross paths with Henry's dad.

"This doesn't look like the way to the principal's office," you mused, appearing beside him. He stopped, turning to shove you against the locker. He groaned when his arms made contact with the locker instead of your body, and your laugh echoed behind him. "You think you can hurt me, how cute."

He let out a frustrated groan, smashing his fists against the locker. He couldn't stand you. He couldn't stand having someone that he couldn't manipulate or hurt but that could manipulate and hurt him. "What do you want with me?" He asked, refusing to look at you.

"To break you," you grinned. "To have you begging for it to stop."

Yeah, right he thought.

He was Patrick fucking Hockstetter; he didn't beg. He didn't bend to the will of others, especially not some dead bitch. He was determined not to let you win. You would eventually get tired of tormenting him and go back to wherever the fuck you came from. He was sure of it.

Oh, how he underestimated your patience and overestimated his resilience.

He lasted exactly a week. A week of you screaming and poking and scratching and fucking with his head. A week of people staring at him like he was insane with his random outbursts and talking to the air. A week of torment before you finally had him right where you wanted him.

"Just leave me alone!" He begged, standing in the middle of his room with his head in his hands. You had finally drove him to the brink of insanity, and he didn't know how much longer he could live like this. You, being everywhere all the time, taunting and touching and teasing, it was too much for him. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go away!"

You tsked, grinning at him, that condescending grin that filled him with indescribable rage. How could you look at him like that? Like he was stupid? You were the stupid one. You were killed by him not the other way around!

"I'm afraid that's not how this works," you told him, shaking your head slightly. "I get to stay until you give me what I want." You took a step, punctuating the next words you said with a pause between each one and another step forward. "However. Long. It. Takes."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He yelled, desperate to get you away from him forever.

"Well," you drawled, running your index finger along his chest, making him flinch. You smiled at the effect you had on him. He talked a big game, getting mad when you left—cursing, throwing things, even—having the audacity to fuck himself to the thought of your murder— but when it came to being face to face with you, he cowered away.

Ain't nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble as Henry Bowers' father once said.

"I'll be nice and give you a choice," you said darkly. "You can turn yourself in," you almost laughed at the way his demeanor hardened. "Which we both know you're too proud and stubborn to do," you continued. The intrigue behind Patrick's eyes was undeniable as he eagerly awaited his second choice. "Or," you trailed off, grabbing a razor from his dresser and holding it in front of his face. "You can die."

"You're a crazy bitch!" He shouted, though his inability to mask the tremble in his voice made him sound less than threatening.

"Maybe," you shrugged, admiring the sharp piece of metal. "Hmm," you hummed. "I wonder how you'll feel about me in another week," you asked thoughtfully. "I bet you'll be wishing you took the chance while you had it."

His jaw clenched at your words. He'd already lost a considerable amount of sleep because of you, and the thought of you tormenting him any longer was a fate worse than death. "Why don't you just kill me?" He asked defeatedly. You'd backed him into a corner that he was positive he couldn't get out of without doing things your way.

"I'm not you, Patrick," you spat hatefully. "I don't kill people or things."

"What? Like driving me to suicide is any better?" He scoffed, challenging your sense of superiority over him.

"You have an informed choice," you told him, trying to regain your calm. You didn't like losing your temper, especially not to the likes of Patrick Hockstetter, scum of the earth. "That's a luxury you didn't extend to me."

He eyed the blade in your hand warily. He didn't like accepting defeat. He would never admit to killing you. Being confined to a tiny room, unable to satiate that burning itch deep inside him whenever he needed; it would drive him mad.

"Go on," you urged him softly, holding the razor out for him to take. "Put yourself out of your misery. End it all and be free."

He looked between you and the blade hesitantly, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tried to make a decision. Glaring at you, he took the blade. A scowl formed on his face as he observed the triumphant expression that you seemed to wear immediately after he made his choice.

"Two deep cuts, and you'll never have to see me again," you assured him. That all but sealed the deal. Patrick didn't believe in heaven or hell and death didn't scare him. Being caged like one of the many animals he's so cruelly killed scared him more than dying. He walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge.

He sucked in a breath, pressing the blade into his wrist and dragging it upward toward his inner elbow. He clenched his teeth, deeply inhaling through them. A groan of pain fell from his lips as he felt the warm blood begin seeping from his wound, running down his arms and onto his jeans. He continued the action on the other arm, feeling nauseous and lightheaded.

The blade fell from his trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as he fell back onto the bed. His head felt foggy, and the pain began to melt away into numbness. His eyes began to droop, and he faintly saw your outline standing above him.

He just barely felt you lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His ears began to ring as his eyes fell shut. The words you spoke next were the last he would hear before his heart slowed to an eventual stop. He almost couldn't make them out, the sound muffled, as if he was underwater, but his mind used its last bit of energy to process them before giving out.

"Goodbye, Patrick Hockstetter," you said softly. "May you burn in hell."

tags! : @fatfagsj , @mysticalhills , @simpingforthe80s , @slasherho , @pinkpanther-44 , @slaggylemon , @kyranisnotdead , @ladydragiiss ,

#🎀 #patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #it 2017 #patrick x reader #patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader #henry bowers #victor criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it x reader #living dead girl #dark romance #dark themes

[cl0wnsoda]

Proof that there is still good people in this world 😍🥰🙏

#I’m sorry #it stephen king #clownfilm #I loce that you guys Call it that #clownfilm memes #bowers gang #it 2017 #it memes #patrick hockstetter #henry bowers #vic criss #victor criss #belch huggins #reginald huggins

[katztails]

stuck with this chaotic duo

eddie and richie spend the night with you (aka, them being your night guards and them wanting to do something-)

eddie and richie convinced you to let them spend the night at your house

they tell you how worried they were when ben said that your were taken by the bowers gang

you looked down in pity and apologized for worrying them

eddie shook his head and assured you that it wasn’t your fault and your were just sticking up for ben

richie brought up the fact the bowers was about to kiss you, which eddie’s response was him flicking richie’s forehead

an embarrassed chuckle came from your mouth, explaining what was going on, it wasn’t until richie asked a question that widened your eyes

“can we take turns kissing you?” richie asked, you and eddie’s eyes meet, then go back to richie’s.

“h-huh..?” you sounded so confused.

“r-richie, why are you doing this now?” eddie asks, “w-we said that—“

“i know that, eddie, but since we know that bowers and his goons are into them, we just gotta show those assholes that we were here first.” richie interrupted eddie, gazing at (name). “can i?”

silence came from you, still processing the sudden question

“..s-sure.” you said, “this is my first..”

“mine too, sugar.” richie said, trying to show his confidence, even though he was as nervous as you, he suddenly took off his glasses, eddie just watched. “don’t worry, eds, you’re next.”

richie awkwardly grabbed your waist with both of his hands, your eyes looked at him in shock

“just pull away when you’re done, okay?”

you give him a shy nod, he then pulls you in, and he starts to kiss you.

eddie just looks on and his look at the two of you kissing, waiting for his turn

richie made sure you were comfortable, not making advances on you without your permission

you felt safe and warm with richie, it was slow, but he made it count, making sure you felt good

you pulled away, richie felt somewhat disappointed when you did so, but he gave you a smirk

“how was it..?” he asked, your start to feel embarrassed, “i just made you speechless, didn’t i?”

“i-i guess.” you said.

“ed, it’s your turn.” richie said, walking over to eddie, pushing him towards you. “you’re just a shy as (name), should i prep you up?”

“w-what?! no!” eddie screams, richie tells him to quiet down. “it’s hard to when-“

“okay, i’ve heard enough.” richie pushed eddie again, eddie tripped, about to fall, but thanks to you, you engulfed him into your arms. “be careful, you klutz.”

“richie, shut up.” eddie said, looking at the boy with a stern look, he then looks at you, he was so nervous. “u-uh, same thing as richie, just pull away when you’re done.”

“g-got it..” you said before awkwardly and nervously bring him in, eddie’s was different, he obviously not prepared to do this

it was a quick but sweet kiss, lasting about thirty seconds, richie gave his friends thumbs -up

“i may have lasted longer, but you did a pretty good job for your first makeout sess, eddie.” richie said, eddie rolled his eyes, he then looked at you, “wait till bowers finds out, that little three inch dick dude is gonna have a breakout.”

“i can picture it, why did you fucking remind me?” eddie asks, you let out a chuckle.

vic looks like he’s getting frisky 😭

someone follows you, richie, and eddie to your house (totally not low budget kylo ren and draco malfoy)

“well, looks like bowers was a few hours too late.” vic said, looking at patrick, “wanna break the news to ‘em?”

“he took the lead when we were in the back.. no.” patrick said, he said, still looking at you, richie, and eddie, “as much as i respect the dude, i wanna do things our way.”

vic looks at patrick, who looks back at him, a nod tells patrick that vic agrees with him

“call belch, tell him that we need a getaway car, sometime next week.” patrick said, “make sure he doesn’t tell bowers.”

“tell me what?” a voice calls out, coming out of the shadows. “i thought we agreed to do this together, hocksetter.”

“oh, shitballs..” vic said, under his breath

“…” patrick said nothing

it came out of the shadows, it was henry, walking up with his smug walk.

bowers brings out his father’s pocketknife, walking up to patrick, “i said we would do this together, but you’re making me rethink that.” his tone gets deeper, he gets closer.

hocksetter doesn’t move

“i’m giving you another chance, because i like you and you have balls.” henry said, “don’t fuck up next time.”

#belch huggins #belch huggins x reader #bowers gang x reader #henry bowers x reader #it 2017 #losers club #losers club x reader #patrick hocksetter x reader #reginaldhugginsxreade #victor criss x reader #henry bowers #bowers gang #patrick hockstetter #reginald huggins #victor criss #vic criss #beverly marsh #beverly marsh x reader #richie tozier #richie toizer x reader #bill denbrough #bill denbrough x reader #ben hanscom #ben hanscom x reader #mike hanlon #mike hanlon x reader #eddie kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak x reader #stan uris #stan uris x reader

[misszura]

Belch Huggins

I don’t know, here is a kindergarten Belch story, enjoy.

Reginald Huggins has always been nice.

Deeply and sincerely kind.

As a child, he was polite, he helped his mom, he shared his toys in kindergarten and never fought. His teachers described him as calm and quiet, and they all had fond memories of him, although they would surely have been surprised at what he had become once in high school.

All except George Ellis.

George Ellis was a substitute kindergarten teacher in 1977, when Reginald was 6, and he was terrified of this child. So terrified that he ended up quitting teaching and becoming a florist.

But don’t get me wrong. Reginald had been perfectly polite to him. He had welcomed him, in a shy voice, before returning to play. George had seen him share his toys, and even though he was a little aloof, the other children liked him.

George had immediately noticed that the boy was taller and wider than the others, not fat, just bigger. As if the other kids were further away when they were next to him, but he also noticed that he wasn't using his superior strength to get what he wanted.

He had witnessed cordial exchanges between the child and the other students in his class, he had seen Reginald accept refusals in a moderate way without throwing any tantrum, a common thing for a five-year-old or so child, and if it wasn’t for that famous event of February 1977, George Ellis would have told you that Reginald was an angel.

In January 1977, a Lilian Griffith had entered the kindergarten class for which George was responsible during his colleague's maternity leave.

George had never believed there were bullies in kindergarten. For him, bullies were born with adolescence and the insecurities that this period of life created.

As a gay man -without being out he had a behavior that disturbed the others- he had been bullied by several bullies during his adolescence, and they had always had the same profile: boys, often middle class and always badly in their skin.

That's why he refused to believe it when Lilian Griffith entered the classroom. This almost five-year-old little girl didn't look like a troublemaker. A petite blonde, with a big, innocent smile.

“Now that I mention it,” he said when he told the story one night in a bar, “Lilian Griffith, if you merge him, it makes Lilith, like that demon. It must have been an omen…” he then finished his pint and ordered another.

It had started slowly. At first she had begun by laying down her law. Rallying the children to his side by promising them things. Then she had decided that it was necessary to put aside those who did not want to be on her side. Finally, as soon as a child upset her, she hit him. Sometimes she hit them for no reason. George had watched her without knowing what to do, he had seen Lilian kicking little Rony Gibson, who hadn't asked for anything. He had seen Lilian create a dictatorship in kindergarten, until it all ended.

You could wonder what is the link between the little dictator Lilian and the terror inspired by Reginald, called Belch nowday, Huggins to George Ellis.

Reginald never sided with Lilian, he never left anyone out, and the other students refused to be mean to him. That's why she started picking on him. George was afraid that if Reginald retaliated to the blows the little one gave him, she would end up hurting herself. Lilian snatched the toys from Reginald's hands, but he simply replied "yes, we must share" and went to take other toys. When she kicked him, he simply moved away a little further. One day she took his favorite red truck and broke it. Reginald just picked up the pieces saying his daddy could fix it. George was impressed with Reginald's reaction and thought a lot of people should take a cue from him.

Over time, Lilian had created a real army and no one knew how to fix the problem. She acted behind adults' backs and always denied the facts, she took revenge on children who reported what she was doing and often attacked children who did nothing wrong. She terrorized kindergarten. She was a real bully.

One day, while supervising recess and watching the children have fun sharing the pedal cars available to them, George witnessed a terrifying scene. He noticed the young -little would have been incorrect- boy, sitting at the wheel of one of the cars, pedaling as fast as possible. George didn't think one of those toys could go that fast. He watched, helpless, as the car passed in front of him and violently crashed into Lilian, crushing the little girl against the wall of the courtyard. George was certain that if he had been closer that day, he would have heard the girl's bones shatter on impact. He rushed over to her and waited for what seemed like hours before he finally saw her take a deep breath. The children were guided inside and an ambulance was called.

When George finally got the chance to do it, he asked Reginald what made him do it.

“I solved the school problem. »

That's all the boy answered. Not a trace of fear or remorse in his eyes, still his calm expression. He had seen a problem and fixed it before returning to play with his comrades. George had been forced to see that the school was much better off without this girl, but he knew he could never forget the blank stare of the boy who had "just fixed the problem". A blank stare after an attempted murder.

Reginald Huggins was an angel. He had his own way of solving problems.

Later, five or six years later, he had tried to fix the school problem again by becoming friends with the college terror.

#reginald huggins #belch huggins #kids are creepy #i don’t know how to publish a long text on Tumblr #im sorry #it’s ugly #it 2017 #bowers gang #patrick hockstetter #it movie #it stephen king #it fandom #it fanfiction #Belch deserves love. #Love that kid #best character #i don’t want to hear about it.

[nllick]

What did I make.

#it #bowers gang #the bowers gang #victor criss #vic criss #belch huggins #reggie huggins #reginald huggins #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #nicks edits♡

[milkybonezz]

Headcanon of how the bowers gang reacts when someone insults them and it really affects them

oooosh this is a tough one, i think i'm gonna organize them based on most to least vexed

Belch

it sticks with him for days sometimes weeks at a time

not the most stable boy in the world, he's got a lot of insecurities

especially about his weight, that is a super raw nerve for him

so if you were to insult him on that subject matter he really cant seem to gt it out if his head

not the sharpest tool in the shed but to be insulted stings a lot

the death of his father is also a very very sensitive subject

will absolutely cry, no doubt about it

not one to forgive something very easily

Henry

hes got a lot of issues

no mum, terrible dad, very low social mobility, so on and so forth

take your pick

go on, jab about the red welts that peek out when the fabric of his shirt moves

remind him his mother is gone and he's all alone with Derry's other notorious monster Butch Bowers

call him a hick town freak, an inbred piece of scum

you won't last very long after that

he'll hunt you down, kick you to the floor and let everything he's got built up inside him come out in screaming fury

he won't realize as he's hailing down punches that tears are leaving his eyes

don't dare to mention that either

he won't kill you, god no

but he'll make you wish you were dead

Vic

a sensitive soul, sure, but he cares very little what strangers of think of him

his friends, however, that is a different story

he craves their approval like oxygen

something he really knows he shouldn't do

they're all he has, really

his parents don't want to know him, nor have they ever really

he won't do anything but sneer at you and offer some cutting words back

at home he'll ponder what was said

sometimes words hurt him, but his skin is a lot thicker that it used to be

Patrick

unbothered, in his lane, platting the murder of your loved ones

he doesn't really feel much of anything really

shrugs off any kind of insults thrown at him

nothing will ever get him to crack

even, even if someone happened to know what happened to Avery

if someone knew he had broken the rules in this reality he has dreampt up, constructed in his mind

nothing seems to fit

but he wonders just how nice your insides might look in a jar

#milkyspeaks #bowers gang #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it 2017 #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #vic criss #victor criss #milky writes

[idkiwillfindone]

Victor: you know i really love being part of the gang, it’s just we get a lot of laughs

Victor: fuck off Reginald i’m not going to your fucking cat quinceanera

Reggie to Patrick: you’re disgusting, you’re fucked! You know that?

Patrick to Henry: get your shit together

Henry: fucking cunt!

Patrick: I hate you too asshole

Reggie: look what the fuck are you doing here?

————————————————————

Bonus

Peter: Henry is our boss and he’s a piece of cock

Gard: Henry is an asshole

Moose: oh Henry is a cockshit

Henry to Peter: i wanna hit you in your face as hard as i can

#henry bowers #reginald huggins #victor criss #patrick hockstetter #peter gordon #moose sadler #gard jagermeyer

[reggieservices]

I’ve Seen you do Bowers gang ships So (Ofc if you have the time) Would you Ship me? I’m A 5 ft 1 Female With Light Ginger Hair and I’m from A Really rough area of England Which Ultimately means : I Have A Really strong Accent and Vulgar language Including Typical British Insults and I’m Really messed up in the head from what I’ve seen During my childhood. I’m Very Opinionated and Will Gladly call out somebody and have a shouting match if they are in my way (which often caused me to be in trouble with authorities figures in childhood) I Have really big parental issues so i spent most of my childhood with my Grandparents as a safe space and Due to sexual trauma , usually wear Tight and revealing clothes.

I pair you with...

🪚Patrick Hockstetter 🪚

🪚You guys hit if off IMMEDIATELY

🪚 The fact that you swear even more than him is such a turn on for him

🪚 He loves how strong and opinionated you are, but wont like it much if you call him out on his bs

🪚 Y'alls problems w authority cause a shit ton of ruckus in Derry, the police station hates you guys

🪚 Thinks your hair is the prettiest colour ever, always wants to take photos of you, especially when the sun hits you perfectly

🪚 Being messed up in the head as well, its maybe not the safest idea for you guys to be together, and alot of people know it but your similarities almost seem to level each other out, so no ones complaining much

🪚 Understands your parental issues, tries empathizing with you but not much for giving kind words out, more of listening

🪚 You being as short as you are makes your fire all the more funny to him

🪚 He cant understand how such a smaller girl can have as much pent up rage but he loves it

🪚 tight clothes are really a bonus for him, enjoys it immensely if you send him fit checks

🪚 Thinks your accent is cool, but if you talk to fast it just sounds like gibberish to him💀💀 can't hear a thing you said so he'll just nod and agree

🪚 Overall he's basically a pale, American, black haired version of you with more pyromanical tendencies, so your relationship is pretty tight packed

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Love how the second I say i'm gonna start writing more i disappear for like 2 weeks thats do cool of me. Anywho i'm busy for like the next 3 weeks but god damn i'll be trying my darnest to wheel some content for y'all. Stay safe n stayed scrimbly blimbly my guys<3

#reggie services #bowers gang #henry bowers #reggie huggins #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #bowers gang x reader #henry bowers imagines #reggie huggins imagines #henry bowers x reader #Henry bowers x reader #Vic criss #vic criss imagines #vic criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #patrick hocksetter x reader

[billynoelan]

Ради них (ну и не только :p) хочется пересматривать «Оно» часами ))

Реджи с Виктором просто вах🛐🛐🛐💞

#horror #slashers #it 1990 #itmovie #reginald huggins #victor criss #bowers gang #belch huggins

[x-littlemoth]

🎈New IT Original Character 🎈

Made by Moth 🦋 (@x-littlemoth/@fic-crews)

Asher Marsh

#little moth's page #little moth's blog #it (2017) #it (2019) #pennywise #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #reginald huggins #belch huggins #victor criss #bowers gang #losers club #the losers club #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #henry bowers x oc #gay #mlm #horror movie #horror #slashers #derry maine #a little bit of an AU

[yanderefantasies]

Please i am begging

Yandere bowers gang x small male reader

Pls it'd be so cuteeeee

Yah for sure

So much teasing going around it’s almost impossible to keep up with it.

Patrick and Reggie are the tallest in their gang, Victor being the shortest, and Henry being somewhere in the middle. But that doesn’t mean that Victor is short- he’s just not as tall as the other three. He’s still a pretty big dude though(seriously what do they feed these guys-)

Patrick, being a little shit- is the most obnoxious tease outta all of em. He threatens to pick you up a lot, makes the stereotypical “how’s the weather down there” joke, uses your head as an armrest- the whole thing.

Reggie is the embodiment of “oh you almost knocked me over pookie- my bad”

Henry. Is not as vocal as Patrick is. But still makes subtle gestures to tease you every now and then, same with Victor actually.

Though Victor is more on the worried side than teasing- he’d hate it if you got made fun of at all.

Speaking of- the gang refuses to let you get made fun of by anyone else. Whether it’s just light poking fun or not- the only ones allowed to mess with you is them.

If anyone were to genuinely hurt your feelings? That person is the new main target of their bullying. And no way in hell are they lettin them get outta it easy- only if you were to specifically tell them to stop

Vv protective but also a little hypocritical

#yandere #yandere male #yandere hcs #yandere x reader #yandere blog #yandere prompts #headcanons #requests #tw: yandere #yandere bowers gang #bowers gang #yandere Henry bowers #yandere patrick hockstetter #yandere Reginald Huggins #yandere victor criss #meowing #male reader

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl — Patrick Hockstetter.

part two

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader (descriptors such as beautiful and nicknames such as dollface, darling, ect, but no described features— ie. long hair, brown eyes)

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal abuse , graphic depictions of murder/gore , you being murdered (in third person) 🤗 , self image issues

word count : 5.5k (part one)

a/n : i don't know how accurate this is to patrick, but i tried to make him lack empathy and remorse and he can't exactly feel love— just obsession and fascination. also, i hc patrick as a lefty so do with that what you will.

Patrick had once again been feeling that familiar itch. It started subtlety this time, like a tickle from a weightless feather that blew lightly across his skin every so often, and it began to gradually grow.

He tried his best to satiate the hunger of the beast within, to scratch that itch in the same way he had so many times before— by killing the neighborhood pets.

But, it appeared this craving was a different kind altogether, for when he lit his lighter, allowing the aerosol to spray through the flame and fry the kitten until it was unrecognizable and it's shrill screams had died out, he felt nothing. There was no sense of relief, no satisfaction or even the small semblance of happiness— because Patrick truly couldn't feel such uplifting emotions.

There was just nothing.

Well, there was still that nagging itch.

It took some contemplation. Long nights staring up at the empty ceiling of his room, his right arm propped under his head while his left laid passively across his torso. How could he rid himself of this feeling?

He pondered that perhaps burning just didn't do it for him anymore. To test his theory, he tried many other options— drowning, suffocation, mutilation— he even, regrettably, attempted tasting the vile little creatures.

So, definitely not the method of torture because he was sure that if he hadn't even feeling so empty, those, with the exception of the last one, would have been a world of fun for him. Well then, maybe it was the animal!

Squirrels, cats, dogs, raccoons, lizards, frogs, birds— anything he could get his hands on became helpless victims in Patrick's reign of terror, but none of it helped.

That feeling began to grow until it took up every inch of his body. All he could think about was the kill. Even when he and his friends were torturing their pre-pubescent victims, images of blood and agonizing screams plagued his mind.

And that's when it hit him— he needed a human victim. One that brought real stakes to the equation, one that would get his adrenaline rushing at the idea of being caught.

Initially, it had been an idea. He hadn't planned to act on it... but then you came along, and god, you were just so perfect.

You ran into him, through no fault of your own. He had been walking down the wrong side of the hallway, and you were just coming around a corner, so he was in your blind spot.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz," you chuckled lightly after you collided into his hard chest. You looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

As he stared down at you, he just knew that you were the one. You were so perfect. So beautiful. And it made him furious. He couldn't quite discern why, but the way your eyes sparkled with genuity and naivety caused a pit of red hot rage to build in his stomach.

But he couldn't act yet. He had to gain your trust. He had to ensure that he could get you into the woods by yourself so he could enact his plan and finally scratch that fucking itch.

"My fault, dollface," he spoke with a wide smile, attempting to be somewhat gentlemanly. "I wasn't paying attention." He gently clenched and released his fist as he watched you smile brightly. "I'm Patrick, Hockstetter," he introduced, leaning forward to tower over you in an attempt to be intimidating but in a way that could also come off as flirtatious.

"Ah, yes, the infamous Patrick Hockstetter, I presume?" You asked, your eyebrow arching slightly. There it was again. That anger. It had to have been your subtle cockiness, the way you weren't the least bit fearful of him even though his reputation clearly proceeded him.

"The very same," he smirked, leaning close to your ear. His breath lightly fanned the shell of your ear. "Why? Does my reputation scare you? Do I scare you?"

You let out a light chuckle. "No." It was a simple answer, and yet Patrick still found himself having to cling to that feeling on his skin, the one he desperately wanted to be rid of, to ensure that he didn't snap right at that second.

For some bizarre reason, in your presence, Patrick felt utterly powerless, which was a very foreign feeling to him. He had always been calm and calculated, except for when he was alone with his projects, so to be so out of control of his emotions just added to his resentment toward you.

"You should be," he replied ominously before turning and walking away from you in long, precise strides. He let his smirk fall and his lip curl up in disgust as he felt your eyes on his back the whole way down the hallway.

It had been such a simple interaction, and yet it had left you completely and utterly captivated. You should have been afraid of him. You'd known of his tendency for him and his friends to terrorize younger kids, and of course, you had heard the whispers of what he did when he thought no one was around, but those were just rumors... right?

Either way, you were intrigued by Patrick and wanted to see him again.

The next time you two had met, you were walking home. You lived above your parent's old record store in the town square, which was extremely convenient for you because it meant all the stores, the arcade, and school were just a short walk away. The record shop had been your grandfather's before it became your mother's, and soon it would be yours.

You were coming up on the arcade, and as you approached, you hesitated. Should you go inside? Your parents were expecting you home, but it was Friday, so they'd be okay with you going out for a bit, right?

As you contemplated, a blue Trans Am pulled up next to you, and a voice called out to you. "Y/N!"

Your eyebrows furrowed as your mind registered the familiarity of the voice. It sounded like Patrick, but it couldn't be because you had never told him your name. You turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise as your gaze met Patrick, who was hanging with half his body out the window of the car. In the passenger's seat, Henry was staring forward, a bored and slightly irritated look on his face.

"Hockstetter?" You asked with a grin. "I don't remember telling you my name."

"You didn't," he replied, sending a grin of his own your way.

"Did you ask around about me?" You teased, your eyebrows raising slightly as you gave him a playful look.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Still not scared of me?" He asked, placing the palms of his hands on the door to push his upper half out the window toward you.

"Hmm," you looked up and to the side, pretending to think for a moment. "Nah," you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Well, in that case," he drawled out. "You wanna go out with me tomorrow night?"

"You bringing your posse?" You asked, nodding your head to the three other teens in the car that had undoubtedly been listening in on your conversation.

"Why? Do you want them to come?" He asked suggestively. "I mean, I didn't know you were into that, but if you insi-"

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, clamping your hand over his mouth. He looked you dead in the eye, and for a moment, you were so hypnotized by his eyes that you didn't realize the wet sensation of his tongue flicking across your palm. "Ugh!" You shrieked in disgust with a small laugh. "Gross."

"So?" He asked, his eyebrows raising. "Whatdya say?" He grinned his Cheshire cat grin, and you couldn't help but relent.

"Okay," you said softly with a little nod. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

"Great," he smirked, doing a little drum solo on the door in, what appeared to be excitement. "I'll pick you up at 8." You nodded, not able to contain your huge smile as he tried to awkwardly pull himself back into the car. "Oh," he said, sticking his head out the window a bit. "And wear white." Before you could question him, he sent you a wink, and then, the car was off speeding down the street.

You began to absent-mindedly walk the rest of the way home, all plans of going to the arcade having fled your mind, replaced with the thought of going on a date with Patrick. Your first date!

You really didn't know what he saw in you. He was so charming and handsome, and you were just... you. You weren't exceptionally attractive like Shelly Benson and Daniel Klein or outrageously popular like Greta Bowie and Jackson Pines. You were smart in subjects you enjoyed and not as smart in one's you weren't, and you had average social skills but never really made friends, just acquaintances.

You were just normal.

And so you stood, staring at yourself in the mirror as you examined every inch of your outfit, desperately trying to look less like yourself. You sighed in frustration, running a hand through your hair with a huff as you turned around, refusing to look at yourself any longer.

Your room was your safe space. The walls were covered in posters of your favorite bands, celebrities, and movies. You wondered what it felt like to be so effortlessly flawless as you stared around at all the beautiful people littering your walls.

Aside from the posters, your room was quite cohesive. You had chosen an excellent set of neutrals to pair with your accent color (which was your favorite color, of course), and it created a very attractive and appealing color pallet.

The sound of a knock on the apartment door made you snap out of your admiration of your room. Leave it to you to critique your artistic excellence when you're on a time crunch.

You took one last look in the mirror before taking a breath and exiting your room. You proceeded down the hall and through the living room. With one last mental reassurance, you turned the knob and opened the door.

Patrick had been practicing and planning his moves precisely. He had to shower you with compliments and be completely polite. It would let your guard down, and that's when he could strike.

The door opened, and Patrick's gaze fell on you. Even he had to admit, you were undoubtedly attractive, but it wasn't companionship he was after. It was relief.

So, putting on his best show, he opened his mouth as if he was going to speak before closing it and giving you a once over, trying his best to seem in awe of you.

"Wow," he breathed with an awkward chuckle. "You look," he let out a puff of air, motioning to you as if he couldn't find the words. "I mean- you look perfect."

He watched in satisfaction as you smiled sheepishly, gaze averting to the ground. "Thank you," you replied. You looked back up and playfully said: "And you don't look too bad yourself," in an attempt to play it cool, but Patrick could see right through you. You were falling for his charm, and how could you not?

He was a God, after all.

"So," you asked, stepping out of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. "Where are we going this fine evening?"

"Well," Patrick started, placing his hand flat on your lower back as you two walked down to the record shop on the first floor. "I know this perfect spot in the woods away from town-" You gave him a concerned look, and he chuckled lightly at your fear. "I know how it sounds, but there's a firepit me and the boys set up out there, and it has a great view of the stars because there's no light pollution out there."

You bit the inside of your cheek, and Patrick felt his pulse begin to quicken. It seemed like you were going to back out. Should he have told you? Or just let you panic when they got there?

"Okay," you nodded, turning to him with a smile as you made up your mind. "I don't love the idea of a first date in the woods, but I'm like 99% sure you're not an axe murderer or anything, so," you trailed off.

Patrick gave you a wolfish grin. Oh, if only you knew that he was a predator and you were his prey— so innocent and oblivious to the things that the night had in store for you.

The two of you walked out of the store, and Patrick read the shocked look on your face as you saw Belch's Trans Am, which was then followed by discomfort and then relief when you noticed his friends hadn't accompanied him.

"Took some convincing, but I got Belch to let me borrow Amy," Patrick said proudly as he took one long stride forward and opened the car door for you.

"He named his car?" You asked with a little giggle as you climbed into the passenger's seat. "That's cute."

"Yup, although cute isn't the word I'd use," Patrick replied before shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side.

"And what word would you use?" You asked, amusement coating your tongue and dancing in your eyes.

"Demented," he said, giving you a look as he started the car. It was ironic coming from him, and he knew it. If anyone was demented, it was the pyromaniac freak who killed animals and was tricking a girl into thinking he liked her when really he was taking her to the woods to kill her.

"That's interesting coming from someone with such a," you paused, for a moment, thinking for the right word. "Colorful reputation."

"Touché," he shrugged, pulling out of the spot he was parked in and continuing down the road to the woods. The car settled in an awkward silence as neither of you really knew what to say. Patrick knew he should ask you questions and engage with you, but to be honest, he didn't really care about what you had to say.

"Let's see what Belch has in his glove compartment," you said with a grin. Patrick's blood began to boil again. Not because you were invading Belch's privacy— he quite liked that part, actually. No one was ever allowed to look in the glove compartment. In fact, he had specifically told Patrick not to and that he would know if he did, and now Patrick could satisfy his curiosity while blaming it on his date.

No, his blood was boiling because of how casual you were. Most people would ask a stupid question to fill the silence or just sit in it, but you found a way to light heartedly and nonchalantly attempt to start a conversation. It was Infuriating to him how different you were.

Patrick considered himself an expert on human behavior. After all, it was his world, and everyone else were pawns, so growing up, he had to learn about people. He had to pick up on their little habits and understand why people did certain things so he could manipulate them and use them as playthings.

But you were different, and that's what infuriated him so much. You were still plenty easy to manipulate, but you had little quirks and ways of doing things that he'd picked up on that went against his understanding of the human condition.

You were defective, and that's why he had to get rid of you. You weren't normal. You weren't a plaything or a pawn.

You were a threat.

Patrick glanced over at you, watching for a moment as you rummaged through the glove compartment.

"Eyes on the road, pretty boy," you said absent-mindedly. "I don't plan to die tonight, and especially not at the hands of you." This made him internally smile. That was the second reference you'd made tonight of him hurting you and each time you had been wrong. You were going to die tonight— a very painful death— and the blood would be on his hands.

"He has got a lot of tapes in here," you observed aloud, pushing things around a bit more before a gasp left your lips. Patrick looked over again as you pulled out a pink piece of paper with a red lipstick stain in the shape of lips and a message in a hot pink sparkly pen that read: I really enjoyed tonight. We should do it again sometime =).

"No fucking way," Patrick said in shock, a laugh leaving his lips as he registered what he was seeing. "I can't believe that fat fuck actually gets bitches."

"Hey," you scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Don't be mean," you defended. "I think it's really sweet, and clearly, he knew you'd be an ass about it," you rolled your eyes. "He really tried to hide it in there."

Patrick turned the car into a little dirt road and parked. He knew no one would be out there that late, so the car wouldn't be seen. "Here we are," he announced before climbing out and making his way to the passenger's side to open your door.

"Don't take this the wrong way," you started as you got out of the car. "But I did not expect you to be such a gentleman." Your eyes followed Patrick as he grabbed a blanket out of the backseat and tucked it underneath his right arm before approaching you.

"Well," he said, linking your arm in his left one. "I don't usually care what people think," he confessed, one of the few true things he'd actually said to you, but of course, he was about to follow it up with a lie. "But with you, it's different." He looked over at you, only to find you staring. If he wasn't making an attempt at faking vulnerability right now, he would have smirked at how enamored you were by his words.

"And why is that?" You asked quietly, hypnotized by the way the darkness created shadows on his face that seemed to define it so well. Almost as if the darkness suited him better, which was odd considering usually the light was more well-defining to people.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met, and I don't want to scare you away," he professed, his voice seeming genuinely sincere, but obviously, that wasn't the case.

"That's quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," you said sheepishly, a soft smile falling upon your lips. You both walked in silence for a moment, the cruching of leaves and the chirping of crickets ringing through the vast area. "Wow," you breathed out, eyes glued to the sky. "You were right. The stars look amazing out here."

"Told you," Patrick grinned before unlocking your arms and advancing forward. You two had reached a clearing, and he was approaching the firepit in the middle. Surrounding the firepit, which was clearly homemade as the stones surrounding it were just stacked on top of each other haphazardly, were various random chairs and a long bench that looked surprisingly comfortable.

"This place looks cozy," you said, eyes sweeping over the area. A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew through the clearing. The air seemed to grow thick, and something in your gut told you to run— leave now and never look back.

You would soon wish you listened to that feeling.

Instead, you walked forward, taking a seat on the bench as Patrick doused the wood inside the firepit with lighter fluid before grabbing a lighter from his pocket and setting it ablaze.

A wave of warmth fell over you as the clearing lit up gold. Patrick straightened up and came to sit beside you on the bench. You were so focused on examining your surroundings that you didn't notice Patrick carefully grab the knife that he'd hidden inside the folded blanket and tuck it under his leg before unfolding the blanket and placing it across you both.

"So," you grinned, finally looking over at him. "Do you bring all your conquests here?"

"Just the hot ones," he smirked. You rolled your eyes, laughing at his remark. "No, but seriously," he let his smirk fall into a soft smile. "You're the only one."

You looked into his eyes and couldn't sense any deception. God, those beautiful eyes. You didn't didn't think they were capable of telling a lie.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Patrick didn't have a soul, so his eyes were more like mirrors, reflections of what he knew people wanted to see when they sought out answers to questions that were better left unsaid.

You stared at each other, the air growing thick with tension as the urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. Your faces slowly inched closer together. "Patrick," you whispered, a wanting evident in your voice.

He reached up to cup your face with his right hand as his left carefully, discretely retrieved the knife from under his leg. He moved his face in, and you were sure he was going to kiss you.

But instead, he moved to the right, his mouth next to your ear as he plunged the knife he had deep into your stomach. You let out a choked cry of surprise and pain as your mind raced with a million thoughts at once, all of them so loud that you couldn't think rationally at all.

"Aw, Y/N," Patrick said darkly, feigning disappointment as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I told you that you should've been afraid of me."

He pulled away, twisting the knife to create irreparable damage before pulling it out. He watched as you cried out in pain, hand clutching your stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"But you were too pathetic," he spat. He ran the bloodied knife across your cheek, slicing it open before pushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just a desperate little whore."

"Why?" You sobbed, tears streaming down your face from the burning pain. Blood began pouring out of your mouth due to the damage to your internal organs, and you knew you were going to die.

"Because I wanted to," he replied with a crazed grin, his tone of voice indicating that he believed it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had never been more fearful than you were now. Not just because you were dying, bleeding out in front of a boy you thought liked you, but because of the look in Patrick's eyes.

They were devoid of any emotion, as if killing someone didn't matter to him at all. You would have even preferred for him to look like he enjoyed it; that's how disturbing his absence of emotion was to you.

Patrick sat there and watched as you bled out before him. The glossed over, far away look in your eyes made his whole body ignite. It just felt so good.

Finally, the itching was gone, and he could live in peace for a little while more. He sat on the bench beside your lifeless body for awhile more, relishing in the feeling of freedom; it had been so long since he had felt that. When he was fully satisfied, he began cleaning up. He threw the blanket in the still burning fire before running back to Belch's car to grab the shovel he'd brought.

Sweat clung to him, sticking his shirt to his chest as he dug the hole where your body would lie. It seemed to take hours, and the feeling of sweating but also being cold was very unpleasant, but finally, he got the hole dug.

He threw the bloody knife inside and grabbed your body, picking you up bridal style and hauling you over to the hole. He dropped your corpse carelessly into your makeshift grave and didn't give you a second thought before he began shoveling the dirt back into the hole.

When he was finished, he walked back to the Trans Am, wrapping the dirty shovel in the other blanket he had brought so no dirt would get into the trunk of Belch's car. And, no one would question dirt in the driver's seat of a teen boy's car, so he wasn't overly worried about his dirtied hands and jeans.

For weeks, Patrick felt amazing. It was the longest Patrick had ever gone without feeling the compulsion to kill. Of course, he still tortured small animals, but that was for fun rather than necessity.

But then he started to see you.

At first, it was just glimpses. Like, when he was brushing his teeth, he'd lean down to spit out his toothpaste, but when he straightened himself out, there you were— standing beside him, blood staining your clothes and the cut on your cheek that he had gave you still fresh. But then, once he blinked, your figure was gone.

He would see you around like that sometimes, not frequent enough to cause concern that he was gaining a conscience. Just enough for him to think he was suffering from a bit of sleep deprivation.

He wasn't worried about being caught. The police hadn't found your body, and when he was questioned as to what happened that night on your date, he said that the two of you had planned to go out to the woods, but on the way there, you two got into an argument because you had been snooping through Belch's things and you got so furious that you demanded to be let out of the car right then and there. Belch, of course, backed this story up because he could tell someone had disturbed his glove compartment.

Soon enough, however, you began to haunt his dreams as well. He would have terrible nightmares of you coming back from the dead and murdering him in cold blood, just as he had done to you, and then, when he awoke, you were standing in the corner of his room.

It wasn't just his brain making shapes out of things to scare him. It was you. He could see clear as day; the moonlight illuminated your face, your once innocent and naive eyes now staring at him with hate and malice.

Patrick Hockstetter didn't believe in ghosts, but he believed in you.

"Dude, what's your fuckin deal?" Henry asked, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts. Patrick looked over at Henry from his spot, splayed out on the hood of Belch's car, which he had objected to until Patrick threatened him. The four boys were hanging around at the quarry, drinking beer as music blasted through Amy.

"What?" Patrick questioned, hostility lacing his voice. Who did Henry think he is speaking to him like that?

"You're not even listening, man," Henry complained, attempting to throw a crumpled up beer can at him but missing.

"Maybe because you fuckers don't have anything interesting to say," Patrick shrugged, looking to his left at the water and tuning their conversation out again.

You had been on his mind non-stop. All he could think about was your eyes. They were so real. That look of hate— he had seen it before in his mother and father after he killed his little brother Avery. He couldn't have imagined that so vividly.

"Do I scare you?" A familiar voice asked, voice a mere whisper as a breeze tickled his ear. He quickly turned and saw you. You were sitting right next to him on the hood of Belch's car, and this time, he was sure he wasn't imagining it. You were there in broad daylight. He had heard you. He had felt your breath across his ear.

But how was this even possible.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, genuine fear in his voice. He felt something he had never felt before as he tried to shuffle away from you, but there was nowhere left to go, so he ended up falling off the car and onto the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Victor asked, his eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as he registered the panic and fear— he had never seen Patrick exhibit such emotions, and he could tell by the look in Patrick's eye that they were not fake.

Patrick couldn't hear Vic over the sound of your laugh. It was so loud, deafening even, and it made his ears ring. You hopped off the car and walked toward him slowly with a sickening grin.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, scrambling backward, pebbles and rocks digging into his palms as he tried to escape you.

"Because," she stepped forward, leaning down and grabbing his faded yellow Tom and Jerry t-shirt by the collar. He felt her grab him. It was all real. "I can," she spat viciously. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"Are you alright, man?" Belch asked, genuine concern lacing his voice as his brows knitted together. Why had his friend been acting so strange?

"I-I need to get out of here," Patrick spoke quickly as he rushed to his feet, dusting off his clothes and looking around frantically.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Henry cackled, taking a long sip of his beer. Patrick gave him a hard, warning glare that confused Henry. What did he do?

Patrick took off running into the forest, driven by a pure, unbridled fear as he tried to escape you, but the faster he ran, the louder your laugh became. It echoed all around him. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

And then, just like that, it stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears, peering around the woods. He heaved a sigh of relief as he realized it was over.

It wasn't real.

You weren't real.

He took his time walking back home, stopping and tormenting a few animals on his way to relieve some of the stress that had built up from the games his mind had played on him.

By the time he arrived home, the sun had long disappeared below the horizon, replaced by the luminous glow of the full moon. He pushed the front door open, kicking his muddy boots off by the front door before shrugging his leather jacket off and tossing it onto the floor.

"Ma!" He called into the oddly silent house. He advanced forward, his eyebrow arching as he didn't get a response. "Ma, I'm home!" He tried again, still no answer. He continued through the house into the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.

As his eyes scanned the kitchen, a tiny post-it note stuck to the fridge caught his attention. He took two long strides and ended up in front of it. Grabbing it off the fridge, his eyes scanned it.

Gone to see your father. Be back in a few days. I left some lasagna in the fridge for you to heat up and some money on the table for pizza or something in case you eat all of it.

Love, Mom

Patrick scoffed, crumpling the post-it into a ball and tossing it into the trash. Patrick's father was arrested for attempted murder when Patrick was young.

After Patrick killed his brother Avery, his father went mad and tried to kill Patrick. He claimed that Patrick was evil, and the world needed to be rid of him. Fortunately for Patrick, his mother still loved him (he had no idea why she still did after what he had done), and she called the police.

The paramedics arrived in time, and Patrick was saved. Though the attack did leave a raised scar on his stomach that never went away.

Patrick pulled a plate out of the top cupboard and a fork out of the drawer before opening up the fridge. He grabbed a can of Coke and the large glass dish with lasagna out. Deciding he didn't feel like waiting for it to heat up, he just used his fork to pick the pre-portioned slice of lasagna out of the dish and drop it onto his plate before sliding the rest back into the fridge for later.

Grabbing his beverage and dinner, he began making his way up the creaky steps that led to the second floor.

The carpet that had previously adorned it had been ripped up when his mom was having one of her overly energized and productive moments, so staples and other sharp objects stuck up from the dirty wood. He was careful to avoid them.

He reached the door at the end of the hall with a yellow sign that read DO NOT ENTER and swung the door open.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

Tags : @fatfagsj @brokenloverr24

#patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #it 2017 #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick x reader #henry bowers #victor criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it x reader

[cl0wnsoda]

Tbh both would be kinda slay

#it stephen king #bowers gang #it 2017 #it memes #patrick hockstetter #henry bowers #vic criss #victor criss #belch huggins #reginald huggins #bowers gang memes

[nerdypyrowolf]

Spied on at work by the boys

Patrick oriented (tiny bit of Belch if you squint)

(Your POV)

The shrill sound of my alarm clock woke me up suddenly from the deep sleep I was in only moments ago. I groaned, reaching out from my fluffy blankets and slamming my hand down on the snooze button.

It was seven-twenty am, I had to work today at eight-thirty, luckily my job was just down the road from my parents house.

I laid in bed just trying to wake up for ten minutes then proceeded to roll out of my warm cocoon and onto the floor where I let out another groan, man I was not a morning person. I got dressed in some summer clothes, a tank top and booty shorts, then washed my face and put a tad bit of makeup on just to make me not look dead inside and out.

After I was ready I grabbed my backpack and headed up the stairs since my room was in the basement of our old house. I made up a big lunch for myself since I work right on till six-thirty today, just like any other day as well, and I placed my food in a cooler lunch bag. I grabbed the pre-made iced-coffee from the fridge I prepared last night, dropping a few ice cubes in, then I made sure I had everything I needed for work in my backpack; calculator, rain coat, sunscreen, sunglasses, change purse in case I got any tips, and a book to pass the time while I wait for customers to come.

Once I was all set I grabbed a muffin from the bread box, I checked my watch; eight-twentyone. I headed out the door so I could get to work on time.

I get to the fruit and vegetable stand just as my boss pulls up in her white ford pickup truck, her company name on the side of it in big green and black lettering saying “Sarah’s Farm Market.”

We got all the produce off the truck in ten minutes and she took off down the road to one of her fields for more pickings. Once I had all the produce in their correct spots for display I pulled out my book and read, waiting for the customers to roll in.

(No One’s POV)

It was around eleven-thirty when Belch had picked up the last of the guys, ie. Henry, they were just cruising around town now looking for their next victim to torture.

“Why don’t we go see Y/n?” Patrick suggested looking absolutely bored out of his mind.

“That’s not such a good idea.” Vic frowned.

“Huh? Why not?” Patrick asked.

“She’s workin’ t’day. And she can’t have us ‘round ‘er while she works.” Belch said looking back at the tall lanky boy through the rear view mirror.

“Then we can just watch her from afar.” Patrick licked his lips. Y/n always wore booty shorts to work and he wanted to see if he could catch a glimpse at anything peeking out. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

“Now there’s an idea, Hockstetter. Just park a bit ways down the street, just out of her sight but just where we can get a look at her.” Henry piped up, putting his own input in.

Belch rolled his eyes and shook his head, “if she catches us, we’re toast.”

“If her boss catches us, she’s toast.” Vic bit his lip nervously. “Y/n really likes her job, I don’t want her to lose it because of us.”

“Stop being a little bitch Vicky boy! Think of it as just checking in on our girl.” Patrick laughed slapping the blonde haired boy on the back hard earning a silent oof from him.

So begrudgingly Belch turned Amy around, mumbling under his breath how Y/n didn’t even like Patrick so she wasn’t his girl, she wasn’t any of theirs girl, and headed in the direction of the stand she worked at on the weekends.

Belch pulled the Trans-Am into an abandoned old school’s parking lot, just out of sight from Y/n, but the guys had a great view of her.

They watched as she tended to some customers, and filled up her display in some places. She had her back to them as she was bagging up some shucked corn.

“God damn that girl has a juicy ass on her!” Patrick moaned, his eyes zeroing in on Y/n’s behind.

“Shut up.” Vic muttered to himself, the guys hated the way Patrick sexualized Y/n all the time, any other girl was fine, but they all saw how uncomfortable he made her, she’s told Vic once or twice that she was scared of the lanky boy and he often traded seats with her when she was stuck in the back seat instead of on Henry’s lap when he wasn’t in the mood for anyone.

“Mmm I’d let her shuck my cob of corn, the way her hands move over that corn.” Patrick was practically drooling now as he watched Y/n intently. All the guys were actually, but Patrick was the only one stupid enough to say it out loud.

“Oh fuck, that big one in her hands right now is definitely my dick!” He moaned having to adjust himself.

Then they all watched her break it in two, and Patrick let out a very audible gulp. The other three guys bursted out in laughter.

“Oh yeah that’s your dick alright, right down to the size now!” Henry cackled.

“You all can just fuck off!” Patrick huffed, sitting back down in his seat, his dick going soft, but then another thought came to his mind. “Nah it would still be my dick, she’s probably so tight from being a virgin that when I dick down on her so hard she’d snap me.” His creepy grin was back on his face.

“Yer disgusting, ya know that Pat?” Belch growled. He hated hearing Patrick talk about Y/n that way.

Belch was probably the closest to Y/n having been neighbours since they were six when she moved to Derry with her mother, so he was pretty protective over her, not to mention he’s had a crush on her since they were twelve.

“Just yer a virgin, and pinning over Y/n doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do Belch.” Patrick snapped back.

“Both of you shut the fuck! Let’s get outta here, I’m pretty sure Y/n knows we’re here.” Henry commanded flipping his knife open and close. Belch nodded and turned the car back on and drove away.

(Your POV)

I caught a glimpse of a familiar blue car in the school’s parking lot just down the street, and I knew for a fact the guys were watching me, probably horny out of their minds so I decided to try something.

I went over to the corn and began to slowly, sensually peel the cobs, being very handsy with them, running my hands over the whole cob, you know, to make sure all the silk was off of it, that’s all. I grabbed a particularly big one and angled my body so that the guys got a good view of me handling the cob, and once all the hair was off it, I snapped it in half a big grin on my face. I waited a few seconds before I heard laughter from the guy’s direction, my guess was probably correct and one of the guys, most likely Patrick, must have made a comment about me and their dick and now they were laughing at him, then the car roared to life and I saw it drive off down the street away from me.

Served them right the pervs.

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[misszura]

Henry is the only one who call Belch Reggie. The others call him Reg or Belch, and his mom call him honey.

That's the end of me ted talk, have a good day :)

#it 2017 #bowers gang #henry bowers #it stephen king #belch huggins #reginald huggins #Reggie Huggins