Amy.Lee7 @raine177 - Tumblr Blog

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Bowers Gang *ੈ🎡‧₊˚ 𝘝𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘉𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘘𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘋𝘢𝘺 Henry Bowers 𝘋𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝐉𝖾αᥣⱺυ𝗌 Patrick Hockstetter 𝘝𝘏𝘚 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱 Victor Criss 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

🚲ᯓ⋆.ೃ

𝑯𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ‎‧₊˚🫀✧˚₊‧🔪

CW: Dub/Con, Rough/Aggressive Sexual Content,Physical Restraint & Choking/Neck grabbing, Marking and Biting, Toxic Possessive Behavior, All Characters w 18, Neutral Reader, Degrading Language, Dirty Talk.

Read at your own discretion because this is not a romantized version of Henry.

Enjoy!

The noise of the car horns and the blasting music made the entire Bowie house shake. Greta had cordially invited you to the party they threw every time a school term ended. A little bored, you started to move through the crowd, your eyes stopping for a moment longer than they should have on the group of losers that everyone always seemed to screw with. You laughed to yourself, imagining how Greta would lose her mind just by seeing them hanging around her house, with the exception of Eddie, but there they were.

You walked near them, quickly noticing how one of them tensed up immediately just seeing you walk in front of them for some punch. Beverly quickly noticed how her friend tensed up and whispered to Bill, both of them laughing maliciously. It had been a true miracle that the Marsh girl came out of her cave and her father's beatings, everyone knew what the poor girl went through but, for girls like her, it was a reason for mockery. Especially that time the whole fucking town saw her unhinged father chase her through the streets. Your fingers grabbed the plastic cup in an attempt to pour yourself some punch, you noticed someone else approaching to serve themselves too and you stepped aside. Next to you was Richie Tozier, the famous "Trashmouth" you had heard about. You laughed seeing him nervous by your side trying to keep up that cool guy facade. "I thought Greta hated you guys." You stared at his face with an amused smile. Richie tensed up like a rock instantly, he almost expected you to punch him or throw your punch on his white Freezers shirt. He smiled timidly before answering, shifting his gaze to the ground every two seconds. "Actually, she does." He smiled while taking a step closer to you. "But as long as she doesn't know we snuck in through the backyard, it's all good." He said almost whispering but loud enough for you to hear, it was funny. You had always seen Tozier as someone merely brave or slightly retarded. It had been newspaper news when he mocked Bowers calling him "banana foot" and how brats chased him for several blocks until he lost them in a store. "Let's see how long the fun lasts for you guys." You elbowed his arm while giving him a pretty smile. Richie's eyes lit up and he squeezed the plastic cup spilling a little liquid onto the floor, Eddie from the back was laughing at his stupidity, next to him the Hanlon guy and Hanscom were laughing right along at seeing him weaken over a simple exchange of words. Richie saw your silhouette disappear into the crowd and he was finally able to relax for a moment, he sighed and turned around heading toward the others who were just a few steps away. "Don't tell me you hooked up with her, ladies man." Hanlon patted his back a little harder while, once again, he spilled punch onto the floor. "From the quarry I could smell your armpits from how stinking and sweaty you were, fuck." Beverly mocked while smiling and waiting for him to comment on his interaction. "Go to hell, all of you." He smiled while flipping the bird to everyone who was surrounding him. While for you things were very different, after that brief exchange of words with the Tozier boy, you walked a few steps before being intercepted by Henry who looked pretty pissed off for some reason. His rough hands tightly grabbed your wrist without a shred of gentleness. "Hey! wow, what's wrong with you? Fuck!" You snapped, trying to break the grip he had on your wrist which was starting to become deliberately painful. His brow furrowed big time, his breathing became erratic and totally frantic, you noticed how his blue eyes twitched sporadically from brief spasms of bottled up rage. "You like playing around like a total bimbo, don't you?" He yanked your arm toward him while his body trapped you against one of the house walls. You gasped in pain, you looked around only to notice that the people there didn't give a flying fuck about what was happening around them. His rank breath hit your face with pure rage, you closed your eyes instinctively seeing him so furious. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." You said firmly but still scared by his brutal strength.

"You know damn well." His teeth almost ground together with the force behind those words. His eye, which still had that tic, didn't stop staring at you for a single second. "I guess you're gonna go blow that fucking trashmouth now, aren't you, bitch?" "Henry, stop fucking around with that shit." You looked to the side, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken, but it was unavoidable how freaking hot it was to see him so worked up and jealous. "You don't tell me what to do, bitch" he spat, completely shameless as he crowded your personal space. His lips were so close they practically brushed yours, his grip on your wrist still solid as a rock. You could feel his heart hammering wildly against his chest, the exact same frantic pace it hit when he caught you shooting the breeze with that four eyed piece of trash. His brow furrowed even deeper, but right along with that psycho rage came a twisted sense of ownership. That's exactly why he was doing this getting right in your face and claiming you like he was some kind of king. The king of the freaking garbage heap, more like. His lips finally twisted into a wicked grin as he yanked you down the hall, dragging you fast into one of the bedrooms of the massive Bowie house. He slammed the door shut behind him and slammed your body right against it. Before you could even catch your breath, his hand was wrapped firmly around your neck, not squeezing enough to choke you but solid enough to let you know you weren't going anywhere. He crowded you from behind, his crotch pressing hard directly against your backside. "You'd love for that fucking virgin to have you like this, wouldn't you, huh?" he whispered darkly in your ear, pinning you even tighter against the wood. "He don't know shit." The total irony of it all? You two had only hooked up once a few weeks ago. You figured it was a one and done deal, a random mistake, but this psycho completely saw you as some kind of trophy. He thought you belonged to him now, and it was becoming crystal clear that the king of the garbage heap wasn't going to leave you alone anytime soon. He completely lost whatever bit of control he had left, frantically ripping at his belt and yanking down his zipper. Without a single shred of shame, he shoved your pants and underwear down to your knees in one rough motion. He smacked his palm against your bare skin before burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, biting down so hard it was definitely going to leave a nasty, ugly bruise. "Fuck!" you gasped, thrashing against the door as a sharp jolt of pain shot through you. Taking advantage of you pinning yourself forward away from the bite, he rammed himself all the way inside you in one single, brutal thrust. The sudden, unyielding stretch made your breath hitch completely, your fingers clawing at the wood of the door as he held you tightly in place.

"Oh, sweet Jesus" you rasped, your words slurring together as your body completely short-circuited from the intense overload of pain and pleasure hitting you all at once. You let out a loud, breathless moan one that would have tipped off the entire town of Derry if the bass from the speakers downstairs wasn't currently rattling the windows. Henry let out a low, gravelly grunt, his free hand locking onto your hip like a vice grip. He used it to pull you back against him, driving himself even deeper into you with zero mercy. All you could do was gasp and whimper in response, completely helpless against the wall. He was absolutely wrecking you, and the total lack of control you had right now was just as dizzying as the sheer, brutal heat of him moving inside you. His hips kept slamming violently against your backside, which was already stinging and bruising up from his rough slaps and heavy-handed grips. "I'm gonna assume you want to fuck around on me with that little punk, huh?" he growled, a dark, twisted smirk spreading across his face. He let out ragged, breathless gasps, trying to swallow down the sheer rage and jealousy eating him alive. But the truth was, he was completely losing his mind over how tight and exquisite you felt wrapped around him. "No..." you breathed out quickly, shaking your head as you arched your back even more, practically begging for the solid impact of his body. Henry didn't hesitate for a single second. Catching your rhythm, he locked his grip onto your hips and began driving into you with even more brutal force, the heavy thud of his hips against you echoing over the distant thumping of the bass downstairs. His thrusts began to slow down just a bit, the heavy friction shifting as his grip moved. The hand that had been pinning your hip slid up along your abdomen, mapping the heat of your skin until it reached your chest, squeezing you tightly, bruisingly hard. He let out a low, guttural growl right against your ear, his chest heaving violently against your back. With a few final, heavy, deliberate thrusts that buried him as deep as he could possibly go, his entire body went rigid. Henry buckled against you, shuddering violently as he finally hit his limit, spilling himself deep inside you while his fingers dug hard into your skin, anchoring himself to you until the tension finally began to drain from his muscles. "Fucking Christ..." you breathed out, the words completely escaping you as the final, intense wave finally crashed over you. Your vision blurred and your knees buckled, giving out entirely under the sheer exhaustion. But Henry didn't let you fall. With a low, ragged huff, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your weight back against his solid chest. He held you up, keeping you pinned tightly to him while he remained deep inside you, his frantic heartbeat thumping hard against your back as you both tried to catch your breath in the quiet of the locked room. "Stay away from that little shit." he growled near your ear, letting out a low, satisfied groan that completely melted whatever resolve you had left. You let out the last bit of air trapped in your lungs, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. Even with your knees shaking and your skin bruised, you couldn't help but smirk against the wood of the door, feeling a wave of dark amusement wash over you. He was completely unhinged and territorial, but damn, he knew exactly what he was doing. You turned your head just enough to glance back at him over your shoulder, your eyes hooded but challenging, thoroughly enjoying the fact that you had the king of the garbage heap completely wrapped around your finger.

༘⋆𖦹 🎪 🎈˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #bowers #it #stephen king #henry bowers #victor criss #belch huggins #patrick hockstetter #the losers club #richie tozier #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #ben hanscom #mike hanlon

I love your writing! I read one and it reminded me of the scene where Beverly sunbathes with the losers at the quarry, and they're all drooling over her. Could you write something like that, but with the Bowers gang and the reader? :)

Well, I loved the idea of keeping their bratty side in play for this scenario. I hope I met your expectations, honey

Be free to suggest anything my lovers!

Hope y'all enjoy!

𝑩𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝑮𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

CW: Leering and intense non-consensual fixation, implied animal cruelty, implied childhood physical abuse (Henry scars), period-typical vulgar and derogatory language (including 1980s slurs) and toxic group dynamics.

"Come on, you fags." he raised an arm to get everyone's attention.

"We're going to the quarry. It’s hot as hell out here, and you guys want to roast your asses inside Belch's car." Henry scoffed, furrowing his brow as a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek a dead giveaway that the heat was already taking a toll on all of us.

Victor started complaining that being at the quarry was just as hot as hell as staying inside the fat boy's car.

"You're a fat ass, Victor." Patrick laughed for the first time in the conversation, though he couldn't care less about being in the car or at the quarry it was all the exact same shit to him.

"Oh shut up you fuck-face" He shot back.

"That place is full of garbage." he muttered one last time, leaning back against your side. To you, this was just a bunch of childish bickering, but what were you gonna do? Unfortunately, you had to call these guys your "friends."

Henry flashed a quick glance at your legs before looking up at your face, shamelessly admiring your cheeks, which were flushed from the heat inside Belch’s car.

"What about you? You’re so quiet it’s making me jumpy." Henry muttered through his teeth as the others shifted their attention to you. Henry bit the inside of his cheek, staring at how close Victor was staying to your side.

“I don’t give a crap.” you said, completely brushing it off as you rolled down the window to get a breath of fresh air—inside the car, it felt like walking on literal lava. Henry rolled his eyes and whipped back around toward Belch.

“Get your ass moving to the quarry. Asking these brats anything is like talking to a damn brick wall.” Belch chuckled, shaking his head, while Patrick stayed dead silent the whole ride… except for when he spotted a fly inside the car.

It took a couple of minutes before we finally hit the quarry grounds and made it up to the ledge. Everyone piled out of the car. Victor barely even wanted to budge, but Henry and Belch kicked his ass right out of there.

Since he was being a lazy chump, Henry and Belch exchanged a look before rushing him, stripping him of his clothes until he was down to his underwear.

They grabbed him by his arms and legs and bolted toward the ledge of the quarry.

"No! NO, NO!" Victor thrashed around, but the two of them wouldn't let go for dear life. They started swinging him back and forth before tossing him over, busting a gut laughing. Patrick and you watched the whole scene from the back with zero intention of stepping in.

Patrick smirked wickedly when they let go of Vic, sending him plummeting into the empty air toward the water. You couldn't help but laugh uncomfortably at the sound of that maniac's chuckle.

Belch dove in right after Vic in a cannonball that nearly blasted all the water out of the quarry. Henry started stripping down to his underwear, and you couldn't help but notice the scars patterned across his back. You quickly snapped your gaze over to Patrick, who, by contrast, was skinny to the point of being scrawny.

To be honest, it was a bit hilarious lookin' that difference.

You ended up diving in right after Henry, stripping off your clothes and tossing them by Belch’s car. Patrick seemed lost in some kind of trance, staring at an ant colony near the ledge while flicking his metal lighter dangerously close to them. You didn't want to stick around to see how that turned out.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

"Christ." Victor muttered, wiping the water dripping from his hair and face with his forearm. From where he was standing, Belch tossed a towel straight at his face, expecting nothing in return.

Everyone was soaked to the bone. You had to admit it was pretty funny, but at the same time, seeing Patrick actually jump into the water was weird as hell. You'd never pictured him doing something like that, and honestly, even trying to imagine it was a stretch.

"Hand me a beer from the cooler." Henry said, drying off his mullet, which was now all matted down from the water. His skin gleamed like a pearl, and you could see the tension in his muscles as he caught the beer Belch tossed his way.

You stayed in the water, admiring and feeling grateful for the temporary peace this place could offer you. No shouting, no bickering, no nothing.

After a little while, you found yourself craving one of the juices you'd brought along, the ones you had nicely asked Belch to keep in the cooler. You climbed out of the water, waving your hand at Belch to signal him to toss you a towel.

Belch looked at you and tossed a towel, but not before tilting his head away in embarrassment. The truth was, it was the first time you’d been around them in so little clothing.

Henry shamelessly stared at your cleavage and the way the water droplets rolled down it. Flushed, he tried to play it cool by pretending to look out at the horizon, restlessly bouncing his leg in an effort to calm his raging thoughs.

Vic’s pale skin had turned a subtle shade of pink that you didn't even notice. In fact, you hadn't caught a single one of those "little" glances, even though these guys didn't know the first thing about being subtle. You walked over to them, completely clueless about how you were driving every single one of their thoughts wild.

Patrick stared dead at the water droplets tracking down your skin without a shred of decency. He followed you with his eyes until you were standing right in front of him, completely oblivious to how he was examining every single detail of your body with genuine fixation, a pretty bizarre one, to be completely honest.

You crashed down onto one of the towels to catch some sun and dry off since, with this whole plan being so sudden, you hadn't even had time to put on or bring a change of clothes.

Every single one of them was admiring every detail of your body, in a cowardly and pretty embarrassing way. Victor finally decided to grab the juice that belonged to you and hand it over. "It's… pretty cold... hehe" he said, not really thinking about what was coming out of his mouth on the inside, he was dying of secondhand embarrassment at his own words.

"Thanks...?" you smiled, not reading too much into how he was acting, even though it was pretty weird for all of them.

Henry swallowed hard, watching how completely calm you were, totally unaware of how you shook up the whole atmosphere just by being there. It made him feel incredibly weird.

You noticed the atmosphere getting weirder by the second, and you looked at all of them, frowning in total confusion.

"What the hell is wrong with you guys?" you muttered, somewhere between a laugh and sheer bewilderment at the way they were acting. "You look like a bunch of little piss-pants staring at a girl walking by." You finally smirked, realizing how a couple of missing layers of clothing had completely struck them dumb.

Henry finally snapped out of his trance, his brow furrowing at the mere mention of those pussies who made his life a living hell, according to him, obviously. Those poor devils didn't hurt a soul. Nobody asked for having a "please punch me" face to be a crime in front of this ape.

"It's not like you're in fucking Playboy, brat." he said, taking a long swig of his beer. It was obviously such a blatant lie that even he didn't buy it. Victor and Belch looked at him with clear disapproval, unable to hide their laughter at his stupidity and how painfully obvious he was. Patrick let out a low chuckle that was uncomfortable enough to kill the conversation right then and there, leaving you to just enjoy the rest of the afternoon at the quarry with these dumbasses.

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #bowers #it #stephen king #belch huggins #victor criss #patrick hockstetter #henry bowers

I was day dreaming about this scene during class lol but could you write a fic abt the bowers gang x reader tanning outside? Thanks xx

𝑩𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑮𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆⋆ 𖤓 ⋆˚࿔

Cw:Strong lenguage, Cruel humor, Underage smoking, past violence.

(Not Pat include because is book ref babys)

♡

“Pass me that pack of cigarettes, Vic.” You waved your hand in the air, gesturing for the blonde to give you what you’d asked for.

Uncharacteristically, it was a rather quiet afternoon, completely free from the noise of any trouble or nuisance with a first and last name.

You felt grateful as you sensed the cigarette pack in your palm, lighting one up with ease.

Vic walked over and sat next to you on the trunk of the car as he took the pack of cigarettes back.

“Don’t want a drag, Belch?” Vic looked over his shoulder at Belch, who looked like he had just stepped out of a sauna with how sweaty he was.

"Nah, catch ya later on that." he muttered with deep concentration, turning the wrench on the car engine or whatever it was he was fixing.

Vic shrugged, slipping the pack into his leather jacket while inhaling and exhaling his own cigarette with a hint of anxiety.

You noticed how Vic tensed up as he inhaled the smoke and completely relaxed his body the moment he exhaled it. You drifted your gaze toward the inside of the car where Henry was, unusually quiet, staring at the switchblade his old man had given him.

"This is total shit." Henry’s gravelly voice finally cut through the calm of the afternoon. He propped his feet up on the dashboard, sinking deeper into the seat. We all went quiet, waiting for him to go on.

"Don’t just sit there like a bunch of goddamn morons. We should be doing something" he spat, his irritation rising, though his focus never wavered from the edge of his switchblade.

Belch was about to rag on him for putting his feet up on the dash, but he thought better of it and kept to himself, using his forearm to wipe away the beads of sweat dripping down his face.

Vic tensed up instantly, getting antsy for the simple reason that Henry's idea of "doing something" never meant anything good.

He still had flashbacks to the rock fight, which had started as a simple "Let's go blow some firecrackers up that black kid's ass" and ended with Henry flat on the dirt with a broken nose and a bruise the size of a battleship.

Those little shits made Henry's blood boil if anyone so much as breathed a word about them around him, but sometimes you just had to risk it for a good laugh... right?

You blew out a cloud of smoke, chuckling a bit before you spoke.

“I still remember when Belch wiped out right on top of the loudmouth over by the Tracker Brothers' field.” You smirked, taking another drag from your cigarette. Next to you, Vic couldn't help but laugh along, shaking his head. Henry cracked a few light chuckles, nodding as he finally tore his eyes away from his switchblade for a second.

“That fat ass of Belch's could barely move, and when he finally did, it was just to land butt-first right on the loudmouth.” Henry started laughing out louder, especially remembering how when Belch got up, he'd snapped a couple of the kid's fingers in the process.

Belch just offered a weak smile, turning a bit red at the memory.

“Oh! Oh! And don’t forget the burp of the century he let rip when he stood up. That hypochondriac kid's face was priceless!” you said, slapping your palm against your thigh, which was clad in tight black drainpipe jeans and high boots.

Henry and Vic busted out laughing, ragging on Belch right then and there for being a total pig most of the time.

“Go to hell, all three of you.” Belch finally said, grabbing a rag to wipe the grease off his hands. We couldn’t help but laugh even harder at that.

♡

I hope y'all enjoy this little scenario and tysm for being patient

Will upload soon!

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #bowers #stephen king #it #henry bowers #victor criss #belch huggins #yankeesbaseball

Hii!! How are you doing? :3 i was hoping i could request the bowers gang x reader whos also a bully like the bowers gang but she isnt part of them she has a bunch of girls who always follow her around and shes cruel but not like henry and patrick. She does stab people with small sharp objects (not lethal places) and cut their hair but never go as far as henry or patrick. If this makes you uncomfortable feel free to ignore!

˙ . ꒷🍰 . 𖦹˙— ʙᴏᴡᴇʀ'ꜱ ɢᴀɴɢ x ʙᴜʟʟʏꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW: Severe bullying, physical violence, strong language, severe harassment, Reader with mean girl personality, Queen-Bee dynamics.

(Short scenario but i think i will do more abt this topic...)

You stared at your reflection in the girls' bathroom mirror, slicking on a coat of strawberry lip balm while admiring how good it felt to be a total bitch. Your 'friends', if you could even call them that, since they acted like desperate puppies begging for your approval, and God, you loved it were huddled next to you, pretending to check their own hair but constantly stealing side-glances.

They envied your beauty, suffocating their own jealousy under a layer of cowardly, complicit smiles

You started twisting the cap back onto the small balm, catching one of them out of the corner of your eye.

She was the girl brought in to sub for one of your regulars who’d been out sick.

You openly, shamelessly sized up her outfit, and you immediately noticed how she tensed up under your gaze while you kept your chin tilted high, radiating absolute superiority.

You flashed her a sweet, venomous smile just before you began to tear her apart, piece by piece

"That sweater looks sweet." You offered a closed-mouth angelic smile. "Where did you buy it?" You feigned astonishment as you stared at the hideous sweater stepping closer to her.

"My mom buy it for me..." she said, visibly happy and blushing at having your undivided attention on her, while the other girls stood watching expectantly, exchanging complicit glances that showed their annoyance at having your attention taken away.

"How sweet." you sentenced with a fake smile as you walked alongside her, while making a silent gesture behind her back for two of your girls to grab her

She couldn't help but let out a sharp gasp of surprise as she felt foreign hands tightly pinning her arms, leaving her completely immobilized. You stood right in front of the girl, looking down at her with pure disdain. There was no apparent reason for doing what you were about to do to her but you enjoyed it more than anyone. You glanced over at your clique and motioned for one of them to come closer, whispering something in her ear that remained a complete murmur to the rest.

The blonde girl rummaged through her pockets and pulled out a pair of school scissors, a malicious smirk blooming on her rosy cheeks as she closed in dangerously on the girl.

You just watched, chin tilted high, radiating an aura of pure wickedness.

You smiled and dropped a few final words before stepping out of the bathroom to keep your hands clean.

Walking a few paces away from the restroom, you headed toward your locker. You opened the metal door delicately, catching your reflection in the small mirror attached to it, and fixed your hair, noticing in the background of that very mirror how that gang of misfits was watching you, like wolves eyeing a flock

You slowly closed your locker door before heading to your classroom.

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

"What a stuck-up bitch" Belch muttered with obvious disgust, watching you walk smoothly toward your classroom. Henry stared intently at your every step, as if he were looking for something in you

Victor tried his best not to look at you; there was something about you that captivated him, but also something that repelled him. He figured it was because Patrick never took his eyes off you.

"I don't think she's a stuck-up bitch" Patrick said for the first time all morning, his eyes locked onto the bounce of your hair with a sick fixation. "She's like that Elvis song" He murmured to no one in particular. Henry, visibly annoyed, began to furrow his brow.

"We'll see how long her little act lasts" he said with a malicious smirk, crossing his arms over his chest with obvious satisfaction. He was imagining all sorts of twisted ways to make you stop being such a stuck-up bitch.

his father had taught him well how to break girls of that act, and he wouldn't hesitate to put it to the test.

I'm back, i swear it's true this time fellas 😭

Soon i will upload because i'm finally on vacations, love ya! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #bowers #stephen king #it #patrick hockstetter #henry bowers #victor criss #belch huggins

. 📽.ᐟ𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑯𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒑 (𝘖𝘳 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 ❝𝘩𝘪𝘮❞) ˙✧˖°📺 ⋆｡˚

(Thank u for the 140 followers and the 1000 likes, i really love y'all)

TW: Disturbing content and a little smut.

🎬Patrick is the type of guy who when he bites his nails, doesn't spit them out; he swallows them or uses them as weapons against the flies he collects inside his pencil case.

🎬He has zero sense of personal hygiene. Once while crashing with the Bowers gang, they criticized him for smelling very bad (you can imagine how bad his scent was in a group of guys who have zero knowledge of the term daily shower) Henry threw a face of total disgust at him while Victor just let out a "Jezz" while his fingers pressed his nostrils and his free hand fanned the air.

🎬He tends to create very uncomfortable moments with his laugh. He is someone with a very strange laugh, and not in the funny sense but in the weird one.

🎬His mother forces him to pray every night before bed. The poor woman thinks that with the grace of some God she will be able to cure her "sick" son. He doesn't dislike it, really, nor does he care. He only gets irritated by the fact that his mother enters his room.

🎬He is prone to watching strange and disturbing things on VHS tapes that he rents illegally. He is capable of getting hard just by imagining you as the girl in the tape and him as the one who hurts you.

🎬He has a strange fixation with the movie Pet Sematary; he likes to watch and replay the scene when Church dies so he can touch himself (especially when he shows signs of rot)

🎬If he had a fixation on you, he would never leave you alone for a single moment, he doesn't know how to approach without being a total idiot or a pervert, he is incapable of saying anything "normal". He doesn't know personal space, he would be constantly fucking with you to get your attention in twisted ways, possible threats as well.

🎬He likes to steal your pencils and snoop through your backpack, he wants to have your belongings to feel like a part of you belongs to him.

🎬He isn't someone with any sense of shame; he wouldn't have any problem approaching you, much less with being handsy.

🎬He likes to play the part of the good boy with his mother; he isn't the most obedient son, but he isn't one to cause her trouble. Since Avery's death, his father has remained distant from him, but Patrick always plays his cards as the good, quiet boy of the house.

🎬He doesn't like being with the gang in general; he just observes and joins the violence when it actually looks fun to mess with people and give them a hard time. He knows Victor doesn't like his presence, and he uses that to make him uncomfortable by staring at him while rolling a fly carcass between his fingers.

🎬He doesn't understand the concept of softness; he just does things his way and according to his own needs. It’s possible he’d also be unfaithful and not feel guilty about it, since he doesn't believe anyone is real enough to ground an emotional bond (he doesn't know what that is, anyway).

🎬He isn't someone with refined tastes; he would look for someone just interesting enough (at least within his own head) and fuck with them until he gets what he wants.

🎬He will follow you home so he can see which routes you take without you noticing. He collects very personal things of yours.

🎬If you were to be intimate with him, it is likely you would be recorded for his personal use at a later time (he would never tell you about the tapes, and it is possible he would show them to the others).

Helloo! i know it's been a while but here i am lol, i will upload some headcanons and scenarios you guys send me, i promise!

LOVE YA!

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #bowers #it #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #henry bowers #stephen king #belch huggins #derry #dark fic

Maybe a little weird but i will love an mini scenario of Henry making reader do him a bj 🥺

Cute scenario...

A little short but i will upload more 😈

Henry bowers x reader (smut) ꒰🚜ᵕ⁠˖🌾

Cw:Blowjob, little violence and hair pulling (maybe acurrate?)

The school day had ended just like any other day in this shithole of a town. You were walking home when you were suddenly yanked into Henry's father's Ford truck. You gasped as you felt the hard mattress slam against the sides of your arms. You looked up and saw Henry starting the Ford back up to begin driving. You stared at him, completely stunned. he wasn't with his friends, and he had a vein pulsing firmly against his temple

His palms squeezed the steering wheel with white knuckled force as he slammed on the brakes, bringing the truck to a dead stop. His fist clamped shut around your scalp, yanking you down directly toward his crotch. Henry was breathing heavily, clumsily undoing his zipper, his hand fumbling over his rock hard erection already agonizingly close to your face

His palms let go of your hair and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckled force. His entire body tensed as he felt people passing by oblivious to what was happening inside the Ford

Henry glanced at you sideways without saying a single word, as if he expected you to know exactly what he wanted by some kind of dark magic. Even though it was painfully obvious, it was almost funny

But it was never a good idea to mock Henry Bowers.

Your lips slowly enveloped his erection to the base, your tongue slicking every inch

His muscles relaxed for a fraction of a second before he let out a sigh that made every part of your body shiver. You continued your work without much trouble until you heard people approaching again

Henry gripped your hair and shoved your head down, choking you with his already mistreated erection. He let out a guttural growl before leaning forward, partially shielding the view of your face buried in his crotch

Your nails dug into his thighs, which, unbeknownst to you, bore deep scars courtesy of Butch Bowers. Henry gasped in pain before his cock twitched in your mouth, a sign of involuntary pleasure. You sucked a bit harder just before he hit his limit.

"Fuck!" he choked out a groan as his body went through mini-spasms, sighing in relief while letting his head fall back against the seat.

"You should do that more often" he said, exhaling with a smirk that was pure mischief and malice before grabbing your face and awkwardly kissing your lips with violence.

HELLOOOO! i hope y'all enjoy this little scenario, i will upload soon i promise!

Love ya! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #bowers #it #stephen king #henry bowers

𑣲𝑽𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔𓄧 🔩 (𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕)

(Read the notes after the headcanons pls babys. 🖤)

🔩Vic is the type of guy who’s constantly pestering you just to stay on your radar. He’s not out for blood like Henry, and he’s definitely not weird and scary like Patrick. He’s just… a regular guy. He’ll mess with you, tease you, or be a general nuisance, but it’s mostly a low-key plea for your attention. He wants you to notice him, even if it’s just because he’s being a pest.

🔩Victor has this embarrassingly good memory for dates. It’s almost a "knack" at this point. If you mention a date that matters to you once, it’s locked in his brain forever. He tries so hard to act like he’s nonchelant to keep up appearances with the gang, but he literally cannot help but remember every single important milestone you’ve ever told him. He’ll play it cool, but he knows.

🔩Maintaining that platinum blonde look is a full-time job because his hair grows at an absurdly fast rate. He’s basically touching up his roots every two weeks. To keep his hair from literally falling out in clumps (shredding to pieces from all that bleach), he’s constantly "borrowing" his mom’s high-end hair treatments and deep conditioners. It’s his best-kept secret—he’s not about to let his hair go to ruins just for the "tough guy" aesthetic.

🔩Vic is surprisingly respectful and always tries to keep his distance from the absolute insanity the rest of the gang pulls. However, he’s a naturally restless guy, and that "margin" he keeps with everyone else usually disappears when he’s with you. In his own way, he’s just as desperate for your approval and attention as Henry is—he just shows it differently. He needs to know you're looking at him.

🔩When Victor feels comfortable enough to let his guard down, he can be incredibly committed and even sentimental. He’s got a heart in there, even if he proposes to hide it most of the time. That said, his loyalty is a steel trap: you will never hear him badmouth the guys in the gang. Except for Patrick, of course. He’ll talk trash about Patrick any day, but Henry and Belch are off-limits

🔩His clothes have this very specific, lingering scent: a mix of cheap laundry detergent, sweat, and dirt. It’s the inevitable result of how "active" and clingy he gets whenever he’s hanging out with Henry, Belch, and Patrick. When they aren't busy tormenting kids, they’re usually getting into some kind of mess, and Vic is always right in the middle of it, coming home smelling like a day spent in the Barrens.

🔩Victor would never, in a million years, admit this to anyone (and, well, being dead kind of makes it impossible now, lol), but he was absolutely scared shiftless when the gang went to see Frankenstein and I Was a Teenage Werewolf.

Even though the special effects looked totally homemade and amateurish by today's standards, they got under his skin. He played it cool in the theater, probably shouting and throwing popcorn with Henry and Belch, but the reality was much different. Those movies gave him vivid nightmares for several nights afterward. It turns out that even for a Derry bully, some monsters are just too real to handle.

🔩One time, Henry and Belch relentlessly mocked him for smelling like detergent and "clean clothes." It made him feel embarrassed in the worst way possible. To fix it, the very next day, he practically sweat like a pig on purpose just to smell more like a "man." The irony? He still smelled like laundry detergent underneath it all. He just couldn't escape his mom's fabric softener, no matter how hard he tried to be gritty.

🔩Vic and Belch often head out on their own, just the two of them. It’s a way to escape the constant, suffocating tension that Henry’s presence creates. Sometimes, these boys just want a moment of peace—or as much peace as a town like Derry is willing to give them. Without Henry's volatility, they’re just two teenagers trying to exist.

🔩Inside the gang, right after Peter bailed, Victor was the first one to be visibly disgusted by Patrick. He’d constantly call him a "creepy prick" but deep down, it was more than just dislike—it was intuition. He knew they were dealing with someone who could be way more dangerous than even a pissed-off Henry. Because of that, Vic keeps his distance whenever Patrick is around and never misses an opportunity to throw an insult his way, just to keep the wall up between them.

(SMUT)

🔩When it comes to sex, Vic is pretty versatile. He doesn’t have a huge problem with being the one to take the lead or the one to just relax and let go. However, if he’s being honest, he has a slight preference for taking charge. Since his daily life is constantly dictated by Henry’s whims and the general gloom of Derry, he craves having that bit of control in his private life. It’s the one area where he can actually call the shots.

🔩He has zero interest in threesomes, and he never will. You’d think that for a teenager in the late 70s, a trio with two girls would be the "peak fantasy" but Vic isn't about that. He’s the most "grounded" one in the gang, and he values privacy above all else. He’s incredibly selfish in that regard—he wants to show you off to the world, sure, but he refuses to share you with anyone. It’s a "you and him against the world" mentality.

🔩Vic is a fan of slow, heated kisses. He’s "organized"—well, as organized as a Derry bully can be—and he applies that to his private life. He’s not into rushing things or having everything end in a heartbeat; he’ll actually take the time to kiss every inch of you. Of course, that composed facade usually lasts about as long as a struck match before his true, restless nature takes over, but he tries his best to savor the moment.

🔩He’s not overly loud, but he’s not dead silent either; he exists in that middle ground. However, out of a misguided sense of "manliness" he often tries to stifle any sound. He puts on a level of focus that you’ve never even seen him use for his exams (which, let’s be honest, he always fails). It’s a silent, intense concentration—his way of proving he’s "the man" in the room.

🔩Despite his "tough guy" exterior, Vic is a bundle of nerves deep down. It’s highly likely that, due to sheer adrenaline and anxiety, he might finish absurdly fast—and when I say absurd, I mean it. He’ll be there, sweating and looking like he’s just seen a ghost, completely drained. However, he’d never say no to going again or giving you more if you’re up for it. He’s determined to please, even if his body betrays him the first time around.

🔩He’d definitely try his best to get his hands on a condom beforehand to keep things "organized." That said, if the situation gets too intense or urgent, he’s willing to go without it—but with a strict rule. He’ll never, ever finish inside. For Vic, the "pull-out" method isn't just a choice; it's his version of being responsible in the middle of chaos.

HELLO Y'ALL, Tomorrow is my birthday sooo i be updating one history of my baby Vic, and the others days one of my baby Belch.

And after that, i will do the ideas y'all send to me.

So, that's all. TYSM i mean it, for the support, likes, reblogs and the people that follow it really makes me happy how the fandom keep it up.

See ya soon! LOVE YA!! 🖤

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #it #stephen king #victor criss #bowers

Hello!, this is my first time writing something in so excuse any typos🥲

Could there be one like- Patrick finding someone just as fucked up as him who moves into the town?, something that hes NEVER seen in anyone at all rather than the people he talks to.

Maybe even a little stalker-ish?

Also I LOVE your fics, absolutely beautiful.

I love the idea and thank you so much for the request i was in an writer's block 💔 i appreciate that you enjoy my fics because i write them with love and realism for the fans that love to feel like they are w the real character.

And be totally free to suggest anything (i kinda do every dark shit) and tysm for the request! Love u and i hope u enjoy!

♯🥩⊹˙•⛓️〰︎

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑯𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕) ♯🥩⊹˙•⛓️〰︎

TW:Non-consensual dubious consent, Breathplay- Choking, Rough sex, Animal cruelty / dead animals, Gore / blood, self-harm, Public jerk off, Obsession and stalking, autophagy mention, crazy reader and dubious moral judgment and kinda Lila's (Dexter) personality reader, Apathic and Psycho behavior (Patrick).

Alll characters are 18!

Read at your OWN discretion because this is not a romantized version of Patrick.

Every inhabitant of Derry knew, even if only subconsciously, how rotten the town and its people truly were. Indifference was the daily bread in this haunted godforsaken hole, and resilience was nothing short of a miracle of faith. Even in places as crowded as the schools, you could see evil developing right on the surface of the skin—especially when it came to the grim fate of the new little residents who dared to move into this town.

You had been attending Derry High for several weeks now, and everything was moving along with a notorious normalcy. There were occasions where a guy who literally looked like a walking corpse would stare at you fixedly while laughing in a very strange way. It was almost funny to you, but you hardly ever paid him any mind—at least not until now.

You knew it was him. He was the one leaving notes, insects, or getting "handsy." For you, it was becoming an annoyance, as if a background character had suddenly taken on too much screen time and was starting to get irritating.

Inside the classroom, you were at your desk, spinning a pencil, staring unconsciously at a fixed point while picking at the skin of your lips until they bled. A sharp sting snapped you out of your trance. You ran your tongue over your lips, tasting that metallic tang that, at the very least, made you feel alive—as much as one could in this place.

It wasn't the first time you felt him watching you do these things, things you actually found normal. You knew something in him responded to it, like a radar between anomalies. Patrick was at the back of the classroom, staring at you, watching you gnaw on your lips and savor the taste of saliva and blood. One of his bony hands reached for his crotch, squeezing with a forceful, morbid intensity just thinking about the different ways he could make you bleed.

He let out a silent gasp as he felt himself go rock hard. It was pure morbidity—a desire to deprave and profane, not in a lustful way, but in a purely clinical one. He wanted to see how much power he could hold over your reactions.

The teacher began explaining the lesson while turning on the projector and killing the lights. A timid ray of sunlight escaped through the curtains, illuminating the subtle movement of your teeth tearing at the flesh of your lips and your wet tongue dancing over them. His fingers brushed against his zipper, a twisted smile forming on his lips without his eyes leaving yours for even a second. His palm gripped his cock with urgency as he stared, leaning over the desk, oblivious to the teacher’s voice or anything else around him—fixed only on your movements.

Before the first images flickered onto the screen, his hand began to move more frantically, letting out silent sighs of pure adrenaline, imagining all the ways he could subdue you within the sick possibilities of his mind—a mind that, though he didn't know it yet, wasn't too far off from your own.

You subtly turned your face toward Patrick, feeling the weight of his gaze. Your hair brushed against your cheeks as your eyes met his in the darkness of the classroom. His hand moved even faster as he gave you that crooked smile. For an instant, your expression was one of pure perplexity, only to follow it up with a measly, faint smile in his direction before turning back to the projections on the wall.

Several weeks had passed since that indirect encounter in the classroom. After that, you began to develop a certain "closeness"—if you could even call it that. Patrick started leaving you notes after class and gifts inside your locker (God only knows how he got the combination).

You, for your part, had been in a state of ecstasy, being observed in your self-cannibalistic habits. It made you wet just thinking about how the guy who was "fucking annoying" a month ago had become the peak of your ridiculous orgasms in the privacy of your room.

Imagining his teeth nipping at your skin, taking your breath away, and directly immobilizing every muscle was a fucking amazing scenario you wanted to happen. Though you’d never tell him directly; he was too much of an idiot to understand the things you were imagining—or so you thought.

The school day ended as usual. You packed your things and headed for the exit toward your house, walking without any hurry, eyes on your feet. You passed near some bushes where you heard branches snap. You turned quickly toward the sound and approached.

You saw a trail of blood and footprints in the mud that proved it wasn't your imagination. You blinked for a moment before dipping your finger into the small puddle of blood. You moistened your finger with that crimson metallic mixture and brought it to your tongue, savoring someone else's blood without shame. You smiled slightly, feeling how fresh the puddle was, and stood up to veer off the path home and into the thicket.

Your breathing began to quicken from the pure adrenaline. You let out a breath while biting the inside of your cheek, wounding yourself. Suddenly, the air changed in an abysmal contrast; it no longer smelled like pine or clean air. Everything shifted to a filthier atmosphere—a cloying smell of death and viscera exposed to the sun for too many hours. Your shoes began to fill with dirt the deeper you went into the weeds.

In the distance, you saw the Derry junkyard. You had never gone down there. Your mother said it was dangerous because of the "weird things" people might discard, though everyone really knew that wasn't what she feared. People were terrified of the alleged killer making children disappear, especially in secluded places.

You walked, dragging your feet calmly, licking your lips and savoring the metallic trail left by the stranger's blood. In the distance, you could see—among the rubble and mountains of trash—a refrigerator, half-hidden, that strangely caught your attention.

But you also saw the boy who had been haunting your mind in an insane way lately: Patrick Hockstetter. His body was hunched over the metal door of the appliance, his palms touching the cold metal. His hands were stained with the same crimson red you had tasted moments ago.

You drew closer until you heard him mutter.

"Good boy" he said with a crooked smile while something stirred inside the fridge. "Good boy."

Slowly, he stood up once the appliance stopped shaking like crazy. He turned around and started walking in the opposite direction, unaware that you had seen it all. Once he was far enough away, you walked toward the refrigerator, which bore the faint bloodstains of whatever was inside.

For the first time, your heart started racing. You knew you were alone, but the sensation of whatever was inside unsettled you in a way that was far from "healthy." Your fingers wrapped around the handle; you felt the cold metal against your skin and pulled the door toward you. The stench of decomposition hit you like a slap in the face. You covered your nose, squinting your eyes.

Inside the refrigerator were dead animals in full stages of decay. You saw the last one; it had fresh blood and a ridiculous clarity in its eyes. You covered your mouth as tears began to stream down your face. Anyone else would think you were crying because of the fucked-up thing you had just found. They couldn't be more wrong.

Your lip trembled as you slammed the refrigerator door shut, resting your back against it.

"You've had to go through this all by yourself..." You bit your lip, trying to steady your breathing as you walked back home. You had underestimated this guy more than you would have liked. To you, he was gold in this godforsaken shithole of a town.

The next day, you noticed Patrick hadn't left a single thing in your locker. You didn't even catch him looking at you; he just stood there with his eyes glued to the floor, spacing out, like he was hatching some sick plan.

The day dragged on until the final bell. You walked to your locker to swap your books, taking your sweet time. You were just passing the old auditorium when you were suddenly snatched inside and slammed against the heavy wooden door with such dead-weight force it knocked the wind out of you, a sharp moan of pain escaping your throat.

"You saw it, didn't you?" His breath hit your face, heavy and hot against your stunned paleness. "You saw the fridge."

It was Patrick. For the first time, his voice held something more than just that flat, dead-fish monotone. He sounded almost frantic, like he was losing his grip on the secret. He was clearly pissed off, rattled by the consequences his "little games" might bring if the word got out.

He looked like a cornered animal, irritated that for once, he wasn't the one holding all the cards.

His body loomed over yours with a slowness that was almost insulting. His vacant stare was open just a few millimeters, giving him an appearance so disturbing that, if you were a religious soul, you’d be certain you were looking at a living corpse.

His pupils locked onto your face, dissecting every detail of your expression, trying to decipher you.

His bony hand reached for your throat, cutting off your air supply. You managed to suck in one last shallow breath before trying to grab his wrist to get him to let you breathe. But his thumb pressed into your windpipe with surgical precision, forcing an airless moan from your throat and a dry cough that he immediately smothered with his free hand. His eyes watched your reaction as if you were nothing more than a specimen.

Your eyes grew watery from the lack of oxygen, but in a twisted turn of fate, you were loving every second of it. One of your darkest fantasies was finally playing out right in front of you.

As if your skin had scorched him, his hand snapped away from your throat, eyes tracking your every reaction. His lips ghosted over the side of your neck—you could feel his clammy, damp breath against your skin—before his teeth sank deep right over your pulse. At the same time, his hand moved with a blur of speed under your clothes, hunting for your heat.

A moan tore from your throat, only to be muffled hard against his palm. His fingers grazed your wetness through your underwear before he hooked your panties aside with brute force and shoved two fingers inside. You cried out at the intrusion, instinctively trying to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Patrick slammed his body even tighter against yours, leaving you absolutely no breathing room, as he began to pump his fingers frantically inside you without a shred of tenderness.

He whipped your body around, quickly undoing his belt and zipper while stripping you bare, leaving you exposed to the stale air of the room. His wet cock brushed against your bare legs; his body seemed to be in a state of high ecstasy, yet his tone remained completely detached, as if he were miles away.

"Keep your mouth shut" he said with a faint, chilling giggle. "Or would you like to see how I lock one of those animals in your locker instead?" He lilted his head close to yours, searching for your gaze with a mix of mockery and a hint of annoyance that his secret was now held by someone else.

Your eyes welled up again, unable to grasp how someone like him could live through that kind of hell all alone. You reached for his face and kissed him. At first, he didn't respond, but then he started to do it back—like some kind of automatic copy. It didn't feel authentic; he was raw and completely inexperienced.

His eyes stayed wide open, locked onto yours, while his free hand gripped his hard erection and shoved it inside you in one single, blunt motion.

His hand clamped shut over your throat once more, cutting off any chance of you catching a breath. You started to claw at his hand, trying to pry it off, but he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them high above your head. By sheer instinct, your body went still and static—and that seemed to turn him on even more. He let out a sharp gasp as he came ridiculously fast, filling you up. A heavy sigh escaped him, and his pupils dilated until they nearly swallowed the green of his eyes whole.

He released your throat with a tortuously slow movement. You slumped forward, gasping erratically, forehead resting against the cool wood of the auditorium door as the room remained swallowed in darkness.

Without even realizing it, you had signed a deal with the Devil himself—or perhaps something even worse. But it didn't scare you in the slightest; you would gladly burn alive just to feel like you were by his side. Between soulmates.

i know this is a little mess up but i'm kinda into the dark shit lol

Sorry for the delay in updating. As I mentioned at the beginning, I've been having some writer's block, and I'm still studying, haha. Thank you so much for your support! I read every comment and I'll gladly fulfill every request!

Thats all, thank u sm for reading and everything! Love yall!!

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #it #patrick hockstetter #stephen king #reader insert #dark fic #dark romance

nemesis-writer-deactivated20260

Writer's POV- making stories for ____x reader fic

raine177

This is all my post are about 🥀

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑯𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕) ༉‧₊˚☠️༉‧💉₊˚.

CW: Somnophilia-adjacent, Breathplay/Asphyxiation, (Dub-Con), Non-consensual behavior, Rough sex, pain kink, degradation, Psychopathic/Sociopathic Behavior, all characters are 18!

Read at your OWN discretion because this is not a romantized version of Patrick.

At Derry High, frat parties and club mixers were just noise, but there was this one annual rager that felt less like a party and more like a fucking ritual. A costume party—total cliché, yeah—but everyone was desperate to go just to black out and hit reset. It was the one night where the social food chain didn't exist. It didn’t matter if you were the golden child or the school’s biggest freak; in that crowd, labels were dead. It was all about the blur, the music, and hooking up with the first person who caught your eye in the dark

Even amidst that atmosphere of raw hormones and cheap beer, there was always the hope of scoring—maybe you’d hook up with someone and find a way into their circle. Who knows? The world is a small, miserable place.

There were still a couple of hours left before that goddamn party kicked off, and truth be told, you didn't have the slightest desire to be part of that bloody orgy

You started stuffing your things into your bag, desperate to get back to your room as fast as possible and escape this goddamn prison.

Before you could make your move, a hand landed on your shoulder. You spun around on your heels only to be met by a face wearing a huge, radiant grin.

"So, here you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you." Her blue eyes searched yours with excitement as she took your hands in hers, bubbling over with energy.

"Why were you looking for me for, Bev?'" you asked, playing dumb. You knew exactly why she was there, but you wanted to delay that miserable fate for as long as you possibly could

Her lips curled into an even wider smile as she dragged you out of the nearly empty classroom. The two of you walked down the school hallway at a leisurely pace, searching for the rest of the guys.

"Well, I needed my partner for the party, didn't I? What are you dressing up as?" She nudged your arm with a playful elbow.

Your mind wandered, moving too slow for your liking. Truth was, you hadn’t planned on going at all. But if she’d already counted on you to be her plus-one—so she wouldn't be the only girl among so many boys—you weren't about to leave her hanging.

"To be honest, I haven't even thought about it" you admitted, your eyes scanning the hallway and the people passing by. You bit your lip and shook your head, your mind a total blank

She stopped dead in her tracks, rubbing her chin as she started mulling over costume ideas. The atmosphere felt almost crushing, fueled by your desperate urge to bolt and skip that goddamn party—which, in your honest opinion, was going to be nothing but trouble.

Suddenly, Beverly’s eyes lit up, and she looked at you with pure excitement.

'"I've got it!" she chirped, grabbing your arm and heading back toward the dorms at a brisk pace

She practically dragged you to the room you shared and started ransacking her closet with an intensity that gave you the creeps. Clothes flew everywhere as she cursed under her breath.

"Damn it. All these clothes and I can't find that fucking dress." she growled, tossing more garments aside until she finally struck gold.

She shoved the clothes into your hands: a light blue plaid dress, a red coat, and matching red tights. You raised an eyebrow, holding the outfit with pure disbelief.

"Wendy Torrance?" you asked, stunned.

Beverly nodded, pressing her thumb and forefinger together in a 'perfect' sign. For the first time all day, you let out a small laugh. But before you could say anything else, she started rambling about what she should wear—she wanted to make sure Bill wouldn't be able to take his eyes off her tonight.

The two of you spent the whole afternoon joking around and picking out an outfit for her. Eventually, you started getting ready, since there was only half an hour left before the party kicked off at a house just on the outskirts of campus—close enough to make it on foot.

The mood was cut short by a series of bangs on the door and muffled voices drifting in from the hallway.

"Come on! Get out here or I’m dragging you both out by your panties, ladies!" Richie shouted, rapping incessantly on the wood in his best Irish cop accent. You and Bev traded looks of disbelief and couldn't help but laugh while hurling insults at him through the door.

When you finally stepped out, there they were. They looked like a pack of elementary schoolers if you ignored how tall they’d grown. Your eyes scanned the group and their costumes, and you burst out laughing the second you saw Stan dressed as a Boy Scout.

Richie laid eyes on your outfit and couldn't help himself—he had to live up to his nickname, after all, right?

"If I’d seen this Wendy at the hotel, there’d be way too many Dannys running around.'" He nudged Bill, letting out a lewd whistle, only to earn a sharp smack to the back of his head from Eddie and Bill at the same time.

"You sh-sh-should l-l-l..." Bill’s lips clamped shut, his brow furrowing in frustration.

"Learn to shut up, Richie." Ben finished for him, looking at Richie with a mix of disgust and stifled laughter.

"Th-th-thanks."Bill muttered. His eyes timidly scanned Beverly from head to toe, and his blush became so obvious he had to turn away, making the excuse that they were going to be late. With that, they all started walking down the halls toward the loud party that could already be heard from blocks away

The atmosphere inside the house was deafening—and honestly, that was putting it lightly. The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes, cheap beer, and a surge of hormones so intense you could practically feel the tension vibrating off the walls.

Beverly stayed by Bill’s side, chatting animatedly and dropping subtle flirts. You hung back with Mike, who was dressed in a flannel shirt, tight jeans, and boots. He wore a grin that stretched from ear to ear, topped off with a cowboy hat and a lasso hanging from his waist.

"Don't you think it’s a little too loud in here?" he asked, leaning in closer as he draped an arm gently over your shoulders.

You nodded, giving him a faint smile as the two of you headed toward a corner slightly further away, where the drinks were laid out.

The two of you approached the table, and you caught sight of the punch bowl. Honestly, it looked anything but appetizing—more like red-tinted urine filled with ice, with a crowd of people constantly dipping into it.

You grabbed one of the beers next to the punch instead; they were kept cold and sealed in a portable cooler. Before long, Mike had to leave you alone for a moment, needing to find a bathroom urgently.

You stayed in a corner, sipping your beer.

Truth be told, you had no idea what time it was or how long you’d been standing there by the cooler, but you were already two and a half bottles deep. You started scanning the room for the guys, but all you could see was a sea of people packed into every corner of the house. You let out a laugh when you spotted someone passed out on the floor in nothing but his underwear, his skin covered in Sharpie doodles

You walked in a loose zigzag, barely able to keep your eyes open. You were self-aware enough to know you were fucking hammered, but your depth perception was shot—it was more likely you’d suffer an embarrassing fall before you ever found the others.

Your eyes remained glued to the floor as you mumbled nonsense to yourself.

"I shouldn't have come..." you stammered, scowling. You finally looked up, only to slam headfirst into a corner. A curse slipped from your lips as your hands flew to your forehead, which was already throbbing like hell.

You gasped as the pain from the impact flared when you pressed against the spot, but your breath hitched even harder when you noticed a face inches from yours, staring with a fixity that made you feel small—almost like an insect.

"Wendy Torrance?" His monotonous voice brushed against the fine hairs of your ears, making you shrink even further into yourself.

"You look vulnerable and pathetic right now." His green eyes raked over every inch of your body before snapping back to yours with psychopathic focus. "You’re just like her." A faint, ghost of a smile touched the corners of his lips as he twirled a lock of your hair between his fingers.

With the alcohol peaking in your system, you didn't take it as an insult. Instead, it felt like an invitation to be completely shameless, remembering—at the worst possible moment—Beverly’s words about having fun and not locking yourself away

"You look way too pale for such a pretty face..." you stammered with a flirtatious slur as you turned around, squaring your body fully toward him.

For the first time, Patrick seemed caught off guard by the sudden shift in your attitude—and even more so that a girl was actually flirting with him. Everyone in Derry knew exactly who he was; honestly, it was a miracle no one had slapped a restraining order on him yet.

His eyes scanned your face, searching for a single trace of doubt in your eyes or a flicker of fear in your micro-expressions. But there was nothing. Only pure, unadulterated flirtation.

"Nothing to say?" you challenged, meeting his gaze again as you grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. You had a brief moment of lucidity where you actually perceived the person behind the face, but frankly, you couldn't care less. You let the thought dissolve as you continued to flirt with this 'handsome corpse'

His pupils searched yours again with a renewed, clinical curiosity. His hands moved to the edges of your waist, feeling you out as if he were confirming you were actually there—that you were real. He pulled your body even closer to his. The rest of the world felt entirely alien to the potential crime scene the two of you were building; people stumbled past, either staring curiously or simply too drunk to give a flying fuck.

"You’re not afraid." he stated, staring at every detail of your face without blinking.

You playfully fluttered your eyes shut a few times, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you looped your arms around his neck

"Well, I think you could probably scare me once we’re both alone" you whispered, your lips brushing against his. He didn't even flinch. At the sound of your invitation, his eyes widened by a fraction of a millimeter. It seemed something deep inside him flickered—something more than just coldness. It was a clinical hunger to unravel you in every possible way, to witness every single one of your reactions. To him, you were becoming his own little Wendy Torrance doll.

Maybe some government agency knew the secret of how your clothes had vanished so quickly. Your dress was now bunched up around your waist in a messy coil, while his face buried itself in the crook of your neck. Your backside was pressed against his crotch with such unbridled force it made your head spin.

The air was thick with his scent—a metallic tang of sweat that clashed with your own smell of beer and perfume. You gasped as you felt his lips sweep across your shoulders. There wasn't a single kiss; instead, he trailed his lips over every inch of your skin with long, lingering licks that made you shiver and moan softly.

His pupils dilated, and he couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at the searing heat of your interior and the way you bit down on his hand with such force. His cock twitched violently inside you—a clear, undeniable sign of pure arousal.

Wasting no time, he began to move frantically. He pounded deep into you, pulling back until he nearly slipped out entirely, only to plunge back in with a precision that made you want to claw the mattress to pieces

In one swift motion, he flipped you over on the mattress. He pinned your wrists above your head, his grip crushing, while he stared down at you with unblinking eyes and ragged, spiraling breath. He brought his face closer to yours, continuing to wreck you from the inside—his movements carried a raw inexperience, but it was more than made up for by his chilling precision.

You moaned against his lips as he continued to drive deep into you.

"Wait, I think I’m going to..." you stammered breathlessly, struggling to free your wrists. The effort caused you to squeeze him tight, forcing a louder, sharper gasp from his lungs.

He began to move even faster, his hips slamming violently against yours. His free hand reached for your face, which was twisted in pure desperation; his fingers clamped over your nose and lips, sealing off every possible way for you to breathe.

His pupils had almost entirely swallowed his irises, and his brow furrowed in an expression of tangled ecstasy and confusion. You began to thrash, fighting for air, but that only seemed to encourage him. He tightened his hold on your wrists, pinning you down as you clamped around him in a delicious grip that was driving him insane.

"You feel so good when you do that..." he whispered in a haunting, mournful sigh that stood in jarring contrast to his usual coldness. "I should leave you breathless more often." His lips curled into a mocking smirk, punctuated by a strange, hollow laugh.

His hips struck yours a few more times before he finally hit his climax. He slowly released your lips and nose, but his hands remained locked firmly around your wrists

He began to sigh heavily against your shoulder, his hand finally releasing your wrists only to move slowly toward your hair, giving it a sharp tug before letting go. Once his breathing returned to normal, he pulled out of you, staring with fixed intensity at the warmth of his semen spilling out of you, surrendered to gravity.

He didn't bother getting dressed; he just stood there, watching you like a collector’s item he’d just unboxed.

As for you—thanks to the sudden lack of oxygen—your drunkenness had vanished completely. You stared up at the ceiling, feeling like you wanted to hurl yourself off a cliff as the crushing realization hit: of all the people at this goddamn party, you had ended up flirting with and fucking the school’s resident psycho.

Well I hope ya'll enjoy this! I know it's a little hard but yk i like that shit.

AND TYSM FOR THE 100 LIKES in the other Pat fic, i love ya'll and TYSM for the support.

Love u 🖤

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #it #patrick hockstetter #stephen king

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my lovers!! I hope you all had a blast, but if not, I’ve got something pretty sweet for you right here. Hope you enjoy! 𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾! ♡

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑮𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 જ⁀➴🧸ྀ

(soft smut)

CW:Toxic dynamics, disturbing content (Patrick), rough language, sexual themes, and blood/violence references, all character are 18 and more.

Henry Bowers.

He’d definitely forget it’s Valentine’s Day. He’d probably only remember when he sees all those lovey-dovey couples in downtown Maine, looking at them with pure disgust. He’d have this tiny urge to get you a gift, but don’t expect anything expensive or fancy—he’s got too much shit going on in his head for that kind of crap. He wouldn't even have the initiative to do it on his own. He’d just see fat Hanscom doing something "romantic" for Beverly and find it absolutely revolting—mostly because his ego can't stand the idea of anyone being better than him at giving stuff.

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

The "sweet" vibe was spreading through Derry and the school like a plague. Kids were approaching girls to shoot their shot, only to get brutally shut down or humiliated. You kept hoping to get something from your boyfriend, Henry, but being with him was a total rollercoaster.

Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you around to face him. It was Bowers. He had a vein popping out of his temple and a look on his face like he’d just beaten the hell out of someone.

He shoved his arm—covered in scars and fresh cuts—toward you, holding a box of chocolates that looked way too nice to be something he’d actually bought. Your eyes met his in a silent, curious question; you glanced down at his knuckles, raw and dripping with blood that definitely wasn't his.

"Just take this damn thing already. I don't want to hear you bitching later about me never giving you anything." His voice was raspy and his brow furrowed, though a faint, barely visible blush crept onto his cheeks. He almost dropped the box, but you caught it just in time as he stormed off down the hallway, disappearing into the crowd to find his pack of goons—probably terrified they'd see him being "soft."

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

(SMUT)

It was a given that after that total "loss of dignity," he’d try to reclaim his manhood by spreading his own version of "kindness" all over Derry—which basically meant throwing punches and being even more of a prick than usual. It was also just as likely that after school, he’d drag you back to his place while his old man was out.

The second they were inside his dad's house, the vibe shifted instantly. The moment he locked his bedroom door, the air got heavy. His lips crashed against yours in a clumsy, inexperienced way, while you did your best to keep up with his pace. Your hand slid down softly toward his crotch; the second he felt your fingers brush against the fabric and his semi-erect cock, he let out a sigh of pure, desperate need.

Fumbling, he let go of your waist to undo his jeans and pull down the zipper, trying to kill the ache of his erection pressing against the denim. He cupped your face, deepening the kiss with a renewed hunger, and pushed you onto the bed, looking a bit restless. He pinned himself between your legs, which were still covered by your dress. You could feel him pressing hard and painfully against you through the thin layer of his underwear.

It was definitely going to be a long, hectic afternoon.

Patrick Hockstetter

A Valentine’s Day with Patrick would be weird—and when I say weird, I mean straight-up disturbing. He wouldn't forget the date; if anything, he’d use it as the perfect excuse to be a total freak around you without being judged for it. He wouldn't be affectionate at all—the guy literally feels nothing—but he’d be glued to you every chance he got, getting a kick out of how nervous you get or just low-key obsessing over your scent.

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

You were walking through the halls of Derry High, feeling anxious and on edge. Patrick Hockstetter, the school’s resident creep, hadn’t stopped staring at you with that lewd smirk from a distance, following your every move.

You reached your locker, and your eyes widened when you saw a "gift" waiting inside. The most unsettling part? No one was supposed to have your combination. You picked up the small box, your hands shaking and breaking into a cold sweat. Inside was a collection of dead flies, their lifeless bodies arranged into a perfect heart, with tiny names written next to them.

A mocking little chuckle echoed right next to you, sending a shiver through every fiber of your being that almost made you drop the box. It was Hockstetter. He had that same idiotic grin he’d been wearing all day while watching you pass by.

"It’s Valentine’s Day," he said, his voice hitting you like a shock of electricity. He leaned in, closing the gap until he was just inches away, hunching over slightly to get close to your face. "I made it just for you... that one at the top was named Gertrude. She kind of looks like your eyes."

He let his fingers brush against the fabric of your shirt before walking away with a smug, victorious smile. In his head, he was totally winning you over, while you were basically ready to move to another continent.

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

(SMUT)

Patrick would try to be "normal," as far as that's possible for him on Valentine’s Day. He probably went to Maine’s central park just to stare at couples like a literal psychopath. He’d watch, intrigued, as people made out like the world was ending or basically started hooking up right there in the grass—all just so he could try it out with you later.

The two of you were in his room. Patrick had somehow managed to sneak you into the house while his mom was still there; it was a total death wish. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you toward him so you’d climb into his lap.

"I saw a couple doing this at the park today," he said. His hand clamped onto your hip and dragged you toward his crotch in a mechanical, robotic motion. A sigh escaped your lips as your hips started moving against him. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, which was now a mix of perfume and sweat. He grabbed your face with a grip that was a little too tight, forcing your head to the side. Then, his tongue slowly licked its way up your cheek in a lewd, unsettling way that made you shudder.

"Your sweat is pretty salty..." he whispered, lifting your shirt. He pressed his face against your breasts, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a body that felt as cold as a corpse.

....

Victor Criss.

Out of the four of them, Vic would definitely be the most attentive. He’d actually care about the date and get you something. He’s low-key a romantic at heart—if he’s with you, it’s because he genuinely feels something. He’d probably save up some cash to get you something a bit cliché but really sweet. If you had a favorite singer, he’d spend hours recording all their songs off the radio just for you. Though the real struggle would be actually giving it to you—he has to keep up that "tough guy" act, or Henry would never let him hear the end of it.

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

You were leaving school feeling totally chill. Your shoes tapped against the sidewalk in a soft rhythm while your hair blew messily over your shoulders and face. It had been a pretty normal day. Your friends were all hyped up, showing off gifts they’d gotten from guys, and you were just happy for them, even though you hadn’t received anything yourself on this "special" day.

You were lost in thought until you heard the sound of boots galloping behind you. Thinking it might be one of your friends, you turned around. It wasn't them—it was a guy you knew all too well: Victor Criss, one of the guys from Bowers’ pack of primates.

You winced slightly, clutching the straps of your backpack against your chest as you took a tiny step back.

He was out of breath, his cheeks flushed red. He swallowed hard and started looking around paranidolly, like he was terrified of being watched.

"Hey," he panted, stepping a bit closer while scanning the area like he was being hunted by the CIA. "Happy Valentine’s Day." He handed you a mixtape wrapped in a really nice envelope. Your favorite singer's name was written on the front, and you couldn't help but blush.

He glanced behind him one more time, leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek, and then bolted, disappearing instantly and leaving you there with the lingering sensation of his lips on your skin.

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

(SMUT)

If you guys ever ended up having sex, it’d probably be a total guilt trip for him. He’d get so paranoid about someone seeing him in your room or catching him in the act. He’s terrified they’ll mock him for softening up, but then he’d feel like absolute trash for making you think he’s ashamed to be seen with you.

Vic and you were in his room, making out on his mattress. His hands traced your figure as he hurried to pull up your shirt, touching your stomach and breasts with a firm but careful grip. He let out a breath the second his fingertips brushed against your warm skin, sliding down your abdomen toward the waistband of your pants.

You grabbed his collar to pull him closer, wanting to feel his weight. His fingers slipped under your underwear, tracing slow circles against your heat with a nerve-wracking patience. You gripped his shoulders, sighing into the kiss. Suddenly, something fell to the floor outside the room, and he tensed up so fast it was almost ridiculous. He jerked his hands back and sat up instantly, acting like nothing had happened.

You looked at him, totally incredulous and a bit pissed off. "If you’re gonna be this on edge, maybe we should just call it a day, Victor," you said, fixing your clothes and getting off the bed.

His face shifted into a mix of heartbreak and pure stress. "It’s not like that..." he muttered, looking away and practically breaking into a cold sweat.

You saw how stressed he was and just let out a huff. You settled between his legs and slowly started to pull down his zipper. "Well, I hope you can tell me all about it once I help you relax," you whispered with a soft smile, touching his semi-erection.

Belch Huggins

Out of all those meatheads, Belch would be the one who’d care the least about showing up in front of everyone with a sign to ask you to be his Valentine. I mean, he probably wouldn't actually do it, but it wouldn't bother him either. He’d most likely give you something useful—something small and practical, or even better: food.

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

You were back at home after school, just reading, until you heard a series of loud honks coming from outside. Confused, you went downstairs and opened the front door.

There was Belch—a guy who was honestly massive—waving his hand from inside his car with a huge grin on his face. You walked out and headed toward him.

"Hey, gorgeous," he said with a sincere smile, trying his best to hide how nervous he actually was. "Let's go for a ride. I got you some food." He pointed to the takeout while the engine purred beneath you. You just smiled back, shut your front door, and hopped in with him.

"I hope this is romantic enough for Valentine’s Day," he said calmly, hitting the gas and shifting gears, glancing at you with a confident, satisfied smirk.

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

(SMUT)

Sex with Belch would be super comfortable but also a little desperate. He wouldn’t have Vic’s paranoid mindset or Patrick’s twisted mental issues; it would just be pretty rough around the edges and full of laughs, mostly because he’d probably struggle to get it in on the first try.

The two of you had scrambled into the backseat, locked in a heavy make-out session. Belch laid you down on the seat gently, sliding your dress up to your waist. He stroked your legs and pressed them against his body while deliberately leaving a trail of kisses down your neck.

You sighed, feeling him so close, and couldn't help but pull him even nearer. He just smirked with a look of pure victory. You were both vibing and comfortable until it was actually time for the main event.

Belch was practically sweating buckets just at the thought of finally getting some. He let out a pathetic little sigh as he moved closer to your heat. You wrapped your legs around his waist to help him calm down. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, nearly cracking his head against the car's ceiling because he leaned back so far.

You couldn't help it—you let out a loud laugh, which made him groan and turn bright red instantly.

"What's so funny?" he asked, leaning into your face, trying to look intimidating. But he ended up just letting out a dry chuckle himself after failing to nail the landing on the first go.

🏹+˚*˙✧💘

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAYY!

ik it's a little late to say it because in my country is literally 2:12 AM so yeah, sorry for that.

I hope ya'll enjoy this and tysm for the support and the people that give likes and reblog (I love you)

so, that's it! i hope this is a nice gift for you

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

#bowers #bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #stephen king #henry bowers #it chapter one #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #it #belch huggins

𝑯𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕) ₊˚ʚ 🚜🌾 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Content Warnings: Canon-Typical Bowers (Aggresive), Violence & Aggression, Degradation, Parental Abuse Mention, Clumsy sex, Toxic dynamics, Abuse, No condom. (All Characters are 18!!)

Read at your OWN discretion because this is NOT a romantized version of Henry and around.

Talking about Henry Bowers was often like talking about some kind of classified government secret. If you were caught whispering his name, a beatdown was a guarantee. It wasn’t the first time some idiot tried to mock the "King" of Derry. There was this one time a poor bastard had the bright idea to make fun of a jacket Henry was wearing. Blood sprayed everywhere, and the kid's teeth ended up as nothing more than souvenirs embedded in Henry’s knuckles.

It was fucking ironic how everything had been turned upside down lately. Henry wasn't the usual violent bully when his old man was around; seeing him fall silent was pure, unadulterated horror—worse than hearing him scream. You held your breath. Victor Criss and Belch Huggins were right there beside you. Neither of them wanted to leave Henry alone, so you all just stood there, watching him pick off bottles with a god-like aim, never missing a shot.

The truth was, Henry had been more vulnerable lately. He was almost unrecognizable with how "quiet" he’d become. And by quiet, I mean he was literally dissociating—staring into the void. So, yeah.

The crack of the gunshot sliced through the air like a whip, making your heart and body jump instinctively. On either side of him, Victor and Belch just laughed, cheering at their leader’s marksmanship. For the first time in weeks, you saw them actually laughing—Henry included. He wore this twisted smirk of power and pleasure that sent shivers down your spine.

The bullet shattered one of the bottles like a goddamn explosion. Shards of glass flew everywhere, and you swore right then that you didn't want to be there anymore. Your hands gripped the sides of your legs, knuckles white, as you tried to keep your shit together. Seeing Henry Bowers with a gun was never, ever a good thing.

The sound of their laughter and the crack of his old man’s gun felt like a migraine—a fucking unbearable ache. You pushed yourself off the hood of Belch’s car and started walking toward the edge of the property.

The three of them stared at you, and their laughter cut out instantly. In a matter of seconds, the "pleasant" atmosphere shifted into a deathly silence, thick with the underlying threat of violence. Vic tilted his head, wearing that look of curiosity; deep down, he understood your discomfort, but he never did a damn thing to stop anything.

"Leaving already?" Vic asked. His eyes scanned your body quickly before meeting yours with that dark, hollow gaze. You flinched.

"I have things to do," you muttered. You didn't look him in the eye; instead, you stared at the tips of your shoes, feeling jittery, just wanting to get the hell out of there as fast as possible.

"Doing things?" Henry’s gravelly voice sliced through the air, making you shrink in place. "What kind of bullshit is that?" he asked irritated lowering the gun as he glared at you with a mix of anger and sheer hostility.

Your lips parted to give him an answer—to finally move your ass out of there—but you were cut off by the sudden, unnecessary slam of the screen door on the porch. Henry wavered for a split second, his eyes widening more than usual. He stared at the grass, his posture turning into stone.

You held your breath, and so did Vic and Belch. They didn't hesitate for a second to stand up and face the source of the noise.

There was only one man on the face of the earth capable of ripping Henry’s will into tiny pieces. That man was Butch, his father.

"What the fuck is going on out here?" His voice was thick, and the rancid stench of cheap beer and days without a shower practically flooded the air. Henry spun on his heels to face him, but he didn't look him in the eye.

"I was... cleaning your gun" Henry swallowed hard, looking away. His voice became strangely small. "Like you asked."

Vic and Belch were too cowardly to move a single inch from where they stood, and so were you. If you moved, you’d catch Butch’s crazy-eyed attention, and that was never a good sign.

Butch looked down his nose at Henry, who only seemed to shrink further under his gaze.

"Cleaning my gun, Henry?" His voice tensed up, his brow furrowing into an expression of pure, beer-fueled rage. Henry’s eyes widened slightly as he tried to look up at him.

"Dad..." his voice came out as a pathetic whisper, holding his breath while his heart thudded with every passing second.

Butch’s face twisted into a mask of pure disgust.

"WHAT?" he bellowed, a roar so loud it even made Vic jump in place. You watched the whole scene in shock, careful not to make eye contact with Butch. You knew his reputation for being a complete jerk; he truly didn't give a damn who ended up on the receiving end of his fists.

Henry cowered even more. For a few brief seconds, you saw him for what he really was: a scared little boy, terrified of the place where he was supposed to be protected.

Butch turned around, snatching the gun out of Henry’s hands.

Henry’s hands stayed suspended in mid-air, right where he had been holding the gun. For a fleeting moment, he thought it was over, that he could finally release the breath he’d been trapping in his lungs. But with Butch, there was no such thing as a war without a scar.

Butch spun on his heels, his face contorted with sheer rage. For a second, you thought about moving your legs, about doing something, but you were too paralyzed by fear to act. Butch aimed the gun at Henry’s feet and started firing.

Henry let out a choked groan as he jumped in place, his hands instinctively flying to his face. He was trembling, but he didn't move an inch from his spot. Vic and Belch looked away, unable to watch their leader being humiliated like this. Butch let out a dry, humorless laugh—twisted and sickening.

"Look at him now, boys," he gestured toward him with the gun. "Nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble." He delivered his sentence, then turned around to leave them alone, grabbing one of the beers sitting outside the porch on his way in.

The silence that followed was deathly. Henry remained in the same position, shaking, his face still buried behind his arms. Vic and Belch walked back toward the Trans Am with their heads hanging low. It wasn't news that Butch was fucking insane, but this was the first time the humiliation had reached such a level of cruelty. They walked in silence and got into the car without a single word, sitting there staring at the street as if it were the most interesting thing in Derry.

Henry was still standing there, his back turned to you, but the shaking had stopped. His muscles were completely rigid, locked in place. He looked like a statue of salt—frozen, brittle, and one second away from shattering.

You didn't know whether to reach out or just leave him be; it felt strange just existing in his space after what had happened. You forced a breath, trying to steady yourself for a moment, but it was useless. You edged closer to Henry, ignoring the looks Vic and Belch were giving you from the car—expressions that screamed, "Don't do it." You didn't give a fuck.

You were inches away from his back now, your pulse racing at a thousand miles an hour.

"Henry" you murmured, your voice coming out soft and velvety. As you got close enough to see the ripple of his muscles, the scent of fruit-flavored bubblegum, sweat, and cheap cologne flooded your senses.

You hesitated for a moment, but your fingers finally grazed the edge of his clothes—hesitant yet determined not to let him drown in his own hell alone.

"Henry... are you—" Your voice was cut short as he jerked away from your touch, as if your skin had scorched him. He completely ignored whatever you were about to say; honestly, he didn't give a rat's ass. His steps were stiff as he stomped across the grass toward the porch, heading inside with wild, unfocused eyes and a heavy scowl.

You glanced back at Belch’s Trans Am. Vic and Belch were about to hop out to stop you, but you shot them a look so furious they froze in their tracks. You picked up your pace, watching Henry move like a ghost through the hallways of his house. Butch was there, shirt unbuttoned, slumped over one of the sofas with a kid's show blaring in the background—the same show Henry would lose his mind over if Belch ever tried to change the channel.

Henry seemed to be in a state of total shock, his blue eyes almost entirely swallowed by his pupils. He stopped at his bedroom door and shoved his way in, with you right on his heels.

Before you even stepped inside, you noticed wet patches on the floor. You weren’t about to get close enough to smell it, but you were more than certain it was urine. You bit your lip in an anxious, frustrated gesture—hating your role as a mere spectator to this verbal massacre. You heard the sound of the shower starting up; Henry was turning on the water. You grabbed a rag, desperate to clean it up a bit so he wouldn't have to face it later.

It felt like an eternity passed while you scrubbed, and then you found yourself back at his bedroom door. Your stomach felt hollow at the mere thought of going in. You didn't have a clue what to say to him, yet there you were—your ass standing right outside his door.

You held your breath as you slowly pushed the door open. There he was, an old towel wrapped low around his waist, hunched over the edge of his bed in total silence. You stepped forward, nerves fraying, and the floorboards groaned under your weight. Henry stiffened instantly and bolted to his feet. Finally, his eyes locked onto yours—a volatile mix of shock and pure, unadulterated fury.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice was raspy and razor-sharp. You shrank back where you stood; truth be told, even you didn't know what you were doing in the lion’s den.

But before you could even manage a coherent answer, he lunged forward, slamming your body against the bedroom door that was now held shut by your weight. His breathing was ragged—shallow and wounded.

"Did you come here to watch my old man keep throwing shit on me?" he roared, slamming his open palm against the door right next to your head. You couldn't help but flinch, gasping as you held your breath. You didn't want to answer him; the truth was, you didn't even know the answer yourself.

Your eyes, which had been lost somewhere in the corner of the room from pure tension, finally met his. His hand gripped your chin painfully, forcing you to look at him.

"Henry, I..." Your words were cut short again as his lips slammed aggressively against yours—a desperate attempt to hold onto a contact that burned, turning you to ash. You let out a muffled whimper; this was NOTHING like you had ever imagined your first kiss. It was a jagged mix of blunt desire and a clash of teeth that actually hurt. His large, calloused hands moved toward your hips in a grip so painfully tight it made you part your lips to let out a groan. Henry leaned further into you, devouring your mouth in a kiss that was utterly clumsy and devoid of any experience. He pulled back just a few millimeters, just enough to witness your look of pure emotional wreckage.

His brow was still furrowed, and the dying rays of the sun caught the blonde strands of his hair; he looked almost beautiful. You exhaled, trying to steady your breath and process what the hell had just happened. The same bully who carves names into skin and snaps bones was stealing a kiss from you, while you stood there as stiff as a broomstick, paralyzed.

You saw a flash of concern flicker through his pupils, only to be instantly replaced by a visceral anger that made him scowl even deeper. You noticed it immediately and reached for his shoulders with care, your hands sliding softly toward the nape of his neck, pulling him closer in a desperate attempt to defuse the bomb that was about to go off. Your eyelashes fluttered for a fraction of a second before your lips met again—but this time, you had started it. Your foreheads bumped in a clumsy rush for more contact, making you let out a nervous laugh, but it only made him grunt. He buried himself even deeper into your scent, a reminder that for the first time, there was something inside that house that didn't smell like rot. His free hand fisted into your hair, yanking it back to expose your throat.

"I'm gonna break you in every way you can imagine" he hissed, letting go of your hair with a sharp, blunt movement as he dragged you toward the bed with raw, brute force.

"You could try to laugh now" he sneered, his ironic tone lashing at your senses as he threw you onto the mattress. He began unbuttoning your shirt clumsily, nearly ripping the fabric apart. His ragged breath hitched as he buried his face desperately in the crook of your neck, delivering aggressive suctions and grips that would surely leave bruises behind.

"Henry— wait that hurts!" you gasped in a low voice, trying to keep your tone from shattering the peace of his old man’s drunken sleep. His hands sought out your breasts, kneading them without a hint of care. He shoved your jeans aside, jerking the zipper down and positioning himself between your legs like a predator. Your breathing was frantic while his face remained buried in your neck in sheer desperation, until finally, he yanked the loose knot of his towel, letting it fall lifelessly onto the dirty floor.

The air was thick with controlled aggression and testosterone radiating from his every pore. He finally looked up, his lips meeting yours in a ghost of a graze, while his blunt fingers clumsily shoved your underwear aside. He pressed his forehead against yours, panting, fueled by pure adrenaline. Incoherent phrases tumbled from his lips. "I’m gonna break you... I swear" he hissed, before pressing the tip of his painfully erect dick against your wet heat.

He buried the tip of his length into you slowly, holding his breath, while his lips slammed against yours in a clumsy motion. He deepened the kiss, fisting your hair to jerk your head back, gaining the freedom to move. Then, in a single, blunt thrust, he sank completely into you, spitting out curses and gripping your hair so tightly you felt as if he might rip it from your scalp.

A guttural growl tore from his throat, muffled against your mouth. His hand let go of your hair to grab your hip, pinning you down as he remained still for a heartbeat. He finally released your lips, and all you could do was let bitter tears leak from your eyes, moaning and gasping for air as if you’d just finished a marathon.

He began to move without giving you a moment’s peace, his thrusts raw and violent. The head of his cock slammed rhythmically against your interior; he would pull back only to bury himself deep inside you again and again, letting out silent sighs and ragged gasps. He grabbed one of your knees, hooking your leg to drive himself even deeper, making you see stars on earth. Your moans grew louder as he sank further into you with that animalistic hunger. He gripped your ass with bruising force, doing the same to your breasts as he kneaded them. His hips crashed against yours, making the collision of your sweat-slicked bodies inevitable in that thick, heavy air.

His lips clamped around your nipples, giving you a double surge of stimulation, while his movements grew more irregular and less intense—a sign his orgasm was close. His hips pressed even tighter against yours, leaving nothing but the sound of a dull echo in the air and the filthy creaking of the bed beneath you. One of his hands gripped your neck, squeezing lightly at the sides as he drove himself deeper one last time, desperate to reach the edge.

His face remained buried in your chest while he let out deep, nearly inaudible moans. His hair was soaked in sweat and a mess; his hands slid tremblingly down to your hips, digging his fingers into the flesh of your backside. Finally, he pulled out, coming across your abdomen «he was a clumsy guy, but he wasn’t stupid enough to want any brats.»

His breathing began to steady quickly. In one swift motion, he pulled away from you and grabbed the towel from the floor, wrapping it around his waist once more. He snatched a pack of cigarettes and sat on the edge of the bed beside you—not close enough for you to feel cared for; quite the opposite. His trembling fingers flicked the lighter, bringing the flame to the tip of his smoke while keeping his back turned to you.

"Get lost already" he stated flatly, the cigarette hanging from his lips, his gaze fixed on the bedroom door. His indifference burned like cigarette butts pressed against skin. You pulled yourself together, grabbing your clothes and dressing quickly without uttering a single word.

Lmk what do you think about the fic and be free to suggested anything i read every comment! 🎈

Ty for reading! And i want to thanks for the people to give me support! I love ya 🫀

#bowers #bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #it 2017 #stephen king #roughfuck #henry bowers

k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9

raine177

A store full of horror VHS? That's literally my wet dream

#horror #vhs shelf #vhs tapes #vhs #vhs aesthetic #80s #70's #classic horror movies

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑯𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕) ✃𓄧꒷꒦

Content Warnings: Canon-typical Patrick Hockstetter (sociopathic/apathetic behavior), dubious consent, graphic depictions of sexual assault and gore (on-screen in films), toxic dynamics, rough sexual content, biting, and predatory behavior.

Read at your own discretion because this is not a romantized version of Patrick.

The smell inside the VHS store was magnetic and almost entrancing within this god-forsaken hole of a town called Derry.

You walked through the different sections of the store, searching for something that would truly catch your eye. You couldn't help but see the covers of some really colorful romantic VHS tapes, but you had little interest in them and never would.

With your warm fingers, you traced over different cartridges, categorized into sections and a compulsively neat, alphabetical order. Someone had done good work here.

You stopped abruptly at the section with aggressively forceful covers, featuring lots of blood on the jackets and exaggerated expressions.

You stopped abruptly at the horror section. The covers here were aggressively forceful, featuring cheap gore and exaggerated expressions. It wasn't your first time buying from this aisle; in fact, you were a regular fixture here. Your fingers came to a halt on a movie you hadn't seen, one that everyone was raving about: A Nightmare on Elm Street.

You took the movie and inspected it meticulously.

A low but powerful voice came from right behind your back the voice almost make you jump out of ur skin.

"Freddy talks too much. Sometimes it's better when the victim's body is in a complete struggle for its life and fails." For the first time, you saw him alone, without the band of apes he always run around with—the Bowers Gang.

His eyes remained in a hypnotic void beneath his long lashes, his hair fell right over one of his eyes, and his skin shone under the store's cold light.

Patrick didn't bat an eye at your scare and simply grabbed one of the movies from the highest part of the shelf to analyze it and then stretched it out in your direction.

"Fuck!" You scrambled to pick up the tape and turned toward him, your brow furrowed. You hadn't even processed half of what he’d just said.

The cover was a bit worn, but the title "Psycosis" could be clearly read on the front.

"This edition is from the 60s. Norman managed to capture the technique of the effects too well; it's... clean." His monotonous voice ran through every fiber of your being, making you feel small.

During this brief span of seconds, you began to recall all those rumors that circulated at Derry High about Patrick. He wasn't particularly known for being charming—quite the opposite.

He had a big reputation for being off his rocker.

Once, you heard some girls in the bathroom talking about how they would never sit in front of Patrick again, it was as par of the course to feel a hand roaming their legs or even directly groping the breasts of any girl who sat in front of or around him.

You swallowed dryly, feeling the tension in your muscles turn rigid at his proximity and his intoxicating smell of sweat and metal mixed with faint notes of licorice.

"I have some VHS tapes at home that would make these movies look like children's programs..." His voice became thick, and his breath almost hit your cheek directly. For a moment, he looked away to glance at the employee who was organizing VHS tapes, completely oblivious to what was happening between you.

He quickly returned his gaze to your eyes without blinking for a single second.

"We could go watch them." He licked his lips with a lascivious smile full of mockery and curiosity.

It was a fucking mystery how he talked you into coming to his house, but here you were. Patrick maintained an almost disturbing calm, pacing around his room as if you weren't sitting on the edge of his bed. He picked up a tape without a cover... You inhaled, trying to keep your cool, but it was impossible when his presence was so dead inside. He sat next to you as the small device began to act up with static before throwing images onto the screen.

You adjusted yourself a bit on the edge of the bed, trying not to take up too much space, although his bed was quite big for the two of you.

You glanced sideways at Patrick, who didn't take his eyes off the small TV. His profile was bathed in a powerful blue light, and his eyelashes remained static, as it seemed this weirdo never blinked.

You quickly looked away when you felt him look back at you in the same way; you swallowed dryly again.

The images the device was playing were truly taken from hell. It looked like a homemade short film with really unnecessary close-ups of cuts on skin and the victims' expressions of dilation.

There was a girl who was naked, tied to a clinic table, completely immobilized and gagged. A really unpleasant close-up of the union of bodies between the perpetrator and the victim was shown. It was a clear rape scene.

You glanced sideways at Patrick again, who didn't take his eyes off the scene and watched it with a strange admiration and morbid curiosity.

His voice came out almost velvety.

"You don't need two thousand liters of blood to make a scene worth watching" he whispered. At his sudden interruption of the silence, you couldn't help but get scared and jump a little.

He glanced at you, scanning your face and body.

"Sometimes it's better to find the art in what others call repulsive." For the first time, he smiled—a smile that didn't reach his eyes but was a visible curve.

Behind the screen, the gasps and grunts of the perpetrator could be heard; it was a dirty and visually disturbing scene.

You adjusted yourself, a bit uncomfortable, and noticed how the fabric of his tight jeans began to strain, but he ignored it as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Patrick quickly noticed your gaze on his growing erection and slowly leaned closer to your body. Your nose almost brushed his when you turned, letting out a choked gasp.

He tilted his head with an insulting slowness.

"You haven't stopped looking at me during the whole movie" he stated near your lips while his bony hand held your wrist with a force that he could feel your bone poking him through the skin.

He licked his lips again with a small smile.

"You're interesting... any other girl would have left already; she wouldn't even have wanted to come in here in the first place." His greenish eyes searched yours while he maintained his closeness.

Without waiting for any signal, he dragged you close to him with a strength you didn't know where he got from.

You gasped in surprise as he pushed you against the mattress and his hands immobilized your wrists above your head.

His body settled on top of yours, separating your legs with his knee in a torturous manner.

"The shine in your eyes... will it fade away like the girl on the tape?" His voice sounded thick, almost dragging each word that left his lips. He buried his head near the hollow of your neck, inhaling your perfume and placing his lips on your warm skin; his lips felt strangely cold.

You couldn't help but sigh excitedly at his contact. This was wrong, but what is life without a little excitement?

You arched your back a little, seeking his contact, which he never refused to give you.

His teeth sank into the beginning of your collarbones without measuring his strength, making you let out a plaintive and pleasurable moan.

His eyes met yours after he morbidly licked your new mark.

His eyebrow arched in a curious gesture.

"If I had known you liked being bitten, I would have done it in the VHS store" he commented in a tone lacking humor, but in his head, it sounded funny.

He released your wrists to shamelessly lift your t-shirt until your abdomen and bra were completely exposed. He licked his lips, and one of his hands plunged directly onto one of your breasts, squeezing with excessive force, as if analyzing its texture and density.

You helped him a little and propped yourself up on your elbows, unfastening your bra without looking him in the eyes.

He stayed for a moment, kneeling between your legs, admiring your breasts under the light of the television. One of his hands returned to your chest, but this time his fingers carelessly wrapped around your nipple.

You moaned in response, somewhat embarrassed that the town's damn "weirdo" was making you let out such pitiful moans. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward you, unable to bear that he was technically inspecting you like an insect.

You pressed your lips together in a forced and almost passionate kiss. At first, he made no movement, but he began to imitate you, though he did it a bit clumsily.

You didn't know how or when your clothes disappeared and your mouths sought each other with desperation.

Your body was marked by his hickeys and bite marks across your ribs, breasts, and abdomen.

Without waiting, he entered you in a single thrust. You couldn't help but scratch his back to avoid screaming. His pupils dilated at the new sensation of your insides embracing his penis. He sighed heavily while his hands began to warm up a little at the sides of your hips.

You felt him tense up under your scratches on his back.

"Do it again" he murmured in an almost pleading tone disguised as an order, as he began to drag his penis inside you only to thrust back in abruptly, releasing almost imperceptible sighs that mixed with the sound of your bodies colliding and your moans.

You dug your nails into his shoulder as the thrusts became more powerful and aggressive. His hands traced the outline of your ribs with an almost sick fixation, while his eyes were hypnotized by how your breasts bounced with his thrusts.

His breathing became frantic, and so did his movements. It only took a few thrusts for him to let out a groan and finish on your abdomen.

After a few minutes, his breathing stabilized ridiculously fast. He adjusted his pants and looked at you.

His eyes widened upon seeing you in a state of complete surrender, with your legs still open and breathing heavily.

He walked away and rummaged for another one of his strange movies.

"Get your breath back soon. In this tape, the girl does something really interesting, and I want us to try it." His empty voice filled the room while you wondered how the hell everything ended up like this.

Tysm for reading and lmk what do u think abt this fic!

English is not my native language, so I apologize if there have been any nonsensical translations.

I hope ya'll enjoy this.

Love ya! ♡

#dark fic #smut #it 2017 #patrick hockstetter #bowers gang x reader #bowers #bowers gang #x reader

𝑯𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒🍨 ⋅

(smut appart)

୧He will never admit to needing to be told he is doing things right, but he loves praise even if he responds aggressively or with insults

୧He has never kissed anyone in his entire life, if you manage to kiss him be prepared because it will probably involve a lot of saliva and be very clumsy

୧He has a lot of trouble reading very complex words and the act of reading itself. He'll get incredibly angry if he's forced to read anything...

୧He's obsessed with cleaning his folding knife, I mean it's the only thing he has control over.

୧He can go days without bathing, he doesn't find it necessary and if he does it has to be every other day or for two days.

୧After poisoning Mr. Chips, deep down he felt bad seeing how happy the dog was to be around him, since he had gotten into the habit of feeding him, but after Butch congratulated him and made him drink beer, he forgot about it.

୧I don't think he's the jealous type unless it's really obvious. He might get annoyed when you're around another man, but he'll try to mark his territory one way or another. (Although they'd have to be pretty stupid to talk to you if you're their partner or "their property," since rumors at Derry High spread like wildfire and his temper isn't exactly friendly.)

୧When he grew his hair out, his father didn't approve. When he let it grow long, he told him he looked effeminate, but when he cut it into his iconic mullet, he said nothing; it made him look strangely "masculine."(He didn't have the time or money to actually cut it; he just grabbed a razor and shaved it off because it was too hot down there.)

୧He wouldn't let you talk to any of the guys in the gang, especially not Patrick. If he catches him looking at you with that deadpan expression he has, the next day he'll show up with bruised knuckles and Patrick with a battered face.

୧He always goes to bed early and is very strict with his schedule (courtesy of Butch) since, having been a former military man, he is very disciplined.

୧He likes being cared for, but he will NEVER tell you, and when I say NEVER, I mean NEVER. He probably feels incredibly vulnerable when you take care of him or treat his wounds, and he'll likely throw in an insult or two.

୧He's not overly affectionate; he doesn't like to show affection in public unless he's directly "marking" you.

୧He will never tell you about his problems with his father unless you see them firsthand.

୧His room is strangely tidy and everything is in its place; he has a need to tidy his surroundings because Butch, even though he's demented, likes order.

୧The sound of a belt buckle makes him tense as a rock and his pupils dilate aggressively. (Courtesy of Butch)

𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕 ♯🍦⊹˙•🍒〰︎

୧I don't think he'll use a condom, but he probably won't ejaculate inside you either; maybe between your breasts, on your stomach, or in the back.

୧He has a huge need to pin you to the mattress.

୧He really likes to bury his face in your neck to kiss you; he's a dirty boy and will probably leave you drooling.

୧He'd like to do it in public, yes, but not with people around. Maybe people who can hear him, but having them see him directly would put him in a terrible mood.

୧He likes to make sure you're enjoying it the way he's doing it, but don't get me wrong, he wouldn't ask you in a soft or sweet way; he'd do it with that thick, dirty voice he only uses when he's inside you.

୧Since he's never kissed anyone, he's never had his first time; he'll be too clumsy, but he'll have the intention one hundred percent

୧He doesn't really like foreplay unless you're going to give him a blowjob; it's too long to wait when all he wants is to rip your clothes off and bury himself inside you.

୧He really likes it when you scratch his back or simply resist; he loves feeling like he's dominating his prey.

୧No after care

୧I'd leave your tits bruised from so much licking and marking; he has a complex about a baby who wasn't fed.

୧Once Patrick talked to him about having a threesome, he showed up with bruises on his face (This man does'nt share NOTHING)

୧He really enjoy pulling your hair.

I really put my best in this headcanons lol i hope ya'll enjoy this! Ty for reading! 🫶🍒

#It #welcome to derry #henry bowers #bowers gang #pennywise #it 2017 #bowers gang x reader #bowers

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