Stranger things and It/Preferences

Inconvenience / Bill Denbrough

A/n this is set when they are all older so basically chapter 2

The lobby of Derry's townhouse is classy in the most classless way possible. It has all the corporate taste for luxury items, but something seemed off, as if the furniture was taken from a different realm. There are flowers, beautiful, the perfect shade of orange to compliment the woody hues and creams. On closer inspection their stamens have been pulled to prevent even the pollen disturbing the perfect sheen on the mahogany pedestal tables. There's a faint smell that makes your nose crinkle as you sit down on the bottom step of the staircase, a sort of nursing home smell, the floor carpet a decade too old and with an old fashioned pattern of large flowers interrupted by worn and thread-bare patches. The large windows should allow a lot of light through, yet the heavy drapes and Derry dirt on the panes leaves it dull to the point of darkness.

Sighing slightly, you close your eyes, wishing the rest of the guys would hurry up and come back. You missed your husband, you missed your friends, and you didn't want to be alone right now. Having found your artefact, you just wanted to get all this over with.

Lost in your own thoughts, squeezing your eyes shut as they flicker behind your eyelids, desperately trying to remember at least some things from your childhood, some things before the fight between Bill and Richie, before you had killed the clown and Bill had kissed you for the first time-

Slam

'Bill, honey, is that you?'

You hear slow footsteps coming down the stairs as you cradle your head in your hands, a smile gracing your face as the footsteps became heavier, became closer.

They sounded like Bill's boots.

'Hon, you didn't tell me that you were in the bedroom the whole time! When did you get back?'

Feeling two powerful, thick hands dig into your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin, you lean back a little with a small groan, shivering at the feel of his warm breathe wafting across your cheek, his chest broad and hard against your sore back.

You stop when you hit something soft, something tufty tickling your neck as a pointed chin hits the top of your head. Opening your eyes, your breathe starting to come out in short gasps as you fall down off the stairs and hit your head off the opposite door, scrambling on your hands and feet out of the way, desperate to get away from the white gloved claws that left welts in your skin.

'Did B-Billy leave you here all by yourself Y/N? It's because he doesn't care about you; they all know why. Of all the Losers, you have always been the biggest failure. It's because you're ugly, Y/N, it's because no one wants to look at you, isn't that right-'

'Shut up, just shut up. You're not real! None of this is real!'

Finally letting out a gasping scream, the air being knocked out of your lungs again as your back cracks against the wall, your fingernails fill with blood as they scrape against the ground, the Clown grabbing your ankle and dragging you closer to his leering face, his gasping laughter filling the empty air as he enjoys the way you shuffle your thighs away from the blank darkness that seems to seep around you and swallow you whole. He smiles; a mouth only used to mask cruelty, one that only twitches upwards when deception is achieved.

'Go back to the freak show, Y/N!', he snarled. 'Even the circus doesn't want you!'

His face was mottled crimson, his eyes popped as he drooled down onto your skin. His words were spat out with the ferocity and rapidity of machine gun fire. Without wiping the spit from your ashen face you leaned closer, perfectly composed and uttered just three words, 'I don't care.'

Kicking him hard in the face, you managed to escape from his grasp, running out of the door and slamming it harsh behind you, covering it with your arms. After a moment, your legs give out and you fall onto the pavement, your muscles shaking with fear.

Your eyes drip with tears. The walls, the walls that hold you up, make you strong just... collapse. Moment by moment, they fall. Salty drops fall from your chin, drenching your shirt, your heart raw as you raise a shivering hand to your mouth, biting down onto your thumb until it draws coppery blood, and that's when you begin laughing: hysteric, unstoppable, uncontrollable laughter that rumbles against your whole chest and just makes the tears pour harder.

'Holy s-shit, y/n, what the hell h-happened? Are you alright?'

Wiping your eyes roughly, you sniffle with one final giggle as you look up into the orange sky, the light illuminating in soft rays the grey fringe of your husband as he drops Silver onto the road, a look of shock on his face as he runs over and falls onto his knees next to you. His plaid shirt, the green and blue one that you bought him for his twentieth birthday is warm and familiar against your arm as it wraps around you, and you pull the thread of it absentmindedly as he waits for you to speak.

'H-hey.'

'H-hi', he says, with a desperate, hoarse laugh. He then begins to laugh again as you struggle up into his arms, your head thumping against his chest. It was comforting, feeling his heartbeat, and as you draw your fingers up over his denim thigh, running it up his naval to finally rest against his heart, he knows something's up.

'It was the c-clown, wasn't it. That b-b-bast-'

'I don't want to talk about it Bill, I just want you.'

'Look, we need to t-talk about it Y/N, b-because I know y-your fears, r-remember, because I know you better than you know yourself.'

His hands grasp at your face delicately, trying to wipe away as many unwanted tears as he can reach with his thumbs before settling for grasping your hands tightly, littering each knuckle with soft peppering kisses. You snuggle your head as far into his chest as you physically can, your eyes squeezing shut as you feel him pull you tighter, a thick sigh emitting into the air as the only sound that surrounds you two is the quiet buzz of cars passing by. He leans down, his fringe covering your face as he rests his chin against the top of your head, his hands running gently up and down the curve of your spine in tingly circles, his face blank and eyes closed as he just rests there, tired and frustrated to see his love so upset and he wasn't there to help. He gazes down softly, his doe eyes tender and light as he smiles to himself, tapping softly against your thighs as a sign for you to lay them against his lap. As you do, he wraps your legs around the denim of his waist, his face nuzzling into the soft curve of your neck, his breath hot and brushing against your skin as he whispers,

'I'm sorry I wasn't there. You're so beautiful, so beautiful, and I'm a fool for not telling you enough. God, I love you so much, you are ethereal, Y/N, you are so so incredible and I've loved you every single day of my damn life.'