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greenandsorrow · 10 days ago

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IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> For technical reasons (for the plot to continue plotting), this chap focuses mostly on the past! Another thing... I appreciate your feedback and comments more than you realise, so don't hesitate to interact with my fics 🥺❣️

-> It's giving Stockholm Syndrome, I'm aware, but that's what it's called fanFICTION.

-> I think it's funny how each chapter turns longer than the last. I'm getting hooked to my own writing I guess.

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish

~ 3 ~

Pennywise's POV 🎈

For five long years he has stayed awake, stalking the streets of Derry... waiting. Pennywise's usual cycle -hibernating after a killing and terrorizing spree- has been disrupted. This time, something -someone- kept him from descending to the deep slumber he usually craves.

He can't fully understand it, but it's because of you -the spark, the tug of connection he isn't familiar with. He's hunted countless children without a second thought. But with you... When he had expected you to cower and break, instead, you had resisted, you had played his twisted games and stared back at him without losing your soul. You had made him so curious. And that curiosity has gnawed at him enough to eat away at his rest, putting him in a sort of restless trance.

Every time he tries to slip beneath the Earth and to return to the darkness he came from, he feels a pull, a shudder that makes him cling to the surface for just a little more, for just another silly, little, stupid, meek year.

But as the years have been slipping by, something else has shifted in him as well -a subtle thing that feels almost like restraint. He still lurks in the shadows, his instincts are still telling him to frighten and to feed… but each time he sees you, that impulse falters. Instead of scaring you, he finds himself watching, almost guarding you from afar.

It feels a twinge of protectiveness -an urge that should definitely not exist in a creature made to hunt and devour. It doesn't get it, doesn't know why It lingers to ensure no danger befalls you, before It vanishes for the usual twenty-seven years. Almost as though, Pennywise the Clown is bound to you by something unexplainable, something that's kept him from retreating to sleep.

And It hates it.

The longer Pennywise watches, the more he wishes he didn't feel this way. But when he does try to stir up the familiar darkness within his core, it's dulled and quieted. All he knows is that his hunger has been overpowered by something else, something… protective.

And this fact is as unnatural as it is inappropriate, for no other than The Eater of Worlds.

1979 Derry, Maine

"Let's play another game..! I... There is... There's one we haven't played!"

The door creaked open and the clown stepped inside with a look you had never seen before on him. He wasn't smiling, wasn't performing... he was serious, unsettlingly so. A reminder that Pennywise wasn't -and isn't- a real clown, not in the way he pretends to be. Drool slipped from his red lips, glistening in the early morning light filtering through a crooked and badly shut window. He had probably just interrupted his breakfast -maybe to see you- and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

"What kind of game?" his voice rumbled low, sending a chill across your skin. Your stomach tightened and you swallowed down the bile that rose. His piercing, yellow gaze left you feeling exposed.

You struggled to think of something, anything that could buy you more time. You had to say something, or else he would just get pissed and maybe have you for breakfast, instead of the one he was -so rudely- interrupted from.

"The first one to… If I can name one friend before you do, I get to leave. If you win… You get to do whatever you want with me." You knew you were cornered, but the words had come out anyway.

A strange look flickered across his face.

"What's your name?"

You frowned at what sounded like an absurd thing to ask out of the blue. "Y/n."

He giggled.

"Oh really?! And I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! Now we've both properly introduced ourselves... We can be friends!!!"

The point of the game was for you to win... but he just had to be a smartass.

"WE CAN'T- CAN'T BE FRIENDS!"

Pennywise pouted, almost like a child who's just been told no. You could see the contradiction in him as he considered your words -a clown who loves games, whose eyes practically gleam with excitement... and yet a predator who's always calculating, always one step ahead, keeping his prey exactly where he wants it. He knew you had just tried to outsmart him, yet he stepped closer, drawn in by the idea of another game. Your captor knew way more about you than you had realized -he had been watching you long before he had decided to 'kidnap' you.

Actually, your desperate answer made him leave his spot by the doorframe and advance toward you, crouching down to your eye level. You were paralyzed in fear he could probably smell. Even while holding your breath, you could feel his own on your face... It smelled like a butcher's shop.

"Don't. Shout. At. Me."

You nodded.

His drool was still glistening.

"You're not leaving either."

Another nod.

Then, he left the room.

Later, you'd realize he had let you have your way with that idiotic game purely out of boredom -a way to break up the ancient routine It'd followed since the beginning of time. But in that moment, you were just trying to survive.

What happened next is clouded in fragments, your memory blurred by fear -or maybe it's nostalgia. Somehow, over time, you became something to him. Indeed... a friend... of sorts.

As more days passed, you dared to start speaking more freely, filling the silence between you. You'd mention that you were cold, or hungry and he would tilt his head in that curious way of his. The next day, a bag of chips might appear on the bed. Once, you coughed, your throat parched. Fortunately, you managed to murmur "water". A few hours later, there it was -water in a bowl.

You found your book -Alice in Wonderland- left in a corner of the room. You read to him, each word trembling from your lips but never letting your voice falter fully. Pennywise would sit at the edge of the bed, sometimes even curling up like a cat -making you question if he had any bones-, his gaze fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. You were scared that when you finished reading the book, your life would end along with Alice's story.

But it didn't.

Still, sometimes you made desperate attempts to escape, bolting to the door. But he'd catch you with a taunting grin.

"Tag, you're it!" he'd chuckle, pinning you effortlessly. "Winner gets a prize!" he'd mock, as if the only reward he needed was to see your defeated face. But despite the mocking, the punishing appearances of the enormous cockroach stopped.

Even his gaze softened over time, slipping from the predator's yellow stare to an electric blue. The games also shifted -grew less cruel- and with them, so did he. He no longer seemed intent on hurting you and instead, observed you with a cautious neutrality.

Each day It brought you random bowls of food and water -most likely stolen from unsuspecting housewives... And sometimes, It would linger just outside the door, listening to your voice as you read to yourself.

One evening, you found yourself in the backyard, gazing up at a lilac sky. He had taken you there -unbeknownst to you- because he had brought a little snack inside and didn't want that to scare you.

You missed your old life with a pang that made your throat burn, a feeling so deep you didn't even notice him approaching. Without thinking, you pressed yourself into the clown's chest, burying your face against his ruffled collar. His strange scent -a mix of damp earth and something much older- washed over you and for the first time, you felt… safe with him.

He didn't hug you back, didn't mimic the gesture, but his voice murmured strange words about humans, their fragile nature and then the usual pet name he would call you: "little one".

It was then that you realized -he wouldn't hurt you. Not now. Not after all this time. But the realization broke something in you, a dam holding back all the emotions that had been bubbling under the surface.

"Y- You won. You won!" you stammered, choking back tears. "I'm your friend! Kill me now!"

You collapsed to your knees and he watched -bewildered- as tears streamed down your face. For a moment, he just stood there and watched you cry. Then, tentatively, he reached out in an almost inquisitive manner, to catch a tear with a long, white finger and taste it. He seemed to pause, reflecting on something only he could understand.

And then on another day, another attempt to escape. You had found a tiny window in the basement and tried to squeeze through it. But he noticed, his monstrous form scraping against the window's frame, shattering the glass in a frenzy to reach you.

When you saw the shards cutting into his skin... You froze, guilt flooding over you. You returned to his side while murmuring apologies, your hands trembling as you pulled the glass from his wounds, piece by piece.

He didn't attack you -just stared at you with a seriousness that sent chills down your spine. You knew in that moment, that you had crossed a line, that there was something between you that shouldn't have been there -because you could've left but didn't and because he could've killed you but didn't either.

When you finished pulling out the glass pieces, he was pouting at you. "Meanie..." he said and stuck his tongue out.

In the days that followed, Pennywise grew quieter. He watched you differently, as if seeing you with new eyes -ones that held a warmth you'd never expected. And in a way, it made you feel… comfortable. Comfortable enough that one day, you dared to reach out, brushing a hand along his white cheek.

He froze under your touch, as if unsure how to react -his usually fierce, yellow eyes softening to that strange blue. A low sound rumbled from him -somewhere between a purr and a growl- and he tilted his head, pressing into your hand like a cat, seeming almost… content.

But that wasn't right. He wasn't human and he definitely wasn't a pet. It was something ancient and boundless... and yet here It was, in its favorite form, accepting your touch and even starting to crave it. You pulled your hand away and his eyes opened, watching you in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate.

Time continued to flow onward.

You were now given strange meals in even stranger containers -a cracked bowl, a chipped mug, even a metal dish that you could have sworn was meant for a dog! He didn't seem to understand the details of human routines, didn't quite grasp what you needed beyond food and water. Yet he tried, even if it were in ways that felt utterly alien.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip, you asked if you could go outside again. You hadn't meant it as a real question, but in the morning, you found the door to the backyard unlocked.

You didn't dare leave the property, but you enjoyed how the air was fresh and the grass was soft and the sky a little cloudy. You stayed out until evening came.

Pennywise watched you from a distance, the colors of the twilight reflecting in his eyes, giving him an almost haunting beauty. He joined you, sitting in the overgrown grass... murmuring things in a language that sounded both ancient and musical, like whispers from an old spell.

In the quiet, you leaned against him, letting the stillness speak for you both. And though he didn't return the gesture, just like last time, he didn't pull away either. You looked up at the stars, feeling that deep ache for home... He patted your head in a comforting manner... and in that moment you could almost believe he was a friend.

You were just a kid, but even with your naivety, deep down you knew the truth -he was a monster that had killed before and would kill again. Yet for now, he seemed content with your presence, more curious than threatening. He tilted his head, watching you with softness in his gaze, as if pondering the mystery of your existence.

Somewhere in your heart, you felt the shift. Pennywise, the monster, had grown attached to you. And you… well, you couldn't deny the attachment had become mutual.

The days blurred together even more after that, filled with silly games, with quiet moments and fragments of a bond you could neither define nor understand.

And yet, even as you tried to push away the thought, you feared that someday he might wake up and no longer see you as friend, or even as a curiosity, but as something he was hungry for once more. Still, in the quiet of the night it felt like a small, tragic eternity -two beings from worlds apart, drawn together and held by something both tender and terrifying.

The last days in the house at Neibolt St were the strangest. Pennywise grew quiet, almost pensive, as if some hidden clock was winding down inside him. You noticed how his smiles and giggles were fading, as if the game he'd once delighted in was losing its thrill. Sometimes, he would simply watch you with an unreadable expression, his eyes that odd, bright blue that almost felt... sad.

You felt a pang of sympathy for him. For all his power and for all his malevolence, he was still somehow... alone. You had felt it in those strange moments when -almost wistfully- he'd listen to you talk and read.

The last night felt different, filled with an air of finality.

As you laid on your creaky bed, you noticed him standing in the corner of the room, like some sort of sleep paralysis demon. He was staring at you with an intensity that used to scare you three months ago. You felt the impulse to speak, but you knew he wouldn't respond. Instead, you held his gaze, feeling a strange sense of sorrow settle over you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Little one, when you leave…will you forget about me?"

The question caught you off guard and you didn't know how to answer. You wanted to tell him that you wouldn't, that everything you'd been through would be impossible to forget. But Pennywise knew that memories could fade, that as you grew older, the edges of this nightmare would blur.

You just stared at him, searching for the right words.

His eyes held a strange depth, a rawness you hadn't seen before. But he didn't wait for your answer. He simply turned, drifting back into the shadows as he whispered...

"The game isn't over."

And as he vanished, you were left in the cold darkness, with the silence pressing down around you like a final embrace. You clutched your knees to your chest, feeling the weight of those words settle heavily in your heart. You knew that even if you did forget him one day, some part of him would linger -an echo in the back of your mind, a memory that would never truly die.

That night, as sleep began to take you, you imagined him in the backyard... looking up at the stars and wondering if you'd remember.

It really felt like something precious had been taken away from you too early.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed, in your home in Witchham Street.

For a moment you thought you'd died... Εveryone around you acted as though you'd never disappeared, as if those harrowing months at Neibolt hadn't happened at all. But there was one particular detail that hinted otherwise... A red balloon, floating silently at the edge of your bed.

That morning, you also got your period for the first time.

Stepping outside, the daylight was so bright and so warm, a stark contrast to the darkness you'd lived in for weeks. You squinted at the light, feeling almost as though you'd stepped into another world. It was hard to believe that just the night before, you had been in his arms -you had been seeking comfort from the monster who had held you captive.

Part of you seriously considered whether it had all been just a dream. Still, for days, you felt his absence like a missing heartbeat.

The world around you seemed much louder and the colors almost too vivid. Sometimes, you'd catch yourself looking for him in the shadows, half expecting to see his shape looming in the corners of your room.

At night you'd lie awake, thinking of his strange question...

"When you leave… will you forget me?"

You didn't know how to answer, even to yourself.

As much as you wanted to return to your old life and to move on from that nightmare, you felt a small part of you ache with the loss. You had lived through something impossible, something that had left you changed.

There was no going back to who you were before.

Over time though, the memory of him faded into something almost surreal. You didn't speak of it to anyone -the words felt fragile and sacred, as if telling the story might diminish it.

But the craziest thing that happened? You continued living as if everything was perfectly normal.

You only thought of Pennywise again that Christmas, in 1979...

The holidays had come to Derry and your family decorated the house with lights and garlands, the scents of pine and cinnamon clinging to every corner. There were gifts under the tree and snow falling outside the windows. Everything was festive and happy.

But when you woke up in your cozy little bedroom -on the 24th-, near the foot of your bed laid a single, crumpled sunflower. It must've been from the patch in the backyard where you'd sometimes sit with him, where the wildflowers had managed to grow despite the gloom. You held it gently, careful not to disturb its fragile petals. It felt like a memento of your time together -a reminder that what you had shared was real, however bizarre and terrifying.

On some nights, when the world was silent, you'd find yourself reaching for that sunflower, feeling the dried petals crumble beneath your fingertips. You'd lie awake, wondering where he was -if he still remembered, if he still waited. And though you'd never say it out loud, a small part of you hoped he did. Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how much you grew or changed, there was one truth you could never deny... He had left his mark on you, a scar that you'd carry forever.

And somewhere out there, you felt certain, Pennywise was waiting.

In the years that followed, you held onto those fleeting memories. They had a strange, magnetic pull -a mix of terror and fascination. You couldn't help but feel that if you let them slip, if you completely forgot, you'd be leaving behind a piece of yourself.

The Losers helped ground you.

They were your anchors to the present, pulling you back to laughter, to familiar faces and to the warmth of friends who shared their own scars and secrets. They never asked about the nightmares that sometimes made you stir, the shadows you occasionally saw out of the corner of your eye. And you never told them.

But there were also moments -quiet and lonely moments- when the weight of it all crept back, haunting you with unspoken questions. You'd wonder if he thought of you, if he missed you in his own twisted way. Did he ever feel the same hollow ache?

And deep down, you even wondered what might happen if he came back. Would he be nice and protecting? Or would he be just as monstrous and alien as before?

On some other nights, when the wind picked up, you swore you could feel his gaze -a distant yet familiar watchfulness that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as though he was still guarding you.

And so you moved forward, feeling the tug of those memories lessen but never fully vanish.

Would he stay away? Or would there come a day when that half-remembered monster with the childlike heart would find his way back to you?

Derry, Maine 1984

You tell yourself you hate Pennywise.

You tell yourself that, because you have to believe it is true, because that's the only way to move on. But deep inside your mind you can still feel him -his question echoing faintly in you, lesser and lesser each year, like a bond stretching thinner and thinner.

Currently, you're pondering over a glass of Cherry Coke. Yesterday, Bill had asked you about your dreams. He wanted to know if the clown that took away his little brother haunted you as well. You had simply shaken your head 'no', but the truth was the complete opposite.

Until you turned fifteen, Pennywise was still in your dreams. You remember those dreams even more vividly than your days in the house on Neibolt St...

You always had a strong imagination, which came with vivid dreams and equally vivid nightmares. In those dreams, Pennywise would come to you whenever you were scared. He'd pull you close in that tender way he never did in reality, fighting off every dark shape in your mind and then wrapping you in a kind of warmth you can't explain with words.

Sometimes, you'd apologize to him in those dreams -feeling an unnamed guilt- and he'd boop your nose with a soft and soothing "It's okie-dokie, Y/n."

Sometimes there'd be a red balloon waiting by your bed when you woke up, or maybe floating outside your school window. And on one specific evening, when the sadness felt like too much to bear, he appeared at the edge of your bed instead of the balloon. He hugged you and stayed with you until morning came, his glowing eyes softly illuminating the darkness. For once, they didn't scare you.

But as you grew up, you began to dream of him differently. In the nightmares, he'd chase you with a crooked smile and eyes that were dark with hunger, until you couldn't run anymore. Then you'd turn, tears streaming down your face, pleading with him and saying you were sorry over and over. You could never remember why you were sorry, but you knew that somewhere deep inside... you had hurt him. And somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was you who'd let him down.

You tried to explain this to him, even though it was only in dreams -your Penny, who had watched over you. But he still seemed sad. So the dreams began to fade and he stopped showing himself altogether. Even then, you could still feel his presence, as if he was looking over you but choosing to stay hidden.

The few glimpses you have left are rather strange. Once, you had a dream with an uncanny intensity. It was the first different kind of dream -a dream where Pennywise was there as well, but puzzled, as you began to see him through a different lens. It left you feeling unsettled. Not sure what it meant, only that it somehow changed everything.

And still, each time you're scared, you call out for him in your dreams. You search, even while knowing he won't appear like he used to. Maybe it's because you had once blurted out that he was a killer, that he took innocent people like Georgie. It's all so blurry now, all these things you can't quite remember but can't entirely forget either.

You miss him.

You know Georgie's disappearance and so many others are somehow linked to that clown. But if his pattern is to stay on Earth for a year and hibernate for two decades (like Ben figured out), why then, hasn't he gone to sleep in five? It's almost as though he can't bring himself to leave.

Maybe you are asking too many questions. Or maybe you are starting to find the answers...

You're just a girl. And he… he's a boy in a strange, unfathomable way.

There are times when you think he's gone for good. But then there are other times -like when Oscar, the thick orange cat you've taken to caring for, curls up by you in a way that feels just a little too familiar. His stare, intense and watchful, feels more like an any ordinary cat.

You call him Oscar, but maybe -just maybe- you know it's him.

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art @urdeftonesgrrrl

#pennywise x reader #thank you so much ♥️♥️♥️

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greenandsorrow · 10 days ago

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🎈 CHAPTER 3 🎈

Chapter 3 of my Pennywise fic is almost ready, but like.... Should I wait more time before I post it, so that more people can read the other two first? Or it shouldn't matter? Bc the fandom is low-key dead and gone and buried.

You can ask to be tagged in it btw.

🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈

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greenandsorrow · 11 days ago

Text

Only one chapter left!!!! (Unless I get to write extras, fillers, etc, etc 🫣🤭)

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> It's giving Stockholm Syndrome, I'm aware, but that's what it's called fanFICTION.

-> I think it's funny how each chapter turns longer than the last. I'm getting hooked to my own writing I guess.

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish

~ 3 ~

Pennywise's POV 🎈

And It hates it.

And this fact is as unnatural as it is inappropriate, for no other than The Eater of Worlds.

1979 Derry, Maine

"Let's play another game..! I... There is... There's one we haven't played!"

"What kind of game?" his voice rumbled low, sending a chill across your skin. Your stomach tightened and you swallowed down the bile that rose. His piercing, yellow gaze left you feeling exposed.

"The first one to… If I can name one friend before you do, I get to leave. If you win… You get to do whatever you want with me." You knew you were cornered, but the words had come out anyway.

A strange look flickered across his face.

"What's your name?"

You frowned at what sounded like an absurd thing to ask out of the blue. "Y/n."

He giggled.

"Oh really?! And I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! Now we've both properly introduced ourselves... We can be friends!!!"

The point of the game was for you to win... but he just had to be a smartass.

"WE CAN'T- CAN'T BE FRIENDS!"

"Don't. Shout. At. Me."

You nodded.

His drool was still glistening.

"You're not leaving either."

Another nod.

Then, he left the room.

What happened next is clouded in fragments, your memory blurred by fear -or maybe it's nostalgia. Somehow, over time, you became something to him. Indeed... a friend... of sorts.

But it didn't.

Still, sometimes you made desperate attempts to escape, bolting to the door. But he'd catch you with a taunting grin.

One evening, you found yourself in the backyard, gazing up at a lilac sky. He had taken you there -unbeknownst to you- because he had brought a little snack inside and didn't want that to scare you.

He didn't hug you back, didn't mimic the gesture, but his voice murmured strange words about humans, their fragile nature and then the usual pet name he would call you: "little one".

"Y- You won. You won!" you stammered, choking back tears. "I'm your friend! Kill me now!"

When you finished pulling out the glass pieces, he was pouting at you. "Meanie..." he said and stuck his tongue out.

Time continued to flow onward.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip, you asked if you could go outside again. You hadn't meant it as a real question, but in the morning, you found the door to the backyard unlocked.

You didn't dare leave the property, but you enjoyed how the air was fresh and the grass was soft and the sky a little cloudy. You stayed out until evening came.

Somewhere in your heart, you felt the shift. Pennywise, the monster, had grown attached to you. And you… well, you couldn't deny the attachment had become mutual.

The days blurred together even more after that, filled with silly games, with quiet moments and fragments of a bond you could neither define nor understand.

The last night felt different, filled with an air of finality.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Little one, when you leave…will you forget about me?"

You just stared at him, searching for the right words.

His eyes held a strange depth, a rawness you hadn't seen before. But he didn't wait for your answer. He simply turned, drifting back into the shadows as he whispered...

"The game isn't over."

That night, as sleep began to take you, you imagined him in the backyard... looking up at the stars and wondering if you'd remember.

It really felt like something precious had been taken away from you too early.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed, in your home in Witchham Street.

That morning, you also got your period for the first time.

Part of you seriously considered whether it had all been just a dream. Still, for days, you felt his absence like a missing heartbeat.

At night you'd lie awake, thinking of his strange question...

"When you leave… will you forget me?"

You didn't know how to answer, even to yourself.

There was no going back to who you were before.

Over time though, the memory of him faded into something almost surreal. You didn't speak of it to anyone -the words felt fragile and sacred, as if telling the story might diminish it.

But the craziest thing that happened? You continued living as if everything was perfectly normal.

You only thought of Pennywise again that Christmas, in 1979...

And somewhere out there, you felt certain, Pennywise was waiting.

The Losers helped ground you.

And deep down, you even wondered what might happen if he came back. Would he be nice and protecting? Or would he be just as monstrous and alien as before?

And so you moved forward, feeling the tug of those memories lessen but never fully vanish.

Would he stay away? Or would there come a day when that half-remembered monster with the childlike heart would find his way back to you?

Derry, Maine 1984

You tell yourself you hate Pennywise.

Until you turned fifteen, Pennywise was still in your dreams. You remember those dreams even more vividly than your days in the house on Neibolt St...

Sometimes, you'd apologize to him in those dreams -feeling an unnamed guilt- and he'd boop your nose with a soft and soothing "It's okie-dokie, Y/n."

You miss him.

Maybe you are asking too many questions. Or maybe you are starting to find the answers...

You're just a girl. And he… he's a boy in a strange, unfathomable way.

You call him Oscar, but maybe -just maybe- you know it's him.

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art @urdeftonesgrrrl

42 notes · View notes

greenandsorrow · 11 days ago

Text

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> It's giving Stockholm Syndrome, I'm aware, but that's why it's called fanFICTION.

-> I think it's funny how each chapter turns longer than the last. I'm getting hooked to my own writing I guess.

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish

~ 3 ~

Pennywise's POV 🎈

And It hates it.

And this fact is as unnatural as it is inappropriate, for no other than The Eater of Worlds.

1979 Derry, Maine

"Let's play another game..! I... There is... There's one we haven't played!"

"What kind of game?" his voice rumbled low, sending a chill across your skin. Your stomach tightened and you swallowed down the bile that rose. His piercing, yellow gaze left you feeling exposed.

"The first one to… If I can name one friend before you do, I get to leave. If you win… You get to do whatever you want with me." You knew you were cornered, but the words had come out anyway.

A strange look flickered across his face.

"What's your name?"

You frowned at what sounded like an absurd thing to ask out of the blue. "Y/n."

He giggled.

"Oh really?! And I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! Now we've both properly introduced ourselves... We can be friends!!!"

The point of the game was for you to win... but he just had to be a smartass.

"WE CAN'T- CAN'T BE FRIENDS!"

"Don't. Shout. At. Me."

You nodded.

His drool was still glistening.

"You're not leaving either."

Another nod.

Then, he left the room.

What happened next is clouded in fragments, your memory blurred by fear -or maybe it's nostalgia. Somehow, over time, you became something to him. Indeed... a friend... of sorts.

But it didn't.

Still, sometimes you made desperate attempts to escape, bolting to the door. But he'd catch you with a taunting grin.

One evening, you found yourself in the backyard, gazing up at a lilac sky. He had taken you there -unbeknownst to you- because he had brought a little snack inside and didn't want that to scare you.

He didn't hug you back, didn't mimic the gesture, but his voice murmured strange words about humans, their fragile nature and then the usual pet name he would call you: "little one".

"Y- You won. You won!" you stammered, choking back tears. "I'm your friend! Kill me now!"

When you finished pulling out the glass pieces, he was pouting at you. "Meanie..." he said and stuck his tongue out.

Time continued to flow onward.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip, you asked if you could go outside again. You hadn't meant it as a real question, but in the morning, you found the door to the backyard unlocked.

You didn't dare leave the property, but you enjoyed how the air was fresh and the grass was soft and the sky a little cloudy. You stayed out until evening came.

Somewhere in your heart, you felt the shift. Pennywise, the monster, had grown attached to you. And you… well, you couldn't deny the attachment had become mutual.

The days blurred together even more after that, filled with silly games, with quiet moments and fragments of a bond you could neither define nor understand.

The last night felt different, filled with an air of finality.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Little one, when you leave…will you forget about me?"

You just stared at him, searching for the right words.

His eyes held a strange depth, a rawness you hadn't seen before. But he didn't wait for your answer. He simply turned, drifting back into the shadows as he whispered...

"The game isn't over."

That night, as sleep began to take you, you imagined him in the backyard... looking up at the stars and wondering if you'd remember.

It really felt like something precious had been taken away from you too early.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed, in your home in Witchham Street.

That morning, you also got your period for the first time.

Part of you seriously considered whether it had all been just a dream. Still, for days, you felt his absence like a missing heartbeat.

At night you'd lie awake, thinking of his strange question...

"When you leave… will you forget me?"

You didn't know how to answer, even to yourself.

There was no going back to who you were before.

Over time though, the memory of him faded into something almost surreal. You didn't speak of it to anyone -the words felt fragile and sacred, as if telling the story might diminish it.

But the craziest thing that happened? You continued living as if everything was perfectly normal.

You only thought of Pennywise again that Christmas, in 1979...

And somewhere out there, you felt certain, Pennywise was waiting.

The Losers helped ground you.

And deep down, you even wondered what might happen if he came back. Would he be nice and protecting? Or would he be just as monstrous and alien as before?

And so you moved forward, feeling the tug of those memories lessen but never fully vanish.

Would he stay away? Or would there come a day when that half-remembered monster with the childlike heart would find his way back to you?

1984 Derry, Maine

You tell yourself you hate Pennywise.

Until you turned fifteen, Pennywise was still in your dreams. You remember those dreams even more vividly than your days in the house on Neibolt St...

Sometimes, you'd apologize to him in those dreams -feeling an unnamed guilt- and he'd boop your nose with a soft and soothing "It's okie-dokie, Y/n."

You miss him.

Maybe you are asking too many questions. Or maybe you are starting to find the answers...

You're just a girl. And he… he's a boy in a strange, unfathomable way.

You call him Oscar, but maybe -just maybe- you know it's him.

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greenandsorrow · 12 days ago

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IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> I know Ch1 was a bit on the shorter side, but hopefully this one is pleasantly chunky to make up for it! I kept the whole back-and-forth-in-time narration and just know, if something doesn't make perfect sense, it is because the right flashback hasn't been unlocked yet.

-> ⚠️Arachnophobia & cockroaches⚠️

Listen to: Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

~ 2 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

The summer had been full of laughter and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. But eventually, even the last bits of August's warmth vanished.

September came, and with it, the day he took you.

It was raining as you walked home from what was only your third day of school and you obviously had to drop your book near a sewer. When you bent down to pick it up -fingers brushing against the damp pages- a white-gloved hand gripped your wrist... a hand so large that it made your arm feel like a fragile twig in its grasp.

The next thing you knew? You woke up in a dirty bed, in a place you immediately recognized... As the house on Neibolt Street. Your clothes were still wet and your hair tangled. You were shivering from both hunger and cold. You wanted to cry, but somehow a quiet certainty washed over you -this was Pennywise the Clown's doing and crying wouldn't help.

Your memories from those three months are a scattered mess.

Random moments, fragmented images, bits of conversation. You remember the feelings more than the events themselves -fear, confusion, the gnawing of hunger. You were missing for three months -from September to November- and strangest of all, no one remembers anything from that time. Not even your parents. They struggle to recall anything from that period, as if the whole town forgot you were ever gone.

But you remember. You remember him. And you remember how -against all odds- you formed an unlikely connection with the murderous clown. It's the strangest thing to admit... that you and Pennywise became friends. Or something close to it. There's no clear beginning or end. You knew he was dangerous. You even had dreams of his encounters with other kids, past victims taken without hesitation... and you assumed you'd eventually share their fate.

And yet… for some reason, he kept you alive.

You don't know what made you different in his eyes, but you remember trying everything you could to survive, using all the desperate, unconventional tactics you could think of.

Most of your time was spent in that single room on the upper floor. Leaving it was unthinkable -even going near the door to see if it was locked was off-limits. You can never forget the horrors he put you through, the tricks he used just to draw out your fear. He fed on it, drank it down like a drug. By the time you figured out how to 'speak his language', he was already intoxicated by your terror.

The room would plunge into darkness and you'd hear the sickening rustle of insects in the walls, crawling through the floorboards. Once, a cockroach the size of a cat came skittering toward you, its legs scraping against the floor as it moved and you had nowhere to run, no escape whatsoever. That fear... it's still as clear as if it happened yesterday and not five years ago. The kind of fear that makes you want to vanish, to just stop existing altogether, if it meant escaping the dread. Maybe that was why he kept you alive, letting you drown in despair just to savor the depths of your fear.

One night, you felt the darkness creeping in again, wrapping around the room. By then, even the hint of that darkness was enough to make your heart pound, your throat tighten with a scream. But this time, something inside you resisted. Out of nowhere you spoke, surprising even yourself. You kept your voice steady, holding on to the last scraps of courage you had left.

"Let' play a game for a change."

That sentence... Not only did it save your life... It did more than just that... In the silence that followed, you could feel a shift, as if Pennywise was startled, intrigued. And for the first time, you weren't just his prey. You'd given him a challenge, a reason to hesitate.

You can't pinpoint exactly when and how the game began, but somehow, it turned into a routine between you and him, something to break the silence and stop the nightmares he forced on you. Games of endurance, little moments that made you feel as though you had found a way to speak his twisted language. You never felt safe, but you found moments of calm within the storm -a fragile bond, even if it was born out of fear and survival.

And somehow, through the darkness, you learned how to play along.

At first, the games were simple -things he thought would amuse him, or confuse you. He'd ask you riddles with no answer or have you sit perfectly still in the darkness while he circled around you, close enough that you could feel the cold presence of him, of IT. You'd sit there barely breathing, trying not to flinch as his sniffing nose brushed against your skin. Other times, he'd vanish for hours, leaving you alone with nothing but the fear he'd return at any moment. And sometimes, he'd appear suddenly, his face inches from yours, his glowing eyes watching your every reaction.

But as time went on, you learned how to keep yourself steady. You refused to cry, no matter how badly you wanted to. Instead, you'd lock eyes with him, hiding the tremors running through your body. Slowly, you began to play back. You'd smile when he tried to scare you, a shaky but also defiant smile that told him you weren't giving in. The more you resisted, the more intrigued the monster seemed.

It was another night, his darkness enveloping the room as always, when you spoke up once more -this time a little bolder.

"If I win this game" you whispered "I get to ask a question."

The idea of bargaining with Pennywise felt more than reckless, but you genuinely believed it would pique his childish curiosity. Luckily, you were right. He cocked his enormous head to the side, eyes gleaming with a dangerous interest... and then, he agreed. So, the next time he asked you a riddle, you tried your hardest to solve it. When you finally managed an answer that made him pause, he leaned in close, his smile both pleased and intimidating.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, voice dripping with mockery.

And in that moment, with your heart racing, you asked something simple... "Why me?"

For a split second his expression faltered, his smug smile wavering. But then he regained himself, his grin as sharp as a blade with all the rows of teeth on display... -a predator reasserting dominance. "Because you're more fun than the others!"

And even though it wasn't a real answer, it told you something: he'd chosen you. He decided to keep you with him -in that forsaken house- because you had made yourself valuable to him.

As days turned into weeks, you found more ways to play, more ways to survive. You began to notice things, minor details -how your captor's mood would shift depending on your reactions, how his games became stranger and more complex, almost as if he was testing you, pushing you to find out how much you could take. And though you were still terrified, you also found an odd, unsettling familiarity and comfort in the routine.

In a way, you became his entertainment. But in that game, through the exchange of fear and defiance, you began to feel something else... a quiet sense of control. You were no longer just a victim, you would become something more than just his prey.

You were his game -his fixation- the one he couldn't bear to let go.

There was a childishness to that fixation, a kind of possessiveness that was both stubborn and petulant, like a child refusing to share their toy. Its ageless wisdom knew you were only human -fleeting and fragile- ...but the clown within -with all its childish impulses- clung to you fiercely, not out of love but a selfish and consuming need. You were his and he would not let you go.

1984 Derry, Maine

Lately, when you wake up, you aren't sure if it was a dream or something else. You think you've heard his laugh somewhere, drifting through your bedroom window, or that you've caught a glimpse of that red balloon floating just beyond your line of sight...

It's as if he's still there, waiting for the right moment to step back into your life.

You can't even go about your business without any unpleasant reminders, not when the house on Neibolt Street looms so ominously just by the side of road... The very place you were a prisoner in, not so long ago. Its once-vibrant paint is now peeling. Weeds overrun the pathway leading to the front door and the windows, shrouded in dust and grime, seem to watch you with a knowing gaze. A crooked picket fence surrounds the property, each slap splintered and rough. The house stands as a relic of the past, a place where laughter has long since faded, replaced by sinister whispers.

The only reminder that your time there was real -and not just another vivid dream- are the now withered sunflowers in the abandoned house's backyard, with petals curling inward like they're guarding some secret. You can still picture them the way they once were, bright and strangely out of place amidst all the rot and ruin. A strange gift It had given you that is now an odd echo of something lost and almost tender.

But without you, they couldn't survive. And since the day you parted ways -you can't recall it clearly, but It can- each dry stem and each papery petal became a reminder of how the time you spent together is now just a blurry childhood memory.

Even though it's the beginning of June, the sky today hangs low and gray with the promise of rain, but none of you minded. You've all been through worse than a little weather, than a little summer rain.

Bev is telling a story -something about a dog chasing her on her way home yesterday. She's animated and her voice is alive with mischief, making the boys laugh. You glance over at Bill, who smiles too, though his eyes seem distant. Since Georgie his laughter has become softer, but he is still here carrying on as best he can.

Eddie is walking a little faster than usual, in order to avoid any puddles on the ground, muttering complaints about germs and mud. Richie -in typical fashion- is making a point of splashing through the puddles, a grin plastered on his face while he aims for the ones closest to Eddie.

"Real mature, trashmouth..." Eddie huffs, leaping out of the way as Richie drenches him anyway. Richie just cackles, throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

Ben stays behind, as always, watching everyone with that gentle smile of his. Every so often, he looks over at you and gives a nod, like you both share a silent understanding. Then there is Stan, walking right beside you, his eyes flicking toward the shadows cast by the trees and the buildings. The faintest hint of concern is lingering in his gaze. And just behind you, Mike walks with his usual calm, carrying a worn backpack over one shoulder. He's glancing around too, as if he's looking out for all of you. There's a maturity in Mike's presence, something that makes you feel a little more secure.

It feels good, being with them. Safe even. But something darker is hiding under your steady demeanor.

As the group turns to a corner, you feel your footsteps falter for just a moment. Your mind drifts back to five years ago, to coming home from your third day of school, to how it was raining, to the chilling grip of that white-gloved hand and that knowing, too-wide smile.

Despite the uncomfortable memories you already carry, you feel like there's even more to those three months and it troubles you so much that you can't remember! Still, you snap out off quickly, giving a forced smile to match the others.

But Bev notices.

She nudges you with a playful grin. "Hey, where'd you go just now?"

"Oh, nowhere" you reply lightly. "Just zoned out..."

She looks at you for a second -smart eyes searching- but then she lets it go. You see her pull her jacket tighter around herself as the wind picks up.

Bill also shoots a suspicious glance your way.

You are experiencing a strange mix of nostalgia and resolve these days. Watching as your friends scatter about, laughing and bumping into each other, makes you almost forget... almost.

You hate how, when you are on your own, you catch yourself thinking about him -not in the way you did when you were twelve though, when he was both a fear and a strange comfort. You're seventeen now, too old for childhood monsters.

As you look at your friends, you make a silent promise -to keep growing up, to keep moving forward. But you also know that somewhere deep down, you're still holding on... just in case...

Pennywise's POV 🎈

Somewhere deep within Derry, It stirs. Time doesn't flow the same for the entity... It's all an endless, pulsing hunger.

Pennywise drifts in a half-sleep. His mind slips in and out of dreams of hunger, of playthings. But every so often, his thoughts linger on a small, stubborn memory -you.

The clown hasn't forgotten the girl from all those years ago, the one who looked him in the eye and dared to challenge him. There's a bitter edge to the memory, a childish irritation mixed with a twisted sort of pride. He senses you, a spark amongst all the dull lights that always come and go. The spark has dimmed though, grown older.

That tiny defiant light... It's flickering from somewhere far above. His fingers twitch as if reaching for something that isn't there, something just out of grasp. In the silence, he feels an ache he can't quite name, a hollow that shouldn't exist.

He wakes up.

Pennywise tells himself you're only another meal he's waiting to finish. But something feels different this time, something that gnaws at him. He almost wants to see you again -not just stalk you from afar.

His amber glare is sharp as he considers something. You may try to move on and to forget, but he's patient. He always has been.

Still, you should remember everything. He had taken you, kept you, woven fear into you, put himself into your nightmares. But that delicate and defiant part of you that he once held so close... has faded. Your memories have blurred as you've grown older -and continue doing so!

You are drifting away from the child he once played with.

He doesn't understand why it bothers him. He's supposed to haunt and consume. However, this strange sadness, this fading connection... feels like a loss he can't name.

The memory of you -so small but refusing to cry when he loomed over you- is slipping away like sand between his fingers.

It lets out a low growl, feeling like a child being denied his favorite toy. You're growing up, moving past the games he had made just for you. And worst of all, you have started to forget.

It's as if his laughter and tricks were no more than passing dreams to you, fading away each time you turn your gaze toward the sun.

With an almost petulant tilt of his head, Pennywise glares into the empty dark, like a creature yearning to reclaim what he thinks of as his.

The world feels empty without you here.

He wants you to remember every little thing -to keep him alive in the corners of your mind, not let him drift away like some silly story.

The thought twists something deep in his core, his sharp teeth baring as a low, frustrated whine escapes him.

How could you forget him, when he remembers you so clearly?

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greenandsorrow · 12 days ago

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IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> I decided to write this more like a casual narration, for the storytelling vibes. Also, I might have tried to pull a "going back and forth in time like I'm S.King", so not everything will be crystal clear from the get-go. Hope you enjoy and feel free to interact!!!

-> I tried to keep the reader gender neutral, but the fem pov came more naturally to me, so I apologise if it takes away from the story for some of you.

Listen to: Five Years by David Bowie

~ 1 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

A family of three moved to Derry, for the father's work. Maine has its fair share of factories and the average person here doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, if it means paying the bills.

You were twelve when your family settled in an amiable house in Witchham St.

You may be seventeen now and you may have embraced the Losers' Club almost like a parental figure... But that wasn't the case five years ago.

When you first moved to Derry, you were twelve.

It was that same year you attended the annual Derry Funfair -Pennywise's favorite time to wake up. How could it not be, with so many kids out after dark... The Derry Funfair. The perfect hunting ground for the entity. That fateful night, you saw him for the first time. You call IT a 'he' because in the form of a clown, IT feels like a 'he'.

The air at the funfair was thick with the smell of popcorn, sugar... and something faintly metallic. As you walked through the crowd, laughter rang out around you, along with the loud music coming from the speakers far above your head.

You spotted the Ferris Wheel turning slowly against the darkening sky, each of its blinking lights reflecting in the deepening puddles scattered along the path. The Carousel line was snaking on that very path. You always loved how the painted horses glistened under the soft glow of the carnival lights...

Fed up with a group of cocky twenty-somethings, you slipped away from the fair, eventually finding yourself by the bridge for a moment of peace. You liked the breeze and the faint smell of night-blooming flowers. You still do.

It was quiet, until you suddenly heard a distinct sort of giggling. You also spotted a single, shiny red balloon floating toward you, bobbing against the wind. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. Chills ran down your arms. Instinct warned you that something was very wrong.

That night, in your rush to escape and flee back to the fair, you left your hairbow at the bridge.

Later, as you looked out the window of your father's car on the ride home, you looked back and saw him -an enormous figure in a dusty, faded clown suit, watching you, waving slowly at you. His face was ghostly pale, almost like porcelain, with eyes that gleamed a strange and unsettling shade of amber. Those eyes seemed knowing, as if they could peel back every thought and fear inside you. A painted smile stretched across his mouth, far too wide and framed by rows of teeth that looked far too many, like something out of a nightmare. Wisps of reddish-orange hair framed his face, stiff and wild. The ruffles around his neck were yellowed with age, their edges fraying.

The suit itself was old, streaked with grime. Large, oversized pom-poms lined the front in an even row. And yet, despite his faded, worn appearance, there was something disturbingly vibrant about him. It was as if he wasn't really standing but rather waiting -waiting for you to wave back at him.

Even from the safety of the car, a chill had crept through you, and somehow you knew that he was still watching long after the car had turned, his gaze following you all the way home.

That night, when you woke up thirsty from all the popcorn you'd had at the fair, you wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. There, neatly placed beside the sink, was your lost hairbow -the same one you'd bitterly cried over after realizing it was missing.

Two days later, you returned to the fair with your parents. You felt happy. You were carefree. You were stupid. You couldn't resist looking for the clown who had waved at you... You had a strange feeling that the balloon belonged to him... It was the shame shade as his painted lips. You also had another, even odder feeling that he had somehow been the one who returned your hair ribbon.

Eventually you found him. The clown waved again and this time, you waved back, even managing a smile. But when he extended an unnaturally long arm, gesturing you to come closer, you were smart enough to keep your distance. You felt a shiver run down your spine as his voice, soft and coaxing, whispered your name.

Strangely, your parents didn't seem to notice him, neither that day nor the first time you'd seen him...

It was July. You didn't see the clown again until early autumn, right around the time you started feeling nervous about your new school.

That summer, he haunted your dreams night after night. They'd start innocently enough, not like full blown nightmares -you'd find yourself back at the fair, wandering through empty stalls. The colors were brighter -somehow too bright- and the air too thick. Then, he would appear. A clown in the distance, his wide smile aimed straight at you. You'd try to move, to turn away, but somehow, your feet kept inching closer.

In those dreams, he told you his name -Pennywise-, his favorite color -red- and his favorite food -cotton candy-. You remember telling him that you knew he was lying, that he wasn't just any clown. After that, the dreams stopped.

1984 Derry, Maine

You think back to all that as you blankly stare at the pages of your math book, you think back to what belongs in the past, but your mind drifting off to five years ago is more than justified.

People in town are noticing things these days, though no one says it out loud. There are hushed conversations about kids going missing -George Denbrough included-, strange sightings near the sewers, and that eerie feeling you get walking through Derry alone.

The old-timers say things aren't right this time, that it feels different somehow. You overhear a few whispers that maybe this time, it's sticking around longer. And the worst part is that you know why. You know why even better than your younger friends do...

Since last autumn, you've gotten close to Bev Marsh. She sees you as the older sister she never had. Bill lives right across the street. You babysat him and his little brother, Georgie, over the summer. But since Georgie's death in the Fall, you and Bill have drifted apart. Stanley… well, he may or may not have a crush on you. You know him through Bill -he's a good kid. Eddie Kaspbrak, same way, also through Bill. Thank God he gets some fresh air with his friends -you've heard his mom isn't the easiest. Then there's Ben, your reading buddy from the library. Richie Tozier? You two got into a fight once, over which Led Zeppelin song is the best. And Hanlon, he nearly knocked you over with his bike the first time you met.

Another remarkable mention? Henry Bowers. He is a year younger than you. Sure, the guy's a bully, but oddly enough he and his friends never caused you any trouble. And I say 'oddly enough', in the same way Derry's misfortunes oddly enough never seem to touch you. The bad luck that hangs over this town, the accidents, the disappearances, even the craziness... it's as if you've been given an unspoken pass, a quiet immunity no one else seems to have. Even when trouble looms close, you remain untouched, like some silent pact with the shadows in this place.

However, it's not just the gossiping ladies at the grocery store, or the old wise granddads who enjoy sitting on their porches, that made your mind wander to the past with their words.

As of late, your dad started locking the doors at night without explanation and your mom seems anxious, checking the windows like she expects something -or someone- to be watching. They'd never talk about it, but you can tell they sense it too... The whole town feels off, like there's something lurking beneath the surface. Sometimes, you catch a flash of red in the distance or hear a faint giggle that seems to echo from nowhere. It happens often enough that it feels like more than coincidence.

You've started wondering if he's ever really gone at all.

Even your dreams are different now.

More vivid.

In them, you're back at that same funfair... but it feels hollow, like something out of a faded photo. Every creak of the Ferris Wheel, every rustle of the trees ...sounds wrong. Sometimes, you see him waiting by the bridge, his head tilted in that unnatural way. His smile is sharper and more dangerous, as if he's been waiting all this time, keeping a part of you trapped there. You always wake up shaking, heart pounding in your ears.

The worst part is that the closer you get to waking, the darker the dreams grow.

In last night's one, Pennywise had held his gloved hand out to you, as if inviting you closer. You had felt the weight of his gaze, pulling you in despite everything inside you screaming to run. You started to remember that he's taken kids before, that he leaves things behind as markers -ribbons, scraps, things no one else notices... And then had woken up gasping for air.

No matter how much you try to shake it off, the feeling lingers, leaving you wondering if he's still out there, watching you, just as he was five years ago.

For you, fear twisted into something almost exhilarating five years ago... thanks to all those fleeting moments of intimacy when he would whisper secrets, just for you. It was wrong and you know that, but there was a thrill in the danger he represented. You think about the stories the others tell, how they shudder at the thought of him -of IT- while your heart races at the memories of the laughter, of the games. It's a longing that gnaws at you, even as you wrestle with the dread of his return.

It was easier to just forget before, but now the thought of him returns like a shadow. As you flip the pages of your stupid math book, you wonder if he's standing outside your house right now, waiting for you to come back to him, just as you've secretly wished for him to do all these years. Because, it's true, there's a twisted part of you that misses him.

When the Losers share with you Bill's and Ben's theories about IT and how IT came to be, you can't help but recall how Penny would laugh, a sound that echoed like a melody in the chaos of your childhood, dancing on the edge of terror. His voice, with its playful cadence, would weave stories that made the mundane feel magical. You remember how you'd lean in, drawn by an irresistible urge, despite the way your heart raced and your instincts screamed to flee.

Even the memories of those long, shadowy nights away from the comfort of your bed, punctuated by the pulse of adrenaline, stir something within you -an inexplicable yearning for the connection you shared, however dark it was.

You close the book since there's no way you can concentrate on your homework now and instead, you settle on washing the dishes.

Despite everything, beneath that longing lies the heavy weight of guilt and sorrow. 'Penny' killed Georgie and that truth looms over every fond memory you have with him. This is the part you feel compelled to remind yourself: he's a killer, a predator.

To any onlooker, all they would see is a broken girl, haunted by a lost childhood and a shadowy figure that once made her feel alive and seen. You know better than anyone that the line between fear and fascination is a thin one, and that's a truth you'll have to grapple with...

...in the chapters to come.

masterpost☁️

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greenandsorrow · 14 days ago

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You can ask to be tagged in it btw.

🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈

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greenandsorrow · 14 days ago

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I'm so glad to hear this! ♥️

The fandom is low-key dead but I won't give up 😤

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> ⚠️Arachnophobia & cockroaches⚠️

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish & Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

~ 2 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

The summer had been full of laughter and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. But eventually, even the last bits of August's warmth vanished.

September came, and with it, the day he took you.

Your memories from those three months are a scattered mess.

And yet… for some reason, he kept you alive.

You don't know what made you different in his eyes, but you remember trying everything you could to survive, using all the desperate, unconventional tactics you could think of.

"Let' play a game for a change."

And somehow, through the darkness, you learned how to play along.

It was another night, his darkness enveloping the room as always, when you spoke up once more -this time a little bolder.

"If I win this game" you whispered "I get to ask a question."

"What do you want to know?" he asked, voice dripping with mockery.

And in that moment, with your heart racing, you asked something simple... "Why me?"

And even though it wasn't a real answer, it told you something: he'd chosen you. He decided to keep you with him -in that forsaken house- because you had made yourself valuable to him.

You were his game -his fixation- the one he couldn't bear to let go.

1984 Derry, Maine

It's as if he's still there, waiting for the right moment to step back into your life.

"Real mature, trashmouth..." Eddie huffs, leaping out of the way as Richie drenches him anyway. Richie just cackles, throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

It feels good, being with them. Safe even. But something darker is hiding under your steady demeanor.

But Bev notices.

She nudges you with a playful grin. "Hey, where'd you go just now?"

"Oh, nowhere" you reply lightly. "Just zoned out..."

She looks at you for a second -smart eyes searching- but then she lets it go. You see her pull her jacket tighter around herself as the wind picks up.

Bill also shoots a suspicious glance your way.

You are experiencing a strange mix of nostalgia and resolve these days. Watching as your friends scatter about, laughing and bumping into each other, makes you almost forget... almost.

As you look at your friends, you make a silent promise -to keep growing up, to keep moving forward. But you also know that somewhere deep down, you're still holding on... just in case...

Pennywise's POV 🎈

Somewhere deep within Derry, It stirs. Time doesn't flow the same for the entity... It's all an endless, pulsing hunger.

Pennywise drifts in a half-sleep. His mind slips in and out of dreams of hunger, of playthings. But every so often, his thoughts linger on a small, stubborn memory -you.

He wakes up.

His amber glare is sharp as he considers something. You may try to move on and to forget, but he's patient. He always has been.

You are drifting away from the child he once played with.

He doesn't understand why it bothers him. He's supposed to haunt and consume. However, this strange sadness, this fading connection... feels like a loss he can't name.

The memory of you -so small but refusing to cry when he loomed over you- is slipping away like sand between his fingers.

It lets out a low growl, feeling like a child being denied his favorite toy. You're growing up, moving past the games he had made just for you. And worst of all, you have started to forget.

It's as if his laughter and tricks were no more than passing dreams to you, fading away each time you turn your gaze toward the sun.

With an almost petulant tilt of his head, Pennywise glares into the empty dark, like a creature yearning to reclaim what he thinks of as his.

The world feels empty without you here.

He wants you to remember every little thing -to keep him alive in the corners of your mind, not let him drift away like some silly story.

The thought twists something deep in his core, his sharp teeth baring as a low, frustrated whine escapes him.

How could you forget him, when he remembers you so clearly?

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art

#it pennywise #pennywise #pennywise the clown #pennywise the dancing clown

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greenandsorrow · 15 days ago

Text

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> ⚠️Arachnophobia & cockroaches⚠️

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish & Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

~ 2 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

The summer had been full of laughter and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. But eventually, even the last bits of August's warmth vanished.

September came, and with it, the day he took you.

Your memories from those three months are a scattered mess.

And yet… for some reason, he kept you alive.

You don't know what made you different in his eyes, but you remember trying everything you could to survive, using all the desperate, unconventional tactics you could think of.

"Let' play a game for a change."

And somehow, through the darkness, you learned how to play along.

It was another night, his darkness enveloping the room as always, when you spoke up once more -this time a little bolder.

"If I win this game" you whispered "I get to ask a question."

"What do you want to know?" he asked, voice dripping with mockery.

And in that moment, with your heart racing, you asked something simple... "Why me?"

And even though it wasn't a real answer, it told you something: he'd chosen you. He decided to keep you with him -in that forsaken house- because you had made yourself valuable to him.

You were his game -his fixation- the one he couldn't bear to let go.

1984 Derry, Maine

It's as if he's still there, waiting for the right moment to step back into your life.

"Real mature, trashmouth..." Eddie huffs, leaping out of the way as Richie drenches him anyway. Richie just cackles, throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

It feels good, being with them. Safe even. But something darker is hiding under your steady demeanor.

But Bev notices.

She nudges you with a playful grin. "Hey, where'd you go just now?"

"Oh, nowhere" you reply lightly. "Just zoned out..."

She looks at you for a second -smart eyes searching- but then she lets it go. You see her pull her jacket tighter around herself as the wind picks up.

Bill also shoots a suspicious glance your way.

You are experiencing a strange mix of nostalgia and resolve these days. Watching as your friends scatter about, laughing and bumping into each other, makes you almost forget... almost.

As you look at your friends, you make a silent promise -to keep growing up, to keep moving forward. But you also know that somewhere deep down, you're still holding on... just in case...

Pennywise's POV 🎈

Somewhere deep within Derry, It stirs. Time doesn't flow the same for the entity... It's all an endless, pulsing hunger.

Pennywise drifts in a half-sleep. His mind slips in and out of dreams of hunger, of playthings. But every so often, his thoughts linger on a small, stubborn memory -you.

He wakes up.

His amber glare is sharp as he considers something. You may try to move on and to forget, but he's patient. He always has been.

You are drifting away from the child he once played with.

He doesn't understand why it bothers him. He's supposed to haunt and consume. However, this strange sadness, this fading connection... feels like a loss he can't name.

The memory of you -so small but refusing to cry when he loomed over you- is slipping away like sand between his fingers.

It lets out a low growl, feeling like a child being denied his favorite toy. You're growing up, moving past the games he had made just for you. And worst of all, you have started to forget.

It's as if his laughter and tricks were no more than passing dreams to you, fading away each time you turn your gaze toward the sun.

With an almost petulant tilt of his head, Pennywise glares into the empty dark, like a creature yearning to reclaim what he thinks of as his.

The world feels empty without you here.

He wants you to remember every little thing -to keep him alive in the corners of your mind, not let him drift away like some silly story.

The thought twists something deep in his core, his sharp teeth baring as a low, frustrated whine escapes him.

How could you forget him, when he remembers you so clearly?

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art

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greenandsorrow · 15 days ago

Text

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> ⚠️Arachnophobia & cockroaches⚠️

Listen to: Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

~ 2 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

The summer had been full of laughter and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. But eventually, even the last bits of August's warmth vanished.

September came, and with it, the day he took you.

Your memories from those three months are a scattered mess.

And yet… for some reason, he kept you alive.

You don't know what made you different in his eyes, but you remember trying everything you could to survive, using all the desperate, unconventional tactics you could think of.

"Let' play a game for a change."

And somehow, through the darkness, you learned how to play along.

It was another night, his darkness enveloping the room as always, when you spoke up once more -this time a little bolder.

"If I win this game" you whispered "I get to ask a question."

"What do you want to know?" he asked, voice dripping with mockery.

And in that moment, with your heart racing, you asked something simple... "Why me?"

And even though it wasn't a real answer, it told you something: he'd chosen you. He decided to keep you with him -in that forsaken house- because you had made yourself valuable to him.

You were his game -his fixation- the one he couldn't bear to let go.

1984 Derry, Maine

It's as if he's still there, waiting for the right moment to step back into your life.

"Real mature, trashmouth..." Eddie huffs, leaping out of the way as Richie drenches him anyway. Richie just cackles, throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

It feels good, being with them. Safe even. But something darker is hiding under your steady demeanor.

But Bev notices.

She nudges you with a playful grin. "Hey, where'd you go just now?"

"Oh, nowhere" you reply lightly. "Just zoned out..."

She looks at you for a second -smart eyes searching- but then she lets it go. You see her pull her jacket tighter around herself as the wind picks up.

Bill also shoots a suspicious glance your way.

You are experiencing a strange mix of nostalgia and resolve these days. Watching as your friends scatter about, laughing and bumping into each other, makes you almost forget... almost.

As you look at your friends, you make a silent promise -to keep growing up, to keep moving forward. But you also know that somewhere deep down, you're still holding on... just in case...

Pennywise's POV 🎈

Somewhere deep within Derry, It stirs. Time doesn't flow the same for the entity... It's all an endless, pulsing hunger.

Pennywise drifts in a half-sleep. His mind slips in and out of dreams of hunger, of playthings. But every so often, his thoughts linger on a small, stubborn memory -you.

He wakes up.

His amber glare is sharp as he considers something. You may try to move on and to forget, but he's patient. He always has been.

You are drifting away from the child he once played with.

He doesn't understand why it bothers him. He's supposed to haunt and consume. However, this strange sadness, this fading connection... feels like a loss he can't name.

The memory of you -so small but refusing to cry when he loomed over you- is slipping away like sand between his fingers.

It lets out a low growl, feeling like a child being denied his favorite toy. You're growing up, moving past the games he had made just for you. And worst of all, you have started to forget.

It's as if his laughter and tricks were no more than passing dreams to you, fading away each time you turn your gaze toward the sun.

With an almost petulant tilt of his head, Pennywise glares into the empty dark, like a creature yearning to reclaim what he thinks of as his.

The world feels empty without you here.

He wants you to remember every little thing -to keep him alive in the corners of your mind, not let him drift away like some silly story.

The thought twists something deep in his core, his sharp teeth baring as a low, frustrated whine escapes him.

How could you forget him, when he remembers you so clearly?

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ��️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art @urdeftonesgrrrl

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greenandsorrow · 15 days ago

Text

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> I tried to keep the reader gender neutral, but the fem pov came more naturally to me, so I apologise if it takes away from the story for some of you.

Listen to: Five Years by David Bowie

~ 1 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

A family of three moved to Derry, for the father's work. Maine has its fair share of factories and the average person here doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, if it means paying the bills.

You were twelve when your family settled in an amiable house in Witchham St.

You may be seventeen now and you may have embraced the Losers' Club almost like a parental figure... But that wasn't the case five years ago.

When you first moved to Derry, you were twelve.

That night, in your rush to escape and flee back to the fair, you left your hairbow at the bridge.

Even from the safety of the car, a chill had crept through you, and somehow you knew that he was still watching long after the car had turned, his gaze following you all the way home.

Strangely, your parents didn't seem to notice him, neither that day nor the first time you'd seen him...

It was July. You didn't see the clown again until early autumn, right around the time you started feeling nervous about your new school.

1984 Derry, Maine

You think back to all that as you blankly stare at the pages of your math book, you think back to what belongs in the past, but your mind drifting off to five years ago is more than justified.

However, it's not just the gossiping ladies at the grocery store, or the old wise granddads who enjoy sitting on their porches, that made your mind wander to the past with their words.

You've started wondering if he's ever really gone at all.

Even your dreams are different now.

More vivid.

The worst part is that the closer you get to waking, the darker the dreams grow.

No matter how much you try to shake it off, the feeling lingers, leaving you wondering if he's still out there, watching you, just as he was five years ago.

You close the book since there's no way you can concentrate on your homework now and instead, you settle on washing the dishes.

...in the chapters to come.

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art

#it 2019 #it chapter one #it 2017 #it chapter two #it stephen king #it pennywise #it movie #pennywise the dancing clown #pennywise #pennywise the clown #pennywise x reader #pennywise x y/n #bill skarsgård #bill skargard #it 1990 #welcome to derry #the losers club

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greenandsorrow · 15 days ago

Text

I updated/edited my masterlist a bit ❣️

Welcome traveler! I hope you'll enjoy your stay!

About me ->

I'm Ophelia -a Greek girl in her early twenties! I study 'early childhood education & care'. I'm an enjoyer of many things (art, mythology, music, film, books books books and all things whimsical)! I write poetry & fanfiction. Dilfs and fictional men in general are my weaknesses.

There's something for everyone here! Meanies get blocked, just a heads up. Always take the warnings of each fic into consideration! Take care of yourself 💛

Important information ->

this is a multifandom blog with a big variety :)

my old handle was "ang3l0fsmalld3athh"

about requesting; click here

fandoms I write for; check them here

how to support your struggling gal; learn here

for upcoming fics; my queue

my spotify in case you were wondering (you weren't); spotify acc

all my work below is categorized and requests have this (🦋) emojy next to them!

Miscellaneous

"I can fix him." - William Afton x fem!reader/ (n)sfw (🦋)

Enter the Gosling universe

Enter the Pascal universe

Stay in the Hazbin Hotel

Visit Middle Earth & Westeros

Dark academia corner (dps, tsh, sherlock, hp and more)

Welcome to Hawkins & to Derry

You have been living here for as long as you can remember

In a galaxy far far away... (Not yet)

Thank you for stopping by! 🍃

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greenandsorrow · 16 days ago

Text

“writing is fun,” i whisper, after rewriting the same sentence for the past 27 minutes

#writing

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greenandsorrow · 17 days ago

Text

I was inspired again

#it 2017

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greenandsorrow · 17 days ago

Text

Chapter 2 will be posted very very soon🥰

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> I decided to write this like an oral narration, for the storytelling vibes. Also, I might have tried to pull a "going back and forth in time like I'm S.King", so not everything will be crystal clear from the get-go. The reader is gn. Hope you enjoy and feel free to interact!!!

Listen to: Five Years by David Bowie

~ 1 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

A family of three moved to Derry, for the father's work. Maine has its fair share of factories and the average person here doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, if it means paying the bills.

You were twelve when your family settled in an amiable house in Witchham St.

You may be seventeen now and you may have embraced the Losers' Club almost like a parental figure... But that wasn't the case five years ago.

When you first moved to Derry, you were twelve.

It was that same year you attended the annual Derry Funfair -Pennywise's favorite time to wake up. How could it not be, with so many kids out after dark... The Derry Funfair. The perfect hunting ground for the entity. That fateful night, you saw him for the first time. You call IT a "he" because, in the form of a clown, he feels like a "he."

That night, in your rush to escape and flee back to the fair, you left your hairbow at the bridge.

Even from the safety of the car, a chill had crept through you, and somehow you knew that he was still watching long after the car had turned, his gaze following you all the way home.

Strangely, your parents didn't seem to notice him, neither that day nor the first time you'd seen him...

It was July. You didn't see the clown again until early autumn, right around the time you started feeling nervous about your new school.

1984 Derry, Maine

You think back to all that as you blankly stare at the pages of your math book, you think back to what belongs in the past, but your mind drifting off to five years ago is more than justified.

Since last autumn, you've gotten close to Bev Marsh. She sees you as the older sibling she never had. Bill lives right across the street. You babysat him and his little brother, Georgie, over the summer. But since Georgie's death in the Fall, you and Bill have drifted apart. Stanley… well, he may or may not have a crush on you. You know him through Bill -he's a good kid. Eddie Kaspbrak, same way, also through Bill. Thank God he gets some fresh air with his friends -you've heard his mom isn't the easiest. Then there's Ben, your reading buddy from the library. Richie Tozier? You two got into a fight once, over which Led Zeppelin song is the best. And Hanlon, he nearly knocked you over with his bike the first time you met.

Another remarkable mention? Henry Bowers. He is a year younger than you. Sure, the guy's a bully, but oddly enough, he and his friends never caused you any trouble. And I say 'oddly enough', in the same way Derry's misfortunes oddly enough never seem to touch you. The bad luck that hangs over this town, the accidents, the disappearances, even the craziness... it's as if you've been given an unspoken pass, a quiet immunity no one else seems to have. Even when trouble looms close, you remain untouched, like some silent pact with the shadows in this place.

However, it's not just the gossiping ladies at the grocery store, or the old wise granddads who enjoy sitting on their porches, that made your mind wander to the past with their words.

You've started wondering if he's ever really gone at all.

Even your dreams are different now.

More vivid.

The worst part is that the closer you get to waking, the darker the dreams grow.

No matter how much you try to shake it off, the feeling lingers, leaving you wondering if he's still out there, watching you, just as he was five years ago.

You close the book since there's no way you can concentrate on your homework now and instead, you settle on washing the dishes.

To any onlooker, all they would see is a broken kid haunted by a lost childhood and a shadowy figure that once made them feel alive and seen. You know better than anyone that the line between fear and fascination is a thin one, and that's a truth you'll have to grapple with...

...in the chapters to come.

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art

#it 2017 #it 2019 #it movie #pennywise #pennywise the dancing clown #pennywise the clown #pennywise x reader #bill skarsgård #bill skargard #it stephen king #welcome to derry #it chapter one #it chapter two #the losers club #beverly marsh #henry bowers #victor criss #patrick hockstetter

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