#Pennywise x reader

[charliedawn]

Nurse brings their baby to work because they couldn't find the baby sitter. And the baby first word is dad. how would the slasher react to suddenly being called dad???

Michael Myers

Michael stares at the baby in your arms, his expression hidden behind his mask, but you can sense his surprise. He wasn’t expecting to be called dad, and the word feels foreign to him. For a moment, he freezes, his usual menacing air disappearing as he just stares. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand gently touching the baby's tiny fist. Though he doesn't say anything, there's a subtle shift in his body language, a quiet acceptance of the title.

Yeah. That baby is gonna have a great dad.

Jason Voorhees

Jason, who is often seen as a protector in his own way, might feel a wave of unexpected emotion. He has affection for them and the appellation dad did make him still for a second, reminding him of what he once longed for—a family and love. He crouches down slowly, tilting his head in that childlike way he sometimes does, unsure of how to react but clearly moved. Gently, he pats the baby’s head, trying to be as soft as possible, his usually violent hands becoming tender. Jason lost his father at a young age, and he would make sure that doesn’t happen with your baby.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy's reaction would be more layered. He'd laugh, finding the idea of being called dad by your child both amusing and strange. "Well, look who’s got great taste," he’d tease, his grin wide and mischievous. "Calling me daddy, huh ? Heck. I might start to like you, ya lil’ goblin !"

But deep down, there might be a flicker of something else—perhaps a sense of pride, though he’d never admit it. He’d probably try to play it off, cracking jokes, but you’d catch a glimmer in his eyes that says it means more than he lets on. Freddy wanted to be a father, before he died. But he never got the chance. So, he’d be secretly happy to keep an eye on your baby.

Chucky

Chucky would be taken aback, but his pride would swell almost instantly. "That's right, kid ! Dad's here !" he’d say with a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the title. He’d probably pick up the baby—carefully, for once—and start telling them how lucky they are to have him as their father. Chucky would take this as an ego boost and start acting like he's the best "dad" in the room, making jokes and pretending to give fatherly advice.

He would be the type of father to fight tooth and nail for his kid though—even though he pretends not to care.

Norman Bates

Norman would be stunned, unsure how to process being called dad. His face would soften as a mix of emotions flicker across his expression—uncertainty, fear, and a strange sense of warmth. He’s never really had anyone look to him in such a way before, and it would catch him off guard. "Dad…" he’d repeat softly, almost as if testing the word himself. There’s a brief moment where you see a tender, vulnerable side of him emerge. He’d be happy. But…He would also be conflicted because he’s never really had a father figure before and he would be afraid to not be up to the task…

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms would be overjoyed, his eyes lighting up with excitement as the baby calls him dad. He loves the idea of family and devotion, so this would feel like an affirmation of the bond he craves. "Did you hear that ? They called me dad !" Brahms would say, almost giddy with happiness. He’d immediately want to hold the baby, showing an unusually gentle side, savoring the moment as if it cements his place in your life even more deeply. He’d also wonder what it would be like to be YOUR partner…to be the real father of the child. Let me say, Brahms would actually buy you a wedding ring if that meant you would let him be yours and the baby’s family.

Bo Sinclair

Bo would smirk at first, his Southern drawl slipping out, "Well, ain’t that somethin’ ?" He’d be caught off guard, unsure if he should embrace it or brush it off. But deep down, the idea of being called dad would actually make him proud and happy. He’d probably roll with it, giving you a cocky smile, but you’d know from the way he looks at the baby that it’s gotten to him more than he’ll admit. He would wait until you are out of the room before kissing the baby’s forehead and whispering to it.

"Yeah…I’m yer Pa now, baby. And me and ya are gonna make yer mama so happy. You’ll see."

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent wouldn’t show much outward reaction at first, his face hidden beneath his mask, but he’d pause. The idea of being called dad by your child would stir something deep inside, something warm and unfamiliar. He’d probably kneel down, gently offering his hand to the baby, who’d grab onto his fingers. In that small, quiet moment, Vincent would silently accept the title, his body language soft and careful.

He would also take a picture—to remember that moment forever.

Pennywise

Pennywise would be utterly caught off guard. He’d be playing his usual mischievous role, trying to get the baby to laugh with goofy faces or strange noises when the word dad slips out. He’d freeze, his sharp teeth momentarily retreating, eyes widening in shock. "Dad, huh? Well, that’s new," he’d chuckle, though the sound would be a bit strained, a mix of amusement and uncertainty. Deep down, Pennywise would be torn between his natural chaos-loving self and an unfamiliar, almost protective instinct. After all, the word dad is reserved for those who care, and that’s not something he’s entirely familiar with. He doesn’t care. About anything or anyone. Still, he might lean into it, thinking of it as a twisted joke between the two of you, but somewhere in the back of his mind, the idea of being important to someone would linger.

Pennywise *hesitates before taking the baby in his arms* : "…You’re one ugly baby. But…I guess that’s okay. That just means am gonna have to take care of you."

Penny

Penny, on the other hand, would be thrilled. The second the baby says dad, he’d light up with genuine excitement, clapping his hands and letting out a loud, gleeful laugh. "Oh, did you hear that ? I’m dad !" he’d exclaim, picking up the baby and twirling them around carefully. Unlike his brother, Penny wouldn’t be conflicted—he’d embrace the title with his usual boundless joy, seeing it as the highest honor. He’d probably carry the baby around for the rest of the day, boasting to the others with pride.

Jack Torrance

Jack's reaction to being called dad by your baby would be complex. At first, he might freeze, his mind racing between his past as a father and the present moment. A flash of old memories might cross his face—memories of his son, Danny, and how things went terribly wrong. He might force a smile, but it wouldn’t reach his eyes. "Dad, huh ?" he’d mutter, his voice tinged with a strange mix of affection and unease. There’s a part of him that wants to embrace the title, to be a better father this time, but there’s another part—the darker part—that’s afraid of what that responsibility could mean for him. You’d catch a glimpse of his inner struggle as he tries to keep it together, quietly stepping back while nervously running a hand through his hair.

Jack would likely need a moment to collect himself, caught between the warmth of being seen as a father again and the haunting fear of repeating his past mistakes.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Think about facepaint spread all over your inner thighs.

Yes this is a clownfucker (very) friendly post.

[hotpinkboots]

[strawberryraviegutz]

LETS GOOOOOOO

[alcinaslittlemaid]

Naughty Little Lamb~

Pennywise 2017xFem!reader

•Warnings: Smutty smut, degradation, spanking (a lot), angry sex.. and much much more, Mild DD/LG (tiny bit) uses of pet names

(I’m not great at writing buts it’s the red hour 😳🌶️)

Come join the clown~

🎪🎈🤡

——————————

The hour was very late, you had struggled to get to sleep and Pennywise had gone out hunting. You felt a familiar throbbing in your underwear, by god you were missing him so much, your hand slipped down between your silky thighs and coating your fingers were your own sinuous juices.

You smirked and began pleasuring yourself, grabbing your vibrator imagining penny’s long slippery tongue slurping your insides out, your toes began to curl as you bucked your hips in submission, your mind travelling further, now imagining how smaller tentacles would slither out, gripping your thighs to keep you in place, long slimy tentacles restricting your movement, as his long, hard alien-like tentacle is forcible pushed into your tight hole, the ridges of his length hitting your clit as he completely ruins you.

Trying to get his entire length inside your tight, little cunt, you were getting close, finally going to be rid of your need for him (until tomorrow that is) you were almost riding your vibrator with pleasure

“Dooonnnt youuuu Dareeee~” that taunting voice in your head rang out like a bell you had recognised all too well

“Fuck…” you whined “Watch your mouth little slut” the voice growled, it’s raspy voice grunted in your ear as you slowly peeked up at the darkened side of your room, there…two golden orbs stared back at you, dark red circles rimmed it’s golden stare

“Oh my~ look at the filthy mess you’ve made, you dirty little slut” pennywise barked, stepping towards you “my! Dirty little sewer slut” he grinned before sitting down

“Come” he snapped patting his lap “But you said I couldn’t-“ you attempted a joke, but the state he gave you was stern, cold and deadly

“I said…COME!” He snapped, before dragging you roughly over his knee, your ass now presented to him like his next meal on a silver platter “Ah! Ow your hurting me! Penny what the fu-“ you were soon cut off by his to clawed fingers “Good little girls should be seen and not heard” his fingers were almost in your throat, you hadn’t a clue what was happening.

“You’ve been such a naughty, filthy little lamb Y/N” he teased before hiking your skirt up higher, his tentacles keeping you tightly in place as his hand slowly lifted behind your rear

“Now, we’re gonna play a little game~” he began, you shook your head at his silly games, but he was having none of it

“your gonna count every time I spank that little ass” he continued “and if you mess up or miss a number, they’re gonna restart and be even harsher…got it?” He hissed, you squealed and tried to squirm out of his grasp

“Ohhhh you wanna play hide and seek? Okay! If hide and I don’t find you in under 2 minutes I won’t punish you! We can doooo whatever you want~” he had crossed his fingers behind his back while saying that. You nodded and took off running, trying to find a hiding place he hasn’t seen yet, meanwhile the clown began to the countdown to your demise

“1…..2……3”

“Shit” you winced

“4…..5….6”

“Fuck fuck fuck!”

“7……8….9…”

You finally found a spot, sliding into it and shutting the door behind you ever so silently, you sunk beneath the piles of sheets and bedding

“10! Ready or not little bunny! Mr wolf is coming to find you hahahah” He cackled maniacally and began searching for you, his boots thudding against the ground in desperation. This was horrifying, he could do anything to you…you could hear doors opening and the disappointed sigh when you weren’t there “Oh my little lamb you are clever..” He then opened the door to your linen cupboard “but not clever enough- oh! Oh fuck where on earth is that little girl?” He slammed the door shut and began walking away…or so you thought

As soon as you heard a door downstairs creak open, you poked your head out and began sneaking back to your bedroom thinking you had won.

You were suddenly pinned to the ground by his clawed glove “You! You are so gullible…you think I couldn’t smell that throbbing, aching slit? Hahaha oh little one, you fell for the oldest trick in the book! You are a fly in my spider web” he giggled maniacally in pure pleasure, before dragging you back to the bedroom, a thread of drool trailing behind and a sinful, sadistic look in his eye.

@sootrootdoot

@pennywise-fucker

End of part 1🎈

Lemme know what y’all think and I’ll write the next part!!

[slash-me-please]

Hi! Can I request a Fem!Reader x Pennywise Smut where pennywise uses his tounge to fuck reader?

Literallsfsdfsdfsdfsdsdsd yes you can. I haven't written for Pennywise in a GRIP.

I present to you:

Drops from a Nectarine

warnings: fem receiving oral, dub!con, cunnilingus

Sun pours in through the open shades fallen onto your bay window. Eyes fluttering open with an exasperated moan, you turn your head to the side to get away from your offender. They do not follow. Your head sinks into the plush, microfiber sheets of your full-sized bed and for once, you decide to stay. Your bliss isn't taken advantage of, dread filling your chest as the overwhelming feeling of an uninvited visitor overcame the morning euphoria.

"Good morning, Bee." He tumbled over his words. That fucking clown. You tense, legs curling up and away from the foot of your bed.

"Go away Clown..." You murmured, voice shaky and unstable as his gloved hands pressed down on your sheets. He was covered in a thick layer of grime, as he was always. The sewers were no place to live, and a sewer-dweller had no place in your room. But still, he insisted, mimicked knuckles spreading and pulling against your clean sheets and effectively ruining them from further use. You'd have to burn them later, it was the only way.

"Buzz... Buzz... Buzz..." His head twisted rapidly towards you, faintly jingling as he crawled up your bed with a twisted grin. Pennywise's puffy red lips dripped with saliva, you watched a little too long to be the perfect victim. "You always know where to sting." You turn away as he lunges, towering over your frail, be it in comparison, body. Your limbs begin to shake with fear, anticipation as he watches over you with a blank expression.

"Why are you here Pennywise." You ask, it comes as a plea, and you fall deeper into the plush safety of your dirtied sheets. He gives you a smile, a fake one, which has your stomach twisting with something evil. "I am... hungry." He replies to your question as if it had been a simple answer, not one you had tossed and turned for the last few nights. "I do not fear you."

Pennywise grips you by the thighs, claws breaking through makeshift gloves to rip apart your underwear to shreds. "I've had my fill on fear... I am satiated." He giggles, head tilting downwards to glare at your exposed cunt. "I need a different type of food." And so he leans, his claws pushing your legs backwards and into a position which had you gritting your teeth. One that would have him giggling his crazy little giggle again.

With that, his tongue extends and begins to lap at your swollen folds. He holds you down as he tortures you with a callous tongue. His head ducks further, spreading them open to reveal your aching clit- which he nudges with his large tongue again. Your hands find his hair as you arch against the bed, pushing your heat against his dripping tongue. He tortures your clit with a cruel precision, one that has you knowing he's racked up quite the body count in his thousands of years alive. You cannot bring yourself to care, a whimper falling from bitten lips.

"I told you not to come back!" You sobbed, legs involuntarily squeezing around his head. And his head drops further with that, tongue parting you to dip inside your warm heat. Pennywise moans against your cunt, eyes rolling back and teeth enveloping the lower part of your pelvis. It felt as if he was eating the soul inside of you, yourself slipping through the closed fingers of your spirit and falling into his mouth where you'd meet your sweet demise. His tongue pistoned in and out of you, sucking in your wetness with loud slurps and squelching. You'd never been eaten out in such a way, eaten like he wanted more than just your sex. Like he wanted you.

"God!" You cried, pushing against his head as his claws drew blood from your skin. It rolled down your thighs and into your sheets, the same ones you had ran your fingers through and grabbed. Pennywise jingled for a moment, tongue rubbing against the roof of your heat as you thrusted your hips against his mouth. "Mm close!" You gasp, fingers rubbing against his head as his hands hold you in place.

Pennywise chose not to respond, instead his chest rumbled with a feral growl as he pushed his tongue impossibly deep into your cunt, a gloved thumb moving to rub circles around your clit. And with a loud whine, you released into his mouth. He drank you in like you tasted better than any blood that had ever touched his tongue. Back curled over your pelvis as he held your heat flush with his face, his eyes were rolled back and his teeth had sunk deep into your skin. Fear erupted with the blossomed pleasure which ran hot through your veins and Pennywise audibly moaned.

"Let go..." You gasped, pushing lightly at his hands. You already wanted to go back to sleep. Luckily he obliged, pulling away from you and licking his lips with a lewd glare. It didn't take long before he dropped your legs and crawled over your shaking body. You pressed your hand against his chest and sighed. "You'll be back?" You mumble, and he slots his thumb between your lips. "Can't get enough of this cunt..." You release a hollow giggle, nipping at the tip of a gloved finger and pushing Pennywise away. He watches you slip underneath the covers and stays until you fall back into a restful sleep.

He'll be back.

[neg4tivecre3p]

midnight sketch

[greenandsorrow]

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 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.

-> 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?

1984 Derry, Maine

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

[slasherparty]

Hey!! Not sure if requests are open or not but would you please write a pennywise cuddling the reader by candlelight type thing , times are hard atm and I would like my clown boiis comfort- if not I completely understand! Thank you!!

my requests (& commissions) are open, yes!! apologies for the late response! i haven’t written penny in sooo so long… i’ll do a simple list of soft stuff! this might be rusty but here goes

pennywise 🎈 x reader (comfort HCs)💭

pennywise does not speak words of comfort as mortals do; instead, he wraps his presence around you like a fog, the sensation both suffocating and soothing, a reminder that he is there and always watching.

his voice, usually a teasing lilt, softens to a deep, resonant hum that reverberates through your chest. “What’s this, little one? Tears? No need for those... not when I’m here.”

when the world feels too heavy, he conjures an illusion of weightlessness — floating you both above the ground in a quiet, timeless space, where neither gravity nor sorrow can reach.

cuddling by candlelight is a peculiar ritual with him; the flickering glow dances across his otherworldly features, softening the sharp angles and making him appear almost human — almost. his embrace is warm, his laughter low, as if he’s learned this way of comforting just for you.

pennywise chooses to approach comfort in a tactile manner. he has a fondness for cradling your head against his chest, gloved hand stroking your hair as if you were a treasured doll of his. his form shifts to accommodate you perfectly, his body strangely soft, like a cloud that holds you in its embrace. you hear the deep, rhythmic sound of his breathing — a heartbeat that shouldn’t exist but somehow reassures you all the same.

despite his unsettling and primal nature, he knows how to listen. his golden eyes, glowing faintly in the darkness, fix on you with an intensity that makes you feel seen in a way no one else has ever managed.

his voice shifts, soft and melodic, the guttural edge smoothed away as he murmurs, “Tell me what hurts. I’ll make it disappear—just for you.” and though his offer carries a hint of his predatory nature, there is no malice in it, only devotion.

when you cry, he does not offer tissues or platitudes. instead, he collects your tears on the tip of one elongated finger, inspecting them with childlike wonder before whispering, “Beautiful. Even your pain is beautiful.”

if fear follows you, he steps into the shadows with a growl, his clownish smile sharp and predatory. “No one frightens you but me,” he promises, his monstrous form a shield instead of a threat.

on the darkest nights, he hums a haunting tune, one that feels ancient and endless, wrapping the room in a melody that lulls you to sleep and whispers, “You are mine, and you are safe.”

thank you for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[getmeoutofhell]

Clowns in the Slasher House

warnings: clowns, body parts & cussing!

a/n: i’ve been wanting to do this so i hope you enjoy this! leave comments and request.

they all have their own separate rooms and floor in house.

you guessed it, they live in the basement. the basement has to be cleaned every damn friday, because if not, it’s gonna smell like ass and dodo.

now, let’s talk about who’s in the slasher house that’s a clown:

art the clown

penny

pennywise

the little girl

art & the little girl are the messiest out of all of them, and i stand by that. i mean, penny is very, very questionable, but art is more questionable.

sometimes they all play hide and seek, and invite you the play as well. penny is the best at it, since he can literally disappear if he so chooses to. but you had to tell him not to because that’s cheating.

pennywise is usually gone so he doesn’t join often with you guys. but when he does, he’s not the best at the game, but definitely not the worst.

art sometimes uses his hands to cover his face, pretending that he’s hiding. you think it’s funny and adorable, and you sometimes play along with it, pretending you can’t see him.

“oh dangit, i have no idea where art could be. i guess i’ll go look upstairs.” you see him giggle like a school girl before going up stairs.

the little girl likes you, and she’s more comfortable around you & art than anyone else in the house. she likes to tug on your pants leg if she wants something. you still haven’t thought of a name for her yet, but you’re working on it.

another thing about art is that you have to remind him to take his dirty ass clown shoes off when he enters the house. they’re covered with mud and other shit (literally) so it’s a constant thing you have to do to protect the rugs and carpet in the house.

you don’t have to worry about the other adult clowns and their shoes because they can make the dirt disappear in a blink of an eye.

art & the little girl make a lot of weird gifts and passes them to everyone. sometimes it’s a dead persons liver, sometimes it’s someone’s big toe that art collected. you’ll never know what you may get with him.

weekly showers. i don’t care how much art fusses his stanky ass is getting in that damn shower. every time you make art get in the shower, the other clowns laugh at him. arts reaction is to just flip them off, so that’s entertaining to watch.

penny likes to scare the others all the time. you can never get used to it because it’s always something different with him all the time. pennywise sometimes joins in on pennys little pranks but often penny does it to pennywise.

water gun fights!! especially since it’s hot out, it’s the perfect time to have some fun outside in the sun. just don’t forget the sun screen. i don’t know if the clowns would wear swim trunks but maybe you can convince them.

how can i forget the board game nights!! well art…he doesn’t like the board games much. but when he does play, he cheats. well, try’s to at least.

let’s say you’re playing uno and you’re sitting by art. you see out the corner of your eye art peek over next to you at your cards. “art don’t you dare.” he smiles before looking away.

the little girl is smarter than most people realize. she knows a lot, and does a lot. she knows when you’re depressed and sometimes will sit next to you as a type of comfort.

they like to play tag and run around the house every damn where and tear up shit.

*glass shatters* “oh my god what broke now?” you say annoyed.

should i do a part 2?

[multific]

Memories of A Past

Pennywise x Reader

Summary: Before Pennywise became the killing clown of Derry, he used to be a simple man, your man.

Before a meteor hit, before all the blood and children cries, he used to be a simple man.

A simple man who worked at the circus. A simple man who was in desperate love with you.

He was your man.

And you were his woman.

His name was Robert Gray, better known as Bob Gray, better known as Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

Bob was the love of your life. He could make you smile all the time. He always had something up his sleeve and he loved your laugh.

Your father was against Robert. He often said you deserved better than a clown.

But you didn't care.

You married him and joined the circus. 

It was a simple life, but it was your life. Yours and your Bobby's. 

And soon, you were blessed with a child. A beautiful daughter who was loved by you and Robert.

"She has your eyes." he said as he smiled at you, tears in your eyes as you watched him with your daughter.

You had a lovely life. Robert made everyone smile with his dancing clown persona and your daughter was growing fast.

But then, something changed. One day, you could have sworn the man in front of you wasn't your husband anymore.

The man holding you during nights, the man who kissed you good morning, wasn't your Bobby.

And it scared you.

He scared you.

"You are the most precious." he often told you, whispered into your ear.

Everywhere you went, death followed. Children were dying left and right and you were extremely concerned. 

Then during the Easter Egg Hunt you had a feeling your husband had something to do with it, you couldn't confirm it though.

That evening, when you arrived home to your trailer, you noticed your husband still wearing his clown costume, he turned to look at you and you wanted to ask him. 

You needed to confront him, you needed answers. But your voice never came.

You weren't too sure what happened after. All you could recall were three bright dots, shining bright as you fell asleep.

Pennywise woke every 27 years. He woke to incredible hunger which he needed to fulfil.

He had you down in the debts. Keeping you there for centuries now, asleep, dreaming away.

Pennywise had an attachment to you. He wondered if it was because of the host he took. Taking Robert, he took his memories, and Robert's memories were filled with you. At first, Pennywise wanted to kill you, he saw you as a weakness, but he couldn't. 

And even after so so many years, he still couldn't let go of you. He kept you in your dream, so he would have you, floating.

Every time he woke up, he went to see you. His sick and twisted mind saw the beauty that you were. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek.

"You are the most precious," he whispered.

And while he was out there eating and scaring children, you and your Bob were trapped in a dream along with your little girl.

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[charliedawn]

Can you write about the slashers finding out the nurse has a stalker? (That isn't them lol)

(Hi ! Sorry for the absence everyone. It has been a really busy year for me. But here you go ! Thank you for the request !)

Jack is usually pretty chill. He wouldn’t do anything at first if he saw the stalker didn’t bother anyone. But, if he saw that the stalker was starting to get a little too annoying ? He would make him get the message.

Jack would drape an arm over your shoulders and give the stalker the ‘Get out of my face’ look.

And if he still didn’t get the message ?

Then the stalker would unfortunately find his way down a flight of stairs—the express way.

You were sleeping when you heard someone open your window. You immediately turned on your lamp, but was surprised to find Patrick Bateman standing in the middle of your room.

He was covered in blood and lit up a cigar.

He took a deep puff and exhaled loudly.

You waited a few minutes before asking what he was doing here and why he was covered in blood. To which, he took his time to answer.

Patrick: "I apologise. I found a cockroach at your window."

You *look him up and down suspiciously*: "…Must have been one hell of a cockroach, huh ?"

Him *smirks* : "One BIG cockroach."

Bo: "Ssh…You the one who likes followin’ Nurse Y/N around, huh ? Ssh…Come on. We wouldn’t want to wake them up with your pussy screams, right ?" *proceeds to bust the stalker’s kneecaps*

Bo is the type of man to take action. He wouldn’t wait or warn you about the problem—but he would take care of it. Because he likes to be the man of the situation, the one who takes care of business and makes sure no one would be stupid enough to bother you.

So, let us just say that the stalker unfortunately didn’t make it.

"Oh oh oh. Naughty naughty stalker. You are one fffffunny human, ain’t ya ?!"

You woke up the next day with a pool of blood next to your bed. When you asked Penny about it, he replied with a large smile that he had a midnight snack.

You told Norman and asked for his opinion on what to do. He asked you to explain exactly what was happening and remained with a polite smile on his face as you proceeded to explain everything.

Once you were done, he still had a smile on his face. He wordlessly stood up, rolled up his sleeves and left for a couple of minutes before returning with an axe.

Your eyes widened and you tried to stop him, but too late. He stepped outside, knowing your stalker was probably waiting for you to get out of the house. The stranger was surprised when he saw Norman leave. It didn’t take Norman long to spot the stalker and without his smile leaving his face, he walked towards the stalker and swung his axe—barely missing the top of the stalker’s head.

"…If my baby girl/boy ever tells me you have been following her/him again…I won’t miss."

And with that, Norman went back into the house—humming a happy tune…while the stalker was left on the ground with his pants soiled upon having the scare of his life.

Pennywise was being his usual annoying and sarcastic self when he noticed someone following you from a distance. He didn’t care at first…not until he read the guy’s thoughts. And what he found in there ? It was enough to make his usual smile falter.

After that day, he decided to teach the guy a lesson. He hence took your appearance for a day and lured your stalker away from anywhere where they could be seen. And when he was sure there was no one around ? He took back his appearance and in one second, gulped down the stalker.

Literally.

No more stalker. Pennywise didn’t even leave the bones behind.

Brahms noticed from the start. Of course he did. Brahms used to be a stalker himself. But, your stalker was not a professional stalker and Brahms didn’t take him all that seriously at first. Besides, who was he to judge ?

But then…He hurt you. He took pictures of you. He kept them to himself, and Brahms felt as if it was getting exhausting for you.

And Brahms could not take it anymore.

One night as you were sleeping, the stalker crept into your room as per usual, but Brahms was waiting for him this time. And before he could approach your bed, Brahms took the stranger by the neck and held him above the ground. The stranger’s feet kicked the air…until they didn’t move at all.

Brahms let his body fall to the floor. He then proceeded to drag him out of your room—unaware that you had been awake the whole time. You closed your eyes and let go of the knife you had been clenching in your hand.

…

Jason noticed that one of the nurses was following you around. At first, he didn’t do anything as it seemed that you weren’t all that bothered by it. But then, he realised that you weren’t smiling as often anymore and that you would occasionally take pills to help with the tiredness (having a stalker meant really little sleep since you knew they were watching you.)

And finally, the stalker hurt you. He saw a bruise around your wrist and that…That he couldn’t handle.

At his arrival in St Louis, his machete was confiscated, but he was hired by a domestic furniture company to do mandatory work. And guess what is in high supply in his place of work ? That’s right. Wood and nails. Jason built himself a wooden mace with nails. Poor stalker ended up in a ditch around the hospital…his whole body smashed and mushed.

The moment Michael Myers would get a whiff of that stalker near you, he would become a permanent wall between you and the stalker. Your own watcher and bodyguard. The stalker would become the observed. Michael wouldn’t sleep or eat while the stalker is still there. And the moment they would meet ? Myers would make him regret ever being birthed into the same world as him…

[that-of-the-devil]

Pennywise X reader headcanons

Warnings/contains: mentions of feeling ill, mentions of pennywise hunting and feeding off of fear, themes of voyeurism, claws, teeth

Reader: gender neutral

A/n: this is just off the top of my head and I may end up adding to it

SFW

His scent definitely changes depending on who he’s around and how he feels about them. When he’s hunting, he changes it depending on the persons fear but most often he smells sickly sweet, like the feeling of eating too many sweet treats and becoming ill. His scent changes a lot when getting to know you, sometimes he’s a warm, fresh popcorn scent, other times an almost spicy, fiery scent.

On the topic of scent, he loves how you smell, his senses are incredibly heightened and yet he still can’t get enough of you. Loves burying his face into you and taking in your body heat and the way you smell.

Continuing from that..he’s just fascinated by the human body and loves to study you- for lack of a better word.

Pennywise is very tetchy about his hair, he likes when you touch it but, almost like a cat, he gets pissy if you touch it the wrong way or pull at any knots.

He’s very heavy on physical contact..once he’s brave enough to touch you and realises you wont fall apart. He loves if you lay on top of him so that he can just wrap his arms around you and bury his face into your neck. Sometimes he gets so carried away that he grows extra arms just to keep you wrapped up.

Similar to the changes in his scent, his temperature changes too. For those afraid of him, he’s either freezing cold or burning hot depending on what would gain the most reaction out of them. When he’s with you, his temperature adapts to whatever’s best for you but sometimes he can’t help himself from overheating.

NSFW

Both of you are too scared of anything serious at first for the fear of him quite literally snapping you in half. But like I said, he enjoys studying you and that includes watching you during me time.

Gets a little unhinged at the sight and smell of you. Can and will finish just from watching you without touching himself.

Once you’re both brave enough, he tries his best to be slow and gentle despite his entire body yearning to just take you. The second he realises that you’re fine, he’s absolute chaos, he can barely contain or control himself. He’s sloppy and messy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The more you get comfortable with each other, the more you see the monstrous parts of him, his claws and teeth coming out to play when he gets a bit too riled up.

He also comes up with a million ideas, wanting to pleasure you in any way that he can. And who would you be to deny that? He gets especially excited over the thought of using his mouth on you.

Continuing from that, he occasionally shape-shifts into your crushes, fictional or not. He loves the way you get giddy over a new face..and then just as giddy again when he goes back to his clown form.

He soon realises that your pleasure is another form of food to him. It’s a mere snack in comparison to the meal of fear, but he could never be too full for you.

Sometimes he’s almost submissive in the way that he acts, grovelling and begging for you/your attention. He gets especially needy if you haven’t seen him in a while.

Other times, he’s in total command, wanting complete control of you and your body. You get just as needy as he does sometimes and he loves it, adores when you squirm and beg for him.

[dreamerimpossible]

Fragile (Art The Clown x Fem!Reader x Pennywise)

Nobody asked for this either, but…what can I tell you? I am a nasty person.

Summary: You are the little pet of both sinister clowns.

Warnings: Sex with plot, oral (reader receives), dubcon, double penetration, pain, dark content, +18, humiliation.

Your nose still couldn't get used to the smell of putrefaction that surrounded the sewer. In fact, you could never stand it. It was a weakness. At least that's how your two captors had made you feel all this time: you're fragile, and breaking was just easy. That's how it was. Of course it was. You hadn't even been able to suppress the nausea caused by the dirty water whose waste you avoided seeing at all costs. Those ropes that tied your wrists still caused you a deep pain whose impact was beginning to be progressively more emotional than physical.

Your body immediately reacted to the strong and determined footsteps of one of your captors. Your head lowered, in a sign of involuntary submission, and your fists clenched violently so that the pain you caused yourself would be much more noticeable to him than your state of nervousness and vulnerability. But you knew it was useless.

It was useless, yes. Especially because the being in front of your figure could see through you. All of you. Your hands immediately loosened, sadly representing your absolute surrender to him. He approached you with a chilling smile that released blood from his lips, forming an immeasurable drip that fell to the floor, creating a completely unbelievable scene by human standards.

He smelled you, like a rabid dog would do to an unknown creature that was a potential victim. But his reaction was one of disappointment. Which made him move away at a safe distance from you. There was no fear. There was a worrying lack of fear in your veins. And he didn't like that at all. He didn't like losing control. Suddenly, the gloves on his hands were torn as they were torn by the claws that the clown was making sprout from his fingers. You suppressed a scream... was this the end for you?

Probably. The level of dirty water in the sewer was rising rapidly, turning red just as quickly. While all this was happening, there was Pennywise, with that characteristic smile, mocking you and the way he could make your fear grow with such simplicity. You closed your eyes tightly while repeating the same mantra over and over in your head:

“It’s not real…” you burst into tears uncontrollably. “This is not happening.”

You opened your eyes slowly when you felt the water calming down under your feet. And once they were fully open, you saw that everything was back to normal. The world-devouring clown had decided to stop torturing you like that for today. However, it wasn’t because of you. It was because someone had come to interrupt.

The clown dressed in black and white walked hunched over, with the garbage bag resting on his back, and his face only reflected annoyance. Pennywise had smiled again. You didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

Every time Art was psychologically tortured by Pennywise, his strength in hurting you was even more brutal. He was getting even. That's what you were for, to get his frustration out. Otherwise, your existence would be meaningless to him.

Today would be one of those days; you could feel it in your body. You could see it through his eyes. Your body suddenly felt weak just thinking about it. And Pennywise decided to make it much harder for you by making you witness his transformation, the representation of that feeling that Art The Clown couldn't experience for himself, but that, against all odds, he did feel. On tiny levels. But he felt it somehow. There was only one person in the world that made Art angry and eager to destroy you. That girl, that woman who was very different from you.

Pennywise's figure blurred and theatrically turned into the silhouette of what seemed to be Sienna Shaw armed with her sword.

Art didn't feel afraid, no. But he felt a little insecurity and hesitation. The sweet, intrusive thought of what could happen if he was once again decapitated by that woman. And that. That little fleeting thought made Pennywise feel extremely satisfied. It was what he lived for, to make Art the Clown feel like he was insufficient before him. To remind him that although he is almost indestructible, in essence, he was still weaker than him, than the devourer of worlds himself. Extremely different levels of strength. And then there was you. A small force next to them, insignificant and fleeting.

And his attention was now on you. Pennywise, on his side, eager to push you to the limits, and Art the Clown, on his side, only wanted to vent his anger on you.

Art's fingers squeezed your jaw tightly, fixing your eyes on his. You could see that there was nothing. Nothing that reflected any hint of emotion. Maybe that was his way of telling himself that Pennywise hadn't affected him in the slightest. Then, you saw his smile, and you were terrified of whatever he was about to do.  With a knife he tore your bloody clothes, scratching the skin of your torso. You took note of how many moderately deep scratches you had there. Your hurt tits were visible to both beings, who proudly looked at the bite marks, blows, and cuts they had left there, pleasing their sexual need.

Next, Art cuts your panties off with ease, letting them fall into the dirty water of the sewer, leaving you only in that skirt. That skirt that you wore to go to work almost obligatorily before you were imprisoned by a being from which it was impossible to escape.

Your skin was marked. You would never be the same again. You were lost.

Pennywise sank his teeth into your neck, sucking a little of your blood, like a little appetizer of what it would be like to truly devour you. Your eyes closed weakly, simply accepting your fate. But Art would make it harder. He inserted two of his fingers into your entrance, entering and exiting you at a raw speed. And it hurt in an indescribable way. Your moans were of absolute pain, making both men smile.

But what was coming now would be new and completely devastating for you. Art roughly grabbed your waist and held you in place, slowing down the pumping of his fingers and hitting just a specifically pleasurable spot for you, making you let out your first moan of involuntary pleasure. You felt bad. You weren't supposed to enjoy it. You opened your eyes in horror, and all Art did was mock you silently with exaggerated gestures of silent laughter. He had discovered a new kind of pain for you.

Pennywise followed the direction the other clown was taking and placed his red lips on one of your nipples, no bites. Your moans increased as you felt his tongue exploring with different movements, looking for the perfect way to make you enjoy this against your will. Your hands relaxed in your ropes, and your groans increased as you felt his tongue exploring with different movements, looking for the perfect way to make you enjoy this against your will. throw your head back and let out shameless moans as you felt the circular movement of Pennywise's tongue on your nipple, along with the marked rhythm of Art on your pussy.

They would kill you, sooner or later. They would finish you off. And yet... it felt so good. Art knelt before you, smiling at the irony of the situation, even believing that you could have any kind of control over him, and he pulled his fingers out of your entrance with ease and replaced them with his own tongue. Your leg was over his shoulder, his mouth sucking on your pussy without any shame, demonstrating once again his unhealthy fondness for all kinds of bodily fluids, licking and swallowing everything you had to give him, without making a single gesture of disgust.

It was completely alarming how much it turned you on. You are a nasty person. You had to be. Your screams echoed against the walls, given over to a pleasure that was undoubtedly beyond your control.

Pennywise's claws dug into your back as he began to alternate licks on your nipples with small bites that increased in intensity. Pleasure and pain lodged in the pit of your stomach, making you a slave to him, increasing your disorientation, and destroying your own moral code. You noticed how your own blood slid through your body and how you seemed to shamelessly enjoy it.

Art's tongue worked on you in an almost expert way, which made you ignore any kind of pain that they wanted to inflict on you. Your release was close. You wanted it; it was painfully torturous not to get it. You simply wished he would let you cum at least once. Looking into his eyes, you thought that maybe he was deciding too, whether to overstimulate you or leave you wanting again and again. Both are quite attractive options. However, to your invasive visual delight, you saw how Art drank all your fluids in a shameless way, licking your folds to try to clean everything that was left.

But make no mistake, he wasn't doing it for you. He needed you to enjoy it so he could destroy you, shamelessly break you. He needed you to be his doll too, the one who enjoyed the pain and the contempt.

Pennywise separated from your tits, squeezing your stimulated nipples with his fingers. The pain and pleasure were once again present, and the scream you let out was an auditory sample of the mixture of those two sensations that they wanted to make you feel.

Art stood up and continued in front of you; Pennywise positioned himself behind you. You felt four hands violently grabbing you by the waist. You couldn't even muster the strength to shake your head when you realized what they were going to do. But before you could make your displeasure known with sounds, each one penetrated your corresponding entrance. You bit your lip with a certain habit to endure that kind of pain at this point and prepared yourself for what you were going to feel. Be it good or bad.

They both penetrated at the same time, with a force much greater than two considerate boys would have, but much less than what they were used to. You felt both cocks inside you, fucking you with a desire you didn't think they even had. Your body was being abused and taken selfishly, and you could even feel the pain that would remain in your belly for days after experiencing that practice for the first time in such an inconsiderate way. Pennywise growled in your ear from behind, while the skins were heard colliding with each other, as if you were just that. A toy, one more hole. As Art watched your reactions, as you fought the fear and discomfort you felt at your own enjoyment. They both spilled their semen inside you in due time and separated, watching as your eyes closed at the amount of sensations you experienced.

They both watched as their semen fell down your thighs, mixing with all the blood from your wounds. You fell into a deep sleep instantly, as proof of your physical and emotional exhaustion.

No, not even Sienna Shaw could save you from this one.

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers as dads. (Extending the addition).

So I've been thinking about other slashers that I could write as fathers. And this is just a little list of ones that I've chose and how I feel about them. Usually for the slasher dad drabbles, I like to include at least four slashers. Freddy, Michael, Bo, and Hannibal have been my primary picks so far- and I write them in canon-divergence so they're portrayed as good guys. Now...

Let's talk about who else is fit to be a dad.

Jason Voorhees

I feel like it goes without saying that Jason would be a remarkable father figure. He's strong, protective, compassionate, loves nature, is nice, ect... If we altered his universe a bit and turned him into a good guy, I think he'd be the best father figure yet! I'm already thinking about scenarios where he teaches a child reader how to swim and stuff.

Bubba Sawyer/Thomas Hewitt

So I struggle a bit with Bubba mainly because he can't talk and, frankly, I'm not even sure if he can write. Children take after their parents, and I'm not gonna write a child reader squealing and huffing like he does. That's why I have such a difficult time with deciding what I could do to make him a good father figure. And it's not just his inability to talk, it's also his intelligence and the condition he lives in. My father figures have to have suitable jobs and living conditions. I'm not sure what I could do to make his situation better, you know?

As for Thomas Hewitt? I've never seen a movie with him, so I don't know anything about him, his speech, intelligence or living conditions. I was hoping maybe someone would explain it to me, please?

Weirdo demon people like Pyramid Head, Pinhead, Pennywise and Chucky.

Now, I don't see any of these characters as fit to be a father figure. However, I do see them as fit to be a 'friend'. Let's say a child reader is feeling lonely, scared, sad or neglected, and one of these guys shows up to make them feel better, take them on an adventure, or so on and so forth. I think that it could be it's own special kind of drabble sequence- not necessarily father figures, but more like 'friendly monsters'.

Evan MacMillan

The one character that I turn into an overworked dad in a lot of my stories, lol. I think Evan would make a great father figure. With a little bit of canon-divergence, it'd be easy to give him a suitable home and job. As a father, he'd be one of the best.

Albert Wesker

With A LOT of canon-divergence (and extreme patience and determination on my end), I think I can turn prince blondy into a father figure. It's going to be rough and I'm going to alter his personality a lot, but I can make it happen. If given the chance, I know that Albert can be a great father figure too.

Karl Heisenberg

I need to ring my memory up on this guy, but from what I remember, he's decent. I've actually read stories where he adopts one of the main characters, so he already has some fatherly traits without even needing any altering. But obviously I'd give him some canon-divergence anyway. Not everything about Karl is perfect, but I can see him being a good father.

Writing Vincent or Lester as the father instead of Bo.

This idea would be easy to do since I already write Bo as the father figure in my primary drabbles, but I've often wondered what it would be like to change it up a bit. Either Vincent or Lester would make good father figures. It kind of just depends on future plot that is used.

I need a little bit more time to think of other Dead by Daylight characters who would make good fathers, because I'm actually struggling a bit with it. But other than that, thank you for taking the time to read my notes! I don't know what the future holds, but I'm hoping that one day, all these characters and ideas will be part of it.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Clown Without Pity [Pennywise x Reader]

Title: Clown Without Pity [Pennywise x Reader]

Synopsis: You used to be scared of clowns, but that was a long time ago.

For Horrorfest request:

Horrorfest request for random person being followed at a carnival by the lovely clown IT. They think he's just a normal clown at first. Until they see him later outside of the carnival. And then at a Halloween party.

Word count: 1400ish

notes: reader is scared of clowns, implications of death & general horror things, speeding down small town roads and other things you Should Not Do Because It's Irresponsible

The first time you see the clown, you smile. Not because he was particularly delightful–he looked like any other clown at any other carnival–but because he brought back memories. Distant, foggy, something you could see now with rose-tinted glasses:

When you were a child, you were scared of clowns. 

No, not just scared–terrified. There are memories, seen through the sweeter lens of adulthood that takes away the sharp edge of terror you once felt, of you clinging to your father’s leg; begging to leave a carnival, a work event, a birthday party, because there was that all-too-familiar terror looming just ahead—

A clown. 

Like the one at this carnival, handing out balloons to children who pass by. He looks like any clown you’ve ever seen, like the ones that used to have you squeezing your eyes shut until your parents sighed and carried you, sobbing, back to the car. 

White face. Red hair. An outfit with frills and puff-balls. A smile, a laugh (haw-haw-haw) and oh, my, he’s seen you staring.

He waves, cheerily.

You wave back, smile tight. 

Not because you’re scared–you are not a little kid anymore, for heaven’s sake–but because it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Clowns are meant for children.

–

The clown should not be standing across the street from the local liquor store, and yet, there he is, in all his costumed glory. 

He stands out like a sore thumb, and it’s a wonder no one else has pointed him out. Or that no cars honk at him as they whizz by, speeding but uncaring on Halloween night. The police force would be hanging out downtown, keeping an eye on the kids, not lurking by a party store tucked on a back road. 

He doesn’t move from his spot on the side of the road. He only stares straight ahead, eyes almost bulging, and even if he isn’t staring at you–is he?--you can’t help but tear your gaze away.

Because…

Something awfully nostalgic creeps into the back of your skull. A familiar feeling, itching along your scalp until it crawls across your jaw and down your chest; until you clench the paper bag in your arms, hearing it crinkle around the bottles of vodka you spent too much of your paycheck on.

An unwelcome sensation that makes you want to find your father and hide behind him even now, decades later—

Fear.

–

By the time you make it to the party, you’ve chided yourself ten times over for being silly. The clown was probably headed in to buy some booze of his own after a day working a children’s carnival. Handing out all those balloons and smiling at kids all day. He was probably waiting until it was safe to cross the road, and you caught him standing awkwardly.

Halloween night was making you stupid, that’s all. Well. That and the pre-gaming shot you did before you went to the carnival. Sure, sure, you were good to drive–that didn’t mean your thoughts weren’t a little loopy. A little silly.

Now? Now it was time to forget about clowns and childhood fears and get your Halloween party game on. 

Your costume wasn’t anything spectacular. A black dress and a slapped-on witch hat, a smear of green eyeshadow across your eyes and hastily applied eyeliner that you’d only remembered after pulling your car into the cul-de-sac.

Maybe next year you would put more thought into it, but on this night? You just wanted to get drunk, maybe dance, maybe meet someone cute and take them home.

Getting drunk and dancing was on the table for sure, at least. The vodka you brought is a favorite, and you turn to it again and again as the night goes on, until your head is fuzzy enough to make dancing to “Monster Mash” genuinely fun.

You don’t even mind that you haven’t found anyone to hook up with; there’s enough mingling going on that the crowd stuffed into the living room is a mix of couples and singles, groups of friends, groups of strangers, everyone sporting costumes of varying quality and care. 

Sexy nurses and Frankensteins and Harley Quinns; Marios and Hot Dogs and Draculas. Everyone drinking and dancing and having loud conversations that didn’t matter all that much. 

The costumes bleed together with every drink, until you’re not sure if you already talked to that sexy cat or maybe it was the handsome tiger that chatted you up, or maybe it wasn’t a cat at all, maybe your brain got confused with the guy dressed as Roger from 101 Dalmations (he carried a dalmatian plushie) and you’re starting to wonder if you should have someone call you an Uber when there’s a clown standing in the middle of the living room.

Oh but it’s not a clown, it’s the clown. The clown from the carnival, the clown from the street, the clown that is now standing perfectly still amidst a crowd of dancing, drunken strangers. His face looks sallow now, his eyes bigger, but his grin, his grin is the same. Wide and red and were his teeth always so sharp?

A trick of the light, you think, a trick of the booze; but you blink, and think, and blink again, but it remains the same no matter what. 

He’s just standing there. Staring and smiling. And he’s got a balloon–it hadn’t been there before–but no one else so much as stops and stares at this strange clown in a rotting gray suit (oh, oh it had been fine before, all cream and bright red) holding a balloon in the middle of the party.

No one else sees him.

But you do.

And he sees you, too.

Now, now, you feel fear. Not just any fear. That old fear, that childish fear, that starts from your toes and doesn’t stop until it’s prickling at your scalp. The fear that keeps you rooted to the spot. The fear that demands a mom or dad or older sibling with a few years on you, someone who knows enough about the world to keep all the awful things at bay.

“Mommy and daddy aren’t here to help you,” a voice says, and it’s with an awful sinking feeling that you see the clown's mouth move. It’s the clown. The clown is talking. But no one turns. No one else hears. Everyone else is dancing, laughing, carrying on like none of this is happening at all.

The tingling fear is cradled by a heavy dread that settles into your stomach, a dread that tells you the cold hard facts of life as you know it: 

You are alone with the clown in a crowded room and no one is going to help you. No one is going to help you, and you were right to be scared of clowns as a child, and maybe if you hadn’t talked yourself out of it, you wouldn’t be here.

You wouldn’t be standing frozen to the spot, watching as he takes a step forward–big and silly, he laughs as he does it, like he’s tiptoeing quietly to some secret place. As if he needs to be quiet, despite the fact that no one else can hear him or see him.

"I'm coming for you," he says, voice low, awful, despite the silliness of his exaggerated gestures.

He weaves around the party guests like they are hedges in some terrible human maze. And you, you can do nothing but watch as he spins, his mouth making exaggerated “Os” each time he almost rams into someone. 

"I'm getting closer," he says, and you want to run. But you can't. You're too scared. Scared like you used to be; scared in a way you haven't been in decades.

Maybe--

If you hadn’t stopped being afraid, maybe you wouldn’t have come to the party at all. His second sighting on the road would have sent you home, for the safety of the space underneath your bed covers, a night light protecting you all the way up those dark stairs. 

Your jaw wouldn’t be open in a silent cry for help that will not come. Tears would not be streaming down your cheeks, even as the clown does a little spin–”Ta da!”--on his journey across the room. The tears sting with smeared green eyeshadow.

But you are here. Stuck and trapped and damp urine runs down your leg. No one notices, no one sees. No one cares.

And the clown is getting closer. He could be here in two strides, you realize dimly, but he doesn’t want to hurry it along. He wants to take it slow. He wants you to stew–stew in your fear and anguish and the realization that you are a small, stupid insignificant thing and this clown (but It is not a clown) is stronger and older and–

Right in front of you now.