thought it’d be fun to try out those nsfw abcs so here's my first one ever for an ftm sonar with a top reader
mdni no pronouns mentioned for reader. obviously afab language used for victor and a mention of top surgery scars. also small warning for various mentions of substance usage/abuse since it’s vic lol. and i used @/the-coldest-goodbye 's template!
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
he’s the type that tries to strike up a conversation after, sometimes it’s awkward but it is genuinely kind of endearing. in a relationship with someone he’s actually interested in, he tries to check in on you without making it obvious that it’s what he’s trying to do, so he kinda dances around the topic until you reassure him you enjoyed your time. depending on how the day went or how the sex was, if he’s tuckered out he’ll just lay there but won't fall asleep unless you do; he hovers a bit, and will probably kinda trail after you if you tend to get up and do things after sex. he likes being around you and soaks up your affections like a sponge so he’ll be silently wanting to be held or kissed. he can cook a mean post-sex meal, which is his best way to show you that he cares because in the beginning he’s gonna be a little too awkward for verbal confirmation. he’s also a huge fan of post-sex showers, which sometimes leads to another round but it’s always super relaxing. he likes sharing hair and body products.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
he’s kind of into everything about him just due to him trying to cope with his insecurities by turning his self-consciousness into ego, but he’ll end up liking whatever it is you like about him. he’ll lean more into his human parts, his chest and arms and muscles, but if you’re really into his bat features and give those parts of him the most attention, he’ll slowly begin to agree with you and be less harsh on those parts of himself. he inflates his brains the most, though he brags about being smart in the wrong areas.
on his partner, he pretty much likes everything about you. he wants to say his favorite thing is your overall body, your chest and muscles, your hands especially. but he really likes your face, not just because he finds you stunning but because he’ll really like it if you’re expressive. he stares at your face a lot, whether you realize it or not. he likes to watch you talk and smile, drifting often to your lips. he’d really like it if you talked a lot, both in the bedroom and out. he finds your lips attractive and really likes looking into your eyes.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
victor can be as dirty as he can be sweet. he likes your cum in his mouth, on his face, in his fur, on his skin, anywhere inside him. he has no issues with it. some days he has more interest in it than others; he’ll read a random reddit post of someone saying how much they like it when their partner cums on their face and it’ll be the only thing he wants to do for like five days. he’s easily influenced and almost anything and everything gets his mind running. he’s not particularly in love with the taste of cum or anything, but he does like it. when he sees himself in the mirror afterwards and sees wherever you got some on him, he can’t stop staring at it for a couple of minutes. it can be kind of annoying having to take a shower after if it gets in his fur, but that just means he can drag you into the shower with him and he’s more than alright with that.
on you, victor likes it when his cum’s visible. if he can see it around your mouth or dripping from your chin, it turns him on like crazy. he wants to please you, so if you like pushing your fingers, coated in his cum, into his mouth; he will suck them clean and will want to be praised for it.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
he’s kind of a voyeur. he wishes he had invisigal’s powers because his bat form doesn’t exactly help with subtlety. in his days before working for the sdn, he got off on watching people fuck and doing coke off each other’s stomachs or dicks—at least he didn’t need to hide himself then, being free to sit at a club as people got hot and heavy with each other until he’d sneak into the bathrooms behind them and listen to them fuck in the next stall over. now, it’s a lot harder to do that when he needs to actually make a good impression of himself, but if you were okay with it, he’ll totally settle for watching you touch yourself, whether it’s in a public setting where he can ‘sneakily’ listen and watch you from above as you jerk off in an alley, or simply watching you at the end of your bed in the comfort of your bedroom.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
he’s good at hooking up and having quickies, but he’s not experienced when it comes to being in a relationship and actually having sex with someone who doesn’t just see him as an exotic piece of meat to scratch off their bingo card. he’s not used to being gently caressed and kissed, or taking things slow; undressing for the sake of appreciating the others’ body and less to just ogle. any way you fuck him, it’s going to feel different purely because you’re not just a quick fuck, you’re actually someone who loves and likes him. he knows how to give quick, mindless blow jobs and hand jobs, but he’s not so used to being eaten out slowly and methodically.
you have to kind of teach him, with time, to get used to being in a relationship. when he’s anxiously pacing his kitchen because he’s trying to prepare himself for you to leave after your night together, you have to be ready to cook him breakfast and send him off for work with a promise that you’ll be waiting for him. he’s going to be someone who cums really early, because that’s what he’s used to—it’s actually fun to train his stamina and prepare him for long, intimate nights. when he gets used to being in a committed relationship, his experience does shine through, it just has to be tweaked a little bit in order to break the habits he’s developed from years of hook-ups that more often than not happened while under the influence.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
victor’s cool with anything, and doesn’t particularly have any favorites just because he likes it all, but he does really like being on his stomach. he likes switching positions mid-sex, usually anything where he starts on his back and then ends on his stomach. he just likes having his face stuffed into the pillows or sheets as you fuck him from behind, and he doesn’t mind being bent over your couch or kitchen counters if you don’t have the patience to drag him into your bed. sometimes if the sex is very intimate and sweet, he’ll get a bit embarrassed, so he likes not having you see his face since it’s very obvious when he’s becoming bashful or shy. it’s not really a position, but he also really likes shower sex—it makes for an easy clean up and he really likes being pressed against the cool wall/glass of the shower as hot water runs down his body. he also really likes a position where he can lean back against you as you fuck up into him—not only does it let you deeply fuck him, but you can also easily keep his legs held open. he’ll squirm a lot but only because it feels so good.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
victor’s humor is a little drier so he’s not exactly going to try to make jokes, but sometimes among his mindless yapping he might say something a little silly that could make you laugh. humor doesn’t ruin the moment for victor, unless you’re like, constantly making jokes, then he won’t be bothered per se but he’s just not going to be listening if you’re fucking him well enough. if you’re poking fun at him he might get a little huffy but it’s not going to put him out of the mood too much. any jokes he makes will probably be saved for after you’re done. like maybe he’ll point out that the cum stain you left on his stomach kinda looks like a dick or something—those will be the kinda jokes he makes.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
he used to shave in the past but then found his hair tended to re-grow really quickly so he dropped it after he became too depressed to really keep up with it and now doesn’t bother much with it. if you had a problem, he’d probably be motivated to do something about it. but for himself? he doesn’t care much. he’s probably read a lot of those alpha male pick-up artists say that having more body hair makes you more desirable and used that to cope. getting in a relationship would be when he started to think about it; he wouldn’t shave, but he would trim. there’s not much he can do about his actual fur, but he’d definitely trim his bush up a little. he’d do like three snips and call it a day because he’s too attached to his body hair. he loves his happy trail and arm hair so he’d be quietly hoping to god that you aren’t someone who dislikes that sort of thing.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
he tries to act really cool and suave but he’s honestly such a sap. he won’t try to be ‘romantic’ unless you take that first step because he’s actually kind of afraid of rejection, but if you’re all intimate and sweet, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him (especially paying extra attention to his bat features), he will absolutely melt. he might have been trying to lead you, talking like he’s got the whole night planned but the second you gently touch him, kissing up his body and whispering about how much you love him, he will be speechless and won’t know what to do with himself. especially if you give him a lot of aftercare and make sure he’s doing okay, offering to huddle up close or eat a meal together, it’s like an arrow through his heart. he’ll have a difficult time doing it back because he’s kinda awkward about it, but in a relationship, victor falls really hard, so even though he may act a little weird it’s just because he wants to be all sweet and lovey-dovey with you back but it’s still something he’s learning to do. he’s better at going about it after sex, like cooking you a meal or getting you a dessert you like. but in the moment, he’s kinda freezing up and stumbling over himself because he’s not quite sure what to do. his constant eye-contact (of what you can tell) is his best way of trying to show you how smitten he is.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
he did it a lot before getting in a relationship with you, mostly when he was drunk or high, but as his sex drive slows down a little bit, the amount he jerks off kinda reduces. he becomes busy with work which causes him to just come home exhausted, but once getting with you, his sex drive does a little relapse and comes back somewhat full force. he’d prefer sex with you of course, but he’s also got no problem with handling his problems on his own. he’s easily motivated and could literally jerk off to a text message you send, so you shouldn’t worry about leaving him to tend to himself even when he’s whining about it. he’s got no self-control about it and will make himself cum as soon as he needs to and if he needs to jerk off again, he’ll just do it. he doesn’t really do it for fun, but sometimes if he’s completely fucking bored and has nothing else to do, he’ll jerk off lmao.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
bondage is something he probably joked about being into at first and then actually got really turned on by it and is now proudly into it. he specifically really likes having his wrists bound, either with handcuffs, rope, zip ties, silk, duct tape, whatever, but he’s also alright with having his ankles bound like, to the end of your bed or something. he’s also cool with being blindfolded or gagged, but those can sometimes get him way too overstimulated.
he’d also like sex after/while smoking pot, even better if you smoke with him. it makes him all sensitive and makes everything feel ten times better, though it usually only results in one round of sex before he’s either getting up to go eat because he’s fucking starving or he’s accidentally passing out asleep right then and there.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
there’s not a lot of places he wouldn’t have sex, and again, doesn’t particularly have any favorites. he’s fine if it’s somewhere cozy, in your bed or on your couch, and he doesn’t mind being pressed against hard concrete or dirt and grass (though he’ll be kind of annoyed if it gets his clothes dirty). if he had to choose a favorite, it’d probably be anywhere in your home because he likes your scent and likes being around you, and he’s not going to say no to being fucked against warm blankets and clean sheets. also likes fucking in the shower, and kind of has a soft spot for having sex in water, like in a bathtub or even out in the rain—it feels good against his skin and fur and he likes seeing your wet clothes or hair sticking to your body. he also, like.. enjoys having sex in other people’s places lol? hotel rooms are fun, but if he had the opportunity to fuck in robert’s bathroom or in flambae’s bed, he’d do it. he finds it funny to piss them off and he doesn’t have to be the one to clean up the mess.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
anything about you gets him going, really. showing interest in him is good motivation. feel him up a little, dance your fingers along his fur and up behind his ears and tease his mouth with your thumb; pull him into you when he starts straying, pretty much just manhandle him and he’s head over heels. he’s also very motivated by words, but honestly it doesn’t matter what you say, just you talking is enough to turn him on. you could literally be reading off a grocery list and he’ll be on the verge of shoving his hand down his pants. it’s like that one scene in sex education with the two teachers learning ‘dirty’ talk after realizing that you didn’t have to say anything actually sexy, it just had to be said in a sexy way; sound, look, or act like you wanna fuck and victor will be under you in a heartbeat. he’s also just very receptive to praise and will absolutely hang on to your every word once you start talking about how good he’s doing.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
there’s not a whole lot he wouldn’t do honestly. i think one thing he wouldn’t be okay with would be anything that eventually makes him feel small and worthless. in a trusted relationship with him, if you bring up wanting to have a threesome or something, he’ll probably be down for it—but if it gets to a point where you begin pushing him away for other people, trying to stretch his boundaries and seeing how far he’ll go in a way that is just manipulating his trust, he’ll begin to question himself and will revert back to being that young, depressed victor that only knew how to cope with his worries by getting completely plastered. and he probably won’t even be strong enough to put his foot down or lay out his boundaries either. and similar thing, if you start talking about someone else during sex, more especially someone he feels inferior to in any way, it seriously makes him shrink up and gets him pretty depressed and upset.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
he loves receiving it. he doesn’t care where he is, if you offer it, he’s gonna try his absolute best to be available to take it. he’s more than happy to sit back and relax as you eat him out for however long you fucking want. he’s great at receiving it; he’s a little whiny and he’ll buck his hips up every now and then, but he’ll stay still if you really want him to and only wraps his legs around your head when he’s getting overstimulated. you can sit him on your face but he honestly does better laying back.
he loves giving it too, but he can get a bit ahead of himself. he takes more of your cock than he can handle at once and his teeth sometimes get in the way but he does genuinely really like sucking you off. he loves pleasuring you and he really gets off on praise so all you have to do is guide him a little and he’s golden. he likes the weight of you on his tongue and could literally have you in his mouth for hours if you let him. blow jobs get him horny so unless you expect to get him off afterwards, you’ll have to pull him away from between your legs, which will lead to him trying really hard to convince you otherwise (and he is very persuasive).
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
it can really depend. since he naturally leans into a submissive role, you’ll probably be controlling the pace. if he’s trying to dominate, or he’s the one that initiated sex, at first he’s going to be a lot quicker (and honestly sloppier), riding you and really just trying to make you and him cum as soon as possible because he’s too horny to care, but you can slow him down and encourage him to take his time. he can get whiny because he’s impatient, but he’ll listen to you. he’s not really rough, he just naturally takes things faster. he thinks he prefers it fast and hard, and will try to encourage you to take him like that, wanting you to relentlessly fuck him into the bed until he can’t think, but he actually really enjoys it when you take your time and fuck him with slow, deep thrusts. sensual sex ends up becoming his favorite even when he likes to say he prefers it hard and fast. he’s a bit embarrassed by how much he likes it but it really does soften him up and make him all mushy and vulnerable afterwards.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
he’s more than alright with them. it’s what he’s used to anyway, he doesn’t mind being pulled into storage closets as you race to make each other cum before he has to go into a meeting. with how high his sex drive can be, quickies would be common depending on your schedule. victor likes getting what he wants, especially if he gets it fast, but if you liked making him wait so you could have a long, drawn out night, he’s cool with that too. he’ll get really antsy and worked up but he’s completely on board. sometimes he just needs a long, good night with you. he loves the attention you give him so it’s a win-win either way. there’s a good chance that most of your quickies are you eating him out before he has to go into work since he sometimes wakes up really horny.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
he’s sorta a ‘i’ll do anything once’ kinda guy, though, with some hesitancy. pre-sdn victor’s jumping in there with no question, but new and improved hero vic has finally developed a bit of common sense which at least kind of helps him make better choices. still, if you offer to drag him into the nearest public restroom for a quick fuck he’s not gonna say no. he’ll happily have sex in the showers at the sdn building, maybe even get a little handsy in the breakroom (though nothing too crazy, he doesn’t wanna lose his job). he’ll fuck in alley ways and let you grope him in clubs and bars. he’ll wear a collar in public with your name on it, he’s totally cool with like, all of it. he finds it hard to say no to you, so more likely than not, whatever you wanna do? he’s doing it.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
victor tries to brag like, i can go all day and night, baby but honestly he starts feeling it just after one round. being sober makes him a lot more sensitive so it’s really something he has to get used to. he can cum very quickly, but he’s not opposed to being overstimulated so he’s alright with back-to-back rounds so long as you give him a little bit of time between them. he’s very interested in you, so he really doesn’t want to stop at just one or two… but he’s getting older, y’know? cut him some slack. he’s happy to jerk you off or go down on you to let his pussy rest at least. he’s got the stamina to let you fuck his cunt for how ever many rounds you need, but so long as you don’t touch his clit, all is well—once you start stimulating his clit, that’s when his stamina begins to teeter. not only will he not last long, but he’s gotta tap out for a bit. he’ll be begging you to touch him only for him to start backing out once he realizes he’s not going to be able to hold out. he tries to be like nooo no it’s fine i can totally go again, but you can just see it in the way he’s breathing and the way he’s trying to close his legs that he’s kind of out of commission. poor thing won’t last long unless you edge him, but that’ll get him really vocal and whiny so you’ll have to be prepared to say no to him even when he looks so pathetic begging.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
oh yeah he likes toys for sure. he’s definitely gotten sex toys as gag gifts over the years, mostly from malevola who really liked getting him absurdly large dildos that he absolutely tried telling himself he was trying out as a joke only to actually really enjoy them (and is in total denial of the fact that he uses them somewhat frequently). definitely has like, some sort of blonde blazer-themed dildo or something (and if you were a hero, he’s getting aaalll the toys they have designed after your persona). he really likes vibrators too, and isn’t afraid to double up on toys with a dildo inside him and a vibrator on his clit. he’ll use a vibrator on your dick too, if you want. he’s not afraid of a little experimenting, so if you had any toys you wanted to bring in, he’d be totally on board, like literally knock yourself out. he will gladly let you test out new toys on him. he’s the type of guy to get whatever dumb sex toy is trending and pretend like he’s just in on the joke even when he’s unironically cumming and shaking from a rose toy on his clit.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
victor can’t tease you because he’s way too impatient for it. he’ll throw in the towel so fast. he just can’t willingly deprive himself of pleasure when he can just.. choose not to do that. he probably brags about being able to hold out, and if you were just starting out your relationship, he’d try to tell you made-up stories of how he could go for hours but he’s all bark and no bite. he’s not even very good at teasing honestly, but he is very fun to tease. it’s definitely something that gets him going—if you tie his hands up and don’t allow him to touch himself, he gets very worked up and will go from “i am not begging” to absolutely pleading for you and trying to bargain his way out. he claims to hate it but he’s honestly so submissive at heart that he can’t help but love it. he can sometimes accidentally tease you like if you’re fucking him and he gets a phone call, even though vic is pretty horny, he’ll probably stop you so he can answer the call and sometimes the calls can go on for a while—while you do easily grab his attention, his attention can also be stolen very quickly. it’s ironic because if you were to do the same to him, he’d be near tears trying to get you off the phone.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
he sure talks an awful lot if you let him. he moans more when you go down on him or finger him, but he talks a lot when you’re actually fucking him. a lot of it is nonsense, just him rambling and trying to ground himself, and sometimes he’s trying to very sloppily convey what he wants, whether he’s asking you to fuck him harder or asking you to touch him another way. in actual volume he’s not very loud when he moans, but when he’s rambling it’s either at a normal talking volume (when it can actually be kind of awkward if you’re fucking somewhere less private and don’t want any heads turning your way) or it’s at that ‘when people who can’t whisper try to whisper’ kinda volume. he can’t be completely quiet but he’s not that loud either. you can maybe get him to shut up if you fuck him hard enough, but you shouldn’t bet on it.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
he’s fantasized about fucking every member of the z-team at least once—if any of them offered to fuck, he would not have turned them down. coupe, prism, flambae, and robert were his most notorious victims of his fantasies because they’re the ones he could find himself easily submitting to the most. sometimes when they’d talk, victor would slip something into the conversation that just slightly hinted at his interest and he found it very entertaining to see their faces morph into either complete disgust or genuine confusion (and he might later have gotten off to the memory of it when he got home from work).
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
lots of his gray fur coming down from his neck to just above his pecs before it thins out and trickles down to his stomach and ending at a fluffy bush, leaving a nice happy trail just above it. he has straight top surgery scars beneath his nipples that he got when he was much younger, so he'd accidentally reopened them quite a few times causing them to heal a little jaggedly. he’s got some muscles from working out, but he’s bad at not snacking throughout the week so he’s developed a little bit of thickness to his thighs which makes up for the fact his ass is kinda flat. he’s got very nice hands and definitely gets manicures every now and then to keep them in shape. he used to be self-conscious of the hair on his arms but he later ended up believing it helped get him laid and now he likes to show them off, even with some of the track marks he still has from his drug abuse. also, he bruises pretty easily, and even though the places you can suck hickies on to his skin most likely aren’t going to be seen by others, he still likes seeing his stomach and chest littered with them even if he can’t show them off. for some reason i feel like he’d have gotten some kind of tramp stamp at some point too lol, and if he had the necessary qualifications, would absolutely have gotten a fourchette piercing for his pussy.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
as long as you exist, all he thinks about is you. he honestly probably suffered from hypersexuality that he may or may not have gotten some kind of support for after getting in with the sdn. horniness is sort of in his nature regardless, but his sex drive is definitely fueled by yours. if you show sexual interest in him, whatever little spark of arousal he had is getting boosted by a thousand. he’s very easily influenced by you; send him pictures of yourself or send him messages with even the littlest bit of sexual undertone and he’s rushing to the sdn restroom and desperately asking for more. whenever you’re down to fuck, he is too. there’s a phase he gets into at some point in your relationship where he’s worried about scaring you off and doesn’t initiate sex whatsoever, so the second you give him the go ahead he is so ready. he often wakes up horny, so morning sex would be commonly asked for by him. his drive also spikes in the middle of the night, so unless you’re still awake with him, you might be getting woken up by a ‘distressed’ victor who claims he just seriously needs your help with a huge, real problem—that problem being that he really wants to get fucked.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
it depends sometimes. if you have sex early in the morning, even if he has work he’s probably going to go back to sleep right after. having sex at night or after work really only energizes him more and gets him pumped with adrenaline. he’s a heavy sleeper at times so unless you want him to miss work, it’s best to leave sex for after work or on the weekends, or just have him cum via your mouth or fingers, which in that case he’s gonna use that as motivation to wake up and start his day. after he has coffee, you can fuck.
Pennywise x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader although they do have "toys that buzz") spiritual successor to Heat. NSFW. MDNI. Clussy fingering, vague mentions of clussy eating and non-specific fucking. Pennywise is still in heat and cums for days. Soft-dom coded reader but the dynamic is not the focus. One instance of biting (reader receiving.) Pennywise being petulant. Inspired by this art by @minisculemars and requests from @hisokamywaifu and anon!
The ache lingers.
Long after you fall asleep, content to slumber with Pennywise’s scent still clinging to your flesh, the entity’s heat rages on.
"This is your doing!" it snarls, towering above you the morning after. It practically spits the words at you. "What have you done to me?"
"Wait, you're still in heat?"
You're amused, and Pennywise has half a mind to eat you there and then, even as its aching, weeping sex craves yours.
But if it killed you, there’d be no hope of satiating that ache, or of ending the merciless heat. Because no matter what Pennywise does, what it rubs against or stuffs inside itself, your touch seems to be the only thing that comes even close to quelling the incessant throb.
And yet it knows. It knows no matter what you do to it, the relief can only ever be superficial because the body you touch isn’t real. Its true form is beyond your comprehension—you'd lose your sanity if it ever revealed itself to you and then you'd be completely useless.
So it must make do. You are the poison and a temporarily soothing balm, if not the cure. And so it suffers and begs, it yearns and despises.
It answers you with a plastered-on grin. "I need more. Touch me... Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me..." it sings, "I wanna be dirty..."
You do what you can. Again and again. You give it what it desires. Yet even with your help, Pennywise's heat, and its climaxes, last for days.
Days of torment, of feeling the very essence of itself turned over and over, inside out, and burning beneath your touch.
It waits impatiently for you to come home, desperately seeking a moment of relief with anything it can find.
It plays with your toys that buzz and tickle until the batteries run flat, your hairbrush where your scent lingers, a wadded up shirt from the laundry hamper, the food in your fridge, the deodorant that masks your stink. It claims it all. And none of it helps. It tosses them aside with a frustrated growl and a curl of its lip.
It doesn't feel anything close to relief until you come home and catch it frantically humping your pillow.
"You're home..." it sighs, pitifully, reaching out a trembling clawed hand. It tries to stand, but its legs give way beneath it. "Help poor Pennywise out again, woncha?"
It passes another evening rutting and sobbing against you, dragged through wave after wave of tortuous ecstasy. Greedy, insatiable.
"Mine, oh-ho, mine, mmmmine," it babbles with slick and sweat and spital dripping from every orifice.
It brings you to oblivion with it, but you pass through all too soon with a maddening look of satisfaction. Never before has it craved the fleeting nature of humanity so desperately. Lucky lucky thing.
You lick and touch and fuck it until you're spent. But it still isn't enough. It cannot be enough.
The brief stillness of relief only heightens the torment when the next wave of need floods through it.
“End it!” Pennywise demands on the fourth day of choking on its own arousal. “Make it stop.”
There's little you can do but hold the eater of worlds in your arms and cradle it against you, stroking its sex as it comes apart endlessly.
It trembles, drenched and weak. Your touch is maddeningly gentle and more than it can stand.
“There… yes, just like that,” you whisper, your breath on its skin making its spine bristle. “Does that help?”
Among its strangled cries and frantic whimpers, you discern the words, "yes... mm- m-or- ohho."
"More?"
"Yes! Yes!"
So you push deeper, and finger it harder; down to your knuckles, then your wrist, deeper, deeper, until your arm is buried inside. And there, oh there, you come so desperately close to its core.
"You're so hot," you whisper, breathless from awe and exertion. "Burning. Like sunlight."
It comes apart a moment later with the steady curl of your fingers, climaxing so hard its voice breaks and teeth gnash. It isn't even conscious of biting into your flesh, not until the sweet tang of your blood trickles down its throat. Bliss.
"Oh yes, yesyesyes..."
And finally, it knows peace. Stillness. Its limbs are heavy and eyes barely open. But the heat fades.
"You did so very well..." it murmurs, it's voice rough and faint. "I must rest."
"You must be exhausted," you say, fetching a cloth to clean away the rivers of slick pouring from its pulsing core. “You poor old thing.”
“Don't you dare pity me,” it snarls, teeth bared despite the fact it can't open its eyes, "I have laid waste to countless worl-huh... hoh...."
Your gentle, caring caress and the warm, wet washcloth between its thighs is more than it can bear. It lays, whimpering, mouth slack and drooling against the palm of its hand.
"What a lovely thing you are," you coo, your voice, and praise, at once reigniting that terrible fire.
"Oh no..." Pennywise sobs, helplessly clutching it's burning face. Its thighs begin to quiver.
And within moments it's sex is throbbing, weeping, as though it has never once been touched. Desperate and ruined entirely for you.
"Oh no no no no..."
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated (reblogs especially help writers share their stories and help new readers find them!) You may also like my other Pennywise stories
Pennywise x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader although they do have "toys that buzz") spiritual successor to Heat. NSFW. MDNI. Clussy fingering, vague mentions of clussy eating and non-specific fucking. Pennywise is still in heat and cums for days. Soft-dom coded reader but the dynamic is not the focus. One instance of biting (reader receiving.) Pennywise being petulant. Inspired by this art by @minisculemars and requests from @hisokamywaifu and anon!
The ache lingers.
Long after you fall asleep, content to slumber with Pennywise’s scent still clinging to your flesh, the entity’s heat rages on.
"This is your doing!" it snarls, towering above you the morning after. It practically spits the words at you. "What have you done to me?"
"Wait, you're still in heat?"
You're amused, and Pennywise has half a mind to eat you there and then, even as its aching, weeping sex craves yours.
But if it killed you, there’d be no hope of satiating that ache, or of ending the merciless heat. Because no matter what Pennywise does, what it rubs against or stuffs inside itself, your touch seems to be the only thing that comes even close to quelling the incessant throb.
And yet it knows. It knows no matter what you do to it, the relief can only ever be superficial because the body you touch isn’t real. Its true form is beyond your comprehension—you'd lose your sanity if it ever revealed itself to you and then you'd be completely useless.
So it must make do. You are the poison and a temporarily soothing balm, if not the cure. And so it suffers and begs, it yearns and despises.
It answers you with a plastered-on grin. "I need more. Touch me... Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me..." it sings, "I wanna be dirty..."
You do what you can. Again and again. You give it what it desires. Yet even with your help, Pennywise's heat, and its climaxes, last for days.
Days of torment, of feeling the very essence of itself turned over and over, inside out, and burning beneath your touch.
It waits impatiently for you to come home, desperately seeking a moment of relief with anything it can find.
It plays with your toys that buzz and tickle until the batteries run flat, your hairbrush where your scent lingers, a wadded up shirt from the laundry hamper, the food in your fridge, the deodorant that masks your stink. It claims it all. And none of it helps. It tosses them aside with a frustrated growl and a curl of its lip.
It doesn't feel anything close to relief until you come home and catch it frantically humping your pillow.
"You're home..." it sighs, pitifully, reaching out a trembling clawed hand. It tries to stand, but its legs give way beneath it. "Help poor Pennywise out again, woncha?"
It passes another evening rutting and sobbing against you, dragged through wave after wave of tortuous ecstasy. Greedy, insatiable.
"Mine, oh-ho, mine, mmmmine," it babbles with slick and sweat and spital dripping from every orifice.
It brings you to oblivion with it, but you pass through all too soon with a maddening look of satisfaction. Never before has it craved the fleeting nature of humanity so desperately. Lucky lucky thing.
You lick and touch and fuck it until you're spent. But it still isn't enough. It cannot be enough.
The brief stillness of relief only heightens the torment when the next wave of need floods through it.
“End it!” Pennywise demands on the fourth day of choking on its own arousal. “Make it stop.”
There's little you can do but hold the eater of worlds in your arms and cradle it against you, stroking its sex as it comes apart endlessly.
It trembles, drenched and weak. Your touch is maddeningly gentle and more than it can stand.
“There… yes, just like that,” you whisper, your breath on its skin making its spine bristle. “Does that help?”
Among its strangled cries and frantic whimpers, you discern the words, "yes... mm- m-or- ohho."
"More?"
"Yes! Yes!"
So you push deeper, and finger it harder; down to your knuckles, then your wrist, deeper, deeper, until your arm is buried inside. And there, oh there, you come so desperately close to its core.
"You're so hot," you whisper, breathless from awe and exertion. "Burning. Like sunlight."
It comes apart a moment later with the steady curl of your fingers, climaxing so hard its voice breaks and teeth gnash. It isn't even conscious of biting into your flesh, not until the sweet tang of your blood trickles down its throat. Bliss.
"Oh yes, yesyesyes..."
And finally, it knows peace. Stillness. Its limbs are heavy and eyes barely open. But the heat fades.
"You did so very well..." it murmurs, it's voice rough and faint. "I must rest."
"You must be exhausted," you say, fetching a cloth to clean away the rivers of slick pouring from its pulsing core. “You poor old thing.”
“Don't you dare pity me,” it snarls, teeth bared despite the fact it can't open its eyes, "I have laid waste to countless worl-huh... hoh...."
Your gentle, caring caress and the warm, wet washcloth between its thighs is more than it can bear. It lays, whimpering, mouth slack and drooling against the palm of its hand.
"What a lovely thing you are," you coo, your voice, and praise, at once reigniting that terrible fire.
"Oh no..." Pennywise sobs, helplessly clutching it's burning face. Its thighs begin to quiver.
And within moments it's sex is throbbing, weeping, as though it has never once been touched. Desperate and ruined entirely for you.
"Oh no no no no..."
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated (reblogs especially help writers share their stories and help new readers find them!) You may also like my other Pennywise stories
Pennywise x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader although they do have "toys that buzz") spiritual successor to Heat. NSFW. MDNI. Clussy fingering, vague mentions of clussy eating and non-specific fucking. Pennywise is still in heat and cums for days. Soft-dom coded reader but the dynamic is not the focus. One instance of biting (reader receiving.) Pennywise being petulant. Inspired by this art by @minisculemars and requests from @hisokamywaifu and anon!
The ache lingers.
Long after you fall asleep, content to slumber with Pennywise’s scent still clinging to your flesh, the entity’s heat rages on.
"This is your doing!" it snarls, towering above you the morning after. It practically spits the words at you. "What have you done to me?"
"Wait, you're still in heat?"
You're amused, and Pennywise has half a mind to eat you there and then, even as its aching, weeping sex craves yours.
But if it killed you, there’d be no hope of satiating that ache, or of ending the merciless heat. Because no matter what Pennywise does, what it rubs against or stuffs inside itself, your touch seems to be the only thing that comes even close to quelling the incessant throb.
And yet it knows. It knows no matter what you do to it, the relief can only ever be superficial because the body you touch isn’t real. Its true form is beyond your comprehension—you'd lose your sanity if it ever revealed itself to you and then you'd be completely useless.
So it must make do. You are the poison and a temporarily soothing balm, if not the cure. And so it suffers and begs, it yearns and despises.
It answers you with a plastered-on grin. "I need more. Touch me... Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me..." it sings, "I wanna be dirty..."
You do what you can. Again and again. You give it what it desires. Yet even with your help, Pennywise's heat, and its climaxes, last for days.
Days of torment, of feeling the very essence of itself turned over and over, inside out, and burning beneath your touch.
It waits impatiently for you to come home, desperately seeking a moment of relief with anything it can find.
It plays with your toys that buzz and tickle until the batteries run flat, your hairbrush where your scent lingers, a wadded up shirt from the laundry hamper, the food in your fridge, the deodorant that masks your stink. It claims it all. And none of it helps. It tosses them aside with a frustrated growl and a curl of its lip.
It doesn't feel anything close to relief until you come home and catch it frantically humping your pillow.
"You're home..." it sighs, pitifully, reaching out a trembling clawed hand. It tries to stand, but its legs give way beneath it. "Help poor Pennywise out again, woncha?"
It passes another evening rutting and sobbing against you, dragged through wave after wave of tortuous ecstasy. Greedy, insatiable.
"Mine, oh-ho, mine, mmmmine," it babbles with slick and sweat and spital dripping from every orifice.
It brings you to oblivion with it, but you pass through all too soon with a maddening look of satisfaction. Never before has it craved the fleeting nature of humanity so desperately. Lucky lucky thing.
You lick and touch and fuck it until you're spent. But it still isn't enough. It cannot be enough.
The brief stillness of relief only heightens the torment when the next wave of need floods through it.
“End it!” Pennywise demands on the fourth day of choking on its own arousal. “Make it stop.”
There's little you can do but hold the eater of worlds in your arms and cradle it against you, stroking its sex as it comes apart endlessly.
It trembles, drenched and weak. Your touch is maddeningly gentle and more than it can stand.
“There… yes, just like that,” you whisper, your breath on its skin making its spine bristle. “Does that help?”
Among its strangled cries and frantic whimpers, you discern the words, "yes... mm- m-or- ohho."
"More?"
"Yes! Yes!"
So you push deeper, and finger it harder; down to your knuckles, then your wrist, deeper, deeper, until your arm is buried inside. And there, oh there, you come so desperately close to its core.
"You're so hot," you whisper, breathless from awe and exertion. "Burning. Like sunlight."
It comes apart a moment later with the steady curl of your fingers, climaxing so hard its voice breaks and teeth gnash. It isn't even conscious of biting into your flesh, not until the sweet tang of your blood trickles down its throat. Bliss.
"Oh yes, yesyesyes..."
And finally, it knows peace. Stillness. Its limbs are heavy and eyes barely open. But the heat fades.
"You did so very well..." it murmurs, it's voice rough and faint. "I must rest."
"You must be exhausted," you say, fetching a cloth to clean away the rivers of slick pouring from its pulsing core. “You poor old thing.”
“Don't you dare pity me,” it snarls, teeth bared despite the fact it can't open its eyes, "I have laid waste to countless worl-huh... hoh...."
Your gentle, caring caress and the warm, wet washcloth between its thighs is more than it can bear. It lays, whimpering, mouth slack and drooling against the palm of its hand.
"What a lovely thing you are," you coo, your voice, and praise, at once reigniting that terrible fire.
"Oh no..." Pennywise sobs, helplessly clutching it's burning face. Its thighs begin to quiver.
And within moments it's sex is throbbing, weeping, as though it has never once been touched. Desperate and ruined entirely for you.
"Oh no no no no..."
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated (reblogs especially help writers share their stories and help new readers find them!) You may also like my other Pennywise stories
(Warning: its a little gross and if you’re not truly a freak, maybe sit this one out)
Summary: you haven’t seen your mate in a while. It couldn’t have abandoned you, right? You go and look for it and what you find is worse than you imagined.
Tags/warnings: SFW (as in no smut), it/its pronouns for pennywise, gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, horror, blood and gore, injury, this one’s a bit gross, canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, penny loves you, animalistic pennywise, reader has abandonment issues, patheticwise 🙏
Word count: 2411
A/N: This one’s for everyone saying they wanna kiss its wounds under my fanart post. I really liked writing this, it’s a bit more horror and darkness but I think it ended up being cute in a twisted way. Hope you enjoy!
It had been a few days since you’ve seen your ‘mate.’
5 to be exact.
It wasn’t unusual for your paths not to cross a while, but never more than a day or so.
You wouldn’t say you were worried. You couldn’t imagine something happening to the clown, what could possibly be out there to endanger an otherworldly god, one that prides itself in its invincibility, in it’s untouchability.
You thought about it quite a lot these past days. What could possibly have happened.
After the second day, you started calling out to the entity. Calling its name, usually that was enough for it to appear right in front of you, or hop out of a shadow. Sometimes it dashed right into your arms, sometimes there was a trace of annoyance, as well as a trace of blood around its mouth, when your call had interrupted its feeding.
Even then, it didn’t stay mad for long, sticking around because apparently your company was just that pleasant.
Maybe you were worried just a little bit.
Less about its well being, you suppose. You might’ve been worried that it didn’t want to show up for you anymore. That it got tired of you, that it hears you calling but ignores it deliberately.
Because it doesn’t like you anymore.
Not even enough to show up and eat you.
Today isn’t different.
You sit in your kitchen, an untouched cup of coffee in front of you. It’s late, sun having set long ago. The kitchen is cold, empty. Pennywises presence wouldn’t necessarily make it warmer, you yearn for it anyway.
Your head is filled with thoughts, so many, they keep you awake agonizingly.
It’s ridiculous, you think, to grow so attached to a monster like this. So attached, that you develop abandonment issues over its absence.
Wouldn’t it be best if it didn’t show up anymore? If it left your life and you could be normal?
Not to you, no way.
You’ve grown accustomed to it the past months. A part of you would dare to say, you fell in love.
How could you not, when it’s so nice to you, so affectionate and sweet and passionate and protective, when you KNOW what it’s capable of, know what it’s nature tells it to do, when you know it’s actively contradicting its instincts and youre the only soul getting this treatment.
That might be even worse than mere abandonment issues, but here you are.
You tell yourself to go to sleep, to wait maybe a few days longer before coming to your senses and move on.
This isn’t like a normal relationship, whatever you want to call it. It’s not like it could have had a family incident, or be in the hospital unable to reach out. If it’s ignoring you, it’s on purpose, surely.
You grow frustrated, deciding to pathetically try it once more. You stand up, look around, call out its name.
A pause, you listen. Nothing.
Again, you call it. Your home gets colder, a chill runs over you, tho the windows aren’t open.
Your nerves, you rationalize, you must be going crazy.
This won’t do, you admit to yourself.
As much as you know this is a bad idea, you make a decision and follow through anyway.
If this leads to your death, so be it.
You grab your necessities, keys and a flashlight, then pull on rain boots.
You walk out the door and head towards the sewers.
The town is dead, not a single other person out. No lights in windows either, you feel an ache of loneliness.
The way to the sewers isn’t long, you pass the woods, a creak, you're almost there.
Once you’ve been down there before, after insisting on seeing its ‘home.’
It really didn’t want to take you, you remember. Incredibly reluctant, almost angry at your persistence. Eventually it gave in and you were allowed to follow it inside.
There was no regret on your side, no judgement either. But you did understand why it preferred spending time in your home.
You remember the way, mostly.
The entrance stinks already. The water reaches past your ankles, boots barely high enough to keep it out. Your flashlight works, tho it flickers sometimes.
Inside the tunnels, you’re facing a labyrinthine.
Many turns, some you recognize, some you guess. Then, you're face to face with a gate
The other way, okay. No need to worry. Aside from the incomprehensible horror clown, there isn’t anything down here, nothing to be scared of.
Everything looks the same, but you can’t get lost, not if you can’t call for help.
A few frantic turns later, you’re stopped in your tracks. Ahead, a tunnel. You hear noises, bone chilling.
Theres growling, Deep and dark and quiet. And… something that sounds like weeping.
It takes you a moment to snap out of it and focus on what you’re hearing.
What if it’s feeding again? What if you’ll run into something you won’t be able to unsee, something it doesn’t want you to witness.
The quiet sobs, they sound strange. Maybe they’re not human. Surely, it can’t be pennywise crying though, no, it probably isn’t capable of such thing.
Slowly, you take a step forward, proceeding down the frightening tunnel. Your heart pumps rapidly, your forehead is damp, your fingers tremble.
At the end of the tunnel, you're relieved to finally reach your destination.
The huge, hollow cave you’ve spent one evening in, looked the same, as expected. Dark, dirty, damp. The noises are louder, echoing off the rocky walls. So is the sound of water rushing, droplets falling. It’s cold.
You recognize the wooden circus trailer in the center of the space, surrounded by endless clutter.
Taking a deep breath, you force your legs to carry you onward. The closer you get, the more clear it becomes that the weeping, one, in fact is not human, and two, emerges from somewhere by that trailer.
Just now, as you get closer, you notice a figure sunken to the ground by the wooden wheels. The weeping comes from there.
You don’t dare shine your flashlight at that shadow yet, you feel frozen in place. You’re scared.
Your mouth trembles when you open it slightly, the name barely making its way out, “pennywise…?”
The sobbing stutters, you hear a sharp inhale. The figure twitches, you hear shuffling.
Collecting all your courage, you finally let the beam of the flashlight meet the dark spot.
Immediately, your stomach drops.
It is, in fact pennywise. And the sight makes your blood run cold.
It’s sitting, cowering on the ground. There’s blood, it’s shaking. Then, you see the pole, entering one side of its face and exiting the other. Its hair is tousled, falling over its big forehead.
You stare and blink, it’s looking at you with the only intact, fiercely glowing eye.
Quickly, you step closer, taking in the damage its form has taken.
Now you stand in front of the clown, it quickly averts its eye.
You see it’s teeth, rows upon rows of sharp daggers, seemingly ripping through its own skin.
“Shit- Penny… hey…” you whisper and crouch down to its level, setting the flashlight aside in an angle that illuminates the scene. Carefully you reach your hand out, intending to touch its shoulder.
It’s eye falls to your hand, it scrunches its face up, it leans in quickly and snaps at your fingers, missing by an inch.
You gasp, pulling your hand back, wide eyed.
A grunt, it pulls back from you, pulling its knees up, shaking its head, angry, hurt, immediately remorseful.
You take a breath, a shaky one. You’ve dealt with anxious dogs before, this is different but maybe not by much.
Your hand stays put by your side, deciding not to try again so soon. “It’s okay,” you say quietly, “what happened? Why aren’t you healing?” You ask the obvious.
It looks up, its hand weakly rises and gets a hold of the pole, it pulls. No use, it can’t move it and by the looks of it that action was incredibly painful.
Slowly, you nod, you understand, “should I try and pull it out, penny?” Youre being gentle, youre pushing your panic aside as to not make this worse for the clown.
Hesitantly, it nods. It doesn’t look too confident in your ability to assist, you suppose it doesn’t have many choices.
You bite your lip, wanting to reach out but pull your hand back once more. “You can’t bite me, that won’t help either of us.”
It huffs a moist breath, spitting in the act.
Other than that, you get no reaction.
That has to be enough, you think.
You rise to your feet again, taking a look at the pole, its size and shape.
Deciding on the approach, you reach and grab onto the pole, below the spike.
Pennywises eye is closed, it’s bracing, fists balled.
Sadness overcomes you, pity, maybe. Your heart breaks. This is a painful sight, never have you seen it anywhere close as pathetic as this. A part of you finds it endearing, but you don’t want to entertain that sadistic thought right now.
You take a deep breath and pull at the metal, using all your strength.
Below, the clown yelps. It’s loud, spine chilling. Nevertheless, you keep pulling and finally, the metal starts moving.
Slow, unsteady, it slides through its skull.
When it’s too much, it suddenly lifts its hands, claws ripping through the gloves, gripping onto your thighs, shredding your pants and skin beneath.
You scream, gritting your teeth. It’s hold is relentless, the adrenaline fuels you and after a few agonizing seconds, the pole is freed and thrown aside with a loud clank.
Both your bodies crumble to the ground, both covered in blood in different areas.
You're barely able to take in air quick enough, your arms are sore from the strain, your legs hurt in pulsing waves.
But that’s not important right now.
You quickly disregard the pain and crawl closer to pennywise, not thinking before placing your hands on its low hanging head.
“Penny- are you okay?” You whimper and try to lift its head.
It’s head snaps up to face you, wounds gushing, somehow the blood is dripping upward.
It bares its many teeth at you, threatening. You realize, it’s in immense pain. This is an instinct. You wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s scared, but something comparable to that.
You frown, debating wether or not you should pull your hands away.
Stubborn and worried, you keep them there, moving them down to hold its face gently, avoiding the wounds. “Everything’s okay,” you whisper.
You’re unsure how to help, you can’t really get a first aid kit.
Still snarling and growling at you, at least it doesn’t pull away. It seems just as torn as you.
Then, you remember something. How it helped you when you were injured, wether caused by itself or something else.
The thought sounds grotesque, it goes against your instincts. But out of guilt and pity, youre ready to do anything right now.
Slowly, you lean in, testing its reaction so you don’t get your face bitten off.
Pennywise stares at you relentlessly, looking on edge, looking unpredictable.
Your lips hover by its cheek, above a hole filled with teeth.
Taking a breath, you place a small kiss on its flesh, then, your tongue darts out and licks over it.
The growling quiets immediately, its body tenses. Clearly, it didn’t expect that.
You continue, pushing past the taste, past any nausea, you kiss and lick around the wound to clean and over it to heal.
The bleeding slows before eventually stopping. You pull off to observe, it’s starting to close already.
Relieved and satisfied, you move to the other side of its face, noticing it’s eyes are closed, a string of drool stretching from its lips.
You give the same treatment to this wound, keeping in mind that beneath it lies its eye.
A while later, this wound is also cleaned and beginning to heal.
You pull back with a sigh, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand.
The clown opens its eye, then slowly it’s injured one. It’s still bloody, still messed up, but open now.
“That better?” You ask quietly, voice hoarse and strained. The pain you were ignoring comes rushing back. Your hands stay on its cheeks, thumb grazing over it’s teeth tenderly, carefully. A little curiously, too.
It blinks, you hear it sniff the air.
Slowly, it moves toward you. Not snapping this time, not threatening you.
It tiredly crawls between your legs, pressing its body against you. It’s face disappears into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin, pricking but not cutting.
Its body slumps into your hold when your arms wrap around it, it lies limp, heavy against your body.
Then, finally, to your utter delight, it begins purring.
You breathe out, running your hand up and down it’s back, the other hand in its hair, “I’m sorry for not coming down here sooner,” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes, “I thought… you didn’t want to see me anymore.”
The confession doesn’t come easy, there is also no real reason you're confessing at all. The injury and stress are making you woozy.
At your words, pennywise stiffens, purrs quieting. You hear it make noises that sound like words, but they're so weak and unintelligible, you can’t make them out properly aside from what you think might’ve been a ‘never’ and a ‘mine,’ but that might just be wishful thinking.
It moves its hand, reaching to one of your thighs. It presses onto the wounds it caused, you wince.
Then, the pain dulls before leaving entirely. It does the same with your other thigh, then goes limp again, purring returning to full volume.
You stare down at it in disbelief.
Quietly, you start laughing, small tears falling from the corners of your eyes. You must look insane, even compared to what you’re holding.
You squeeze your arms around it, holding it securely, kissing the top of its head over and over again.
A monster, a god, whatever it is. You feel lucky, so fortunate to be able to sit in this dirty hole, hold this thing in your arms, fortunate to miss it, yearn for it, fortunate to be of help and at least for a while, feel certain it will return to you.
So, cable management Do you think it's like hair braiding, do you think it gives AM the full body shudders when Ted untangles his wires which causes an earthquake on the surface, do you think he's disgusted at himself for having such a 'human' reaction
cw: sub!orochimaru, dom reader, psychological domination, degradation, possession, erotic manipulation, dark tone.
a/n: thanks to @vampcubus for the idea <33 try my best! and it was fun to write about them.
orochimaru is the kind of sub who never gives himself all at once; he slides into surrender like a serpent through your fingers slow, intentional, tasting every second of your dominance as if he were studying it. his body shows hunger before his voice ever will: that pale, sensitive skin tightens under your touch, his breath pauses for a heartbeat, and every inch of him feels like it’s waiting for someone brave enough to handle him without fear. his submission is fluid, reptilian, but when he senses real authority over him, his breath stutters, his pupils widen, and his dangerous smile softens just enough to expose something darker, deeper, and undeniably submissive.
he looks at you like a confession he never meant to let slip. those golden, slit-pupiled eyes strip you open while pretending to stay calm. yet the moment you touch him where he doesn’t expect along the jaw, down the neck, over the cold silk of his torso his breath catches. his body leans subtly into your hand, the smallest, quietest betrayal of desire blooming beneath the surface.
orochimaru yields in a silently devoted way. he doesn’t beg; he shows you. he tilts his head, bares the length of his throat, spreads his stance without being told. you see his surrender in the tremble of his shoulders, the slow exhale he tries to hide, the way his lips part like he’s trying not to gasp. his body speaks for him soft, sinful, hungry.
beneath his constant control is a craving to be overpowered, not violently but deliberately. when you push him back against a wall, step into his space, or make him retreat with your body alone, something in him bends instantly. he stops evaluating you. he stops playing. he gives in. not completely just enough to make you addicted to the feeling of breaking him.
if you grab his chin firmly and make him look at you, the mask fractures. he wets his lips, his breathing grows uneven, and his pride drips away drop by drop. orochimaru loves being guided by the fingertips, arranged like something precious and dangerous that belongs under your hands.
his reactions are serpentine. touch his torso slowly and he arches into it; grip his hips and he releases a low, poisonous sound, half-moan, half-laugh, filled with wanting. drag your nails across his back and his entire spine shivers as if venom is spreading under his skin.
orochimaru gets off on being claimed with confidence. if you step into him without hesitation, pin his wrists, silence him with a finger against his lips, or press your body to his until he must yield, he melts. he wants someone who doesn’t flinch from his intensity, someone who dominates because they can, not because they’re trying to prove something.
his kink for degradation runs deep. he doesn’t want insults he wants wounds to his pride said with velvet poison:
“weren’t you supposed to be so powerful? look at yourself now.”
“you like being controlled a lot more than you pretend.”
“you’re not as cold as you think.”
these lines make his breath hitch, his lips part, his tongue slip out just a bit, like pleasure is leaking through his teeth. he adores being stripped of his persona piece by piece.
he responds intensely to focused physical dominance. squeeze his hips hard, mark his thighs with your nails, bite into his neck, force his jaw still, spread his legs with your hands he will moan in that low, sinful tone that sounds like he’s enjoying something forbidden. orochimaru doesn’t scream; he moans like he’s savoring corruption.
his kinks are decadent and specific: humiliation, possession, breath play, tongue use, psychological submission, restraint, and being positioned exactly where you want him. he has a fascination with having his wrists pinned above his head and feeling your body weight keep him still. the less control he has, the harder he gets.
he despises pointless cruelty. he doesn’t want pain for pain’s sake; he wants intention. he wants every touch to mean something, every order to cut through him, every bite to be a brand. what he truly hates is being ignored, dismissed, or treated as uninteresting. ignore him for one minute and he’ll crawl back to you with a wicked smile, as if daring you to punish him.
his body reacts almost animalistically when turned on. his movements become fluid, sinuous; his back arches beautifully under your hands; his hips search for friction; his thighs tremble when you touch near the crease of his pelvis. his breathing goes from slow to ragged to almost trembling when he’s close to breaking.
emotionally, orochimaru sinks into a quiet, obsessive surrender. he doesn’t fall for tenderness, he falls for power. if he dominates you, he wants your submission; if you dominate him, he wants your control. he watches you like you’re an exquisite experiment, but when you finally make him moan, the experiment collapses: what remains is a starving man aching for someone who sees through him and still chooses to break him. his vulnerability shows in his eyes, arkening, softening, tracking your every movement like prey that wants to be caught.
but what ruins him entirely is possessive tenderness. a hand cupping his face after you’ve dominated him. a slow kiss after an order he obeyed. a quiet “good.” whispered against his ear. that’s when orochimaru’s entire body loosens, his shoulders drop, his head leans subtly toward you. for a brief moment, the serpent dissolves, and the man beneath becomes fully, devastatingly yours.
Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,
When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.
From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.
💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength
As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.
But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.
“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed”
A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.
“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins”
This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.
🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now
Despite everything, we’re still here.
Still surviving. Still hoping.
But things have only gotten harder.
The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.
We’re trapped.
🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next.
👨👩👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves.
📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.
And yet…
Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.
Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us:
You’re walking this road with us.
And that gives us the strength to keep going.
💖 What You Can Do
If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words.
If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.
Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.
My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Life as I knew it has been completely destroyed. I have lost my home, my
✨ Why It All Matters
This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity.
It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.
Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity.
You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.
🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology
There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.
When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.
If that happened, I am truly sorry.
Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.
I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.
If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.
Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.
Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )
With love and endless gratitude,
Mosab and family ♥️
Pennywise x reader. No gendered pronouns or description given of reader. You and Pennywise are very soft for each other. Set immediately after the Welcome to Derry Chapter 1 season finale but Pennywise kept the wings because I'm horny for it. You and Pennywise get each other off by rubbing against each other. Kinda fluffy but canon-typical violence and bloodshed mentioned. N.SFW
Freezing fog clings to the windows. Derry is usually quiet at night, but never so unnervingly silent as this; as though the world is holding its breath and trying to stay hidden from the monster on the loose.
The monster you adore.
A thump on your roof jolts your heart and springs your eyes open, but in truth you were awake way before.
You're out of bed and hurrying across your room in a matter of seconds, following the clattering of claws scurrying down the roof tiles, and arriving at the window at the exact same moment the clown's face appears against the glass.
Only it isn't a clown. Not fully.
“Pennywise!” you gasp in relief, opening the window to let it inside. You'd know it anywhere, in any form.
The clown is its favorite; the one you're most familiar with, and the one it partially wears now. But its body is different; winged and taloned like a cathedral grotesque. It crawls across your bedroom floor, bat-like and disgruntled, muttering beneath its breath about “losers.”
And everything from its hellfire eyes down, is drenched in blood.
“Are you hurt?”
“Ohoho,” it chuckles bitterly, eyes burning with a ferocity you've never quite witnessed on your strange friend, “They cannot hurt a god. Not really. Not even with their little tricky tricks.”
“Who?”
It grimaces toward the open window and shakes its head, “I was close. So close to getting out of this prison.”
It's frantic, furious, pacing and prowling around the room as though the solution to its problems lies hidden beneath your belongings. And then it snaps its head around to you.
Without a word it crawls toward you, presses its bloodied face to your stomach, and inhales. Its shoulders sag as you bring your palm up to caress the back of its head, fingers threading through the wispy curls of its copper hair.
Pennywise doesn't need to talk at times like this. Venting does nothing to alleviate the rage sweltering inside it. None of its emotions– if they can even be called that– are comparable to anything you've felt yourself. But in you it says it finds distraction, and a tenderness it's certain is a form of worship.
It yields to the caress of a warm, wet wash cloth, fiery eyes closing as you clean away the blood. It does you no good to try to imagine where it all came from; your conscience has long since learned to switch itself off when it comes to Pennywise.
“What is this form?” you ask, keeping your voice low. “A bat? Or a dragon?”
It doesn't answer. It simply laps the blood from its lip with the tip of its tongue.
Tracing your fingertips along the long, bony fingers of the wings, you feel the entity shudder slightly beneath your touch.
“An angel?” you suggest, tilting your head to peer into the sliver of burning yellow barely visible beneath its dark lashes.
It chuffs in amusement, teeth flashing startling white among the sea of red that has become its face.
“What dangerous games you play,” it mutters, “cheeky cheeky.”
It doesn't mind, not in the slightest. In fact, it welcomes your teasing.
You continue preening its wings, indulging the entity with the gentlest of touches. Winding veins within the membranous skin twitch beneath your fingertips, jagged spikes adorning the length of its spine quiver and ruffle. And gradually you feel it lean against you, its head growing heavy until it hangs low, chin tucked against its chest like a giant vulture.
“I've never seen you tired,” you muse, more to yourself than to Pennywise.
But it answers anyway, “I am overdue my sleep.”
“You can sleep here. With me.”
It chuckles quietly, but it doesn't argue. It simply follows you to your bed, waits for you to get comfortable, and then settles around you, those leathery wings like a weighted blanket cocooning you. Light barely penetrates the thick membrane, but what little can get through casts you both in an infernal crimson glow.
It's all too easy to forget the outside world as it lazily rubs its sex against yours. Nothing else exists but the wet heat and friction, the slow build beneath those burning eyes.
Pennywise smells like iron and stone, and the sour tang of bloodied winter air; its scent profound even beneath the familiar aroma of your soap. It seeks your scent too, pressing its face to the curve of your underarm and inhaling deeply with a gurgling, filthy laugh.
“Ohh, I'll miss it,” it tells you, “I'll miss you. Your scent, the taste of you, the pitter patter of your fragile human heart. Yes I will.”
“I'm right here…”
“Now, yes. You are here with me for now.”
Your hands trace the curves of its body, and you can't help but shiver at the sensation. No matter what form Pennywise comes to you in, there is nothing beneath the shell. The illusion doesn't go that deep.
Soft, burning hot, but hollow and somehow heavier than it looks.
It barks back a laugh as it climaxes against you, jerking and trembling in your arms. It grunts against the curve of your neck, its breath hot and metallic. Pennywise's orgasms can– and often do– last for days, but this one is over in a matter of minutes.
It watches intently as you follow close behind, dragging yourself along its drooling slit to get yourself off. And as you gasp through your orgasm, its gaping lips remain close to yours, swallowing down your sound. Teeth that could tear flesh and snap your bones like sticks of chalk remain hidden behind ruby lips only for you.
It doesn't tell you how it feels about you, but you know. Of course you know.
Pennywise isn't nearly as clever at hiding it as it thinks.
A loud rumble sounds beside you, the sound vibrating from Pennywise's sternum. It's the sound of stars dying and worlds torn asunder, the sound of souls departing the world far, far too soon.
And it's the contented purr of the being responsible for all of it lying in your bed.
Wordlessly admitting that perhaps remaining trapped in Derry– trapped here with you– wasn't the worst thing that could've happened to it.
Thank you for reading! Interaction is always appreciated. If you liked this you may like my other Pennywise stories.
