FASCINATION PT. 2 || pennywise x fem! reader àŒâđŠč đȘ đË àłâïœĄË
summary: pennywise slips into your house for the second time, but you surprise him in a way heâs never known before.
notes: thank yall for being for patient waiting for this fic!! itâs taken me a while to post this but i hope it can live it up to yâallâs expectations !! this is a continuation of my pennywise x reader imagine i posted last month !!
warnings: dislocated joints and body parts, no blood, pennywise is his own warning, strong mentions of death and killing, strong language. read at your own discretion.
another day would pass before you would cross paths with the clown again, but, this time, in your living room. about a month ago, you picked up this waitress job at an old-fashioned jukebox diner downtown. it was a fairly popular spot amongst the localsâunfortunately for you, that popularity, coupled with your coworkersâ aversion to actually showing up to work, meant you and this other waitress you barely knew were usually left to work shifts that became excruciatingly long while your douchebag of a manager, mark, hoped you wouldnât notice. 7 hours suddenly became 8, 8 suddenly became 10, 10 suddenly became 12.
today youâd been stuck with a 12 hour shift, and you were beyond exhaustedâyour feet ached from constantly standing in your mary janes that were far too narrow for your toes, your makeup from this morning had sweated off because the a.c. in the diner was already on its last limbs, and a baby vomited chewed-up peas onto your uniform while its parents just laughed and played off your misery. at the very least, you walked away with some decent tipsâ82 bucks, which definitely wasnât bad, considering the waves of customers that piled in today.
at last, you were home. you checked your phoneâit was 12:49, midnight. âdamn, already?â you scoffed in disbelief. sometimes you lost track of time when you were at work, almost exclusively when it was a crazy long shift like this one. you climbed out of your car, wincing in pain as your sore, mary jane-clad feet met the hard concrete driveway below. âshit!â you hissed. you had to get new shoes.
uneager to carry on, you walked limpidly to your front porch and flicked on the tiny overhead lamp. you tiredly reached into your purse and sifted through your keys with your fingers, searching for your house key. the lamp flickered slowly. once. twice. you didnât notice.
the lamp flickered again, but this time it chose not to follow its usual rhythm. it was quicker than before, more erratic, like it didnât know what it was doing itself. on. off. on. off. you twisted the key into the keyhole. the flashes accelerated, its monotonous hum growing unusually loud before you finally decided to face the lamp. strangely enough, the moment you gazed at it, the flickering justâŠstopped.
âoooookayâŠâ you muttered, a sense of uneasiness beginning to settle in your chest. you cracked open the door and finally slipped inside your familiar abode.
despite feeling like shit, youâd spent every second of the day anticipating getting home and watching the newly-released finale of your favorite show, and what better time (other than your next off day) to do it than now? after slipping into your pajamas, you sleepily headed to your living room. you sunk into your cozy couch, then reached for the remoteâ
the awfully dramatic whining of door hinges somewhere behind you had suddenly called your attention. you whipped your head to face what awaited youâthe door to the laundry room had been creaked open. you were sure youâd shut that door before you left the house this morning; it also had never sounded as shitty as it did right now, which you came to realize was an irrelevant observation. the more relevant question at the moment was âwho the fuck is in your house?â
there were two ways you could go about thisâwell, actually three if you just didnât value your own life enough to go for one of the first two. option a: you could dismiss everything, blame it on the house being old (which you could; it was built in, like, the â50s) and go back to watching the finale youâd waited 12 hours to binge; option b: call the police and report a break-in without ever stepping foot in the room; or c: go in there, guns ablazing, hoping to kill (or disarm!) whoever (or whatever) awaited your arrival. you weighed all of your optionsâas you pondered, a creeping sense of unease crawled closer to you, as if invisible eyes were boring into you from the darkness ahead. you were being watched.
you gasped. all of a sudden, everything began to click.
what if this was its doing? the long-headed clown that you smoked the shit out of the other night, what if he was the one doing this? it would make perfect senseâhe was dead set on trying to scare you, hell, he even promised you that he would. all of this spooky, paranormal shit wouldnât just be happening for no reason: the porch light flickering, the door creaking open, and now the feeling that a pair of eyes was trained on you seemed like cheap attempts at trying to freak you out, in your opinion. despite this, you couldnât shake the feelings of dread and paranoia that were seeping into your mind and churning in the pit of your stomachâit was beginning to piss you off.
âhey, six head, i already know youâre here.â you announced behind gritted teeth. âjust come on out already.â
silence. of course it was.
you let out a loud, exasperated groan, mostly to convey your annoyanceâyou also just wanted to be annoying back.
âlook, the finale to my fuckinâ show just came out, like, today, and iâll be damned if you make me miss it.â you spoke, anger laced between your words. âyou seriously need to hurry back to whatever ditch you crawled out of because iâm not going in there.â
while you never received a vocal response, the door creaked further open, emitting a whining sound that smoothed into a higher pitch. it sorta sounded like it was confused, or pleading for you to come inside. this only confirmed to you that he was thereâin a desperate attempt to scare you, no less.
despite your better judgment, you went for option c. you stood from your couch and slowly headed towards the kitchenâyou would need something to whoop his ass with when he showed up. you grabbed a frying pan that was sitting atop the eye of your stove and held it inconspicuously behind your back.
you trudged in front of the laundry room door, gripping the handle of the frying pan even harder. you knew he wouldnât be in there, of course he wouldnât. it was a classic horror movie set-upâthankfully, youâd been left unaccompanied in front of a tv screen since you were five, so you knew classic horror movie tropes like the back of your hand. the most common and arguably the most effective method of scaring the audience was through jumpscares, essentially catching them in a state of shock after a moment of calm or uneasiness. he was probably planning on doing the same to youâyou open the door, no oneâs inside, then, when you turn around, bam, heâs baring his teeth. you werenât dumb.
with a hand on the knob, you cracked the door completely open. it was dark, as expected. sticking your arm inside the room, you felt for the light switch on the side of the wall. you flicked the light on, and, to no oneâs surprise, the room was empty. you smirked, reveling in the disbelief that you were even playing along with his scheme.
as if it were on cue, the abrasive sound of a certain laughterâhis laughterâechoed from behind you. you quickly pivoted, eyes narrowing as you scanned the area for his location; he was nowhere to be seen. so heâs hiding. you brought the pan to your height, now holding it in a defensive stance with both of your hands. you were prepared to swing; all you needed was his location.
âyour commitment to the bit is a little over the top, donât you think?â you scoffed. âhurry the hell up. i got things to do.â
âoh, you admire my commitment?â the clown asked, voice dripping with amusement as it sounded from the four walls of your home. you couldnât tell where he was. âyou flatter me, truly!â
thatâŠwasnât a compliment, you thought.
âoookay, my turn. i admire your commitment to pretending you arenât petrified by me.â he giggled loudly, a low, obnoxious sound that harassed your ears. âalthough, âadmireâ definitely wouldnât be the word iâm looking for. itâs more likeâŠloatheâŠor abhorâŠor abominateâŠâ
what was he, your english teacher?
âokay, i get it, you canât stand me.â you huffed, becoming ever more impatient with his antics. âif you abominate me so much, why are you fuckinâ with me a second time, huh?â you hoped you were using that word right. âi wonât taste good, hell, you even told me that yourself.â
you awaited his answer, but were instead met with an eerie stillness. a few seconds passed until you heard a low, rumbling chuckle, one that was quieter than the rest.
âyou believe youâre in control, is that it?â he cooed, condescension interlaced between his words. part of you thought he sounded, to some extent, sweet. you brushed off the thought. âyou think that frying pan could save you? humans cling to a false sense of security like an infant hunched over its mamaâs breast!â he fell into a fit of familiar, hysterical laughter again, apparently tickled by his own simile. you winced at the harsh sound.
youâd had enough. after a deep breath, you muttered, âwhat do you want from me, dipshit?â
âohohohohoâŠ.â he was winding down from his hysterics. âi have only one requestâ, he said lightly. âput the pan down.â
either he was a total psychopath or abysmally idiotic, and you were well aware that he was at least the first thing.
âha!â you snorted. ânot a chance.â
âawww, come on!â he whined, partly feigning desperation in his plea. âwhat are you, scared?â his voice returned its sinister demeanor.
âi could ask the same about you.â you retorted, eliciting a dramatic gasp on his part.
âme, scared of you? please, youâre making me nauseous.â he giggled again, low but deliberate. âjust put the pan down, sweetness. i wonât bite, i promise.â
wow, he âpromisedâ; that didnât sound like he was planning to slaughter you the second you were vulnerable at all. still gripping the pan in defense, you considered the ways you could react, whichâwell, you didnât have many to choose from. on one hand, you knew letting the pan go was a suicide wish; heâd come rushing at you, most likely killing you in one fatal blow. on the other hand, you were left to wonder what would happen if you did release the pan and he didnât kill you. he did say he wouldnât bite, remember? besides, as angry as you made him the other night, he let you live. was it that absurd to think heâd spare you again?
hell no, you couldnât afford to take chances like that. you knew how he lured in his preyâletting down their guard before viciously tearing into them. senselessly becoming another number was out of the question. so, no, the pan wasnât going anywhere; you just had to convince him it was out of the way.
âokay,â you let out an exasperated sigh, dropping your shoulders ever so slightly. âokay, fine. iâm getting rid of it.â with one hand, you pretended to slowly lower it to the floor. you let the worn metal clank against the hardwoodâhe needed to think that you dropped it completely. then, while your arms rested by your side with posed complacency, you lightly wrapped your fingers around the tip of the handle, gently raising the pan off the ground without a sound. as you returned to your normal height, you carefully dangled it behind your leg, letting the skillet graze against the back of your calf. with how dark it was in the house, you prayed that he would take the bait, although trying to outsmart an omnipresent entity likely put whatever chance of survival you had left in hell. actually landing a hit on him sunk your chances even deeper.
all that followed was silence, haunted by the heaviness of his suffocating presence. you shuddered as you felt it slowly inching towards you, accompanied by a low, conceited chuckle.
âperfect, good girl.â he crooned, sounding closer than before.
your stomach flipped, breath hitching for just a moment. you tried to brush off the abrupt feeling and instead focused on the relieving newsâhe believed the lie you were putting up. or maybe he was pretending to believe it? you prayed for the first option.
soon enough, you recognized two marigold pupils floating in the distance, glowing intensely against the darkness of your home and creepily glaring at you without a single blink. next, the soft glimmer of his harlequin costume came into view, followed by its large, poofy frame and the sound of small bells jingling all over him. it didnât take long until you could see the clown in his imposing entirety, from his broad forehead, to his malicious grin, down to his boots. you wondered how his costume was always so clean, given his tendency to messily devour the flesh of his victims. you shook off the thought.
he stopped in his tracks, practically lurching over you like an old tree with god awful posture. you cautiously stepped back, pan still dangling behind your leg. he didnât utter a word about you stepping back, to your surprise. in fact, he didnât say anything at all. he justâŠbreathed, quite loudly if you had to describe it. his breaths were ragged and irregular, like this was the first time heâd ever tried mimicking human respiration.
does he even need to breathe?, you questioned, squinting at the confusing and/or confused creature before you.
nonetheless, he was still staring at you, eyes wide, glossy, and seemingly unreadable for any sort of emotion or motive. you werenât sure if heâd zoned out or if he was planning to take the fattest chunk out of you in a couple seconds, and the latter was starting to sound more entertaining than whatever the hell this was.
then, there was a shift in his demeanor. his grin had faded without warning, his lips quickly turning downwards into a menacing scowl. his formerly wide-eyed gaze narrowed into a deprecating squint, almost as if heâd just discovered something upsetting. then, they traveled to your pan-holding arm, tucked behind your leg. he growled, a deep, powerful sound that resonated beneath your feet and vibrated within the walls. it didnât take nearly five seconds of thought before a terrifying realization crossed your mindâif he didnât know about the pan before, he definitely knew now.
âi smellâŠâ, he grumbled.
damn it, you thought, stopping yourself from cursing under your breath. you knew youâd taken too long to hit the bastard. now, you had only seconds to spare, and your life was tangled in the hands of your choices and the bloodthirsty clown hunched over you.
you unleashed the weapon from behind your back, took both hands and staunchly gripped the handle until your knuckles turned white. then, without another thought, you swung your sole line of defense at his big, white forehead.
the cold metal collided brutally with his face, abruptly snapping it away from you. the layered, satin ruffles wrapped around his neck shook violently as he staggered back from the blow, a crack in his glorious, invulnerable character. he didnât make a sound.
the ear-piercing ring of stainless steel flooded the room until it completely overflowed your senses. you winced at the deafening noise and the sharp, stabbing pain that shot through your shoulder. âshit!â you hissed, stumbling back from the agony and letting the pan hit the groundâthe swing had completely torn it out of socket, and you began to wish you didnât take the gym for granted.
pennywise slowly raised his gloved hand to his face, cupping his unhinged jaw. it hung to the side unnaturally, almost as if it wasâŠ
you dislocated his fuckinâ jaw.
i dislocated his fuckinâ jaw.
he now stood with pin-straight posture, and, although his head was facing the darkness you somehow forced it into, you couldâve sworn his crimson-stained lips were twisted into a grin. with his raised hand, he firmed his grip on his chin, and an unnerving CRACK! sharply cut through the air. easily enough, his jaw slid back in place.
you cringed at the sound, an aching sensation growing in your knuckles. his big golden eyes met yours with an unsettling quickness, and a thin, cruel smile continued to curve his lips.
his low, sinister chuckle rippled through the heavy atmosphere, rumbling inside your chest until the only thing you could ponder was the utter brutality of your impending death.
âyouâŠâ the clown growled. he tilted his head. ââŠtricked me.â he grit his teeth underneath his smile. he was beyond outragedâto be completely humiliated by the ploy of his own prey was a possibility he wouldâve never thought to plan forâŠwell, until now.
âhit me, too!â he giggled with an unexpected loudness, disbelief meddled between the words he spat. âbut you hurt yourself. awwwâŠâ he pouted his lower lip in a lackluster attempt to feign sympathy. you raised your eyebrow; pain and exhaustion ravaged your body as he spoke, and the last thing you felt like doing was enduring another ego-filled monologue.
âhow ironic it must be, to want so badly to belittle me while your decrepit, fragile body crumbles from the weakest thingsâŠâ his gaze subtlety drifted away, traveling to your right before snapping back to you.
âwell, i got the job done, didnât i?â you snapped. âbroke your fucking jaw, or whatever it is you have under that makeup. because of you, i gotta learn how to put my arm back in place myself or go pay a doctor to do it for me, and, like, do you even know how much that costs?! a fucking lot, you eight-headed piece of shit!â you forced a chuckle behind gritted teeth, which only sunk him into deeper confusion. âiâm broke!â
if pennywise was an actual clown rather than a human-devouring monstrosity, he wouldâve found his present situation kind of hilariousâinstead of experiencing paralyzing fear, a flavor he sought and savored in each human he picked apart, the only emotions coursing through your body right now were sheer, unadulterated rage and annoyance. usually those emotions came packaged with the fear, but with youâŠyou were just pissed, and extremely ready for him to get out of your house. for some odd reason, knowing that made him want to stay even longerâŠ
but then heâd just grow hungry.
he sighed, loud enough for you to notice the annoyance in his voice. âyou are not worth the obstacles i face in trying to scare you.â
finally, some damn honesty.
he leaned in closer until he was inches apart from your scrunched, pissed-off face. âiâve never encountered a human who was willing to hit me out of pure enjoyment, then blame me for their own misdemeanor.â he whispered, tilting his head to the side. âexcept you.â
your gaze softened for a moment.
you hardened it again. he was searching for vulnerability; actually giving that to him was your personal hell.
âyouâve succeeded in angering meâŠâ he hesitated. ââŠagain. but you continue to pique my mortal curiosity. i wonder, how could such a sugarplum taste so sour?â he grinned at you.
without ever looking down, his long, gloved fingers lightly traced your own. you flinched back from his cold, inhuman touch, and the sudden movement caused a sharp jolt of pain to run up your arm and back to your disjointed shoulder. you sucked your teeth.
âcome to me.â he growled softly.
this time you listened, allowing his hand to melt in yours.
he slowly raised it to his painted lips, watching your eyes flicker from your hand to his face. you winced in pain from even the slightest movements, but you stayed completely still. even though your mind was screaming at you to pull away, exhaustion overwhelmed your better judgment. so, you were willing to play alongâafter all, killing you now had become an immaterial thought.
he planted his soft lips onto your skin in a delicate kiss. you allowed your gaze to soften, warmth immediately rising to your tired face. he paid close attention to the way your breath quickened at his touch, the way your pulse seemed to rush faster than before.
then, while his marigold eyes bore into yours, he slowly opened his mouth and pressed his long, pointed tongue onto the back of your hand. you felt his warm saliva coat the spot he kissed.
the realization, just knowing that this clown-disguised creature was laying his big tongue (thatâs been god-knows-where) and dripping wet drool on your hand shouldâve been enough to make you pull away, pick the pan back up and try to beat him with the bare scraps of stamina you had left. but, strangely enough, youâd lost all interest in carrying out that scenarioâit was like every prying thought in your mind had evaporated, the anger that plagued you seconds ago melted into repose. it confused youâhe confused you, you even confused yourself. you were letting him do this, but why?
his tongue lingered on your hand for what felt like an eternity, dragging along your skin until finally flicking it up right before your wrist. he drew it back in his mouth, and part of you ached to feel the warmth of his mouth again.
âi was correct.â he said. he straightened his back, reopening the distance between the both of you.
âyou will taste sour.â
did he just taste test me?!
your eyes widened, then narrowed. the anger was back. you geared up to curse him out, but he interrupted just in time.
âuntil next time.â he bellowed. his smile creased higher on his face until low, resonant laughter spilled from his lips. you watched him back into the darkness ahead, one slow step after the other, until he meshed with the shadows and the giggling subsided.
your overhead lamp flickered back to life. on. off. on off. it eventually slowed down before blinking back to its bright, untampered state. what caught your attention next was a shiny, crimson red balloon; it floated in place just feet away from you, like an invisible force was holding it by its string-
a gasp escaped your lips. you flinched at the sound. the balloon left no physical traces for you to prove its existenceâno pieces of rubber nor its white stringâbut you heard a faint, cackling voice. it was the clownâs, dissipating into the air until you were enveloped in silence. he was gone.
you sighed loudly, your frustration echoing through the now-empty corridors. you pushed your back against the wall, resisting the urge to slide to the cold hardwood beneath you and succumb to rest.
suddenly, the memory of him licking your hand popped back into your mind, and the heat returned to your cheeks.
âughhâŠâ you grumbled, snapping your eyes shut. you faced the ceiling. out of every moment you couldâve chosen, this was the one that made you blush?
in spite of your embarrassment, you couldnât squash the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, as well as the question that bit at your brainâ
attempting to find an answer that made sense felt impossible. in any other scenario, you wouldâve immediately pulled away; you did at first, but then a sudden, uncanny sense of serenity washed over you. âcome to meâ is what he whispered, and with his words, every intention to resist him dissolved. his kiss was surprisingly gentle and soft, and his tongue felt warm and moist in a weird-but-not-entirely-unpleasant way as it prickled along your skin. in the moment, you started to feel like everything that happened wasnât far from normal.
what about any of this was normal?
you tried to push down the thought.
you finally glanced at your handâa track of moist, clear saliva glistened on your skin. you grimaced and muttered a half-disgusted âgross.â monster spit, a dislocated shoulder, and debilitating exhaustion all in the span of one nightâit almost made you forget about that finale, but all that did was make it tomorrow nightâs priority.
if you really did need to see a doctor now, you assumed that you needed to know just how badly your shoulder hurtâmaybe theyâd throw you a bone, give you a discount if it wasnât too bad. sure, moving it felt like you were being impaled and electrocuted all at once, but a part of you prayed that your nervous system just exaggerated the pain.
you began to rotate it, mentally preparing yourself for the agony that would follow. exceptâŠyou didnât feel any pain. it felt normal, like it never rolled out of socket in the first place. it was fixed.
nope, there was no way. why would he go the extra mile to magically repair your shoulder, the one you blew out of place while literally beating a frying pan over his head? you knew he wasnât one for doing nice shit, and if he did, it would only mean to satisfy his hunger in the end. he was a soulless monster that survived on eating people, exploiting their worst fears and making them grovel in despair before ending their lives. he entered your house with the same goal in mind, this time with even greater reason to do away with you, yet here you were againâalive, breathing, and surprisingly with all limbs and appendages still attached.
you sleepily plodded to your kitchen and stopped in front of the sink. you pumped way too much soap on your hand before running it under the faucetâs warm water. your mind wandered as you scrubbed it clean.
ââŠbut you continue to pique my mortal curiosity.â
âughâŠâ you groaned. his words wouldnât stop echoing in your mind; they replayed over and over again like a broken record. you thought back to the first time you two had metâhe said something along those same lines, mentioning that your lack of fear âpiqued his curiosity.â you bit your lip as you turned off the faucet.
you werenât easy to scareâthat much he had to know after tonight. you were unpredictable, quiet and quick-witted, irritated instead of afraid.
you were everything he hated, yet he was undeniably fascinated by you.
you were halfway convinced his attention wasnât the worst thing ever.
thank you for reading part 2 of fascination !! as always, lmk if yall want a part 3 in the comments !! also, im thinking of opening requests, so if u want me to write anything, lmk !!
