📖 my masterlist │❔ random link (periodically changes)
feel free to send me your thoughts !! i'm always down for goofin' !!
if you're reading this, remember, you're amazing and ilysm !! 🤍⚡
atm i am the biggest peter maximoff and doctor strange simp in the entire universe !! argue with a wall !! i'm also a huge dork weirdo who posts a lot. if you get tired of the spam, you can always block the tag #nonsensical posts !!
it is too weird if i say i had a nap yesterday while looking social media on my phone and suddenly i dreamed about your blog?? 😭 it was so random, i saw the tumblr dash and new posts from you and you interacting with my blog wth IQNDJDND sending too much love in ur way lom!! 💗💖💕 (i hope i'm not being weird sending this 😭
omg not at all !! 💗 i'm blessed that you would even think of me !! 💗💗💗 ik i've been terribly inactive as of late. so thank you for your continued support and love. it means the entire world to me !!!!! 💗 please never be afraid to share your thoughts, i'm always here to read them. even when i'm too sleepy eepy to respond !! ✌️👽
lately i've been feelin' that spark to start writing again. hopefully i'll make a return !!
ik this blog is entirely peter maximoff inspired but y'all will never know or comprehend how much i love doctor strange. like so so much. he's my #1 shayla blorbo bleebus of all time and always will be forever 💗💋
I love people who have specific characters that are their "no one understands this character like me. not even the writers." because they're genuinely not joking. the way they understand those specific characters is so profound that it'll change your entire veiw.
yall ever start writing a fic in a certain mood and the next day youre not in that certain mood anymore so now you gotta wait until youre in that mood again so you can continue writing the fic ??
some art of my marvelsona with my favs !! she's called frostbite, and her lore is a bit cuckoo, but i love her sm !! strange is her mentor, she pines for him but it's one sided. quickie is her will they/won't they bestie (until they get separated for a lonnnng time, that is <:°) 💗)
hiii just wanna know which characters/shows/movies do you love atm? i remember i used to follow you on my old account when you used to write for kai anderson and peter maximoff so just wondering if you still like ahs and marvel or have you lost interest?
hiya, anon !! i'm about to give you a very boring, very adult answer.
the short of it is, i don't really hyperfixate like i used to. i'm devastated about it. part of it has a lot to do with burnout. i started this blog when i was unemployed. but these days, i work a very demanding job. i work long hours doing something emotionally draining. and by the time i come home, all i wanna do is sleep !!
the other half of it is kind of depressing, sorry !! sometime last year, i got hurt pretty badly and i haven't been the same since. selfshipping, daydreaming, hyperfixating don't feel as fun anymore because of it.
i still love quicksilver !! hell, i recently bought new shoes that reminded me of him. lol i still love the x-men !! i read marvel comics all the time and have a collection brewing on my shelf.
right now, i'm mostly invested in star wars (finished clone wars and rebels, watching bad batch), and one piece (reading the manga after watching the animated series), and pokemon (playing pokopia).
as far as ahs goes...i used to love kai. but men ain't shit. especially not him. he can suck my fat one ✌️😎
𝓖regory house ੭୧ fem! reader ┇ p in v ⋆ dėgradation ⋆ prone bone ⋆ spānking
GREGORY HOUSE was the worst part of your sex life.
Because he was also the best.
He fucked like he argued, all sharp edges and ruthless timing, always a step ahead and never kind enough to warn you. Cruelty came easy to him because of this, honed on the whetstone of your need, wielded with the same finesse as his cane. And right now, that very cruelty had you reduced to a mess of limbs, utterly soft and cock-dumb beneath him.
“God, you’re loud,” House muttered near your ear, his weight branded down along your spine as he hammered into your sweet cunt, prone boning you like a metronome with a vendetta. His fingers snarled stiff in your hair, knuckles grinding against your scalp as he shoved your cheek down into the rumpled sheets. “Bet your neighbors think I’m carving you open with a steak knife. Or auditioning for CSI: Bedframe Homicide.”
You didn’t even get the whole sentence out.
“F-Fuck off! I’m not—”
He cut you off with a thrust so violent it jarred straight through your bones and rattled the headboard. All air and pride stolen clean out your lungs, driving you flat into the mattress with merciless precision.
“Not what?” House drawled from above you, breath scorching the nape of your neck, every syllable a lash. “Not an attention-starved cumslut who gets wet the second I treat her like trash?”
“Please, you came the first time I called you a waste of potential.”
He punctuated his words by sheathing himself balls-deep into your weeping sex, forcing you to feel the sheer, staggering girth of his fat cock twitching inside you. You writhed beneath him. The heat it sparked between your legs splintered sharp and low, a throb that seemed to beat in time under the brutal onslaught of his pelvis meeting your rear. After all, House never moved fast when he could move mean.
The bed creaked, springs whining in protest as he pinned you down with a hand braced between shoulder blades. The hypnotic plap-plap-plap of his hips colliding with your plush ass bounced off the walls, melding into a chorus of your pretty mewls and his animalistic grunts.
Fuck. You hated how your pussy was drooling nonstop for this limp, spiteful son-of-a-bitch.
You gritted your teeth, fighting for some semblance of pride, even with your face smashed into his pillow. It was threadbare, scratchy, reeking of cheap aftershave and whatever brand of arrogance he sprayed on just to offend people in elevators.
“Agh! You’re such a fucking—-”
“Amazing lay? Genius? Local humanitarian?” He cut in, again—so fast it made your blood boil. There was that familiar curl of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth as he quickened his pace, practically bullying your brain through your cunt at this point. “Come oooon. Say it. You’ve never had trouble using that mouth before.”
And there goes your traitorous insides twisting tight around his cock. Pathetic.
Whatever snark you’d been choking out died somewhere in your throat once he yanked you back onto him, the grip on your waist bruising as he rutted into you faster on a series of vicious snaps and grinds, like a greedy mutt claiming something he didn’t plan on giving back—hellbent on teaching your gummy walls exactly what shape they were supposed to take around him whether you liked it or not.
“Because from where I’m standing—”
Thrust. Your body jerked, sweat sliding down the valley of your back.
“You’re dripping on my sheets—”
Thrust.
“And still trying to argue like you’ve got a leg to stand on.” House leaned in, his tone silk-wrapped blade. “Newsflash: you gave up that moral high ground as soon as you started creaming on a misanthropic drug addict.”
Your fingers curled in the tangle of sheets, knuckles bone-white. God he was insufferable, yet you still rocked helplessly to his rhythm while his cockhead battered that hypersensitive knot in you to a raw pulp again. And again. And again.
Why? Because deep down, House was right. Obnoxiously, inhumanly, always-so-goddamn-right. And worse—he knew you knew it too.
“Look at you,” he chuckled, blue eyes darkening as they drag over where you were joined. Slick shine glistened along the veiny base of his shaft, your arousal clinging in obscene webs every time he pulled back. Smug didn’t even begin to cover what he felt. “Squirming like I just dug up your favorite trauma and fucked it into a coping mechanism.” He smirked, lips ghosting down the arc of your clavicle, the scrape of stubble pricking at your skin.
“Lemme guess, daddy didn’t call you a good girl either?”
You choked on a sound—half sob, half moan, your frame wracked with white-hot sensation, caught between shame and delirious want.
“House—”
“Mmm, there it is,” he crooned mockingly, teeth grazing your pulse point. “That’s the real you, huh? Not the mouthy brat—this one. The one that only comes out when she’s pinned under a miserable bastard with a limp and zero respect for her boundaries.”
He let up just long enough to deliver a smack across your ass—hot, piercing, a crack that lit your flesh on fire—before he rammed back in, fucking you down hard into the mattress, dick jabbing so deep you swore he rearranged something vital.
“Mmmf—- ohmygod!! F-Fuck!” You cried out.
“Keep selling that ice queen act to idiots who buy it,” he rasped, voice laced with a razor-edged venom. “But judging by the mess you’re making on my cock? I know exactly what gets you off.”
His thumbs dug back harder right below the tender spot of your ribcage—almost punitively—enough to leave crescent evidence blooming there and make you wince. It only made the ache worse. Your cunt stretched taut around him, pleasure ricocheting through your core until it felt like your whole body was tuned to the point of shattering.
“And lucky for you, I’ve got the bedside manner of a goddamn saint.”
summary: After having wet dreams of a peculiar alien entity in the form of a clown, you wander into the sewers and Pennywise fucks the daylights out of you. That's literally it. There's no plot here, none to be found.
word count: 1.9 K
w a r n i n g s: shameless, plotless SMUT, female reader, mentions of dead children, it pronouns for Pennywise/It, clussy mention baybeeee, no use of y/n, monster fucking, teratophilia, p in v (although it's a prehensile tentacle cock sooooo), tentacle fucking, come eating, brief mentions of wet dreams.
a/n: uhhhhh listen, this is my first pennywise fic despite being a registered clown fucker since 2017 (technically longer, but shhh). i'm not even going to explain myself here. you're either here for it and get it, or you don't. there's no mention of time periods so this can take place whenever you'd like. also ignore my abrupt ending i'm sick and can't be bothered. banners by @/veejiez @/dollywons and @/adornedwithlight!!
↓ fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!
Wind rustles through the leaves. A bird titters somewhere behind you.
The heady, buttery smell of popcorn drifts towards you.
Strange.
Very strange considering it's coming from the gaping, circular mouth of a sewer.
At first, it had started with dreams of floating. Dreams where every other thought dissipated and was replaced with the undulating, throbbing sensation of it. Then, those dreams turned… peculiar. A clown. Bells jingling. Distant, melodic calliope music that grew dissonant the longer you listened. Children singing a nursery rhyme that didn't make sense.
The really unsettling thing was that every time you woke up, you were soaked. You'd rub your legs together for relief, determined to restrain yourself from sliding your fingers between your cunt. But god, you wanted to.
So many Derry children had gone missing. Others made claims of a clown in a sewer. Surely, not your clown.
They were always playing near them — the sewers.
Probably the same sewers where you now stand, in a knee-length dress that flutters with the soft breeze. You take a deep breath of the familiar scent and take one step into the tunnel. Wet pebbles crunch beneath your feet as you step further inside. Amidst the popcorn, there's a distinct damp odor. It's colder without the sunlight.
Afraid of getting lost, you continue straight, avoiding any of the turns and glancing behind you every so often at the bright opening from whence you came.
The tunnel opens up into an expansive area. In the middle of it, a pile of… toys? Junk? Forgotten belongings that wash away into the sewers during the many rains — you pick out bicycle wheels and teddy bears with your eyes. It's impossibly tall, looming up above you.
This must be another dream.
And if it is…
Your footsteps echo as you curve around the mountain of discarded belongings. Something out of place.
A circus wagon with its side panel door open. From the prickling darkness, a tall, slender figure emerges. It smiles, revealing two buck teeth amidst other normal teeth. His eyes are bright blue, but seem to glow in the dim, blue lighting of the sewer. So, the children hadn't been lying. This wasn't some unfounded urban legend.
"Oh my god," you breathe. "It is you."
The thudding of boots thunders across the wooden floor of the caravan, echoing against the walls of the sewer as the clown takes a running leap, effortlessly landing a few inches from you. You lift your head, gazing into the abruptly warm, amber eyes that gaze back. Red lips part, revealing now sharp teeth, more teeth than any human should have. You blink, swallow. Tighten your fingers into a fist.
In any other situation, maybe you'd scream. Run away. But you don't. The clown sees this. After a few seconds, his mouth closes around the pointed, layered teeth. He shivers, and a jingling rings in your ears.
"Ouuh. Ooouh, you're not afraid… but…" The clown suddenly snuffles close to you, his red-tipped nose running along the length of your neck. "Something else."
Yes, you think. Something else.
You hinge slightly at the waist and gather the hem of your dress into your palm. You straighten, bringing the dress to your hip, and with your other hand, you reach into your cotton underwear and collect some of your warm, slick arousal on your fingertips.
You hold them out in front of you, like offering a feral dog some meat.
You can feel the clown bristle above you, elongating. Orange eyes flicker down to your fingers, to your legs. Back to your face. The expression on its face reads one thing — hungry. Big, long arms wrap around your torso, and you feel the jostling steps of the clown as it runs back towards the wagon, taking you with it. For a moment, it almost scares you, but as it always does in your feverish dreams, the arousal takes over when the creature in front of you presses your back against the wood panel of the wagon.
"What do you taste like…." Without warning, lithe, gloved fingers wrap around your wrist. Its crimson lips close around your fingers, the ones that are coated in your wetness. You can feel its mouth pulsing, tongue scrubbing at the pads to remove all traces. With a wet pop, it pulls your fingers from its mouth.
It smells you again. Every inch of you. Open-mouthed inhaling of the scents you give off while gloved hands trail behind its face. When it passes by your mouth, its hands on your neck, you catch its lips in a kiss.
The inside of the clown's mouth tastes unlike anything you've ever experienced. There's no remnants or hints of food, no personal notes, or anything normal. No, instead it's euphoric and dangerous and bright, like licking a battery. You dive back in for more, running your tongue along the other waiting muscle. A tongue that feels too long for its mouth. You moan into the cavern of the clown's throat, and a feral-sounding growl swallows yours.
Your groin presses up against Pennywise's. There's something there, but it's not what you're used to — not what you expected. Your hand drifts down between your bodies, almost apprehensively, to feel more. It takes a moment, digging underneath and between the silk confines of its costume, but eventually, you find it. What it is, you aren't sure. At first, it feels like you do, but larger, a longer slit that's wetter than you could ever get. The soft flesh is covered in a thick, viscous fluid that leaks from between the folds. Your finger trails along the slick edge curiously.
Then, without warning, something slimy and strong slithers from deep within, slithers out to meet your fingers. The tip of it curls around your finger like a serpent, writhing its way up the soft inner flesh of your palm, then your wrist. It's warm and has a strength that could pull your entire hand inside of it, if it wanted. You yank your hand away from between its legs, swallowing hard as you hear a retreating squelch. You don't dare look down.
"What… what are you?"
The once playful voice drops an octave, no longer high-pitched and melodic. The answer is serious and simple: "Everything."
The dull ache of fear presses a single sharp fingernail into your arousal. "No, what does that mean? What did I just touch?"
"Me," it insists plainly. "You want something else?" The question is eager, riddled with capability. You know what it means — a question of forms, of what it can do. It can take any form to frighten you, naturally. In this moment, however, it can take any form to fuck you, to please you.
You watch its eyes, glowing bright amber in the dim lighting, as they watch you. Finally, it speaks again. "You want to say yes… but you don't smell like you want something else... small human is hungry... curious…"
Your cunt aches. Beats hard. Whatever it is, it can smell your arousal as it leaks from you.
"I don't want to run… but even if I did, I can't run fast enough to get away from you."
The clown shakes its head quickly, excitedly.
"You want to play pretend?" you ask.
Another head shake. "Nnnooo… wasting time."
"Fine, then." You lower yourself to your knees, the grain of the old wood digging into the flesh. While maintaining eye contact with the creature, you lean back and drop your legs apart to reveal a pair of soaked underwear, your dress gathering at your waist. Its nostrils flare. The hungry gaze returns, and you notice a specific change in its stature. Pennywise mimics your previous position, on its knees, and shuffles close to you. Not close enough that your hips touch, however.
For a fleeting moment, you're confused.
Pennywise straightens up, almost proudly. From the slit, a glistening tendril slithers out with a wet sound, and you can't help but stare, watching intently as it grows, thickens. The tip of the deep red appendage snakes forward until it bumps into the cotton of your panties and glides upwards like a tongue, leaving a slick trail on the fabric. Then, suddenly, long fingers reach towards the fabric and rip it apart, tearing the shreds away from your legs before you have any time to protest. Not that you would, anyway.
As Pennywise towers over you, crawling its way up your body, the tentacle moves of its own free will, writhing and slithering between your legs. The slick sensation pulls a whimpering, pitiable moan from your lips, your eyes fluttering helplessly at the feeling. You throw your head back and flatten against the floor.
"Please," you beg.
"Pleaasse?" It echoes.
You nod, determined.
When it slips inside, driving its wriggly tendril forward, your jaw drops in a silent scream, pupils dilating. The feeling is all-consuming — it continues to penetrate your insides, writhing and stretching instinctively towards your deepest spots. Longer and thicker than any man you'd been with, it fills you in a way that leaves you breathless and sweating — scooting back to get away from it as the pressure intensifies.
Pennywise's arms are fast on your hips; however, it pulls you back sharply to its groin. The arms feel too long, too strong for its body, and sharp, black talons that have ripped forward from the tips of the white gloves dig into the soft flesh. It finds purchase, and tightens its grip. "Nooooo," It coos, almost mockingly. "You stay right here. You're not going anywheeeere!"
You mewl and clench your inner muscles hard. The creature above you snarls, and you feel the tendril twitch within you. It finds a rhythm with its thrusts. They're hard and meaningful, jolting your body backwards with each one. Internally, you can feel the tentacle as it moves, searches for your innermost spots, or curls back against the spongy flesh that makes you see stars.
Its thrusts are shallow, pulling you back and forth on the girthiest part of the tentacle while the rest of it curls and twitches inside you. You lift your head weakly, watching as it writhes. Above you, the clown is breathing heavily, snarling, and exhaling long breaths. Heavy-lidded, your eyes dart from between the two visuals repeatedly, fueling your release. It comes like a wave, crashing over you. Your toes curl, fingers tighten into fists. A single drop of sweat descends from your hairline, trailing down your neck.
"Fuck, oh my god…!" you cry.
With a sudden buck of its hips, the inhuman cock buries all the way inside you, pelvis pressed tightly against yours. You feel an alien, indescribable pulsing inside you, throbbing hard against your walls as it, too, orgasms. You feel full. And yet, the throbbing continues. The filling continues until it begins to leak out the sides with deep, wet squelches. Its release lasts longer than you think possible, and your body eventually goes limp in his grip, rocking helplessly back and forth with its erratic, slowing motions.
When the creature finally pulls itself away from you, drawing the tentacle back up into its body, a staggering amount of sticky, post-coital liquid seeps from between your legs — you can feel it dripping from your used cunt, which still throbs. It pools beneath you, slimy and warm.
"I can't believe you…"
You lift your head before continuing.
The clown is gone. Sucked back into the darkness from whence it came.
With a quivering breath, you find the torn scraps of your underwear and attempt to clean yourself up. The fabric absorbs little of the mess. You get to your knees first, then gingerly push yourself up onto your feet. Your legs are shaky and feel like they're made of rubber.
