writhe ; Pennywise/it x female!reader
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!!
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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.
You'll come back if he doesn't find you first.
