Since you asked to spam I would love if you could please update your platonic pennywise x reader fic soon😢 I’ve been waiting for it since you released the advent calendar in December😞
Anon 🥺🎈
IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU.
That's my goat. My Roman Empire. Whatever the kids say these days about things that are important to them 😭
Ngl, the advent calendar was probably the worst thing I could've done to myself. I really set myself up for disaster with that one. I gave myself a whole structure & literal workload to work through. It's not that serious, idiot, I whisper to myself.
Please be patient with me for a lil longer!
There's a lot of ground to cover across all the fandoms I'm in & I only just got back from my hiatus. No self-imposed deadlines this time around 😭
he's holding her in the sewer, her legs wrapped around him, drooling just like she is. her body rutting against his as broken, desperate whimpers leave her throat. 'your smell...' he husks, his bright eyes rolling behind his head. he's never smelt anything like it. blossoms and nectar rather than the sinister decay he's used to. it has shivers crawling up and around his form. 'tasty...'
she tugs at a strand of his hair. at his puffy sleeves. her pussy soaking through her panties as she traces the hard shape of what lies beneath his clothes. 'show me your teeth,' she cries.
he opens his mouth, giggles, wider and wider. dozens of rows of sharp teeth protruding from his gums. his mouth so massive it could swallow her whole. the sight has her spilling over the edge. the fire in her core reaching its peak as she counts them. 'so beautiful,' she marvels, rutting desperately. her hand softly touching his face as her eyes close, her pussy throbbing against him.
As the Losers begin to fracture under fear, Nanny makes the devastating choice not to save Dean from Pennywise in order to preserve the ritual, shattering Bill’s trust and leaving the group more divided than ever before.
33. The Betrayal
Day 3 started brittle.
The sky over Derry was the color of dishwater and the motel smelled like stale air and old secrets. You could feel the town pressing against the thin walls, listening.
They gathered in Bill's room because it was biggest, because it had a table, because someone had to choose and Bill always did.
You were there first.
You sat in the single chair by the window, legs crossed at the ankle, a book open in your lap like this was any ordinary babysitting job and you were waiting for a toddler to wake up from a nap, not a group of grown men and one woman who'd once been your charges and were now marching toward mutual slaughter.
One by one, they came.
Eddie first, pale and tight as a drawn string, his hand hovering near his pocket where the old inhaler dug into the fabric of his jeans. Ben next, careful movements betraying how shaken he still was, yearbook page tucked safe inside his shirt. Richie, trying and failing to swagger; Beverly, eyes sharp and rimmed in kohl; Mike, silent, rock heavy in his palm.
Bill came last, shoulders hunched as if he were already bracing for impact.
They didn't talk at first.
The quiet in the room wasn't peaceful. It was the silence between lightning and thunder.
Richie broke it.
"So," he said, too loudly. "Tokens acquired. Trauma revisited. Everyone enjoy their little solo haunted house? I give mine one star on Yelp, the leper spit was a bit much."
Eddie flinched.
"Don't," he said.
"Don't what?" Richie snapped. "Don't joke? If I don't joke, I start screaming, Eds, and I don't think the motel is ready for that kind of review."
"We shouldn't have split up," Ben muttered.
"Kind of hard not to when the magic turtle says 'fetch,'" Richie shot back.
"It wasn't the turtle," you said mildly, turning a page.
They all looked at you.
You closed the book around a finger.
"Sorry to disappoint," you said. "No reptilian deus ex machina this time. Just the thing that crashed here, and you, and me, and a ritual that might get very messy."
Bill exhaled through his nose.
"We d...don't have to do it," he said suddenly.
Five heads snapped toward him.
Mike frowned. "What?"
Bill stared at the tabletop.
"I mean...we do," he corrected quickly. "We have to. It's just...we're not..." He swallowed. "We're not ready. We've barely remembered half of what happened and we're already..."
"Already being hunted?" Bev said quietly.
He looked at her.
Her gaze didn't waver.
"I saw it," she said. "After the bathroom. After the blood. When it...looked at me. I saw...all of you."
Her hand shook as she reached for her cigarette packet, then thought better of it and let it drop.
"I saw you die," she said.
The words dropped into the room like stones.
"Beverly..." Ben started.
She cut him off with a sharp shake of her head.
"Alone," she said. "All of you. Different places. Different times. But...not old. Not...grey, or wrinkled, or..." Her voice faltered. "You don't get there. None of you do. If we turn around now...if we go home...he doesn't just leave us alone. He...waits. He punishes us for leaving."
Eddie's face went ashen.
"How?" he whispered.
She looked at him, and for a second you saw the girl who'd stood in her bathroom, drenched in blood no one else could see, and refused to look away.
"Badly," she said. "Quickly, but...alone. Scared. Like we were...kids again. Except this time, it sticks."
Richie laughed.
It was a horrible sound.
"Cool," he said. "Cool, cool, cool. So stay and die in a sewer or leave and die somewhere else. Choices. Love that for us."
"You d...don't know that's what it meant," Bill said weakly.
"Yes," she said. "I do."
You watched the words sink their teeth in. You'd seen visions before, yours and Mary's and the ones that clung to this town like mildew. Bev's weren't as sharp. But they were clear enough.
She wasn't wrong.
"I'm not asking you to stay because I want to play hero," she went on. "I'm asking you to stay because I've seen what happens if we run. We've been running for twenty-seven years already. It doesn't save us. It just...postpones the bill."
"You keep saying 'we,'" Eddie said. "Like you're not in those visions. Did...did you see yourself?"
"You are allowed to be scared," you said. "You are not allowed to use that as your only excuse."
Richie glared.
"We're not all immortal umbrella people, Nanny," he snapped. "We break. We die. You float off on your magical carpetbag and...what, call it a job well done if even one of us is left breathing?"
You didn't flinch.
"I've buried children," you said. "Real ones. I'd rather not add any of you to that count."
"Then tell us we win," Eddie said. "Tell us we walk into that fucking well and walk out again and he doesn't."
You looked at him. At all of them.
"I can't," you said.
"That's what I fucking thought," Richie said, and shoved back from the table.
The chair scraped.
"I'm out," he said. "I'm done. This is a stupid fucking plan and I'm too old to die in a place that smells like shit."
"Richie..." Mike started.
"No, man," Richie said, jabbing a finger at him. "You stayed. Good for you. You lived in this freakshow for almost three decades and kept the scrapbook and the flaming rock and the conspiracy podcast voice. I get it. Somebody had to. But I'm not that guy. I'm the one who leaves. That's my whole fucking thing."
He turned toward the door.
Eddie stood up so fast he wobbled.
"I'm coming with you," he blurted.
Richie blinked. "What?"
"You're not leaving me here," Eddie said, voice high and shrill. "If you go, I go. I'm not gonna be the only one who knows this and has to..." He flapped a hand at the room. "...and she just admitted we're gonna die anyway, and..."
"I did not admit that," you said.
"...and there's no magic turtle and I slept like shit and my arm still hurts," Eddie steamrolled on, "so yeah, I'm going with him because at least if I die on the way out of town, I won't be underground."
"Great," Richie said, forcing a grin. "We'll go be cowards together. Road trip."
"Stop," Bev said.
They didn't.
Ben's jaw worked, like he wanted to say something and couldn't find the words.
Bill looked like someone had just kicked his dog.
Mike's eyes were on you.
Do something hung between you.
You did...nothing.
You could make them stay. You could slam the doors, twist the locks, tilt the floor so the hallway never quite got closer. You could keep them like birds in a cage until they broke.
That wasn't the kind of magic Mary had taught you.
That was the kind he used.
"Go," you said quietly.
They all stared.
"What?" Eddie squawked.
"If you're going to leave, leave now," you said. "Don't drag it out. Don't half-stay and hope someone else will make the hard decision for you. Either you walk away now or you don't. But know what that means."
"You said we die if we do," Richie snapped, jerking his thumb at Beverly.
"I said I saw possibilities," Bev shot back. "Not certainties."
"What's the fucking difference?" he demanded.
"You," you said.
He froze.
All those years ago, in a sewer, with blood on his shoes and Eddie's broken arm screaming, he'd stayed. He'd gone down the well. He'd fought.
He could do it again. Or he could go. That choice was the only thing in this town that had ever been truly his.
"None of us are children anymore," you said. "I can't drag you by the collar. I can't...sing at you until you behave. I can only tell you the truth: there is no version of this where you never hurt again. There is a version where you hurt, and other people don't have to as much."
Richie laughed, but it was thin.
"You should put that on a motivational poster," he said. "Hang it in the sewer. Really spice the place up."
He stepped into the doorway.
Stopped.
His hand lifted, fingers pressing to the scar on his palm.
He'd done that a lot since he came back, without noticing.
Eddie watched.
His own hand mirrored the motion, thumb rubbing over the faint line.
"We...we said we'd come back," he said, almost to himself. "We promised."
"Promises are for kids," Richie said, but there was no heat in it.
"No," Bill said hoarsely. "Promises are for us. Because we b...broke them already once, and look what it cost."
They all saw Georgie.
They all saw Stan.
Richie closed his eyes.
For a second, you could almost feel the coin in his pocket weighing his decision.
He sighed.
"Shit. Fine," he said.
He stepped back into the room.
Eddie sagged with him, like they were tethered.
"But when I die," Richie said, pointing at you, "and my ghost shows up at whatever cosmic address you're floating at, I am haunting the hell out of you."
"Get in line," you said.
A faint, strained laugh circled the room.
It was not much.
It was enough.
For now.
You felt Dean before you saw him.
He was not one of yours.
He had never been.
You'd spotted him under the bleachers at the ballgame, sharp little face, smart mouth, the kind of kid who'd already learned to spit first so no one saw him flinch.
You'd filed him away as a worry and moved on.
You couldn't carry every child in Derry at once.
You felt him now because Pennywise did.
Curiosity.
Hunger.
A little spark of possessive delight.
Found one, he sang in your bones.
Bill heard him by more ordinary means.
He was in the motel hallway, alone, palms still itching from clubhouse dirt, when he caught the glimpse of a familiar green rain slicker in the vending room doorway.
Dean.
The kid from the Jade alley. The one who'd said he heard voices in the drain.
He was feeding coins into the machine with the concentration of someone who'd already lost too many quarters to jams.
"Hey," Bill said. "Hey, Dean."
The boy's shoulders stiffened.
He half-turned, defensive.
"Oh," he said, recognition sliding over his face, followed by immediate annoyance. "It's you."
Bill almost smiled.
Dean had a talent for making grown men feel twelve again.
"Careful," Bill said. "The carnival..."
"I know," Dean cut in, rolling his eyes. "Big scary sewer ghost, whatever. You're not my dad."
He yanked the lever. The machine whirred and clunked. A soda clattered down.
"You shouldn't go," Bill tried again. "It's not s...safe."
"No kidding," Dean said, popping the can. "Some weird guy is yelling at me about storm drains."
He brushed past Bill.
The smell of cheap cologne and adolescent bravado followed.
Bill stood there, heart thudding. By the time he moved, Dean was already halfway down the street, cutting through back lots toward the fairgrounds.
You were on the motel roof when Bill burst out the front doors.
You watched him look both ways and then bolt, Silver abandoned for speed.
"Don't," you murmured to the sky.
He didn't hear you.
Pennywise did.
The carnival lights blinked in the distance.
Laughter floated over, tinny and frantic over the rumble of generators and the screech of rides.
You stepped off the edge of the roof and let the umbrella carry you, drifting high above the line of the street like any other gull-harried scrap of shadow.
People didn't look up in Derry.
Too dangerous.
Your boots hit the gravel at the edge of the fairground just as Bill pushed through the gate, breathless, eyes scanning.
The place was a riot of color: striped tents, spinning metal, kids waving cotton candy like flags. The smell of popcorn and frying sugar churned your stomach.
You could feel him under it all, the clown, coiled around the foundations like roots, leaking tiny bits of wrong into the midway games and the carousel lights.
"Dean!" Bill shouted, shoving past a group of teenagers.
No answer.
You saw the boy duck away from the crowd, cutting toward the far corner where the cheap attractions lived, the rickety rides, the rigged games, the funhouse with its grinning facade and chipped paint.
He disappeared inside.
You landed lightly near the entrance.
"Don't go in, William," you told Bill.
He looked at you like you'd slapped him.
"He's a kid," he snapped. "I'm not leaving him!”
You met his eyes. He was shaking.
"William," you said softly. "You don't understand what you're walking into."
"I've been in his head," Bill said, voice rough. "I've seen what's under him. I know."
He shouldered past you.
You could have stopped him. You didn't.
The funhouse swallowed sound.
Inside, the music and midway noise sank to a muffled throb. The air smelled like old carpet and sugar and breath gone stale. Mirrors loomed on either side of the winding path, reflecting reflections of reflections until it was impossible to tell which way was forward.
"Dean!" Bill called.
His voice bounced back at him from six directions.
You stepped in after him.
The mirrors didn't like you. They began that this last cycle.
Your reflection was always a half-second out of sync, a ghost in your own skin, too bright or too faded. In places, you didn't show at all, just a smear where a person should be.
You moved through the maze by feel, stepping between the angles, finding the slivers of space where the glass thinned. You slipped ahead of Bill, into the heart of the attraction.
He found Dean first.
The boy stood in a corridor lined with mirrors, all of them showing him at slightly different heights, slightly different ages. His face was pinched with annoyance rather than fear.
"This place sucks," he muttered. "Everywhere I look, it's just me."
Somewhere above, the clown laughed.
The lights flickered. The mirrors shivered.
You smelled him.
Pennywise seeped in through the glass.
Not his whole body at first, just a hand in one pane, long fingers drumming; just an eye in another, pupil huge; just a mouth in a third, lips stretching into a crescent grin.
Dean's face went blank.
Then his eyes widened.
You almost smiled, despite yourself.
Pennywise did, too.
"Good nose on you, kid," he cooed. "Smell the rot, do you? Hear the walls? Hear the drains?"
Dean's jaw jutted.
"I hear you in my bathtub," he said. "Doesn't mean I'm scared of you."
"Liar," the clown sang.
Bill skidded into the corridor entrance.
"Dean!" he shouted.
Dean and Pennywise both flinched.
The clown's grin sharpened.
"Oh," he sighed happily. "We have an audience!”
He stepped out of one mirror and into another, his image multiplying until the corridor teemed with clowns, each one slightly off, slightly delayed, slightly wrong.
Bill staggered to a stop.
He saw Dean ahead, small hands pressed to the glass, eyes wide.
He saw himself reflected a dozen times, older, thinner, desperate.
And in the panels behind Dean, warped by the curved glass, he saw them.
Pennywise, looming.
And you.
You were on their side of the mirror.
Standing in the same narrow corridor as the clown and the boy, the geometry folded wrong to allow it. To Bill's eyes, you were slightly behind and to the right of Pennywise, one hand resting flat against the glass as if testing its strength.
Your umbrella leaned casually against your shoulder.
You looked calm.
Too calm.
"Nanny," Bill rasped.
He smacked into the glass between you with a hollow thud.
Dean jumped.
"Run!" Bill shouted. "Dean, run!"
Dean spun, saw you, saw the clown, saw no way that made sense.
He froze.
Pennywise's grin stretched.
"Don't be rude," he chided. "We have a guest."
He tilted his head toward you.
"Governess," he crooned. "This one yours?"
All the mirror-Bills saw you.
All of them saw the little hesitation before you answered.
"No," you said.
Your voice sounded thin in your own ears.
"Then he's mine," Pennywise purred.
Bill's hands slammed against the glass.
"You can g...get in there," he gasped. "I've seen you. You can break this. Break it!”
You could. You could warp the funhouse into something else, tilt the world so the glass dissolved into rain, pull Dean out through the reflection of his own eyes.
You could spend power you didn't have.
You could fling yourself between the teeth and the boy and let the backlash hit the threads holding this whole ugly game together.
You could hear Mary's voice in your head, warning and weary: You cannot save all of them, child. You'll tear yourself in half and feed him the pieces.
Dean was not bound to you.
His fear did not hum against your ribs like the Losers'.
He did not believe in you. He barely believed in Bill. He believed in the clown.
"Please," Bill said.
His breath fogged the glass, stuttered.
"Nanny, please!”
You met his eyes.
Across the warped panel, his face was wet and wild, reflection doubled and tripled until you were looking at a whole hall of little boys in a grown man's skin.
Pennywise watched you from the corner of his eye.
You could feel his glee, sharp as tinfoil on fillings.
They'll find out what you are, he'd murmured in your room. They'll turn on you. They'll try and kill you too.
He slammed his palm against his side of the mirror.
Cracks spiderwebbed out from the impact, racing across the surface like frost.
Dean screamed.
The sound bounced around the maze, multiplied.
Bill hammered his fists against the glass.
"BREAK IT!" he shouted. "Nanny, do something!"
Your storm surged, instinctive, wanting to answer.
You held it back like a leash cutting into your palms.
If you did it once, for a boy who did not shine for you, who would never even know your name, the cost would come due somewhere else.
On Bill.
On Bev.
On Eddie, who already panicked at his own pulse.
On all the children you had already chosen.
Pennywise's smile went slow and satisfied as he felt your restraint.
"Watch closely," he said, almost tender.
He timed it for maximum cruelty.
He threw his weight against the glass from his side.
On Bill's side, the pane exploded outward, shards flying, the barrier in front of him vanishing in a spray of glittering knives.
Bill staggered, hands cut, suddenly faced with open air and a clear line to Dean.
He lunged.
He hit something that wasn't there.
An invisible wall, another layer of It's funhouse geometry, a barrier that existed only on the boy's side.
Dean slammed into it too, palms squeaking.
Their hands met through nothing.
Bill's eyes went huge.
He pushed.
He could feel the heat of Dean's skin and the chill of whatever lay between.
Nothing gave.
"Please," Dean sobbed. "Please, I don't..."
Pennywise reared up behind him.
Bill saw every tooth.
"DON'T LOOK AT HIM!" Bill screamed. "LOOK AT ME!"
Dean tried.
He really did.
His gaze flicked between Bill's face and the white shape looming behind him, drawn helplessly toward the thing his brain had been wired to fear since the drains started whispering.
Pennywise's jaws unhinged above the boy's head.
You could still have moved then.
You could have thrown yourself into the deadlights' path, taken the bite yourself, let your own light go screaming down into the dark with him.
You did not.
Your fingers pressed harder to the glass instead.
It didn't break.
Pennywise's teeth came down.
The glass on Dean's side bloomed red.
Bill's scream tore his throat raw.
He slid down the smooth, unseen barrier to his knees, hands leaving streaks.
Dean's body jerked once, twice.
Then went slack.
Pennywise let him drop like a puppet whose strings had been snipped.
Silence hit harder than the sound.
Bill was still making noise, a ragged, gasping litany of no no no no, but it felt thin under the weight of what had just happened.
Pennywise stood on the other side of the invisible wall, mouth smeared, teeth pink.
He pressed his hands to the barrier, matching Bill's position, like a grotesque reflection.
Then, slowly, he shifted his head and looked at you.
In the mirrors, your own reflection finally lined up.
Bill saw it.
He saw Pennywise's painted face and your calm one side by side, both framed by glass, both dry.
He saw your hand still resting on the surface, not pushing, not warping, not saving.
Pennywise grinned.
"See?" he cooed, voice muffled but clear. "We are the same."
You ripped your hand away like the glass had turned hot.
Your deadlights roared under your skin, sick with what you had not done.
The clown laughed and melted backwards, his shape smearing into reflections, disappearing pane by pane until only your face remained for Bill to look at.
He did.
Very slowly, he turned his head toward you.
He'd never looked at you like that before.
Not even when you'd dragged him out of a sewer by the scruff of his soul.
His expression wasn't fear.
It was worse.
"You let him die," he said.
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
You tried again.
"He wasn't..." you started.
The words tasted like rust.
"Not one of yours?" Bill spat.
You flinched.
He lurched to his feet, cuts on his hands dripping onto the funhouse floor.
"You c...could have broken it," he said, voice shaking. "I've seen you. You...you fly, for God's sake. You could have...you could have pulled him through the glass. You could have..."
"Bill..."
"DON'T," he snapped.
You'd seen him furious before, at his parents, at himself, at the whole unfair structure of the universe that had stolen his brother.
You'd never seen him aim it at you.
"You chose," he said hoarsely. "You stood there with him and you chose to let that boy d...die."
"I am trying to keep you alive," you said, and you heard how awful it sounded even as you said it. "If I break the wrong thing, if I pull too hard, the ritual won't..."
"Fuck the ritual," he snarled.
Spit flew. Your storm twitched.
He advanced a step, blood on his palms, on his shoes.
"You think it matters to Dean if your...your cosmic balance stays tidy?" he demanded. "He was a kid. He trusted me. I told him not to go and he went anyway because that's what they do and then I followed and I thought..." His breath hitched. "I thought you were on our side!”
"I am," you said.
He laughed.
It was a wreck of a sound.
"Whose side?" he asked. "Ours? Or his?"
Pennywise's whisper curled at the edges of your awareness, smug and soft.
They'll betray you. They'll call you monster when you don't shine the way they want.
You shoved the memory away.
"I am on Derry's side," you said, desperate to make him understand something, anything. "On the side of the ones I can save. I can't take all of them, Bill. I can't. If I try, something worse than him notices. You don't know what..."
"I don't care what rules you've decided are more important than a child’s life," he said.
His eyes were bright and hard and utterly broken.
"You let my brother die," he whispered. "And I was too young to know it. I thought...you tried. I thought you did everything you could and it still wasn't enough. Maybe I needed to believe that."
You flinched like he'd reached through your ribs.
"That's not true," you said, but your voice was thin.
Georgie's yellow slicker, red in the rain.
You had pulled six kids out when the town wanted to eat them.
You had not pulled the seventh.
"I saw you," Bill said, shaking his head. "In the vision. With the Shokopiwah. With all the other times this thing woke up. You were always there. Watching. Picking and choosing. Curating your little flock."
"That's not... me. Not yet."
"You could have saved him," he said.
He nodded toward the bloody smear on the invisible wall, towards the limp little body behind it.
"You chose not to," he finished.
The mirrors around you hummed.
The funhouse felt suddenly too small to hold the three of you: a man, a nanny, and the absence where a boy had been.
You stepped toward him, hand half-lifted.
"Bill..."
He recoiled.
"Don't touch me," he said.
Soft. Final. It landed heavier than any shout.
Your hand fell. Something in your chest, one of the little quiet hopes you didn't examine too closely, cracked along an old fault line.
"You still need me," you said, because it was true and awful and the only card you had. "You all do. You can't get down there without—"
"We'll manage," he said.
He turned his back on you. He did it slowly, like it cost him something. Then he ran.
Out of the corridor, through the maze, past mirrors that showed him stretched tall and thin and small and sobbing and furious. He hit the exit door with his shoulder and burst back into the garish wash of carnival lights.
You let him go. You could have folded the distance, stepped in front of him, blocked his way like a scolding nurse.
You didn't. You stood in the echoing funhouse, watching the blood drip down the unseen barrier until it became just another stain in a place full of them.
"Not one of yours," Pennywise murmured in the empty mirrors. "Good girl."
"Shut up," you said.
Your voice bounced back at you from a dozen warped versions of your own face.
You crossed the floor, each step loud on the warped boards, and stopped in front of the place where Dean's body lay on the other side of the invisible partition.
His eyes were still open.
Kids who'd seen him here later would tell themselves it was a prop.
The town was very good at that.
You lifted your hand.
For a moment, you let your storm flare, just enough to burn a single, small mark into the glass where no one else would ever see it, a tiny, white scorch shaped like an umbrella.
A gravestone, for you if not for him.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
The boy didn't answer.
You didn't expect him to. You stepped sideways, through the lingering echo of the deadlights, and out of the funhouse.
The carnival looked the same.
Neon. Grease. Laughter pitched just a little too high.
Somewhere beyond the midway, Bill's figure was already a smear of movement headed back toward town, toward the house waiting for him on Neibolt Street, toward the friends who still believed, as of this moment, that you were wholly on their side.
You walked the other way.
Up, first, onto the sagging roof of the funhouse, where the rain-streaked sky pressed low.
Then higher, the umbrella snapping open in your hand, catching the wind.
The town spread under you: the river, the Barrens, the grid of streets, the old library squat and stubborn on its corner.
They'd go there.
That was where Mike lived, these days.
That was where the research was.
That was where Henry was limping, knife in hand, along a path you could already feel etched into the air.
You should go to Bill.
You should go to the boy hauling all this weight toward the worst house in Derry.
You angled the umbrella toward the library instead.
You didn't have the luxury of tending to one fracture at a time.
Bill's trust had just snapped like a bone.
You could feel it, a sharp absence in the web of light you held around the Losers.
You were losing pieces faster now.
"You could have saved him," Bill's voice echoed.
You told yourself, again, that Dean was not one of yours.
You told yourself that if you'd burned what it would have taken to pull him free, you might have lost all of them.
You told yourself a lot of things as you glided over Derry's roofs toward the library where your little flock was beginning to gather without you.
The storm rolled closer.
You tightened your grip on the umbrella and headed into it.
🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡
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Summary: Pennywise has been alone for a very long time, and that’s exactly how it should be. It’s easy to forget the cage when the prey is abundant. Which is why you moving in, with your too-loud vibration and your insatiable appetite pisses Pennywise off. Big time.
Sacrament Is You
Summary: Ducking into the sewer is never a great idea in Derry, but there’s a gang of nasty boys hot on your heels and you decide to take your chances. Running into the monstrous entity that haunts the town is less than ideal, until you discover it’s thirst for flesh mirrors your lust for revenge. If only you can keep it’s appetite from swallowing you whole.
Can I request Pennywise dating hcs where his partner/reader is a dark magic witch with a catch familiar?
I'm not a huge fan of basic witch types (eg. pointy hats and Halloween vibes) if thats what you mean, or the typical TVD-based witches, but I do adore ancient, horror type sorceress with familiars for sure if thats okay with you!
THIS IS A DRAFT I NEVER POSTED AND I DONT FEEL LIME FINISHING OT EDITING IT SO ENJOY
Pennywise X reader
I stood at my Bathroom sink taking in my appearance, I ruffled my hair a bit and pulled at my face a little, a small frown pulled at my lips.
'𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝐼 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦?'
I did everything I could to make myself look better, makeup, eating right that turned into eating less, different clothes, hell I've even planned for some kind of cosmetic surgeries. My need to be accepted to be beautiful, to be like those girls who could pull any guy or girl, turning into an obsession. I watch my expressionless face scrunch a small bit as a tear leaves my eye.
Suddenly a white gloved hand sneaks its way from behind around my neck, a soft jingling of bells tinkled as It stepped closer towering over me.
𝑃𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒..
His hand moved to the underside of my chin, its index finger catching my tear letting it soak into the glove. In the mirror I could only see its lower torso and waist behind me clothed in white and gray ruffles fabric of a clown suit.
My breath catches and my heart lurches, he'd come to me before many times but not always to show me my worst fear but sometimes to just be there, it was... Strange, unsettling, but it was somehow calm.
Another hand snakes around my waist pressing into my tummy. My hand shoots out to stop him, but he doesn't budge it's nose prods at my head of hair breathing in deeply, a soft chuckle leaves him.
"𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒔𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔"
Pennywise states into the top of your head. The hand on my neck tightens ever so slightly pushing gently and guiding my head to look upwards at him.
His eyes found mine, its pupils were dark and blown out slightly to the point that his yellow rings were mere slivers around his dark orbs, his mouth was slightly agape two front teeth showing while drool slipped down his red painted lip.
"𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚"
He purred, making you pause you blinked up at him for a long moment, your brows pulling together and you open your mouth
"𝑊ℎ𝑎-"
"𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚"
it interjects and states more clearly. Now I was really confused, I pulled away to turn and face you. Something must be wrong, he must have some kind of weird plan to use me or worse. Pennywise seems to notice my hesitant and suspicious expression.
"𝑰 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒕"
It whispered deathly low, but somehow I believe him, maybe it's because he's usually very mocking and giggily when speaking, but there is no trace of that in his voice
hi!! my idea for the pennywise fic is where the reader is essentially derry’s #1 scapegoat and thus gets targeted frequently by bullies. one day while running away from the bullies, she rubs into pennnywise, but convinces him not to eat her by promising to bring him more targets (her bullies). as she concocts plans to lure them to pennywise, he gets to have some fun by teasing and frightening her for her amusement, and over time gets more and more fond and attracted to her. eventually, after all the reader’s bullies have been eaten, they’re essentially lovers, but one day while pennywise is a little more aggressive with his affections, he underestimates his strength and kills her on accident. to remember her and kinda “honor” her in his own way, he ditches the clown form to take her image and continues to rule derry using her face. please feel free to ignore this if you’re not interested, and if you are, please feel free to change anything you want!
I did this one! Linked below :)
Sacrament Is You (Pennywise x Reader)
Summary: Ducking into the sewer is never a great idea in Derry, but there’s a gang of nasty boys hot on your heels and you decide to take your chances. Running into the monstrous entity that haunts the town is less than ideal, until you discover it’s thirst for flesh mirrors your lust for revenge. If only you can keep it’s appetite from swallowing you whole.
