IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈
Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic
-> I decided to write this more like a casual narration, for the storytelling vibes. Also, I tried to pull a going back & forth in time like I'm S.King, so not everything will be crystal clear from the get-go. Hope you enjoy and feel free to interact!!
-> I tried to keep the reader gn, but the fem POV came more naturally to me. I apologise if it takes away from the story for some of you.
-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear –and sometimes the flesh– of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.
Listen to: Five Years by David Bowie
~ Chapter 1 ~
1979 Derry, Maine
A family of three moved to Derry, for the father's work. Maine has its fair share of factories and the average person here doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, if it means paying the bills.
You were twelve when your family settled in an amiable house in Witchham St.
You may be seventeen now and you may have embraced the Losers' Club almost like a parental figure... But that wasn't the case five years ago.
When you first moved to Derry, you were twelve.
It was that same year you attended the annual Derry Funfair -Pennywise's favorite time to wake up. How could it not be, with so many kids out after dark... The Derry Funfair. The perfect hunting ground for the entity. That fateful night, you saw him for the first time. You call IT a 'he' because in the form of a clown, IT feels like a 'he'.
The air at the funfair was thick with the smell of popcorn, sugar... and something faintly metallic. As you walked through the crowd, laughter rang out around you, along with the loud music coming from the speakers far above your head.
You spotted the Ferris Wheel turning slowly against the darkening sky, each of its blinking lights reflecting in the deepening puddles scattered along the path. The Carousel line was snaking on that very path. You always loved how the painted horses glistened under the soft glow of the carnival lights...
Fed up with a group of cocky twenty-somethings, you slipped away from the fair, eventually finding yourself by the bridge for a moment of peace. You liked the breeze and the faint smell of night-blooming flowers. You still do.
It was quiet, until you suddenly heard a distinct sort of giggling. You also spotted a single, shiny red balloon floating toward you, bobbing against the wind. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. Chills ran down your arms. Instinct warned you that something was very wrong.
That night, in your rush to escape and flee back to the fair, you left your hairbow at the bridge.
Later, as you looked out the window of your father's car on the ride home, you looked back and saw him -an enormous figure in a dusty, faded clown suit, watching you, waving slowly at you. His face was ghostly pale, almost like porcelain, with eyes that gleamed a strange and unsettling shade of amber. Those eyes seemed knowing, as if they could peel back every thought and fear inside you. A painted smile stretched across his mouth, far too wide and framed by rows of teeth that looked far too many, like something out of a nightmare. Wisps of reddish-orange hair framed his face, stiff and wild. The ruffles around his neck were yellowed with age, their edges fraying.
The suit itself was old, streaked with grime. Large, oversized pom-poms lined the front in an even row. And yet, despite his faded, worn appearance, there was something disturbingly vibrant about him. It was as if he wasn't really standing but rather waiting -waiting for you to wave back at him.
Even from the safety of the car, a chill had crept through you, and somehow you knew that he was still watching long after the car had turned, his gaze following you all the way home.
That night, when you woke up thirsty from all the popcorn you'd had at the fair, you wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. There, neatly placed beside the sink, was your lost hairbow -the same one you'd bitterly cried over after realizing it was missing.
Two days later, you returned to the fair with your parents. You felt happy. You were carefree. You were stupid. You couldn't resist looking for the clown who had waved at you... You had a strange feeling that the balloon belonged to him... It was the shame shade as his painted lips. You also had another, even odder feeling that he had somehow been the one who returned your hair ribbon.
Eventually you found him. The clown waved again and this time, you waved back, even managing a smile. But when he extended an unnaturally long arm, gesturing you to come closer, you were smart enough to keep your distance. You felt a shiver run down your spine as his voice, soft and coaxing, whispered your name.
Strangely, your parents didn't seem to notice him, neither that day nor the first time you'd seen him...
It was July. You didn't see the clown again until early autumn, right around the time you started feeling nervous about your new school.
That summer, he haunted your dreams night after night. They'd start innocently enough, not like full blown nightmares -you'd find yourself back at the fair, wandering through empty stalls. The colors were brighter -somehow too bright- and the air too thick. Then, he would appear. A clown in the distance, his wide smile aimed straight at you. You'd try to move, to turn away, but somehow, your feet kept inching closer.
In those dreams, he told you his name -Pennywise-, his favorite color -red- and his favorite food -cotton candy-. You remember telling him that you knew he was lying, that he wasn't just any clown. After that, the dreams stopped.
1984 Derry, Maine
You think back to all that as you blankly stare at the pages of your math book, you think back to what belongs in the past, but your mind drifting off to five years ago is more than justified.
People in town are noticing things these days, though no one says it out loud. There are hushed conversations about kids going missing -George Denbrough included-, strange sightings near the sewers, and that eerie feeling you get walking through Derry alone.
The old-timers say things aren't right this time, that it feels different somehow. You overhear a few whispers that maybe this time, it's sticking around longer. And the worst part is that you know why. You know why even better than your younger friends do...
Since last autumn, you've gotten close to Bev Marsh. She sees you as the older sister she never had. Bill lives right across the street. You babysat him and his little brother, Georgie, over the summer. But since Georgie's death in the Fall, you and Bill have drifted apart. Stanley… well, he may or may not have a crush on you. You know him through Bill -he's a good kid. Eddie Kaspbrak, same way, also through Bill. Thank God he gets some fresh air with his friends -you've heard his mom isn't the easiest. Then there's Ben, your reading buddy from the library. Richie Tozier? You two got into a fight once, over which Led Zeppelin song is the best. And Hanlon, he nearly knocked you over with his bike the first time you met.
Another remarkable mention? Henry Bowers. He is a year younger than you. Sure, the guy's a bully, but oddly enough he and his friends never caused you any trouble. And I say 'oddly enough', in the same way Derry's misfortunes oddly enough never seem to touch you. The bad luck that hangs over this town, the accidents, the disappearances, even the craziness... it's as if you've been given an unspoken pass, a quiet immunity no one else seems to have. Even when trouble looms close, you remain untouched, like some silent pact with the shadows in this place.
However, it's not just the gossiping ladies at the grocery store, or the old wise granddads who enjoy sitting on their porches, that made your mind wander to the past with their words.
As of late, your dad started locking the doors at night without explanation and your mom seems anxious, checking the windows like she expects something -or someone- to be watching. They'd never talk about it, but you can tell they sense it too... The whole town feels off, like there's something lurking beneath the surface. Sometimes, you catch a flash of red in the distance or hear a faint giggle that seems to echo from nowhere. It happens often enough that it feels like more than coincidence.
You've started wondering if he's ever really gone at all.
Even your dreams are different now.
More vivid.
In them, you're back at that same funfair... but it feels hollow, like something out of a faded photo. Every creak of the Ferris Wheel, every rustle of the trees ...sounds wrong. Sometimes, you see him waiting by the bridge, his head tilted in that unnatural way. His smile is sharper and more dangerous, as if he's been waiting all this time, keeping a part of you trapped there. You always wake up shaking, heart pounding in your ears.
The worst part is that the closer you get to waking, the darker the dreams grow.
In last night's one, Pennywise had held his gloved hand out to you, as if inviting you closer. You had felt the weight of his gaze, pulling you in despite everything inside you screaming to run. You started to remember that he's taken kids before, that he leaves things behind as markers -ribbons, scraps, things no one else notices... And then had woken up gasping for air.
No matter how much you try to shake it off, the feeling lingers, leaving you wondering if he's still out there, watching you, just as he was five years ago.
For you, fear twisted into something almost exhilarating five years ago... thanks to all those fleeting moments of intimacy when he would whisper secrets, just for you. It was wrong and you know that, but there was a thrill in the danger he represented. You think about the stories the others tell, how they shudder at the thought of him -of IT- while your heart races at the memories of the laughter, of the games. It's a longing that gnaws at you, even as you wrestle with the dread of his return.
It was easier to just forget before, but now the thought of him returns like a shadow. As you flip the pages of your stupid math book, you wonder if he's standing outside your house right now, waiting for you to come back to him, just as you've secretly wished for him to do all these years. Because, it's true, there's a twisted part of you that misses him.
When the Losers share with you Bill's and Ben's theories about IT and how IT came to be, you can't help but recall how Penny would laugh, a sound that echoed like a melody in the chaos of your childhood, dancing on the edge of terror. His voice, with its playful cadence, would weave stories that made the mundane feel magical. You remember how you'd lean in, drawn by an irresistible urge, despite the way your heart raced and your instincts screamed to flee.
Even the memories of those long, shadowy nights away from the comfort of your bed, punctuated by the pulse of adrenaline, stir something within you -an inexplicable yearning for the connection you shared, however dark it was.
You close the book since there's no way you can concentrate on your homework now and instead, you settle on washing the dishes.
Despite everything, beneath that longing lies the heavy weight of guilt and sorrow. 'Penny' killed Georgie and that truth looms over every fond memory you have with him. This is the part you feel compelled to remind yourself: he's a killer, a predator.
To any onlooker, all they would see is a broken girl, haunted by a lost childhood and a shadowy figure that once made her feel alive and seen. You know better than anyone that the line between fear and fascination is a thin one, and that's a truth you'll have to grapple with...
...in the chapters to come.
masterpost☁️
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Could you do a drabble about lucifer playing with some duckings with a platonic reader. Just two homies chillin with some baby ducks.
Better than Heaven | Lucifer Morningstar x Reader [Platonic].
word count: 580
Quack quack quack!
“Look at how many of them there are!” Seated upon a grassy floor, your hand stretched out and pointed toward the gaggle of ducklings that bobbed upon the water. Each one was in a uniform line, trailing before the mother whose feathers were a pearly white, much unlike her little ones’ yellow.
A laugh, soft and well-natured, came from beside you and you turned your head to see Lucifer. Also seated, he had one knee propped up so that his arm could rest upon it. “Seems like they’re going for their daily walk today.”
Returning your gaze to the duck family, you cooed at the sight of them all swimming to the bank of the pond in Lucifer’s garden, and waddling to walk onto land. His estate was large and boasted many rooms for all sorts of uses, but his most prized feature was his enormous backyard with his very own pond. One where a duck family had found a home in.
“Look, Luci! They’re coming closer!” The mother was making her way toward the blond specifically. Shocked, you spoke once more, “I thought ducks were violent! And overprotective of their kids!”
His dark hand extended to the duck, who inspected it tentatively before nudging its head against it. That was his cue that he could give her head a gentle rub with two fingers, to avoid too much pressure.
Lucifer shook his head, smiling fondly at his feathered companion. “I guess they can be, but this one’s taking a liking to me.” As if to prove his point, when his legs dropped into a tailor-sit fashion, the duck waddled into his lap to nestle within the crevice between his thighs. Needless to say, you were jealous! You wanted to pet a duck!
With no real force, you nudged his arm with your elbow, teasing him. “Looks like someone has a crush on youuu. Bet she thinks you’re the daddy or something.”
Your words had only spurred him on to appear embarrassed. “She does not! That’s– That’s silly! I’m just good company!” He spoke while still gently petting her head.
“Yeah,” you hummed, tilting your head as you watched him and even smiling at the sight, “I guess I can see that.” And in return, he smiled back.
Gasping, you were shocked when you felt all kinds of flippers suddenly scuttling onto your own legs, travelling upward until numerous ducklings where chirping up at you from your lap. You swear you felt your heart explode!
The only issue was you didn’t have enough hands to put them all! You tried to lightly scratch all of their heads, and eventually scooped one into your palms to pull closer to your face. The little duckling immediately found its nest in your hands and even nuzzled against your cheek when you turned your head to the side.
Your voice became a quiet whisper, “I think I’m in Heaven.”
Lucifer’s shoulders jolted as he tried to retain his laughter to a small chuckle. It was nice, seeing you so happy. He couldn’t imagine what the average sinner had to endure somedays, what with how violence and other crimes littered the streets of Pride day and night. But knowing that within his gates, he could keep his dearest friend safe from all that, even if for a year hours, left him feeling content. Especially when it made his home feel so much less emptier these days.
“Heaven has nothing on this.”
an: sorry its longer than a drabble, but i tried to keep it short ! i have a curse where i yap too much.
Negotiations, Person B sitting comfortably, Person A standing behind them casually close. Person A leans down as the negotiations get tense/go awry. The following conversation is murmured.
Person A: Trust me?
Person B: Admittedly, I do.
Person A: That makes this easier but I’m still sorry.
Person B: Wha-?
Person A: *puts their weapon to Person B‘s head/throat*
