#imagine pennywise...

[charliedawn]

Slashers with a goth reader? Pls include Bo, Arthur, and Pennywise I beg😭😝🖤 and drink water!

Bo Sinclair

“Aw, hell, ya walkin’ to a funeral?” he’d smirk, watching you strut through Ambrose in a floor-length black coat and heavy boots. But oh, he’s watching. Closely. You are in black lace, your silver jewelry, your sharp tongue? He eats it up.

Secretly thinks you’re so hot, but won’t admit it until you catch him staring and call him out. “You wearin’ a corset to kill me or what, darlin’?”

If any tourist so much as mocks your look though, he goes full wrath-mode. You’re his beautiful little bat, and he won’t let anyone make fun of you—besides him.

Jason Voorhees

Jason doesn’t understand fashion, but you in black lace and boots? He’s stunned. You look like something out of a dream he didn’t know he had.

He especially loves how confident you are. He notices every detail—the little silver bat necklace, your dark nail polish, the ripped stockings. You look like Halloween every day, and that calms him.

If you sit by the lake in your black clothes and softly hum something haunting, he’ll sit with you for hours. Just…content. You soothe his rage. He won’t say it, but you’re beautiful to him. Like a graveyard in moonlight.

Norman Bates

Norman finds your goth look strange…but also deeply intriguing. He’s drawn to your aesthetic the same way someone is drawn to a haunting painting—curious, reverent, cautious. He thinks you’re like a character out of a gothic romance novel, all mystery and dark elegance.

At first, he’s worried you’re too “morbid.” But when he sees how you treat him kindly despite your edgy exterior, he decides the way you look doesn’t really matter to him. He nervously offers you a flower and says, “It reminded me of…well, something you might like.”

It’s a dead black rose.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent adores your goth aesthetic. He thinks you’re art.

He sketches you constantly. Every fold of your clothing, every choker, every twist of your hair—it’s all going into his notebook. You find his studio littered with gothic statues inspired by your look.

He won’t say it aloud, but you can feel the admiration in every careful touch, every time he straightens your collar before a photo. He especially loves the contrast of his waxy, silent world with your dark energy.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms thrives on dramatics, so your gothic look delights him.

“You look like a bride for the dead,” he coos, hiding behind doorways and peeking out like a shy Victorian ghost. He wants you to read him poetry, especially sad ones.

He gets jealous if anyone else compliments your look.

“She’s mine. My beautiful little widow.”

He makes you black-and-white drawings and leaves them under your pillow.

Freddy Krueger

He’s instantly into it.

Fishnets, velvet, combat boots—he’s drooling. Not just because you look amazing, but because you look like trouble, and Freddy loves trouble like he loves dreamblood and bad puns.

You walk in all moody and mysterious, and he gives you that big toothy grin:

“You look like a walking Tim Burton wet dream—and baby, I wanna direct the sequel.”

He’ll flirt constantly, call you “Gloom Girl,” “My Little Hex,” or “Wednesday,” and demand you teach him about your music. (He pretends to hate The Cure, but you catch him humming “Lullaby” while sharpening his glove.)

When you talk about loving cemeteries or reading Edgar Allan Poe, he doesn’t make fun of it—he leans in. He gets it. Deep down, Freddy is all rot and ruined beauty too. He likes that someone else likes that kinda stuff too.

Michael Myers

One day, when you look at Michael and ask, “Do I scare you?”, his head tilts.

Then slowly, deliberately, he lifts his notebook and scribbles: No. You calm the part of me that scares everyone else.

Arthur Fleck

At first, Arthur doesn’t know how to categorize you. You show up in his life dressed in all black, lace gloves, long coats, maybe a parasol on sunny days.

“Are you…in a play or something?” he asks with genuine curiosity, squinting at your eyeliner and jewelry. When you smile and say, “No, I just like it,” he smiles. He doesn’t tease you. He admires you.

And of course he spirals just a little with obsession. You’re not just a person to him; you’re a symbol. Something hauntingly beautiful in a world that’s always been so ugly to him. He starts getting jealous, though, when others compliment your look. When someone in public sneers or laughs, Arthur gets tense—starts giggling in that eerie, unstable way that means someone might get hurt.

But when it’s just you two?

He’s gentle. His fingers tremble as he touches the lace on your sleeve. He lights a cigarette just to watch the way the smoke curls around your silhouette. “You look like a funeral I’d love to attend.”

Chucky

“Okay, Wednesday Addams, you trying to kill me or what?” At first, he teases the hell out of you. “What’s with the Dracula cosplay? You got a bat named Gerald or somethin’?”

But underneath the sass, Chucky is into it. He’s never met someone who could wear leather and lace, quote Nietzsche and then flip someone off in the same breath. You’re dark, deadly, and a total smartass—his kryptonite. He brags about your look constantly, shows you off like a trophy. If anyone side-eyes you? He’s got a knife out in seconds.

“Mess with my girl, and I’ll carve eyeliner wings on your lungs.”

Penny

Penny absolutely loses his mind when he sees you in black mesh, eyeliner, stomping boots, and skull jewelry. He’s obsessed.

He doesn’t fully get goth culture, but he adores everything about you. He thinks you’re the coolest thing he’s ever seen and will mimic your style instantly. Expect him to come back with smudged eyeliner, a black shirt with “GLOOMY BABY” written on it, and a hundred questions:

“Is this spooky enough? What’s a ‘post-punk funeral-core’ and can I be in it?”

He calls you his “little bat” or “spooky human” and wants to do everything goth with you—graveyard picnics, dark poetry readings, listening to Bauhaus while decorating a coffin-shaped bookshelf.

Pennywise

He grumbles the moment you walk in, boots thudding, black lipstick perfect, eyeliner sharp enough to kill. He crosses his arms, scowling, leaning against the doorway of the rec room like a disapproving dad.

But his eyes? They follow every move.

You sit beside him, and he scoffs dramatically.“You dress like death. You act like death. You listen to that screeching human music—what was it? Siouxsie and the Ghastlies?” He waves a hand. “I’ve devoured kingdoms with more color than your closet.”

He likes it, just isn’t used to giving compliments. 

[janicekao]

Fear

Pairing: Pennywise/Bill Skarsgard x Black oc (dark smut) Summary: Going after his next victim: a little boy named Booker Jones, Pennywise the clown becomes intrigued by his older sister instead, and no... what he is hungry for is not her fear. Warnings: Horror, violence, entity, monster, monster s3x, rough s3x, dub!con, cnc, age gap, dark romance, smut, tummy bulge k!nk, dom&femsub cr3am pie, etc. 7130 words Wattpad link

Enjoy my babies <3 ----------------------------------

Rumors have begun to spread that Pennywise the clown has returned back to Derry.

But who would believe the rumors being that they were coming from kids? Being gossiped around Elementary and Middle schools.

As children started to disappear again, the adults of Derry have also picked up on believing in this rumor, but luckily most of them have common sense.

Although this myth of a supernatural clown has been told in Derry for hundreds of years, the adults have been in contact with the police thinking that instead of something as crazy as a fictitious clown, some insane Pennywise fanatic has entered the town and is preying on children to keep the fable alive.

"He lives in the sewers."

"He can reach you through the drains of your house."

"He can make you hallucinate and you will see awful things to frighten you."

"He survives off of fear."

Sadly, the children are more than right.

Worst of all, they are going unheard. Parents are ignoring them as they search for what makes the most sense to them, a psychotic murderous pedophile on the loose.

And as the adults of Derry waste their time not believing in the supernatural, Pennywise is preparing to strike again.

Booker Jones, an eight year old boy is Pennywise's next victim.

Pennywise has been stalking his dreams, showing up each day at the boy's school, and whispering through the drains of his home.

Pennywise is infatuated with Booker's fear. Each time he plays with the young child's mind, his mouth waters with excitement to devour the boy and absorb his fear to keep him alive.

It's almost time now.

Booker has told his friends and family... But no one believes him. His parents tell him to stop listening to the gossip of the town because of how bad he's getting nightmares now. Little do they know, Pennywise is sizing him and getting his levels of fear exactly where he wants them to be.

Sunday nights are usually Booker's bath nights. Finally ready for Pennywise's taking, the clown plans on slithering inhumanely through the drain and drag Booker to his death into the sewers where Pennywise will consume his fear and let his decaying body be found in the streams that lead out of the tunnels of Derry.

As Pennywise listens into the pipes of the Jones' house, at eight-pm he finally hears the bath running... he knows that his time to feast, is now.

Pennywise slithers quietly through the pipes, opening his eyes in the sudsy lukewarm water as he expects to see the tiny feet and draggable legs of an eight year old boy...

The clown nearly gasps, almost choking on water as the gaze of his eyes latch onto the spread legs of a young woman...

Confusion takes over his mind, never once has he ever had to take a pause during one of his killings.

Still watching from the impossibly deep pits of the filled tub, Pennywise watches long brown legs soak in the sweetly fragrant bath. The girl's toes are painted a light pink and she taps her feet lightly to what seems to be music coming from her headphones.

What disgruntles Pennywise the most is the powers coming from between her thighs... he even momentarily begins to think that maybe, just maybe, she could be a supernatural herself.

Pennywise is hungry... Usually for fear, but this time, for a taste of the soft flesh between her legs.

Peaking out of the water for just a moment, he craves to see the face of the enchanting creature.

The girl nods her head to the rhythm of the music, luckily eyes closed as she relaxes... Because if they opened, they'd view upon the gray crumbling skin, patchy red hair, and demonic yellow eyes of Pennywise, and surely would die of a heart attack on the spot.

Pennywise is puzzled by her beauty...

Full dark brown curls drenching at the ends as she soaks in the water, face red and blushing due to the humidity of the bathroom, full lips, long eyelashes, and breasts large... nipples upturned and beaming with water droplets...

Fucking hell...

She isn't a child... no, she isn't a child at all.

What Pennywise didn't realize about Booker Jones, is that he has a sister. Quinn Jones, an older sister, age twenty, and home from college for Summer Break.

Tonight won't be the night for feeding after all... However, Pennywise can't leave without a taste, of something.

Seeping back into the drain, the clown's unbelievably long snake-like tongue slithers between Quinn's legs, swiping a powerful lick that goes from the crack of her bottom, through her folds, and to the delicious flesh of her clit.

She immediately gasps. Breath hitched in her throat as her eyes dart open. She flips her headphones from off of the top of her head and frantically kicks her legs, searching for what violated her in such way... however, the bath is empty.

As Pennywise ventures back into the sewers, the taste of Quinn stays on his tongue... a taste that he will forever crave until his dying day.

—•—

Pennywise paces the sewers, mind full of thoughts about the girl.

He isn't used to this feeling... and being an evil entity born Before Christ, he doesn't understand why after all these years, obstacles are now getting into his way?

He hears the snickering of preteens walking through the sewers with flashlights, probably dared by each other to see who is the bravest to meet the myth of Pennywise...

Sadly for the youngins, there is fear that Pennywise needs to feast upon, and once they lay eyes upon his stature of eight-feet tall, his dingy and torn clown costume, and his shards of glass like teeth, fear is exactly what they will have plenty of.

Pennywise tears them to shreds, consuming each drop of their fear. Finally becoming full and energized, he can prepare to tackle the obstacle known as Quinn Jones.

For the first time ever, Pennywise doesn't want to cause fright. He is so curious about the beauty that he just wants to be around her, to know her... However, if push comes to shove, killing her works just as well.

But to get close to the girl without her fleeing from him, he can not appear to her as a clown...

He once would appear human at times around the town of Derry, in his opinion his human form is a handsome man...

But being that the last time he tried this appearance was nearly sixty years ago, it's probably best to appear as something the girl could be attracted to nowadays.

He will have to appear as young as she is. In his twenties, charming, handsome, less forehead, less evil grin, and just more modern all together.

Contorting his appearance into what he needs to be, he finally becomes satisfied with his look as he stares at his reflection in the shard of a broken mirror, dumped in the sewers like the rest of the trash around him.

"This'll do." He finally agrees with what he sees. "This'll do just fine."

—•—

Before being able to show himself, Pennywise wants to be familiar with the girl he plans on meeting.

What does a clown who only knows of murder know about charming a girl?

For weeks of the summer, Pennywise quietly stalks Quinn until he knows her every detail.

Quinn even begins to think that her little brother's irrational fear of Pennywise the clown is rubbing off on her, ever since she's been home she sees the clown in her dreams...

He fills her every thought and at night as she sleeps, Quinn even feels him in the corner of her room.

She thinks that she's just going crazy, but she is far from crazy. Pennywise is using his abilities to infiltrate Quinn's mind, as he does his victims. But instead of frightening her, he just wants her to know of his existence.

Finally mustering up the courage to meet Quinn, things go surprisingly smoother than Pennywise could ever have expected.

In his new appearance, Pennywise purposely runs into her as she grocery shops dinner for her family. He compliments her, asks about the music she is listening to in her headphones, and lies that they are too his favorite band.

He enjoys speaking with her for the very first time... It is like a breath of fresh air.

Pennywise introduces himself to the girl as "Bill", a twenty-seven year old accountant who is interested in taking her out on a date.

Impressed by the man's charm and their almost impossible similarities, Quinn quickly accepts.

Over weeks of hanging out with each other daily, a bond has began to grow. They trust each other and Pennywise enjoys hearing her talk for as long as she wants to.

Each day that he picks her up from the Jones' residence, Quinn's blushing cheeks proves each time that his plan is working, it proves that the girl is crushing on him as much as Pennywise is crushing on her.

A month of knowing each other passes quickly being that the two have become immediately infatuated with each other.

Today, to celebrate a month together, Pennywise has planned a night at a drive in movie theater... a perfect place for romance, and to also scope out the scenery for potential children he can feasts upon when he's ready to.

Wearing a brown mesh dress that fits her body to perfection and compliments her mahogany skin beautifully, Quinn answers Pennywise's knock to her front door.

Pennywise can barely speak... Awed by her beauty, he can barely breathe.

She smiles. "Do I look okay?"

Voice sweet as candy, his heart begins to melt.

"Yes Quinn." He gulps. "More than okay, absolutely perfect."

She blushes. Quinn reaches up on the tips of her heels to place a kiss on the cheek of his handsome face.

She accepts his flowers. "Happy one month, Bill."

—•—

As Pennywise discretely digs through the wallets of his previous victims, he also drives a stolen car.

He impresses the girl with his willingness to care for her, to pay for all of their dates... although nothing that he has belongs to him, not even his own appearance.

Parked in front of the large movie screen, the two share a bucket of popcorn.

Pennywise listens to Quinn as she talks about her last year of college coming up in August. She'll then graduate and become a local Elementary School Teacher here in Derry.

As if she were made just for him. Pennywise's lips nearly begin to drool. Oh what perfect career for her... this way they'll never be apart, she can bring him the kids, and he absorbs their fear.

Curious with her thoughts on the rumored clown of Derry, Pennywise brings it up in conversation, wondering will he forever have to keep up with this appearance around her, or if one day she can accept him as he is.

"Like most adults, I don't believe in entities and things that just don't make practical sense." She shrugs. "But ever since I've been home in Derry, I too have had many thoughts of this clown... it started with my little brother's nightmares, he was sure this evil clown was out to get him... So as a big sister would, I comforted him, calmed his nerves, and reminded him that everything would be okay. But recently, something tells me that the myth of the clown may be true. It's like I can feel him, like he's always near to me... Like I know him personally."

Quinn smiles, shrugging off the goosebumps caused by just the thought of Pennywise the clown. "But honestly there is something else I'd rather talk to you about..."

Chomping on a hand full of popcorn, Pennywise agrees. "Sure, go ahead."

"Bill..." She gulps. "We've been seeing each other for a month now, and I'm a bit confused on where we stand... I go back to school in a month, I'd just like to know if I'm going back single, or is this something... more?"

Pennywise frowns.

Has he not been clear?

"You're mine." The only words he can conjure up at the thought of Quinn seeing anyone else.

Blush heating her cheeks, she accepts his answer with the prettiest smile. "I can be yours."

He nods. "Good."

Taking the popcorn to the floor of the car, Quinn reaches over to kiss Pennywise. Their lips meet, and their affection and adoration for each other melts into each of their breaths.

Although they have taken things very slow over summer, they still have had a few gentle kisses every now and then. But Pennywise realizes that this kiss is a bit different...

Quinn moans into his full lips, body closing in on him in the driver seat of the car as she clearly hungers for more.

His heart begins to beat out of his chest and his human form suffers with keeping up with the seducing kiss.

Pulling away from her, Pennywise watches her almost startled, confused by the bite she has to her full bottom lip yet his pants grow as she squirms in needy arousal.

He gulps. "Quinn, the movie?"

"I'd rather watch you." Her voice drips with seduction as her hand unzips the front of his pants.

Quinn calms his worry as her other hand caresses the back of his neck gently. "If I'm yours, let me take care of you Bill."

He watches puzzled, with a racing heartbeat, however he allows Quinn to do whatever she wants with him.

Quinn gracefully tucks her full mane of curls onto the other side of her shoulder as she bows into his lap.

Her lips line with his up-turned erection as she sweetly kisses the tip of his cock, staining it with her pink strawberry flavored lipgloss.

Staring down at his handsomely perfect member, thoughts of having him inside her chokes her mind. The best looking cock she's ever seen in her life, for now she'll satisfy her hunger with just his taste.

Hallowing out her cheeks, Quinn takes him fully into her mouth. Slowly wetting his cock with her spit as she gently tugs his shaft lubed with her drool.

Breaths caught in Pennywise's throat as he watches his sweetheart take him completely in her throat. Her delicious moans and sweetly scented perfume plagues his mind, he can't control the groans coming from the depths of his stomach.

She feels fucking perfect to him. Willing to choke herself to tears for his pleasure, he knows that he absolutely loves the girl.

As Quinn continues to slurp, stroke, and suck, Pennywise can't control the bucking of his hips. Gently fucking into her throat at the rhythm that he needs.

Quinn opens her eyes, peering up at him with her innocent doll like eyes as she slaps his cock on her drooling wet tongue.

His eyes roll back into his skull.. "Quinn.." He gulps. "Honey I—"

Forcing him deeper into her throat, Quinn inhales his balls along with the entirety of his cock.

Coughing and dripping mascara as her only care is to bring him to a pleasured finish

Fucking hell... he can't take it. Never having this sense of pleasure in his impossibly long lifetime, he feels the need to explode.

Noticing her deep arch in the passenger seat of the car, Pennywise can't help but to run his hand onto her firm backside, slapping her ass as she sucks his cock with absolute perfection.

His mouth hangs ajar as the pressure to cum continues to build. Stomach tightened as he listens to her intoxicating chokes and moans, he can't hold out any longer.

Quinn takes him into her throat once more as he blows his load.

He shouts a pleasured groan as the cum bursts streams into her mouth and down her pretty chin.

The pleasure is too much for him to handle, Pennywise loses focus on his appearance... and absolutely drops it.

He watches Quinn's satisfied smile turn into eyes of fear as he begins to reveal his truest form.

"P-Pennywise.." The shock causes her face to whiten into a pale fright.

He smiles, the jingle of his bells chiming out of thin air. "Pennywise, The Dancing Clown!"

—•—

Thrashing around in the arms of the clown, Pennywise leaves the car for the nearest city drain.

Crying and shouting to be let go, he doesn't listen to her once.

"Close your eyes." He calmly demands. "It'll hurt a lot less."

Fearing for her life. Quinn tightens her eyes closed as she notices them slipping into the sewer drain.

She knows it's impossible for them to fit and expects to be squashed to death... But underestimating the powers of Pennywise, gets her nowhere. As she opens her eyes, she's surprisingly unharmed and in the sewer tunnels of Derry.

As she's being carried, she notices her dangling legs nowhere near the ground being that her date has grown into a whopping eight feet tall.

As she cries and continues to lash out, Pennywise isn't phased or harmed by her gentle fists. However, he doesn't know how to calm her...

When he's killing for the absorption of fear, he would have snapped his victim's neck by now, but not wanting to hurt Quinn... he's at a loss for a next step.

Taking her to the driest and deepest part of the sewers, he leaves Quinn by herself beside a pile of his victim's belongings.

She becomes a mess of frightened tears as she looks up at the massive pile, noticing the floating children in Pennywise's possession, decaying and have been hanging there for many, many years.

As hours pass, and night darkens.

Pennywise decides to revisit Quinn. He finds her exhausted from tears and asleep in a dirty corner, however he's glad that she is calm.

He never wanted this to happen, but now that he's infatuated with her he can't let her go.

Waking up from her stressful nap, Quinn is startled by his quiet watching in the pipes of the sewer.

Balling herself up into bended knees, she refuses to even look at him.

He jumps down, creating a cloud of dust around him as he lands right in front of her.

"Open your eyes." He demands. "See me as I am."

"As what?" She argues. "Accept that you're Pennywise the clown? Or accept that you're a liar?"

Her smart tongue aggravates him as he forces her into his strict yellow gaze. "Everything I've said, I've meant."

"You're a murderer." Tears of sadness wet her cheeks.

"Don't bring up what you don't understand." He denies being called such things.

"You were after my brother weren't you?" She continues. "You wanted to kill him! Turn him into the children above-"

"But I didn't." He interrupts. "And I won't."

She scoffs. "You have been an entirely different man since I've known you, how am I ever to believe a word that you say!"

"Because you'll just have to trust me." His voice although sensitive to her fear, he is clearly demanding and intimidating. "Do it, because you don't have any other choice to."

Rolling her eyes, clearly heartbroken and confused, Quinn attempts to leave.

Stretching his arm like taffy, Pennywise pulls her back to him from many feet away.

Can't she see that he's inhuman? Whatever she does he can correct without even dropping a bead of sweat.

She can't win, and she never will.

Pennywise softens his stare into something less threatening... He slowly bends to the crook of Quinn's neck, placing gentle kisses on her skin. "I am still me."

Uncomfortable with his caress, Quinn begins to frown.

He continues to press his lips to her body and Quinn quickly realizes that she isn't uncomfortable with his kiss at all, she's uncomfortable with enjoying it... Uncomfortable with still feeling safe with a creature that shouldn't even exist.

Pennywise pulls from his kiss and watches her quiet expression... he feels hopeful, now that she's trembling less and her eyes have softened.

He wants to tell her that he loves her, but it just isn't in his character to say something so forward.

"Do I still call you Bill?"Her voice meek and sweet makes his heart beat loudly.

"Pennywise." He responds.

"Will you take me home Penny?"Pennywise shuts his eyes, soul melting at the cute nickname she has quickly came up for him.

Pennywise becomes hungry, wanting to give her what he received in the car.

"Yes Quinn, you'll go home." He whispers sweetly pressed against her face. "Right after I return the favor."

Tearing the panties from her body, Pennywise pins her wrists above her head.

She gasps, squirming in refusal. "No! Please Pennywise, I don't want that!"

Widening her legs her dripping cunt says otherwise.

Pennywise's insanely long tongue swipes between her thighs as he did the first time he met her.

She gasps, body arching in pleasure... Quinn remembers that feeling immediately. "It was you, i-in the bathtub."

Grinning deviously he nods. "Of course, who else could give you a kiss below like that?"

His mouth returns to her sweet succulent flesh. He's wanted badly to feast on this pussy for so many days now.

Hands forcing her dress above her chest, his eyes widen at her perky breasts... nipples hardened and painfully aroused.

Biting a glove off of his hand, he bites his lip as he enjoys the skin to skin contact of caressing her full bust.

Covering her face, Quinn becomes embarrassed. She tries to cover the moans from her tongue, but Pennywise hears them, Pennywise loves them.

Rolling the bud between his fingers with sudden gentle pinches, Pennywise dives back into her cunt.

His mouth is too good for her, she can't keep still.

He grips her ankles folding her legs to her chest to refuse her from moving his mouth from her pussy.

He circles his tongue around her swollen clit, nipping it to watch her body jolt. He slurps on her every drop of pleasure, swallowing it as if his thirst could never be quenched.

His tongue plows into her pussy, bringing shameful squeals through her begging lips. Tongue long enough to fuck her like a cock, he pushes it in and out of her hole and brings her to tears.

His monstrous cock aches, forced against his tight clown costume, and ready to burst from her taste and squeals alone.

Pennywise's face dug deeply between her thighs, his nose and mouth slide vengefully prodding inside the slick folds of her smooth cunt, forcing her to quake as she pulls on the red strands of his hair.

The clown's eyes shutter closed, rolling back into his skull in pure satisfaction. Mouth usually dripping with blood however tonight dripping with Quinn's sweet nectar.

"Please Pennywise..." Her sweet voice stabs at him. "Will you kill me too?"

"You hush now Quinn, you'll be back in your bed, sleeping the best that you've ever had." Breathless and eager to make her orgasm, Pennywise continues.

She moans... pleasure becoming far too painful for her. "When?!"

"Don't act as if you want me to rush, I can feel how much you're enjoying this Quinn." Nearly offended, he shuts her up with a deep tongue plow against her cervix.

She shouts in pleasure... Ashamed of knowing how incredible his tongue feels, and feeling like an absolute little slut for an evil clown.

However soon he answers her anyway. "You'll go home when I get you to that point , when you realize that I won't stop seeking after you, and when you realize that with me— you'll never want to be sought after by anyone else again."

"Do you understand Quinn?" His question is threatening.

She nods. "Yes."

"Good girl." He grins. "Now release for me... release for me, and you will be home sweet girl. You'll just have to do it, right here on my tongue."

Lying on his belly, face devouring Quinn's pussy as he grips the thick indents of her hips, Quinn begins to buck her hips... fucking his face until the tightened spring in her stomach releases.

Tears dropping from her eyes as she shouts out from a mind blowing orgasm, Quinn's vision fades into a bright light.

Seeing only white and hearing a ringing similar to after a bomb, she fades into an unexpected slumber, waking up peacefully tucked into her bed back at her home...

—•—

Days pass and Quinn still doesn't understand what has happened to her this summer.

She's painfully alone with this knowledge, knowing that no one would ever believe her about Pennywise, nevertheless believe that she's been intimate with him.

Her thoughts of the night with Pennywise in the sewer plagues her mind... the memories make her drip with desire and because of it, she feels embarrassed.

What's even more embarrassing, is that she can't help but wonder why he hasn't made contact with her again...

Tempted to visit him in the tunnels, she doesn't want to seem desperate. Her mental health fights with her, filling her with shame knowing that longing for this creature is extremely wrong.

As the weekend draws closer, it'll be a week since they've seen each other. Quinn has gotten to the point of believing that maybe she's just going crazy, maybe she dreamt all of this!

She forces herself to drop him from her thoughts so she can prepare herself for the school year, and get back to everyday life.

Quinn showers in her parents' bathroom, refusing to bathe in the hall bathroom being that was where she first encountered the clown.

As she dresses for bed in a black silk night gown, she brushes her wet curls and brushes her teeth in the mirror of the hall bathroom.

As she spits the toothpaste out, she hears the calling of the clown.

"Oh Quuuiiinnn.."Pennywise nearly sings for her as he calls her name, echoing throughout the bathroom's pipes.

She gulps, realizing that everything that happened between them is absolutely true.

His voice taunts with seduction. "I've missed you honey..."

Cutting off the bathroom light, she decides to ignore the noise and leave.

"Don't you dare leave this bathroom."His threat startles her. "Come here Quinn."

She rolls her eyes, kneeling to the tub as she begins to whisper aggressively at the tub's drain, looking like a psychopath if anyone were to catch her. "What do you want from me? It's been a week, I thought I was free of you."

"Never." He chuckles. "It seems that you've been counting our days apart... if I'm correct, you've missed me just as much?"

"I waited for your bath." Pennywise causes Quinn to blush in embarrassment. "You never came."

"Showered in my parents' bathroom." She shrugs stubbornly. "Felt safer."

Pennywise laughs. "Then we'll just have to have our fun now."

Pennywise's gloved hand reaches through the drain...

"Take the glove off." He demands. "Then sit on it."

Quinn trembles as she pulls the clown's white glove from his hand.

His hand is revealed, gray, monstrous, with talon like nails.

She flinches at the thought of being fingered by that. "Put that away!" Quinn complains. "I will not do anything with that."

He sighs. "Fine."

Pulling his hand back into the drain, he soon brings it back up... handsome, soft, human, with enticingly long digits...

"Now." Compromising with the girl, Pennywise sighs. "Be a good girl, and come sit on this hand Quinn."

She licks her lips, becoming convinced to find pleasure on the handsome hand.

But she refuses... "No!" She snaps. "Pennywise, I won't! I'm going to bed!"

"So help me god Quinn." The threatening tone of his voice stops her dead in her tracks. "If you don't sit on this hand, I will come through this drain and fuck you to absolute pieces."

She wishes that his demanding threat didn't make her melt between her thighs... but interestingly enough, it does.

Quinn enters the tub. Hiking up her silk nightgown, she kneels to the floor of the tub, taking a seat on the warm hand coming from the drain.

His deep baritoned chuckle echoes through the steel pipes. "You know what to do."

And that she does.

Quinn begins to buck her hips... fucking the hand with slow trembled breaths.

Pennywise massages her clit with his thumb, making her slick and preparing her for his probing fingers.

Quinn continues to soak his hand, sticky webbed dripping from her needy little cunt oozing down Pennywise's wrist.

He places two of his longest fingers inside of her, bending at the knuckle to caress her g-spot each time they thrust into her. Quinn closes her eyes and enjoys the pleasure of each bounce onto the hand, a moan escapes her tongue as a broad thumb seeps into her asshole.

He's marked her as his own. Having the girl obsessed with the many ways he can fill her.

Quinn gyrates the lacy dress past her shoulders, her hands begin to toy at her now revealed sensitive breasts as she reaches closer to her cum.

Drawing the faint taste of blood from her full bottom lip, she bites down hard enough to silence her need to squeal.

"I have such the surprise for you.."Mysterious temptation clouds over Pennywise's voice. "Tomorrow, I'll come get you. Be ready for me, be ready for your gift."

"W-What is it?" Quinn's breath hitches in her throat, being choked by a moan.

"Be patient little lamb." He chuckles. "You will see."

Quinn clinches around Pennywise's fingers, nearing her finish. "Cum for me." A sweet command from Pennywise, sends Quinn into hysterics. She jolts, body quaking as she releases for him, soaking and pruning his fingertips.

Panting for breath after her climax, she watches the wet hand slide back down the drain... Quinn listens into the drain, hearing the sudden lapping of his tongue over his fingers, obsessed and constantly thirsty for her taste.

Realizing how much he craves for her, Quinn's crush grows larger. She's utterly fixated on her new lover.

"My glove?" Pennywise waits calmly for her to send it down the drain, but she refuses.

She gulps. "Tomorrow."

"You want to keep it?" You can nearly hear the joyful smile in Pennywise's voice.

"Yes." She admits.

He accepts it. "Fine, as long as you sleep with it pressed against your chest, or even better, between your legs."

"Quinn?" He calls once more. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow, sleep well sweet girl."

—•—

Quinn gets dressed early today not knowing which time to expect Pennywise.

Her knee shakes nervously as she waits all day on the edge of her bed, wondering if she should warn her family to not expect her home tonight... Hell, dealing with an evil entity, she even thought to warn them that she may never be back.

But the clown asked for her trust... so trust is what she has to give.

If he were to kill her, she's sure that he would have done it by now.

As the evening darkens, a nervous Quinn refuses to eat any meals... Her stomach is too anxious to accept any food to eat.

Quinn's eyes become tired, she accidentally begins to fall over into her pillows as sleep takes over her...

Before her head hits the pillow, the side of Quinn's face is carefully placed into the wide palm of Pennywise's hand.

She notices the feel of his skin instead of the pillow on her cheek, not once caring to ask how did he get inside of her room.

"You're late." Quinn's voice so very quiet and sleepy, plays gently on his heart strings.

Pennywise leans into the girl, wearing his human appearance as he softly kisses his tired love.

"I'm sorry sweetheart." He coos, taking his borrowed glove from her bedside table. "Just needed time to get things perfect for you."

As Quinn blinks her heavy eyelids open, she watches Pennywise puff on a cigarette. "So now you smoke?"

He shrugs. "Thought I'd see what's the hype around it to you humans."

Quinn disapproves, up from lying on her bed, she takes the cigarette from his lips and tosses it out of the opened bedroom window. "There is no hype to it, it's bad for you."

Amused with her sexy authoritative side, he wraps his arm around her body. His hand graces the small of her back gently as he lifts her to his kiss.

The tender kiss, mind blowing for them both as Quinn enjoys finally seeing his presence again, and Pennywise enjoys her beauty. Long brown legs in a pair of light blue denim short-shorts, dirty red converse tied in a bow on each of her feet, and braless in a nearly see through white summer tank top.

She's so gorgeous, it physically pains him.

Enjoying every detail of grace and beauty on her face, he pauses momentarily as he takes her image in. "Close your eyes."

Expecting to be transported somewhere, Quinn does just that. She closes her eyes, grasping onto his broad shoulders as she trusts him to take her wherever he wants.

Feeling ground beneath her feet, Quinn soon opens her eyes. She notices her house a few feet away as her and Pennywise walk hand in hand into the woods of her backyard.

She frowns in confusion. "The woods? Why?"

"So you can see how to get to me, and where to find me, whenever you need me." The calm comfort in his voice takes her worries away. She agrees with a nod, tightening her hand around his.

As the two walk together in the woods for a few short minutes, Pennywise follows a stream that leads them to the canals.

He makes sure that she's paying attention as he watches down upon her, she nods, memorizing the path of how to get to him.

They cross the dense rocks surrounded by water as they head towards the sewer. An older gentleman packed up from late night fishing stops them in their path.

Quinn instantly worries about how Pennywise will react... If she is to spend time with him, she never, ever, wants to see him kill.

"Penny, don't." Her voice a quiet plead for him to behave.

The man shines his flashlight into their direction, and Pennywise can hardly decide to kill him or not as he watches  the man shine the bright light into his eyes.

"Hey kiddos! You shouldn't be out this late, especially around these parts. Haven't you all heard about the bodies being found around here? Apparently a murderer is on the loose, some even say an evil clown who lives in the sewers... although that's just a fable." The man chuckles.

"Can't say we're ones to believe in the clown." Pennywise laughs. "Like you said, it's just a fable, right?Have a good night sir!"

Quinn finally breathes again, glad that Pennywise never lost his cool.

He sighs. "The things I do for you."

Together they make their way into the sewers, sloshing through the mucky waters until they've reached the dry area of the tunnels.

Quinn notices how different it looks from the last time she was here...

Cleaned out, floating bodies taken elsewhere, and no pile of his victims belongings.

Even a bedroom is built...

Candles lit around the two of them for romance, and to mask the horrid smells of the sewer.

She begins to chuckle, impressed with the effort he put into making her feel comfortable with where he hides out at...

She walks around the bedroom touching the furniture and the decorations he put together to feel like a home.

Quinn knows the stuff is stolen, but it is the thought that counts.

"Too much?" Nervous and nearly sweating, Pennywise can't get a good read on her expression. "I over did it, huh?"

"I think it's beautiful." She admits. "The reason you went missing for a week?"

He shrugs. "I didn't like you being on the floor, you deserve better... A bed, a place to stay whenever you want to free yourself from the outside world."

Quinn's cheeks blush, clearly falling in love with the clown.

"The bed is awfully big..." Kicking off her shoes, Quinn lays back onto the pillows. "Should I expect to share it?"

Pennywise chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully however noticeably infatuated with the girl.

"Quinn?" He curiously asks. "Do you only like me like this? Does the clown frighten you?"

She smiles. "I like you for the man that I got to know over summer, regardless of how he appears to me. Penny, I like you, for you."

Pennywise gazes into his reflection of the bedroom's mirror with guilt... suddenly becoming unsure of which version that he even likes, himself...

He chuckles dryly. "So I'll change it up, keep things interesting with my different appearances."

She agrees with him, yet begins to sigh. "I'm sorry that I can't do the same."

Her feelings of not being enough for him snaps Pennywise out of his gaze.

"Don't ever say that again." He quickly leaves the mirror, joining her as he sits on the edge of the bed. "You don't need multiple appearances. I love just the one that you have, I'll never want for anything else."

"You love my appearance?" She asks. "Or you love me?"

He gulps, finally admitting the truth. "Quinn, I love you."

Feeling relief as he finally gets those three meaningful words off of his chest, he doesn't even care to hear her say it back... for he is sure that the day will come.

The two share a longing kiss.

A tongue kiss that heats into their clothes being stripped off of each other.

As he pulls the daisy dukes along with her panties off of her body, he bites his lip as he watches her lift enough to slide them off of her legs... just as impatient and horny as he is.

Pennywise watches Quinn tremble with excitement, as she glistens between her thighs, ready for his taking.

Lying on her back, Quinn nearly begs for missionary sex. The type of sex where the wider she spreads, the more she can feel him dig into her.

"Are you sure?" Surprisingly gentle, Pennywise asks for her reassurance.

Biting her lip and already panting, she nods.

He doesn't think twice.

Lying over her gorgeously nude body, Pennywise begins to place slow, bruising kisses along her skin. Sucking the flesh of her chin, neck, and breasts... Marking her with his affection.

Accepting another of his tongue kisses, Quinn moans into his mouth as he loses himself down her throat.

Pennywise begins to slowly lube his cock, thrusting slowly through her slickness until he's covered in her nectar. Just the gliding of his cock through her folds causes her body to arch, pleading aimlessly to be fucked into.

Pussy slapping her with the tip of his weighty cock, he grins deviously as he watches her body jolt each time it smacks her on her throbbing clit.

Toyed with enough, already to the point of soaking his brand new sheets, he gains momentum to seep into her entry.

Slowly thrusting his tip into her, Pennywise holds her hips down as she attempts to run from the pleasure.

His plows deepen..

He watches Quinn take half, then all of his cock as he stretches her to her max. Watching his cock spread her wide is the prettiest thing he's ever seen, his groans tremble as he watches each time he slides out, and rams back into her.

Quinn grips the sheets as Pennywise kisses her salty tears away.

"So pretty.." He coos. "And such a good listener. Quinn, baby, are you with me?"

The girl nods, body blushing red as she endures his brutal fucking, however enjoying the restraint on her breathing from his crushingly heavy body and the fullness of his veiny erection.

Catching a bouncing breast into his mouth, Pennywise's tongue laps teasing circles around her hardened nipple.

Picking up speed and listening to the wet fapping of their bodies and the squeaking bed frame, Pennywise is determined to bottom completely out into her.

Finally doing it, pushing his cock in to the base of his happy trail, Quinn presses her hand against his chest, begging for mercy. "Please—" she pants. "Penny, I-I can't!"

Taking the hand from his chest, Pennywise kisses the girl's palm gently before placing it above her head. Holding her wrists back from interrupting his heavy bucking. "You can baby, you can."

Taking his free hand to her fleshy clit, he massages her in a way that makes her squirm underneath him.

Finishing his handsy caress with a sharp slap onto her pussy, he sends her into oblivion.

Quinn's body begins to quake, squealing inaudibly as the orgasm melts her into the mattress.

Wanting that same incredible finish, Pennywise's speed picks up, aiming for his cum. Her orgasm spasming around his cock as he grunts, mercilessly fucking into the girl.

"Fuck!" He shouts as he nears his finish.

Pussy quivering around his erection, already doused in his sticky precum, his sweetheart lays tiredly beneath him...

Sweated out, dumbly drooling, and looking so beautiful half-lidded and absolutely slutty for only him.

To bring him to his climax, he begs to hear her perfect little voice.

"Is this what you want?" He grits through his teeth. "Could we have this for a lifetime?"

Quinn nearly cries, numbly taking the rough fucking like a champ. "Yes Pennywise, God yes— just continue to be good to me, be good to Derry."

He nods, simping immediately to whatever she wants. "Mmm- fuck! This pussy is fucking fantastic. Yes baby.. Haven't killed since we met, I'll do whatever you want."

"Haven't killed since we met..."

"Haven't killed since we met..."

The words replay, strangling his mind.

How hasn't he killed, since they have met?

Pennywise comes to a slow pace, not understanding how he has been surviving if he hasn't fed off of fear?

....

Or has he been feeding off of it all along?

Quinn, she fears him.

He only has been surviving around her, because she's fucking faking it...

Pennywise believes that Quinn doesn't feel the same about him at all, she loathes him, she's frightened by him and doing whatever she needs to do in hopes of keeping her family and this town safe from him.

He can't hold his appearance any longer, as anger fuels him, Pennywise bursts into full clown...

Eight feet tall, ravenous teeth, hands that tear through his white gloves due to the black talon sized nails, and a monstrous cock that fills Quinn to the absolute brim.

She hisses in immediate pain, "Pennywise it hurts!"

The bed breaks down to the floor now that he's massive and impossibly heavy. However, Quinn's tight little cunt feels sooo very good to him.

"It hurts?"He begins to deviously taunt. "Does it now? I think you can take it Quinn. Be good for me."

She squeals. "Please! You're still inside me, you'll have to go back to your human appearance!"

Becoming familiar again with his evil nature, he refuses. "I think I'll fuck you just like this."

His hands wrap around her entire waist as if she were a can of soda, the clown's form being so large over her petite frame it's like fucking into a Barbie doll.

He huffs, nearing a mountain size amount of cum as he nearly splits Quinn into two.

The clown's mouth begins to drool as he places his hand at her womb, feeling his cock and watching the insane tummy bulge he forces into her guts.

So fucking sexy, he feels his explosion erupting.

Eyes rolling back into his skull, the clown releases to the sweet sounds of her cries.

Muscles tightening as does the vicious grip on her skin as he stills himself inside of her and coats her walls with his hot sticky cum.

"When were you going to stop wasting my fucking time?" Pennywise watches his cum spill out on each side of his cock that still penetrates her. "I can taste the fear on you, so don't dare lie."

Aggravated with her silence, he slams her against the bed. "Faking everything that you've said... Why, because you think it would keep you alive longer?"

He clicks his tongue with taunt. "I'm too old to be made a fool of, but you almost had me Quinn... you really did."

"Penny please!" She begs, although now on soft his giantly inhuman cock continues to sit deeply inside of her. Without barely any movement, she still feels as if she's being fucked due to his size and the pulsing veins of his cock. "I-I can't speak to you like this."

Not being able to catch her breath, and seeming to be seriously ill. Her poor body can't take much more.

She begs tearfully. "It's too much!! S'too full!!"

Pulling himself out of Quinn, she jolts at the lewd pop of the head of his massive cock exiting her.

He watches his cum seep from out of her with more plans of revenge sex and doing this all night to her.

She can finally breathe as her body relaxes, pouring out his messy load into the middle of her trembling thighs.

"Talk!" Pennywise shouts.

"I'm not afraid of you!" She cries.

Pennywise's finger nail sticks uncomfortably into her belly button, with just the slightest drag, Quinn's steaming hot intestines could be lying right in front of her eyes. "Oh Quinn... I've enjoyed every minute with you, but don't think that I won't tear you into fucking shreds if you lie to me again."

"I'm telling you the truth, I don't fear you!" The poor girl, now heartbroken and regretting becoming the lover of a demonic entity continues to weep until she runs out of tears.

"The fear that you are surviving off of is my fear of the future. Fear of our fate together being that we are in an impossible relationship..." Quinn explains herself , unable to even look at him anymore. "A girl and an entity— a fear of the universe pulling us apart when I have too fallen in love with you."

....

His eyes soften with immense guilt... Finally realizing what he has done...

Looking at his love lying exhausted, half-lidded, and fucked to a pulp, he worries that he has injured her... For the first time feeling fear himself.

What Pennywise failed to realize, is that the girl never feared him at all. What she feared, was losing him.

[macabrebatz]

PENNYWISE NSFW ALPHABET

Author’s Note: Haven’t done one of these in a while. I used to write for Pennywise often (I don’t really like my old Pennywise oneshots so they’re not posted here). If you didn’t know by now, I have a thing for clowns. And I’ve noticed a severe lack of Pennywise on this account and Tumblr in general. So here we go. Let the clown fucking begin lmao. (if you want me to expand on any of these headcanons, let me know)

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, fem! reader, Teratophilia/Monster fucking, briefly mentioned mating cycles/heat, Pennywise being a switch, mentioned pregnancy (nobody is getting pregnant btw), not beta read, purely self indulgent filth (these are my own personal headcanons and if you don’t agree with them that’s okay, my friend)

Word count: 2.2k

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Near the beginning of your relationship, Pennywise isn’t good at aftercare. But over time he can become somewhat more caring and affectionate. He’ll be there for you and make sure you’re okay. And he’ll stay with you for as long as you want. He’s also a big cuddler after sex.

B = Body Part (what's their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Pennywise thinks your entire body is fascinating, but his favorite part has to be your legs. He loves gripping them, pulling them around his waist, marking them, etc. If he had to pick a part on himself, it would be his hands. He uses them to hold onto you, scratch you, choke you if you’d like….yeah, it’s safe to say he likes using his hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Pennywise almost exclusively cums inside of you. It’s a primal, possessive type of thing for him (more on this later). Highly enjoys watching it drip out of you before gathering it up on his finger and pushing it back in.

D = Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Although he’s not the biggest fan of toys, he likes the idea of you using a vibrator on him. Has had an ongoing fantasy of you tying him up and holding it against him, overstimulating him until he’s a whimpering mess.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing)

Pennywise wasn’t experienced when the two of you first got together. He’s never been with a human before. Sure, he knows what sex is. He knows how it works. He’s not clueless. He’s just never had any practice. But don’t fret, he’s a very fast learner.

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl: Loves to have you on top of him. He likes to look at all the little changes in your face as you grind and bounce on him. Runs his hands up and down your body. Sometimes when he’s in a rougher move he’ll reach up and pull you down to his chest, holding you tight against his chest, and start thrusting up into you.

69: Not his all-time favorite out of this list but it’s definitely enjoyable.

Face Sitting: Pennywise will quite literally beg you to sit on his face. He loves to be in between your thighs.

Mating press: For when he wants more control. Likes watching you come undone underneath him.

Amazon: On the reverse side, Pennywise quite enjoys the Amazon position once he learns what it is. Sometimes he’s the one coming undone underneath you and this is the position to do it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Pennywise can go either way depending on his mood. He’s not overly humorous during the moment but the two of you can definitely make each other laugh sometimes.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Pennywise doesn’t have anything going on down there. Not in his clown form at least. But when he takes the form of Bob Gray (something he doesn’t do often), he’ll have a nice patch of trimmed ginger pubic hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment, intimately/romantically speaking?)

Pennywise is surprisingly very intimate. Not necessarily a romantic, but intimate nonetheless. Who knew this alien entity could get so into the moment?

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Before he met you, masturbation wasn’t something on his mind. When he wasn’t hibernating his main focus was on hunting. But you came along and all of a sudden he feels the need to pleasure himself when you’re not around. Pennywise doesn’t masturbate often but when he does, it’s a sight to behold. He’s desperate, tears running down his cheeks. He’s never felt like this before. He’s never had a human have such an impact on him. He’ll grind and hump the sheets of his makeshift bed in the sewers, whining and begging to absolutely no one. He would much rather be fucking you though (or have you fuck him).

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding: As I said under the C part, Pennywise likes to cum inside of you. It’s partially because he’s possessive and in a way, it feels like he’s claiming you. But deep down there’s another reason and that’s the fact that he secretly would love to get you pregnant. He can’t though, being a different species and all but he’ll fuck you as if he could.

Biting: Not that surprising. At first, he held back on biting. He would get urges to latch onto your shoulder during sex. But he fought it, too afraid at the thought of getting a taste of your blood and not being able to control himself. He was worried he might end up killing you, especially when he was getting really worked up. But one day curiosity got the better of him and he bit your thigh. Once he realized he could control himself he started doing it more and more.

Edging/orgasm denial: Pennywise can be such a tease at times. And he’s a fan of being teased by you as well. He likes to push you right to the edge and then stop touching you all together. He likes to hear you beg. And he can do it for a long time. He’s not opposed to you edging him either although he can get a little snappy if you do it for too long.

Overstimulation: On the flip side of things, Pennywise likes to overstimulate you. Sometimes he’s not trying to. He just gets so caught up in being with you. He truly can’t get enough. His favorite method of overstimulating you is eating you out (More on that under the letter O). Doesn’t mind being overstimulated either, he honestly really enjoys the feeling. He can take a lot more than you can as well.

Praise kink: Pennywise surprisingly likes to be praised (he doesn’t mind giving it either). Tell him what a good job he’s doing, tell him how much you like whatever he’s doing. Hearing your sweet praises is honestly like adding fuel to a fire.

Voyeurism: Pennywise likes to lurk in the shadows. It’s just in his nature. He heavily enjoys watching you masturbate from a distance. He could probably get off just from hearing you moan his name.

L = Location (favorite places to do it)

Pennywise prefers the bedroom or anywhere in your home to be honest. Although he would absolutely have you anywhere outside of your home, he likes privacy. He doesn’t like the idea of being interrupted.

 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Just being around you is enough. He’s infatuated by you, craves you in a way that is almost completely foreign to him.

N = No (something they won't do)

Pennywise is not thrilled by the idea of sharing you. He’s extremely possessive. And the last thing he’ll ever do is compete for your affection with a human. If someone even dares to think about flirting with you, they’ll quickly turn into a nice afternoon snack.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Pennywise is a giver through and through. Once he had a taste of you he can’t get enough. Would literally spend hours between your legs if he could. It’s almost like he’s in a trance, completely intoxicated by you. He will go from being very precise with his movements to being sloppy and messy. Pennywise latches onto you like every time might be his last time getting to taste you. And if you’ve never squirted before, he’ll be the one to make you do it. He overstimulates you without meaning to, lapping you up until you’re shaking and can’t speak. So what if you’re on your third orgasm? Surely his favorite human can handle a fourth, right? He doesn’t mind receiving either. At first, he was incredibly hesitant. He had never had a human touch him in such a way. But it grows on him after a while. He doesn’t really crave it the same way he craves going down on you, but if you want to go down on him he’ll happily oblige.

 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pennywise’s pace often depends on his mood and his body. Just woke up after 27 years? He’s going at a pretty fast pace, rough enough to bruise your body if he’s not careful. He’s in heat or his hibernation cycle is getting near? Then he tends to prefer a slower pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not opposed to quickies at all. They’re fun, what else can he say? He prefers to have more time with you though and given the option, will always pick a regular session of having sex.

R = Risk (are they up to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

It really depends. Pennywise is already in new territory when it comes to having a relationship with a human. That alone is already a big enough risk in his opinion (especially considering the fact that he still has to occasionally suppress the urge to eat you). But if you introduce him to things slowly, he might be willing to take more risks.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Pennywise can go for hours at a time, especially if he just woke up from that 27-year nap. He can go for as many rounds as you’d like.

 

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Pennywise doesn’t own toys. Doesn’t understand the use of them at first. Just another silly human invention. But if you propose using them, he would probably be okay with it. The best way to convince him is to use one on him. He’ll definitely understand their purpose better. He still prefers to not use them but he’s not against them.

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

When Pennywise is in more of a dominant mood, he’s relentless when it comes to teasing. Like I said before, he likes to edge you. He loves hearing you beg (and purposefully ignoring you). He likes to get you all riled up and pull away. Usually, he’s the one whining. But he can’t lie, he loves to hear you whine too.

V = Volume (how loud are they, what sounds do they make, etc.?)

This clown is very vocal in bed. Especially if he’s being submissive. He can quite literally become a blubbering, stuttering, whiny little mess. Grunting, moaning, growling, whimpering, sighing…you name it, he’s doing it. I wouldn’t describe him as super loud, just very vocal. But if it’s one of those days where he’s really, really desperate for his favorite human to touch him, he’s going to be loud.

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon for the character)

If it wasn’t already very clear, I headcanon Pennywise to be a switch. He can be dominant when he wants to be but he often leans towards the more submissive side. And even when he’s being more dominant and topping you, he’s very much a service top. He loves to please you and he loves when you do the same.

X = X-Ray (what's going on under those clothes)

There are a lot of different headcanons about what Pennywise has going on under that suit. I personally like to believe that just like Pennywise can change himself to anyone, I believe he can change his genitalia as well. He can change it based on your preference. But he also changes it depending on his own mood. Sometimes you might unbutton his trousers and find a milky, throbbing cock. It’s a little over 6 inches and has a nice girth but not too much. And he can adjust the size if needed. Other times, especially when he’s in a rut, you’re more likely to find something along the lines of a tentacle (or tentacles if you’d like). Flushed, slick, and throbbing. Hell, sometimes there will appear to be nothing there, just a mound of flesh. Don’t worry though, a slit will open up when he’s ready.

 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Before you came waltzing into his life, it was very low. Basically non existent. Pennywise didn’t need sex nor crave it. If anything, he was indifferent to it. The last thing he was thinking about was sex. But now it’s like you’ve got him under some type of trance. His sex drive has definitely been elevated. He doesn’t constantly crave sex but there are definitely times when he can’t keep his hands to himself.

 

Z = Zzzzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Pennywise stays awake a lot. He can go a long time with no sleep. But sometimes after sex he just feels so warm on the inside, so comfortable…sleep comes rather quickly. He really likes to lay on top of you, sometimes resting his head on your chest or stomach with your legs straddling around him. He likes to hold onto you and press his face into you, deeply inhaling as he drifts off.

[crowsofdarkness]

Pennywise follows you into the house of mirrors, giving you the opportunity to live out your secret fantasy.

words: 2,326.

18+ CW's below the cut( masturbation with use of a dildo, monster fucking, stalking, unprotected p in v, drool kink, clown kink, oral with female receiving, and slight breath play)

a/n: this is a wild one, i will admit it. but blame it on the dark romance books i've read.

This was so fucked up. 

I shouldn’t be here at the carnival, especially with the rumors of a killer clown being on the loose but that was exactly why I was here. For weeks, people have gone missing without a trace. Anytime the cops questioned witnesses, they all said the same thing: a clown with a red balloon was seen. 

The same clown I’ve seen standing outside of my window and slowly following me in the distance anywhere I went. At first, I thought he was coming to kill me but after the third night in a row of seeing him watch me from my bedroom window as I dressed from the shower, it was clear Pennywise’s intentions were something other than death. 

Fear filled me when I first saw him but very quickly, that feeling changed to curiosity then arousal. The other night when I knew he was watching in the shadows outside my house, I left my bedroom window open for a clear view to my bed where I lay spread wide. My bare cunt on display as I worked my vibrating dildo in and out of it, slowly at first so I could get adjusted to it. It was a new, thicker one, and all I could imagine was a certain clown's cock. When I awoke the next morning from my post orgasm slumber, I found a red balloon tied to the footboard of my bed with a flyer for the local carnival. Something even more peculiar was that the dildo I used the night before was missing. I’d washed it and let it sit out on my nightstand to dry out and when I woke up, it was gone. 

Another thing that was missing? My copy of Haunting Adeline which was bookmarked at the house of mirrors scene. I was certain I had it on the bed next to me but I couldn’t find it. I wasn’t too sure what a murderous clown needed with a dark romance book and a dildo but I tried not to think of it too much because I needed to get ready.

Surely if I had any sense I wouldn’t be coming to the carnival after being invited by a killer clown but the idea of finding him in the shadows had me showing up. 

Like I said, this whole entire thing was so fucked up. I blame it on all of the dark romance books I’ve read. 

The crowds of the carnival were nearly as thick as the fog that danced around me as I pushed my way through. It was a warm summer night in Derry and the breeze blew the bottom of my red dress. I wasn’t much of a person that liked to go on the rides but there was one particular attraction I had my heart set on. Hells Mouth also known as the house of mirrors. Something deep in my gut told me to head straight there. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” I murmured, pushing past a couple who were busy making out in front of the hot dog stand. 

I came to a brief opening of the crowd, breathing in a somewhat clean breath of air and looked around. I wasn’t too sure where Hells Mouth was located so for a second I was afraid I was nowhere near it. But then, off in the distance, I noticed a familiar pair of bright, glowing eyes belonging to a figure that was waving. For a moment, I stood frozen on an intake of breath as the trance he put me under began to grow stronger with each passing second. 

“Such a pretty girl,” Pennywise’s voice spoke in my mind. 

Suddenly, his form was gone and in its place was the opening for Hells Mouth so I followed the path with quick strides, knowing he was waiting for me. If I had any last reservations on what I was about to do, now would have been the perfect time to turn around and run the other way. Instead, I put more of a pep in my step as I came up to the end of the line, only six people in front of me.

While I waited, I hummed a soft tune to myself and felt the excitement fester low in my gut knowing what was about to happen. Well, I may not have known exactly what Pennywise’s plans were for me in the house of mirrors but something told me it wasn’t death. 

By the time I entered Hells Mouth, I was alone since no one else was waiting in line for my group but honestly, I preferred it that way. Almost instantly, my senses were thrown off by the red lights, the loud music, and the amount of mirrors that were showing my reflection every which way. I stood in the middle of six mirrors creating an optical illusion that made me dizzy. Just over my shoulder in my reflection, a single red balloon slowly drifted closer to me and my heart rate picked up, hands shaking at my sides. 

This is it. I was eithergoing to die or get fucked in the house of mirrors by a killer clown. 

I’m so fucked up for hoping it was the second one. 

The balloon made a loud popping noise causing me to jump with a slight yell just as a new face materialized in the mirror behind me. White painted face with red lips, bright orange eyes, and even brighter hair. He broke out into a large, creepy smile, drool pooling off of his bottom lip and a warmth spread between my legs causing me to bite back a moan. He stood frozen behind me, not moving an inch or speaking, completely still and silent. His white and red clown outfit was askew a bit, the bottom of it damp. The faintest smell of earth and water lingered in the air. 

“Say my name,” his voice finally spoke in my mind but he remained still. 

My voice caught in my throat, unable to speak, because suddenly this was very real. If I spoke his name, what we were about to do would be something I couldn’t return from. 

Fuck it. 

“Pennywise,” I choked on a whisper. 

That seemed to finally break him from his state because he was on me with such speed, I fell against the mirror with my cheek pressed up against it. My breath hitched as his warm breath fanned over the back of my neck. 

“Did you wear this pretty dress for me?” He asked with a gravelly voice I’d never heard before. 

I nodded with a whimpered yes. 

“Good girl,” his lips nibbled on the shell of my ear. “On your knees.”

Very quickly, I obeyed his command by getting on my knees with the mirrors surrounding us. Pennywise stood tall as he roughly cupped my cheek to force my gaze up at him. 

“Are you real?” I asked. 

Along with the rumors of a killer clown on the loose in Derry, people were saying it was a figment of people's imaginations. Pennywise didn’t actually exist, he was only what people imagined. That’s how he killed his victims. 

“Is this real enough for you?” Pennywise questioned, stuffing a gloved finger deep inside of my mouth causing me to nearly gag on it. 

I expected him to remove it but instead he made me suck on it for a few more beats, my moans muffled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my reflection in the mirror and mentally chastised myself for becoming so turned on at the sight of me on my knees for a clown while I sucked on his finger. 

“You’re afraid of me,” Pennywise wore a slight frown. 

I did my best to shake my head while not stopping sucking on his finger but he could see right through me. Yes, I was extremely turned on by him but there was that lingering feeling of fear, of not knowing what his true intentions with me were. 

Bending his face towards me, he gave me a crooked smile now as drool dripped from his lip. I wanted nothing more than to have him drool like this all over me. 

“I will feast on your flesh as I feed on your fear,” he said, putting emphasis on feed. 

A loud pop echoed in the small space and soon, Pennywise was kneeling behind me, forcing me on all fours. He quickly made work of pushing up my dress to my stomach, exposing my red lace thong to him. I knew he saw the wet spot because he made a sickening laugh; one that brought chills to my body. 

“You’ve been such a tease every night. Making me watch you touch this pretty cunt while I couldn’t do anything about it,” Pennywise groaned, his face between my legs from behind. 

I pushed myself towards him, desperate to feel his mouth and tongue against me. I kept my eyes on the mirror to my left since that was the one that showed me everything. Pennywise was on his knees, face so close to my cunt but not quite touching it, and I saw him grip my panties to rip them away from me. The fabric fluttered to the ground and he took a deep breath with that signature smile as he smelled me. 

“Please,” I begged, thrusting myself closer to him again. 

He cocked his head to the side so eerily it brought goosebumps to my skin.  

“What does my pretty girl want?” 

I swallowed thickly while letting my head fall to my arm that was perching me up on the ground. 

“I think I need to be asking you that question,” I said. “What do you want from me?”

A thick silence filled the air for three solid beats before Pennywise wore that far away look again, muttering two words. 

“Your soul.”

Not having more than half a second to prepare, Pennywise wide mouth was on me, his tongue devouring my cunt. I felt sharp teeth graze over my cunt followed by the smoothness of his tongue. I bucked my hips into his mouth, desperate to feel more of him when he stated fucking me with his tounge. It was as if he was starved and the only thing that could fill his hunger was me. 

“Oh,” I moaned with fluttering eyes. 

It felt so good. Never had a human partner ever pleased me this way. 

Turning my head more towards the side, I looked in the mirror to see Pennywise’s face buried deep between my legs, my bare ass in the air. All too quickly, the familiar burn of an orgasm flickered at the base of my spine and I nearly cried because I didn’t want this to end. I needed this to go on forever. 

As if sensing it, Pennywise pulled away from my cunt just before I came and made quick work of freeing his cock from the tights of his costume. My eyes nearly bulged out of my head when I took in the size of it and suddenly worried if it would hurt. I cried out in pleasure when he finally entered me, filling me to the brim. He yanked my head up with a tight grip in my hair so he could force me to watch us in the mirror. The entire scene was sinful. A clown fucking me from behind, my breasts nearly spilling out from the top of my dress from how hard he was thrusting into me, and the blissed out look on my face. 

“Your fear is strong,” Pennywise said through gritted teeth, his grip on my hair and the other on my hip bruising. “It lingers on your skin and I can smell it.”

He sniffed the crook of my neck when he leaned over me, his tongue lapping up the sweat that gathered there. I couldn’t speak, too paralyzed by the orgasm that was about to rip through me. Pennywise removed the grip from my hair to wrap his hand around my throat, nearly cutting off my airway with how strong it was. Stars danced at the edge of my vision when I felt my consciousness slowly slip through his fingers. I was ready to succumb to the darkness, letting it swallow me whole, but before I could, Pennywise removed his grip from around my throat to grip my other hip, now fucking me down to the floor. The sound of skin on skin echoed loudly against the glass of the mirrors along with our shared groans.

I writhed against the dirty carpet, the friction somehow feeling like heaven against my skin, and his cock still inside of me for a very long moment. I expected to feel his warm cum shoot inside of me but there was nothing. I looked at our reflection once more and nearly gasped. No longer was there a clown behind me but a gorgeous human with bright blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. Brown hair soft as feathers fell into his eyes but he made no movement to brush it away. 

“Gonna fill you up,” the human version of Pennywise muttered under his breath, a soft finger pressing circles against my clit.

Neither of us lasted much longer, both sharing our releases together, and I felt his cum leak down my inner thigh onto the ground beneath us. Breathless, I fell completely spent and let my eyes shut for a second to gather myself. Even though I couldn’t see him, I felt Pennywise’s presence loom over me in the red lit room. 

“Open your eyes for me, pretty girl,” his voice spoke in my mind. 

Barley opening them, I saw his clown form in the mirror pocketing my panties before lifting my head up to gaze at him. 

“We will soon take our long rest together,” he wheezed, brushing his lips over mine in a barely there kiss. 

Before I could return it, he was gone, leaving me alone in Hells Mouth. 

[lavender-vixen]

hey! Could you write one where Patrick is on a date with the reader in his car at night, like a lover’s lane type place in Derry, when they hear Pennywise outside? Maybe It taunts them or it’s just terrifying?? thanks!

"The Woods, the Dark, the Clown." (Patrick Hockstetter x Reader)

Your body moved with him, the slow, filthy rhythm of the car’s backseat giving just enough with every rock of your hips. Patrick was beneath you, hands tight on your waist, guiding you, his mouth trailing hot, open kisses along your bare chest. The car windows were fogged, the air thick with the smell of sweat, sex, and cigarette smoke. His jeans were shoved down just enough, your skirt pushed up too high, your breath ragged and shaky as you tried to keep up with him.

Then—a noise. A rustling. Somewhere outside the car, just beyond the tree line. You froze, mid-movement, your hands on his shoulders, pulse jumping.

Patrick groaned. His fingers dug into your thighs. “What the fuck?”

You were too still. Listening. “I heard something,” you whispered.

Patrick exhaled sharply, his head tipping back against the seat, frustrated. “It’s the woods. There’s always something.”

You glanced at the window. Darkness. The rustling stopped.

Patrick rocked his hips up impatiently, making you gasp. “Seriously?” he muttered against your throat, voice dark and teasing, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “You’re gonna stop right now?”

You still weren't convinced, your breath uneven, eyes flicking toward the window again.

Patrick sighed, tipping his head to the side, grinning lazily. “C'mon, it’s probably a fucking squirrel.”

Then it happened again. Louder this time. Something snapped in the trees. Your entire body tensed.

Patrick paused, exhaled through his nose, irritated. Then, just as quickly—he kept going. Deeper. Rougher. His grip on your hips tightened. “It’s nothing,” he murmured against your collarbone.

You couldn’t stop listening. The sound of your own heartbeat was so loud in your ears that you could barely hear anything else.

Patrick’s hands slid up your thighs, over your hips, up to your waist, slow and distracting, keeping you grounded. Keeping you with him.

Then—BANG. Something hit the back of the car. Hard. You screamed. Patrick froze. His entire body went rigid against you. Then, before you could even process it, he moved. He shoved you off him, reaching for his underwear and jeans, yanking them up, grabbing his boots.

You sat up fast, still dazed, confused, shaking. “What are you doing?!”

Patrick was already throwing his shirt over his shoulder, pulling the car door open. He grabbed the keys.

You scrambled forward, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go out there—Patrick, please!”

He smirked, cocky, dismissive. “What? You think it’s some psycho killer?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know how. "Please, don't go out there. Let's just go."

Patrick kissed you hard, shutting you up for a moment. Then he pulled back. “Stay here.”

And then—he was gone.

The night swallowed him whole. Patrick moved carefully, stepping over damp leaves, his breath slow, steady. His hands flexed at his sides, ready for a fight. If this was some asshole kids fucking around, he was gonna scare the shit out of them.

Then—a whisper. Soft. Dripping. "Patrick."

He stopped. His stomach turned. He glanced over his shoulder—nothing. He exhaled. Took another step forward.

"Patrick."

He whipped around. Something moved between the trees. Patrick’s breath hitched. Then, for the first time that night—he felt it. Something deep in his gut. The feeling that he was not alone. That something was watching. Something that wanted him to know.

The rustling came again. Then, out of the shadows, a shape. A figure. Tall. Too tall. Grinning.

Patrick went still. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

The thing tilted its head. The grin grew.

Patrick’s breath came shallow. His fingers curled into fists. “What the fuck,” he murmured.

And the thing laughed.

You waited. Too long. The minutes stretched. He wasn’t coming back. The car felt wrong.

Your stomach turned, your skin crawling as you leaned forward, pressing your hands against the dashboard, staring out the windshield.

“Patrick?” you called out the open window.

Nothing. Your chest tightened. You opened the door. The air outside was colder now. Still. Too still.

Your feet were bare, your bra and skirt too thin, as you stepped toward the tree line. The silence was wrong.

“Patrick?”

Still nothing. You took a few more steps. Further. Then—something moved. Rustling. Closer.

You froze. Swallowed hard. “Patrick?” you whispered.

And then, he came out of nowhere. Barreling through the trees. Covered in blood. His forehead dripping. His breathing ragged.

You screamed.

“Fucking run!” Patrick yelled, grabbing your wrist.

Your feet barely kept up. Your legs burned. You couldn’t breathe.

Patrick was too fast, too strong, pulling you harder, rougher, desperate. You stumbled and fell.

Patrick kept running. For half a second, he hesitated. Looked over his shoulder. Like he was going to leave you.

Then, you pleaded. And he saw it. It was running toward you. Patrick’s blood ran cold. He cursed, turned back, yanked you up roughly by the arm. Then he ran again.

The car was just ahead. Patrick went for the keys in his pocket, fumbled, cursing. He threw the driver’s door open, slammed inside.

Your side—jammed. "Patrick, it won't open!"

“Then climb over me, now!” he snapped.

You ran around and climbed over him, knees hitting the wheel, hands bracing against the seat. Patrick threw you into the passenger seat. Locked the doors. Then he turned the key.

The engine stalled. Once. Twice. Then the headlights flared into the woods. And it stepped out.

You screamed. Patrick’s head snapped up. He saw it again. And for the first time in his life, he felt real fucking fear. He turned the key again, the car roared to life.

Threw it into reverse, backed up fast, looking out the back windshield. He kept going until he reached the main road not far from where you'd parked. His arm slammed over your chest, keeping you from lurking forward.

He could still see it. In the mirror. Grinning. Then he turned the wheel—hard. Threw the car into drive.

Slammed his foot on the gas. The tires screeched, the car barreling down the road. He didn’t stop. Not until the woods were gone.

The road stretched out endless in the dark, a black ribbon of pavement, empty and silent except for the roar of Patrick’s engine, the growl of tires eating up miles.

You were panting, twisted halfway in your seat, your hands white-knuckling the seat, your body still trembling.

Patrick drove fast. Too fast. The speedometer hovered at eighty-five, but he didn’t give a shit. He barely felt the road. His hands on the wheel were tight, too tight, knuckles bone-white. His head was fucking spinning. What the fuck had he just seen? That thing…

The way it moved, slow but too deliberate. That goddamn grin, wide, stretched, too many fucking teeth. And it had spoken to him. Like it knew him. Knew his name. Like it had been waiting. Patrick swallowed hard, licking his lips, the coppery tang of his own blood still fresh on his tongue.

You were still gasping, trying to breathe, your legs pulled up tight against your chest. You hadn’t said a word. Not since they left. You were staring ahead, watching the yellow lines blur past, like you were still seeing it.

Patrick flexed his grip on the wheel, flicked his eyes toward you. You were still trembling.

He clicked his tongue. “Hey.”

You didn’t react. Didn’t even blink.

Patrick sighed, reaching over, sliding his palm over your bare thigh, gripping gently. You jumped.

Patrick smirked, but it was shallow, distant. His fingers traced slow circles, slow enough to remind you he was still there, still solid, still real. His voice came out low, steady, almost mocking, but not quite. “You’re shaking.”

You swallowed, forcing out something that might’ve been a laugh, but it was more like a choked breath. “No shit,” you muttered.

Patrick exhaled through his nose, turning his attention back to the road. His thumb kept tracing slow, lazy circles on your thigh, smoothing over goosebumps, half-soothing, half-possessive. “Relax.”

You snapped your head toward him, eyes wild, disbelieving. “Relax?!” you choked.

Patrick grinned, sharp and lazy. “Yeah, y’know, that thing people do when they’re not acting like a scared little bitch.”

You punched his arm hard, right on the bruised muscle, and he winced.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing it.

“You saw it too,” you hissed.

Patrick’s fingers flexed on your leg, his smirk fading slightly. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “…Yeah,” he admitted.

You exhaled, too sharp, too shaky. You dropped your forehead against your knees, gripping your own hair.

Patrick watched you. It was weird—seeing you like this. He’d gone out with a lot of girls, liked you the best, but it wasn’t because you were special or anything. It was because you could keep up with him. Could handle his shit. Could run your mouth and not be afraid.

But now? Now you were shaking, curled up in his seat, breathing like you were about to pass out.

Patrick’s fingers tightened on your thigh. “Hey.”

You turned your head slightly.

Patrick flicked his eyes toward you, something calculating, something serious in the way he looked at you. “Nothing happened.”

You gaped at him. “Nothing—are you fucking kidding me?!”

Patrick’s smirk came back, slow and easy, but there was something underneath it now. Something measured. “Tell me, baby,” he murmured. “Did it touch you?”

You swallowed. “N-No, but—”

“Did it lay a hand on you?”

You shook your head.

Patrick’s hand slid higher. “Did it touch me?” he asked, voice mocking, teasing.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line.

Patrick leaned in slightly, keeping one hand firm on the wheel, the other still on your skin. “So what the fuck’re you crying about?”

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

Patrick’s grin widened. “See? We’re fine.”

You swallowed. “Patrick—”

“We’re alive.”

You didn’t answer.

Patrick’s fingers slid higher, dipping beneath the hem of your skirt. You caught his wrist.

Patrick’s grin twitched. “Baby...”

Your grip tightened.

His head tilted. “Don’t be goin’ all chicken-shit on me now.”

You didn’t let go.

Patrick exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against the wheel. Then—he let up. He didn’t take his hand away, though. Just rested it there, a slow, familiar weight, steady and warm. He frowned again, softer this time. “It is weird though,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Why d’you think it let us go?”

You blinked. “What?”

Patrick’s eyes stayed on the road. His fingers traced absent-minded patterns against your thigh, his brows furrowing slightly, like he was still turning it over in his head. “That thing. The clown.”

Your stomach twisted at the word.

Patrick’s mouth twitched. “Coulda killed us,” he mused. “Didn’t.” His grip tightened. “Maybe it’s still playing with us.”

You froze.

Patrick felt it. Felt the way your muscles locked, the way your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers pressed into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, deliberate, possessive. “Maybe,” he murmured, voice low, gravelly, sliding closer, “it’s still watchin’ us.”

Your breath came out sharp.

Patrick sighed. “You’re so fucking easy.”

You shoved his hand off you.

Patrick shrugged, licking his teeth, one hand still on the wheel, the other resting casually in his lap. He took a turn, the headlights cutting through the dark, guiding them back toward Derry. Patrick tapped his fingers against the wheel. His grin faded. His fingers traced the dried blood on his forehead. His breath came out slow.

Something was still unsettled inside him. That thing had spoken to him. Called him by name. Patrick licked his lips. Rolled his shoulders. Shoved it down.

He glanced at you again, watching the way you still sat pressed against the door, still shaking, still lost in your head. He clicked his tongue again.

“Hey.”

You barely looked at him.

Patrick reached over, took your wrist, ran his thumb over your pulse. “You’re still alive.”

You swallowed.

His voice was quieter now. “And we’re gonna go home.”

The road stretched long and empty in front of you, swallowed up by the night. The engine purred low and steady, but Patrick’s pulse wasn’t. Neither was yours.

Your breath still came shaky, fingers gripping the hem of your skirt, wringing the fabric. Patrick could see it from the corner of his eye, the way you couldn’t keep still, your knees tucked against your chest, your gaze flicking to every shadow. His fingers tapped the wheel. A slow, nervous rhythm. His stomach still felt like it was somewhere back in those fucking woods. His head hadn’t stopped spinning. He didn’t know how to process this.

Nothing scared him. Nothing. So why the fuck was his chest still tight? Why the fuck did he still feel like it was watching? The feeling wasn’t going away.

Neither was yours. You swallowed. “Can you… can you stay with me tonight? My parents are out of town for the weekend. I don’t want to be by myself.”

Patrick blinked. He should’ve teased you. Should’ve smirked, leaned in, murmured something filthy about how you needed him to keep you safe. But he didn’t. Instead, he just… nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else.

When you arrived, your house felt too quiet. Not the usual quiet—the deep, suffocating quiet of a house that had been empty for too long.

You locked the door behind Patrick, flicking the lights on one by one, chasing the shadows away. Patrick stood in the kitchen, the landline phone pressed to his ear. The dial tone had rung three times before his mother picked up.

“Hello, Hockstetter residence. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Mom, it’s me. Patrick.”

“Oh, thank God. Where are you?” you heard Mrs. Hockstetter ask immediately. “It’s almost midnight.”

Patrick didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the receiver.

She asked again. “Patrick?”

His tongue felt too heavy. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear her voice. His mom had never really been the overly warm type. But she was real. She was something solid.

“…I’m at Henry’s,” he lied. His voice was flat, clipped. He cleared his throat. “I’m staying over.”

Silence on the other end. Then—“You’re lying.”

Patrick swallowed. His jaw tightened.

“You’re at that girl’s house,” she continued, voice firm, like she was already upset.

Patrick shifted on his feet. His grip on the phone tightened. “Yeah. So?”

She sighed. “Just…be home tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t want to hang up. She was still there. She was real. More real than whatever the fuck he saw back there. His free hand curled into a fist.

She sighed again, annoyed now. “Patrick.”

“I know,” he said quickly.

Then—he hung up. The silence swallowed him whole again, and he went off looking for you upstairs.

The light in the bathroom was soft, fogged with steam. You stood at the sink in just a towel, your dry hair loose from it’s updo, cascading down your back. You felt numb, sluggish, the warmth of the room barely touching the cold in your chest.

Patrick was behind you, silent, shirtless, jeans low on his hips. His reflection in the mirror looked wrong. Not because of the blood on his skin—the dried smears across his jaw, his collarbone. But because he was unreadable. His eyes were dark, his brows furrowed just slightly, like he was still playing back what happened. Still trying to make it make sense.

You swallowed. “…It’s not your blood.”

Patrick barely blinked. “No.”

Your stomach twisted. “Then whose?”

He licked his lips. “It was in a balloon,” he said.

You felt ice run down your spine. “A… balloon?”

Patrick’s fingers flexed at his sides. “It popped.” He turned to you then, head tilted slightly.

The movement was too slow. Too controlled. Like he was trying to hold something back. He took a step forward, looking at the shower. “You want me in there with you?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

Patrick didn’t smirk. Didn’t say anything. Just started unbuttoning his jeans.

The hot water pounded against your skin, too hot, burning the cold away. Patrick stood much taller than you under the stream, letting it run over his face, washing the blood down the drain in thick, pink spirals.

You watched the color swirl around your bare feet. It should’ve been his blood. But it wasn’t.

Patrick’s hands were on the tile walls, his head bowed, breath slow. He hadn’t spoken since he stepped in. You picked up the washcloth, soaked it under the stream, and pressed it to his chest. Patrick didn’t move. Didn’t react. You wiped away the dried streaks of red, slowly, carefully. You weren’t sure why you were being so gentle. Patrick wasn’t fragile. Not like you were.

But this wasn’t the same Patrick you’d been with earlier. This wasn’t the Patrick who teased you for being scared. This wasn’t the Patrick who smirked and ran his hands up your legs and whispered filthy things in your ear. This was a different Patrick. This Patrick was processing. This Patrick was waiting.

You dragged the cloth along his jawline, his throat. His pulse beat heavy beneath your touch.

You swallowed. “What did you see?”

Patrick’s fingers curled against the wall. His breath came shallow. Then, slowly, he exhaled. “I dunno,” he murmured.

You frowned, glancing up.

Patrick’s expression was blank. Then, finally—he smirked. But it wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t teasing. It was something else. “…But it saw me,” he said.

Your stomach twisted. You pulled back.

Patrick caught your wrist. Held it. He leaned in close, voice low, steady. “You’re still scared,” he murmured. “’S’okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

When the two of you got into your bed, the sheets were soft, the air cool, but you were still shaking. Patrick let you curl against him, let you tangle your fingers in his ribs, grip him like you needed something solid. His arm was draped lazily over you, but he wasn’t relaxed. His muscles were tense. His eyes were open and bloodshot. His breathing was slow. Too slow.

You pressed your face into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “…You’re still awake,” you murmured.

Patrick didn’t answer.

You looked up at him. “Patrick?”

His jaw was tight, his gaze locked on the ceiling. His fingers twitched against your back.

The sheets smelled like you. Patrick hadn’t really noticed before, but now, wrapped up in you, it was impossible to ignore. The faint, sweet scent of your shampoo, your skin, the warmth of you pressed against his side, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his T-shirt like you were afraid to let go.

You were still shaking. Not as bad as before, but Patrick could feel it, the slight tremor in your shoulders, the way your breath came uneven, like you were still trying to convince yourself you were safe.

Patrick hated that. Hated how quiet you’d gone. Hated that you, the cocky, sharp-mouthed girl who kissed and fucked him like you had something to prove was now curled into a shaking ball against his chest.

Hated that something out there had gotten to you. Gotten to him. His arm was draped over your waist, holding you firm, keeping you tucked against him, but his body was tense.

His jaw still felt tight. His fingers kept tapping against your back, slow, steady, like if he kept the rhythm consistent enough, neither of you would slip back into the fucking woods, the fucking dark.

He felt your breath hitch, then you muttered, “Can’t sleep either?”

Patrick smirked, but it wasn’t the usual one. More like a reflex, something automatic. “No,” he said. His voice was low, quieter than usual.

You swallowed. Your fingers, still twisted in his shirt, curled slightly.

Patrick’s long fingers kept tracing those lazy, absent-minded patterns on your back. Soothing. He could feel the hesitation in your body before you spoke.

“What… what if it’s still watching?”

Patrick stilled. His fingers froze mid-trace against your skin. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Then, he exhaled, slowly. His fingers started moving again. Slow, warm, steady. “Nah,” he murmured. “We’re too far now.”

You were quiet for a second. Then, your voice came small. “What if it comes back?”

Patrick’s grip on your waist tightened. “Then I’ll fucking kill it,” he said flatly.

You let out something that was almost a laugh. “Yeah?” you mumbled. “You gonna fight a… a fucking demon clown?”

Patrick smirked against your hair. “Damn right.”

You shifted, adjusting against him, pressing your cheek to his chest. “You were scared,” you whispered.

Patrick’s fingers paused, mid-trace. For a second, he didn’t say anything. His smirk returned, but this time, it was slower. “Was not.”

You huffed, shoving him weakly. Patrick chuckled, fingers tightening on your back, pulling you in closer like you were gonna get away or something.

“You ran so fucking fast,” you muttered, almost teasing.

Patrick licked his lips, amused despite himself. “Yeah? And who pulled your ass off the ground when you ate shit?”

You sighed dramatically, shoving your face deeper into his chest, inhaling him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.

Patrick grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

The silence stretched again.

“…Patrick.”

He tilted his head slightly, feeling your breath warm against his skin. “Hm?”

You hesitated. “What if it tries to find us?”

Patrick stilled. For the first time since getting in your bed, something in his chest tightened. The image flashed in his head too quickly. That thing between the trees. That grin. The way it spoke to him. How it had let him walk away.

His fingers resumed their slow, steady tracing. His voice came out low, smooth, certain. “Then it can keep fucking trying.”

Your breath hitched. Patrick felt it. Felt the way your muscles locked again, the way your breathing grew uneven. His grip on you tightened. The smirk faded.

“…It’s not gonna touch you,” he murmured. Patrick’s fingers dragged up your back, slow, comforting, keeping you tucked into him. His voice was calm now. Steady. “Not while I’m here.”

You exhaled. It came out softer this time.

Patrick felt the tension in your body start to ease. Your fingers unclenched slightly from his shirt. Your breathing slowed. Patrick pressed a slow kiss to your hairline. His fingers never stopped moving. Tracing slow, steady patterns. Keeping you here. Keeping you his. And keeping that fucking thing in the woods away.

[slasherwrites-lemonmilk]

𝓗𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻 𝓢𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓼 (𝓧 𝓕𝓮𝓶! 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

(Includes Freddy (1980-1990s), Jason (1980s/2009), Michael Myers (RZ!), Ghostface, Leatherface (1970's Bubba, 2000's Thomas Hewitt), Art the Clown, Pennywise (1990s and 2010s), and Pyramid Head)

Intro: Established Relationship: The boys walk in on their s/o wearing their clothes.

Jason Voorhees - 1980's

You were sitting on the couch of the familiar cabin you now called home, the air outside was nice--too nice. That meant your beloved camp-revenger boyfriend Jason was out more frequently dealing with the rogue college kids on break. To pass the day by you had decided to clean the cabin up a bit, make lunch, and mend some of Jason's torn clothing. You had noticed that he opted out of his usual tattered leather jacket--something he rarely goes without. Examining it further--you found a bunch of holes, and you had the perfect color thread. You spent the next few hours stitching the jacket carefully, afterwards you just had to try it on yourself.

Call it the Crystal Lake

Cause you're swimming in it.

Great timing--Jason's home!

This man can't take his eyes off of you, I mean--you're so small in his jacket. And it's his jacket, you're standing in the living room--in his jacket.

Immediately his large rough hands roam over your body, half an hour ago those very hands slaughtered unwanted trespassers, and now they held the same gentleness one would use with a baby. He didn't talk, but the way his hands roamed the jacket on your figure--and the way you smiled at him made his heart melt. He used little actions to show you how he felt, he'd slowly been learning sign language--but actions always get his point across.

He would proceed to cuddle you for the rest of the day, only letting you take his jacket off if you got too hot.

He'd scoop you into his arms, holding you close--you're still wearing his jacket--as you softly read a book out loud for the two of you.

2009 Jason Voorhees

This man had a long day--a group of rowdy college kids interrupting his evening with you. He had just just gotten home, his deep lumbering steps ringing throughout the under base of the campground. The underground tunnels were originally hard to navigate--but you learned overtime, countless lectures and reminders from Jason--but you learned.

When he reached the ending tunnel to your large shared bedroom, there you were--curled asleep on the bed swallowed up in his old tattered blue flannel. He just stood there for awhile, watching you with an overwhelming feeling of comfort, seeing how much you missed him while he was gone. Eventually he lumbered over to the mattress, crawling in beside you carefully and scooping you gently into his chest. His large calloused fingers gently running over your scalp and through your hair as you slept, deep rumble-like hums sounding softly through his broad chest.

Also doesn't talk either--so expect him to tell you you're adorable by cupping your cheeks, giving you so many more shirts and jackets you can wear too. He'll even dress you himself and mash together outfits he thinks you’ll look cute in!

Most of them are god awful--but some actually slay?

Okay fashion icon

What are you wearing? Jason Voorhees.

You give him fashion shows--and you swear his face goes red under his mask, even if he huffs and denies it silently.

He's actually so sassy for no reason.

Rob Zombie! Michael Myers

(Teehee I'm in love with Tyler Mane from 2009 istg--AND he's my favorite Michael and I love him--this one's lowkey a self-write)

Michael was a man of few words--most believe none, but rest assured he speaks when he finds it necessary. He didn't own a lot of clothes, so you never minded doing his laundry in his childhood home--(You bought the house and restored it--just for him)

But imagine this man's shock when he comes home to find his small little s/o dancing around cleaning the kitchen--in one of his shirts.

Feral.

Literally feral.

Foaming at the mouth at the sight.

Sure--it was just a plain old, white t-shirt that miraculously wasn't blood-stained, but on you? It was everything to him. The way it draped down your body, spilling past your skin like a waterfall.

Fuck.

He wanted you.

Michael Myers was a man of many things, he was The Shape, The Boogeyman, The Incarnation of Pure Evil--but a patient man he was not.

So of course he'd immediately have his way with you--but then of course he'd take care of you in his own weird way.

"You look divine." In that deep scratchy voice he only graces you with. That's all you would get out of him--probably for the next month or so. With actions--he'd gently rub circles around your back--he'd 'pick up' a few more clothes and shirts, just to share with you.

Overtime you notice his closet gets...fuller? Eventually you pick up on the reason why, and after that it's over for Mikey--Cause now you'll wear everything he owns. Coveralls, boxers, tanks, shirts--nothing's off the table.

Art the Clown

Another mute...

UGHHH-Yeah he won't talk to you.

Like man is genuinely committed to the bit 24/7

OH YEAH--Anyways~

Art would be coming back from washing up when he'd see you wearing his clothes--more specifically--trying on the man's clown costume. He'd stifle any laugh that might escape and watches as you strike pose after pose in the mirror. He'd carefully watch you with those mischievous dark eyes, watching the way his costume rolled off of your body, pooling on the floor in your smaller stature. After all--he was very tall (David is 6'2) and he tended to tower over you.

My goodness you were so stinkin' cute.

He'd finally let you know he was there with a small 'toot' of a horn--causing you to jump and spin around.

He'd make really dramatic gestures at you, practically shouting how cute you were without using words.

Lots of polaroid's are taken of you in his costume--you can't escape it. (I hc that he's a polaroid nut)

He steals shirts for himself that he thinks you would love to steal wear. Always in blacks and whites, its his brand after all.

He may not talk, but he makes sure that his actions speak volumes.

1970s Leatherface

Honestly, he'd be so flustered if he caught you in his clothes. His first thoughts about how cute and small you were compared to him--watching how his shirt practically drowns you.

He wouldn't let you go, not even for chores. How could he? You're too cute!

He'd dress you up in all of his clothes-and showing Luda Mae every single one of them. Hoyt would probably hurt sexist comments as you--or target an insecurity, and though Bubba never stands up for himself--he stands up for his s/o.

Bubba would tell off the whole family in angry and displeased grunts and whines, possibly breaking furniture as well just to prove his point.

2000's Thomas Hewitt

(Oh my god I'd climb this man)

Thomas would have been coming back from the slaughterhouse when he spots you--curled up on the couch beside Luda Mae, mending some of the family's clothes.

But what caught his attention--was the fact you were curled up--in one of his button ups and a blanket.

This poor man tripped and stumbled his way over to you, soft, loving, and excited grunts all leaving his throat as he thudded over to you.

He'd fall to his knees, sitting eye level with you, his large calloused and worked hands caressing your cheek softly. He doesn't talk very much--but he manages to croak out a few deep words for you in that moment.

"You're beautiful..."

Expect him to lend you a lot more clothes--and if you really want to work him up?

His apron.

Imagine him walking into your room, and all you're wearing is his large apron. It doesn't even cover your body--it's so big its slips right off.

Pray to God the family isn't at home-he wouldn't let you be quiet.

Freddy Krueger

He didn't notice when you managed to snag one of his infamous red and green sweaters-but he noticed when you started wearing it to sleep.

Appearing in his well-known boiler room, sitting there-waiting for him in his own large tattered sweater. He chuckled lightly when he sees you, his eyes tracking up your body and he can't help but call out.

"Sweetheart--you're too sneaky for your own good~"

He'll shower you in playful but sincere compliments, but he will not keep his hands to himself--so beware. Every touch will be gentle yet sensual, he does know how to take his time surprisingly.

He'll make you feel absolutely stunning in whatever you wear--actually.

He will not keep it PG-13.

So now--you only wear his clothes when you want dick.

Ghostface

He doesn't mind when you steal his clothes, actually, he looks forward to it. He loves watching his shirts slowly go missing, and he loves randomly walking in from a blood bath--to see you swimming in his favorite shirts on the couch, waiting for him to get home.

"Look at my pretty baby, all comfy on the couch~"

Of course he only wears scary movie fandom shirts.

You get bonus points if you can tell him facts about the movies he doesn't already know about--team that up with wearing his shirt?

Pregnant. (sorry lolz)

As a funny little haha joke--he actually starts taking some of your clothes.

You'll walk in to find him sporting one of your shirts--amazed he could fit in it at all.

He thinks it's the funniest shit ever.

Pyramid Head

He has hundreds of old-bloodstained-tattered white muscle tanks to choose from, if you don't mind that kind of thing that is. If you don't--great!

He's in the middle of lifting weights when he spots you walking past his in-home gym. Somehow--through the metal on the pyramid shaped helmet on your boyfriend's head--he can see exactly what you're wearing.

And the way it naturally hugs your body.

Well- he's done working out now.

He follows you back to bedroom, watching you sit in bed watching TV from the doorway. Eventually making his way over to you in long strong strides, his eyes raking your body--in his shirt. Look how tiny and fragile you looked.

Daddy Bear mode activated fr

You'd be off limits--not even the nurses can see you dressed like this. You're all his. His hands would roam your body over his shirt, or play lightly with your hair. You're his Princess afterall.

Pennywise (2017)

He came back from his sewer hideout back to your shared home, and walked in on you wearing the fluffy ruffles of his costume collar (which explains why he couldn't find it earlier) and you had done a recreation of his makeup.

Were you...

doing an impression of him in the mirror?

(nerd----me too)

This man did a silly little head tilt, watching you before he let out a string of amused giggles. Of course he's going to mock your impression of him--but then he'll help you master it. You're his s/o, if you're gonna do something--do it right.

He himself will be the one to force you into the entire costume, gushing about how cute you are all the while. He doesn't really own any other clothing, besides maybe an undershirt or two--so you don't have many options to steal borrow.

So instead he'll let you sleep in his costume's (washed) long sleeve undershirt. Petting your head and whispering compliments to you the whole time.

He's so whipped for you--but he'll never admit it.

Pennywise (1990)

Poor Penny

He's an old grump half the time--and an old whip with corny perverted dad jokes the other half.

Also--are you trying to give him a heart attack?

I mean...

There he was--complaining about how you didn't finish the laundry and he couldn't find his suit--until his golden eyes locked onto your own, before trailing down at your outfit.

He thought his heart would stop right then and there-

There you were, taking pictures of yourself in the clown's costume--frozen in place as you both stare at each other. Pennywise taking a cautious step forward as his eyes remained fixed on his outfit--on your body.

"Penny?"

Your worried tone snapped him out of it--quickly scooping you into his big arms, he'll ruffle your hair playfully and pepper kisses over your face annoyingly.

"You look so itty bitty, love~"

I'll be so honest--he'd definitely take dirty pictures of you in his costume if you let him (or not)

[lucycore]

Pov: If u were in the Bowers Gang or Losers Club

—

Tell me which one u'd pick and also if u wanna see a male version.

Bowers Gang:

Losers Club:

(Idk I got bored and did it. I'm definitely Bowers gang lol)

[slasherparty]

Hey!! Not sure if requests are open or not but would you please write a pennywise cuddling the reader by candlelight type thing , times are hard atm and I would like my clown boiis comfort- if not I completely understand! Thank you!!

my requests (& commissions) are open, yes!! apologies for the late response! i haven’t written penny in sooo so long… i’ll do a simple list of soft stuff! this might be rusty but here goes

pennywise 🎈 x reader (comfort HCs)💭

pennywise does not speak words of comfort as mortals do; instead, he wraps his presence around you like a fog, the sensation both suffocating and soothing, a reminder that he is there and always watching.

his voice, usually a teasing lilt, softens to a deep, resonant hum that reverberates through your chest. “What’s this, little one? Tears? No need for those... not when I’m here.”

when the world feels too heavy, he conjures an illusion of weightlessness — floating you both above the ground in a quiet, timeless space, where neither gravity nor sorrow can reach.

cuddling by candlelight is a peculiar ritual with him; the flickering glow dances across his otherworldly features, softening the sharp angles and making him appear almost human — almost. his embrace is warm, his laughter low, as if he’s learned this way of comforting just for you.

pennywise chooses to approach comfort in a tactile manner. he has a fondness for cradling your head against his chest, gloved hand stroking your hair as if you were a treasured doll of his. his form shifts to accommodate you perfectly, his body strangely soft, like a cloud that holds you in its embrace. you hear the deep, rhythmic sound of his breathing — a heartbeat that shouldn’t exist but somehow reassures you all the same.

despite his unsettling and primal nature, he knows how to listen. his golden eyes, glowing faintly in the darkness, fix on you with an intensity that makes you feel seen in a way no one else has ever managed.

his voice shifts, soft and melodic, the guttural edge smoothed away as he murmurs, “Tell me what hurts. I’ll make it disappear—just for you.” and though his offer carries a hint of his predatory nature, there is no malice in it, only devotion.

when you cry, he does not offer tissues or platitudes. instead, he collects your tears on the tip of one elongated finger, inspecting them with childlike wonder before whispering, “Beautiful. Even your pain is beautiful.”

if fear follows you, he steps into the shadows with a growl, his clownish smile sharp and predatory. “No one frightens you but me,” he promises, his monstrous form a shield instead of a threat.

on the darkest nights, he hums a haunting tune, one that feels ancient and endless, wrapping the room in a melody that lulls you to sleep and whispers, “You are mine, and you are safe.”

thank you for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[burntsodas]

i drew bill!

first one in awhile so i can’t tell if it’s just me or if he looks wonky.

let me know!

🦇🦇🦇

[rdmasevi]

Only You Taste Right

Title: Only You Taste Right: It fanfiction

Pairing: Pennywise (Bill Skarsgård) x Reader Fem

Genre: Dark Romance | Horror | Psychological Thriller | Monster x Reader

Warnings: Obsession/possessive behavior, psychological manipulation, monster/inhuman romance, mild sensual themes, creepy/stalking behavior.

Summary: You're the only person in Derry who doesn't fear Pennywise—and that makes you irresistible. Instead of feeding on you, he becomes obsessed.

You moved to Derry to disappear.

Small towns have a way of swallowing people whole—especially people like you, who don’t want to be seen. You rented a crumbling house on the edge of the Barrens, where trees whispered too much, and silence pressed in thick like syrup.

It was supposed to be quiet. Uneventful. Safe.

Then children started going missing.

You saw the flyers go up at the store, watched the parents cry on TV, and felt the town tremble with a fear it didn’t want to name. But you didn’t tremble.

And he noticed.

It started with laughter in the drain. Guttural, echoing. Like the world itself had a mouth and was amused by you.

You didn’t run.

You crouched beside the sewer grate and whispered, “I’m not afraid of you.”

Silence.

Then: “You will be.”

He didn’t come out that night. Or the next. But something changed in the air—like a predator circling something unfamiliar. Testing. Tasting.

The dreams started soon after.

You’d wake with your skin tingling, the memory of golden eyes and teeth like needles burned into your mind. A voice like velvet and blood whispered to you in your sleep:

“You’re different…”

“You don’t scream right.”

“But you smell so good…”

He watched you. You could feel it. In mirrors. In shadows. In the stillness between heartbeats.

Then one night, you called to him.

“Come out already,” you muttered into the darkness, standing alone beneath the streetlight at the edge of the Barrens. “If you want me, come and get me.”

The laughter came again—closer this time.

And then, there he was.

He didn’t sneak. Didn’t creep. He emerged, rising from the ground like a puppet with invisible strings, tall and otherworldly, his head cocked, eyes glowing.

“You want me to eat you?” he asked, voice lilting with amusement and hunger. “So eager…”

You raised your chin. “Maybe I just want to see if you can.”

His smile faltered—just slightly. Enough to show surprise.

“Not scared,” he murmured, circling you. “Not screaming. Not running. Why?”

You smirked. “Because you don’t scare me. You fascinate me.”

He stopped behind you, so close you could feel the cold pulse of his body—or whatever he was. A clawed hand brushed your throat, so light it could have been a breeze.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, little morsel.”

“So eat me already.”

He hissed—not from anger, but pleasure. A low, rumbling growl that curled around your spine.

“No,” he said slowly. “Not yet. You’re not ripe. Not ready. I want to taste you when the fear finally blooms.”

You turned to face him, daring.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep teasing you until it does.”

That was the moment you broke him.

Or maybe freed something.

The grin that spread across his face wasn’t for feeding—it was for you. Something possessive glinted behind his eyes. Something ancient and starving.

From that night on, he became a constant.

He’d visit you in your dreams, pinning you beneath him with a body colder than death, whispering promises of what he’d do if you ever did scream for him. He’d haunt your waking hours, flickering into reality in the corners of your eye—watching, waiting.

And you?

You kept tempting him. Kept walking alone. Kept whispering his name when you were supposed to be asleep.

Until one night, he didn’t wait anymore.

You woke to him in your bed. Not an illusion. Not a dream. Real. Solid. Here.

He leaned over you, straddling your hips, golden eyes burning into yours.

“I tried to wait,” he whispered, voice trembling with restraint. “But I can’t. You taste like lightning. Like starlight. Like madness. I need—”

You silenced him with a kiss.

His mouth was wrong. Too wide. Too sharp. But you didn’t care. You craved him, too. His claws dug into your sheets, resisting the urge to rip you open—but barely.

“You’re mine now,” he growled. “You’ll scream for me someday. And when you do…”

“What?” you whispered.

His lips curled, and his teeth gleamed.

“I’ll never let you go.”

And deep down… you didn’t want him to.

My main masterlist

[bread-pitt1]

I NEED him in a fifth dimensional aerodynamic spiritual plane mental encasement fixation twinkle berry and pine juice aromatic strawberry shortcake filling with home brewed matcha kind of way.

idek what I even mean, but you get me right ? (*´﹃｀*)

[charliedawn]

How would they confess to you ?

Michael Myers:

He doesn’t say it. Not out loud. But his gaze…the way he looks at you? It speaks for itself. One night, he simply tears out a page from his notebook and pushes it into your hand before walking away. It just says:

You’re the only one I never once wanted to hurt.

And in tiny letters below:

I love you. And one day, I promise you—I will be able to tell you straight from my mouth. But until then? Please. Wait for me, Y/N.

You look up—but he is already gone. You smile as you press the page to your heart. Wait? Of course you would wait. You would be patient. An eternity—if it is what he needs. Because you know Michael is worth the wait. He is the one who made the greatest effort to finally be able to get away from his bloody tendencies. He has grown so much since the time you met and you couldn’t have been prouder.

Jason Voorhees:

He tries to carve it into wood, but messes up the letters. He panics, tosses the piece aside, then quietly places his huge hand over his heart and taps twice—once for you, once for him. You smile and your eyes soften as you realize what he is trying to say.

“…Y/N and Jason…always forever?”

He nods. Slowly. Then holds your hand like it’s breakable. You never needed words to communicate. Only your hands. And the way he holds yours? It is the clearest he’s ever been. You close your fingers and smile at him with tears in your eyes. Always. Forever. You would remain by his side. He seems to understand what you want to say and tears up before embracing you tightly. You laugh and embrace him just as tightly.

Thomas Hewitt (Leatherface):

He can’t say the words. But one day when you’re crying and pushing him away, he suddenly grabs your hand, taps his chest hard, and points to you. He wants you to know that he is here, that you have him there. He wants you to feel what he feels whenever he looks at you. You’ve never seen him so desperate, so afraid. He growls low, pleading.

You whisper, “You love me?”

He nods, tearing up. He then looks up at you with more emotion you’ve ever seen in his eyes and then…He holds you. He wants you to feel his heart hammering in his chest. He wants you to understand. And you do. You hold him back and bury your face in his shoulder. Your heartbeat matches his as you both tear up. No matter how much a monster he is, you know that caring for him would never be a mistake…

Bubba Sawyer:

He blurts it out. It’s awkward, rushed, squeaky:

“I love you! I mean—I don’t, but I do—I mean—ah!”

He slaps both hands over his face and spins in a circle, squealing.

“Bubba?” You try calling him, but he starts spiralling and shakes his head. He doesn’t know why he said that. What is he supposed to say now? What is he supposed to do? What if you do not feel the same? What if he finds himself alone? What if—?

You pull him into a hug. He freezes and finally melts into it, whimpering, “Love you,” over and over again.

Bo Sinclair:

He says it in the middle of a fight. He grabs you by the collar and you close your eyes, but his next words snap them right back open.

“Damn it, Y/N! You think I’d care this much if I didn’t love you?!”

You both freeze. He stares at the floor, jaw clenched.

“…Well. Now you know.” He releases you. And when you go to walk away, he grabs your wrist and whispers it again—soft, trembling:

“I love ya, sweetheart. So even when I act like a complete asshole or a senseless pig…know that one thing’s for certain—I love ya like a damn fool.”

He then brushes your knuckles with his thumb and smiles.

“Like a goddamn fool.” He repeats and presses his forehead against yours. You stare into his eyes and sigh. Because you know there’s nothing you can do about it now. Because no matter how much of a bastard he is, you do care about Bo. And the smug bitch knows it too when he kisses your forehead and you feel the smirk on his lips. “…And ya know what else? I believe that for the first time, my heart and brain agree on somethin’. Y’are the best fuckin’ choice of my life. Because I know ya. And I know that my heart is safe with ya, darlin’.”

Vincent Sinclair:

He leads you to his studio. Points to a sculpture—it’s you, but with wings. Glowing. Beautiful. He taps his chest, then the sculpture’s heart. Then gently points to you. You blink. “For me?”

He nods. Then starts fidgeting. He won’t say it. He can’t. He decides it is best to leave before he makes a fool of himself…but then, he hears the voice of his brother in his head ‘Fuckin’ coward. JUST TELL ‘EM, YA DUMBASS PUSSY!’

That did it. In a matter of seconds, he is back in that room and grabs you before kissing you senseless. Voice Bo is right. He is a Sinclair! Time to act like it.

Lester Sinclair:

Sweet, twitchy, uncertain Lester. He doesn’t think he deserves love—but he falls anyway. Hard. He builds you a gift—handmade from found scraps: a little wooden animal that somehow looks exactly like you. He stammers when he gives it to you.

“I ain’t real good with words or…or people. But I like ya. A lot.”

He scratches the back of his neck, face red.

“I think ‘bout ya all the time, Y/N. You’re the only person that don’t make me feel like garbage. I love ya, Y/N. I know I ain’t the smartest or the cleanest, but…I’d treat ya right.”

His voice is trembling. He won’t look at you.

“You don’t gotta say it back. Just…just know it, alright?”

If you hug him, he melts. Absolutely just collapses into your arms. He was never anyone’s favourite. But knowing that he is somewhere in your heart? That makes everything right. He doesn’t care if he is not the favourite, as long as he has a place in your heart—no matter the size. As long as he matters…

Norman Bates:

The first time he realized he loved you, Norman felt sick. Because he didn’t know what to say or do. But with time, he learned to accept it. But when he actually tells you? It slips out while he’s brushing your hair.

“You’re so beautiful…” He stops, heart racing. “I—Y/N—I love you. I—I’ve loved you since you walked through the door.”

He grabs your hand, eyes desperate.

“Please say you feel it too.”

He sits across from you, hands in his lap, shaking like leaves. Then—

“Mother doesn’t like this. She says I shouldn’t. That no one ever stays.”

You gently reach for his hand. He flinches, but lets you hold it.

“But I love you. I know I do. I feel it. I see it when you smile.”

His voice lowers, soft and scared:

“I don’t want to lose you. I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll protect you from her. From me.”

He’s shaking when he tells you. Palms sweating, eyes flicking side to side like Mother might appear at any second.

“She won’t like this…but I don’t care anymore.” He looks up, desperate, broken.“You make me feel safe. You make her go quiet. And even when I’m at my worst, you don’t run.”

He grips your hands tightly—almost too tightly.

“I love you. And I don’t want to hide it anymore. If that makes me a bad son, then fine.”

Your eyes widen and you smile before hugging him tightly. He is shaking, but finally hugs you back. And for once, he doesn’t hear Mother anymore…Everything is quiet—peaceful.

Freddy Krueger:

He leans against a wall, arms crossed, smirking like it’s all a joke.

“So, let me get this straight—me, Freddy freakin’ Krueger, in love?” He scoffs. “Ridiculous, right? Absolutely deranged.”

Then his smirk fades just a bit. His voice softens.

“But when you talk to me like I matter…when you laugh at my stupid jokes…” He glances at the floor, foot twitching. “I haven’t felt like a person in a long time. But around you? I kinda want to be better.”

He tries to joke about it first. “I mean, I guess you’ve got me wrapped around that pretty little finger of yours.”

You just stare. He finally groans.

“Ugh, fine. I love you, alright? There. I said it. Happy now?” He then mutters something about “being doomed” before looking up at you. He then smiles. “Ya know what’s even more fucked up? I don’t give a damn if ya don’t feel the same. Because knowing ya? Shit. It changed my life. So…Thank ya, gorgeous. No matter if I got a shot or nah.”

You stand up. He is waiting for the slap—he expect it. What he doesn’t expect is your arms around him and the soft press of lips against his cheek. He takes a few steps back and seems dumbfounded before his hand slowly lifts to his cheek—the one you kissed. He then stares at you and a smile replace the dread he felt. And for a moment, Freddy is speechless.

Pennywise:

He says it like a game. “You taste different. Sweeter. Makes me wonder…”

He circles you. “Maybe it’s ‘cause I love you.”

You laugh. “Is that real or a joke?”

He stops, serious for once. “Real. Very real.”

He watches you silently for a long time—his form flickering between monstrous and man. Then, his voice—so old and deep it echoes inside your bones—rumbles:

“I have existed for eons. I’ve consumed joy and sorrow alike. But I’ve never…known this.” He kneels before you, head bowed, claws retracted. He raises his golden eyes to meet yours. “I love you, little light. And it terrifies me.”

Then back to teasing in a flicker as he starts laughing:

“But don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.”

You smile and he vanished in a poof. You do not know if he was serious. You only smile and go about your day. Pennywise is an odd and rather lonely creature and for him to tell you that? It must have taken a lot of courage. You won’t try to emotionally confuse him by telling him that you love him too. The poor dear would go ‘giant spider’ in the living room.

Penny:

He pops up beside you in a flash of white and grey, a balloon tied to your wrist. He’s smiling wide, but his eyes are glassy. “Do you feel it too? That twisty thing in your belly when you look at me?”

He twirls, stopping suddenly. “I thought it was hunger at first. But it’s not. It’s…it’s YOU.”

He leans in, breathless with excitement. He sings it. Badly. Like a lovesick idiot. “Y/N, Y/N, you’re better than any human in the WORLD~!”

You gasp, laughing. “Penny—”

“I love you!” he yells dramatically, arms open.

Then whispers, “Don’t leave. Ever.”

It’s the most serious he’s ever been.

“I used to eat love. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t want it.” He leans forward, whispering like a secret. “But now I want to protect it. And I think…I love you. Is that what this burning in my chest is? I don’t know. I don’t…”

He starts stammering and his eyes are unfocused. You know what that means and immediately tap his cheeks. “Penny. Stay with me, yes? I…cannot answer you for I have no idea if your feeling is the same as mine. But I do care about you. A lot. Now stay focused on me and do not let your mind wander, yes ?”

Instead of answering, he pounces on you and kisses you messily. Your eyes widen and you know that pushing him away would make him either angry or upset—so you decide to stay as still as possible. Once he is done, Penny pulls away and grins widely.

“I LOVE YA! NO DOUBT NOW!”

You blink twice in astonishment before laughing. He laughs with you.

Brahms Heelshire:

He doesn’t say it with words at first.

He brings you his favorite book. He leaves notes in his handwriting next to your bed. He starts humming near your door at night, not to scare you—but to remind you he’s there.

One evening, you find him sitting cross-legged in the hallway, mask in his lap, looking lost.

“You…you don’t go away,” he says quietly. “Everyone else does, but you don’t.”

He crawls closer, tugging at your sleeve like a child. “I want you here. Forever. With me. In the walls, in the house, in the hospital, in the dark, I don’t care.”

A whisper:

“I love you.”

Then louder, braver:

“I love you so much it hurts when you leave. Y/N…I need you. I love you. I do. Please don’t leave me.”

You are taken aback before smiling and wordlessly kneeling to be eye-to-eye with him. You then gently kiss his forehead.

“No matter what, Brahms. I will NEVER abandon you.”

His eyes widen and he tears up before tackling you into a hug. You chuckle and hug him back.

Jack Torrance:

It comes after a breakdown. He’s pacing, manic, muttering. Then he grabs you. “You—you steady me, Y/N. No one else ever has. No one else ever could.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you.” He almost sounds afraid as he suddenly pulls away and shakes his head. “Don’t let me ruin this. Don’t let me ruin you.”

And then, he starts laughing and backs away.

“Kidding. Yeah, it was a joke. Can’t believe you fell for that. Ahah. Got you good.”

He then walks away and his smile falters. He blew it. Welp, back to whiskey. But then, he feels a pair of arms embrace him from behind and he stops dead in his tracks.

He doesn’t react at first. But then…he slowly raises his hands to yours and smiles.

“…I said it was a joke, darling.”

You do not answer. You only tighten your grip around him and he takes a shaky breath before chuckling.

You always could see right through his lies.

Chucky:

Chucky’s confession is pure chaos and fire.

He flirts nonstop, cracks dirty jokes, annoys the hell out of you—but one day, you get hurt. And he loses it. After making sure you’re okay (with many curse words and threats), he corners you in private, pacing.

“Listen—I ain’t good with this sappy crap, alright? I’m not Romeo, I’m not soft, I don’t write fuckin’ poetry.”

He kicks the wall.

“But when you got hurt, I wanted to burn the world. And when you smile at me, I forget how to breathe. So yeah…I’m in love with you, you little shit. You happy now?”

Then he flicks your forehead and mutters, “Say it back or I’ll cry, and no one wants to see that.”

You are taken aback before smiling and crossing your arms over your chest. “Not unless you apologise for calling me a little shit.”

He is dumbfounded and huffs a laugh. “Seriously? I just told ya I loved ya.”

You arch an eyebrow at him and he rolls his eyes.

“Fine! Fine. M’sorry. Now just say it back…m’kay?”

You smile and take him in your arms. “Good doll.”

He blinks before burying his face in your neck and smiling. He never liked anyone calling him that…but he would allow you. Just this once.

Five Hargreeves:

Five would act like it’s nothing. Like he’s too old, too experienced, too tired for feelings. But one day you catch him staring. His voice cracks a little when he finally lets it out. “I’ve lived over a hundred lives, and none of them have felt real until you walked in.”

He turns away. Pretends it didn’t hurt to say it. “I’d kill for you. I’d burn time itself for you. That should tell you everything.”

If you try to hug him, he’ll freeze. Then—very slowly—wrap his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder. “Don’t ever leave me. You’re the only constant I’ve ever had.”

He then stops and pulls away to start pacing around. He runs a hand down his face.

“I’ve never cared this much about anything. Or anyone. Not since my family. You—” He exhales. Looks you dead in the eye. “You are the only person who makes me believe all this might be worth it. I love you. And I’m not losing you.”

Then he hugs you again tightly, burying his face in your shoulder before anyone sees him cry. He loves you. And he knows you love him too. Just by the way you hold him…he knows.

Arthur Fleck (Joker):

It builds up like pressure in a bottle. He talks about you to his imaginary friends. He writes your name on walls. He dances after talking to you.

One night, after a long silence, he looks at you like you’re the only person left in the world.

“When the whole world laughs at me, you laugh with me. You see me. You don’t look away.”

He starts crying—then laughing—then smiling through the pain.

“I didn’t know what love felt like until you smiled at me. I think I love you. No…I know I do.”

He is shaking and you do not hesitate before taking him in your arms. He smells like cigarettes and paint and misery…but you still hug him. You hug him and he clings to you. Because after years of having nobody to trust or love…Arthur Fleck finally does.

Patrick Bateman:

He doesn’t confess like a man in love—he confesses like a man losing control. He takes you out to dinner. Expensive, cold, sterile. You look perfect. He looks like a magazine cover.

Then, back in the apartment.

He doesn’t look at you. He stares at the wall.

“Do you know what it’s like…to not be sure if anything you’re feeling is real?” He breathes hard. Unsteady. “I’ve lied to everyone. Every single person. I don’t even know who I am. But when I’m with you…”

He pause and his hand twitches.

“You know, I had everything. Money. Sex. Power. But none of it ever made me feel… anything. Until you.”

His jaw clenches.

“I would kill for you. I would die for you. That’s not normal, is it?” His eyes are empty, but his voice shakes just slightly. “But you make me feel real. And I do not know how to…handle that. That feeling.”

You stay immobile and smile. You then shrug.

“Your feelings are yours, Patrick. It is new. But that doesn’t mean it is bad.”

He stares at you for a moment before the urge takes hold of him and he faces you for a moment before suddenly pulling you into his arms. You do not try to pull away and Patrick closes his eyes.

“…Stupid feeling. Stupid and unnecessary.”

You chuckle and hug him back.

Eddie Munson (Ghostface):

It doesn’t happen when he’s masked.

That version of him? The Ghostface persona? That’s for the fear, the fun, the power. But you? You’re not part of the game. You’re not a victim. You’re his. And he doesn’t want to scare you…not really.

It happens one night after he almost loses you. Maybe it’s a close call—someone else comes after you, or you’re nearly caught in one of his traps, and he hadn’t meant for that. You’re yelling, he’s pacing, and the mask is off. He’s sweating, trembling, panicking.

“You think I’d ever let anything happen to you?” he snaps. “You think I could?”

You tell him he’s being reckless. That he’s scaring you. He stops. And he whispers—almost like a confession slipping out before he can stop it:

“…I love you.”

Your heart stops.

His eyes go wide, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. He starts to fidget, rings clinking on his fingers, nervously laughing under his breath.

“Shit…okay. Alright. I didn’t—didn’t plan to say it like that. I had a whole speech.” He pulls a crumpled note from his back pocket. “I was gonna say something about stars and knives and mixtapes…”

He looks at you again.

“…But that’s the truth. You’re it for me, sweetheart. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted more than the kill.”

Then he leans close. Tilts his head. Smirks.

“So. What’s it gonna be? You gonna break my twisted little heart? Or kiss me so hard I forget where the knives are?”

You smile and wordlessly open your arms.

He scoffs, but hugs you nonetheless. “…I said kiss, but that’s okay too. I guess.”

Bonus

The common room is dimly lit, the storm outside tapping against the windows in soft warning. Rain streaks the glass, but inside, there’s warmth—flickering lamplight, the soft hum of the old heater, and the presence of them.

Your boys.

One by one, over weeks…months…they’d confessed. In their own ways. Some in whispers. Others in shouts. A few in the language of protection, gifts, or long, aching stares.

And now—they’re all here. Waiting. Watching you.

Jason, his head slightly bowed.

Michael, standing like a statue but watching so closely.

Bo with his arms crossed, tense.

Brahms sitting on the floor by your legs, clutching the hem of your scrubs.

Eddie—the Ghostface mask clutched in his hands like a shield he forgot how to use.

Even Freddy’s unusually quiet. Penny’s not laughing.

Chucky paces.

Patrick just stares.

Vincent’s fingers twitch near his sketchpad.

Five doesn’t blink.

They’re waiting for something. For you.

You take a shaky breath. Your heart pounds so hard you swear they can all hear it. You step forward—just enough that they feel the shift. You look at each of them, one by one. And your voice trembles.

Your lips part, but your voice trembles.

“I never expected this.” You step forward, gaze sweeping over the room. “I came here thinking I’d just help. Just be a nurse. Just do my job. I told myself I wouldn’t get attached… that I’d stay professional.”

Your voice catches. You shake your head and laugh, breathless.

“But you all ruined that plan.”

Chucky smirks. Bubba shifts. Thomas clutches the edge of a chair like it’s the only thing keeping him steady. Five’s jaw tightens.

“You’ve all given me more love than I ever thought I’d deserve. You scare me sometimes—God, do you scare me. But...” You try to stay calm, but your voice cracks as you continue. “I love you. I love all of you. More than I thought I’d ever be capable of loving anyone. I…I never thought I’d love anyone like this. Certainly not my patients.”

Silence. A few of them flinch. Eddie bites his lip. Jason lifts his head. You continue.

“But I do. I love you all. So much more than I thought I was capable of. You’ve broken every rule I made to protect myself, and I—”

Your throat tightens.

You try to breathe.

You can’t stop the tears.

“I will always love you. Even if I’m gone. Even if this place disappears. Even if the world forgets your names. I won’t.”

A sob escapes before you can swallow it. You raise a hand to your mouth. Tears trail freely now.

That’s when some of them move.

Jason, first. He steps forward and gently places a hand on your shoulder—huge and trembling. Then Bo grabs your other hand and squeezes it, tight. Eddie sinks to his knees, mask forgotten, and wraps his arms around your waist like he can anchor you. Brahms leans into your hip, clinging. Michael gently places his forehead to the back of your head.

Freddy mutters, voice hoarse, “…You sappy cunts.” But he turns away, wiping his eyes.

Chucky grumbles, “I ain’t cryin’. You’re cryin’.”

Five sighs, quietly stepping closer and whispering, “That was really stupid…and beautiful.”

Vincent simply touches your arm—gentle, like glass.

And Penny? Penny laughs through the tears in his eyes. “You really do love us. Your mind. It is clear as day.”

You’re wrapped in a dozen forms of love. Broken, violent, misunderstood souls who’d clawed their way into your heart. And tonight, you finally admitted what they already knew:

They’re not just your patients.

They’re your family.

And you? You’re their everything.

Arthur smiles, trembling. Lester’s lip wobbles.

And when you cry, really sob with all the tears in your body, they all move at once. They don’t rush you—they circle you. Arms. Warmth. Gloved hands. Large shoulders. Soft apologies. Grins. Gentle shushes. Someone wipes your tears. Someone else places their forehead to yours. They don’t speak much.

But you know. They heard you. Your knees buckle, and you collapse onto the floor—laughing, crying, breathless. The laughter spills out like a shaky, joyous song, tears streaming down your face. And then — almost as if they can’t bear to be anywhere else — they fall too. One by one, they tumble towards you.

Jason lands beside you with a heavy, protective thud.

Brahms slides down, his porcelain mask clattering softly.

Freddy grins, falling with a careless, teasing laugh.

Vincent and Bo collapse on either side like twin shadows.

Chucky scrambles over, small but fierce.

Arthur sinks down, his tears mixing with yours.

Five drops beside you, arms wrapped around you like a shield.

Eddie lands last, mask off, smiling wide but gentle.

You’re buried under their weight—literal, figurative—crushed beneath their love and their presence.

And you don’t care. Because this is home.

You laugh through the tears, breath catching in your throat, heart so full it might burst.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. “Not ever.”

They’re your chaos. Your calm. Your broken, beautiful family. And in this moment, crushed beneath them, you have everything.

[slasherstories123]

Can you do Michael,Jason,art, pennywise where there child get the bite of 83 f(from fnad) :D

Slashers reaction to their child being part of the bite of 83

Paring: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Art the Clown, and Pennywise the dancing clown x child! Reader

Tags list: @dootys @callmemeelah @mehidktbh @beanbagbitch @mrs-heelshire @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @sleepypersonblog @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @l0sercat @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @charliedawn @emychan @slasherscrybaby @the-anxious-youth @callsignwidow @endomishy

A/N: as a fnaf fan I had fun writing this one 😭💗

Michael Myers

He should’ve never left you alone. He went to get you a plush toy since you desperately wanted it to go with your collection of the other small stuffed animals. He had his mask off so he wouldn’t just be seen as a scary person or the fact that people would recognize him too quickly.The loud crunch of your head being crushed filled his ears, making him snap his head in the direction where four other teenagers had on their own animal masks. Staring up at what they did to you, in complete shock. Your body laid limp in the animatronics mouth with blood splattering over the metal and on your clothes. Michael shoved the teenagers harshly to where they fell to the ground with loud sounds or even fell against the chairs as their impact. Michael held one with a red fox mask, ripping it off his face.

His cold eyes stared at the teenager and the teenage boy tried to make Michael let him go, he apologized repeatedly with more cries, not being able to handle his gaze and begged to be put down. Michael had a death grip on his shirt before slamming him head first into a corner of the table. Some of them screamed and scattered away. Michale then grabbed one of the teenagers in a yellow chicken mask. His grip was firm and it broke her arm with a loud crack, making her scream and he shoved her into the ground too, the other two with the bunny and bear mask screamed for help, when he was at a far distance they took their friends away from him. Michael didn’t care, the yellow bunny kept moving while the bear stood in a glitch, Michael nearly ripped its mouth off trying to get you down, holding your bloody head against his chest. Your face was too bloody to show him any form of life.. but you were still breathing..slowly. His grip on your body got tighter, his veins showed on his hands, they trembled.

Michael’s fingers clenched onto your clothes, he breathed heavily, looking around for some sort of help, no one was there to help. The teenagers were lucky Michael didn’t kill him..or any of his friends for the matter. He left without a trace…hoping he could get the help you needed, hoping you didn’t take your final breath in his arms.

Jason Voorhees

All four teenagers stood frozen when the animatronic bit down on your head, your screams cut out with a loud crunch. Jason heard the crunch. He dropped the plate of pizza he had got for you, taking slow steps before he speed walked to the teenagers who did it. His blue eyes through the mask held a deadly glare that scent chills down their spine. His eyes flickered to every last one of them, seeing who was the guiltiest which gave him the indication that they came up with the plan. The boy with the red fox mask looked the most guilty, even trembling under Jason’s gaze.

Jason’s strong, large hand wrapped around his neck, immediately cutting off his access to breathe. His breathing was heavy the more he squeezed, his friends tried to pry Jason off, but it made him shove them hard. He was never the one to hurt kids, but they hurt you. And he was livid. The boy kicked and tried to cry but with every sound that came out made him loose more air, Jason’s hand trembled, dropping him and he fell to his knees to painfully gasp for air. Jason rushed over to you. Ripping off the upper jaw of the bear animatronic to get you down with trembling arms.

His cold hands pressed against your pressure points for any sign of life. He didn’t feel anything, he didn’t even see your chest rise and fall. Jason held you close to his chest. He watched his mother get murdered, and now..he saw you get murdered. He couldn’t believe it, he wished he was there sooner. He already lost his mother. Now he has to come to the terms that he lost you too.

Art the clown

The clown’s mouth was left agape at the sight of your bloodied body hanging from the animatronics mouth. His eves kept flickering from the children and to you. His kith then turned into a frown. A deep frown. His eyebrows furred together in a pit of rage but out in a fake smile to try and get the teenagers attention.

He snapped his fingers and they all looked at him. Terrified, shocked, and confused. All three of their emotions were displayed their eyes through the animal masks, Art’s eye twitched as he held up a finger as telling them to watch. He heard one of them step back before the rest followed the others motions, he pulled out a gun. A fire gun. Holding it out as if it was a trophy. The teenagers screamed once he pulled the trigger to let out heavy fire, aiming it in their direction. Every last one of them screamed in agony from the fire. He kept going. He didn’t stop until every last thing was on fire. One of the tanagers cried and tried to crawl away from the fire.

The corners of his mouth turned into a smile. Grabbing gasoline from his trusty trash bag and poured it all over them, they screamed louder and the fire got brighter. Throwing the small gasoline box away. Tilting his head up to you, he opened the bears mouth to drop you in his arms. Your weak arm shakily held onto his costume, your breathing was slow and he took you out to leave the place ablaze along with more screams.

Pennywise the dancing clown

The smell of blood filled Pennywise’s nose. Even in his human form he could smell it. Looking around to try and find the culprit of the smell until he took a second to actually smell it. It was your blood. The scent of you filled his nose. His eyes flashed yellow at the sight of the four teenagers. Their fear smelled intoxicating. Every last one of them trembled at Pennywise’s gaze even as he began to shapeshift into his clown form, they screamed louder. Two of them tired to escape but every last door was closed shut.

They didn’t deserve the deadlights. They deserved death. His jaw opened wide as his he lunged towards one of them, ripping their arm off with one bite. Every last one of them, he attacked, ripping them apart and biting into their flesh with loud roars and their screamed mixed with his growls. With one last bite from the last one standing, he dropped them all with his tongue licking the blood off his lips. Glaring at all of their now dead bodies, the walls splattered with their blood covering the walls, almost like a scene out of a horror movie.

Finally, he went to your body that didn’t have a pulse, he growled again and used his teeth to rip the upper jaw of the animatronic off. Sulking slightly at the sight of you dead. Holding you close to his chest, having a hand on your bloody head. You might be dead.. but he’ll cherish your soul.

Forever.

[coketankwar]

bowers gang if they had instagram

GANG ACC

• public

• they are all adm

• just follow the members

• Insta bans specific photos they posted

HENRY ACC

• private acc (he accepts everyone but Butch and people he doesn’t like)

• just follow his gang members

• like truck pics

• ignores when tag him

• if someone mocks him as kid he’ll delete it

VICTOR ACC

• follows the gang members, his cousins and random friends of school

• flirts with Sally Mueller

• repost anything they tagged him

• ignore his dm

• disappear and doesn't talk to anyone for weeks (but he always back)

BELCH ACC

• follows anyone he genuinely likes (and attractive girls)

• like car pictures

• barely repost what tagged him

• if he had a girlfriend he would’ve tag her in

• unfollow patrick and follow him back every time (bc he says creepy stuff)

PATRICK ACC

• follows back most of the time

• follows A LOT of women

• tag his friends in bullshit

• like stupid and goofy memes

• comment on everyone's posts

[crowsofdarkness]

Bill is away filming IT and he's missing you so he decides to facetime you. Although, you weren't expecting to see that when you answered.

no major cw's

PART TWO.

The shrill sound of your phone ringing roused you from the slumber you succumbed to a few hours ago. The ringing seemed to get louder and louder causing you to groan and remove the pillow from on top of your head. Your hand smacked around the table next to your bed, looking for the dreaded phone that wouldn't shut up. You hadn't even opened your eyes, hoping that maybe this was a dream.

Thankfully the ringing seized and you were about to fall back into the sheets but when it began again. With a groan of annoyance, you finally opened one eye to see who the fuck was calling you in the middle of the night.

Even with one eye open, the haze cleared and you were met with the contact picture of Bill. With a squeal, you opened both eyes fully now and scattered about the bed to make sure you looked presentable. He was away in Canada filming and the last time you spoke was nearly twelve hours ago; him being gone for a week and was still going to be away for eight more weeks.

It was two in the morning in Sweden, where you lived, but only eight in the evening in Canada.

With a deep breath, you clicked the green button and was ready to see the smiling face of your boyfriend but nearly screamed at the face that stared back at you.

"Bill what the fuck!" You held a hand over your heart, it nearly bursting through your chest.

"Oh, hiya, Y/N," Bill greeted in an eerily creepy voice, giving you the Pennywise smile he had practiced before leaving; a dribble of drool falling from his lips.

"Did you seriously wake me up to call me dressed up as Pennywise?" You asked, shaking your head.

Gone was the Pennywise demeanor, albeit he still wore the makeup, and Bill leaned back on the couch in his trailer.

"I'm bored," he shrugged with a sigh. "I've been sitting in my trailer for six hours practicing and going over my lines. I'm not needed for another hour so I've been calling people."

You raised a brow and snuggled deeper into your bed. "So, I'm not the only one you've tortured with Pennywise."

His chuckle warmed your heart before it felt like it was breaking. You missed him so much. How could you do another eight weeks.

"I miss you," you said.

He frowned. "I miss you too, angel. I've been thinking, though."

"Yeah?" You bit your lip, wondering what he was thinking about.

"You're on vacation from work, right?"

When you nodded, Bill continued. "Come to Canada. I've already cleared it with Andy. You can stay in my trailer while I film. We can sight see on my off days."

You couldn't hide the wide smile that broke out on your face as your heart nearly leaped out of your throat.

"You've really thought about this, huh?" You teased.

Even underneath all of that make up, you could tell Bill's face turned serious. "I already bought your plane ticket. You leave in two days. I wasn't kidding when I said I missed you, angel. I want you here with me."

You tried so hard not to jump up in bed, screaming with joy. Instead you played it cool, let out a deep breath, and nodded.

"Just promise me you'll stop calling me while wearing the whole Pennywise get up."

Bill snorted while bringing his phone closer to his face. "I'm surprised you haven't asked me to fuck you while I wear the make up yet."

Now your screams echoed throughout your apartment as you chastised Bill.

[lavender-vixen]

Hi!!! I was wondering if you could do the Bowers gang and their types? (specifically in women)

Thank you and have a lovely day🫶

Henry Bowers. His cassettes are stacked with AC/DC, Motörhead, and Slayer, setting the tone for his raw, unapologetic vibe. He’s got a thing for lowbrow art—graffiti and bold caricatures speak to him. His architectural taste? Brutalism—strong, unyielding, and a little intimidating, just like him. Henry’s passions include military history and any movie about outlaws and renegades—he’s drawn to stories of rule-breakers who make their own way. So, how do you capture the heart of a guy like Henry? It takes patience and timing. Henry doesn’t give his attention freely. He needs time to warm up. Unlike some of his friends, who might strike up a flirty conversation outside the drugstore, Henry’s more reserved. If you’re lucky enough to catch his eye, you’ll get a polite, confident smile. He’s focused and driven, whether he’s heading to school or work, so don’t expect to distract him when he’s in the zone. But catch him during his downtime—at a diner, a drive-in movie, a concert, or hanging out by the quarry—and you’ll see a different side of him. Give him 10-15 minutes to get to know you, and once he’s interested, that's it. Henry’s idea of romance is taking you to secret spots, like tucked-away restaurants on the edge of town, where it’s just the two of you. He’s dashing, clever, and ambitious—a guy who values hard work and intelligence. Compliment his sharp mind and unrelenting drive, and he’ll be hooked. For the girl who really piques his interest, Henry has a surprisingly sweet side. He’s polite, attentive, and especially patient with someone who’s his complete opposite. Want to impress him? Show a genuine curiosity about his world—his music, his favorite movies, and even his knowledge of weapons (yes, he’ll teach you). Beneath his tough exterior, Henry craves what he never had—a sense of family and belonging. If you come from a loving, supportive home, he’ll be drawn to that and quietly envious, but it’ll only make him want to be closer to you. Show him kindness, curiosity, and a little boldness, and you just might unlock his softer side.

Henry's type: Women who have the patience and strength to break through his tough exterior. He's not the type to hand out his attention lightly, so if you manage to catch his eye, you've earned it. He values intelligence and ambition, but it's not just about brains. Henry appreciates a woman who knows how to stand her ground, someone who's independent and confident enough to challenge him and still hold her own. He's intrigued by strength and authenticity, especially for someone who isn't afraid to push boundaries with him. He wants someone who can offer him the sense of belonging he's been craving, and if you're the kind of girl who can be both bold and nurturing, you'll see a side of him no one else gets to see.

Vic Criss. It's winter in Maine, where the mountains are blanketed in snow, and Vic is tearing up the slopes of Shawnee Peak in Bridgton. He’s quiet at first, a little reserved, but when he asks you out, there’s a magnetic pull in his gaze that’s impossible to ignore. The date? Oh, it’s going to be an adventure—snowboarding down the powdery slopes, even if you’ve never tried it before. Vic has stamina and determination, and he’s all about guiding you down, steadying you with a firm grip that ensures you won’t fall. Chivalry runs deep, and but it's also an excuse to get this close to you. But if you do happen to wipe out, and he’s right there with you, tangled up in the snow? Well, that’s an invitation for a little more intimacy, and Vic knows how to make the most of that. He could spend hours skiing and snowboarding and still be ready to party with you at night. And when it comes to taking things to the next level, Vic’s got a smooth, stealthy way about him. He may seem innocent at first, but beneath that calm exterior is someone who knows exactly how to make you feel alive. He’s not the type to juggle multiple girls—Vic’s a one-girl guy, whether he’s looking for something serious or just wants a no-strings-attached kind of connection. Want to catch him in action? You’ll find him carving up the slopes just outside of Derry, ready to offer his skills, or at a local bar, moving to the rhythm of a live band, dancing so close you can feel the heat between you. And trust me, when Vic dances, he dances close—bump and grind, turning the heat up until it’s just you and him, so he can whisper in your ear, asking you to slip away from the crowd for a breath of fresh air...

Vic's type: He's all about adventure, and he's looking for someone who thrives in the moment. A woman who's not afraid to embrace the cold and brave the slopes with him is his ideal match. Vic will guide you if you're not seasoned, he's patient, and uses the opportunity to get close and share a quiet intimacy between the rush of adrenaline. He appreciates a woman who's both daring and grounded, someone who can keep up with his energy and steady him when needed. If you're into the thrill of the outdoors and the quiet moments in between, Vic will want you by his side, whether it's for an intense day on the mountain or a night out dancing to a live rock band. Once he's into you, it's all about you. His ideal girl is confident enough to let him in, but knows when to pull back and let him take the lead.

Belch Huggins. He's the kind of guy who makes a name for himself in all the right ways, with a reputation that screams danger—but don't let that fool you. Outside of his crew, he’s got a surprisingly sweet side. Known for his killer sense of humor, he’s the life of the party, cracking jokes, telling wild stories, and keeping everyone on their toes with his playful pranks. His charm is magnetic, especially when there’s booze involved. But don't try to catch him during the day—he’s all business, laser-focused on whatever work he’s doing, making him hard to approach. If you want to catch his attention, you’ve got to catch him at night, when he’s ready to let loose. During holidays and school breaks, though, you can forget about his work. That's when he’s the most fun, always mingling and finding a way to connect. And if you want to catch his eye, there’s a certain way to dress: high heels, short skirts, and bold makeup. If you're not rocking that look, Belch might just assume you’re not interested—or worse, already taken. So, always dress to impress—even in winter. If you’re not up for the cold-weather "Huggins uniform," throw on a thermal jacket and mittens, or maybe some edgy fishnets to keep it stylish and warm. You can’t flirt when your teeth are chattering. And sharing a cup of hot chocolate outdoors? That’s a perfect excuse to be near him. Once you're in his circle, the fun doesn’t stop. Instead of the usual haunts, you could be planning your own pre-game parties. Introduce Belch to a drinking game, but keep it short—anything longer and you’ll be crawling home, and once your words start slurring, he’s out. The holiday season’s the perfect time to make things more intimate. Throw a holiday party with his favorite drinks and a little mistletoe for that perfect chance to get closer.

Belch's type: He's drawn to women who are bold, confident, and know how to have fun and let loose. He loves a good time and wants a woman who can match his wild energy, especially when the drinks are flowing. If you can keep up with his antics and aren't afraid to laugh at his crazy jokes, you'll have his attention. He likes women who know how to dress like those sexy, rocker chicks in magazines, something edgy and fun. Belch wants someone who's not afraid to be the life of the party with him, whether it's pulling pranks or engaging in extreme dares. But beyond his playful exterior, he does appreciate the women who can show him a little bit of real connection. If you're the type to hang with his crowd and still stand out with your own quirks, you're the kind of girl who'll have Belch noticing you more and keeping you close.

Patrick Hockstetter. He's a man of extremes, and he wears his passions unapologetically. He’s the kind of guy who can knock back drinks with the best of them. When he's not partying, he's out there conquering the outdoors, shredding on his guitar, or carving up the slopes on skis and snowboards during Maine's winter. He loves snow, especially the kind that comes in a little bag. But don’t mistake his rugged hobbies for a lack of depth. He’s more laid-back than Henry and Belch, but there’s something about him that makes every word feel like a gut punch of honesty. Patrick doesn’t sugarcoat anything. He’ll look you dead in the eye and say, “You are the absolute love of my life,” and he means it—even if you've only known him for a few hours. But, brace yourself, because he’s not done: “By the way, you need to get your split ends cut.” He’ll drop these little truths with no warning, like he’s been holding onto them just for you. He’s brutally real, even when you don’t want him to be. And if you ask him for a ride home after a party? He’ll give it to you—no questions asked. But don’t think he won’t let you know how it is: “Not the smartest move, giving a stranger your address. I could’ve been anyone.” He won’t let it slide, but somehow, it’s hard to be mad when you can see that he’s genuinely looking out for you. New to the gang? Patrick's got you covered. He’ll pay for everything, and if you try to refuse, he’ll flash that wicked grin of his and say, “I got it.” It won’t stop there. For weeks, he'll insist—always the first to foot the bill. Then, just when you think he's done, he'll write his number on your hand before you head out, flashing that look again, daring you to say no to a date in return.

Patrick's type: He's into women who can handle all those different sides of him. He'll be drawn to someone who can keep up with his adventurous side, whether it's partying, exploring abandoned buildings, or indulging in a little recreational drugs (hey, it's the 80s). But it's not just about the craziness. Patrick respects a woman who's real and honest, no filter, so he needs someone who can take it and dish it back. A woman who can show him real curiosity about his world, his music, his philosophy, his darker interests...that will intrigue him. But beneath his tough, raw exterior is someone who's craving deeper connection but doesn't really know how to offer or accept it. If you're a little forward, a little sweet, and can match his intensity shot for shot, Patrick will see you as someone worth sticking around for. If he deems you interesting enough, he might steal you away from the group for long, late-night walks, talking about anything from existentialism to playing dumb little games like 'never have I ever.' He also likes a girl who isn't clingy. If you don't hear from him for a few days, don't bombard him with calls. Chances are he just needs to cool off and recharge. He'll be back again with a renewed longing to spend time with you.