love me a penny

I’m Nat, 20 years old, bisexual so I also might write for women, and studying in meteorology and journalism in college. I love writing and have loved writing since I was about 8, and I’ve also been been fanfiction from all genres since about that agd as well lmao. More than a decade later and still never published anything, which is why of course I’m going to be dipping my toes in writing about a clown… Cuz that makes sense

If you have any ideas you want me to write out, send me a message!! I may not but I also may. I won’t write: incest, bodily fluids/excrements, noncon, crossovers from way different fandoms.

I would write centering for POC, male characters, people with certain disabilities but since I can’t personally account for certain things, I don’t think I would do it justice. However I will keep it as ambiguous as possible!!!! I write smut, fluff, angst, whatever. Picky on the smut, everything else is go go go

pennywise adored you as much as he hated you. a pathetic little human, flesh soft and shreddable, you were too trusting. easy prey, easy.. but you weren’t scared. you watched him like a child watches fireworks for the first time, eyes glittering and expression in awe. and that’s what allowed him to get this close as much as it should have repelled him. he played into your curiosity, tried scaring while he was at it but most times you found it entertaining.

you thought he was interesting instead of morbid. or maybe that’s why you thought he was so magnificent in the first place.

in the very beginning he tried killing you at first, thought he’d finally had the courage to sink his teeth into a meal that tasted bitter and void, but you accepted your fate with ease. closed your eyes and gripped onto his fluffy collar accepting whatever ending this intricate creature would give you. he dissappeared for a good while before returning to haunt you from the corners of your vision. life became somewhat normal again.

at last when he accepted your affections and realized he was not devoid of that kind of feeling himself, he hated it at first as much as he reveled in it. he would show up in your nightmares then be there when you awoke, teasing you for being afraid then being the one to comfort.

he’d bite deep into your skin whilst you sat in his lap all as the feeling of vulnerability curled around his being like a stinging warning. then he’d lick the blood soaked marking with a gentleness that only told you there was some guilt for his violence. he was not worthy to be loved and to love on something as delicate as you. he was meant to destroy it.

yet, letting you fall asleep on his chest whilst he played with your hair, thinking of all the ways he could integrate himself into your life. maybe one day you’ll hate him and be scared. until then, he could let himself feel whatever warmth it was you brought.

i feel like i continue to grow up with the losers club. the losers club from 2017 was there for my most hormonal, emotional, and terrifying moments in childhood when i was just young 12-13 years old. i rewatched that movie on any bad day.

dick hallorann is a very callous man. his past hardened his shell and people he didn’t know were usually kept that way. he didn’t need anyone. well, anyone but you.

he never intended on ever actually engaging with you when you were on the base with charlotte who had stormed over one day furious about something leroy had said to will. you two had locked eyes from afar, a smile shot his way while he stood the corners of his mouth from curling, yet the rest was history. he didn’t know why you, he didn’t know why of all people he was alright with you getting close. he’d rather he have no soft spots that could cost him in this kind of work, but anytime you’d call him asking if everything was alright he would always ask about your night too. he didn’t have to, but he did.

you were the one who managed to calm the flurry that his mind was after whatever that thing was got into his head. when he was with you, looking into your eyes that held nothing but gentleness and understanding for him, he felt complete. there were no voices or ghosts, just you. ever since his grandmother died and he was on his own, loneliness consumed his every waking moment and the only company he got was of the dead. holding your warm body close as you dozed off on the couch was foreign and strange, but he was beginning to let himself enjoy it.

if he ever saw anything on the wrong kind of day, he’d find himself at your doorstep asking to come in, and the second he’s stepping in he’s burying his face into the crook of your neck with arms snug around your waist. you were his anchor. if you were out of town, he’d call you, saying your voice could drown out all of the others better than he could.

if his buddies ever saw him loving on you before he left, he would deny it and tell them to get on to work all while some of your lipstick stained underneath his jaw. throughout the day he’d let his fingers dance where you’d pressed your lips, waiting for when he could be back and your lips would be all he had to worry about.

his exterior was hard but his heart was soft. call him over with the coo of his name and he’s putty in your hands.