#where’s your fucking costume i want to pummel you i want to smash your head like a watermelon

[morrgbaby]

if you’re goth/alt/whatever and you dressed the exact same way on halloween as you usually do.. i fucking hate you.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Okok Pennywise fluff? If you can. Just a cute little thing with pennywise. If you need an idea maybe Pennywise seeing s/o dancing in their room on a rainy night then he decides to join in? And then cuddles after ?( ^ω^ ) hope you are doing well and this isn’t too much to ask.

I am doing very well! Thank you so much for the ask. You are very sweet, anon. I gotta be honest with you, though. I struggled with this ask! With the way I write him, I have difficulty seeing Pennywise in fluffy situations. But, I’m always up for a challenge. I’ve come up with a compromise that I hope suits us both. I’m calling it “creepy cute.” Enjoy :)

For familiarity, I’m sticking with the same reader from my other Pennywise fics on my Masterlist.

Warnings: Horror elements, nothing too crazy

             A movie plays on the television, one whose title you cannot recall. A heartfelt scene between generic man and woman characters reflects off your glassy eyes. Absently, you scratch the scabbed over bite marks on your shoulder.

             Your eyelids droop. You hover on the precipice of sleep, the movie’s soundtrack now a distant drone in the back of your mind. The muted colors on the screen begin to morph, growing bright and loud. A clown wearing red and white face paint dances around a neon stage, giggling and kicking red balloons that fall from an unseen ceiling.

             Your eyelids flutter. Pennywise points to the side of the screen and grins wide with too many teeth.

             Wakey, wakey. There’s someone at the door.

             BANG BANG BANG

             You jerk awake, sitting bolt upright. Disoriented, you look wildly around the room. The television is off—hadn’t it just been on—and the living room is quiet and mostly dark, only illuminated by the light from the kitchen. Rain pummels the windows and wind howls through the trees outside, lightning and thunder cracking overhead.

             You take a shuddering breath and realize you must have been dreaming of the clown again. They happen so often anymore, the dreams. You think you should be used to them by now.

             Dragging a hand down your face, you stand and head to the kitchen. You peek in the fridge and open cupboards, your body anxious to move and relieve your jitters. You decide to make a snack. Maybe food will calm you down.

             You choose a playlist on your phone, hoping some music will fill the uncomfortable silence broken only by the pitter patter of rain on the roof and the rumble of thunder. You push the tab on the toaster, mindlessly swaying to the music crooning quietly from the speaker.

             You sing along, tapping your fingers on the counter in time with the beat. You pause, falling still. Unease settles heavy in your gut.

             Your skin crawls. You tense. There’s something behind you, right behind you, breathing down your neck, hot, metallic breath that reeks of death—

             You whirl around, eyes wide and heart hammering. The kitchen is empty, save for yourself. You draw in a shuddering breath, gripping the counter in an effort to steady yourself.

             He’s here, somewhere, toying with you. You’ve long since abandoned the hope that these little occurrences are all in your head. The reality is far more frightening. Something hunts you.

             You shriek when the toast pops out of the toaster. Gripping your chest, you smile sardonically and shake your head. Fuck, you’re gonna have a heart attack—

             Suddenly, the lights go out with a click. You’re plunged into darkness. Your music slows unnaturally, tone deepening, a low growl replacing the lyrics and rising to a deafening roar.  

             You slap the screen and pause the song, your breath coming in rapid gasps. You sprint to the light switch, flicking it off and on to no effect. Trembling from head to toe, you wait for the laugh, the bite, the long, gloved fingers closing around your throat, the next trick.

             Nothing. The rain and wind still rattle the windows. Lightening briefly illuminates the kitchen and thunder booms. Nothing.

             Then—

             BANG BANG BANG BANG

             You yelp, clapping a hand over your mouth. Someone is pounding on the door, just like in your dream. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all….

             Slowly, timidly, you make your way down the hall toward the front door. You stifle a whimper as you round the corner to the entryway.

             BANG BANG BANG

             The door rattles with the force of the blows, the frame splintering, wood chips skittering across the floor. A scream tears from your throat and you jump back, tensing and wanting nothing more than to flee.

             Do you run? No, you’ve done that before. You can’t escape him. Then, do you open the door?

             You wait. And wait. Silence. Lightening flashes, thunder rumbles. Silence.

             Where did he go?

             You turn and run straight into a solid chest. Bells jingle. A white glove wraps around your throat, cutting off your next panicked shriek.

             “Rude, rude, girl to leave poor Pennywise out in the rain.” You meet his glowing yellow gaze, drool dripping from his full, bloody lips to splatter onto the floor between you.

           You don’t fight. There’s no point anymore, no escaping him. There was only ever one outcome. This doesn’t mean you are any less afraid, however. You’re shaking so badly your teeth are nearly chattering in your mouth. You wonder what fresh horror he has in store for you tonight.

             Pennywise tips his head to the side, leaning over you, observing you. He hums thoughtfully. The hand around your throat moves to your jaw and he gives your head a playful little shake.

             “Little thing.” Odd. It almost sounds affectionate, the way he says it, instead of condescending as it does normally. He leans low, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling deeply, “Want to know how your fear tastes? Sweet, honeyed, sticky, sticky girl. Addictive.” The last word is purred against your cheek.

             With a giggle he takes your hand, spinning you in a circle before pulling you back against his chest. His other hand wraps around your waist and he sways back and forth, just as you had in the kitchen. He takes a huge step, long, gangly leg reaching into the hallway, towing you with him as he goes. He’s swaying still, waltzing down the hall toward your bedroom. Frantically, you think this is, without a doubt, the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to you.

             As he swings you around, he hums a tune that sounds vaguely familiar but, at the same time, impossible to place. You struggle to keep up with his long strides, stumbling along awkwardly as he half drags, half swings you down the hall. He pauses at the doorway to your room to kick it open, laughing when it bounces off the wall.

             Once inside your room, Pennywise scoops you up and tosses you onto your bed as though you weigh nothing. You bounce, nearly rolling off the other side completely. Before you have a chance to right yourself, he’s gripping your calves, pulling you toward him.

             You expect him to tear off your clothes, but he surprises you once again by bundling you up in his arms and curling up on the bed. The way he holds you, tucked neatly under his chin, drowns your face in the ruffles of his costume and you must crane your neck to avoid suffocation. This close you can smell everything, the rotting carrion scent of his breath, the musty smell of his costume, the metallic tang of blood still lingering on his lips from who knows what.

            You can’t see his face from where you’re smashed against his chest so there’s no way to tell what he’s thinking; if he’s leering at you with all those teeth on display. What is he planning? The suspense is going to make your heart burst.

            “Wiggly thing. Hold. Still,” he commands, crushing you harder against his chest and burying his face into the top of your head. Immediately, you still, your panicked breaths making the dingy ruffles billow. What is happening?

             Is he…is he cuddling you?

             You were wrong before. This is the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to you.

            “Poor pet. Too many thoughts. Human minds are always so frenzied, a thousand wretched insects fluttering, buzzing….” As he muses, he pets your hair, twisting the strands between his spidery fingers. He playfully tugs a strand before resting his hand on the back of your neck.

             Minutes pass where you stare, wide eyed, at the ceiling. Pennywise hasn’t moved, aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. You’re so confused, anxious thoughts reaching, reaching for an explanation.

             You jerk when a low rumble starts up in his chest. At first you think it’s a growl, but when it continues, an incessant, deep, rolling sound that vibrates in your own chest, you realize it’s something else. You gape.

             He’s…purring. Purring, like a cat!

             You give up. The more you try to understand this unusual situation, the more curious it gets. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway. You’re trapped here in his arms until Pennywise decides he’s had enough.

             The clown titters quietly above you. He must realize he’s won. You sigh and will your tense body to relax.

             Eventually you do relax. Your frantic heart rate slows, your gasping breaths even out. The gentle drone emanating from his chest is oddly soothing and soon your eyes droop. The heat from his body lulls you into a cozy, semi-conscious state. Slowly, hesitantly, you slip into slumber.

             In the morning, he’s gone, the mussed bedsheets the only hint he was ever there at all.