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goodfortune-au · 3 years

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Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 15: Together Again

“Jesus! Pennywise-”

“What’s the matter, darling? Are you not pleased to see me? I should think you are, naughty girl, with all those dirty thoughts running around inside your head.”

Her face flares up scarlet again. “I… Of course I want to see you, I just…”

“...Wasn’t ready for all the mental gymnastics?” He strokes her cheek apologetically. “Oh dear, oh dearie me… You’ll forgive ol’ Pennywise, won’t you? He was only trying to make you happy, was only trying to make you laugh… You know, like… This.” That hand drops to her stomach and gives it a devious tickle, and when she lets out a guffaw of helpless little giggles he shrieks with happy hyena laughter.

“Yes, yes! Like that!” He says, practically singing, delighted to find her leaning into his touch rather than away from it. Despite all the teasing and pestering she’s just as pliant as ever, so desperate for warmth and affection and distraction from her problems that she responds to his manipulations with nothing less than outright joy. It pleases him to no end.

When he continues tickling her, she’s starting to lose her breath. “Stop, I, hahahah-- STOP! Pennywise I-- What are you doing here?”

He stops tickling her and lets her catch up. She gulps down air, gasping as she struggles to stay upright. He knew he couldn’t let it go too far- she had asthma. Not the kind like that annoying little brat with the inhaler, but the kind that sent her into coughing fits if there was too much stress on her lungs. No, he needed to be careful, needed to take care of her. Pennywise makes a path for her and leads her to the couch so she can sit down, smoothing a hand down her hair comfortingly as he does so. She sits and looks up at him with tears of laughter in her eyes, wiping them away with a cough. He gets down on bended knee to take her hands in his, and yet even in such a position, he still towers over her. His eyes are golden starlight staring down into hers, earnest and passionate.

“I couldn’t bear to be away from you for another second, my girl. Pennywise needed to come, needed to see his precious Angel with his own two eyes. And what a sight you are for him…” He runs a silken thumb over hers with a sigh. “Tell me… Are you as happy to see him as he is to see you?”

She chokes on her captivation, a dopey smile starting to creep across her face. “Of… Of course I am.” She squeezes his hands and he appears grateful for the reciprocated gesture. The tape is still playing behind them, the credits of Ferris Bueller serving as a backdrop for their clearly romantic moment. Pennywise appears to process this, and on the shadows of his face she can see a grin start to form there.

“...Did you like my performance, pretty girl? I thought I looked pretty good up there on that parade float.”

She starts to burst out laughing again, and the sound of it is music to his ears. “...I c-couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I… I didn’t know that you could do that!”

“Well, they don’t call me the Dancing Clown for nothing, sweetness.”

“Not that, I meant-” She gestures to the screen behind them. “The movie, you just… Made yourself a part of it. I didn’t know you could do that, it was f*cking insane.”

He leans down closer to her face and her heart races. “...I told you I was full of surprises, didn’t I?”

“Well yeah, but, oh!~”

He pulls her to her feet all of a sudden and she cries out when she almost loses balance. But his hands are there to keep her upright and she clings to them for dear life. He holds her steady in his arms, his gaze doesn’t falter.

“I think you’ll be pleased to learn just how much I can do, Angel.” He whispers huskily. She falls silent, her eyes telling the tale of how spellbound, how enraptured she is now in this moment, simply unable to speak as that tingling warmth starts to coil in her belly once more. “Yes…” He tucks a strand of wayward hair behind her ear, and then his hand cups her cheek, resting gently there at the slope of her jaw. “I think you’ll come to find that I can offer you more than you knew you ever wanted… The entire world, if you so desire it…”

“...The entire world…?” She repeats back to him, dizzy and lovesick.

He stares back into her eyes, truly in love with the way they twinkle like water from a rich mossy brook. “Yes…” They’re both silent for a time in each other’s arms, the tension, the chemicals clearly there between them but neither one will make a move. “Yes…” He pulls back a little, and her heart sinks ever so slightly. “...But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, dear pet. Like I said, we should take our time, take things slooooooow…” He starts to sway her ever so gently in his arms and she giggles. They both stop again and he looks down at her.

“...Do you know how to dance, Angel?” He asks her.

Her face slightly flushes at the question. “I-Well.. I used to take dance when I was a little girl, but I… I haven’t practiced in years, so… No.”

“Well then…” He says, his voice deep and sultry. “Maybe I’ll just have to teach you.”

He hadn’t taught her that night. No, Angel found she was much too tired to absorb anything new, regardless of how electrified she was at Pennywise’s reappearance, so he’d simply taken her to the haven of her bed, pulled back the covers, deposited her gently onto the mattress and joined her there, holding her so gently and sweetly until her eyes had grown heavy and she’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t tried anything. No- now was not the time for such things. He knew he needed to be patient, needed to hold himself back until it drove her mad. He wouldn’t even kiss her, not yet, not when a such crucial juncture in their relationship was still ahead, one that needed to be handled with the utmost of care. He knew that he needed to be careful- as much as she was leaning headfirst into all of his attentions, she was still, after all, a human girl, and a compassionate one at that. Once she learned who he was, who he truly was, things could go one of two ways; she would either turn away from him completely, or she would justify his actions and stay with him. Though he had ways to make her come around to the idea regardless of any opposition, he hoped and planned for the latter. He knew it to be entirely plausible; she had, after all, done such a thing in the past following his disposal of that shopkeeper. She hadn’t known for sure that it was him but she had certainly entertained the possibility, and even still she found herself slowly starting to rationalize such a heinous act, though she might never dare to admit it. Loving and tenderhearted though she was, he knew there was a darkness inside of her, a dormant darkness just waiting to be awakened. She was his counterpart, she was his other half. She was caring; she was a human side to his untamed monster, but she was not without that untamed monster tainting the honeyed sweetness within. He just needed to rouse it from slumber.

He hadn’t taught her that night, or the night after that, or the night after that. He had, however, been coming back to visit on an increasingly more regular basis much to her delight. He would usually come in the afternoons to evenings. She would come home from work, worn out after a long day, and find him waiting for her in her living room. She had reacted to a lot of his manifestations at first with surprise- pleasant surprise, albeit- but surprise nonetheless. After a time, however, just as with the gifts, she had become in tune to a certain pattern of behavior which she could use to anticipate him. This came when she wouldn’t hear anything from him in a while; that is, she wouldn’t hear his voice when she woke up in the morning, wouldn’t feel eyes lingering on her while she was getting dressed or while she was in the shower or the light tremor under her feet when she acknowledged his presence with teasing displays. Wouldn’t hear him talking in her ear as she walked her commute or as she worked her shift. No, he would be strangely absent apart from the occasional gift, a gesture she knew to be his own subtle way of informing her that he was, in fact, still there with her, that he hadn’t abandoned her, that she wasn’t alone in the big, bad town of Derry, even as the looming threat of disappearances was still hanging over everyone’s heads. And then, one day, usually three to four after his apparent vanishment, she would come through the door and be greeted by sweeping touches, peppered kisses on her cheek or on her neck and she would melt, would breathe it all in wholeheartedly and welcome him back into her arms.

Angel adored the attention, Angel was hypnotized by it. It was energizing, it was revitalizing in a way she couldn’t put words to. Ever since Georgie’s disappearance, she was slowly finding herself at a growing decline. Work was no longer exciting, hadn't been for a long time; it was simply another routine she had become disenchanted with. Living alone was suddenly more than she could handle with grace, a problem she wished she could say she was encountering for the first time, but it was, in fact, something she had grappled with in the past. It was true, living alone had gotten easier with the Derry Public Library, but that meant almost nothing with the onset of another bad depression funk, which she knew was coming. She could see it from a mile away but she was virtually powerless to stop it, almost immobilized as she saw the dark cloud draw nearer and ascend over her head like a death knell. Suddenly she had felt sluggish, could hardly muster the strength to get out of bed every morning and continue with her daily obligations. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t take care of herself properly. When he had first come along, it was no different. He was simply an escape, just another coping mechanism. She felt herself becoming obsessed, could feel herself slipping headlong into another fixation, an escape from dull and wearisome reality. It brought her happiness but there was something missing from it all. That something had come to her on Valentine’s Day, when she finally felt his touch for the first time and suddenly, so suddenly, it had all become real.

And how real it all was now. She could hardly believe it, the way her dreams had come true. It was almost like a fairytale, with him the dashing prince and her the elegant princess being swept off her feet. It was all so deliciously idealistic and wonderful, she wanted more than anything for it to last forever because she had… Never felt so special before. Pennywise made her feel special. From the beginning, he had been nothing but kind and chivalrous, giving and generous to her. Protective and gallant, coming to her rescue on multiple occasions whether it be a physical threat or her own feelings trying to kill her from the inside out. The way he spoke of her, the way he touched her… No one had ever done that before. It all felt so perfect, and it was addicting. It was starting to make her blind to all her problems, like they all simply didn’t matter so long as he was there with her. She had even started to get a little better as his visits continued.

It had all started slowly after Valentine’s Day. Though Angel was by no means an ingrate to Pennywise’s vocal support and encouragement of her, she was nonetheless still despondent on almost a day to day basis. She was still having difficulties getting out of bed, even as he sang to her and urged her to slip from the covers with a smile on her face (“Rise and shine, my sweet little bird, it’s time for you to get up and face the day!”), was still having trouble with keeping up hygiene and eating correctly even as Pennywise bolstered her to make better decisions and take better care of herself. Even as she continued to gain weight from poor dietary decisions, he was still supportive and kind; he complimented her, commented on how cute she was, how beautiful, and showed open and enthusiastic attraction to her and her body, often while she was getting dressed or showering (“Your curves are so ravishing, darling; you look like a precious work of art”), phantom hands grasping her as he did so. Would deal with her intrusive thoughts as he lulled her to sleep, singing the same lullaby each and every night (“Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clements,”). But as time went on and the weeks passed, as Pennywise had begun visiting her in person and giving her reason to be bigger than the challenges she faced, she found herself finding purpose among the grit once more. She was becoming a little happier again.

Along the way, he had reinvigorated her love for the arts again too. Angel was an artistic girl, always had been, but her depression often had a way of snuffing the flame of inspiration anytime it had started to thrive and burn. Throughout the years, she lived through a tiring cycle. She would spend months and months in a slump, in some kind of creative limbo, she would dread the idea of picking up a pencil, couldn’t muster a single idea to put onto the paper, be it in the form of art or written word. She would spend such time agonizing over her lack of productivity, and then suddenly, it would all come back to her again like a lightbulb being switched on in her brain. A flood of motivation would come to her, and she would revel in an artistic renaissance once more. She would inevitably fall back into another slump just as quickly as it had gone, but in the meantime she tried her best to take advantage of the manic period that had come to her like a blessing, a bombshell of efficiency she would do well not to waste. She would make all manner of things during these times, mostly morbid art she wouldn’t dare show anyone (that, like most things, had been mostly beaten out of her over the years), mostly of characters she’d conjured out of her own imagination; she would sing, she would cook, she would write. And sometimes, sometimes, she would play.

Angel was a musician. She had started in the 4th grade, had inherited a trumpet from her grandfather, who had passed it down to her father before her. It was a 1920 H.N White King Liberty model with a silver bell, and she’d grown up treasuring it throughout her entire adolescence. She was quite good too; she’d had something of a natural talent for it, having been born with musical blood and all on both her mother and her father’s side (mom had played cello, and was damn good at it as well). She’d gone from playing the ever obligatory Hot Cross Buns to complicated concert etudes over the course of her childhood, had achieved first chair consistently and was even drafted for honor band ensembles a couple times. When she’d gotten to high school she’d only improved, had taken up marching, jazz and concert band for her elective classes. Derry High School was by no means prodigious or impressive in any regard when it came to their musical department, but she took it all in stride anyway, thriving in a performative setting whether it be a marching band competition or improvisational soloing in jazz. It was one of many of her hobbies that she exploited to chase that ever elusive feeling, the feeling of being special.

Pennywise had already known all this about Angel, but he thought it best to feign ignorance of her past for the time being, choosing instead to “learn” things about her naturally throughout the course of many conversations with her; all in an excuse to engage, to build their chemistry organically. His omniscience was something he felt he could let her find out about in time. Though she was more than aware of his otherworldly existence at this point, he didn’t want to risk freaking her out too much with things she wouldn’t yet be able to understand. So instead, he talked to her. He asked her questions; he was interested in what she had to say, because she was, after all, a very interesting person, though she would hardly ever give herself due credit for that. She would tell him things about herself, would regale him with stories about her childhood and her years as a teenager, all her trials and tribulations, her pitfalls, her various mishaps and misadventures. She would even ask him questions on occasion, like where he had come from, what the extent of his power was, why he had chosen her, but his answers were mostly cryptic and indirect (“A place far beyond all this, little one”, “More than you can possibly imagine, dearest,” “How could I have chosen what was made especially for me, precious?”); they frankly seemed to inspire more mysteries than they had solved but she thought it best not to needle him too much. She was sure it would all come in time.

So Pennywise had begun with encouraging her art. Would appear over her shoulder or whisper in her ear, telling her little things, little details about things that she was drawing that he particularly liked or found fascinating. He praised her creativity and the macabre nature of her work; asked her things about her characters, requests for knowledge which she was all too happy to oblige. He liked her inkwork, found it bold and rich and thorough, evocative of her distinctive style. He would tell her as much, and enjoyed the blush on her face at every compliment, each boost to her self-worth that she so desperately needed. She was so shy, and had started out mostly unreceptive to his admiration, but in time he had built her up to accept it with meek appreciation, a far cry better than the self-deprecation of before. It wasn’t much, but he would take what victories he could get. One way or another, she would come to see how special she was. He would see to it.

Praising one hobby had progressed onto praising the next, and the next after that. Pennywise had never had much of a taste for human food, but he could tell that Angel clearly had a knack for cooking that was not to be overlooked, and he would laud her creations with enthusiasm. He read the things she wrote and spoke favorably of the strong sense of voice in her words, the way he could feel her personality, could see it bleeding from the pages. And then finally, he had come in on her one day while she was playing her trumpet. She’d picked it up again on a whim one afternoon after work; truth be told, she’d let it slip to the wayside out of self-consciousness after one too many harsh complaints from the neighbors, as while she could shake off their ire at the volume of her punk records, she could stomach less the idea that her playing was too offensive to the ears to be heard. So she’d stopped, and hadn’t played for about a couple years or so, letting her hard-earned range and technique from years of playing dwindle into rust. But now, in the presence of Pennywise and the respite from her problems and insecurities that he brought, she had felt a little inspired to pick back up from where she had left off. She had started out incredibly awkward in her articulations, and it had been a little embarrassing when he would walk in on her fumbling with the valves but this, like all things, was not something Pennywise would react to with disdain or derision. No, he was nothing but sweet and supportive, and in less than a week she was back to tackling improvisation, her favorite part of jazz which was, by a landslide, her elective of choice back in her school days.

And then it had only naturally progressed from there. Once she had gotten her technique back and was improvising once more, she’d started playing her jazz records again. This was different from her hardcore records, they were emotional and full of soul in a different way. She liked the classics, mostly big band acts, and had a modest collection of them on vinyl; Count Basie, Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, and Dizzy Gillespie were just some of the big names she admired. She liked to play along as much as she could. She admittedly wasn’t the best when it came to playing by ear but if given time and room for studious contemplation she could discern the notes and write down tabs for them. Pennywise loved to come listen to her play; liked to dance for her when she did, most often doing the Charleston or the Twist, would make her crack up laughing in the middle of her performances as he would shimmy and jive about the living room. It was so strange and so delightful, and though Angel had seen bright spots before in her life, they were nothing at all like this somehow.

The days had continued just like this, with Pennywise leaving her gifts, Pennywise talking to her almost every day, coming to visit her when he didn’t and delighting her with his presence every time. Her favorite days were the days they talked, the days they spent lazing away on the couch together, the days she played for him, the days they laughed. Even her worst days were bearable with him around to take care of her, and things didn’t seem to be so bad when all he needed to do was take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay. All it took was one simple embrace and suddenly it all didn’t matter, none of it did. His voice was like a balm to her soul, the sweetest lullaby that soothed her to sleep like a resting babe, could have her out like a light within minutes. His stare was almost the same, in a sense. When she looked into his eyes, she felt something patently unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was like a siren song, calling to her from someplace unknown, someplace far beyond her understanding and it made her so warm, it almost made her burn inside with something mad, something dizzying that had her stumbling, flitting towards it helplessly like a moth drawn to flame. Though it would have her losing consciousness every time, she found herself addicted to the sensation, so enamored with his stare that she simply couldn’t help herself.

Pennywise could not be more pleased at the natural progression of their relationship so far. When all of this had started, when he had first awoken from his great twenty-seven year sleep and come to detect her deliciously fragrant aura fanning over his senses like a delicate perfume, he had expected an uphill battle, had expected her to react to his interactions with confusion at best and outright horror at worst. Though he dared not think on it, some small part of him feared the latter, feared that she might shy away from him, ignore him, spurn him. It was a part of Pennywise that was irrational and free of complex thought, and that part of him stirred with unease at the idea that she might move on without him, find some other stupid, silly human to mate with and give all her love and attention to. That he might have to do things the hard way and rip her from their arms kicking and screaming, taking her unwilling to the bowels beneath Derry where they would stay together for years. No, he did not want that. It was an unsavory end to eons spent in pining and anticipation, and he was better than that, was greater than to let some mere mortal stand in the way of destiny and fate. It was an unreasonable notion anyway, he knew it to be so. He was sure that the very same fate and destiny that had given him such a gift had seen fit to guarantee his eventual conquest for, after all, she’d already come so far in her life without courting another human soul. Her perceived undesirability to the others, her status as a social pariah in the town was simply insurance to his ends, a way to keep her isolated from all those who weren’t worthy.

And yet here she was, flitting eagerly towards him and his ploys to bring them closer together; accepting his gifts, his love and attention without a second thought, and all because she had never in her life been shown the time of day before. How lonely she had always been, overlooked and neglected by most everyone in her life for years; the kid picked last in gym, the third wheel to everyone’s shallow little relationships, the shy girl afraid to truly speak up for herself for fear of alienating herself even further. She might have put on a brave face throughout her childhood, pretended to be hardened and impervious to the hurtful words and actions of others, but he knew better. He knew who she was, who she truly was, and he knew how fragile her ego and sense of self worth really was, even if she pretended otherwise with her loud sense of fashion and boisterous sense of humor. His focus, his recognition and interest, it was the sweetest candy in existence to her and he knew she was so starved for it that she would do little else but gobble it all up as it came to her, as he offered it with a gracefully gentle silken hand. And with every single piece she would be further hypnotized, letting the saccharine poison linger on her tongue until it was the only taste in existence she craved. And her attention, in turn, was something he craved so terribly that it was almost an ache, an emptiness in his eldritch soul. He wanted to occupy her mind so completely, wanted to be her central preoccupation in everything. He wanted her to love him more than anyone or anything else on this disgusting little planet. He wanted to possess her completely and utterly in mind and body, and be the only thing she would ever truly care about. He wanted her. All of her.

And it would seem he was well on his way to having her, if the past few weeks were any indication. He loved being with her, and he loved how delighted she always was to see him. She’d started out so shy and closed off to his compliments, would always either refuse them or angle her face to the floor in embarrassment whenever he praised her. He’d needed to work on that. No, no mate of his would be so unsure of their worth and value, so doubtful and hesitant to acknowledge their own precious merit. It was an honor in itself to be intertwined with him in such a fashion; to be destined to a creature so great as himself made her a priceless little trifle, and she needed to know just how priceless she was. He would stop at nothing until she knew, and thankfully he was making great headway as of late. She was starting to write again, to make more of her precious art, was spending hours in the kitchen just slaving away to make things just for his delight and appraisal. She needn’t know that he sated his palate on things of a different nature, not yet at least. In the meantime he was content to try her creations with cloying enthusiasm, building her up with passionate admiration for her efforts and leaving her just a little more bound to him, more prone to hinging on his every word. And the days she had started playing that darling little trumpet of hers were his favorite. Her soul came out the most when she was playing her music; she would get so lost in it that he could just see all the dormant exuberance and vivacity inside, just begging to see release. The way her eyes would close while she was improvising, the way the voice of her horn would rise and fall with each note, the way her hips would sway with each resonant refrain... The music was simply a channel, a conduit with which she could soar to heights that truly suited her, the only worthy counterpart to him, the insidiously wicked beast of Derry.

And as the frigid days of winter slowly melted into the fresh dew of spring, a special occasion was appearing over the horizon. Calendar days of March flitted off into the wind until April had slowly come of age, and Pennywise could see as the days progressed how Angel stewed with stirring anticipation of a sort. Her birthday was coming, and he knew it, though he wouldn’t admit as much to her. No, he wanted that to come as a surprise. He knew that Angel’s birthday, much like most other occasions in her life, was little more than an annual disappointment. With little money and even less friends around to celebrate the affair, it was often something Angel looked to swallow quickly so she could move on and continue life as usual. Though her birthdays were never distinctly bad, they were nonetheless patently unremarkable events. The only noteworthy milestone in age was that of her 21st birthday, as now she could at least drown her sorrows in alcohol whenever she felt the urge to do so. It was rather lucky indeed that that particular urge hadn’t possessed her as of this current depression spiral, though she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t started to become tempting before Pennywise had introduced himself. With all of this in mind, he had been thinking of ways to commemorate the event. He could feel how antsy, could taste on his tongue how restless she was. With all the late night visits, all the teasing and the heavy petting, he knew that she wanted more from him. It was plainly obvious, even if she hadn’t any idea just how obvious it was. He knew her to be desperate for something of more substance, but he couldn’t take her, couldn’t even kiss her just yet, even if some deep, dark part of the recesses of her mind yearned impatiently for it. No, better to save such things for crucial junctures in their relationship, when she was much more likely to reject him in the wake of unsavory discoveries. He intended to weaponize his advances, and introduce them only when necessary, when it would benefit him most. The time to lavish her with pleasure and ecstasy would come, he just needed to be patient and dangle the spoils just frustratingly out of her reach.

In the meantime, however, he needed to draw her in more, and he knew this to be a ripe opportunity to do so. He’d started to prepare some weeks in advance, planning and plotting a simple romantic evening that would have her eating right out of his hand. He’d already laid the groundwork for the night to come, and he would come to her with a modest but elegant gift, meaningful and significant in its intent to draw her in. He would entice and seduce her with his charms, would hold her close and taste the delicious wanton desire, and follow through on a promise from before. He would orchestrate the tension between them and intentionally let it fall short, would leave her frustrated from the lack of resolution, leave her wanting more than ever before. But he wouldn’t indulge it, not now. Despite his own primal desire and lust, he would hold himself back, because now wasn’t the time. No, no, not when there was so much yet to be done. He wanted so badly to take her, and he loved to see her pine for him in turn, but now wasn’t the time.

And on the day of the 17th, he’d planned to make his move. He woke her up as he often did, had watched her shower and dress for the day, had seen her out of the house and talked to her normally, plainly and unassumingly as though he had no idea what the special occasion was. She hadn’t told him, was too shy to do so, so she’d simply kept her mouth shut and continued on with her day. And what a hellish day it had gradually turned out to be. It started when she came to clock in for work; the commute had taken a little longer than usual due to an unusual surplus of traffic, and the librarian had given her what for as a result. She became sheepish and jittery, taking to the front desk with the intent to forget it but finding that she kept reflecting on her chastisement with embarrassment through the hours. She kept stuttering when talking to the patrons, had stumbled on her words on more than one occasion, so she had increasingly fallen silent after a number of mortifying social blunders. How she wished for Pennywise to whisper in her ear as he often did, offer her encouragement and counsel for all her trouble, but no, he seemed strangely absent on this day. She figured he had other things to attend to; he sometimes did, and she didn’t pry into his dealings, but she often found herself disappointed as a result. She at least hoped to find a gift for the day, an offering that she might delude herself into thinking was a present for her special occasion, but no such luck even as she clocked out and took her lunch break, the time she would usually stumble on such a prize. Lunch was an ordeal all its own; on her way out to the town monument she’d stepped in an errant pile of dog shit, and no amount of scraping and scuffing would get it completely off the bottom of her shoe. She’d found that the apple in her lunch box had a spot of mold on it, rendering it inedible, and as she ate her sandwich she was met with an unfortunate mustard stain on her blouse. Trying to wash it off in the sink only seemed to make it worse somehow, and as she bungled through the rest of her shift she found herself increasingly disheartened.

The Losers had come over the weekend before to celebrate, but it had turned out to be little more than the same proceedings as always. She would welcome them in, they would take to her couch to talk about school and the Bowers gang, catch up a little, they might take in a movie of some kind, a VHS off Angel’s bookshelf; Bill would be mostly silent as a result of his ever-present grief, Eddie and Richie would bicker with Stan sometimes snarkily interjecting, Angel would have to intervene and break them up. It was a cycle she admittedly grew tired of sometimes, as much as she loved them all, and as time wore on she found herself getting exhausted at their presence, so she’d sent them home after some hours spent horsing around. She felt a little guilty for feeling the way that she did, but she could hardly help it; call her jaded, but she was increasingly fatigued at having to always be the adult in these situations. Though she’d always dreamt of having children, it was nonetheless overwhelming to be in charge of four of them at once a lot of the time. It was times like these she really wished their parents would take a more hands on approach with their kids, but she knew they likely wouldn’t care enough to do such a thing. No, as much as Angel sometimes resented it, she was big sister to them all for better or for worse. In times like these, it was definitely for the latter, though she would never dare admit it.

So she’d finished work for the day, had finished clean up and finally clocked out, then began her walk home. Her legs were spent from being on her feet all day, and she simply wanted to go home and take a nap so she could bring herself from one dull day into the next. Maybe the next day she might see Pennywise, or at the very least hear from him again. She always held out for the possibility, had always looked forward to it, to that warm feeling she’d feel coursing through her as the precursor to his inevitable manifestation. The walk home was surprisingly uneventful, no blunders to worsen the day, but on the flip side of the coin, she hadn’t found any gifts either. No little trifles poking out of crevices on the ground, nothing dangling innocently off a tree branch for her discovery. No, he was simply absent in every sense of the word, and on this day in particular she found that especially disappointing. She wanted more than anything to see him, wanted to look on his ethereal visage with the same moonstruck gaze as always, the one that always crept across her face when she found him waiting for her, expecting her. His fiery hair, his gorgeous eyes, his striking makeup and elegant silken suit; he was truly beautiful in every sense of the word. That he had chosen her still baffled her beyond all measure, but she had gone past the stages of questioning it. If what he said was true, after all, choice had nothing to do with it. It was, as he said, destiny, and having seen what she had seen over the course of this year, she was somewhat inclined to believe it, as ridiculous as it all sounded. As much as she wanted to put this entire day behind her, she also wanted more than anything to tell him about her day, to confess how much this day meant to her in the hopes that he might do something about it, might make it up to her in a way that only he could. Fat chance, she thinks wistfully, and she fishes out her key ring to swing open the front door. When she steps inside, however, she hears the familiar lilt of his voice, and she looks up, startled.

“Happy birthday, my sweet.”

She’s taken aback by the display in front of her. Candles everywhere, lighting up the dark room. The soft glow of the flames make it all seem unreal. Candy red balloons bob and float carelessly about the ceiling, the strings dangling down like gossamer spider thread. There’s a familiar scent in the air and she knows that it’s him, the cloying scent of a traveling carnival, rich and unearthly and eternal. And he’s there in the middle of it all, his face lit up by the luminous display all around him, simply waiting for her arrival. He carries a box in his hands, one simple and tasteful in its wrapping, with a red bow affixed to the top. She drops her bag on the floor, stunned and speechless. He beckons her forward with a smile.

“Come to Pennywise, my pet, he has something to give you.”

“P-Pennywise, I-”

“ Shhhhhh, don’t question it. Just come here.”

She feels a shiver run up her spine at the gentleness of his voice, so wonderfully seductive and sensuous in tone. Her legs move of their own accord, simply propelled forward by her wordless elation. She resists the urge to run. She comes to him and with the box in one hand he carefully takes her by the hand and guides her to the couch.

“Sit down, darling.”

She complies and with a tender exchange he hands her the box. She gives him a silent look of gratitude and numbly begins to unwrap it. She undoes the bow and sets the ribbon aside, and she tears away the wrapping paper with cautious consideration. Waiting inside is a vanity box of some kind, and when she opens it up her breath hitches in her throat.

Oranges and lemons

Say the bells of St. Clements

You owe me five farthings

Say the Bells of St. Martins

The box sings a delicate lullaby melody in the form of pinstruck notes on the tuned teeth of a steel comb. It’s a music box warbling the refrain of Oranges and Lemons , the familiar cradlesong he had used to lull her to sleep so many times before. In the center of it sits a ceramic clown, poised in an elegant pirouette, and it spins slowly to the tune. Tears start to prickle in her eyes.

“Pennywise, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Open the middle drawer.” He whispers.

When she does so, she finds something waiting inside, a familiar sight she had looked on with fascination so many times before, a feature she had so always admired. Suddenly, she realizes something missing from the sleeve of his right arm, and she takes the trifle out of the box to examine it in the lucent candlelight. It jingles softly as she holds it up. It’s one of the bells from his suit, attached to a simple golden necklace, and as she looks on it with wonder she starts to melt. He reaches down to stroke her cheek fondly.

“...This way I can always be with you, even when I’m far away. Come, darling, turn around so I can put it on you.”

She obeys him in her stupefied daze, and she shudders with breathless exhilaration when those silken hands brush up against her neck. He sweeps her hair out of the way and fastens the clasp around her neck, his touch tickling ever so slightly when it lingers on her collarbone. The necklace hangs tastefully about her throat, and when he brushes her hair from her shoulders to her back again he leans forward to whisper in her ear.

“Come with me.” It’s such a simple and dominant request, and she feels the coil in her belly start to flare up as he gets up and extends a hand to her. She takes it again and he pulls her up off the couch.

“Do you know how to foxtrot, my dear?”

She’s caught off guard by the question and, suddenly, memories of one of their earlier conversations comes flooding back to her.

“N-no, I don’t… I don’t think so.”

The record player speaks up now, starting to play a pleasant tune. She recognizes it, a track from one of her favorite movies. It’s ghostly and beautiful and she shivers when she hears it, a light piano melody that segues into a comforting horn refrain. It’s Midnight with the Stars and You, courtesy of Ray Noble and his orchestra.

“Come. It’s easy, I’ll show you…”

He takes her to the vacant space of the dining room, and all she can do is simply follow behind him. The candlelight with the music is intoxicating, and the scent of his presence only works to hypnotize her even more. He leads her with one hand and as he turns to face her he simply towers over her, a creature that might be intimidating to anyone else but not to her, never to her. The way he looks down into her eyes so fondly is spellbinding, staring into her like she was the most exquisite little thing in the world, something rare to be loved and cherished. She feels small just then, not in a way that was degrading or in any way demeaning, but just because he feels like the entire universe in that moment; unfathomably big and all-encompassing and, most of all, warm. She can’t breathe.

“Keep your left hand… Here.” He purrs, repositioning her fingers delicately on the broad slope of his shoulder. “...And your other hand here in mine.” She giggles bashfully and he grins. “Now,” He says, his stare unwavering. “Watch, keep your lovely hazel eyes on me.” He demonstrates a few gentle twists and turns and she’s simply swept along for the ride, her feet gliding along with his and matching his canter, if a bit clumsily. They move about the room in fluid motion, coming back and forth, to and fro, in a seductive circle that has Angel overcome with dizziness. She tries her best to obey his wordless commands, timid and insecure in her movements. He can see how shy and embarrassed she is and he’s just as gentle as ever, using his feet and his grip on her hand to guide her.

“Yes, follow my lead, sweetheart. It’s so easy…”

Midnight with the stars and you

Midnight and a rendezvous

Your eyes held a message tender

Saying "I surrender all my love to you…

He takes her into a soothing back and forth sway and she moves with him, letting him lead the way, letting him take her wherever he pleases. The tension between them is inescapable, it does nothing but emphasize the growing heat in the room. She starts to get the hang of it in time, though her form is still ungainly and unsure. She missteps and breaks out into flustered laughter, angling her red face to the floor in an effort to avoid any imagined judgment. His hand leaves her hip for just a second and he tilts her chin up to look at him again.

"No no no, pretty girl, eyes up here. I want you to look at Pennywise, nothing would bring him greater joy..."

She squeaks and nods, squeezing his hand reflexively. He squeezes back, fixing her with a reassuring gaze as they start to move again.

"That's it… Thaaaat's it. Oh, you're doing so good… My good, precious, talented little Angel…"

“Am I…Am I doing this right..?” She asks him, her voice quiet, her tone unsure. She drums the fingers of her left hand nervously on his shoulder. Her movements are tentative and cautious, but still he smiles at her. “I… Told you I used to take dance when I was little, but I’m afraid I lost any ounce of grace or poise I might have had before. I, hahaha… I feel like a cat on ice.”

“You’re like a perfect little ballerina.” He whispers decadently.

She flushes. “You think so?”

“I know so, precious. Look at you, learning so fast…”

He twirls her away from him with one hand and she yelps when she comes colliding back into his chest. She looks up at him with stars in her eyes, breathless and gasping. He looks down at her with a coy grin, enjoying her captivation, so easy to secure and yet so delicious to savor. He holds her close, their bodies pressed together, not tightly, but just enough to create friction. She picks it up more and more with each step, pensive though she was, and as they move and sashay about the room with one another her movements gradually become more graceful.

Midnight brought us sweet romance

I know all my whole life through

I'll be remembering you

Whatever else I do

He looks down at her as he looms above, tall and imposing. But despite it all she’s not afraid. No, she’s never afraid with him, never more than simply enchanted with his presence and taken with the way he looks at her, the way his eyes glint so splendidly with torrid passion at the mere sight of her face. All it takes is a few seconds of tension and she finds herself getting hung up on those eyes, his hair, his perfect red-capped nose… His lips…

Midnight with the stars and you…

Her heartbeat starts to move faster in her chest as he stares down into her. The way they still move together is captivating, their feet fluid as they circle elegantly around the room in each other’s arms. He’s chasing her, leading her into a corner and all she can do is let it happen. She wants it, needs it to happen more than anything else in the world, more than anything in this very moment, and as the walls are closing in around them they get ever closer to that final end. He’s leaning in close, she starts to part her lips-

Reeee EEEORRRWH!!

“F*CK!”

In just a second, all tension is gone from the room. Angel trips clumsily over Mayor Jello and almost goes sprawling backward to the floor. Pennywise is quick, though, and catches her in his arms, setting her upright in his hold again. He savors the feeling of her clinging to his chest and the way she heaves in air through her own, gasping and panting and out of breath. She starts to giggle hysterically into the silk, wiping away tears of joy as she looks up at him again.

“Are you alright, my sweet?”

“Yeah, y-yeah I…” She laughs. “Good thing you caught me, I almost ate shit.”

She hugs him tight, and he hugs her back, the both of them laughing, sharing in the joy together. They don’t kiss.

#pennywise #daddywise #chapter fifteen #together again #it 2017 #it chapter one #pennywise x oc #pennywise x angel #good fortune

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