Pluviophile (Pennywise x Reader)

The Storm

(A/n: Hi! I'm Rose. Welcome to my fanfic based on the 2016 film It, directed by Andy Muschetti. Unless stated otherwise, do note that any images and music used for this story is via Google or Youtube. Please enjoy, and thanks for reading!)

*

You were an avid runner. You loved going in the mornings (you worked from home), but lately you switched to night due to your sleeplessness.

Your routine run was cut short one evening when you saw thunder clouds overhead, accompanied by bouts of lightning. The smell of rain hit you hard and usually made you smile, but you weren't home in bed to enjoy it. You were outdoors and far away. Rain dropped down like heavy bullets which spurred you to find the nearest shelter. In this case, sadly, said shelter would be 29 Neibolt Street. The ghost house. It wasn't in the way, but you had no choice.

You sighed when you reached the porch, trying to dry yourself. You smoothed down your hair, hoping you at least looked decent. Townsfolk said that unspeakable things happened here, everytime. Nowadays, it seemed that only hobos and junkies used the place for their activities. You came in, reminding yourself to scoot if you saw one.

You didn't bother to knock, dashing straight to the old living room sofa to relax. At least, the furniture provided you comfort and inspired fatigue for your mild insomnia. Running, besides being a hobby, was a way to tire you out naturally.

A low thud in the floorboards nearby caught your attention. Who could it be? As far as you know, the hobos are quiet like mice and avoided interaction with others. Perhaps a cat or squirrel made itself at home here.

*

"Hello, shorty." Distracted by overthinking, you turned to see the figure on your far left. His silhoutte suggested that he had been standing there for quite some time, observing you like a hawk. Suddenly, a flash of lightning chose that moment to illuminate his intimidating face. He'd looked fairly normal from afar, but you could see now the faded circus make up and dried up drool stains on his vintage costume. Gross.

What surprised you the most was his tone of voice, the dark delight it brought along. "I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown. You must be Miss What-The-Cat-Dragged-In." He commented, then hooting with laughter at his own dumb joke. He then took a seat by the fireplace.