💜 William Afton's one true love and biggest fan 💜

The entity is there and not; solid yet soft, hollow like a balloon losing its firmness. Its body functions purely by its own will and endless hunger. There are no bones beneath the costume, no muscle or organs or fat. With enough willpower you’re fairly certain your hand would push right through it.

No matter how many times you’ve touched it, your mind has to turn somersaults just to make even the slightest sense of it. And yet, it’s soft and so very warm.

Fascinating. Comforting.

Your hand travels up into its copper curls, your fingernails scratching its scalp, then trailing back down the nape of its neck. Up and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You’re so preoccupied, you don’t notice the subtle slump of its shoulders or the curve of its back, arching into your touch. Not until it chuffs and turns its head to glare at you over its shoulder. “What are you doing?”

What are you doing? You aren’t quite sure. Pennywise is ancient, malevolent, powerful beyond comprehension. And you’re petting it like a kitty. 

“How does it feel?” you ask, and then, “Do you want me to stop?”

It draws in a long breath that rattles at the back of its throat. It’s a sound not unlike a growl, or perhaps a purr. “You reek of contentment.”

“You’re avoiding the answer,” you say, withdrawing your hand and letting it hover a few inches above its shoulder.

There aren’t many—if any— Pennywise would tolerate the way it does you. Though perhaps tolerate is too weak a sentiment. Afterall, it seeks you out almost obsessively and clings to your side when it isn’t out seeking sustenance. And when it bares its teeth, its lip curls into a smile. You amuse it at the very least, though it often feels like delight. “Oh-hoho, cheeky cheeky thing. Do you expect me to beg? To roll onto my back like a pitiful little puppydog and whine for bellyrubs?” 

“Are you offering?”

The sudden weight of it sprawled face-down across your lap nearly knocks the wind from you.

It huffs and growls as it settles into place, then turns its head away from you to say, “you may continue.”

“Oh, I may?” you respond, biting back a smile as you resume your petting, your fingers spiraling along the ridges where its spine ought to be. “Like this?”