"Beneath the Skin"
Title: “Beneath the Skin”: It fanfiction
Pairing: Pennywise ( Bill Skarsgård ) x Reader Male
Genre: Horror | Supernatural | Psychological Obsession | Dark Romance
Warnings: horror elements, disturbing attraction, trauma themes, emotionally intense scenes.
Summary: As a child, you encountered Pennywise and felt an unnatural pull toward him—terrified, yet fascinated. Your parents, clearly knowing more than they ever admitted, fled Derry in fear to keep you away. But years later, now grown and unable to resist the connection, you return—drawn by a force deeper than fear.
You were seven the first time you saw him.
It had just rained. You’d wandered down the street chasing your paper airplane, soggy and limp in the gutter. You remember the smell of wet earth, the heaviness in the air. And the sound — the slow, steady drip of water sliding down a storm drain.
That’s when you heard the voice.
Low. Playful. “Careful, little one. Might fall in.”
You turned your head, and your stomach dropped.
He was there.
White skin, almost glowing. Crimson smile curled at the edges, lips split too wide to be human. Fire-colored hair. And eyes — those unnatural golden eyes — fixed on you like you were something beautiful.
You didn’t run.
You couldn’t.
You were afraid, yes — but something inside you reached forward. A pull. A strange warmth in your chest. Like gravity.
He tilted his head. “You see me,” he said, almost surprised.
“I— I… shouldn’t…” you whispered, unsure what you were saying.
He leaned closer. You could smell something underneath the sweet rot — something ancient. Not like a man, or a clown, or anything you’d ever known. Like iron, and nightmares, and hunger.
Then he grinned wider. “You’re special.”
You didn’t breathe again until your mother’s scream tore through the air.
----
“Don’t say his name!”
You sat at the kitchen table, small and shaking, wrapped in a towel.
Your mother’s hands trembled as she scrubbed mud off your face. Her mouth was pressed in a tight line. Your father stood in the corner, pale and still, like a statue made of nerves.
“I didn’t— I didn’t get close,” you tried to explain, eyes wide. “He was just… looking at me.”
“He talked to you?” your father’s voice was sharp. “He spoke to you?”
You nodded.
That’s when your mother dropped the cloth.
“We’re leaving,” she said immediately. “Tonight.”
“What?!” you blinked, startled.
“I won’t lose him,” she whispered, more to herself than to you. “We said if anything ever happened, if he came near—”
“Do you think he marked him?” your father muttered, eyes narrowing. “That he knows—?”
“Stop!” your mother shouted, voice cracking. “Don’t even say it. We leave now. Before he gets into his head. Before he— before he takes him.”
They looked at you like you were already half-lost.
You didn’t understand.
Not then.
But even as they packed, and drove all night across state lines, part of you stayed behind.
Still kneeling by that storm drain.
Still staring into yellow eyes.
----
Fifteen years later, Derry calls you back.
You don’t tell your parents. You don’t even say goodbye.
You just… go.
You’re not sure what finally broke you. The dreams? The pull? That feeling in your chest that had grown over time — an ache that no person, no job, no city could dull?
You tried to ignore it. You tried everything.
But the closer you got to Derry, the more your body began to hum. Like something just beneath your skin was waking up.
And when you crossed the town limits…
It felt like coming home.
----
You find the Neibolt house by instinct.
It’s rotten, half-eaten by vines and time. But the moment you step onto the porch, the air changes. Denser. Thicker. Familiar.
You step inside.
And he’s waiting.
Not hiding. Not stalking.
Just there.
Like he never left.
Like he knew you'd return.
“Hello, darling,” Pennywise purrs.
You freeze.
Your adult brain screams. But your body doesn’t move. Can’t move. That same feeling from childhood crashes through you again, tenfold — fear, yes, but wanting too. A need.
He steps forward, tilting his head. “You came back.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” you whisper.
“I know.” He smiles, slow and poisonous. “I called you.”
Your heart pounds. “You’ve… always been in my head. Even when I didn’t want you.”
“Oh, but you did want me,” he says softly. “Even as a boy. You looked at me like you knew. Like your soul was reaching through your bones.”
You want to deny it — but you can’t.
Because he’s right.
You remember lying awake at thirteen, sweating, haunted by eyes and teeth and dreams of storm drains. You remember craving something wrong, something impossible. You remember longing for him before you even knew what that kind of longing meant.
And now… here he is.
“I thought you were going to eat me,” you say, voice trembling.
“I could have,” he replies, stepping close. “But I didn’t. Do you know why?”
You look up at him.
He’s towering. Inhuman. Every movement otherworldly.
But his voice drops to a near-whisper.
“Because you weren’t food. You were… mine.”
He reaches out — clawed fingers brushing your cheek, tracing your jaw.
“You were born with a piece of me in you,” he murmurs. “Buried deep. A thread. Tied tight.”
You shudder under his touch. “Is that why I came back?”
“It’s why you belong here.”
You breathe in sharply.
“I shouldn’t want you,” you say.
“But you do.” He grins, and this time there’s something almost tender under the madness. “You always did.”
Then he leans down.
And kisses you.
His mouth is cold — and far too warm. Alien. Wrong. Perfect. You gasp into it, unable to move, unable to stop yourself. The kiss is fierce, possessive — and somehow familiar.
When he pulls back, his eyes glow like molten gold.
“You feel it now, don’t you?” he breathes. “What they tried to bury. What they were afraid of.”
You nod, barely.
“They thought if they ran fast enough, they could keep me from you.” He chuckles darkly. “But they forgot… I’m everywhere. I’m inside you. You were marked, little light. From the moment you were born.”
You feel like your body’s made of glass. Like he could shatter you with one more word.
But instead… he kisses you again.
Softer this time.
Gentler. Almost like he’s savoring something.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against your mouth.
And you say the only thing you’ve ever known to be true:
“Yes.”
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