-A twisted Fate?- An Art The clown x Fem!Reader

The silent stalker

It was another lonely Halloween night, and instead of parties or handing out candy, you opted for your usual routine: horror films, snacks, and a warm blanket. Tonight's movie was Terrifier, the one that always made you shiver, no matter how many times you watched it. Art the Clown.. his twisted smile, silent nature, and sadistic cruelty.. fascinated.. you in a way that disturbed even yourself.

As the credits rolled and you prepared to switch to another movie, a loud thump came from your kitchen. You froze. It was late.. far too late for anyone to be at your door. Slowly, but cautiously, you stood up and peeked into the hallway.

The kitchen was empty, just as you'd left it. You released a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, chalking it up to your overactive imagination. But as you turned back to the living room, you saw him.

Art.

The Clown.

Standing in your living room, no more than ten feet away, holding one of your knives.

Your blood ran cold, every muscle locking in place as he tilted his head, studying you with those soulless, black eyes. He didn’t speak, of course. He never did. But the sinister grin that stretched across his painted face told you everything you needed to know.

This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t part of the movie.

He was here.

Your mind screamed to run, to grab your phone, do anything, but your body betrayed you. You watched, helpless, as Art sauntered closer, his dirty clown shoes barely making a sound on the floor. His free hand reached out toward you, and you could feel the cold air around you shift, suffocating in its intensity.

The knife glinted under the dim light of the TV. You swallowed hard.

“P-Please,” you stammered, barely able to get the word out.

Art’s grin widened. His hand touched your face, cold and deliberate, wiping away the tear that had escaped your eye. The touch was almost… gentle? For a moment, you thought you saw something like curiosity flicker behind his black eyes, something more than his usual lust for violence.

Without a word, he pulled back, twirling the knife in his hand with playful precision. He wasn’t in a hurry. He had all night.

You stumbled backward, bumping into the couch as you scrambled to put space between you and the clown. Your mind raced with options, but none of them felt promising. Art, now spinning the knife like a child with a toy, cocked his head, enjoying the fear he saw blooming in your eyes.

But then something shifted.

Instead of lunging at you, Art stopped. He pointed the knife directly at your chest but made no move to strike. Slowly, he tilted his head to one side, as though he were asking a question. You stared at him, heart pounding, confused by his sudden hesitation.

“What… what do you want?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Art didn’t answer, of course. But his grin softened, if it could be called that.. and he took a step closer. His eyes never left yours as he reached out again, this time trailing the tip of the knife along your arm, just barely grazing your skin.

The air between you crackled with tension, but there was no immediate threat of violence. It was as if Art was deciding what to do with you. As though he were toying with the idea of keeping you alive... just for a little longer.

Your body trembled under his touch, a sickening mix of fear and fascination rooting you to the spot. Why wasn’t he killing you? The Art from the movies wouldn’t hesitate. But this version... this version of Art seemed to have something else in mind.

Something darker...

Without warning, Art dropped the knife, the clang against the floor making you jump. You stared at the blade, heart still hammering, but Art didn’t reach for it. Instead, he took another step toward you, closer than ever, until you could feel his cold breath on your face.

His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up so you were forced to look into those deep, empty eyes. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

He was a monster. A killer.

But in this moment, he was something more.

A captor.

An obsession.

And maybe, just maybe, you were becoming his.