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

Bound by Terror

The cheap plastic ring sat cold in your palm, its childish appearance mocking the horror that surrounded you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. The tiny, insignificant object felt like a noose tightening around your throat, a silent declaration from Art that you weren’t just another victim.

You were something different.

Your body trembled as you curled your fingers around the ring, your mind a storm of confusion and dread. Why had he given this to you? What did it mean? Your thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the twisted gesture, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the sickening feeling growing in the pit of your stomach.

More screams echoed through the station, followed by the sound of gunshots. The police were being slaughtered, one by one, by the monster you had hoped they could stop. But you were paralyzed, sitting there in the chair, clutching the toy ring like it held the answer to some terrible question.

The lights in the station flickered again, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The scent of blood hung thick in the air, and the distant sound of Art’s breathy giggle sent shivers crawling up your spine.

You should have run. You should have tried to escape.

But you couldn’t.

Something held you in place, something far more terrifying than the chain that had once bound you.

Art wasn’t just hunting you anymore. He was toying with you, marking you in some dark, twisted way. The way he had looked at you, the way his fingers had lingered on your skin.. it was all part of the same sick game. And now, with the ring clenched tightly in your fist, you realized that you weren’t just another victim.

You were his.

The thought made you want to scream, to cry, to run until your legs gave out. But your body refused to move. You were trapped, not by chains or fear, but by something deeper, a dark, unspoken connection between you and the creature who had taken everything from you.

Another gunshot rang out, closer this time. You flinched, your heart racing as you forced yourself to focus. The station was quiet now, the screams having faded into an eerie silence. Art had finished his massacre, and now… now he would come for you.

But he wouldn’t kill you.

That much was clear.

You had seen the way he looked at you, felt the cold touch of his fingers on your skin. There was something there, something darker than mere murder. He wasn’t after your death. He wanted something more.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you slowly stood, your legs trembling beneath you. You couldn’t stay here. You couldn’t just sit and wait for him to come back. The police were dead, and there was no one left to help you. But mayb just maybe you could still escape.

You glanced toward the hallway, your breath catching in your throat as the shadows seemed to shift and move. Every creak of the building, every flicker of the lights, made you think he was already there, lurking just out of sight.

Your heart raced as you took a hesitant step forward, your body aching with exhaustion and fear. The chain around your ankle clinked softly against the floor as you moved, the weight of it a constant reminder of your brief imprisonment. But you ignored it, focusing instead on the dimly lit corridor ahead.

The hallway stretched out before you, long and empty. The bloodied bodies of the officers lay scattered across the floor, their eyes wide with shock and terror. You tried not to look at them, tried to push down the rising nausea that threatened to overwhelm you.

You had to keep moving. You couldn’t stop now.

As you passed the front desk, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflective glass of a window. You barely recognized the person staring back at you, your face pale and gaunt, your eyes wide with fear, your clothes torn and stained with blood.

And yet, even in the midst of all this horror, your fingers tightened around the ring.

It was a sick token, a mark of the twisted bond Art had forced upon you. You hated it, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t let it go.

Suddenly, a soft, almost imperceptible sound echoed through the hallway a honk of his horn that sent a jolt of terror through your entire body.

He was close.

Panic surged through you, and you bolted, your feet pounding against the floor as you sprinted toward the exit. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the door at the far end like a distant, unreachable goal.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you ran, your heart hammering in your chest. You could feel him behind you, feel the weight of his gaze on your back, feel the darkness closing in.

But you didn’t stop.

You reached the door, your hands fumbling with the handle as you yanked it open, the cool night air hitting your face like a slap. You stumbled outside, your lungs burning with the effort of breathing, your vision blurred by tears of fear and exhaustion.

But you were outside. You were free.

For now.

You didn’t stop running. You couldn’t. The town was eerily quiet, the streets deserted, the night pressing in from all sides. Every shadow, every flicker of light made you think he was there, watching, waiting for the moment you would collapse.

You didn’t know where to go. The police station had been your last hope, and now it was nothing but a graveyard of the people who had tried to protect you. But maybe just maybe you could find somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

There was nowhere safe.
Not from him.

You slowed to a walk, your body shaking with exhaustion, the adrenaline fading as the reality of your situation sank in. Art was still out there. He would always be out there. And no matter how far you ran, no matter where you tried to hide, he would find you.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and you collapsed to the ground, the toy ring still clenched tightly in your fist. Tears blurred your vision as you stared at the pavement, your body wracked with sobs of despair and hopelessness.

You couldn’t escape him.

You never would.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure you even wanted to anymore.

With trembling hands, you slowly opened your palm, staring down at the tiny plastic ring that Art had given you. It was such a simple, meaningless thing. A child’s toy. And yet, in that moment, it felt like the most important object in the world.

Because it wasn’t just a ring.

It was a promise.

A twisted, horrible promise that he would never let you go.

And for some reason you couldn’t explain, a part of you knew you didn’t want him to.