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

Bound by Fear

You sat there on the cold pavement, the tiny plastic ring burning a hole in your palm. The night air pressed in on you, heavy and oppressive, as your ragged sobs echoed through the empty streets. It was all too much, the fear, the exhaustion, the hopelessness. You had been running for so long, desperate to escape Art’s relentless hunt, but now… now it felt like there was nowhere left to run.

The tears blurred your vision, and you stared down at the ring, unable to understand why he had given it to you. Why did he toy with you like this? Why hadn’t he just killed you like the others? The answer twisted in your mind like a nightmare, always just out of reach.

But deep down, you knew the truth. Art wasn’t just a monster. He was something far worse.

He was your captor. Your tormentor.

And somehow, he was yours.

You didn’t know when the shift had happened when his sick game had turned into something more. But the signs were there, buried beneath the blood and the terror. The way he had watched you, the way his touch lingered on your skin, the way he had given you this ring. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t meaningless.

It was a claim.

The weight of that realization settled over you like a suffocating blanket. Art wasn’t just after your life. He wanted something more.. something darker, something twisted. And the worst part? You didn’t know if you had the strength to keep running.

You wiped your eyes, forcing yourself to stand on shaky legs. You had to keep moving, even if every step felt like you were wading through quicksand. You glanced back at the police station, its flickering lights casting eerie shadows against the brick walls. The bodies inside were silent now, their screams long since silenced by Art’s blade and mallet.

A part of you wanted to go back, to see if there was anyone left, anyone who could help you. But you knew it was pointless. They were all dead. Art had made sure of that.

And now, he was waiting. Somewhere out there in the darkness, he was watching you, waiting for you to make your next move.

You took a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs, and started walking. Your mind was numb, your body exhausted, but you had no other choice. You couldn’t stay here. You couldn’t let him find you again.

But as you moved through the empty streets, the weight of the ring in your hand grew heavier with each step. It was as though Art’s presence was with you, even now, silently mocking your every move. The connection between you and him was undeniable, and no matter how hard you tried to push it away, it clung to you like a second skin.

The streets were eerily quiet, the town seemingly deserted. It felt like the world had shrunk to just you and him, locked in this twisted dance of fear and obsession. Every shadow seemed to shift, every sound amplified in the silence, and you couldn’t help but feel like he was right behind you, just out of sight.

You quickened your pace, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The further you went, the more the darkness seemed to close in, suffocating and oppressive. You needed to find help. You needed to get out of this nightmare before it swallowed you whole.

But the deeper you walked into the town, the more you realized how futile it all was. Art would always be one step ahead. He had proven that time and time again. And now, with this ring, he had made it clear that this wasn’t just a hunt.

It was something far more personal.

Your mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. What did he want from you? Why hadn’t he killed you when he had the chance? The answers twisted inside you, dark and incomprehensible.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flicker of movement.

Your heart stopped.

You turned, your breath catching in your throat, but there was nothing. Just an empty alleyway, the shadows stretching out in unnatural shapes. But you knew better than to trust your eyes. Art was there, somewhere, watching.

Waiting.

A cold shiver ran down your spine, and you clutched the ring tighter in your hand, your fingers shaking. You didn’t want to admit it, but the truth was sinking in, suffocating you with its awful reality.

You were never going to escape him.

A part of you wanted to collapse again, to give up, to let him come and finish whatever sick game he was playing. But you couldn’t. Not yet. Not until you understood why. Why had he spared you? Why was he giving you these small, terrifying gestures?

You walked faster, your feet pounding against the pavement as your mind spun in circles. The police were gone. No one else would be able to help you. You were on your own now, completely at his mercy.

Suddenly, a quick sound echoed through the empty street a honk of a horn.

You froze.

Your heart raced, your pulse thundering in your ears as you slowly turned around. And there, standing at the edge of the street, bathed in the pale light of a flickering streetlamp, was Art.

His blood-streaked grin stretched wide, his dark eyes glinting with sadistic glee. He stood there, perfectly still, his hands hanging limply at his sides, the knife glinting ominously in the dim light.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body going cold as his eyes locked onto yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the weight of his presence. The connection between you felt almost palpable, like a dark thread tying you to him, pulling you closer with every second.

And then, without a sound, he started walking toward you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your feet rooted to the ground as you watched him approach. You should have run. You should have screamed. But you couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you.

It wasn’t just bloodlust in his eyes. It was something deeper. Darker.

You clenched the ring tighter in your hand, your mind spinning with confusion. Why? Why was he doing this? What did he want?

He stopped in front of you, doing his breathy silent giggle, as he tilted his head to the side, studying you like some twisted work of art. His fingers twitched at his sides, but he didn’t move to attack.

Instead, he slowly reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a gentleness that made your skin crawl. The touch was cold, but there was something disturbingly intimate about it, like a predator toying with its prey.

You flinched, but you didn’t pull away.

And in that moment, as his dark eyes bore into yours, you realized something horrifying.

Art wasn’t just playing a game anymore.

He was keeping you for himself.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and terrified. You could feel the weight of his obsession pressing down on you, suffocating and inescapable.

And there was no way out.