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

The Tightening Noose

The cold night air hit your face as you ran, but it did nothing to calm the storm of terror swirling inside you. Your legs felt heavy, every step a reminder of how close you were to breaking down completely. The small plastic ring still pressed tightly into your palm, its edges biting into your skin, a cruel memento of Art’s twisted game.

You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to put as much distance as possible between you and him. The town was quiet, unnaturally so, as if it had fallen under a spell of silence after the horrors that had unfolded. Every dark corner, every alley, felt like it was hiding him, waiting for you to stumble and fall so he could swoop in.

But no matter how fast you ran, you couldn’t outrun the weight of the questions still spinning in your mind. Why hadn’t he killed you? Why did he seem so fixated on you? The thought of Jake.. his lifeless body, his eyes wide in shock, gnawed at you. The truth was unbearable. Jake had died because of you, because Art saw him as something in the way, an obstacle...

That realization made your stomach churn. Jake was gone because Art wanted you to himself.

You slowed, your breath coming in ragged gasps, the streets stretching out empty and desolate in front of you. The town felt like a ghost, and you were the only one left walking through its hollowed shell. For a moment, you let yourself stop, your body trembling from both fear and exhaustion. You could still hear your own words echoing in your mind, the desperate plea you had thrown at him:

"Why won’t you just kill me?"

But Art hadn’t answered. He never did. He only smiled.

You staggered to a halt near a bus stop, collapsing onto the bench. Your whole body shook, not just from the exertion of running, but from the crushing realization that no matter how far you went, he’d find you. He always did. The plastic ring in your hand felt like a chain, an invisible tether linking you to him.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the dim lights of the street. You couldn’t keep running forever. You couldn’t keep surviving in this endless cycle of fear and torment. At some point, you’d break, once again, and that’s what terrified you the most. Art didn’t want to kill you, He wanted something more.

But what?

Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, your voice broke through the stillness of the night. “What do you want from me?!” you screamed into the empty street, the words torn from you like a desperate plea. “Why don’t you just kill me?!”

Your voice echoed, swallowed by the silence.

But there was no answer. Only the cold wind, whispering through the town like a mockery of your fear.

You leaned forward, burying your face in your hands, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of it all. The small plastic ring dug into your skin as you clutched it tighter, the absurdity of the gesture feeling heavier with each passing second. A part of you wanted to throw it away, to get rid of this twisted reminder of the connection you shared with that monster.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

The thought of discarding it only deepened the gnawing feeling in your gut, that strange, horrifying bond that had formed between you and Art. As sick and twisted as it was, the ring was more than just a toy. It was a claim. He had marked you, not with blood or scars, but with something more intimate, more personal.

You shivered, your fingers shaking as you stared at the cheap piece of plastic, its edges glinting faintly in the streetlight. What did it mean to him? What was this dark ritual he was performing, keeping you alive while slaughtering everyone around you? Was it some kind of perverse obsession, or was there something deeper, something darker?

Before you could sink any further into the whirlpool of questions, the sound of a distant bell broke through the quiet. Your head snapped up, your pulse quickening.

In the distance, through the haze of streetlights, you saw him.

Art.

He stood at the far end of the street, leaning against a lamppost like a shadowy figure from a nightmare. His head was cocked to the side, that same maddening grin plastered across his face. Blood still coated his hands, and his dark eyes gleamed with that same sadistic delight as he watched you.

Your stomach dropped.

How had he found you so quickly? You hadn’t heard him, hadn’t seen him, yet there he was.. his phone waiting. Watching.

You stood up from the bench, your heart pounding in your chest, but your legs refused to move. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to get away, but something in the way he stood, something about the eerie calmness of his posture, froze you in place.

Art didn’t move. He just watched, his head tilting slightly further, his eyes never leaving yours. He seemed almost patient, like a predator waiting for its prey to come to terms with its fate.

“Why?” you whispered, though you knew he couldn’t hear you from this distance. Your voice wavered, caught between fear and something darker. “Why won’t you just let me go?”

Art’s eyes flickered, a glint of amusement crossing his face as if your words were a funny little joke. He pushed himself off the lamppost and took a slow step toward you, his movements eerily graceful for someone who had just committed a massacre.

Panic surged through you again, and you stumbled back, your legs feeling weak beneath you. But no matter how far you tried to retreat, you knew it was pointless. He was always there, always a step ahead, always watching.

You gripped the plastic ring tighter in your hand, your knuckles white from the pressure. Why had he given this to you? What did it mean? Why keep you alive when he had no problem ending the lives of everyone else?

And then, as if in response to your silent plea, Art stopped in his tracks. His eyes flickered down to your clenched fist, and that unsettling grin stretched even wider across his face. He pointed to the ring with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if reminding you of the gift he had bestowed upon you.

Your blood ran cold.

You knew now, without a doubt, that this was his way of binding you to him. The ring was more than a gesture, it was a twisted promise. He had marked you in a way that went beyond blood, beyond death.

But what did that mean for you?

Your knees buckled, and you collapsed back onto the bench, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it all. Tears spilled down your cheeks, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. You were exhausted, terrified, and utterly lost in the web Art had spun around you.

As Art took another step forward, his eyes gleaming with that same wicked intent, you realized the horrifying truth:

You weren’t just his victim.

You were his obsession.

And there was no escape from that.