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

Waking in Darkness

The world returned slowly, piece by piece. You were no longer in your apartment, no longer surrounded by the familiar, but instead, in a place that smelled of damp concrete and cold metal. You opened your eyes, blinking through the grogginess, and the sight that greeted you made your blood run cold.

You were in some sort of underground chamber. The walls were cracked, gray cement, the kind you'd find in a forgotten basement. The only light came from a single dim bulb hanging overhead, casting eerie, flickering shadows that danced across the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as the memories rushed back, Art, the rings, his touch, the weight of exhaustion pulling you under as the darkness claimed you.

You pushed yourself up from the cold floor, every muscle aching with the effort. A quick glance around the room revealed that you were alone, at least for now. The door to the chamber was heavy, rusted, and chained from the outside, trapping you in.

Panic surged through you, and you fought to steady your breathing, your mind racing. Where am I? What is he planning?

Your hand instinctively went to the ring still on your finger, the plastic band a cold, suffocating reminder of the twisted bond Art had forced upon you. Your chest tightened, and for a brief moment, you were frozen by the weight of it all.

But you had to move. You had to find a way out.

You stumbled toward the door, pulling at the chains, but they didn’t budge. Panic clawed at you, your fingers trembling as you searched for any possible way to free yourself. There were no windows, no vents, just this cold, suffocating room and the sense that you were being watched.

Your head swam with fear, but beneath it all, anger flickered to life. How had he managed to get you here? Why was he still playing this twisted game? And why, after everything, hadn’t he just ended it?

The door creaked open.

Your breath caught in your throat as you backed away, your eyes fixed on the figure stepping through the threshold. Art. He moved with his usual quiet grace, that same unsettling grin plastered on his face as he entered the room, dragging something behind him.

It was a chair.

He set it down in the middle of the room, the scraping of metal against concrete sending a shiver down your spine. He stood back, crossing his arms as he stared at you, his head tilting to the side in that eerie, childlike manner.

You didn’t know what to do, run, scream, beg for your life? None of it seemed like it would matter. Art had already made up his mind about whatever sick plan he had for you.

“Why…” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a breath. “Why are you keeping me alive? Why not kill me like all the others?”

Art said nothing, of course. He never spoke. But his expression shifted, just slightly, the amusement in his eyes deepening. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling something out, and tossed it in your direction. It landed with a soft clink at your feet.

A small, crimson-stained knife.

Your stomach twisted. You looked at the knife, then back at him, unsure of what he was trying to communicate. Was this a sick challenge? Was he offering you a chance to fight?

But then Art stepped closer, his eyes dark and gleaming, and you felt that familiar wave of fear wash over you. His hand reached out, brushing against your arm as he leaned in, the closeness sending chills down your spine. The touch wasn’t violent this time it was… almost gentle.

Your heart pounded as you looked up at him, confusion and terror swirling inside you. “Why won’t you just kill me?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Why?”

Art’s eyes softened, in a way that made your stomach twist. He slowly reached down, picking up the knife he’d thrown at your feet, and then, without a word, he pressed the handle of the blade into your hand, his fingers curling around yours as if guiding you.

You gasped, your body tensing under the pressure of his grip. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, but it sent a message. He was in control. Always.

Tears welled in your eyes, the frustration and fear bubbling up inside of you. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to understand why he wouldn’t just end this nightmare. But instead, you did something unexpected, something desperate.

You threw the knife to the floor, your hand trembling as you reached up and yanked the ring from your finger, hurling it at his chest.

For a moment, the room seemed to still. Art’s grin faltered, just slightly, as he looked down at the ring lying on the ground between the two of you.

The air was thick with tension as he slowly, deliberately, bent down and picked up the ring. His fingers turned it over, inspecting it, his head cocking to the side like a disappointed parent.

Your breath caught in your throat. What had you done?

Art stepped toward you, his movements slow, deliberate, as he held the ring in his hand. You shrank back instinctively, fear tightening your chest, but he didn’t lash out. Instead, he reached for your hand again, this time even softer, almost tenderly.

Your pulse raced as you felt his cold fingers slip the ring back onto your finger, his gaze locking with yours. There was something… different in his eyes now, something darker, more possessive. His grip lingered, and you couldn’t help but shudder under the intensity of his stare.

Then, in one eerie, fluid motion, Art slipped the second ring, the one from his own finger, back onto his hand. He looked at you, the smile curling on his lips once more, but there was a new edge to it now, something twisted yet intimate.

You felt your breath hitch as he raised your hand to his chest, holding it there for a moment as if to make sure you understood. The rings, the silent ceremony, it wasn’t just a game anymore.

It was something more.

The weight of it all hit you like a wave, and the exhaustion of the last few days crashed over you again. You couldn’t fight it. You couldn’t run anymore. Tears blurred your vision as your body trembled, your mind spinning in a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and something you didn’t want to admit.

You collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably as Art watched, standing over you like a silent shadow. You could feel his eyes on you, but he made no move to hurt you. He simply stood there, his presence suffocating yet strangely comforting in its familiarity.

Your body couldn’t take it anymore. The tears, the terror, the sheer weight of it all had drained you completely, and before long, the darkness pulled you under again. This time, there were no dreams, just the cold, empty void of exhaustion.

And through it all, the faint sound of a honking horn echoed in the distance, a haunting lullaby that followed you into the dark.