Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

Silent Offerings (Fem reader)

The night was colder than usual, the kind that seeps into your bones no matter how many layers you wear. You had been wandering the desolate streets for too long, the faint hum of streetlights above doing little to comfort you. It was Halloween, but the streets were unusually empty, a fact that should have put you on edge. Instead, it made you feel like you were walking through a ghost town, alone in a city that had shut itself away.

But you weren’t alone.

It started with a feeling, a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. At first, you thought it was just your mind playing tricksafter all, it was Halloween, and this was the night when imaginations ran wild. But the feeling didn’t go away. In fact, it grew stronger, until it was impossible to ignore.

You stopped walking, your breath visible in the chilly air, and turned around.

That’s when you saw him.

Art the Clown.

He stood at the end of the street, his face pale and expressionless, save for the painted black grin stretching unnaturally wide across his lips. His eyes glistened under the streetlight, locked onto you with unsettling intensity. He didn’t move, just stood there, watching. A small, almost playful wave followed, as if you were old friends. But the familiarity was worse somehow, like he was claiming something unspoken between you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you debated running. But something about the way he stood there, motionless, sent a different message. There was no point in running. He wanted you to run. And you knew what he would do if you did.

So, instead, you stood your ground, swallowing the rising panic.

"Leave me alone," you said, your voice shaking despite your best effort to sound firm.

Art tilted his head, his grin growing wider. He reached into his bag, slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact with you. The rustling of the bag felt louder than it should, and your stomach dropped as he pulled something out.

It was a small ring. A cheap, plastic thing, the kind you’d get out of a vending machine as a child. He held it up to the light, inspecting it as if it were some priceless artifact, before turning his gaze back to you.

With a flourish, he extended his hand, offering the ring to you.

You stared at it, uncertain whether to laugh or scream. Was this some kind of sick joke? Your mind raced, trying to figure out what he was planning. Was the ring a trap? Was he testing you?

But the longer you stood there, frozen in indecision, the more uncomfortable you became. His eyes bore into you, waiting, his grin never wavering.

You took a step back.

That’s when he moved, quick, almost inhumanly fast, and closed the distance between you. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but oddly gentle. The coldness of his touch sent a shock through your body. He didn't hurt you, not yet, but the threat was there, just beneath the surface. His eyes gleamed with a sadistic curiosity, as if waiting to see what you would do next.

He slid the plastic ring onto your finger, holding your hand in his for a second longer than necessary. The moment stretched out, and your breath hitched, trapped in your throat. It was almost… intimate.

Then, as quickly as he had grabbed you, he let go.

You stumbled back, your pulse racing. He stood still again, tilting his head, waiting. The plastic ring felt heavy on your finger, a grotesque mockery of normalcy in the situation.

You didn’t know why you did it, maybe out of defiance or fear, but you yanked the ring off and threw it back at him. The tiny ring bounced off his chest and landed on the pavement between you.

Art's expression didn’t change, but something in the air did. It was like a game had shifted, a new level unlocked.

He bent down, retrieving the ring with a slow, deliberate motion, brushing the dirt off it as if it were still precious. He stood, straightening his posture, and his grin softened, just slightly. Then, with eerie gentleness, he stepped closer, too close this time, and placed the ring back in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

His hand lingered there, the chill of his skin almost unbearable against your warmth. There was something unsettlingly tender about the way he handled you, as if this was his idea of affection, a twisted parody of love.

You stood frozen, unable to move, to scream, to do anything. Art’s gaze softened, just for a moment, as if he were offering something more than just the ring. Something dark and unnameable passed between you, a silent understanding that you couldn’t quite put into words.

Then, without warning, he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows, leaving you standing there alone once again. The street was silent, but the chill in the air remained, along with the plastic ring clutched tightly in your hand.

You didn’t know what would happen next, but you had the sickening feeling that this wasn’t over.