Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

Silent Agony (Fem reader)

A chill wind rustled through the trees, the faint sound of leaves crunching underfoot filling the quiet night. You walked alone through the park, your footsteps in sync with the natural rhythm of the night. The darkness hung heavily in the air, illuminated only by the dim glow of a few scattered lampposts. Something about the stillness felt peaceful at first, a moment of calm after a long day. But the further you walked, the more the shadows seemed to stretch, growing larger, darker.

You tugged your jacket tighter around yourself, feeling the temperature drop slightly. The path ahead wound deeper into the park, leading past the thick canopy of trees. The world around you seemed to grow more silent, as though the park had become an isolated pocket of reality.

A sudden noise snapped your focus- something behind you. Your heart leapt in your chest. You turned sharply, but saw nothing. Just the empty path, and the subtle whisper of wind through the branches. You took a deep breath, shaking your head. Relax, you thought. It's just your imagination.

You turned back around to continue walking when, without warning, a cold, gloved hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged through you as another arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into the darkness. You struggled, your body thrashing wildly, trying to scream, but the hand over your mouth muffled everything. Your breath hitched, terror flooding your veins.

A low, raspy sound, almost like a breathy silent giggle, echoed behind you. Before you could react further, a sharp pain pierced the side of your neck. You felt the sting of a needle. The sensation was quick, but its effect came like a slow wave crashing over you. Your vision blurred, your muscles going limp. You could feel the fight slipping out of you, the adrenaline in your body giving way to drowsiness.

Seconds felt like minutes as you fought to stay awake. The world around you tilted, dimming until everything faded to black.

*Time skip a bit?-

When you finally regained consciousness, your eyes blinked open to the hazy sight of a dimly lit room. The first thing you noticed was the heavy feeling in your arms and legs. You tried to move, but realized you were bound tightly to a chair, your wrists tied down, and your ankles secured to the legs of the chair. You tried to shout, but your voice was trapped behind a piece of duct tape covering your mouth. Panic surged through you again as you struggled against the restraints, the chair creaking under your weight.

Your breathing quickened, your mind racing. Where were you? How did you get here?

Then, your eyes caught movement in the shadows. Standing in the far corner of the room, leaning casually against the wall, was a figure. He was dressed in black and white, a silent, almost playful presence. His pale face was painted with exaggerated features- dark, hollow eyes and a wide, unsettling smile smeared across his lips. You had never seen him before, but there was something about him that screamed danger.

The clown-if you could even call him that- stared at you, head tilted slightly, a mockery of curiosity in his gaze. As soon as he noticed you were awake, his body shook with silent laughter, shoulders trembling as if he were amused by some private joke. He lifted one fingerless gloved hand and pointed directly at you, his grin widening.

Fear clawed at your throat, your body jerking violently against the restraints in a futile attempt to escape. The chair rattled beneath you, but it didn't matter. You were trapped.

The clown pushed off the wall and sauntered over to you, his footsteps silent, his eyes never leaving your face. When he was close enough to reach you, he raised his hand-and slapped you sharply across the head.

Your head snapped to the side, the sting blooming across your cheek. For a moment, your vision blurred with tears from the force of the blow. The clown stepped back, looking proud of himself, like a child who had successfully pulled off a prank. His expression was disturbingly gleeful, that painted smile still in place.

Then, without a word, he reached down and pulled a large, weathered bag from the floor. You watched in mounting horror as he began to rummage through it, pulling out a collection of tools. He held them up one by one, turning them over in his hands as if contemplating which would bring him the most satisfaction. Each object looked more menacing than the last-a hammer, a scalpel, a pair of rusted pliers. He turned to you again, this time holding up a butcher knife, tilting his head with exaggerated interest.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he moved closer, brandishing the blade. He crouched down in front of you, his eyes glittering with malicious intent. You wanted to scream, to beg for your life, but the tape over your mouth silenced you. All you could do was stare into his dark, soulless eyes as he raised the knife.

But he didn't strike. Instead, he teased the blade against your skin, dragging the cold steel along your arm, your throat, never breaking the skin but letting you feel its edge. He seemed to delight in your fear, his eyes gleaming every time you flinched or recoiled. The silence in the room became deafening, broken only by your labored breathing.

Suddenly, he dropped the knife and reached back into his bag. This time, he pulled out something far worse-a small blowtorch. Your eyes widened in terror, and you began to thrash again, desperate to break free. He took a step back, flipping the switch on the torch, igniting a small, crackling flame. Не waved it around, watching you squirm, and then slowly approached you once more.

The heat was unbearable as he brought the torch close to your face, holding it just inches from your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, the smell of singed hair filling your nose. Just when you thought the heat would consume you, he moved it away. But you knew he wasn't done.

He was playing with you, savoring every second of your terror.

And then you saw it-the final instrument he pulled from the bag: a chainsaw.

Your blood turned to ice as the realization hit. He revved it to life, the deafening roar of the machine filling the small space. The vibrations seemed to rattle the entire room. You shook your head violently, trying to scream through the tape, but your cries were lost beneath the chainsaw's growl.

The clown took his time, watching your panic escalate, his smile never faltering. Then, in one fluid motion, he reached for the blowtorch again, igniting the flame and holding it close to your legs. The heat surged over you, and the fire began to lick at your skin. Pain exploded through you, the sensation of burning flesh overwhelming every sense. You struggled, writhing in the chair, but there was no escape.

And then, with terrifying precision, he brought the chainsaw down.

The world around you erupted into a symphony of pain and fire, the chainsaw tearing through you as your body was consumed by flames. Your vision blurred, dark spots clouding your sight as your screams died in your throat.

And in your final moments, all you could see was the clown's painted smile, the last thing you would ever witness...