Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

Misery Meat (Fem reader)

The night was cool, and the distant sound of the city hummed quietly outside your cracked window. You sat at the edge of your bed, staring at the wall, thoughts spiraling in time to the rhythmic beat of your heart. There was something heavy in the air tonight, like a storm lingering on the horizon, not quite visible but pressing down on you with every breath. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

It started slowly. At first, it was the shadows, bending in ways they shouldn't. Then, the soft scrape of something outside your window, like nails against the brick wall. You swallowed hard, the tension in your stomach twisting like a knot. You tried to brush it off, but there was no denying it anymore. He was back.

Art the Clown.

You didn't know how long he had been following you. Weeks? Months? But there was no mistaking the creeping, suffocating presence he brought. His obsession was like a vine, curling around you, unseen, until you could no longer breathe without the sensation of him watching.

The first time you saw him was in an alley on a cold autumn night. He was grinning, silent, his dark eyes fixed on you. Something in the way he moved was off, too fluid, too quiet, like a predator stalking prey. But even then, you couldn't bring yourself to scream. You were frozen, caught in the gaze of something far more dangerous than you could comprehend.

Now, weeks later, the feeling of dread was almost familiar. Almost.

The song you had playing on your phone, Misery Meat by Sodikken, was meant to be a distraction from that ever-present anxiety. The upbeat, twisted melody was ironic against the weight of your reality. You hummed softly along with the song, its rhythm oddly comforting, even as you felt your pulse quicken.

Then, there was a creak.

Your body went rigid, breath catching in your throat. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you slowly turned your head toward the closet. A slow, deliberate sound of something shifting inside.

Your blood ran cold.

You stood, heart pounding as you approached, your footsteps cautious and hesitant. You could barely hear the song anymore, the pounding in your chest drowning out everything else. Reaching out, you grabbed the handle with trembling fingers.

The door swung open.

Art stood there, grinning that unnerving smile, his painted face inches from yours. You stumbled back, your scream caught in your throat, and he stepped forward, his head tilting in that eerily playful way, like a puppet on strings. He didn't make a sound. He never did.

Your back hit the wall, your heart racing so fast you thought it might burst. Art moved closer, his eyes drinking in your fear like it was the finest feast he'd ever encountered. You were his misery meat, and he was savoring every moment of your terror.

But tonight, something was different.

He reached out slowly, his finger topless gloved hand brushing against your cheek with an unexpected tenderness that sent a jolt through your spine. The cold leather of his glove lingered on your skin, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of something else, something unnameable, hidden beneath the layers of horror. You wanted to recoil, to scream, to run, but his touch held you in place.

You swallowed hard, staring into his dark eyes, searching for any hint of humanity. There was none. And yet, the way his fingers traced your face, the way his head tilted to study you, it almost felt... affectionate. The twisted, pulsing melody of Misery Meat still echoed faintly from your phone, the lyrics now matching the twisted, surreal nature of the moment.

You should have been terrified. But instead, you found yourself transfixed.

Art reached into his bag, pulling out something small. Your breath caught as he revealed a jagged, broken mirror, holding it up for you to see yourself. The cracked glass distorted your reflection, making your eyes wide and frantic, your face a mask of fear. Art's grin widened as he watched your reaction, his amusement clear in the gleam of his eyes.

But then, in a move that shocked you, he turned the mirror toward himself, his expression softening in an eerie mockery of vulnerability. He studied his own reflection for a moment before shifting his gaze back to you, as if seeking validation, approval even. The notion was absurd, and yet, the air between you thickened with something indescribable.

You felt your chest tighten. What was this? Some sick game?

Without thinking, you reached up, brushing your fingers against his face in return. The instant your skin touched his, a strange electricity shot through you. Art's eyes widened ever so slightly, his grin faltering. The connection was brief, but in that moment, it was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you, the lines between predator and prey blurring.

Art's head tilted again, his expression unreadable. He let out a soft, breathless sound, a silent laugh that sent a shiver down your spine, and then, in a flash, he was gone.

You stood there, frozen, the room suddenly feeling too empty, too quiet. The song had ended, leaving nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing. You glanced around, your heart still racing, but there was no sign of him.

Had it been real?

You didn't know. All you knew was that something had changed. You were no longer just his victim. There was a connection now, twisted and terrifying as it was.