Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

Beneath The Bloodstained Moon (NG reader)

The air was thick with tension, not the kind that made your heart pound with fear, but the kind that quickened it with longing. You were obsessed with Art the Clown, the way he moved in silence, his grotesque, disjointed grin making your pulse race. He wasn't like anyone you had ever encountered; no one made your heart ache like this. The brutality, the chaos he left in his wake-it only fed your fixation. You knew it wasn't right, but you didn't care. You wanted him.. no.. needed him.

Tonight, you waited for him in the darkness of the abandoned warehouse you had discovered weeks ago. The dim light from a broken window cast long, eerie shadows across the floor, heightening the anticipation. Your breathing was shallow as you paced back and forth, biting your lip, nervous with excitement. He would come. He always did.

You had seen the signs left for you and you alone. The blood-smeared messages in alleyways, the horrifying gifts of mutilated toys, always left with care, in places only you would find. You understood them. Each gesture spoke to a dark, consuming passion that matched your own.

Suddenly, a familiar honk echoed through the building. You turned, heart fluttering. There he was, leaning against the doorway in that signature costume. Art's eyes locked onto yours, his painted lips twisting into a slow, manic grin. Your breath caught in your throat as you took him in, the adrenaline spiking through your veins as he slowly approached.

He was mesmerizing in the way he moved- inhuman, but hypnotic. The closer he got, the more you could feel the weight of his gaze, burning with something deeper, darker. An obsession that mirrored your own.

"Art," you breathed out, your voice trembling with desire.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a bloodstained handkerchief. With a flourish, he presented it to you like a gift, bowing theatrically. You smiled, heart swelling as you accepted it. To anyone else, this would have been terrifying, disgusting even. But to you? It was perfect. A token of his affection, however twisted.

"I knew you'd come," you whispered, stepping closer, your hands trembling as you reached up to touch his cold, painted face. His skin was pale, slick with a sheen of sweat and the remnants of his latest massacre. He didn't flinch or pull away. Instead, he tilted his head, leaning into your touch, his eyes half-lidded, watching you intensely.

You could feel the weight of his obsession in that gaze, the way his body hovered near yours, like he couldn't bear to be apart from you. It made you dizzy with power and need. Your heart pounded against your ribcage as your fingers traced the line of his jaw, moving to cup his face.

There was no need for words between you. You both knew. This was a love born from blood and chaos, something raw, primal.

Art reached into his bag and pulled out a small, rusted blade. Your pulse quickened as he placed the handle in your hand, his gloved fingers curling around yours. His silent offer was clear. A promise, a shared understanding of your connection, a bond sealed in violence.

Without hesitation, you dragged the blade across your palm, feeling the sharp sting as the blood welled up. You looked into his eyes as the crimson liquid dripped between your fingers. Art's grin widened, his eyes flickering with a twisted, manic hunger. He raised your hand to his lips, kissing the blood away, his gaze never leaving yours.

You were his. And he was yours.

You pressed your body against his, your lips mere inches from his, feeling the cold porcelain of his painted skin against your warmth. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you tighter, as if he wanted to consume you whole. The intensity of his silent passion sent a shiver down your spine.

"I'll always love you," you whispered, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth, his breath hot against your skin. His response was wordless, but you didn't need words. His actions spoke louder than any declaration.

Art leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours in a mockery of a kiss, teasing, as if he were savoring the moment before plunging into chaos. Then, in a sudden, violent motion, he yanked you closer, his mouth crashing against yours. It wasn't soft, it wasn't gentle, it was raw, consuming, and filled with the dark intensity you both shared.

The kiss was a promise, a vow sealed in the shadows and blood. You moaned into him, your nails digging into his back as you melted against him, losing yourself in the madness of it all. He was everything you craved, danger, desire, death.

Art pulled away, his face close to yours, that unsettling grin splitting his features once more. You could feel the anticipation thrumming between you, thick and electric. He traced a finger down the line of your throat, watching your reaction with predatory fascination. You were lost in him, and he knew it.