Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

Crimson Caress (Fem reader)

Warning: knife play, blood/pain kink

In the eerie silence of the abandoned carnival, you found yourself drawn once again to the allure of the forgotten rides and faded tents. You'd come here many times, knowing who lingered in the shadows. Art the Clown.

Your obsession with him had started as a dark fascination-a thrill you couldn't explain. The way he moved, the way his eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure, and the sound of that squeaky horn. It all sent a chill down your spine, and now, the thought of seeing him again made your pulse race with excitement rather than fear.

You wandered deeper into the carnival, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling his presence before you even saw him. He was always watching, always waiting.

A cold hand suddenly brushed your neck, and you gasped, turning around to see Art standing behind you, his twisted smile etched across his painted face. He tilted his head, silently teasing you with a wave of his finger topless gloved hand, the knife in his other hand gleaming under the pale moonlight.

"Art," you whispered, a slow smile creeping across your face as your body trembled, not with fear, but with anticipation.

He stepped closer, circling you slowly, his eyes roaming your body. He knew exactly what you wanted, and you weren't ashamed to admit it. There was something intoxicating about the danger he represented, something that made your blood rush to the surface in more ways than one.

Your eyes flickered down to the knife, its sharp edge tantalizingly close to your skin, and you bit your lip. Art raised a brow, amused, as if reading your thoughts. He brought the blade closer, lightly tracing it along your exposed arm, careful not to cut. Yet.

A shiver ran down your spine as you let out a soft, shaky breath, watching him intently. His eyes glistened with a sick kind of affection- a silent promise that he'd make this experience unforgettable.

"Do it," you murmured, voice low, daring. Your words were met with a playful gleam in his eyes, his smile widening.

With a swift motion, he pressed the knife's edge against your skin, drawing a thin line of crimson across your arm. You gasped, not from pain, but from the heat that coursed through your body. The sensation was more exhilarating than anything you'd ever felt. Art watched you intently, studying your reaction, and his smile grew impossibly wider when he saw the way your eyes darkened with pleasure.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, and you couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh, reveling in the twisted intimacy of the moment. Blood trickled down your arm, and you bit your lip harder, feeling the rush of adrenaline mixed with something much deeper-something primal.

Art moved closer, his body pressing against yours as he leaned in, his breath hot on your neck. He dragged the knife up your arm, teasing the edge along your collarbone now, his eyes never leaving yours. Every inch of your skin felt alive, humming under his touch.

"More," you breathed, a soft plea escaping your lips. You craved that sharp sensation, that thrilling mix of fear and desire that only he could give you.

His response was silent but swift. The knife pressed into your thigh this time, the blade making a shallow cut just below the hem of your skirt. Your knees buckled slightly at the intensity of it, but Art caught you, pulling you close, his body firm against yours. You could feel the warmth of your blood mingling with the cold night air, and your pulse quickened with every second.

His gaze softened-if that was even possible for him. There was something almost tender in the way he cradled you, as if he understood just how much you needed this. It was twisted, it was wrong, but in this moment, it was perfect.

You reached out, grabbing the lapel of his dusty clown suit, pulling him closer until your lips brushed against his ear. "I want you," you whispered, your voice thick with desire. You weren't even sure if he could understand you, but somehow, you knew he did.

Art responded by tilting his head, his painted face inches from yours. His gloved hand reached up, brushing a thumb across the fresh cut on your arm, smearing the blood slightly. You shuddered at the sensation, unable to hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips. The pleasure was undeniable, and the way his eyes lit up with pride at your reaction sent a thrill through you.

He pressed his lips to the cut, kissing the trail of blood as if worshipping the marks he left behind. Your breath hitched, and you let your head fall back, surrendering fully to him. His touches were gentle, almost affectionate now, a stark contrast to the danger of the knife in his hand.

Time seemed to blur as he continued his careful ministrations, his playful torment now infused with an odd sense of care. There was no rush, no hurry to finish. He wanted to savor this just as much as you did.

As his lips hovered above yours, you could feel his breath, the tension between you palpable. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. His kiss was cold, but it ignited a fire within you. It wasn't just the physical sensation anymore-it was something deeper, an unspoken bond that only the two of you could understand.

When he finally pulled away, Art looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and something else-something almost like adoration. He twirled the knife in his hand once more before sliding it back into his belt, his gaze never leaving yours.

You smiled, breathless, your heart still racing. This was the moment you'd been craving, the intimacy, the connection, and the thrill of being with someone who understood your darkest desires.

In the silence of the night, Art offered you a small, playful bow, as if to say that this moment was just for you. You reached out, your hand brushing against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath the clown suit. You wanted him to stay, to continue this dance of danger and desire.

"Until next time," you whispered, knowing that you'd be back here soon, ready for more.