Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

Slice Of Terror (female reader)

The pizza joint was nearly empty, save for the flickering fluorescent lights and the quiet hum of the kitchen in the back. You were seated at a booth near the window, staring out at the darkened street. The evening rush had long since passed, leaving the place eerily quiet. You absentmindedly played with the straw in your soda, glancing at the clock on the wall. It had been a long day, and you were just looking forward to finishing your meal and heading home.

The door chimed behind you, and you glanced up, expecting another late-night customer. Instead, it was him.

Art the Clown.

At first, you didn't realize who he was. From a distance, he almost looked like some performer fresh from a gig, his black-and-white costume a strange contrast to the dingy pizza joint. But as he moved closer, the details became more apparent- the way his painted face seemed to stretch unnaturally, the jagged, toothy grin that looked a little too wide, and those eyes... wild, gleaming with malice.

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach. Art wasn't just a clown. He was a monster, and now he was here.

He made his way to the counter, his body language playful yet eerie, like he was putting on a performance just for you. He rang the small bell on the counter, over and over again, each ding sharper than the last, until the bored cashier finally turned around to serve him. But Art wasn't interested in ordering. Instead, he slowly turned his head, locking eyes with you.

You froze, your blood running cold. Something about the way he looked at you, the way his smile seemed to widen at the sight of your fear, made your skin crawl. He gave you a little wave, almost childlike, before skipping over to a table nearby. He sat down, folding his hands neatly in front of him, never once breaking eye contact.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to focus on your half-eaten slice of pizza, but it was impossible to ignore him. His presence was suffocating, the air growing heavier with each passing second. Every time you dared glance in his direction, he was staring right back, his grin never faltering.

You reached for your phone, hoping to call someone, anyone, but Art was faster. He shot up from his seat and in one swift motion, yanked the phone from your hand, tossing it across the room like it was nothing. It clattered against the tiled floor with a sickening thud, far out of reach. You gasped, backing against the booth as Art slid into the seat across from you, leaning in close, his eyes alight with wicked amusement.

"W-what do you want?" you stammered, your voice trembling. But Art didn't answer. He just tilted his head, studying you with an almost predatory curiosity. His hand darted into his pocket, and for a moment, you feared the worst. But instead of a weapon, he pulled out a small, cheap plastic flower. He held it up, offering it to you with a flourish, his silent laughter making his shoulders shake.

You stared at the flower, too confused to react. Was this a joke? Was he playing with you?

Your hesitation only seemed to amuse him more. Art's grin stretched impossibly wide, and with a quick flick of his wrist, the flower squirted water directly into your face. The cold spray made you gasp, and you recoiled, wiping your eyes in disbelief.

He laughed, though no sound came out, his shoulders shaking with glee. The absurdity of it all made your heart race even faster. You knew this wasn't just some clown act. This was a game, and you were the target.

Desperately, you slid out of the booth, intending to make a run for it, but Art was on you in an instant. He blocked your path, his towering figure suddenly much more menacing up close. You backed into the booth again, trapped, as he leaned down, his face just inches from yours. His breath was cold against your skin, and those eyes-they never blinked, never wavered.

He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face with a strange, unsettling gentleness. The touch made your skin crawl, but you couldn't move. You were paralyzed by fear, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs refused to cooperate.

Art's hand moved lower, tracing your jawline before tapping the tip of your nose with a soft boop. He giggled silently, clearly enjoying the way your terror seemed to deepen with every little tease. It was a game to him, one he intended to draw out for as long as possible.

You opened your mouth to scream, but before you could make a sound, Art clamped a hand over your mouth, silencing you instantly. His eyes darkened, the playful glint giving way to something far more sinister. He reached behind his back, and when his hand reappeared, he was holding a large, gleaming pizza cutter.

The blade was absurdly oversized, glinting under the flickering lights of the pizza joint, and the sight of it made your stomach lurch. He spun it in his hand, letting the wheel click ominously as he watched your eyes widen in horror.

You tried to struggle, but his grip was iron, his strength far beyond anything you could fight off. Slowly, he dragged the blade across the table in front of you, the sound of metal scraping against the surface filling the silent room. The tension was unbearable. You knew what was coming, but he was savoring every second, drawing out your fear like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Then, with one quick motion, he pressed the blade to your throat. The cold metal sent a shock through your body, and your breath hitched as you realized there was no escape. Art's grin was all teeth now, his eyes wild with excitement.

He pulled back the pizza cutter just enough to let you breathe, his other hand finally releasing your mouth. You gasped for air, but before you could scream, the blade came down.

Pain. Sharp, searing pain as the cutter sliced through your skin. It wasn't a quick kill-Art wasn't looking for quick. The blade wasn't designed for this, and the way it tore into your flesh was slow, agonizing. Your scream echoed through the empty restaurant, but there was no one left to hear you.

Art's silent laughter filled your vision as your body convulsed, the life draining from you in brutal, bloody spurts. He watched you with that same sick fascination, his eyes never leaving yours as the world around you dimmed. The last thing you saw was his grin, that impossibly wide smile, as everything went black.

Art stood over your lifeless body, admiring his handiwork. With a satisfied nod, he wiped the pizza cutter clean on your clothes, pocketed it, and gave a small, mocking bow to the empty room.

Without a sound, he disappeared into the night, leaving behind only blood and silence.