Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

A change of heart (NG reader)

I got bored so changed him to be kind in this)

You knew your phobia was irrational, at least in theory. But a lifetime of twisted masks and painted faces on screens had left you deeply terrified of clowns. You never thought you'd come face-to-face with one in real life, let alone in the dark corner of a deserted alley, where the haunting figure of a clown stood mere feet away, eyes trained directly on you.

He was expressionless, his head tilted, observing you like a puzzle he was keen to solve. Art the Clown. The name you’d heard on every news broadcast, his photo a grisly warning splashed across the screens of your mind. And now, here he was, standing close enough for you to see the streaks of black makeup around his eyes and the twisted smile painted on his face.

Your breath caught, every cell screaming for you to run, but your feet were anchored, bound by terror. He took one step closer, raising a knife, his smile widening, eyes glinting with the anticipation of fear,the reaction he craved. Your gasp was sharp, strangled. The fear in your eyes was exactly what he expected. But something changed.

Just as he raised his blade, his gaze lingered on your face. A flicker of hesitation crossed his expression. He watched the tear slip down your cheek, the way you backed into the wall, shivering under his gaze. Something softened, almost like curiosity. His twisted grin faded into something else, something closer to fascination.

Lowering the knife, he stilled, eyes scanning your face with a strange intensity. You tried to edge away, your voice a trembling whisper, "W-what do you want?" He didn’t respond. Instead, his painted face shifted, and he tucked the knife back, as if it had never even existed.

Suddenly, he became…gentle. Art leaned forward, extending a finger topless gloved hand to you in an almost comforting gesture. You recoiled, but he didn’t retreat; instead, he extended his hand a bit further, insistently soft. His fingers grazed your arm, a light touch that sent a chill down your spine, though it was more surreal than terrifying.

Your voice shook. "Why are you…?"

He mimicked a smile, exaggerated but with a new softness, as if to reassure you. He pointed to himself, then held his hand to his chest, as though promising he meant no harm. You swallowed hard, confusion laced with disbelief. Was he actually trying to be…kind?

Art tilted his head again, observing your reaction. For the first time, he seemed to be gauging something deeper, your fear no longer just entertainment but something he was invested in understanding. He leaned forward slowly, patting your shoulder in an almost comforting manner. You couldn’t help but shiver, but there was something undeniably softer in his movements.

Finally, he crouched, motioning as if to reassure you he wouldn’t hurt you. Your breath slowed, though panic still clung to your nerves. He reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with a gentleness that seemed entirely out of character for a man so infamous for bloodshed. It was as though a wall had crumbled within him, the sadistic glint in his eye replaced by an unexpected warmth, a desire to protect.

In that silent moment, he silently vowed that you were his and his alone.