Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

"Simon says" (NG reader)

The night was heavy with silence as you walked into the bedroom, feeling the pulse of tension and something darker lingering in the air. Art's figure loomed near the bed, standing motionless except for the slight twitch of his fingers. His painted grin stretched wide across his face, eyes glinting with something unreadable as he watched you. You'd come to recognize the hunger in his gaze-a strange, twisted fascination that made your skin tingle with anticipation and trepidation.

Without a word, he gestured for you to sit on the edge of the bed, his grin widening as he tilted his head, eyes never leaving yours. You settled down, feeling the bed's softness beneath you, and looked up at him, heart pounding as you gathered the courage to speak.

"Let's play a game," you said softly, your voice breaking the silence. He tilted his head further, his brows lifting in amusement as his grin widened, eyes glinting with both intrigue and something darker. It was a game to him already, this entire night, this entire twisted connection between the two of you. He thrived in the silence, feeding off the tension and the thrill of your racing pulse. But tonight, you wanted to see just how far he'd let you go, how long he'd let you hold control.

"Simon says..." you murmured, feeling a surge of boldness as you spoke. "Spread open your legs, and put your hands behind your head."

Art's eyes narrowed, a flash of surprise in his gaze, but it quickly morphed into that familiar, unsettling amusement. He held your gaze for a moment, a flicker of something almost daring you to continue. Then, slowly, deliberately, he obeyed. He widened his stance, hands folding behind his head as he looked down at you, that grin never faltering. The sight of him, this figure of twisted chaos and silent menace, now posed like this-it sent a thrill through you, a strange power dynamic shifted in your favor, if only for a moment.

You couldn't help but let your eyes roam over him, taking in the way he held himself, every muscle taut as if he were a coiled spring ready to snap. Despite his compliance, you knew he was still in control, still capable of shifting the balance in an instant. And that knowledge only made the tension between you more electric.

"Simon says..." you whispered, voice barely above a breath. "Take a deep breath..." 'cause I'm gonna make a mess. You thought.

A dark glint flickered in Art's eyes, his grin widening to a near-maniacal level as he took an exaggerated, theatrical breath, chest rising with an over-the-top obedience. You could see the amusement in his eyes, a silent taunt, daring you to continue. The heat between you thickened, charged with a strange blend of anticipation, desire, and danger.

You lifted a hand, fingers trembling slightly as you reached out to touch him, feeling his chest beneath your fingers, his muscles tense under the fabric. His breath hitched just slightly, his gaze intense as he watched your every move, his silence making every touch, every gesture feel magnified. He let you roam over him, your fingertips tracing along his chest and up to his collarbone, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse beneath his painted skin.

But as your hand trailed higher, reaching for his jaw, his head tilted down, eyes darkening as he leaned just slightly closer. The intensity of his stare made you falter for a moment, but you steadied yourself, fingers resting against his cheek as you held his gaze. He was still obeying, still letting you lead this game, but you could feel the tension mounting, the silent promise that he wouldn't stay compliant forever.

"Simon says... stay still," you whispered, voice trembling with both anticipation and defiance.

For a brief moment, Art held his position, his grin frozen in place, his gaze locked onto yours. But before you could react, his hands shot out, catching your wrists in a sudden, iron grip. He spun you around, pushing you back onto the bed in one swift, fluid motion. The air was knocked from your lungs as you found yourself beneath him, his body pressing into yours, solid and immovable.

His face hovered mere inches from yours, that painted grin so close you could see the small cracks in the white makeup, the shadow of stubble beneath. His silence was suffocating, his gaze drilling into you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. His hands, still pinning your wrists, held you in place, a silent claim that he was in control now.

But then, slowly, he released your wrists, trailing his fingers down your arms in a touch that was both possessive and tender, as if savoring every inch of you. His hand slid to your waist, holding you there, his gaze softening just slightly as he traced the curve of your hip with his thumb. It was a strange, twisted gentleness, a silent acknowledgment of the power you held over him, even as he towered over you.

You felt a surge of boldness as his hand lingered on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin, anchoring you beneath him. You lifted a hand to his face, brushing your fingers over his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath the paint. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, leaning into your touch, his grip on your waist tightening as if grounding himself.

"Simon says..." you whispered, voice steadying as you took a breath. "Kiss me."

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, you thought he'd break the rule, that he'd pull away and leave you hanging in that silent, charged tension. But then, slowly, he leaned down, his face hovering above yours. His lips brushed over yours, soft at first, a delicate, almost hesitant touch that sent a shiver down your spine. Then, without warning, he deepened the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as his mouth claimed yours with a fierce, possessive hunger.

The room spun as he pressed himself closer, his silence amplifying every sensation, every shiver, every racing beat of your heart. He was both terrifying and exhilarating, a silent predator wrapped in twisted affection, and you were caught in his grasp, willingly trapped in this dangerous dance.

When he finally pulled back, his face was flushed, his grin softened into something that almost resembled tenderness. His hand moved to your cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face as he looked down at you with a silent adoration, a wordless promise of his twisted devotion.

"Simon says... stay with me," you whispered, a final command that hung heavy in the air.

And though he didn't respond, didn't speak a single word, his gaze told you everything. In his silent, unnerving way, he'd already made his vow. You were his, and he was yours.