Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

A twisted game

The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching and shifting as the single candle flickered, casting a strange glow over the bed. You sat against the headboard, heart racing, knowing he was watching. You could feel his gaze, the kind that didn’t just look but devoured, taking in every detail with an unnerving, obsessive focus.

Art was there, standing by the door, his usual twisted grin plastered across his face. It was as if he were savoring the moment, building anticipation with every second he remained silent. He took his time with every movement, his gloved hands flexing as he walked slowly toward you, one deliberate step at a time.

Your pulse quickened as he reached the edge of the bed. He stopped, tilting his head, observing you with a glint in his eyes that promised mischief, or perhaps something darker. He leaned in just close enough that you could feel his presence, though he left just enough distance to make you want to close it.

Your gaze drifted to his hands, which hovered just above the mattress, his fingers twitching as if deciding whether to reach out. His smirk widened as he noticed, and with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he lifted one finger, pressing it to his lips, a silent command to keep quiet.

Then, slowly, he traced a fingerless gloved finger along your arm, brushing your skin in a way that made you shiver. His hand lingered, teasing, before pulling back just as you leaned closer, trying to bridge the distance he was so careful to maintain.

A low, almost inaudible chuckle escaped him, and he raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the frustration he was causing. He gave you a look that seemed to say, Oh, you want more?

You swallowed, your heart thudding in anticipation. Art leaned in again, his face inches from yours. His breath was warm against your skin, his eyes never leaving yours. He tilted his head, that wicked grin spreading wider as his hand came up to your face, just hovering over your cheek. You waited, holding your breath, expecting him to touch you—but instead, he pulled back with a playful shake of his head, as if to say, Not yet.

He was testing you, pushing your limits with every inch he withheld, every second he let the tension build. It was a twisted game, one he seemed to savor, and it was working.

"Is that all you've got?" you whispered, daring him, hoping to break that maddening silence. But instead of responding, he simply raised an eyebrow, his grin widening.

Then, with one swift move, he reached out, his hand gripping your wrist, pulling you closer. You gasped, startled, but he just chuckled silently, his thumb running over your pulse as he held you there, forcing you to meet his gaze.

He leaned in again, his face mere inches from yours, his dark eyes scanning your features. You could feel your resolve slipping, the teasing, the anticipation, it was all too much. But Art didn’t seem ready to give you what you wanted. Not yet.

With a final smirk, he released your wrist, stepping back and leaving you breathless, desperate for more, but knowing he was far from finished with this twisted game.