Art The Clown X Reader One shots! (Open)

Haunting Whispers (NG reader)

It was Halloween night, and the Spirit Halloween store was alive with last-minute shoppers. You wandered through the aisles, your fingers brushing against plastic masks, skeleton props, and fake cobwebs. The excitement in the air was infectious, but you were here for something specific: a costume that would match the eerie energy of the night.

Your eyes landed on a vintage-style clown outfit, black and white, with oversized buttons. The sight of it made you shiver, reminding you of a certain someone who had been lurking in your thoughts more than you cared to admit. Art the Clown. You had encountered him once, or rather, he had found you. That encounter had left you shaken, haunted by his silent, twisted presence.

But tonight, on Halloween, there was something pulling you to this store. Something darker.

You made your way to the back of the store, where the lighting grew dim, casting long shadows over the racks of costumes. It was quieter here, almost too quiet. The faint sound of rustling fabric was the only thing breaking the silence. Or so you thought.

A sudden shift in the air made you stop. Your heart skipped a beat. You turned your head slowly, feeling the weight of eyes on you. And there, emerging from the shadows, was Art the Clown. He stood still, his black-and-white suit blending almost too perfectly with the dim surroundings. His face was as terrifying as ever, that grotesque smile frozen in place.

But he didn't move.

Your breath caught in your throat. Instinct told you to run, but something else, a strange pull, kept your feet rooted to the ground. Art took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes fixed on yours. He didn't need to speak to communicate the intensity of his intentions. You could feel them, palpable and twisted, crawling under your skin.

He extended a fingerless gloved hand toward you, offering...a small, cracked mirror. You stared at it, confused. Why would he give you this? Was it a game? A trick? Slowly, cautiously, you reached out and took it, your fingers brushing against his gloved ones for a brief second. The touch sent a jolt through your body.

Art tilted his head, studying you as you examined the mirror. It was old, its surface smudged and cracked, but you could still see your reflection in it.. distorted, like you were staring into another version of yourself. A version that belonged in his world.

You glanced up at Art, and for a moment, there was something in his eyes. Something almost...tender. It was a fleeting emotion, barely there, but enough to make your heart race for reasons beyond fear. He took another step closer, now standing directly in front of you. His breath, warm and uneven, ghosted over your skin.

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to do, but unable to break the spell he had over you. Without a word, he reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. The tenderness of the gesture was unnerving, but in the charged silence between you, it felt...almost intimate.

Your pulse quickened, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You had never felt this kind of tension before, not with him, not with anyone. It was terrifying and intoxicating all at once. Art's hand dropped back to his side, but he didn't step away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours. His cold, painted lips hovered just near your ear, and you could feel the silence that followed, heavy and suffocating.

Your body trembled, unsure of whether you were more afraid or intrigued by what was happening. His presence was overwhelming, yet there was an odd comfort in the way he was so close, as if in this moment, you were the only thing that mattered to him.

Art's fingers found yours, tugging gently at your hand until he had your full attention. He stepped back slightly, eyes still locked with yours, before pulling something out from behind his back, a single, wilted black rose. He offered it to you with a theatrical flourish, his grin never wavering.

You hesitated but took the rose. Its petals felt fragile, like they might crumble under your touch. The act was strange, almost surreal. A deadly clown offering a symbol of love, or perhaps something more twisted.

For a brief second, you let yourself wonder: what if, in his twisted mind, this was his way of showing affection? His version of love, as dark and dangerous as it was.

As you stared into his wild, black eyes, you realized that tonight, on Halloween, you were part of his world now. A world where fear and desire blurred into something much more dangerous... And you didn't want to leave.