#art the clown terrifier

[lardtub]

this is my favorite scene bc he felt like a pretty princess

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader | SMUT | CW: reader is married to an abusive husband | reader uses drugs/alcohol to cope with her abusive marriage | murder/killing mentioned

This story is extremely explicit and deliciously fever dream-ish imo. Hope you enjoy it, my fellow clown fuckers ❤️

What the ever loving fuck is wrong with me?

That’s what you were thinking as your common sense peeked out briefly from the fog of alcohol and weed in your system…a moment of sobriety just long enough to make you question what motivation you could have for the decisions you were now making.

He smelled. Like dried blood and sex, the kind of sex that hurts you, but doesn’t stop you from wanting more. Maybe it would have been enough to stop you, under any other (sober) circumstances. But as it was, you were already sitting in this strange man’s lap, in the middle of an empty mall after closing. And what made the situation even more surreal? The fact that he was dressed in a goddamn Santa suit and wearing gaudy black and white clown makeup all over his face.

Yeah, you really needed to stop sneaking into the mall bathroom and getting fucked up. Swiping a pack of edibles and two travel-sized bottles of cinnamon spice vodka from the gas station had been a bad idea to begin with. Using the privacy of the bathroom to get wasted and scroll through your phone for two hours would have been considered strange behavior by most people. But most people (in fact, no one) knew the reason why you avoided home like the plague.

Your husband was abusive, in every way possible. He controlled every aspect of your life, to the point that sometimes, you worried he could even read your thoughts. Where you went, who you spoke to, your finances, your diet, your sex life; everything about you belonged to him. It was suffocating. And while your habit of stealing from the gas station and hiding in the mall bathroom was an unhealthy coping mechanism, you were coping. Even if eventually it bit you in the ass, like tonight. When you got a little too high, a little too drunk, to notice the time, or the fact that the mall outside the bathroom stall you were locked in had grown quiet…

The mall was closed. Fucking closed, with you locked inside it. You’d staggered out of the bathroom like a fucking zombie in what looked to be a post apocalyptic scene. The mall was empty, devoid of life. Everything was eerily silent, apart from your footsteps shuffling across the tile floor as you took in your empty surroundings. The mall was dimly-lit, the only light source coming from high above, moonlight streaming in through the big panel windows on the mall ceiling.

You found one of the exits, and tried the door. It was locked, or maybe you were too high/drunk to figure a way out? It didn’t matter because regardless, you weren’t going anywhere for awhile. Either you’d sober up and figure out how to get out, or you’d be stuck waiting till security came by in the morning and let you out. A pleasant thought tickled at the back of your mind: your husband had no idea where you were. It felt good to be so far beyond his radar that his ability to oversee your every move was completely fucked. What did scare you, however, was the thought of confronting him in the morning. How would he react to you staying out all night? Obviously it wouldn’t go over well, and just imagining what your husband’s punishment might involve had your stomach twisting.

So instead of ruining your high by worrying about the inevitable, you decided to finish the last of your vodka, yelling “fuck it!” into the empty void around you. Your voice echoed back at you off the walls of the empty mall. It was creepy, and a little exciting, being unsupervised and alone with this kind of freedom. The excitement you felt only heightened when you noticed him. Your mouth twisted into a grin of disbelief, because how fucking high WERE you that you were literally seeing Santa Claus in front of you right now?? You took a step towards him, still unsure if he was even real.

He was sitting in an ornate wooden chair framed by two massive Christmas trees. The strands of lights decorating them weren’t on, just like all the other lights inside the mall. Above him, a sign written in ridiculously large print read “SANTA,” as if the scene itself would have implied anything other than the jolly old elf’s presence. You forced your gaze to focus on the man/hallucination in front of you, the smile on his face as big as yours. And he was a…clown, too? You laughed out loud, the absurdity of it all becoming too much. Your laughter was tinny and soft, like the sound of jingle bells, and it seemed only fitting considering you were standing mere feet away from the man, the myth, the legend himself: Santa Claus.

He patted his lap, encouraging you over. The fact that he apparently didn’t speak made the vodka-soaked dreamworld you were currently wandering feel even more like a dream. As you approached ‘Santa Clown,’ the possibility of him being a figment of your imagination became less believable. When he reached for your arm and tugged you onto his lap, you were certain. He was absolutely real.

You gasped, a surprised giggle spilling from your lips. The clown seemed to enjoy your amusement, bouncing you on his knee just to hear the string of excited giggles that tumbled out of you. He was playing with you, and you were loving it. His hair, or the wig he wore, spilled over his shoulders in off-white waves, flecked by bits of red. It took you a few seconds to register that the red bits were actually dried blood, and that the same blood was caked onto the beard that hung loosely underneath Santa Clown’s chin.

Should you have been alarmed? Probably. But instead of sensing danger coming from the clown, you felt oddly protected, safe. Whoever that blood belonged to, whoever he may have hurt, the clown didn’t seem in any hurry to hurt YOU. In fact, based on the stiffening pulse of his cock under your ass, it seemed like the clown was enjoying your company very much.

To test your theory, you decided to tease him a little and see where it led. Shifting intentionally on his lap, you reached to smooth the blood-crusted strands of hair back from Santa Clown’s face, revealing his sharp cheekbones and smooth, painted-white skin. He was oddly handsome, attractive in a dark kind of way. The way villains are always more appealing than heroes, or more philosophically, how Eve must have felt when she was seduced by the serpent’s persuasive tongue. There was something forbidden about the clown, something instinctively, inherently wrong about wanting him. And yet, that wrongness was precisely part of the reason you did want him.

His smile faded slowly to an expression you couldn’t name, his eyes going dark. Had your flirting upset him? A chill ran through you as even the air around you both seemed to go colder. A sudden sizzle of electricity made you flinch, and you watched as around you, the lights on the Christmas trees were illuminated. You smiled, a pleased chuckle of surprise leaving your lips, and the clown smiled with you. He seemed to enjoy making you feel good; and perhaps the dark supernatural forces that followed him came in handy in times like these, when manipulating electricity could be used to impress a pretty girl?

The rest of the mall remained in darkness, with only the Christmas lights illuminating the festive scene. “It’s so pretty,” you said, and you realized it was the first time you’d actually spoken to the clown. He nodded, feigning a kind of bashful grin, and extended his index finger toward you, tapping lightly against your breasts. Your eyebrows lifted at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since anyone had called you ‘pretty,’ and somehow, even in the absence of words, the clown had said everything right.

“Me?” you asked coquettishly, feeling emboldened by the vodka thundering through your system. “You think I’m pretty?”

The clown nodded vigorously, his big, toothy smile returning. “Well y’know what?” you asked through a giggle. “I think you’re pretty handsome, Santa.”

The clown’s mouth made the shape of a surprised ‘O,’ and he pointed to himself, his lips forming the word ‘me???’

“Yeah,” you replied. “And, as a matter of fact-.” You leaned in so your lips were at the clown’s ear, the coppery scent of blood stronger by his face. “-I’m ready to tell you what I want for Christmas…”

You didn’t expect to feel his hand on your chin, turning your head to face him. His expression had shifted back to the one you’d been unable to read earlier, the look you’d mistaken for him being upset. Now, as his thumb tugged your bottom lip downward and his dark eyes studied the shape of your mouth, you realized his expression was one of lust.

You sucked in a breath, extending your tongue to meet his thumb. The metallic tang of old blood met your tastebuds, melting over your tongue as the dried blood under the clown’s thumbnail was wetted by your spit. You didn’t care whose blood it was, because in this strange new reality, nothing beyond this space in the empty mall mattered. His eyes followed his thumb as it pressed deeper, your lips closing around its base, sucking lightly. You shifted again on the clown’s lap; it was so bumpy now that he was fully hard, his erection making it difficult to sit still.

His gaze was fixed on your lips, the space his thumb had disappeared between. You backed your head away slowly, letting his thumb slide out of your mouth with a wet pop. Your hands closed over his thighs to balance yourself as you slipped off his lap, locking your eyes with his as you settled between his boots on the ground. Resting your head against his right thigh, the heady smell of piss and sweat filled your senses. His hand was on your head, fingers laced through your hair and guiding you, inward. Closer. Closer to the space he wanted your mouth, where he needed it to be.

You wet your lips with your tongue and watched as the clown worked the large buckle of his belt undone. He tugged the waist of his pants lower, just enough for his cock to spring free, smacking against his stomach, pre cum clinging to the white fur trim of his jacket. Your mouth fell open at the sight of his member, its impressive length only half as striking as its girth. He closed his gloved hand around himself, pumping up and down his shaft in a few slow, unhurried strokes. The look in his eyes was almost wicked; he knew the thought of him filling your throat intimidated you, and he liked that fear.

With his other hand locked in your hair, the clown pulled your head closer, till your mouth was poised at his tip. He pressed the fat bulb to your lips, admiring the way they parted obediently for him. Urging his hips forward, the clown pushed his cock inside your mouth. The salty taste of his skin on your tongue was unpleasant at first, but you quickly forgot about any discomfort once he’d established a rhythm back and forth inside you. The head of his cock pushed the salty taste to the back of your throat, and you swallowed it down. From there, the only challenge you faced was opening your throat enough to take him. The clown’s hand on your head continued to guide it, pumping your mouth over him like a sleeve. You needed to breathe, to swallow the air his cock was denying you. Just when you thought you might be sick, the clown removed himself from your throat, allowing you the chance to breathe, a long line of saliva trailing from your bottom lip to the head of his cock. He grinned down at you approvingly, patting your head as if to say ‘good girl,’ before lifting you once again by the hair, and shoving himself back between your lips.

He leaned forward and closed his other hand around your throat, feeling his cock fucking you from the inside out. Your cunt was dripping, a pearly string of your wetness slicking the ground between your knees. You squeezed your thighs together as the clown used your throat, desperate for some kind of stimulation. He could sense your desperation, and offered you his boot as a relief, wedging it between your legs to give you something to grind on. You humped it gratefully, rocking your swollen cunt against the clown’s shoe. He stilled inside your throat, buried deep, his fingers tightening in your hair to the point your scalp was stinging. A gush of semen washed down your throat, followed by another. You struggled to swallow it all, your throat constricting as the clown’s cum filled it to capacity. You gagged and choked, and he pulled you off his cock just as vomit began creeping its way up the back of your throat. His wild eyes and wide grin beamed down at you, his chest rising and falling quickly in the aftermath of his climax. Semen you hadn’t been able to swallow dripped down your chin in a thick line. When you attempted to wipe it away, the clown stopped you with a swat of his hand against yours. He wanted to see the results of his work in and on you, his work of Art.

He jerked his boot where it was wedged between your thighs, bouncing you on top of it. You whimpered at the sensation, your neglected little cunt aching and engorged. You needed to come, so badly that it hurt. The clown watched as you stayed knelt at his feet, straddling his boot and humping it like a bitch in heat, grunting and panting, no more than an animal. Your orgasm shook you to your core, your muscles gripping and sucking around nothing, clit throbbing against the clown’s boot as you rubbed yourself into it, moaning and spitting a string of obscenities into his pants leg, where your face was buried.

After your body ceased shaking, you looked up to see the clown still grinning down at you. He offered his hands for you to take hold of, and helped you back into his lap. An hour passed, and then another. You couldn’t say for certain, but you think you must have fallen asleep in the clown’s arms for an hour or so, because at some point, you noticed that the stars were beginning to fade in the sky. Morning was coming, and that meant going home. To your husband. To your abuser.

Fear roiled in your stomach, along with the alcohol and cum filling it. You despised this feeling of dread, of being scared by a shit stain of a human being like your husband. If only you could live free of his tyranny, you imagined. How much better would the world be without the influence of such a toxic man as your husband…?

…And then, the idea formed in your mind. You tilted your head to the clown’s face. Studying the blood on his hair and skin once again, you decided to ask a favor of him. “Santa,” you began, because you didn’t know what else to call him. “You’ve killed people before…haven’t you?”

The clown feigned an apologetic expression and raised his hands as if to say “guilty.”

You nodded your head, a hopeful smile on your lips. And then, you asked him: “How would you like to kill my husband?” 🔪🩸🤍

PART TWO

@arts-bloody-gloves

[multch]

Thoughts.

Art the clown x reader [18+]

CW: actually smut \ afab masterbation

Your boss admires your dedication to staying back late to finish off repairing most nights. What he doesn't know is affiliation with the ‘Miles County Killer’.

Who knew sewing pays in a good view…

You whipped back as the bloody black and white suit whacked you in the face. If art was anything- it certainly wasn't subtle. The smell was revolting but what did you expect? Daisies? Of course he’d smell like a dead animal, he’s a murderer for Christ's sake! Still, you would've appreciated it if he at least let you set down the jacket you had to repair first- or had the decency to cover up a little instead of walking around the studio with everything out on display.

Tonight marks the 3rd year since you had first encountered this killer clown. You worked at a humble costume shop- Often very late to scramble enough of a paycheck to pay rent, utilities, whatever, ect.

On the strange night you two met, he had walked in- completely skipping past you- and searched for some sewing supplies. He went so far as to have even checked out the staff room you had accidentally left unlocked. Regardless, he eventually waddled up to your counter and dinged the bell on your desk several times. He had waved his hands around like a maniac trying to make sense until you realised he was gesturing towards the sewing needle in your hand. If he wasn’t so charming, maybe you would’ve called the police on him right then and there.

Maybe you should’ve...

Since then, you always patched up his ripped and tattered clown costume and he would repay you by helping out around the shop when you worked late. Repairing shelves, moving boxes and pestering you incessantly while doing so. 

It was a shock when you had first discovered his more malicious side. The ”Miles county killer” plastered on every television screen for miles. You couldn’t tell what had scared you more; Art’s heinous acts or the simple fact that he seemed to spare you.

But why?

The question haunted you. Your moral compass never seemed too correct however you understood the evil that seemed to possess him was devilish. What you couldn’t understand was what a being so sinful could've thought about a seamstress that made him show not only mercy, but companionship…

Honk! Honk!

Art could’ve killed you with how well he’d scare you. They didn’t call him the ‘Terrifier’ for nothing you thought. You were just minding your business- lost in thought- until Art practically made you jump out of your skin from his infuriating infatuation with his stupid little hand horn.

He had crept right up behind you and placed himself close enough to feel the cold air escape his lungs. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice but his horn was practically touching your ear. The sound it let out was more than enough to make your eyes widen. It had startled you so much you fell backwards on your stool. Luckily for you though, Art was there to catch you.

His skin was smooth and frigid. His hands having responded by grasping your waist with his rough hands- You were accidentally pressed right up against his naked chest. 

His touch felt electric. The contrast between your human heat and his icy exposure was a feeling like no other. He helped you back up onto your seat but by then it was too late. Fuck.

Seeing him naked was one thing but feeling his bare touch was another. Your minor interest in him had easily turned into obsession over the course of the last few years. A mysterious stranger showing up out of the blue. Saturated in blood. Torn up and often mutilated.  How couldn't you be intrigued?

It felt like there was no one else in the world he treated like you.

You felt special.

Protected, even.

You tried your best to resume your repair but by the time you reached the hole by the gusset of his suit, you had lost it.

*

Maybe excusing yourself to “go to the bathroom” might’ve been a bit overkill but there was no way you wouldn’t melt in the heat that you felt just simply looking at him. His playful taunts. The way he bats his eyelashes at you. Even his disgusting black smile!

These ‘normal’ acts of his felt misconstrued into one big flirty mess. 

Despite your efforts, you were clearly just too horny to stop. Every time you think about him in this moment, you couldn’t help but remember how he’s outside right now in nothing but a mask and his flimsy little top hat. In times like this, you couldn’t help but shake your fist in the air at Art’s infamous refusal to wear anything under his suit.

(You tried to convince him once by buying him a pair of boxers, but in retaliation he had ripped out the crotch and walked out- giving you the full view of his “pencil”)

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking but deciding to work one out sounded great right now.

You lent up against the red tile wall of the staff bathroom. It was cold. Perfect.

Slowly fondling yourself, your hands snake around your skin. One climbing up your stomach to slip under your bra. The other sneaking down the waistband of your shorts.

God, he made you so wet from just one touch. You slid in one finger first- wincing back at your contraction around so little. It made you only more hungry for what your eyes had feasted on so often yet you had never been given the chance to taste it yourself.

Seeing it made you understand why this clown always went commando because he really was hiding away a whole balloon animal. It was BIG.

Imagining it made your mouth feel empty..

You slip in another 2 fingers. Thrusting into yourself enough to make you press hard against the wall behind you. You were so cold but inside was a warmth you wanted him to feel so badly.

Your eyes squeezed down hard. You wanted to see him. His face. His body, as he thrusted into you.

You wanted him to trap you beneath his form with his inhuman strength.

To be scared he'd rip you in half if you ran away was a major turn on for you -the idea of becoming less than a victim of his by becoming a slave for his enjoyment.

Imagining it made your pussy throb, feeling empty despite your aggressive movement…

You tried to muffle your moans but the more you indulged in your fantasy, the more you struggled to show some self restraint.

A fourth finger, then a fifth.

Pounding harder and faster into your core, you thought back to all the toys you brought reimagining them as his girth. 

Art was more than a friend to you. You ached for him nightly. You felt him in your core. You've dreamt of his touch and woken up in a hot, sticky sweat because of him.

You wanted to be honest with him but only Hell knows what he'd do to you if he didn't feel the same.

The possibilities made you salivate. Being his victim would be an indulgent death for sure..

You feel yourself very quickly feeling your release build as an air of tension fills the room. It's sickly sweet.

Rubbing your pretty little pussy until it's puffy and squirting when he's in the room outside was your tipping point.

You let out one final wince before your knees give out- causing you to crouch down on the frozen tile floor. 

You can't help but imagine it's him holding you after a scene of absolute passion.

*

It's only been 10 minutes since you had excused yourself but once you had made your way back out, Art was nowhere to be seen.

You're embarrassed to say the least but you decide to push forward with your plans for tonight. 

You turn around to close the bathroom door behind you only to find a familiar face greeting you instead.

There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- All while still being fully naked.

Oh god no…

[cocodavie]

*Voting is now closed, tysm* The studio that imported terrifier movie to my country has a fa contest and the winner will be decided by voting on fb. If you like this pic I would like to ask you to vote by liking my pic in comment (it's okay if you don't vote. Just knowing that people like my work on tumblr makes me happy🫶) Thank you sm❤️🙏🏻

[spookieloverslittlemind]

“dating” Art would include…

- this is classified as “dating” bc Art’s version of asking you out was looking at you like 😱👉🏻👌🏻

- so romantic <333

- if you don’t know asl already, you’ll learn some from Art, but he also has his own miming gestures that he often prefers just bc he’s dramatic

- unlike some other slashers, we’ve seen Art eat (casual cannibalism but the point is he actually does eat sometimes) so he loves skipping hand in hand with you to take you places to eat

- sometimes he starts food fights in public but he makes sure he does it when you go to the bathroom so that only he gets in trouble

- he’s also been known to fake-propose to you in the middle of restaurants to get free meals

- anything that is messy or results in mess, Art loves

- makeouts are ALWAYS sloppy

- but he is capable of giving you the tiniest, barely-there kisses on your nose, your forehead, cheeks and temple; more in fond teasing than affection

- Art prefers to be holding your hand at all times when you’re close enough

- a few times, he’s started doing something oddly domestic like folding laundry when he suddenly frowns VERY seriously, stomps across the room over to you, grabs your hand and drags you over to the laundry pile. just to hold your hand while he folds laundry. he doesn’t care that it takes him longer to do that with his one free hand

- Art likes to take things from his victims or their homes to gift to you, when things remind him of you

- he’ll raid jewellery boxes and closets most of all, sometimes spending actual hours holding clothes up to his own body to judge how they’ll fit you

- doesn’t necessarily care for special occasions but loves ANY excuse to throw a party! valentines day? christmas? st patricks day? HATS! PARTY POPPERS! BALLOONS! TWISTER! CAKE! doesn’t even matter that only the two of you are in attendance, Art loves every goddamn second

- more often than not, Art is rough when he grabs you, drags you places, holds onto you; he’s not opposed to leaving marks but most of the time it’s genuinely not intentional

- on the rare occasion he unintentionally hurts you enough for you to cry out or flinch, he has learned to utilise what he very fondly regards as “Art’s sorry kisses”, which include him nuzzling into your hair and your neck while his fingertips trail up and down your arms soothingly. it’s debatably genuine, more likely he’s doing it bc he knows you’ll forgive him in no time

- he knows how to play you like an instrument and you fall for it every time

- he is a freaky little weirdo but simultaneously not always meaning to be sexual about it

- he’s a certified panty pervert but instead of sniffing them he likes flinging them around like slingshots and silently giggling to himself

- likes snapping the waistband against your skin and gets very upset when he inevitably accidentally tears them bc he literally just wants to play w them he’s an idiot

- that said, when you first warn him that if he keeps snapping/tearing your panties you’re going to run out of them…you’ve given Art the best idea he’s ever heard

-terrifier 3 spoilers below-

- so yk how Art sat still for literally 5 years? that’s bro when you don’t text him back

- doesn’t even LET YOU get jealous of the time he’s spending w Vicky bc you’re by his side at every moment you want to be and he’s comin right back over to you, leaving a little kiss on your nose to show you that you’re his priority always

[sourszt]

𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 | torture + non-con

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — art the clown x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, art the clown in general, torture, non-con, slight kidnapping (?), bondage, knife play, blood + blood play, violence, fingering (not sanitary knowing art, wash yall’s hands !!), slight dacryphilia

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — foreword, i do NOT condone anything in this fic ! david howard thornton himself actually said art would be against this and i find art a comfort character, this is just for kinktober purposes 😞 if you guys are NOT comfortable with non-con or torture please do not read this, spare yourself the pain please i beg 😭 i will not be upset bruh

you were a force to be reckoned with, that much was evident.

whether it was because you were drunk or with a friend group that made peer pressure feel good, it didn’t matter to the black and white clown you approached at the club. he had been standing there for the past hour or so, staring at you through the split in the crowd.

obviously he had a crush on you. that was what your friend whispered in your ear with a little nudge to your side and a drunken giggle.

your devil costume left very little to the imagination, faux red leather hugging your curves. that had to be it, without a doubt. you had already been getting attention throughout the night, so this was only more fuel to the fire that was your ego.

his costume was detailed to say the least. the fake blood on his costume looked rusty as opposed to the cherry coloring on everybody else’s clothes and faces. he must’ve made it himself.

it took a few more pushes of encouragement until you finally went up to him, wondering why he was unable to take his eyes off of you. it wasn’t flagged as creepy in your fogged mind, rather flattered.

“you’ve got a staring problem, don’t ya?” you shouted over the music with a giggle, leaning against the bar counter for support. your high heels definitely didn’t cheap out on the high part.

looking at him up close definitely made your mind wander a little more. he was much taller than you — likely over six foot — and seemed pretty lanky under that suit. his eyes were a brilliant blue, starkly contrasting the black makeup neatly circled around them, and they couldn’t seem to get away from you. his hooked nose, as well as his entire face, was painted white and had a singular black dot on the tip of it.

something about him piqued your interest, and it only grew when he didn’t answer you. instead, he smiled and tilted his head down, like he was feigning some bashfulness. it was cute. you respected the commitment to the act.

“i don’t suppose you want something from me?” those drinks you had earlier were kicking in, making your confidence soar to unnatural heights. “what’s your name?”

you expected him to drop his little facade and lean in and tell you. but he didn’t. he reached for your wrist and shifted your palm upwards. you were beyond curious, but allowed him into your space.

he dragged his finger across your palm a few times, you piecing the motions together. a-r-t. “art. oh, your name’s art?” the clown nodded with a wide grin.

that wasn’t his last trick, it seemed. from the palm of his hand, he revealed a fake red rose. the synthetic petals were slightly crumpled and stained with drops of something even darker than its natural color.

it was a little corny, but you blushed nonetheless. it was sweet. he gestured for you to take it, so you did.

“hey, let’s get outta here. the music’s making my head hurt.” the second part was a lie, but your motives were relatively pure. you thought that he was only silent because of the volume. maybe the fresh air would make him open up a little bit more.

art nodded a little too eagerly and started moving you towards the door. you could only give your friends a very brief glance, them offering you smiles and raised thumbs before you vanished outside. you would soon wish that they’d kept you inside.

you took in a deep breath of fresh air outside, observing the parking lot. there was not a person in sight. they were all inside. except for you and art.

art. you spun around to see where he had gone and found him hunched over a black trash bag. initially, you were going to pull him away from it, thinking he was digging through waste when he suddenly straightened up and turned towards you. his hands were behind his back.

words got caught in your throat and you found yourself laughing to fill the silence. a wave of anxiety washed over you until art revealed another fake rose. this one was attached to a plastic stem.

but while you graciously accepted his second offering, you failed to notice the bat he had brought down onto the side of your head.

—

you never had a concussion in your life, but you were sure this was what it felt like.

you awoke to a blinding headache and nausea bubbling in your stomach. your vision refused to adjust properly, but you couldn’t miss art’s black and white suit in front of you. your depth perception wasn’t the most reliable, but your body knew to start acting.

you went to kick and scream but found it futile. duct tape muffled your cries, though it was ripped off faster than you could register it was there, and thick rope around your limbs kept you still against the table you were draped over. a few blinks helped you understand your predicament: you had been moved to some sort of warehouse and were tied down to a cold, steel table that had goosebumps prickling on your exposed skin.

your clothes were intact, which made you sigh. one victory.

though you weren’t sure for how long. art hovered over you from the side of the table, his sick grin mocking you as he eyed you from head to toe. it felt like he had already undressed you just by the way he was sizing you up.

that came next. with his one hand that was free, he started to drag his finger down the center of your chest. the closer he got to the low-cut hem of your top, the louder your protests became. art was prepared for that.

he brought a thick chain with several rusted scalpels and medical scissors down onto your legs, creating multiple shallow breaks in your skin. you screamed out. he whipped you again. this time you bit back guttural cries and accepted his hand.

his face screamed disgust and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe that you would ever ask him to stop. the way his creased white face morphed was eerie. it rendered you silent while he unzipped your tiny red corset.

you flinched when it popped open, exposing your tits. you hurried to cover yourself but your arms only moved as far as the rope allowed you to. either way, art flung his chain at the arm closest to him and you had to choke back a scream.

blood seeped from countless wounds, warmth running down and onto the table. you squirmed and cried as much as art allowed you to. he seemed to enjoy your agonized writhing, running dirtied fingertips over your open cuts.

“please, please,” you whined. it was mindless rambling at that point because you knew he wouldn’t.

he had shifted his attention down to your pleather skirt, slowly undoing the zipper on the side. you wanted to kick and fight but you dreaded the idea of getting cut into even worse. so you let him peel it off of you, along with your panties.

“oh god, oh god,” you sobbed, clamping your legs together to keep some of your dignity. art must have been keeping a spare blade tucked in his hand because suddenly he sliced deep into the side of your thigh. you couldn’t help the scream that tore from you, which earned you another gash along your ribcage.

you started to think he was bleeding you dry as slowly as he could. but not after he had his fun first. your body shook underneath his gloved hand as it traveled down your stomach and towards your bare pussy.

part of you thought he was going to force your legs apart and jam as many scalpels inside of you as he could manage, so you resisted when he tried to pry them open. but when he did, after lashing you a few more times, he ran his blood soaked fingertips through your folds, making it slick for him.

it was nauseating at first. but after he pushed two fingers into you, the strange sensation of his fingerless gloves sliding inside, that feeling simmered into pleasure. you choked on a whine, your body fighting the urge to roll your hips into his hand.

your skepticism prevailed the second he slid his blade across your stomach. you cried out, and art felt your cunt squeeze around his fingers. the reaction was satisfactory to him and he gave you a few more markings before deciding you’d had enough for now.

the blade clattered onto the table a moment later and his freed hand went to your breast. you couldn’t deny what it did to you. the pain was beginning to make you delirious and you melted into his touch a few times. you pulled against your restraints but it didn’t get you very far.

for a while, he worked into a steady pace that had you crying out with more pleasure than pain. your cuts stung, but those sharp pains added to your rapidly building orgasm, that was only really accumulating with your eyes closed.

art didn’t seem to appreciate that, quickly finding his blade and carving something into your skin. it tore you out of your momentary tranquility and a scream ripped from your throat. as you did, his other hand curled inside of you and a moan fought to follow. pain and pleasure battled inside of you, and it was sick that the pleasure was threatening to win.

your body twisted to get away from the scalpel in your side but it was to no avail. he cut and sliced until he had crudely carved the word “CUNT” into the fleshy part of the side of your waist. blood oozed out of the deep gashes and art ran his gloved hand through it, smearing it all over your skin. crimson covered your breast as he came up to grab it again.

you got the message to look him in the eyes while you came, which came soon after he added a third finger. how he was able to do it with ease made you sick. you shouldn’t have been enjoying yourself in any way. you would probably need stitches and therapy after this.

but now, all you could focus on was his long fingers. the feel of his fabric white fingerless gloves inside of you, probably soaked with your blood and slick. your gashes burned every time your back arched off of the table but somehow, it intensified the growing fire in your stomach. that tensing of your thighs, the weak thrusts of your hips that attempted to match his.

it amazed you how he was still silent, blue beady eyes focused on you and only you. they started to widen when your moans went pitchy, like he was encouraging you to let go. he didn’t look so scary then. his face went closer to yours, and he was shocked that you didn’t immediately flinch back.

he offered you slow nods as his fingers continued their assault on you. your thighs parted in acceptance and defeat, your orgasm finally crashing into you. moans came out mingled with sobs because it was over.

your mind was spinning, and he granted you a moment to compose yourself before getting back to work. breathy pants quickly turned into raspy screams once more as he swiftly carved something else into the bloodied inside of your thigh:

ART WAS HERE

[jellyfishfieldss]

🤡

[xxluvrr]

everyone keeps talking about how hot he looks when he’s not smiling but PERSONALLYY it’s the crazy smile that always gets me 😭😭😭😫😫😫😫🙏🙏🙏🙏

[maveras-posts]

🤡ART IN BED🥵

Art in bed would include:

Ok for starters…A JACK RABBIT

This man can do the deed five times a day

Contrary to belief although he can be selfish in bed, he also will want his partner to feel pleased so expect not to walk ✨WhEeLChAiR MoDe✨

TOYS anything you can think of he has

Art has a collection of toys you could only find in Davy Jones’s locker(It is outrageous)

Ropes, whips and every other dastardly object you could think of 🎶Chains and WHiPs ExCitE MEeEe💃

Expect to wake up with head and go to sleep with some head (Think about facepaint spread all over your inner thighs)

This man ✨EATS✨ like a demon man frfr what that tongue do tho?ALOT—

His aftercare is also very top tier, he’ll stay with you until you fall asleep (He don’t ever sleep tbh)

Art is all about quickies too, he’ll fuck you anywhere a chance presents itself

But the damn horn will go with him everywhere INCLUDING the bedroom 🥲

I swear you’ll be laying down post fucking and you’ll hear the ✨HONK✨ in your ear😭

He’ll try everything and anything as well, this man is truly a wildcard

ANYTHING you wanna try he’ll be apart of👀

For AfAB: Be prepared if your on your period he’ll wanna fuck you even more (I swear the man smells blood like a damn shark 🦈)

All in all he’s a FREAK but you’ll never be dissatisfied that’s for shore💅😜

[thatweirdbitchjax]

Can you write a muti slasher with an s/o that does this ⬆️

I belive you mean that they eat kinda lasily so that what I'll write. :)

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Art the Clown, Nubbins Sawyer, Bubba Sawyer, and Chop-Top Sawyer

Tired Eater

Art the Clown

Genuinely leaves you there

Tries to wake you up by snapping in your face

^gives up about five minutes later

Can't be bothered to wait for you

Will leave you there and come back later to pick you up

Tries to mime at you to get you to hurry up

Thomas Hewitt

Is very worried

Taps his momma's shoulder to ask her what to do

^Gets told to try and help you eat at least a little bit, then lead you up do bed

If Hoyt even tries anything, Thomas is chuncking him into a wall

^Fr, he got grounded (he wasn't allowed to see you for three hours)

Takes all the beatings for you

At first he thinks it's heat exhaustion so he tries to make sure you're not over-working yourself

^And god forbid he find out Hoyt is making you push yourself way past your limits

Nubbins Sawyer

You think you can be tired at a table with this guy?!

You are highly mistaken

He is, without a doubt, hooping and hollering, shaking you, shaking the table

He's shaking everything to keep you awake

Drayton yells at him a few times to cut it out

I like the idea that Drayton is a lot sweeter towards you rather than his brothers, so if you are still trying to eat after everyone else is done, he'll come over and gently shake you, tell you to go on up to bed, and that he's got the dishes tonight

Nubby doesn't understand why you're feeling this way, but he will grab you like a koala grabs a tree and hold onto you all night long, just to (try) to make sure you get enough sleep (should I start writing a series about how they sleep?)

Bubba Sawyer

So worried

He, like Thomas, is also worried that you might have gotten heat exhaustion

Despite Drayton yelling at him not to, he grabs you and carries you down to the basement with your food, hoping that it would be cooler down there so you could eat

He sits with you and helps feed you as well, hoping to help you feel better

He starts doing his chores quicker so he can start helping you with yours, hoping you won't get so exhausted

Chop-Top Sawyer

Again, he is hooping and hollaring, if you can still be tired through that, then even I'm worried about you

It kinda ends in the same way as Nubbins, however he is more worried about you then Nubbins

He knows a bit more, and knows it can still be pretty hot, so you probably have heat exhaustion

He tries getting you a fan, laying down on the floor with you (you ended up just falling asleep) but eventually, he just shook you awake and fed you

^Wouldn't suggest that tho as he can get kinda finicky when anywhere around your face, so he will start shaking and probably accidentally stab the roof of your mouth with the utensils he was using to feed you :|

Anyways, hope you enjoyed. Sorry it took me so long. I have another ask in my box that I will start working on soon.

@puppet200 @purpleeggyboi @th3-r4t-48 @zeroisreallygood @im-a-simp898 @artsycrow46 @evry1h8s-me @aflairforthemelodramaticc @caretaleandotherstuff

[lardtub]

bald naked clown jumpscare!!!

i like this scene bc hes bald and ugly and gross in all of his glory🙏

can we appreciate how i drew his back.. the colors ... and the subtle spine bones ..

[getmeoutofhell]

Art the Clown x f! reader nsfw headcanons!!

request: hi hello!✋ I’ve been a longtime lurker and I love ur writing. I was wondering if u could do an Art the clown x AFAB reader nsfw headcanons with him being needy and clingy while waiting for Halloween (he hasn’t killed in a long time and needs..attention) Thx and take ur time! take care x🖤🤍

a/n: aww thank you baby!!! i hope you enjoy!

warnings: smut! cussing, blood + cuts.

we all now how goofy art is right? but behind his goofy part of him there’s a little tiny sliver of care in there. and that care is for you!

so since his time to thrive isn’t here yet, he has you to bother and complain too. especially when’s he horny. he’ll come to wherever you are and stand still till you notice his arrival, then push you against the surface that’s there.

“oh, hi art.” hey smiles at you before destroying your insides softly :)

he loves him a good bj. rub up and down his cock at a nice pace and watch his eyes roll back.

since he hasn’t killed in a while, he needs to see someone’s blood (aka you), so small cuts and nicks will happen, but nothing crazy.

sometimes when you catch him not in the clown suit, he’s 99% always hard and needy for you. you’re his prize and glory, so he thinks he should be able to have you whenever he wants to.

sometimes he comes behind you and sniffs you, it lets you know he’s excited, in a lustful way. he’ll even bat his eyes at you until you give in. how could you say no to him??

say you’re in the kitchen, he’ll come in there right behind you and bend you over, rubbing his hard on against your clothed pussy. what a gentleman!

he eats ur pussy with so much more force then normal when he’s in ‘heat’ or more needy than usual. your legs shake more uncontrollably and you cum faster then ever. you can hear his wet tongue licking up and down your pussy folds, as you grip on his clown suit.

after you finish sex he never leaves your side for the rest of the day. always laying his head on ur thighs, always hugging you from the back, and even brushing his nose against you at the most random times.

it even got bad to the point where he’ll come in there while you’re in the shower. he doesn’t care about his makeup getting ruined, even tho is usually doesn’t. he grabs you by your waist before picking you up and pushing you against the shower wall. he’s already naked, and doesn’t have his clown hat or head piece on.

even when you leave the house, he blows up your phone with shit. he sends emojis to let you know what he wants and needs at the moment.

his cock is pretty nice size, coming in at about 6 inches or 6.5 on hard. his balls are pretty thick and heavy, you wonder how he carries them damn things.

he makes you choke on his dick so much worse in his state of ‘heat’ and your eyes water so fucking much. you see his wicked smile as he’s ruining your throat.

should i do a part 2??

[multch]

Caught.

Art the clown x Reader [18+]

CW: Smut\ afab Reader

Pt.1 (Thoughts)

Art just caught you red-handed pleasuring yourself but he doesn't seem to react… at first.

There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- Oh God no.

Oh God no.

It was in this moment, you felt as small as a starved mouse. Has he always towered over you?

Holding your breath, your gaze hesitantly lifted to meet with his eyes.

Surely he couldn’t hear you in there… And obviously he couldn’t have been waiting outside the whole time.. right?

But what if he had. Would he be disgusted? His face contorted into a disturbed grimace. Could it change your relationship? Would he be so enraged as to consider you his next victim- ready to skin you with his bare hands. Gosh why did you ever think that was a good idea! 

Your lust was your hamartia- the trigger that would spiral into your gruesome demise; a death without an ounce of dignity.

It was as if that doorway was a picture frame holding- you- a moment frozen in time. Your face was flushed bright red and your chest heaved up and down as if you had just ran a marathon. 

Your eyes were wide in shock and pure terror.

As your gaze met his, you couldn’t help but sigh as he walked right past you. How could he be so calm? His smirk dropped as he practically shrugged you off as if you were translucent- as if you weren’t there…

What the hell?!

*

There it layed unfinished. It would only take you a few minutes to stitch back up the final rip.

Across your desk were numerous tools you used throughout the night; The jacket you worked on mere hours ago, several pairs of sharp fabric scissors and an array of pins and needles strung with thread.

Despite the busy crowd of your work-station, you remained alone. 

Where could he be?

*

You looked up at the cheap clock sitting on the wall; 2:15am.

Clutched carefully in your hand, you carried his newly repaired costume with you. When you would return it to him, you would finally be able to go home- that is if you could find him…

It was your 4th time circling around the store and only one thought remained in your mind; 

Where on earth was that damn clown!?

Walking into storage, you were met with the familiar dark and dusty sight you dreaded seeing so often. Luckily, since meeting Art, you were able to evade stock retrieval long enough during your shifts to delegate it to him at night. Unfortunately, every once in a while you would still have to venture out back during the day when issues were too urgent. 

It wasn't rare for liminal spaces to creep you out so the avoidance was understood with a few simple honks of a horn. 

“Hey Art… you in here?” You shivered.

The room was cramped and lined with unstable wire shelving overflowing with cardboard boxes of various sizes. As there were no windows, who knew what could be hiding in the shadows. 

As your eyes adjusted to make out shapes within the darkness, your hand crept around the wall beside you for a light switch.

Aha! There it was.

As you went to flick the switch your heart suddenly dropped.

That’s not the switch… 

Two cold hands grabbed your arm in an instant, pulling you towards a firm chest.

Shit!

“Art! Oh my goodness I am so sorry,” you blurted, “I was just looking for the lightswitch, I didn’t mean to-” 

While what you could see was limited, what you knew was abundant. Your cheeks burned up as you realized what you just did. You didn’t flick the lightswitch, you just hit Art’s nipple- god that’s so embarrassing! You practically screamed at yourself.

What did you drag yourself into! First you think he caught you finger fucking yourself to the thought of him. Now you're in a dark storage cupboard and he's completely naked! 

It's not even his fault, you sighed. You're the one carrying his repaired clothes- Damn it! You should've given him something to wear- you work in a costume shop for christ’s sake!

There, you continued to ramble on and on. Uttering something about an extra Santa costume. Suddenly, you gasped as Art pulled you closer towards himself.

Oh.

Seems like Art noticed your distraction and gave you something else to think about. Yes, he was naked but that didn't interest you when you knew you could lean into the tenderness of his sharp touch.

It ran through you- that burning, stinging sensation everywhere his skin touched yours. He was frozen. He kept pulling you closer into his chest like he needed you to survive. Like your warmth was addictive.

His arms wrapped around you like a snake while he tucked your legs between his thighs.

You looked up at him only to be met with the same shit-eating grin as last time.

What a pervert.

He was infectious. Once you had laid eyes on those disgusting tar black teeth and dark doe eyes, it was as if a command came over your soul. The corners of your lips unconsciously lifted into a smile. Maybe you would take advantage of this proximity for once…

Laying a quick peck on his bottom lip, you chuckled as you knew his facepaint had transferred to your own.

Art always knew how to make you laugh as he reared back to make an exaggerated shocked face. Quickly, he returned the offer by giving you a toothy grin before smashing his lips into yours.

Driving your bodies forward and away from the initial wall, Art bites your bottom lip as a plea for entry. Your back arches against the shelving as he pushes into the kiss. You let him- loving each and every second of pure bliss. 

His tongue explored every inch, every tooth, every surface. It felt like you two stayed like that for eternity. It was as if once you would open your eyes, the night would be long gone.

You winced when you were forced to pull yourself away- heaving large gasps for air. 

You couldn’t believe it. First thing you’re working a simple 9-5 and next thing you know you’re making out with the most infamous murderer in all of New York. The thought was enough to send a surge of energy rising through you.

But is this all? It’s been 3 whole years where you’ve spent countless nights fantasizing about and being subject to his mindless antics. 3 whole years. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you turn back to Art, placing your palm against his hollow cheek. 

Whatever, you were happy to finally show your devotion to him at last…

As your lips hover over his, you gaze into his eyes. Pitch black with not a soul in sight, yet a carefulness he held while looking back at you. Back at you until… 

You felt a strange sensation graze against your thigh.

It was in the moment you learnt it was possible for the white clown to turn a subtle shade of pink. 

His eyes dodged down as he seemed to shuffle slightly further away. Choosing to hide in the shadows again, Art took a couple hefty steps backwards until all you could make out was the outline of his prominent features within the shadows.

“Oh shit..” you uttered under your breath. Art was hard. Oh my goodness, Art was hard and embarrassed. 

Weighing up the pros and cons, you quickly bit the bullet and made up your mind. You were going to take that risk even if it could cost you your life. Art was everything you wanted and more. He had been so helpful over the past few years, you thought he deserved a small favor in return.

Stepping across the small storage room, you land in front of him- placing your hands on his chest. His skin was frigid and without a pulse.

“I can help you with that,” you whisper into his ear.

Despite the quick shocked expression Art played with, it was as if you caught his sincerity for a second before he snaped back into miming an over-emphasized swooning motion; fanning himself with his hand before pretending to faint.

His eyes stare far into yours as if seeking reassurance before acting on his own accord.

You nodded. Falling to your knees, you steadied yourself with both hands holding onto his legs. 

There it was. 

While you had seen it plenty of times, you had never imagined it from this angle. It was ample in length and wide in thickness. The sight was enough to make your mouth water.

You carefully grip the base and work your hands up and down his shaft before placing it in your mouth.

Paying attention to every ridge and bump, you slide your tongue across his length. As you begin bobbing your head back and forth, you look up to find Art’s embarrassment is long gone.

His eyes are shut tight and his mouth gapes open like he's lost for words. (if he had any, that is)

While you pulled closer and closer towards the base of his cock with every thrust, Art put his hands on the crown of your head, pulling you further into him.

Sliding down your throat, you gagged as Art thrusted his shaft into the roof of your mouth. 

For someone so shy before, he’s taking control of this alot more than you expected..

Drool pools at the corners of your mouth, dribbling slowly down your chin. Art takes notice and drags his hand down to wipe it with his shaky thumb.

Fuck- he was so far down the back of your throat, you swore it was a miracle you were till breathing by now.

Thick white ropes coated the walls of your mouth. The action sent you bucking back as it forced you into a coughing fit. God was he bitter tasting.

He flung back before patting your head. It felt degrading- almost as if you were his pet in need of praise after completing a trick.

Lifting your gaze to look up at him, he sends back a dramatic shocked face before shifting to his usual wide grin.

As you stuck your tongue out, you chuckled before swallowing his seed.

*

Zipp! And that was the last of it. All that was left was to lock up the store and you were done. Your desk was cleaned, your repairs were finished and your clown friend was very happy. 

While you loved your job, you were terribly excited to finally go home and have a long rest (maybe even a sweet treat too)

You let out a chuckle as you watched the live footage displayed on the security cameras. Despite being colorless and grainy, the expression on Art’s face was clear as day. There, he waved into the camera- his face imitating the pure joy of a small child* in a candy store; with a large smile and immense energy radiating from him.

(*As pure as he can get considering he’s a murderous hell spawn, but we won’t talk about that…)

He tipped his tiny top hat towards the camera, then swiftly turned on his heels to face the exit.

Ding! Ding! Ding! The bell rang out as Art made his exit, and it was as if he had suddenly vanished.

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow… 

Maybe work could be a bit more exciting from now on, you thought.

[markhoffmans-certified-slut]

The Slashers Asking you “What Would you Do if I Cheated on you?”

Pairing: Slasher Men x f!reader

Notes: I loved writing this chapter. I hope that you guys can enjoy this as much as I liked imagining the little scenarios for it. I am working on the start for the "Asking them to rail you" chapters, so lookout for that soon!

Characters in this chapter include: Art, Billy, Stu, Brahms, Corey, Dennis, Mark, Michael, and Pinhead.

You can find the other chapters I’ve written and will continue writing for the texting series here!

<>~<>~<>

[strangererotica]

PART ONE

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

CW: domestic abuse by reader’s husband, gratuitous violence from Art 🩸🩸🩸

The clown smiled gleefully, his eyes lit with a maniacal excitement. Offering up your abusive husband as, essentially, a toy for Art to play with had his mind running wild with demented ideas. He gripped your hips and lifted you off his lap, then took your hand in his and tugged you enthusiastically with him toward the back of the mall. He stopped you both at a door marked ‘STAFF ONLY.’

Art sat aside the black trash bag he carried, then knelt down to rummage through it. He retrieved a keycard with someone’s identification on it, and swiped it through the reader. As the door clicked open, the clown extended his arm theatrically toward it, as if to say “ladies first.” You snickered, unfazed by the snort that came out of your nose. “How chivalrous of you,” you told Art, stepping past him and through the doorway.

Your foot caught on something just inside, eyes instinctively dropping to see what you’d walked into. The lifeless, glassy eyes of a dead man dressed in a mall security uniform gazed wide up at you. His throat was slit horizontally, the cut so deep you wondered how his head hadn’t detached. A sticky pool of blood fanned out beneath the body.

The clown watched, assessing your reaction. After adjusting to the scene in front of you, letting it sink in completely, you turned to him. Words failed you at the moment, so you simply shrugged your shoulders. In the corner, you noticed a yellow fold-out CAUTION ⚠️ WET FLOOR sign. Stepping over the dead man, you went to collect the sign, planting it next to the body, in the pool of blood that surrounded him. The clown’s eyebrows lifted, his eyes crinkling happily. “Seemed appropriate,” you commented, waving to the sign. Art nodded in agreement, clapping his hands excitedly.

He’d tested you, and you’d passed. Now it was safe to move on to the real task at hand: ending your husband’s life.

You stood with the clown outside your apartment door. The sound of deep bass thumping inside struck you as convenient; hopefully the loud music would conceal any sounds of distress your husband might make during his demise.

With trembling hands, you inserted your key inside the lock. Your husband’s voice called crudely from inside the apartment, “it’s about goddamn TIME you got home!” You closed your eyes, steeling your nerves. The clown tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention. He put his finger to his lips, reminding you to stay silent. Taking a few steps back, he concealed himself behind a corner in the hall.

The sound of your husband’s heavy footsteps thundering closer made your heart race with both anxiety and, with excitement. Because as fucked up as this situation was, you reasoned there was no retribution your husband was better deserving of. He’d terrorized you long enough. Bringing judgment home with you, in the form of a killer clown in a blood-caked Santa suit, was a justice you felt entitled to.

Before you could twist the knob and enter, the door ripped open, making you jump. Your husband’s eyes were wild with rage, his skin red and moist with sweat. “BITCH,” he spat at you. “Who the hell do you think you are? Kept me up all goddamn night, worrying.” That was a lie, and you knew it. Your husband never worried about you, not in the sense that any sane person would. He didn’t worry that you were safe and unharmed; he was the one who harmed you. It was your freedom, your power, that he worried about. That you might one day leave him and take with you the one person he could bully, berate, and keep underfoot: YOU.

With a trembling voice, you tried to speak; but before you could begin, your husband’s hand latched over your wrist, yanking you inside. You stumbled forward in shock, but anger quickly overtook your surprise. “Bastard,” you sneered, attempting to tug your arm from him. His grip only tightened, in what would surely become a bruise later. Frantically, you looked over your shoulder, wondering why the hell Santa Clown wasn’t coming to your aid. Had he abandoned you at the last second? Dread drifted up the back of your spine. One look in your husband’s eyes affirmed it. You realized that this time your husband beat you would end up being the last…but in this scenario, you’d wind up dead instead of him.

“So where the fuck were you?” he growled through his teeth, grip tightening. Your abuser’s fingernails dug into your wrist, making you wince at the sting, “Tell me, you fuckin’ bitch!” The back of his hand came down against your cheek. You gasped, tears of both anger and hopelessness welling in your eyes.

And then…your eyes were pulled away from your husband, to the space behind him. The clown silently approached, his wide, wet smile gleaming. “Prob’ly shackin’ up with some other guy, weren’t you?” your husband barked, his spit hitting your nose. The clown had come to a stop, less than a foot behind your husband. He carried an axe in his hands, fingers twirling around the neck of the weapon once, and then again, reminding you of all the things those fingers were capable of…

Your husband’s sharp voice ripped your focus back to him. “Yeah that’s it, isn’t it?” he grinned humorlessly. “You fuckin’ whore. Suckin’ some other guy’s dick, weren’t you?”

The clown nodded over your husband’s back. “As a matter of fact,” you replied confidently. “I was.”Santa Clown lifted the axe silently above your husband’s head as his hand balled into a fist, preparing to strike you.

*THWACK!*

The axe’s blade cracked through the top of your husband’s skull, a burst of blood gushing down his forehead. His fingers slid off your arm as his body sank to the floor, eyes wide with shock. You went quickly to the door, closing and locking it behind you. The clown stood over your husband, whose body twitched grotesquely. Blood dripped down his face and into his eyes, streaming along his cheeks like red tears.

You ran to the stereo and turned up the music slightly, just in case anyone was listening. Art tucked the toe of his boot under your husband’s shoulder and with a swift kick, flipped him onto his back. Your husband groaned in pain, his voice thick, chortled with blood. It trickled from his nostrils and between his lips, every labored breath expelling more drops of blood. He saw Art looming above him, and being so near death himself, your husband recognized the demon that would send him to Hell. It was the last thought your husband would ever have, as the clown’s axe shattered his sternum to pieces. He died immediately, but Art continued his assault, chopping through your husband’s skull till his entire face was nothing but a pulpy mass of flesh.

You felt yourself getting sick, and knelt down over the couch. Cinnamon spice vodka-flavored vomit belched out from between your lips, spattering the upholstery. The clown was stuffing his axe back inside the garbage bag. He swung it over his shoulder, preparing to leave. You watched as Art propped one of his feet onto your husband’s obliterated chest, and took a humble bow. You smiled back at him, wiping the vomit off your chin. “Thank you,” you told him, and you meant it. Art approached you, his smile fading. Leaning close, he placed a chaste, final kiss to your cheek, then made his way to the door. After he left, it occurred to you that Santa Clown had left your life as quickly, and silently, as he’d entered it.

[spookieloverslittlemind]

Art The Clown - NSFW alphabet

tw: mentions of cnc, forced orgasms, orgasm denial, brief mention of blood play

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

The most aftercare you’re getting from this man is silently pretending to coo over you and wipe your tears. You might be able to convince him to help you bathe if you offer a large quantity of bubbles and/or an exciting bath bomb (prepare for a dramatic ☹️ when you clarify that it is not an ACTUAL bomb).

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

If you ask him what his favourite part of your body is, Art’s answer is as follows:

😱👉🏻👌🏻

This is a gesture inclusive of all your holes, just to avoid any confusion. For a more sentimental answer from him, take a peak here.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Art wants everything to do with cum and that’s not an exaggeration. He doesn’t really care for sex in the traditional sense, he just finds the mess very, very fun. The more bodily fluids the better. Wants his gloves stained with everything. Wants his suit to smell of you like a marked animal. If you can squirt, you will squirt - make no mistake.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This isn’t really answerable because Art exists to be a freak and therefore has no secrets or shame about that.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not a lot because he doesn’t have a real drive for sex or intimacy, it’s more just the mess and fun he finds outside of brutal murder, and he doesn’t consider that a possibility until he meets you. He knows of sex acts prior to you, but has no interest in trying them out until he realises the mess he can make of you. Over and over again.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Prefers you being tied/chained with your legs spread, so any position in which that is possible. Likes it best when you cant pull away; not that you want to, but when overstimulated your body can flinch/thighs can try to close and that’ll have Art shaking his finger at you all ☝🏻🙄

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

The silly sir mayor of goofsville? You’re asking?

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Doesn’t care to groom at all and likes when his or your bodily fluids linger in his pubes because he’s a freak so you do the math.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Again, silently condescendingly cooing over you is the most intimate vibes you’ll receive from this guy. He’ll lick your face and give you little kisses during but it’s predominantly to make you laugh while you’re crying if when you do get overwhelmed.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Finds it funny to jerk it over you and make a mess but otherwise has no real interest in it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Every type of pain/weapon involvement he can think of. Cnc because overpowering you is part of the thrill. Forced orgasms for - you guessed it - the mess.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere, has no preference or sense of decency. If you so much as hint you’re needy, he’ll bend you over a park bench.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Doesn’t really get “turned on” beyond bloodlust type feelings, so all I’m going to say is this: period sex.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that could fatally wound you, because you’re his favourite toy <3

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving. Smearing black and white paint all over your thighs, bruising them with his teeth, smearing the essence of you all over his face? Yeah. He’ll stay down there so long you’ll regret asking it of him, because if you think he’s stopping even after you pass out from exhaustion…you’re mistaken.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Has no concept of sensuality, will only go slow to torture you, but is definitely a more frantic “lover”, if you want to call him that. Goes like a rabbit, and that’s not just true for his cock, either. Fingers, tongue - he’s not slow with any part of himself when it comes to you. He’s not patient about getting the results he wants, but once he’s making a mess of you, he’ll take his sweet time doing anything more than just making the mess worse.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He carries a stopwatch in his black bag of goodies so he can keep a record of how quick he can make you cum at any given time - quickies are this man’s specialty. It’s all a game.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Hahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Considering his own release isn’t something he really cares about or prioritises, he can go for as long as it takes to almost paralyse you. And he’s not stopping then, either.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Let’s be clear: it’s not teasing to Art, it’s torture. Orgasm denial, making you as messy as humanly possible before letting you cum, is the name of Art’s favourite game.

He’s a far more dominant than submissive person in the bedroom, to the extent he will lie there and pretend to yawn while you bounce on his cock to get yourself off without any help from him. Because he’s mean like that. He’ll mock your facial expressions, point and silently laugh at the sounds of your body while he’s fucking you; it’s fun for Art.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

🤨

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

A lot more asexual than people realise, solely based on a lack of general interest into any sex act for what it is. As far as he knows, sex doesn’t typically include blood or pain, so…what’s the point? Art has better things to do that are more fun. Like inventing new torture devices and then using them. But when he meets you, learns about your needs and how he can satisfy you, he realises there is an entirely new world of bodily fluids that he needs to get very well acquainted with.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I mean…we all saw-

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As previously explained, Art doesn’t have a sex drive, really. He just likes mess and finds it fun. That said, whenever and wherever you need him, Art will make you regret it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Art doesn’t sleep, but he understands - begrudgingly - that you need to. Whether he stops playing while you sleep is another matter.