#was kinda fun drawing the kick poses though

[sernik-krakowski]

How the fuck did he not die? [sound volume warning!]

[skzdarlings]

06. sharing a bed series ; skz ; felix

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 6/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. bodyguard au. a dose of angst. open ending. past violence and parental abuse mentioned. ongoing perilous situation and forced proximity. not the healthiest dynamic lol. spanking, some rough play, hair-pulling, throat-grabbing, overstimulation, crying during sex, mention of past unprotected sex, a more dominant felix and a kinda bratty reader.

-

You kick open your bedroom door.  As usual, no one is home except for you and Felix so you are free to scream and curse and stomp all you want. 

“I can’t fucking believe you!” you shout among a flurry of other colourful words.   

Felix enters behind you with his hands in his pockets, looking as nonchalant as ever. 

Felix’s perpetual calmness is half the reason your father hired him.  The other reason is that Felix was the best behaved boy in the world who grew into the most pristine, perfect man.  Your father did not claw his way to the top of the industrial world by settling for anything less than the best.  Lee Felix is the best.  Your father trusts him with everything and anything, including wrangling his rambunctious daughter.  Felix’s job is to guard and protect you – from others and from yourself.   He is annoyingly good at it.    

Felix is the prettiest, loveliest, sweetest man on the outside, particularly selected for his unassuming attributes.  An obvious bodyguard figure draws unwanted attention.  Felix, however, attended high school and college with you, posing as a fellow student and never looking out of place, always appearing gentle and ordinary and kind.  Behind that, he is a lethally competent bodyguard.  Your skinny, freckled, fair-haired watchdog can subdue any adversary. 

Including the one tonight. 

“I was just doing my job,” Felix says.  He closes your bedroom door and locks it out of habit even though you are home alone.  He is still completely uncaring to your crisis, as fucking usual, wandering around like he is a sensitive little lamb, smiling and content. 

You throw yourself down on your bed with a dramatic heave. 

“You broke his arm!” you cry.   

Felix is standing at your desk, removing his work equipment.  He is dressed like a civilian for the most part, denim pants with a windbreaker and a button-down over a t-shirt.  He lays the jacket over the back of the chair and sighs, looking at his reflection in your vanity mirror.   He runs a hand through his hair, still casual, feathering the dyed locks so they flutter back into place.   

“I was just doing my job,” he repeats.  He undoes the button-down and tosses it aside, then kicks his shoes under the desk.  

Felix is all sharp lines and harsh angles, slender but athletic.  His cheekbones are high, his angular face softened by his dark eyes and endearing freckles.   That sweetness is juxtaposed by the gun harness strapped across his back. 

You swallow.  The harness hits the floor, then he grabs the back of the t-shirt and yanks it swiftly over his head.  It joins the pile of discarded articles. 

He sits on the desk chair with a distracted sigh, dutifully disassembling the gun for an inspection or cleaning or whatever nonsense Felix has decided is more important than your conversation.  

“His arm,” you repeat.  “You broke his arm.  He was a completely innocent guy!  I’m allowed to flirt with guys!  Just because you’re my daddy’s good dog and he doesn’t let you get your dick wet, doesn’t mean I have to suffer too.” 

Felix looks at you, his mouth a thin line with his unamused smile. 

“Cute,” he says.  He drops the smile and his distinctive deep voice drops another decibel when he says, “You can flirt.  Just not with him.”

“His arm—”

Felix closes the gun and puts it on the desk. 

“I think he was lucky I didn’t rip it off for grabbing you like that, don’t you think?”  Felix says.  He asks it so nicely too, tipping his head imploringly, like he really wants an answer.  Not that he waits.  Just as soon as the smile comes, it goes, replaced with a eye roll as he gets to his feet. 

“Get ready for bed,” Felix says.  “And, mmm, that’s not a request by the way.  I’m phoning your dad to tell him we’re home safe.” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, just leaves the room while reaching into his back pocket for his phone.  He closes the door behind himself, leaving you to fume by your lonesome. 

Out of rebellious frustration, you do not budge an inch.  You cross your arms and sit back on your bed, still dressed in your evening outfit.  You can distantly hear Felix speaking in a formal voice and it makes you twitch with anticipation. 

Felix being so professional is simultaneously his most annoying and most attractive quality.  Annoying, because he really never falters on the clock.  Attractive, because it wouldn’t be any fun pushing him to the boundaries of his rules if he wasn’t such a stickler in the first place.

When Felix returns, still wearing nothing more than his jeans, his expression immediately turns exasperated.  He closes the door and puts his hands on his hips, staring down at you.  

You stare straight ahead, arms and ankles crossed.   You and Felix have shared a bed since the day he was hired, back when you were teenagers, as you were in the habit of sneaking out at night.  You were not intimidated by the chubby-cheeked teenage boy, gleefully slipping past him while he slumbered – until suddenly you were being yanked back through the window.  You learned the hard way that despite his appearance and disposition, he was an especially skilled martial artist.    

As your father continues to accrue enemies in every market, you cannot live life on your own, not without endangering it.  You still need Felix.  You still share a bed.  Everything you do, you do with Felix, whether you like it or not.  Felix expresses little feeling on that front, a perpetual font of seeming sunshine when he isn’t breaking someone’s arm.

You know you are being mightily petulant by keeping him up, but you don’t care.   If you can’t have what you want then neither can he.   You can stay up all night, just staring and glaring at each other contemptuously.  You are happy to let all that mutual disdain simmer through its achingly slow burn. 

“Really?”  Felix says.  “Do we have to do this tonight?” 

“I’m not doing anything,” you say.   

“Right.”  He laughs dryly but sits gingerly on his side of the bed.  He smiles, his eyes crinkling sweetly with pleasure.  His hair is getting longer again, sweeping his neck, and you watch as he delicately tucks some behind his ear.   He leans on one arm, looking at you.  “I’ll ask you nicely then, sweetheart.” 

Ooh, that’s a low blow and he knows it.  The word sweetheart always sounds so rich in his mouth, his accent softening the heart of it.  Hopefully he misses the way you melt, but you doubt it. 

His smile only deepens. 

“Please, please get ready for bed,” he says.  “It’s been a long day, yeah?  And we’re both so tired.  Come on.  Let’s go.  Just need some rest I think.  Yeah, yeah, let’s go.” 

You do not move.    

You hear him sigh, a melodic sound.  He runs his hand through his hair again. 

“All right,” he says, soulfully.  “All right.  Fine.” 

You hear the sharper inflection in his tone but you react a moment too late.  Your bed is big, big enough you could starfish without even brushing his side of the bed, so it takes you a second to scamper to the opposite side. 

That second is too long.  Felix reaches out and grabs you by the calf, dragging you across the bed.

“Don’t you dare,” you say, kicking at him to no avail.   “I’ll phone my dad!”

He is completely undeterred by your dramatics, only sighing when he hauls you over his lap. 

“Go ahead,” he says.  “I’m allowed to use, uhhh, what’d he say… discretion… mm… to discipline you if I think I need to.” He puts his phone within your reach.  It is not a genuine gesture of goodwill so much as it is taunting you because you both know your father would take his side.   “Well?” he asks.  “Do you want to phone him?”   

“I hate you,” you say.

“I know,” he replies.  “Sorry.” 

He sounds like he means it, though it’s hard to believe him when he flicks up your dress and swings his open palm across your ass.  His hand comes down four more times before he neatly fixes your skirt again. 

“Bed time?” he asks brightly, like everything has been solved with no problem. 

You crawl off his lap while grumbling irritably, doing your best to ignore the smarting on your behind when you turn over to glare at him.  He is just smiling at you, that thin-lipped way he smiles with dry humour. 

“I hate you,” you say again. 

He waves his hand, gesturing the vaguest, blandest sentiment of meh with its wiggle.  

“I’m just doing my job,” he says for the millionth time. 

“Really?” you reply with as much sarcasm as he usually gives.  He hears it, tilting his head like a curious cat, as if he has no idea why you could possibly be upset with him – though the stupid little upturn to his lips tells you that he knows exactly why.  

You hate him.  You really, really do hate him.  You have never hated anyone the way you hate him and you want to shout it from the roof.  But you can’t do that.  You can only say it to his face in private, in whatever way you can.  

You reach without warning, cupping the bulge between his legs and finding a lot more than a denim crinkle.  His gaze darkens, his hand covering yours warningly, though he doesn’t lift it away.

You adopt a saccharine sweet tone when you speak.

“Do you tell my daddy that when you discipline me you get hard?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. 

He moves your hand to his thigh instead, shaking his head. 

“Stop being silly,” he says.  “Go get ready for bed.” 

Your eyes follow him as he stands.  He doesn’t get far when you grab his belt loop and tug him back.   Felix has fast reflexes and is incredibly coordinated, so you find it hard to believe you sincerely bested him, but he stumbles as if you did.   He stands where you want him, where he’s close enough for you to kneel on the bed and press your face right against his bulge. 

He says your name in a warning voice, his already deep voice dropping more.

“I wonder…” you say, nuzzling your nose against the ridge in the denim, where you can feel him hard and getting harder still.  “When my daddy asks you what we do all day,” you say, flicking your eyes up to his, “do you tell him your dick spends more time in my mouth than in your pants?”

His nostrils flare with his next breath. 

You smile, victorious. 

“He still thinks you’re his perfect soldier, doesn’t he?” you ask.  “You can do no wrong.  Little does he know…”

“I do my job,” Felix says.  “And I do a good job.  Okay? That’s all that matters.”   

You start to open your mouth, one hand climbing towards his fly.   You stop with a gasp when he fists a chunk of your hair, tugging your head away from him.  It sends a hot shock rippling through you, flooding you with the recollection of all the times he grabbed your hair and pulled you closer, the times he cupped your head and put himself in your mouth despite knowing better, the number of times he fucked between your pretty lips and forgot to be proper, cursing so much it was practically poetry. 

This time he guides you away and you whimper miserably.  He does not loosen his grip, his fingers threading closer to your scalp so it both hurts less and holds stronger.   He knows better than to just let go.   He knows you perfectly.  You glare at him. 

“Look at me,” he says, because your gaze dropped to his bulge again.  “I said look at me.”   He tugs your hair so you obey, giving him your most annoyed expression.  “You’re listening, yeah?” he says.  He doesn’t wait for an answer.  “You’re going to go to your closet.  Get ready for bed.  Sleep.  You’re going to do that,” his voice turns frighteningly pleasant, “or I’m going to carry you over there and get you ready myself.” 

“Like when we were leaving the club tonight?” you ask just as sweetly.  “And you put me over your shoulder then, oops, something happened when we were in the limo, didn’t it?” 

He lets go of you, exhaling tiredly in a high-pitched breath.

“Where did all your pretty rings go, Felix?” you ask, reaching for his bare hand, usually adorned with rings.  “Did they fall on the floor in the limo when you decided you had to shove your hand up my skirt?”   

Leaving the club, you were both wired.  Felix was honestly justified in breaking that guy’s arm.  You purposefully chose the creepiest, shadiest guy in the club to lead on, knowing Felix would appear two seconds later to rescue you.   He always does.  No one else ever pays you any personal attention and your life is too complicated for romance, so you thrive on the feeling of someone caring enough to always find you – even if it’s literally his job. 

You also like getting mad at him for overreacting, but you like his overreactions.   Him twisting and breaking that creep’s arm honestly turned you on.  It also got Felix all worked up, a bit pissed because you were being irresponsible again but nonetheless heated.  You thought for sure he’d take you home and go crazy and fuck you in the foyer.  Instead he put up the limo divider and one-by-one removed his rings, giving you ample time to refuse before he covered your mouth tightly and slid his other hand up between your thighs. 

Of course, despite bringing you to the edge several times, he never let you finish.  Because he’s the worst. 

And now you’re all worked up and he’s shirtless and being a stupid, pretty, two-faced bitch.

“I—”  you start. 

He rolls his eyes and says, “I know. I know.  You hate me.  Now go.”

You get up, stomping all the way to your walk-in closet.  You can’t even slam the door because it’s a sliding one, but you make the biggest possible demonstration of closing it anyway. 

You get ready for bed.   You briefly consider dressing provocatively or even strolling out there naked, but in the end you decide to just dress in your ugly, comfy, over-sized t-shirt and march angrily back into the room. 

Felix is gone when you return, probably off to double-check the house security one last time before joining you.   You could try climbing out the window and down the terrace, just to be ridiculous, but he’ll catch up sooner than later and be even more annoying about it.   So you get into bed and turn off the lights, laying down with a huff, blankets pulled up to your chin. 

You get a bit dozy before Felix returns, the creaking door snapping you awake.  You look over your shoulder and watch him finally shuck the jeans.  He gets into bed in his boxers, removing his earrings once under the covers.  He puts on the bedside table, then double-checks his gun is in the drawer, then and then only then does he lay down. 

The big bed leaves an ocean of space between you.  You roll over to face him.  His eyes are closed but there’s no way he is already asleep. 

“Felix,” you whisper, even though the big house is empty, “I’m cold.”

“There’s another blanket in the closet,” he says without opening his eyes. 

You slide across the bed, close enough to reach out and put a hand on his chest.  He opens his eyes and stares straight up. 

“I need a cuddle,” you say.  “Or I’ll have nightmares.” 

“You’re not a child anymore,” he says. 

That is maybe one thing you miss about the time before you and Felix started… this.  When things were still innocent between you, he would often let you snuggle up with him.  Now, he keep his distance.  Now, he doesn’t hug or hold you. 

So no one does.    

“We’re still young,” you say, a dumb argument, but you’re tired and out of ideas. 

“I was never as young as you,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.  He seems to realize what he said and shakes his head.  He pats your hand on his chest then rolls over, leaving his back to you. 

You slowly return your hand to yourself, staring at the back of his head with an uncharacteristic prickling of tears. 

Felix doesn’t talk about his life before this.  You just know that it was somehow worse.   Worse than being a watchdog.  Worse than giving up years of his life to protect someone else.   Worse than the times your father wanted to discipline you but learned that if he hit you directly you would just patch yourself up and move on, but if he hit Felix then you would break down and offer anything to make him stop.  

You can see a couple faded scars from those times, faint lines that cross his back, remnants of old belt lashings.  You touch one now, tracing your finger lightly from one end to the other.  You watch a shiver roll down his spine.   He doesn’t turn around. 

Giving up, you roll away, back to your distant side of the bed.  You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep, but it just makes you well up with tears.  You sniffle, rubbing your nose messily on the back of your arm.    

Fabric rustles.  You suck in a breath when Felix slides up behind you, pulling you into the middle of the bed where he holds you snugly in his arms.   You immediately roll to face him, throwing a leg over his hip and burying your face in his neck. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, nothing else. 

“I hate you,” you say, then press a kiss just under his jaw.

“I know.”  He cups the back of your head as your kisses move down his neck.  “I know.” 

You make it to the middle of his chest before he turns you onto your back and gets up over you.  He kisses you properly, thumbs wiping your tears as his mouth makes you forget about the reason you cried at all.  All that matters is kissing him back, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him close as possible.  His sounds of pleasure are so deep and rough and rumbling. 

“Fuck me, please, please,” you say, pushing your fingers into his hair. 

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“You know we can’t do that,” he says. 

“We’ve done it before,” you say, purposefully canting your hips to rub against him, reminding him you are still so hot and wet from his finger-fucking, that only stupid underwear keeps you apart.  It has the desired effect, his brow furrowing as he holds himself still above you.  You peck his lips and string your arms around his neck.  “You know I’m on birth control now for that reason,” you say, a little sweetly, smiling up at him.  “Remember?”

He drops his face in the crook of your neck and makes an even crazier sound, shaking his head. 

“That was very, very irresponsible of us, you know,” he says. 

“Mhm,” you say, sliding your hand down his body to his waistband.  “It really was.  But it felt good, didn’t it?   Dangerous.  Coming inside me like that.”

Felix is right; that incident was very irresponsible.  You had already started your little cat-and-mouse game and ran out of condoms one night.  Because the two of you only have sex with each other, when that happened, you usually just fooled around until he pulled out. 

That time was… a lot.   You were pressed so tightly together and you were being painfully quiet because you weren’t home alone.  It was such a stupid time to mess around, but common sense leaves you when Felix is involved. 

That feeling is mutual.  Felix knew better too.   If he got you pregnant… the fallout with your father would be catastrophic for both of you.   Still, for that moment he was inside you, with your fingers laced together and pressed by your head, with your legs tight around him and his face in your neck, nothing else seemed to exist.  You were two normal people who were allowed to do whatever they wanted with whoever they wanted.  It was a breathless, momentary fantasy, holding him tight and telling him to come, shuddering at the noise he made as he did just that.   You didn’t even panic after the fact.   You let the moment linger for as long as it could, still pretending you were normal, still pretending it was fine. 

You started birth control soon after, telling your father it was to regulate your period.   He waved it off, not wanting to hear more.  

Your father has truly never suspected a thing.  He doesn’t see the people around him as people, just objects, so it makes sense that he sees nothing in Felix but a soldier.  He doesn’t know anything about Felix.  Doesn’t know the pattern of his freckles or how his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.  Doesn’t know he has a sweet tooth and will dump a thing of sugar in nearly everything.  Doesn’t know what he finds funny, doesn’t know what makes him sad, doesn’t know anything at all.  

You drag your calf up the back of his leg.

“Felix,” you say. 

He gives you no chance to say more.  One second you are in limbo, the very next he has shoved down both his boxers and your underwear and is already pressing into you.  Only nonsense leaves your lips after that, your eyes closing as he works your body like a familiar and well-loved instrument.   He knows it as well as you do.  As you do his.  It’s easy to work him up, to get him as close as you. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, changing position so he’s kneeling.  He puts one of your legs up against his chest, levelling you with an amused smile.  “You’re trying to get me to finish first,” he says. 

“What? Noooo…”  Your giggle turns into a gasp.  You can be as loud as you want but you bite your fist anyway, hiccupping with a choked back sob of pleasure when he finds an angle that makes you see stars. 

“Yes, you are,” he says.  “But you won’t win.” 

“I will,” you say.

“Uh-uh,” he says. “Sure.” 

He makes you come twice before he does.  He even starts pushing you towards a third but you are so oversensitive that it makes tears fall.  He cups your chin and looks at you, cursing. 

“You’re so mean,” you say, smiling through your tears.  “Getting off to me crying.”

“I’m—not—I just—”

“Liar,” you tease.  “You totally are.”

He just giggles.  Then he flips a switch and goes from cute to something else, grabbing your throat and fucking into your oversensitive pussy so good and hard that you cry out.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he says.  “Got you.  Got you.  I—”

You kiss him and he comes, sinking into you with dick and tongue and breath, filling you and surrounding you.  

You hold him close, arms tight around him, his sweaty forehead pressed to yours.   When he tries to lift away, you pull him back, making him laugh softly. 

“Stay,” you say, and repay his torture by squeezing him inside you, knowing it will make him twitch and jerk with oversensitivity of his own. 

“You never make it easy for me, do you,” he says with no animosity. 

You shake your head and smile like you’re proud of that.  He laughs then kisses you.   The kiss is good and thorough and sweet, completely loving, affectionate.  It gets your heart racing despite everything you just did.  You rest your hands on his chest and gently push him back. 

“I still hate you,” you say, because you have to say it, because the opposite would be too dangerous to ever say.  You can’t even let that word enter your thoughts, certainly never let it leave your lips.  If you held that word in your mouth for even a second, you would become addicted to it.   So you glare at him with all passion you can muster and say,   “I hate you so much.”   You sniffle when he wipes your tears away.   You turn your face.  “I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone.” 

“I know,” he says in a strained voice.  He presses his forehead to your temple and exhales.   “I know, sweetheart.” 

[a-simple-imagine]

monsters on film

synopsis: you ask janis to help with a project

pairing: janis imi'ike x reader

words: 2.1k+

A/N - just trying to spark the urge to write again. i pretty much gave up on this but figured I would share it anyway

WARNING - swearing

a heavy sigh slips into the early, surprisingly chilly, spring air as you wait rather impatiently at the edge of the tree line. time embarrassingly ticking on. you check the time. she was late. maybe she just was not coming. it had been a last-minute invite. or maybe she had just said yes so you would leave her alone. you swallow that little pang of disappointment. you could still get some interesting shots out here even if she didn't show up.

"hey," adrenaline spikes as you turn sharply. she backs up a little just as startled. "sorry,"

Janis 'imi'ike. local Northshore art freak. usually found drawing or more so sewing. you share an art class so you knew each other but weren't particularly close. you liked watching her work though. it's interesting to watch the cogs turn in her head. "it's okay," you offer a smile.

"so why did you wanna meet?" they wonder.

"I need help with an assignment," a photography assignment to be exact. you needed an excuse to talk to her and when your friend suggested asking Janis to help, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to hang out with her. janis made no apparent to hide her feelings on her face.

"Oh," she hummed. "homework? I thought we were gonna do something fun. Why are we all the way out here then? couldn't we do this at school?" Janis wonders, drifting past you and towards the treeline. "do I look like the outdoorsy type to you?" your eyes follow her. a pit forming in your stomach. maybe this was a bad idea. janis 'imi'ike was far from the outdoorsy type. that's not why you invited her.

"not really,"

"so?" she glances back at you.

you shrug. you're not exactly the outdoorsy type either but you like it out here. it's always so peaceful. "it's for my photography class."

"I don't know much about photography like," Janis admits. "I've fucked about making short films but nothing serious."

a light sparks behind your eyes but it quickly dims; you had a million questions that you were too shy to ask. "I wanna take pictures of you," you clarify. a bark of laughter before she realises you're serious.

"oh shit, why?" her brow furrows. you're not really sure what to say to that. you didn't really want to admit you just needed an excuse to hang out with them so you shrug. they shrug too before heading into the woods. you pull your camera from the backpack and start following her. your approach to photography was merely based on instinct. you took pictures when it felt right. you could apply every trick in the book but that would never guarantee anything good. at least if you work on your own drive then you get something out of it. "just know if you're gonna murder me and take pictures of the body, Damian knows I was meeting you" You're not really sure what to say to that. janis just continues walking, kicking up multicoloured leaves as they go. After a moment they continue. "are we just gonna walk around the woods? do I need to like pose or anything?"

you like that she has come around to the idea of being your model enough to ask questions. "kinda but you don't need to pose. it's not that kind of photoshoot I'm just gonna take pictures when it feels right."

"hmm alright," you fall into silence. it feels a little awkward. small talk had never been your strong suit. "you don't talk much huh?" she comments after a moment; it makes your stomach churn. she was correct but did she need to point it out?

"I'm just nervous," you shrug. she slows until you're walking side by side.

"why? do I make you nervous?" you glance at her just in time to notice the smirk spreading on her lips but as she turns to you and your eyes meet, you quickly look away. "you're the one who randomly invited me to wander around the woods, if anyone should be nervous it should be me,"

you swallow hard. "uh, I'm sorry... I was thinking we should head to the well."

a huff of a laugh. "the well?"

"there's like an old well around here, near this creepy old shack."

"a creepy old shack and an abandoned well? you sure this isn't a murder plot?" she teases. it just makes your stomach sink further. you needed to get over this if you were gonna take at least one decent picture never mind a whole assignment worth. "lead the way then," they insist with a flourish of their hands. there was a fifty chance that you were gonna get lost. janis had been the one to lead up until this point so your positioning was off. you're so anxious the universe will probably do anything to make you look worse. and frankly, even on a good day, you've managed to get all turned around. but still, you lead the charge and the other explores with what little freedom is allowed.

the shack was a small building constructed of now rotting wood. it had two small boarded-up windows. you had never been inside. you pretty much avoided the place altogether. nothing good can come from a creepy old shack. "are we almost there?" Janis calls from further down the hill. "we've been walking for ages." it had not been that long probably more like twenty minutes but admittedly you were leading her uphill. when she reaches you, a hand slaps against your shoulder almost making you drop your camera. heat also rushes to your cheeks.

"It's just up ahead," you explain, pointing towards the building through the trees. the well isn't far from the shack.

"oh shit," the girl breezes past you and continues the journey. you follow behind. Take your camera out and hold it up. watching the other through the lens. but as she looks back with a smile, you lower it. offering a small smile. She waits for you beside the old building. "how longs has this been here?" you just shrug. "what's inside?" you shrug again. "you've never been in?" they ask as they walk up the porch steps. they lean towards one of the windows to see inside. "can we?"

"We can't," you fire back. you knew better than to go into some creepy building in the woods. there's no telling who or what lives in there and you would rather not risk it. 

"why?"

"we're not supposed to," the other girl just rolls her eyes.

"nobody is around. who's gonna tell?" the wood creaks as you walk up onto the porch to join her. you didn't know how old this place was once but it looked like it could cave in at any moment. there was no way it was even safe on the porch. 

 "come on." as she reaches for the handle you grab her shoulder.

"don't," you insist. "please," she seems surprised but it quickly fades as she reaches for your hand. the contact makes blush and you pull your hand away. "sorry, I didn't mean to..." You turn away and step back down. "sorry."

"It's fine," she replies. "you good?" you nod a little. the girl comes up behind you. hesitates for a moment like she's contemplating before speaking up again. "so where's the well?"

"uh right, the well,"

"We don't have to go if you don't want to," they respond.

"It's not much further. just up the hill and left." you look at them. offer a smile which they return.

"let's go," you watch them walk away. feeling embarrassed. feeling awkward. you take a picture of Janis as she weaves between a couple of trees and follow along.

a stone well sits crumbling at the top of the low-rise hill. it was in better condition than the shack for sure. you capture the moment Janis spots it and rushes ahead. and again as she leans over the edge to look down. "how deep is it?"

"not sure," you shrug. "Deep enough that you can't see the bottom." you place your bag on the ledge before looking over into the darkness.

"what do you reckon is at the bottom?" there's a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looks at you. you hold up the camera and she is quick to look away. you take a picture anyway.

"Timmy," her brow furrows.

"it was a joke sorry. old reference."

"Oh, she makes jokes now?" Janis teases. "cute."

"do you reckon people have fallen down there? what if there's like bodies and shit?"

"you seem excited about the bodies,"

"I mean no obviously that's bad but do you reckon?"

"maybe," you shrug. "we'd never know,"

"Exactly!" they respond. "could be anything. like secret tunnels and shit." Janis pushes back and starts rushing around the small clearing. your brow furrows but you snap a picture.

"what are you doing?"

"looking for something to throw down," they bend down and pick up a rock before rushing back over. the hold it got a moment and then let it go. you stare at her as she stares down.

"uh," she holds up her hand to shush you and continues staring. you kick the ground awkwardly and look around. guess she was waiting for a sound.

"I brought coins," you explain.

"did you hear that?" Janis looks to you. you shake your head. "what are the coins for?"

"I always toss one in. Pray nothing ever comes out."

"never took you for the superstitious type," Janis hums. "you think the gate to hell is down there or something,"

"I'm picturing a creature of some kind,"

"What kind of creature?" they ask, she turns to face you. pushing herself up to sit on the ledge. your stomach turns but less because she's focused on you and more on the fear that she could fall in. You'd have no way to help.

"I dunno. just like this giant shadow creature. pitch black from head to toe, can't distinguish any part of its body except for when it bares its teeth. and it has like these sharp yellow eyes."

"a shadow creature," Janis repeats. "quite the imagination."

"you never know," you insist.

"Can I have a coin?"

"Sure, grab my bag from beside you," the girl turns recklessly looking for the bag and knocks it backwards. the ledge is big enough that it doesn't fall in but the fact it was unzipped and Janis grabbed the bottom meant a lot of the contents slipped out and into the darknesses "holy shit." you rush to the edge but it's too late. the girl picks up your bag more carefully this time. holding it out. you practically snatch it from her, looking inside. all your film. gone. fuck. you had your last assignment in there and it was tomorrow. you drop the bag and go back to staring down the well.

"fuck,"

"was that important?"

"only all my photos and backup film."

"do you have them saved to like the cloud or something?"

"I mostly shoot on physical film- fuck."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to, I-"

"It's okay,"

"no, it's not." Janis insists.

"it was an accident. I didn't realise I left it open."

"Sorry,"

"It's fine," you sigh softly backing away. "do you still want a coin?" you pick your bag up. at least your camera wasn't in there.

"do you wanna leave?" Janis suggests. you shake your head.

"I still need some pictures." you root through the backpack, unzipping the back pocket to collect a coin. "here."

she takes it slowly. it's clear the atmosphere has changed once again. and just when you started feeling more comfortable.

it's Friday. you have art today. you haven't spoken to Janis since that evening. it's only been two days though. you know she feels bad but you can't deal with it. you're too stressed about the pictures you lost. you walk in and take your usual spot around the table.

"hey," Janis takes the spot beside you. normally James sat there. "can we talk?"

"We don't need to," you insist. "it's fine."

"I feel like you're mad at me," Janis comments. "and I'd rather talk it out than have you avoid me."

"I'm not mad at you," you reply. "I'm just... stressed."

"what are you gonna do?"

"I explained the situation but I only got a three-day extension. so I have to do the entire thing again over the weekend."

"I'm sorry,"

"please stop apologising,"

"but it was my fault,"

"it was an accident," you express. "it's just as much my fault so let's just... move on."

"Are you free over the weekend?"

"no, I have homework to do. where are you not listening?"

"other than that?"

"I'm not gonna have time for anything else,"

"let me help you- it's the least I can do."

"you don't have to do that,"

"I want to, please?"

you shrug. "fine. whatever. you can help." 

// NEXT

[todayisafridaynight]

I didn't really get a chance to say it yesterday (or the day before lol) but I've been having tons of fun with the new stream schedule and with revisiting Judgment with you and everyone! Excited for today's stream too of course; Admittedly I Did Giggle And Kick My Feet A Little about you considering drawing Tsuruno BUT I'll of course be just as happy to see Masato/Aoki <3 or anyone else <3 I actually don't remember ever seeing you draw Aoki's scars in spite of The Controversy...

ALSO PLEEEEEEASE I Am SORRY For Shishiposting (<- It Is Fine And Will Happen Again) 😭😭😭 a bitch predictable... I do genuinelyyyyyy want to comment on every other post you make though I just wish I still had that kinda time right now </3 I will say it was funny as hell seeing you post about Daigo's correct estimation of the threat Shishido's charisma poses (SUCH a Father and Son Intelligence vs. Wisdom moment between Daigo and Kiryu btw) while I was in the middle of having an argument with someone saying Shishido wasn't charismatic lmao

judgment streams have been real fun even if i do run around my room five minutes before every one LOL it's been swell so far playin through the game the first time with everybody :]

i truly aint got any idea what to draw specifically for stream, there's been a whole lotta things ive been wantin to draw so it's gonna be hard boilin it down to one. i might just do a random sketch pile, tho it will def be annoyin havin to run and grab ref images every so often LOL BUT it'll be fun regardless :) i hope :))

i don't really get a lot of chances to draw aoki's scars. i can count of all the times ive done so on my hand and those drawings were preeeettty old, so i try Not to think of them lol. even comics where i wanted to Poke at his post recovery i've already done, and even in THAT i still had him bandaged. world wasn't meant to see him post op i suppose lol (´▽｀)

AND AS YOU SAY IT'S FINE LMAO im always happy to read whatever you got to say (❁´◡`❁) i make a lot of posts broski, it is very understandable that theres no time to comment on a lot of them. because i have little else to do outside of my Silly Posting LOOOL so i appreciate the time you can find to write in :)