Late Night Visit

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt x reader

Warnings: None at all really! Mostly just fluff

Summary: Thomas comes late in the evening to see you.

Now, it’s no secret around these parts, the house that is, that you always struggled with rolling out of bed in the mornings.

It easily took you at least an hour to fully rise to your feet and finally go about your day, it was simply how your body chose to function.

Especially in such… Unique circumstances.

While Hoyt always used it as an excuse to kick your bucket and peel the meat from your bones for dinner, thankfully Miss Luda Mae was much more considerate and just sent her boy Thomas every ten or so minutes to shake the sleep out of your bones.

Quite literally.

You remembered the first time poor Thomas made the trip up the old creaky stairs to the room you were tied up in. The large man didn’t realize you were a sensitive riser at the time, and Luda Mae hadn’t bothered to warn him, which caused the whole ordeal to end with a sprained wrist on your end and a juicy black eye for Thomas. The whimper that came out of him surprised you for certain, he downright sounded like a wounded puppy, not at all in character with the man’s hulking appearance.

Then again, you also hadn’t been expecting an officer of the law to pistol-whip you and drag you to his house for dinner. To BE dinner, mind you.

Granted while it hadn’t ended up going Hoyt’s way, the sentiment was a little hard to shake.

But here you were anyway.

After that little scuffle though, they started tying your legs again, and a certain upset mama bear banned the man from the chore. But of course, after Luda Mae got tired of always making the trip up the stairs, she finally caved and sent her sweet boy on the missions his younger legs could handle once again.

Not before a stern warning not to be difficult to her baby boy, of course.

Thomas only lasted three days before noticing the bright rope burns glowing on your ankles, and the pair of big brown eyes hidden behind wild hair swirled with guilt at the sight.

Your wriggly feet had been free since and you both kept the little secret just between you and him.

It was an easy one to keep too, considering he always made extra sure to tuck the blanket under your feet before bed. You remembered the indistinguishable look in his eyes when you offered a feeble smile at the minor, yet thoughtful action the first time he did it.

Since then, the air in the room had started to shift over time. Whenever he ducked his towering frame through the door every morning and night, you could see his large shoulders droop, the tension seeping out from the core of his bones. At first, you thought it was because there was a wall between him and the noisy bickering that always seemed to be floating through the halls. A good portion of the subjects bein’ about the butcher himself.

Always in a not so kind light, too.

But, eventually, you came to realize it was just your presence that drew out such a thing from him.

You never did really prove that the sentiment was real, the introverted butcher made that sure, but lord be damned if you didn’t hope it was true.

Months passed, and you’d finally come to terms with the fact that you’d never get to leave the Hewitt house. Upon that realization, you found yourself more comfortable with the notion than you’d expected. You had cracked a smile when a certain resident of the home came to mind. Granted they were still a cautious bunch and made certain to chain you to your bed every night. Plus you were damn near positive you’d get early arthritis from all the sewing they were having you do. But, they let you skip out on the more meaty meals they served in favor of the veggies from the garden.

Can’t get any worse you supposed.

If anything, it got just that little bit better when a few cold nights later. You turned your attention from the book nestled in your hands to your door, the familiar sound of heavy footfalls closing in on your room per routine. Though that said routine had been finished over half an hour ago, your toasty tucked-in toes and chained wrist were a testament to that. The oddity caused you to smooth down the corner of your page, saving your spot before reaching over to set it on your nightstand. Hands now resting in front of you with calloused fingers picking at the threads of the blanket, you waited for the telltale whine the door always gave when it opened and gave a curious albeit worried tilt of your head.

Once there was a sizeable crack, that telltale shaggy head of hair slipped it's way in, a pair of big chocolate eyes peering at you in the dim-lit room. The hesitant look in Thomas’ eyes paired with how they struggled to stay locked onto yours drew an amused yet soft chuckle from your lips, the heat of nerves seeping out from your chest.

You can’t remember a time after settling into the home when Thomas didn’t show his southern charm, those polite little manners Luda Mae made sure her boy had. Which, considering his occupation, never lost its charm.

“You can come in, Thomas.”

The gentle murmur encouraged him to gently swing open the door, ducking his head as always while shuffling his way into the room. Your eyebrows furrowed as he hovered around the entrance, though a smile was still present on your lips.

He was so tense, nervous. Noticing this pulled down at the corners of your mouth a tad. Why was he so stiff? One of his hands was picking at the string tying his apron to his body, while his other hovered almost stock-still at his side, clenched into a tight fist. You hadn’t seen him like this since a person Hoyt brought for him to butcher had slipped through his fingers and escaped the basement. Kudos to him though, as he’d chased the woman down with ease and had brought her back in record time, but the verbal and physical lashing he received had him dangling on the edge of a panic attack for a solid two days.

While before, you would’ve mourned for the person who failed to escape what you’d thought was hell, now the memory of how distraught Thomas was the only nasty taste left in your mouth.

When your lips parted to ask the poor man what was wrong, his head was quick to bow down with his jittery gaze following. He looked at his mucked and worn boots for a few beats of his stuttery heart, before they finally flickered up to meet your own. You took the chance to scoot over in your bed, the old mattress creaking before you patted the now free spot next to you with your free hand, the other chained to the metal baseboard.

His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably as he tried to swallow his nerves, before taking the short steps his longer legs needed to reach the now open seat next to you.

The bed groaned even louder as he sat down, his back facing you. The new, larger body caused a dip in the mattress and had you sliding over, your shoulders bumping against his spine. Your hand reached up to press against him out of reflex to catch yourself, and your struggling smile finally fell once you felt the small tremors coming off him.

You pulled up the edge of your nightgown and shuffled towards his side, only barely managing to peek around his wide shoulders before the chain connecting you to the bed grew taught, cutting into the bandages Thomas swaddled around your wrists to protect them.

Another shiver vibrated up his spine as you slid your hand from his back and over to the front of his shoulder, chin barely pressing into him as you gave out a low, thoughtful hum. You’ve learned over time through experience that patience was the way to go with the man. Demands and pressure will only bring his anxiety to a boiling point before it pours out of the soup pot that was Thomas Hewitt.

His tremors slowly eased over the next few minutes, the heavy breathing puffing from behind his muzzle-like mask soothing down into a more relaxed rhythm.

By that point it was your cheek resting against his shoulder, the hand that was there moving onto his shoulder, gliding over the muscle in the usual way you would when wanting to help bring him back down.

It was like there was magic in your fingertips, he could swear.

If you were hoping he’d nudge you awake when you fell asleep on his shoulder, you’d be mistaken. He just couldn’t help it, honest. With you leaning on him so willingly he was scared his heart would burst out of his chest and wake you all on its own anyway. He just couldn’t help letting you drift off leaning on him. You were so small in comparison.

Mesmerizing, to see at times.

And this was one of those times.

Eventually, though, he could feel the object in his fist shift, giving him a reason to finally bring you back to the land of the living.

You’d felt as though you’d dozed off and been sleeping for hours, though you knew it not true as you felt Thomas’ back straighten, his large body shifting slowly to face you.

Sometimes you felt that man could stomp his foot and split the earth in two, he was so large.

The feeling of fingers ever so gently grazing your cheek shook you from your sleep-ridden thoughts and had your eyes struggling to open, blinking away the sleepiness that had started to creep up on your body.

Seeing those eyes easily drug out the last bit of drowsiness that weighed you down.

They were filled with so many different things, all swirling around in his head at once. It was one of the things that had your opinion of him turning what seemed like months ago. The thing that was changing him from being the cold-hearted cannibal to the broken and lonely man, stuck in a twisted house. It was still hard, and you still got scared when you heard the screaming from down in the basement, but you were trying.

And after getting to know the family, you felt Thomas deserved to have someone try for him, for once.

A heavy sigh puffed from behind your lips when his fingers pushed on past your cheeks to run through your hair, and you couldn’t help leaning into the touch. God he was making you sleepy again like this.

He huffed, his thumb rubbing over your cheek to try and brush that sleepiness away, a quirk of a smile tugging at his lips.

Settling with only closing one eye and leaving the other on him, you rose a brow quizzically.

“You feel better?”

The question had him retracting his hand to fiddle with the edge of his apron, moving his other closer towards you. Looking down, you notice he still had it clenched into a fist, must’ve been next to him on the bed the whole time.

It was shaking too, his poor nerves.

He seemed to be offering it out to you, which had you granting him a smile. That seemed to boost his confidence, and his own smile grew just that little bit bigger.

You shuffled back and used the hand on his shoulder to encourage him to follow. The poor man realized and made quick to follow, pausing to shake off his shoes before settling himself in the middle of the bed, one leg extended with the other drawn up closer to his chest. You couldn’t help a breath of relief at the newfound freedom you had when it came to the movement of your chained hand. Turning your attention back to him from your chains, you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled from your throat at seeing him fill up the small twin-sized bed, he was just so…

And without a moment of hesitation, you took the gamble.

The gargled yelp you got from him after getting to your knees and bouncing on the old springy mattress had your giggle blowing up into a clear laugh. His ass didn’t even leave contact with the stupid sheets at all! But judging by the red starting to pool in his ears and the squinted eyes, he wasn’t too amused even though the mischievous glint in his eye said otherwise and was quick to retaliate.

The moment your body left the mattress was the moment he realized he didn’t quite calculate your weight into the equation, and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep the childish squeal from waking up the house. The two of you stared wide-eyed at one another the second you made contact with the bed again, your hand reaching out to grab his knee to steady yourself. He was smiling and you were snickering as quietly as you could, pinching his knee as payback. Thomas was quick to cover his teeth with his lips while he smiled, and you pursed your own in turn, folding your hands on his knee before resting your head there. Bad dental genetics or not, you thought his smile was lovely, but that was a battle for another day.

“Alright big guy, back to business. What’d ya have for me?”

My headcanons for Art the Clown

Tw: mention of violence, blood, killing and etc

Note: sorry for long waiting, I had some stuff to do. But I watched this movie last night, just can't not to write something

• Suppose that by some miracle you interested him, and Art changed his mind about killing you.

• Art is a man of the moment, of impulse, in this regard he is like a child. If he wants something, he will get it, no matter how. If he's interested in you, he'll get you and keep you.

• Again, he is quite childish, and since he cannot speak, all his emotions are visible in his body language and antics. His childish behavior can also manifest itself in frequent insults. He will be sitting on the couch with his arms folded and fundamentally avoiding your gaze. Try to guess what he's offended about. And it's better to do it quickly, before the desire to tear some human flesh wakes up in him. His mood changes very often, so be always prepared for the fact that at the moment of rare hugs he will suddenly become agitated or, conversely, aggressive.

• He's very jealous. It's not that he's insecure, he just doesn't like sharing his stuff, including you. You better not pay too much attention to other people unless you want to see their guts smeared on the wall in your bathroom.

• Despite this, Art is quite protective. He won't let anything happen to you. Be prepared that he will be constantly watching you. But now you can safely walk through the dark alleys, Art is always there, you are under the reliable protection of this guard dog.

• Art likes to scare you more than his victims. He doesn't know why, but he really likes the taste of your fear, it really turns him on. But Art will never really hurt you enough, except for a few cuts or bruises. There's something about you that makes him fear losing you for real. There's something special about the way you're scared of him. Maybe it's your expression or your cute screams, he doesn't know. But your guardian definitely makes him feel a lingering warmth in his lower belly.

• His actions and feelings can hardly be called love, because he really does not know how to get attached, he is just not quite the person for this. But he shows a certain affection in his own way. First of all, he's not killing you. Secondly, sometimes he tries to take into account your wishes in many things, tries to find out what you like. Thirdly, he can be quite clingy. When Art realizes that he wants your attention, he can gently pull the sleeve of your hoodie, as if asking for a hug, or he can just roughly grab you by the waist and put you on his lap.

• He really doesn't care about your appearance, he has a weakness for you because it's you.

• Talking about what you like. Art is very narcissistic and cruel. But over time, he will realize that your smile and your joy create some kind of strange feeling in his chest, he likes it. In fact, Art makes you happy only because it gives him a certain pleasure.

• He loves using you as bait for his victims. This gives him an extra push to kill his victim in an even more brutal way.

• In general, he can be kind to a certain extent, he even brings you small gifts from time to time. Besides, he's crazy about the sight of someone else's blood on your face and skin. But you'll definitely have to teach him to wash more often and eat normal food.

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artsyclxwn

2 years ago

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artsyclxwn

6 months ago

Feverish | Art the Clown x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Or even a fic of him getting sick after being out in the snow with the Santa costume in Terrifier 3?

I can imagine him curled up on the reader’s couch, blanket over his lap whilst he’s pouting. And him silently sneezing into a handkerchief (despite him having to be told multiple times to cover his nose and finally doing so)

And the reader putting a thermometer in his mouth to take his temperature.. oh my god ❞

: ̗̀➛ Art comes to you when he's at his very lowest, but thankfully, you're tolerant of him enough to put up with it.

trigger warnings : ̗̀➛ mentions of gore, swearing, depictions of illness, mentions of murder

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Art crashed onto your sofa, appearing to sigh heavily although no noise left him in the slightest as he reached to rub his nose; you frowned upon noticing him. Unsure of whether or not demons could even get sick, but judging by his demeanour, he was weak enough to pick something up. His suit was covered in blood, and his big black bin bag was partially torn; you knew what you needed to do.

With careful hands, you tugged at the front of his costume, and he understood; he waited for you to turn around before he stripped himself and allowed you to carry away the bloodstained and soaked costume. Clearly, the snow had gotten to him as well, as the costume was damp enough to quickly drip onto the light coloured laminate.

You didn't mind much, though, shoving it into the washing machine and taking no notice of the bits of blood and sinew attached to the torso half on the front and the ends of his sleeves. He had come home with worse before.

You never did understand why Art was always so... placid with you, though. Sure, he scared you every morning by honking that fucking horn in your face, but he never attempted to hurt you. Unless the time he nearly burned down the kitchen trying to make toast counted, but you doubted it.

You didn't think about it much anymore, though; but you were quick to grab a hoodie and some jogging bottoms that you kept behind for when you had to clean his clothes. You lugged them back to the sofa, and tapped him on the shoulder so he could get changed.

Again, you turned around until he was decent, and when you finally looked at him, you smiled.

"So, where'd you get the Father Christmas costume from?"

Art shrugged, and flapped his hands around to mimic what he had done, standing up but still hunched over slightly; his mouth extended and open wide in an overexaggerated smile before he slapped his hands on his stomach and silently laughed.

His lips curled like he was in pain, and he bent his head forward, sneezing; you grimaced as snot and phlegm landed on your floor, and you tutted.

"Sneeze into your fucking hands!" You told him loudly, huffing and grabbing some tissue to clean it up.

You never raised your voice at Art, let alone swore at him, and he did pout a bit before he did it again; more phlegm and sticky snot splattering onto your floors.

You glared at him, shaking your head; you huffed, pulling out a handkerchief from your pocket and shoving it into his hands.

"Use that, for fuck's sake."

He started to pout and flap his hands again, childishly acting up in protest of being asked to show basic manners.

But then he stopped, doubling over and coughing into his hands; his eyes squeezed silently shut as he appeared to strain in what you only assumed was a sneeze. You frowned, pushing him back down onto the sofa and covering him with your old fluffy Batman blanket. You pressed your hand against his forehead.

He usually felt a bit warmer than the average person, but this time, you could feel the sweat beading and cascading down his forehead. Leaving streaks within his white makeup. You grimaced again and shook your head, disappearing quickly and coming back with a thermometer.

"Open your mouth," you told him, but he shook his head. "Art. I need to know how high your fever is."

He pouted at you, raising his brows to try and give you the puppy dog eyes; hoping that your concern could be easily melted away.

"Art," you grumbled, glaring at him sternly. He relented, and opened his mouth for long enough that you could get the thermometer in there. "Do not bite it. That one was expensive."

He chewed it slightly, letting the glass clink against his teeth until you pulled it from his mouth and looked; he was definitely running hotter than you had ever seen.

"You stay here," you told him. "I'm gonna get you some painkillers."

He nodded, almost excitedly, and watched you disappear. Again, he slapped his hands over his mouth, coughing against his palms. The only noise he made was the shuffling of the blanket once he settled down and turned onto his side, feeling sorry for himself.

But you weren't gone for long, and allowed him to cling to your wrist as you popped the tablets in his mouth and helped him to wash them down with a small glass of water.

"Your bin bag," you started, "do you want me to get a new one?"

He nodded again, this time excited as he pointed over to it; but his usual rapid and frantic pointing wasn't present, and you knew that that meant he was definitely not himself this time.

You were quick to grab the bin liners from the shed, the extra large ones, and you used three to make sure that none of his tools could poke through; you were actually quite surprised, really, as Art usually slapped your hand away whenever you tried to touch it. But he knew he was weak, and he knew that you were his only ally left.

Maybe ally wasn't the right word.

He did, in his own way, care about you; like a wild animal, he would come and go as if he owned the place and didn't care if he trudged in a boat load of blood and bone.

You learned pretty early on not to tell him about people who annoyed or wronged you - not unless you wanted him to send you a video of him bashing their fucking head in against a window or stamping on their head and peeling off their face.

You learned quite quickly not to do that.

He was, in his own way, protective. He didn't allow the little pale girl or Victoria inside your house, didn't even let them know what you looked like. You could still remember the former trying to look at you while Art closed every window and door and curtain to make sure she didn't.

You didn't even ask why, you didn't want to know.

Slowly, Art reached out his arms, and you knew what he was asking for; you lifted the blanket, and squished yourself against his side as he tapped his fingers on your arm like he usually did.

You often fell asleep with him like that, only to be woken up by him shaking you to make sure you were still alive. The worst was when you were snoring and he spilled water on your face.

It made you laugh so much, mostly because you didn't know what the fuck he was thinking.

But you loved that about him; he could always make you laugh, even though if anyone else so much as tried it, you would have kicked them out and told them to never contact you again.

He jerked suddenly, his body spasming as he silently sneezed against your shoulder; you felt the puff of air, and frowned.

He really was in bad shape, and you wished you knew how the fuck he caught it.

You silently promised that you would look after him until he was better; you could take the time off of work just to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble, and you could always ask your friends to pick up some books from the library to see if there were any on sickness in demonic clowns.

So, you relaxed into his arms, and you gently grabbed his hand, hoping that it would at least make him feel better.

hi! thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, then please spare me just a bit more of your time! Sara and her twin sister Huda are both 12 year old Gazans, and need to relocate so that Sara can access medical care and they can both survive the genocide; so far, they've gotten $14,802 of their $25,000 goal, so if you could spread their link or donate then you could really be saving childrens lives!

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artsyclxwn

4 months ago

MORE WADE AND LOGAN PLSSSSS CAN WE GET THEM (POLY) DATING A SHORT READER HCS??? TYYYY

Short! S/O - Logan Howlett & Wade Wilson

Pairing: Logan Howlett x short! gn! reader x Wade Wilson

Genre: fluff

CW: poly relationship, teasing, short jokes, Logan picks us up, protective boys, size diff

| Ryan Reynolds & Hugh Jackman are both 6’2 so I am gonna go off of that (i know Logan is short in the comics but just let me dream pls :,) |

YES YES OF COURSE!!! there’s almost nothing I love more than writing a short/small reader cause I myself am not short :,) but it’s nice to pretend. god both of them are so tall I just wanna stand between them & feel safe ^^ thank you so much for the req!!

they’re such bullies i’m so sorry

expect a TON of short jokes (mostly Wade)

and expect them to parry anything you say with “you’re short” (mostly Logan)

you will always be their arm rest, you have no say in it

standing in line? Logan’s leaning his arm on your shoulder.

at a party? Wade’s propping himself up on the top of your head

Logan LOVES how short you are too and manhandles you at any opportunity

if you’re being a brat, he won’t hesitate to remind you that he is bigger than you

whether that’s him throwing you over his shoulder or just standing real close to you so you can see the height difference up close & personal

as soon as Wade sees Logan in, he can’t help himself—he’ll slide up on your other side and smush you between the two of them

they’re such teases they’ll talk about you like you’re not completely stuck between them

“nice weather we’re having, hey?”

“oh yeah, real nice bub”

they’ll keep chatting until you’re whining and pushing against them to just get out

Wade LOVES putting things on shelves too high for you to reach just so he can watch you struggle

and Logan the absolute menace will lean against the wall with his arms crossed and watch you hop to reach your phone charger

they’ll sit there and watch you struggle until you turn on them with sad eyes and suddenly they’re racing to get it down for you

these mfs are so protective they will not leave your side whenever you go to parties/the bar

one of them is glued to you 24/7 (even when they’re not physically with you, they’re watching you too)

and anyone in the general area (07) knows not to fuck with you

on especially hard days, your size is just what they need

coming home from fighting crazy strong villains & mutants to their cute short s/o? nothing better in the whole world

masterlist

if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way!! likes, comments & rbs are always appreciated ^^

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artsyclxwn

6 months ago

You and Art the Clown getting married

— REQUESTED: @jokersgrf — PAIRING: GN!reader + Art the Clown — WARNINGS: blood, implied murder, and well, Art is a serial killer clown so. — A/N: Thanks for this request! I had a lot of fun coming up with these. Enjoy, reblog, and leave me some requests if you liked it!

OF COURSE, Art's proposal is a spectacle. Art waits for you to finish the scavenger hunt — yes, there are riddles involved — to meet you at the end, dressed in his usual garments, but now, he is brandishing a big bowtie around his neck. Formal. His grin says it all. Art holds out the box in his hands, with the bottom soaked with blood that stings your nostrils. You open it to find a heart. A human heart. You smile politely although you are retching a little on the inside. A card rests on the bloody organ. “I got you this as a gift / Now you have my heart / Can I have yours too, Y/N? / I love you, Art.” You don’t notice, but Art has dropped to one knee and holds out a ring. “Of course I’ll marry you!” You exclaim, yanking him up to kiss him. “I love you too, Art.”

AS EXPECTED, Art insists on going to help pick out what you’ll wear on the big day. As you’re focusing on picking out articles to try on, there is suddenly some excited honking from that familiar bicycle horn. You look toward the sound, a little afraid of what you might see. Art has come out of the dressing room wearing the frilliest, laciest, most extravagant wedding dress you’ve ever seen over his usual clothing. After a few poses and an exaggerated curtsy from the clown, your stomach is already hurting from laughing. “You’re beautiful, Art!” You tell him, holding up your hand to cover your mouth and try to control your laughter. He fakes shyness by hiding his eyes, and then he blows you a kiss before disappearing to get changed.

YOU BOTH CHOOSE to put Emily, the Little Pale Girl, in your wedding party. You are both too scared of what will happen if you don’t.

ON THE BIG DAY, your vows about “‘til death do us part,” but Art wanted to add a little something extra. When it comes the time to read his vows, he does a somersault for you before he whispers those vows to the priest — or possibly a threat — who looks frightened but announces the two of you are married. You dance down the aisle together as you leave, balloons falling from the ceiling.

FOR YOUR HONEYMOON, you two newlyweds go to a Caribbean resort. He insists on paying every time you order fruity drinks at the pool, and when he goes up to the bar with his trash bag in arm, you can’t bear to tell him that the resort is all-inclusive. Everything’s already paid for. As he pulls out coin after coin, you laugh. And you’re glad you’ll be laughing for the rest of the life you have together, however long — or short — that may be. You hope the two of you live happily together for a long, long time — 'til death do you part.

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artsyclxwn

1 year ago

More normal things

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artsyclxwn

1 year ago

Happy holidays 🎄

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artsyclxwn

3 years ago

hello I have another super fluffy Sundrop request!!!! reader and Sundrop playing house with the kids (with reader and Sunny being the parents) and then, after hours, reader shyly comments he would mind being Sundrop's husband for real 👉👈 hope u like my idea lol <3

now i wanna play house with sun :(( i wanna be this mfs husband so badly 😔

warnings: none

word count: 757

Hello I Have Another Super Fluffy Sundrop Request!!!! Reader And Sundrop Playing House With The Kids

Sundrop had always admired how well you got along with the children in the daycare. And how willing you were to do it at that. You were a simple day guard for when Moondrop wasn’t active, you didn’t even need to talk to him unless it was an emergency. Yet here he was, playing house with you, his partner, and the children at the daycare.

He wasn’t going to deny how happy he felt whenever the children would refer to you as his husband, feeling his machinery start to overheat with each passing comment. You were quite red as well, smiling with a giggle.

You being his husband didn’t sound so bad if he was being honest. Logically, he knew it wasn’t possible, the most he could do was have a pretend wedding during your shift but he couldn’t stop himself from imagining it. In a world where he wasn’t confined to the colorful daycare, in a world where he was able to live with you.

Being able to wake up next to you each morning would be a blessing, and although he hadn’t been gifted the ability to sleep like the other animatronics, he’d be entertained by watching the rise and fall of your chest. That got him wondering, did you have any sleep habits? Such as drooling or snoring? Did you move around a lot? Sundrop would love to see it! It’d be so cute!

His fantasies played on his mind, absentmindedly going along with whatever the kids wanted. But it was very clear that his mind was elsewhere if your confused and worried glances were anything to go off of. Oh how he’d love to kiss the concern of your face, but he was incapable of doing so. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, drawing a happy squeal from a young girl.

In his mind, you’d wake up as he waited, and then you’d prepare breakfast and he’d get your work outfit out of your closet for you. On your way out, you’d give his rosy cheeks a kiss and leave him to his own devices, demoting him to a house husband. Sundrop doesn’t think he’d mind that.

Later in the day, when most of the kids had left and the remaining few were too exhausted to keep playing, you and he sat in one of the structures, your head resting against his shoulder.

“You seemed pretty out of it today, are you sure you’re alright? Is something wrong mechanically?” Your voice sounded, soft and anxious as you looked up at him. His smile widened and he brought a hand to pat your head, running his thumb over the shell of your ear.

“No, nothing’s wrong, angel. Just thinking, that’s all.” He cooed, watching you shake your head fondly under his hand.

“You really are something.” You whispered, picking at a loose string on your blouse. Sundrop gasped, mock offense in his tone as he spoke up.

“My, my! Do you think lowly of me Y/N?”

You laughed, a wonderful sound that was music to his ears. Gosh, he would do anything to hear you laugh, to see the joy on your scrunched-up face.

“No, I meant it endearingly. I don’t think I could ever speak of you cruelly.” You assured, snuggling into his side.

“Ahh, good to hear, good to hear indeed.” He muttered, his fingers moving from your head to dance over your shoulders.

“Y’know,” You started, your face starting to heat up as you looked to the side. Sundrop took pride in the flushed look on your face, knowing he was the most likely cause of it. “I wouldn’t mind being your husband for real. Sounds kind of nice, actually.”

Oh, well that’s news. Was he malfunctioning? He may be because he’s entirely sure he shouldn’t be clicking and shaking like that.

Hesitantly, you pulled away, pushing away your embarrassment to stare at the flustered mess that is Sundrop. Gently, you poke his faceplate. “Yo, you still in there, Sun?”

It took him a moment before he was scooping you up in his arms, standing abruptly with a loud whoop that no doubt woke up a kid or two. “Oh, my Y/N! I was thinking the same thing! You’d be the most adorable husband ever! So pretty, I’m sure of it.”

“Sun!” You whined, burying your heated face against his chest plate, ignoring his booming laughter. But he caught sight of the bright smile on your face, a matching grin on his own face.

“Yes, yes, so incredibly pretty.”

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artsyclxwn

4 years ago