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Rapidly knocking on your front door, Claire and Emmett call out your name.
“Open the door! Fuck, do you think they're–?” Claire looked at him, Emmett shaking his head.
“Nah. Nah. They can't be. I mean, we already lost Sam and Jay, we can't–” He was cut off by the door opening, their heads immediately snapping towards it, relieved breaths leaving them both as you peeked out at them.
You blinked. “Hi?”
“Ohmygod– you're alive!” Claire gasped, shoulders slumping. “Shit, when you didn't respond to any of our calls I… I…”
“We thought you were dead, dude.” Emmett said, running a hand through his hair.
You just rock on your heels, leaning against the doorway. “Well… obviously I'm not. I'm fine. Just– y'know.” You give a vague gesture, both of them nodding like they understand. And they think they do, think you experienced the exact same thing they did. But they don't.
They have no idea whatsoever.
“You got chased by your tarot card too?” Claire asks unnecessarily, continuing when you nod. “God, that must've been terrifying. That creepy jester thing coming after you…”
Your face twitches, but you otherwise remain silent, just rubbing your face like you're tired.
Emmett glances around, shifting on his feet like he's ready to leave. “How'd you defeat it?” He asks abruptly. “Was it like… some outsmarting type shit or…?”
“Uh– yeah!” You say, forcing yourself to look at them, to not look back into the house. You don't dare, not when they wouldn't understand.
Despite the fact you're pointedly not looking back though, the prickle of eyes on the back of your head is strong.
You tense when you hear bells. Slowly, you move your hand back and make a gesture you pray he understands means shut the fuck up you stupid creature.
Silence.
Good.
You clear your throat. “Yeah… I had to like… figure a way out of a building via a weird pattern. Had to… solve a riddle and everything.” You lie, your fri– well, kind of friends nodding like that makes complete sense.
Then again, with all the shit that happened in the last week, anything was believable at this point.
Emmett and Claire share a look before beginning to walk back.
“Well, if you're good…”
“We need to go. James is in the hospital, and we still need to check on the others…”
You nod, smile. Gesture for them to go, quick.
“I get it, now go! Keep me updated, ‘kay?” You say, watching them leave, their words washing over you as you wait, watching as their car disappears into the night. Once they're completely gone you sigh, stepping back indoors and locking the door shut.
You only just turn around before he's on you. Shoved back and crowded against the door, you gaze up into the empty, black holes of his eyes, the porcelain mask's expression changing abruptly, an exaggerated grin staring down at you.
Clawed hands grip your wrists, and you nearly groan as he presses closer, bells tinkling as he nudges his face against your neck and throat; from between red, porcelain lips, a black tongue slipped out, licking along your pulse. A wicked cackle escapes The Fool, your drawn arcana from that night of stupidity, and you can't help but mull over how you got to be here, the demonic creature feeling you up while you giving you his own brand of kisses.
It started like all supernatural situations that includes teenagers/young adults do: at a get together at an old cabin with booze, drugs, stupid relationship drama, and a deck of haunted cards.
Not that anyone knew they were haunted at first, but still.
If you were being honest, you didn't know most of the people there that night, but your friend had insisted you come, get to know more people, and so you had. You'd wished you hadn't at the time as you proceeded to spend most of the night alone, making different combos of fruit juices and milkshakes because you weren't big on alcohol– nor did you trust getting drunk around a bunch of unfamiliar people.
And then somebody had discovered an old room and that's when things started to go… well, not wrong exactly, not yet, but it would lead to wrongness later on.
Everyone explored the room and the weird stuff. Somebody picked up the tarot cards. And then another offered to do a reading.
“Is that… fine? I think I read you're not supposed to use others’ cards or some shit.” One of the guys piped up, receiving a few looks.
“Well I'm pretty sure the owner is dead, so…”
Everyone exchanged looks before shrugging. Someone yelled to hurry up. And so it began. The cards were shuffled, spread out, and everyone took their turns.
The Emperor. The Tower. Justice. The Empress…
On and on it goes until you're sitting across from… what is somebody who does tarot readings called again? Whatever, you didn't know at the time and you probably still don't know. And it doesn't matter. That person was the first to die, so…
Whatever. Anyway, you sat there, eyeing the cards over and over, hand hovering. You were supposed to be… guided, right? Feel a pull?
Crazily enough, you did, your hand drawn to a card in the top left and plucking it up, turning it over.
The Fool.
As the meaning was read aloud to you, you felt frozen, sucked in by those black painted depths, staring at that crooked crimson grin.
“‘The Fool represents new beginnings, unlimited potential, and a leap of faith into the unknown’.” They read aloud, words washing over you; it felt like you were hearing them from underwater, your heart pounding as you kept staring at that tiny face.
You swear the grin widens.
Before you stand up, you nab the card, keeping it.
Despite it being so small, the tiny thing feels like it weighs a ton. Even as the night goes on and everyone forgets their readings, you're unable to ignore the little card burning a hole in your pocket.
After that night, everyone went home, ready to continue on with their lives.
Until the deaths started.
One by one, everyone who was there that night– everyone who got a tarot reading that cursed night– was picked off, dying in cruel and unusual and sometimes ironic ways.
You shouldn't have been surprised when it was your turn, but you were. You'd been alone, leaving the group after becoming uncomfortable with the near strangers– you barely knew them, after all, and a couple days of trauma wouldn't suddenly bond you to them.
And that's, of course, when you met him.
The streets had been empty, silent. Your skin prickled with unease, footsteps growing faster and louder. You turned a corner and stopped.
Far ahead of you, submerged in the shadows, was a figure. Dressed in jesters motley, it stood, face pale and painted and unmoving from that wicked, wicked grin. It stared at you before slowly turning, folding, bending in on its– his?–self, bells jangling and bones cracking and an awful laughter starting up.
You just stared. Stared and then ran when it took one step forward.
Obviously, you didn't outrun him. Couldn't. Every corner you took, he was there, watching, cackling. Always fucking cackling.
Finding yourself backed up in a corner with nowhere else to go, a cold sweat leaving you shivering and nauseous (though maybe that was just the fear), your temper snapped as he just. Kept. Fucking. Laughing.
“Do you just find yourself funny or something?! What's so fucking funny, huh?” You mocked him, laughing back at the bastard as you remained stuck in a corner, watching as he approached. “Hahaha! So fucking funny!”
He laughed again, obviously aware of his effect on you. He dropped, bells jangling as he began crawling towards you like some weird mutant spider person.
A whimper escapes you as you lean back further, crushing yourself against the brick wall. You were near hyperventilating, eyes wild as they darted around looking for help. But there was none to be found.
It was just you and him.
Hissing a curse, you turned your head as The Fool closed the space between you, staring you down. You imagine if he wasn't some… demonic… card creature, you'd feel his breath against your cheek.
Swallowing, you lick your lips, trying to find something, anything to save yourself.
He crooned a soft bit of laughter, and you thought fuck it, if everything is such a joke to him–
“Hey…” You slowly looked at him from the corner of your eye. “What do you call a bee that's died and become a ghost?”
The creature paused, gone still. Slowly, he tilted his head, bells tinkling.
You lick your lips again. “A boobie.”
For a moment, a long, dreadful moment in which all you can hear is the stressed ba-bump, ba-bump of your heartbeat echoing in your ears, it's silent, the world still, holding its breath.
And then The Fool laughs.
Full, shoulder shaking and head thrown back cackling.
He laughs and laughs and laughs and just from pure, mind breaking stress you begin laughing too, nervous and shaky and fuck you could die any moment now what the FUCK–
But then his laughter dies down and so does yours, and you just focus on breathing, ass numb and cold from the cement ground as you sit there, having a staring contest with someone that doesn't even have proper eyes.
But then he's reaching for you and, ignoring your flinch, he taps your nose.
Okay… so… the joke obviously worked, so…
You swallow to wet your throat. “Two fish are sitting in a tank. One turns to the other and asks, ‘do you know how to drive this thing?’ … lil army humour.” You say, awkwardly, but he chitters out an amused sound anyway.
“… two windmills stand in a field. One asks the other what its favourite music is. The second one goes, ‘well, I've always been a giant metal fan’.”
The Fool bursts into giddy giggles, giving you a long look once they die off.
You stare at each other. Slowly, you shift, pushing yourself up, heart still jackhammering, never once breaking eye contact.
Once you're stood all the way up, The Fool copies you, standing abruptly and making you flinch.
Another titter, and he tilts his head, leaning in. With a slow swallow, you offer another joke, and continue to do so as you carefully begin making your way home, keeping him within view and feeling tense, each jingle of his bells making your heart lurch fearfully.
But finally, finally, you make it to the safety of your home without dying, the creature still giggling at your dumb jokes.
You think you're in the clear, safe. That you've distracted him from his task. But when you close the door in his face, your turn around and scream, The Fool standing before you, cackling at your fear.
After that… well.
See, since you'd neither defeated him nor had he killed you, you were in a stalemate with each other.
Which meant The Fool couldn't leave.
Which led to… this.
“Fuck–”
Cackling, the jester picked you up with ease, whistling merrily as he took you to your bed, a mess of blankets and pillows, turned into some sort of nest by your demonic roommate. He lays you in the middle of it, climbing on top of you and shaking his head, bells jingling in your face.
You huff, flicking them a couple times.
“Possessive bastard.” You mutter, feeling him continue to lick along your neck. “Can't stand when I talk to others, can you? Ridiculous. It's like having a parasite.”
The Fool pulls back, muttering something indecipherable– or demonic, who knows?– before tapping his porcelain cheek.
“What?” You ask, playing dumb. He taps his cheek more aggressively, grunting before his mask changes to an exaggerated frown.
Laughing, you cup his face, pressing kisses all over his face.
“Mmm, better?” You ask, making him giggle giddily, kicking his feet excitedly.
Your forced demonic jester boyfriend was like an overgrown child. A deadly one, but a child all the same. Especially with how he clung to you and messed with you all the time.
You sigh, staring up at the ceiling, playing with his hat.
“… I wonder what's gonna happen when everyone else has beat their tarots. You'll still be with me, right? Regardless of what happens, even if the deck gets destroyed or like… exorcised, you're not gonna disappear?”
You can't keep the concern out of your voice. Despite having him for less than a week, you'd grown attached.
Yes, he was annoying. Yes, he was dangerous. But he was also… nice, cuddly, helpful around the house.
And maybe… you were starting to return his overzealous affection.
The Fool pauses, then shakes his head aggressively, bells jingle-jangling like crazy. He presses his face against your cheek in a makeshift kiss, drawing shapes on your palm, slowly writing out words.
You hum, watching as he does. Slowly, he writes out: no worry. I stay no matter what.
You huff, kissing his cool cheek again.
“That's good. You're too good to lose.”
He makes a soft noise, then begins trying to tug your pants down.
“Hey– hey! Consent! Ask for consent, you horny bastard!”
He awwed, giving you a pleading look. Because if his annoying clinginess and dangerous nature wasn't bad enough, your jester was also incredibly horny.
With a deep sigh, you gestured for him to continue. He gave a happy wiggle before beginning to undress you.
… fuck, but he was cute. How could you ever deny him?